Champions of the Dragon: (Humorous Fantasy) (Epic Fallacy Book 1)

by Michael James Ploof

Hagus was shaking now. He held his clenched fists to his sides, utterly appalled by the king’s words. This only increased Dranlar’s pleasure, and he took a step closer, so that his ring-pierced nose was inches from Hagus’s.

  “That idiot son o’ yers is goin’ to be dragon whelp food.”

  “If ye was any other dwarf, I’d…I’d—”

  “Ye would what?” said Dranlar, his eyes suddenly widening with gleeful malice.

  Hagus cocked back and punched the king square in the jaw, laying him out cold on the stone floor.

  “If ye was any other dwarf, I’d kill ye!” said Hagus, and he spat.

  He turned from the king and stormed out of the chamber, having the sense of mind to not slam the door behind him. He offered the guards a nod and headed toward the swirling balcony that would bring him to the bottom.

  “Halt, good dwarf,” said a guard from behind him.

  Hagus stiffened and slowly turned, ready to defend himself or run away.

  “Guests o’ the king be permitted to take the lift.”

  “Thank ye,” said Hagus with a nod and marched in the direction that the guard had pointed. He quickly found the lift and told the operator to bring him to the bottom.

  The door closed and the contraption got going way too slowly for his liking, but move it did. He waited for the call to arms, or a cry of alarm from the upper levels, but none came. The lift reached the bottom and the door was slid aside. An old dwarf with a toothless grin offered him a nod. Hagus rushed past the dwarf and leapt onto his ram, spurring it through the castle gates.

  He shot like a cannon from the royal castle and sped down the city streets, sending unsuspecting strollers diving for the gutters and nearly colliding with more than one wagon. Soon a ruckus could be heard in the distance, like the sound of twenty screaming dwarves all saying the same thing in a different way. Then the horn blew deep in the city, and all dwarves looked to the castle. Hagus glanced back and saw a spear of flame suddenly shoot from the top of the castle peak, which meant that the castle was under attack.

  Every dwarf stopped what they were doing and froze.

  Hagus kept on going. He reached the nearest tunnel that he knew would bring him to the outside and slapped the reins wildly, his heart booming in his chest like the mallet of the Iron God.

  The sun was an hour from setting when he emerged from the mountain. His ram navigated the rocky terrain easily as he pushed it at breakneck speeds down the side of the mountain. One last great leap brought them to flat land, and Hagus spurred the ram into the market, hoping that it wasn’t too late to warn Kegley.

  To his relief, he found the old merchant packing up his wagon and wares for the day.

  “Kegley!” yelled Hagus in an angry manner, hoping to draw the attention of those around them.

  Kegley turned, squinting, and his face lit up halfheartedly when he saw who it was.

  “Well, hallo Hagus. What brings ye—”

  “Listen. We don’t have much time. I can’t explain it right now, but soon ye’ll know it was for yer own good. Punch me.”

  Kegley looked as though he meant to say something, but he only stared curiously at Hagus.

  “Ye hear me, ye deaf bat?” Hagus yelled in his face, which gained him the attention of everyone around.

  Kegley was obviously embarrassed, but his confusion soon turned to anger. “Look here. I don’t know what ye be tryin’ to pull, but—”

  “Ye dolt, the king be right pissed, bah, do I got to spell it out for ye?”

  “The king?”

  Urgent voices suddenly issued from the road leading from the mountain. Hagus didn’t have time to explain, and so he thought up the worst thing he could think to say.

  “Yer…yer wife beds ogres, and yer mother watches!” he spat.

  Kegley’s eyes widened, and he hauled back and socked Hagus right in the gut.

  Hagus had expected a punch to the face, instead the wind burst out of him with an, “UGH.” He dropped to one knee. A crowd had begun to gather, and some were even shouting encouragement at the two.

  “Now you take that back!” said Kegley.

  “Hit me again,” said Hagus, gasping. “Tell the king ye tried to stop me.”

  A commotion of barking dogs and yelling dwarves came from somewhere nearby, and sudden realization sparked in Kegley’s face. Kegley grabbed him by the front of his fur jerkin and gave him a shake, playing along. “What ye gotten yerself into?” he whispered in Hagus’s ear.

  Hagus pushed him back, saying, “Sorry,” and punched his friend in the forehead enough to dizzy him. Kegley staggered back, grabbing his cart for balance.

  “Stop that dwarf!” came the cry of a guard, and a blood hound bayed long and mournfully.

  The dwarves, humans, elves, and ogres who had been watching the fight turned their attention solely on Hagus. He hurried to mount his ram before anyone decided to be a hero. The guards came running as the ram reared, bucked its front legs, and shot off down the muddy road leading south.

  Chapter 22

  A Hard Choice on a Dark Road

  Murland knew the precise moment that the sun dropped behind the horizon at his back, for when it did, a chill came over him that sent the hairs on his neck standing straight. He waited, knowing that the terrible sound was coming, that cry born from the depths of hell. As he glided above the companions on the wings of his trusty backpack, he fought the urge to turn his head and look back to the east. He knew that the shadowy creatures were out there somewhere. They had just come to life with the death of the sun. Now they would be running, no, flying through the woods in pursuit of the one who got away.

  Murland gulped.

  He soon found himself wishing that he had a regular mount like everyone else. It was lonely and cold flying up above the ground. He imagined all kinds of fowl and winged creatures lurking in the skies. It was like swimming far out from the coast and staring into the darkness beyond the reef. Mystery, danger, and death lurked there in the darkness.

  He looked to the south often, his mind wild with imaginings of the ghosts lurking in the fog. It was well known that the Blight was haunted by the spirits of the humans who once inhabited the rocky land.

  His early lessons from High Wizard Vleveus came back to him then. The old toothless wizard had seemed ever on his last leg, but when he spoke of the history and heroes and tragedies of Fallacetine, he came alive and bounded about the classroom like a man a hundred years his junior.

  “The Blight…What a terrible, terrible story that is,” the high wizard would say. “It was once a prosperous land, with a thriving fishing community along the once rich, southern coast. So great was it that it easily outshone the golden coast to the east. The Agnarians were a tall, strong people. In the south, they were sailors and fishermen, and in the north they were shepherds, known for their wool and rare herbs, which only grew in that region in those days.

  “But their end came swiftly and terribly the day that Drak’Noir descended from the peak of Bad Mountain and flew over the Wide Wall. The great wyrm turned night into day. Her flames devoured the forests in one fell breath. Towns and cities burned, and those within them were killed instantly…if they were lucky. The call went out to all kingdoms, and each one sent a single warrior, those who came to be known as the Champions of the Dragon.”

  Murland meant to forget the eerie tale, and turned his eyes north, where the dark hills rolled on into the deep blue sky dancing with the stars. But then he thought of all the people who had perished, and shame turned his head back south. He stared at the foggy valley leading to the ridges and jutting stone formations haunting the barren land like behemoths frozen in time, and he wept for the dead.

  ***

  Sir Eldrick glanced back at the others, wondering if they could make the long ride ahead of them. The sun had just set, and the darklings would be back on their trail by now. He measured the distance in his mind, concluding that they had put at least twenty-five miles between them, if not more. The roa
d had been well-kept up to the fork, where it branched off north to the coast and south into the Blight. That haunted land stretched out to their left, fog hanging low to the barren valleys that dipped from the ridge the road followed.

  He knew enough of the lay of the land to understand the dilemma that might soon befall them, but he was loath to tell the others about it. Instead he continued with his head held high and his shoulders straight, wanting to impart an air of confidence.

  “When we stopping to eat?” Willow asked, spurring her raptor to catch up to the knight.

  “We will not be stopping until morning, I am afraid,” said Sir Eldrick, scanning the foggy valley beside the road.

  “What…what ye lookin’ for, eh?” Gibrig put in, never one to miss a gesture.

  “The darklings. What else?” said Brannon, hurrying to catch up and not be the last one in line.

  Sir Eldrick offered him a scowl, and noticing Gibrig looking at him, he smiled. “Anyone riding into the unknown better be looking out all the time. Wouldn’t you say, Gib?”

  “Aye,” said the dwarf, nervously glancing around.

  “But don’t always believe your eyes at dusk,” said the knight, “for the time between day and night plays tricks on the mind and eye.”

  “That’s not very nice o’ it.”

  “No, good Gibrig, it is not.”

  “You see anything lurking in the shadows, you let me know,” said the fearless ogre. “I’ll stab it, skin it, and eat it raw, as hungry as I am. Unless it’s a darkling. Imagine they taste like crap.”

  “Your courage is admirable,” said Sir Eldrick. “But do not underestimate the power of Zuul’s minions.”

  “I ain’t afraid of a bunch of shrieking skeletons,” said Willow. She plugged one nostril and blew snot out the other to accentuate her point.

  Sir Eldrick smiled and shook his head. “Then you’re the only one.”

  “Ye be afraid too?” said Gibrig, looking astonished.

  “A wise man knows when to be afraid, but also how to turn that fear into strength.”

  “How ye do that, eh?”

  “You’ll learn, Gib, trust me.”

  Morning came like a miracle, and rising from the east like the glowing crown of a god, the sun met the cloudless day gloriously.

  But then that terrible noise cut through the dawn. It was so out of place in such a wonderful moment that Murland wondered if he had dreamed it. He had been falling asleep as he glided along with his winged backpack, and could not be sure if he were sleeping or awake.

  He looked to the ground below, searching the sparse copses of wicket willow and thorn bushes on the sides of the road, and thought he saw a shadow melt into a gorge. He blinked, not wanting to see but knowing that he must look, and saw three more shapes join the first. To his horror, the companions were only feet from the spot.

  “Flee!” he yelled to them. “The darklings are right beside you!”

  Sir Eldrick must have heard him, for he spurred the others down the road and did not let up for a half an hour. Murland landed when he saw them stop. He tripped on a stone, falling face first in the dirt. He shook himself off and rushed to Sir Eldrick’s side. The knight was dismounting painfully and groaning like an old man.

  “I saw them again!” Murland told him, glancing back at the eastern road with worry.

  “Yes, I know. Thank you for the warning. But they cannot travel beneath this glorious sunlight. So rest your mind for now.”

  Murland tried to rest his mind, but he felt like he was holding on to a lightning bolt. The lack of sleep coupled with all the excitement left him buzzing with energy.

  “Good job, all of you,” said Sir Eldrick, patting Murland on the back. “Now get what rest you can, for we head out again at midday. Rest easy, the darklings will be sleeping as well.”

  “I’ll sleep when I’m fed, or I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Like my father always says,” said Willow.

  Gibrig seemed to be of like mind, for he helped Willow to get a little fire pit going off the side of the road. Brannon brushed his horse weakly and tied a feed bag to its mouth before plopping down on the ground.

  “Hell of a ride, eh?” said Murland, taking a seat on the ground beside him.

  Brannon only moaned. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and he looked like he might have been crying.

  “So you think that these buds will be dried out and ready in a week or so?” said Murland, trying to make small talk.

  “That is what I said, isn’t it?” Brannon snapped.

  Murland glanced at Sir Eldrick, who always seemed to have a scowl on hand for the haughty elf, but the knight was lying beside his horse, head on helmet, cloak covering his eyes. Looking back at Brannon, Murland was surprised to see fat tears quivering on his long lashes. He didn’t know what to say, guessing that any indication that he had noticed would be met by a hateful outburst from the elf prince.

  “Thanks for helping me with the wizard leaf. I really appreciate it,” he said instead.

  Brannon glanced at him sheepishly and wiped his teary eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  Murland was so surprised by the reply that he sat staring at the elf.

  “What?” said Brannon with annoyance.

  “Oh…nothing. Nothing,” Murland said, getting up and dusting off. He had decided not to push it. “I’m going to get some sleep. Long road ahead, right?”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me,” said Brannon, laying his head on his hands and closing his eyes.

  Murland awoke a few hours later to Willow’s loud snoring and sat up, alert. He rubbed his itchy, grainy eyes and surveyed the roadside. He found Gibrig and Willow sleeping to his left, and Brannon over by his horse. Sir Eldrick was up, however, and staring south toward the Blight.

  Murland took a swig from his water skin to wash the bad taste out of his mouth and got up quietly to join the knight.

  “Good afternoon, Murland,” said the knight without looking back.

  “You see something out there?”

  “No, just weighing options.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sir Eldrick gave a long sigh and looked to Murland gravely. “We will have a hard choice to make very shortly. But for now, you should get something in your belly. I will be waking the others very soon.”

  Murland asked no questions, but did as he was told. He was hungry after all, and would rather hear bad news on a full stomach.

  A half hour later, Sir Eldrick roused the others and gathered them all together once they had eaten and shaken off the remnants of sleep.

  “You see that long stretch of forest?” he said, pointing west down the road. “That goes on for thirty miles. The boughs are thick on those tall trees, and the forest is dark. Much of the road is cast in shadow, even during a bright day like this. We have put many miles between ourselves and the darklings, but we will not get through that forest before morning, and the sun will not stop them there.”

  “What are our options?” Murland asked.

  “Yeah, what’s our options?” said Willow as she chewed on a brick of cheese.

  Sir Eldrick turned and looked south over the long valley leading to the rocky highlands covered in fog.

  “The Blight?” said Brannon. “Oh, hells no.”

  “That land is open, and we will have the high ground. The darklings might be able to travel through the fog during the day, but they will be much swifter in the western forest.”

  “Are you mad? That land is haunted,” said Brannon, looking to the others for agreement.

  “So the rumors say,” said the knight. “But I would rather chance that the rumors are wrong than face the darklings in the dark forest. I vote for the Blight.”

  “Well, I vote for the road,” said Brannon, raising his hand and looking to the others desperately.

  “I say we stick to the road,” said Willow with a shrug. “More chance for food that way.”

  “What about you two?” Sir Eldrick asked Murland and Gibrig.
<
br />   “I think that the Blight is the safer choice,” said Murland.

  Gibrig, realizing that his vote would be the tiebreaker, began shaking his head and pacing. “Oh, no, no. This can’t be up to me!”

  “This is up to all of us,” said Sir Eldrick.

  The dwarf glanced at Brannon with apprehension, for the elf was glaring at him dangerously. “But, I don’t want no one to be mad at me,” he said between heavy, nervous breaths.

  “Knock that off!” Sir Eldrick told Brannon, swatting him on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about us,” said Willow. “Just make up your own damn mind for once.”

  Gibrig straightened stubbornly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Fine, I…I think that I don’t want to be in that dark forest with them dark things either.”

  “The Blight it is!” said Sir Eldrick, to Brannon’s great dismay.

  The group packed up their things and headed south off the road. Murland decided to jog along with the mounts for a time. His shoulders hurt from the backpack straps, and his neck was tight due to the hours spent flying with his head bent to the ground.

  It was beyond midday when they abandoned the road and entered the Blight, and everyone knew that in only a few short hours, the darklings would awaken and be back on the trail.

  Chapter 23

  Seeking Haven on Ponder Hill

  The valley south of the road led into a thick sea of fog before rising into rocky, misty highlands. The day waned, and soon night had fallen on the world. The group stayed close, with Sir Eldrick leading with a torch, whose light was swallowed up quickly by the surrounding mist.

  They traveled along the ridges, staying away from the dark ravines. Gibrig talked the entire time, telling them all how this land was a lot like the valley between the mountains where he and his father lived.

  “I never ever thought I would leave that place,” he said as Snorts followed Sir Eldrick’s horse up a particularly steep section. “On spring mornings, ye think ye just might be on the Mountain in the Clouds. The sun shines through the clouds in fat beams, lightin’ up the peaks o’ mountains and warmin’ the air. There be tons o’butterflies up there, and the sweet smell o’ clover be everywhere.”