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

by Michael James Ploof

  “It sounds like a wonderful place,” said Murland, who was pacing the hog, not wanting to risk flying above and losing them in the fog.

  “Hey, Sir Knight. Ye think…ye think I’ll ever see me farm again?”

  Sir Eldrick glanced over at Brannon with a heavy gaze. “Sure you will, Gib. Why, we should all go there and have a picnic someday. I for one would love to see it.”

  “That would be great,” said Gibrig, quite choked up.

  “Yous ever eat them hogs you raise, or you just ride ‘em?” Willow asked behind them. She had no qualms whatsoever with taking up the rear, for it meant that she could stare at Snort’s fat behind the entire journey.

  “Sure, we eat ‘em. But I ain’t never liked eatin’ ham. They be too nice. It be like eatin’ a person.”

  “What else you eat?”

  “Well, we eat potatoes and carrots, and other stuff. And sometimes we even buy exotic fruits at market. But mostly I guess we eat corn and bread. It be the cheapest.”

  “Ever tried snail?”

  “Naw, don’t think I would like ‘em. They be too cute.”

  “I love snails,” said Willow dreamily. “And toads, and gators, and eels, and snakes, and—”

  “Quiet!” said Sir Eldrick with a hiss. He stopped.

  They all waited and listened, quiet as the mist.

  Murland tried to hear what it might have been that sparked the knight’s attention, but his pulse was suddenly pounding in his ears.

  After a minute, they continued across the ridge, quieter this time. No one asked Sir Eldrick what he thought he heard, for none of them wanted to know. Murland scanned the ravine to their left, but his eyes quickly became confused staring at the swirling fog below. The ghostly mist had thinned considerably there on the ridge, and Sir Eldrick’s light covered much more ground. It was a world of silhouettes bathed in moonlight, and dark shapes loomed all along the hills and ridges. Murland knew that they were just tall rock formations, still he watched them cautiously, waiting for one of them to come to life and snatch him up.

  Suddenly, the terrible grating shriek of the darklings rang out far away and echoed across the too-still land. Murland jumped, and Brannon gave a high-pitched squeal of surprise.

  “Ride!” said Sir Eldrick, spurring his mount into a gallop.

  Murland ran and tugged on the straps of his backpack. “Fly!” he yelled, and to his surprise, the stubborn pack gave him no trouble and climbed high into the sky.

  Murland scanned the land, noticing a tower a few miles away upon the highest hill in view. He reported his findings to Sir Eldrick, and the knight told him to lead the way.

  “If I am not mistaken,” said Sir Eldrick, “That is Ponder Hill. It was once home to contemplative monks for five hundred years. Hasten to it quickly, for it is hallowed ground!”

  Murland chose the easiest-looking route that he could find and led the group swiftly across the uneven ground.

  The cry of the darklings ripped through the night again, closer this time. The eerie call screamed of malice and rage, and it filled Murland with a dread that he had never known.

  Oh, please, Kazimir, if you can hear me somehow, we need your help, he said over and over in his mind.

  “Hurry!” Sir Eldrick called to the others as he reached the base of the tower.

  Murland guided his backpack by tugging on the straps and steered himself down to land on the top of the decrepit tower.

  “What do you see?” Sir Eldrick called up to him as he unsheathed his sword.

  Murland scanned the land to the northeast, where he thought the cries were coming from. “Nothing yet,” he called back.

  “Get up here and quiet down that hog,” Sir Eldrick told Gibrig. “Willow, watch the western side of the hill. Brannon, watch the south. They will most likely surround us.”

  “And then what?” said Brannon nervously.

  “Then we hope to the gods that this isn’t our day to die.”

  They took their places and waited. Murland watched the eastern hills closely, but shadows were everywhere, and the swirling mist gave the illusion of movement. He took his wand out of the backpack and held it tight. Though he knew that he could not use it, he felt better with it in his hand.

  “Murland, take these,” said Sir Eldrick, and tossed him up a lit torch and then a sheathed short sword. He lit and handed the others torches as well. “The fire will deter the creatures. Stand strong, my friends. They feed off your fear. Give them nothing. Dig deep, and find the courage that is within you all. You are champions of the dragon, do not forget. Your name strikes fear in those with evil hearts!”

  Murland unsheathed the sword and stared wide-eyed at the fire’s reflection on the mirror-like blade. Just then, he caught movement down at the base of the hill.

  “They’re coming!” he yelled to the others two stories down.

  “Prepare yourselves,” said Sir Eldrick. “Brannon, unsheathe your damn sword! Gib, ready your shovel. Willow…”

  A huge boom sounded from the other side of the tower, and Sir Eldrick rushed over. Murland looked over the side and watched, awed, as Willow picked up another large block of stone and hurled it over the side.

  “Come and get me, you dark stains. Hah!”

  To Murland’s horror, one of the darklings suddenly flew out of the shadows below the base of the tower and landed in front of Willow. The ogre gave a war cry and swung her huge club, taking the robed figure in the gut and sending him screeching and flying off the crumbled battlement and out into darkness.

  “Sir Eldrick! To your right!” cried Murland as a shadow in the shape of a hunched man crawled like a spider over the stone.

  “Back to the hells with you!” said Sir Eldrick, swinging his torch out toward the creature.

  A high-pitched scream jerked Murland’s head to the side, and down below he saw Brannon weakly swinging his sword at another darkling. The creature stalked the elf slowly, one long crooked finger reaching out past the tattered sleeve.

  “Brannon, watch out!” yelled Murland, and before he could think of what he was doing, he leapt off the tower, sword cocked back with both hands, and descended on the darkling with a terror-filled cry.

  Something suddenly scraped his tailbone and tore through the back of his pants, and he cried out. He stopped with an “oof”, and found himself hanging upside down from a gargoyle’s horn by his underwear, which was giving him a painful wedgie.

  He watched helpless as, ten feet below, the darkling cornered a mewling Brannon and grabbed at his neck. Brannon slapped the boney hand away with his sword, and Murland saw a flash of silver in the torchlight. The darkling brought his hand back, hooded head bent as though he were looking at the thing in his boney palm.

  A shocked breath escaped from Brannon, and he grabbed at his neck. “No! Not Val’s pendant.”

  The darkling took a swipe at the elf, but Brannon suddenly snapped. His voice boomed with authority as he swung his sword with a roar and chopped at the arm coming for him. His curved elven blade cut right through the arm, and the darkling disappeared.

  Murland breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly tried to extricate himself from the gargoyle horn. He could hear Willow laughing and cursing at the darklings. Even her raptor seemed to be battling the wraiths. The clang of swords came from the other side of the tower, where Murland hoped Sir Eldrick was protecting Gibrig.

  Brannon’s darkling suddenly appeared on his left, but the nimble elf leapt out of the way of the sudden sword strike that followed. Just then, Murland finally tore his underwear free and fell, screaming, on top of the darkling. The crunch of bones sounded as he landed, and the darkling crumbled beneath him. Brannon grabbed his necklace and stomped on the bones, crying and furious as he crushed them beneath his feet. Murland pulled him back, and they both stood with their swords pointed at the rumpled black cloak.

  “We killed one!” Murland yelled to the others, but his victory soon turned to astonishment as the cloak rose from the ground
with a hundred wet clicking sounds.

  The darkling turned to face them, and there beneath the dark hood, Murland thought he saw a rotten, toothy grin.

  “We will make you watch everyone you love, buuurrrnnn,” said the darklings in many hissing voices.

  A wave of utter depression washed over Murland, and he dropped his sword, wondering what had been the point in fighting. Beside him, Brannon’s sword clanged to the ground as well.

  “Life is pain. Life is death. There is only darkness at the end. Only night. The king of shadow always wins in the end. There is no escape.” The darkling reached out to Murland, who had resigned himself to his fate.

  His backpack, however, had other ideas.

  Murland suddenly shot into the sky high above the tower, and the sudden jolt jerked him sober. He looked down, worried for the others. But just then, a great flash of light from the top of the tower blinded him, and a booming voice drowned out those of the slithering darklings.

  “Be gone from here, minions of Zuul!”

  When Murland looked again, he saw Kazimir standing on top of the tower, his staff held high and crackling with lightning. In his other hand was a long, thin water pipe of glass. He brought it to his lips, and a snaking arc of lightning hit the pipe. The pipe gurgled, and Kazimir’s chest expanded. He pulled the pipe from his lips and blew out a sparkling, multicolored cloud of glowing smoke.

  The darklings hissed and thrashed when the smoke hit them, and they reeled back over the battlements. Kazimir’s lightning chased after them, scorching their ragged robes all the way down the side of the hill.

  With a word from Kazimir, the lightning disappeared and the staff went out. He blew on the smoking end of the staff and then stood with his hands on his hips, chuckling at the fleeing darklings.

  “And don’t come back!” Willow yelled over the side of the battlements.

  Murland guided the backpack down to the base of the tower and joined his friends in celebration. Kazimir floated down from the top of the tower and laughed with them.

  “You came just in time!” said Brannon, fanning himself and leaning against the tower wall.

  “Yeah, I thought we were doomed,” said a frazzled-looking Gibrig.

  “I was just getting warmed up,” Willow put in.

  “I’ve been watching you all since you climbed up to this tower. You all did quite well.”

  The celebration died like a snuffed candle, and everyone stared at the wizard.

  “What?” he said, giving them all the cockeye.

  “You have been watching us almost die for ten minutes?” said Brannon, aghast.

  Kazimir shrugged, as though he didn’t understand the problem.

  “Damn it, man. One of us could have been seriously hurt,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Ah, could have, you say. Well, many things could have happened, many things can, many things do, but many more don’t. Now, who has food? Magic makes me hungry.”

  “Why don’t you just whoosh some here?” said Willow, licking her lips hungrily.

  Kazimir looked at her with a bushy-eyed scowl. “Why don’t you just whoosh over there and get me something out of that giant sack of yours? I swear, a wizard gets no respect.”

  “You heard the man,” said Sir Eldrick, giving Kazimir a quick, annoyed glance. “Get a fire going. Put some food on the spit. Least we can do is show our mysterious guide some hospitality.”

  Chapter 24

  Poor Wendel

  Princess Caressa approached King’s Crossing on foot, leading her mount by the bridle and cautiously watching the crow’s nest hanging off to the side between the roads to Magestra and Vhalovia. The sign beneath it read “Horse thieves not welcome!” Above it, protruding from a swath of tangled and tattered cloth, was a skeletal arm.

  As she approached, Caressa saw that the sun-bleached white bone had been picked clean by the ravens long ago. But as she came around the front, to her surprise, she saw that the eyes of the unfortunate soul remained.

  And they seemed to be staring at her.

  “Caraaaah!” the fiend suddenly hissed in a wet, hollow voice.

  The princess jumped back with a start, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword.

  “Careeeess…” the skeleton sang before cackling like a mad crow.

  “What is this devilry?” Caressa insisted. “Go back to sleep, you wretch.”

  The skeleton twitched and reached high on the bars. With a jerk and a tremor of spasms, it rose to its boney feet.

  “What devilry? What devilry, she says. What devilry is this, hah! Oh, Caressaaa…”

  “I mean it, damn you. Quiet down or I’ll, I’ll—”

  “I’ll, I’ll,” the skeleton mocked.

  The thin shock of white hair hanging in clumps from the skull sickened her, and Caressa turned from the creature with disgust.

  “Your father’s devilry! That’s what this is! Wench! Whore! Dirty Roddington bitch!”

  Caressa turned, furious at the accusations, and she drew back her sword.

  “Oh yesss, do it, do it. Free Wendel from this terrible cage.”

  His pleading gave her pause, and she got ahold of herself. “Perhaps I will free you,” she said, pacing back and forth slowly before him. “Perhaps I’ll let you rot.”

  “What can Wendel do?” said the wretch, pulling at his hair.

  “You must see everyone who comes and goes this way. What can you tell me of a tall and lanky wizard’s apprentice?”

  “What does Wendel know about a lanky wizard?” he said, tapping one boney finger against his chin. “Wendel knows everything of course! Free me and I will tell you all about him.”

  “No. You tell me first. Then I set you free.”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Wendel will not be tricked! Wendel was tricked once. ONCE!”

  “Wendel will not be tricked,” said Caressa. “I give you my word.”

  “Blah!” Wendel spat. “I would shit on the word of a Roddington if I still had an ass!”

  “You were once a man. Surely you have heard the adage, ‘A Roddington never gives anyone the shaft.’ Well, it is true.”

  “No, no. Not the shaft. They give you a cage, and a witch to put a spell on your corpse. Then they hang you up to rot and scare away horse thieves. That is what the Roddington word is worth.”

  “Is that true? Did my father do that to you?” she asked.

  “What does it look like, Princess?”

  “Wendel, I’m so sorry, I had no idea that my father could…”

  “Ho there!” came a deep, melodic voice, and Caressa turned to see the most handsome elf she had ever met. He sat atop a tall black stallion, wearing red armor to match the horse’s braided leather shaffron, crinet, peytral, and other armor.

  “I thought so at first as well,” said Wendel with a cackle. “But now we are good, good friends. Now get lost, pretty boy!”

  “Hello, good elf,” said Caressa. “Glad to make your acquaintance…”

  “Valkimir the Valiant of the woodland realm,” he said, glancing behind her at the grinning skeleton. “Is that wretch pestering you?”

  “No, not at all,” said Caressa.

  “Am I?” Valkimir asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Good, then I will take my rest here at the crossing if you do not mind. I have been riding for a day and a night.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” said Wendel in a mocking voice. “Gods give me the strength to go on. Why don’t you just jump his bones already and be done with it?”

  “Shut your filthy mouth!” said Caressa, slapping the cage with the side of her sword.

  “You ask me to talk. You tell me to shut up. Which one is it, woman?”

  “You’ve made a strange friend,” said Valkimir as he dismounted.

  “He has information that I need. But he drives a hard bargain.”

  “That’s not all I’d like to drive hard,” said Wendel, eyes spinning in
circles in his head as he gyrated against the cage.

  “Gods. You are a foul creature, aren’t you?”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “What does he claim to know, that you would waste your time with his nonsense?” asked Valkimir.

  “My friend came through here a while back. He was…he was named Dragon Champion of Magestra.”

  “What did you say?” Valkimir’s eyes suddenly lit up.

  “Champions of the Dragon. Champions of the Dragon,” Wendel sang. “A lanky wizard, a fair elf prince, a fat green ogre, a tall knight, and a dwarf with humanism. What a lot of losers they looked like. Hah! You’re all doomed.”

  Valkimir rushed to the cage and grabbed hold of the bars, shaking them. “When was this? How long ago?”

  “Oohh, aahh. The handsome elf wants something from Wendel as well.”

  “Tell me, you bag of bones. Tell me now!”

  “Tisk, tisk. What do you have to offer Wendel, hmm?”

  “And this is about where I was with him when you arrived,” said Caressa. “Do you mind? I was here first.”

  Valkimir got himself under control and stepped aside for the princess.

  “Now, where were we, Wendel? Ah, right. You were about to tell me more about these champions.”

  “First Wendel flies free, then Wendel sings,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him.

  “Sorry. That just won’t do,” said Caressa. “I suppose there isn’t much for you to tell me anyway. You have already admitted that they went this way. And I know that they are heading west.” She walked away from him, winking at Valkimir.

  He sneered at the skeleton and turned away as well.

  “Wait! Wendel has much more to tell! Was it a day ago? A week? You will never know.”

  Caressa stopped and regarded him over her shoulder as an afterthought. “You’ve one last chance. Speak now or rot forever.”

  “They went through here weeks ago, heading west like you said. That stinking Kazimir was with them. But then, a few days ago, something else came through, something dark, something terrible.” Wendel hugged himself and his teeth chattered. “Free me now and I tell you what it was.”