The Legend of Drak'Noir

by Ploof, Michael James

“I found the exit!” came Murland’s voice from the other end of the tunnel. Everyone turned to see the young wizard flying toward them with a big smile on his face.

  “Well, it’s about time!” said Brannon, though he too was smiling.

  “Come on, follow me!” said Murland as he came to a skidding halt and turned back the way he had come.

  The companions followed, their feet made light by hope. After ten minutes of traversing the increasingly steepening tunnel, light shone through at the end. Willow gave a cheer and barreled past Brannon and Sir Eldrick. Not to be outdone, they picked up the pace, and together they all came rushing out of the tunnel and into the sunlight.

  “We did it!” said Willow, hugging the ground and rolling over on her back, exhausted.

  “Not so fast,” said Sir Eldrick. “That stone will only hold them back so long.”

  “Listen,” said Brannon.

  They all turned to the mole hill that they had just climbed out of. The sound of what had to be a hundred mole men suddenly erupted from it and echoed metallically in the earthen tube.

  “Prepare for battle!” said Sir Eldrick, unsheathing his glowing sword.

  “I’m gonna whack the first mole who pops his head out of there,” said Willow, slapping her club against her left hand.

  “Maybe this will change their minds,” said Murland, and he took up the wand of Allan Kazam in his left hand and bellowed a spell word. Fire erupted from the tip and shot down into the mole hill. He unleashed a devastating pyre, and the sounds of screaming mole men answered his incantation.

  Murland pulled back the wand and staggered, leaning against Willow for support.

  “Don’t be using all your energy in one attack,” Sir Eldrick warned.

  Just then, fire erupted from three other mole hills nearby.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” said Brannon. “There are other mole hills, look!”

  “Everyone take a hill and be ready!” said Sir Eldrick as he rushed to one to the right.

  They waited, weapons in hand, as once again the sounds of the horde began to echo through the tunnels.

  ***

  “Did ye hear that?” said Gibrig, looking south. “That sounded like Murland casting a spell.”

  Shellington glanced south and nodded gravely. “They may be in trouble.”

  “I’ve got to help them,” said Gibrig, frowning. “I’m sorry, Slide, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Nonsense. Get on my back, it will be faster.”

  Gibrig looked at him skeptically, and Shellington laughed.

  “Did I fail to tell you that I was once a racing snail?”

  “Huh?”

  “Trust me. Climb on.”

  Gibrig shrugged and climbed onto the snail’s back. To his surprise, Shellington took off like an arrow. Gibrig was almost thrown off, and he laughed as he hugged the shell tighter.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding!” he yelled over the wind that rustled his brown hair.

  They sped through the trails between the large round stones, toward the disturbance. A flash of fire erupted suddenly, and Gibrig heard Sir Eldrick barking orders at the companions.

  “It’s them! Hurry, Slide!”

  Shellington crested a hill, and Gibrig saw his friends all frantically fighting off the mole men as they tried to crawl out of their holes. Sir Eldrick shaved the heads of those mole men who peeked out of the hole he was guarding, while Murland shot fire into his. Brannon had constructed a tangle of vines, clogging the hole he stood over, and Willow rushed from one mole hill to the other, mercilessly whacking mole men with her club.

  “Oh my!” said Shellington, coming to a sliding halt.

  Gibrig leapt off the snail and, putting his new shield out in front of him, charged toward another of the holes that was unguarded.

  “Gib?” said Willow, seeing him coming and offering him a big smile.

  “Heya, Willow,” said Gibrig as he sped by and, putting his shoulder into the blow, slammed into two mole men who had just emerged from their hill.

  The mole men sailed through the air end over end, and to Gibrig’s amazement, landed twenty feet away. He slammed the shield down, plugging the hole, and yelled to Willow, “Plug the holes with stones!”

  “Gibrig?” said Sir Eldrick.

  Everyone else had seen his charge, and they all shouted his name in celebration. But they were soon shaken from their happiness by another strong surge of moles. There were more than a dozen hills, and the creatures started pouring out and circling the companions. Brannon was forced to abandon his mole hill, and he used his floral magic to wrap the circling moles up in writhing vines.

  “Tie them up good!” said Sir Eldrick. “We’ve got to make a run for it.”

  Gibrig bounced up and down on the shield as the mole men tried to push it off the hole from below. Their little clawed hands groped at the grass, or curved up to try and get ahold of him. He felt like he was sitting on the lid of a boiling pot of the beady-eyed creatures.

  Brannon closed his eyes and waggled his fingers in the air before him, somehow orchestrating the vines as a snake charmer might a cobra. The hundreds of writhing vines tangled up the horde of mole men and stuffed into the holes.

  “Come on!” said Sir Eldrick, grabbing Brannon’s arm. The others had already started to make a run for it to the west.

  “Go, I’ll hold them back.”

  “Brannon…”

  “Go! If I do not soon follow, send Murland and Packy.” He opened his eyes, grimacing slightly as he held the spell in motion. “Trust me for once.”

  Sir Eldrick nodded and started after the others with Gibrig.

  Chapter 26

  United We Stand, Divided We Are Food

  Murland circled high above the plains and watched the mole men as they pursued Brannon through the quickly thickening grass. A few miles to the north was the coast, and to the east lay the Long Sand. The companions were running west into the Petrified Plains, a long stretching ocean of green that seemed to have no end. Sir Eldrick, Willow, Gibrig, and the strange snail were a few hundred yards ahead of Brannon, but the elf was quickly gaining. He didn’t seem to have been taxed by the floral magic at all, and Murland wondered if he were getting stronger.

  For good measure, Murland coaxed Packy into a dive and lit a long patch of grass on fire between Brannon and the pursuing mole men. The sky was overcast, and he had no fear of burning down the plains. The fire would soon burn itself out, but not before giving the companions that much more time to escape. Murland had no idea how long the mole men could keep up the chase. On the other hand, he had been traveling with his friends for months, and he knew that they could all march for a full day and night if need be.

  The thought made him smile, for he remembered clearly how hard the constant traveling had been at first. But everyone had become stronger, including himself. He had put on a few pounds of muscle as well, and aside from his scarred hand, he felt stronger than he ever had.

  Below, the mole men shook their slim-fingered fists at him as they were forced to go around the hundred-foot line of flames—in return, Murland offered them two thrusted middle fingers.

  He steered Packy down and flew over Brannon, yelling, “You want a ride?”

  “Don’t worry about me!” said Brannon, grinning up at him. “You just keep those little beasts off my ass.”

  Murland ended up turning back twice to set the ground aflame before the mole men finally turned and headed back to their hills. Night was falling on the plains, and Murland thought the coming dusk to have more to do with the sudden retreat than the creatures’ fear of fire. Sir Eldrick ran the companions at a swift pace, not stopping until they were five miles away from where they had emerged from the underground city.

  When Murland landed, Gibrig was formally introducing the large snail to the others. “This be Shellington,” he said, beaming. “He done give me this here shield. When I fell down the mine shaft, I fell into a big underground lake, and Slide here,
well, Shellington Slidesmore actually—”

  “The Third,” said Shellington with a noble air.

  “Right, sorry. Shellington Slidesmore the Third, well, he helped me get out o’ there.”

  “Greetings, Shellington,” said Sir Eldrick with a small bow.

  “Wow, a talking snail,” said Willow. “Ain’t never seen me one of them before.”

  “Thank you for helping, Gibrig,” said Murland.

  “I am Brannon Woodheart, Prince of Halala. Have you ever met a prince before?”

  “No, I do not think so,” said Shellington. “You are my first.”

  “That’s what he said,” said Willow out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Really?” said Brannon, looking disgusted.

  “Yes,” said Shellington, quite seriously. “That is what I said.”

  “Never mind her,” said Gibrig. “She’s a bit o’ a joker sometimes.”

  “Ah,” said Shellington, lighting up. “I have met a joker, and a smoker, and even a midnight toker.”

  “Have you ever met a wizard?” said Murland.

  “Yes, a wizard helped me get here. To Fallacetine, I mean.”

  “Oh, gods, please don’t say it was Kazimir,” said Willow.

  “No, not Kazimir, though I have heard of the Most High Wizard. This one’s name was Hinckley, I believe. Yes, Aldous Hinckley was his name.”

  “Small world,” said Murland.

  “It is?” said Shellington.

  Gibrig laughed. “That just be an expression.”

  “Ah, like a figure of speech?”

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  “You gonna stay for dinner?” Willow asked, rummaging through a food sack. “We gots all kinds of goodies; dried meats, aged cheeses, bread, though it is hard as a rock now. But even hard bread, crushed up and put in some milk with a bit of sugar, ain’t all that bad.”

  “I really must be going,” said the snail.

  “Awe, so soon?” said Gibrig. “Wouldn’t it be better if ye got some rest and start out fresh?”

  “I feel no fatigue at the moment. Besides, I have had plenty of rest. Nighttime is my favorite time to travel, anyway. And look, the sky has cleared, and the stars are eager to guide me home.”

  “Well, thanks again,” said Gibrig with a sniffle. “I won’t ever forget ye.”

  He hugged the snail, who smiled his toothless smile and nodded slowly to them all. “Good luck on your quest, Champions of the Dragon,” he said before turning and heading west.

  “Good luck to you too,” said Willow with a mouthful of food.

  “Be careful of the mole men!” said Gibrig.

  “They’ll never catch me!” Shellington called back, and the companions watched as he suddenly shot across the dark field.

  “Now that’s the fastest snail I ever did see,” said Willow. “And nice too. Kind of makes me feel bad eating all them little snails now. I wonder if they can talk too, and maybe we just can’t hear them.”

  “Don’t talk ‘bout eatin’ snails right now, please,” said Gibrig.

  Willow shrugged and settled down next to the small fire they had constructed.

  “You mind if I take a look at your shield?” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Go ahead.” Gibrig handed it to him, and when he let go, the shield dropped on Sir Eldrick’s foot.

  “Son of a bitch!” said Sir Eldrick, hopping up and down.

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot ‘bout it bein’ so much heavier for others.”

  “That is incredible,” said Sir Eldrick. He grabbed ahold of the shield with two hands, squared his feet, and tried to pick it up, but to no avail. “Queen’s sake. That thing has to weigh a thousand pounds. I can’t even budge it!”

  “Let me try,” said Willow, pushing aside the knight not unkindly. She spit in her hands, grabbed the shield in a bear hug, and strained against it. She managed to get the shield an inch off the ground before dropping it down again, panting. “Now that thing’s got some good magix on it!”

  “Indeed,” said Sir Eldrick approvingly. “Go on, Gib, show us how it’s done.”

  Gibrig took hold of the handle on the inside of the shield and easily lifted it to his shoulder. Everyone gawked, and he blushed, setting the seemingly light shield down on the ground. Murland and Brannon gave it a shot as well, but they did not fare any better than Sir Eldrick or Willow.

  “Slide said that he waited in that mole man mine shaft for me for like a hundred years or somethin’. Said the shield was made by the Maker of Wheels using a mortal’s hands.”

  “Who’s the Maker of Wheels?” Willow asked.

  “His god, I guess.”

  “What else does it do?” said Murland, quite intrigued by the obviously magic shield.

  Gibrig shrugged. “I ain’t for knowin’ yet. Slide said that it did what any shield does; beyond that, it be a mystery to him as well.”

  “It shot those mole men twenty feet into the air,” said Sir Eldrick. “It is a hell of a shield, and a hell of a gift. I imagine that it will come in quite handy.”

  “Yeah,” said Gibrig, looking quite pleased. But then a shadow crossed his face. “I wish me pap could see it.”

  “Your father will see it soon enough,” said Sir Eldrick. He looked west. “We’re nearly there, friends. Beyond the plains awaits the Backbone Mountains, and beyond those, Drak’Noir.”

  A quiet settled over the camp, and it seemed as though the wind waited with bated breath to listen. The crickets, however, couldn’t have cared less, for they continued in their constant creaking song.

  “Sir Eldrick…” Gibrig began, but then glanced at the others as though considering his words. Finally, he let out a breath. “How are we going to beat the dragon?”

  Everyone looked to Sir Eldrick, and he smiled upon them all. “Friends, I have faced impossible odds all my life, and I have always come out on top. I believe—”

  “We need a plan,” said Brannon. “Not a pep talk.”

  “Now that ain’t very nice,” said Gibrig.

  “He’s right,” said Murland. “We need a plan.”

  Sir Eldrick’s eyes searched the fire, and then resignedly met Brannon and Murland’s. “To tell you the truth, I have no plan. I mean, we really don’t even know what we’re up against.”

  “We be up against a dragon with a mile-wide wingspan,” said Gibrig.

  Sir Eldrick shook his head. “I don’t know. It is as we have pondered before. How can a dragon be so big? And if it is, why would it need food brought to it? Think of where most of the stories about Drak’Noir have come…”

  “Kazimir,” said Willow, who seemed to be in deep thought.

  “Exactly,” said Sir Eldrick. “Kazimir is always the one to choose the champions. He is the one who told the original stories about her.”

  “But there are texts that speak of her flight, and when she laid waste to the land before the first champions set out,” said Murland. “What about those?”

  “Mass delusions. All-out lies. Tall tales,” Sir Eldrick suggested. “Shit, man, I don’t believe what most people tell me, let alone a book written hundreds of years ago. Ever met an eye witness aside from Kazimir?”

  Everyone glanced at each other, but no one spoke.

  “Exactly. We need to take a step back. Look at what we know.”

  “All right,” said Murland, rolling up his sleeves. “There is a dragon on top of—”

  “Wait,” said Sir Eldrick suddenly. “We do not know that there is a dragon at all. What do we know, from our own eyes and ears?”

  Murland pondered the question while Gibrig bounced up and down on his rock, raising his hand as though he were in school.

  “Go ahead, Gib,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “We know that Kazimir wants us to go there,” he said.

  “Good,” said Sir Eldrick. “What else?”

  “We know that all of our respective leaders believe Kazimir,” said Brannon.

  “Indeed. What else?”


  “We know that whoever sets out as a champion…never comes back,” said Willow, eyeing them all.

  Sir Eldrick nodded gravely.

  “We know that Kazimir will not even humor the idea of actually defeating the dragon,” said Murland. “And we know that he will do anything to get the chosen ones there.”

  “Yes,” said Sir Eldrick. “And we know that Kazimir is the true enemy. Dragon or no, the Most High Wizard has proven to not have our best interest in mind. He will need to be dealt with as well.”

  Everyone looked to Murland, and he felt like he might vomit. He felt his head shaking back and forth without remembering to tell it to do so. “Look, I can’t defeat Kazimir. You saw what he did to all of us when he vanished the others.”

  “There must be something in that book of yours,” said Brannon. “I mean, think about it. You were given the book and the wand of the most powerful wizard to ever live, and all before you were sent on a suicide mission. Surely your headmaster saw something in you that you do not see in yourself.”

  “It’s not like that,” Murland began.

  “Isn’t it?” Sir Eldrick added.

  “Not at all. Look. Wizards have only so much gods-given power, right? Sure, you can gain power over the years. You can study your ass off and advance through the arts. You can smoke wizard leaf. But only the dark arts offer a way to gain real power aside from what you were born with. I barely passed the tests when I was young, I failed actually, but my father…My point is that I can only do what I can do because of this wand and this book.”

  “Bullshyte,” said Gibrig, surprising them all. “Ye be a real wizard if I ever seen one. What about the wizard leaf, eh? Ye smoked it and ye floated. And even Kazimir thought that was somethin’, he did. Ravenwing saw somethin’ in ye too. And so did yer headmaster, like Willow said. And so does Caressa.”

  “And so do we,” said Brannon.

  Everyone nodded agreement.

  Murland felt like he might hyperventilate. “It cannot fall upon me solely to defeat Kazimir.”

  “And it does not. We are behind you,” said Sir Eldrick.

  Murland laughed. “I thought that it was we who were behind you. You are a legendary knight. Questing is what you do.”