The Legend of Drak'Noir

by Ploof, Michael James

  “Well, that was far less creepy than I thought it would be,” said Brannon, fanning himself.

  “Say, Sir Eldrick,” said Gibrig, looking disturbed. “Ye think…ye think that be what all the champions end up like when they fail? Like darklings, I mean.”

  “I do not know, Master Hogstead, and I do not plan to find out.”

  “Well, it’s been a hoot, it really has,” said Ravenwing as she began putting away her magic supplies.

  “You’re not coming with us?” said Murland, feeling much better about the idea of having her along.

  “I have been away from the Iron Fist long enough, and I have no intentions of traversing the Backbone Mountains and facing an unstoppable dragon.”

  “Then you believe what the darklings say, that Drak’Noir cannot be killed?” said Sir Eldrick.

  “I believe that if she can be killed, I am not the one to do it. That’s what champions are for,” she said with a wink.

  “May I call upon you again?” said Murland. “I mean, if we really get in a bind?”

  “You mean like finding yourselves in the belly of Drak’Noir? I told you, that is not my fight. But if you find yourself…lonely, you go ahead and give me a call.”

  “Thank you for your help,” said Sir Eldrick, and the others thanked her as well.

  “You are all quite welcome. Do be careful, it would be a shame if you were all turned into wraiths.” And with one last glance at Murland, she whooshed out of existence.

  Chapter 32

  The Queen’s Golden Rules

  “Come in,” said Caressa, pulling the sheets up to her chest, though she wore a blue silk nightgown. She hadn’t been sleeping of course; she had been waiting on Benji.

  He came through the door, turned as he closed it, and finally looked upon Caressa sitting up in bed, one bare knee peeking out of from under the sheets.

  He gulped.

  Caressa had been up for hours doing her hair and perfecting her makeup—and it seemed to have paid off. Benjamin just stood there, mouth slightly agape, eyes roaming over her form.

  “Don’t be a tease,” she said, patting the bed. “Come and tell me what you have discovered.”

  Benji ran a no doubt sweaty hand through his long hair, pulling it back from his forehead for a few seconds before it fell again. He turned toward the door as if listening for a moment, and then finally joined her on the bed.

  “Well?” she said expectantly.

  “I have discovered what powers their prison,” he said with some pride. “It is really quite simple. There is a gem behind each of the energy shields keeping them captive. From these gems light emanates, spreading out to the frame of the ovals in which your friends float. I think that if I just knock them crooked, the link will be broken.

  “Could it be that easy?” Caressa asked.

  Benjamin shrugged. “You never know with wizards, they are full of surprises.”

  “Do you think you could test one of them? Knock it crooked like you say?”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t do that. Kazimir will likely know when his spells malfunction. No, I believe that we have only one shot at this. But, even if we can free your friends…to what end? They will never escape Bad Mountain.”

  “You let us worry about that,” said Caressa, putting a hand on his leg to steer his attention.

  “Okay,” he said, like a young man caught in a spell. And indeed, he was caught in a spell, the most ancient of spells—love.

  She felt a pang of guilt for leading him on, but then again, this was a life-or-death situation. And besides, she was only doing what she had been trained to do since the age of thirteen—manipulate men’s emotions. Her mother had taught her at an early age that in this world, the only true power women could gain was through their control of men. The queen said that it was women, not men, who truly ran the world, and letting men think they were in control was just a part of the ruse. It was said that behind every great man was a woman rolling her eyes—and from what Caressa had seen in her short life, this was true. Her mother loved her father, that much was apparent, but she had gained his ear when he was but a young lad, and she had made him a great king. Left alone to his own wit and his own devices, Caressa didn’t know how great her father, King Nimrod, would be.

  “Listen to me,” she said, holding him in her gaze. “You are doing the right thing. They say that blood is thicker than water, but sometimes that blood is spoiled, dark. Sometimes we have to stand up to those we admire, even those we love, to do the right thing. I think that you are a man who knows that.”

  Predictably, Benjamin’s chest swelled at the word man.

  Caressa had also learned that men—particularly young men—had insufferable egos, which was partly due to childhood yearnings that were never quenched. And their egos could be swelled with kind words and assumptions of understanding, or by making them think and feel that they were special.

  As she sat and watched her magic go to work on Benjamin, Caressa wondered about her feelings for Murland, and a small spark of doubt gave life to the burning ember of an idea that perhaps she had been playing him as well.

  That’s nonsense, she told herself. I love Murland.

  Caressa had never loved any man but her father, but that love was different, akin to the feelings one might have for a brother or sister or friend. Murland was more than a friend, however, and like it or not, Caressa had fallen for him. She had broken every one of her mother’s four golden rules when it came to men:

  Save yourself for the one who can provide the most.

  Do not love for love’s sake.

  Never show your true feelings.

  Always seem unattainable.

  Caressa understood her mother’s rules, and even her logic, but it was as cold and hard as long math, and void of any hint of romance. What if Caressa wanted love for love’s sake? What if she had found a man who was everything that her mother mentioned, while at the same time everything that Caressa wanted?

  “I don’t know,” said Benjamin, and Caressa’s mind raced to remember what they had been talking about.

  He’s a good man for doing what is right, she finally remembered.

  “I do,” she said, clutching her chest to accentuate the point while at the same time discretely pushing her blouse open to reveal more cleavage. “Who am I?” she suddenly asked.

  “Uh, the princess of Magestra.”

  “Exactly. And do you think that I am wrong in my estimation of you? Do you think that I would utter such words if I did not think they were true? Do you think that I am lying?”

  “No,” he said, seemingly self-conscious for having come off as unbelieving.

  “Then have some faith in yourself. Benjamin, my dear, dear friend, you are my knight in shining armor. You are my savior, my last hope. You, Benjamin, are my only chance.”

  Dear friend.

  She knew that the words were stewing in his brain. They were a compliment as well as a slight. He would be overjoyed to be her friend, but then he would realize what the title meant. She watched as he realized that he was smack dab in the middle of the friend zone, and she saw his determination swell as he decided to break free of that label and ascend to that of lover.

  “I’ll do anything that you ask,” he said in a rush of words that left Caressa pitying him.

  “I know that you will,” she said, feeling guilty about how easily she plucked his strings. “But I do not want you to risk yourself.” A hand went to his shoulder, and she knew by his struggling eyes that he wanted to look at the hollow that her gesture had created beyond the rim of her low-buttoned blouse.

  How easy men were.

  She wondered how men kept their cool, and even deceived their enemies, when they were so transparent in regard to lust and love. But then again, she was dealing with a young man. Her youth and fertility had not worked for a second on Kazimir, the ancient ball-dragging bastard.

  Chapter 33

  The Backbone Mountains

  Two more days
of travel brought the companions to the hills leading to the Backbone Mountains, which rose before them, taller than even the Iron Mountains. The range stretched as far as Murland could see to the south, and to the north Bad Mountain stood high above the rest. He imagined something watching him from that distant peak, something malicious. Gliding over the hills, he searched the shadows and crevices leading to the mountains for any sign of danger. There was said to be trolls, rock creatures, and even giant spiders in the mountains, and he hoped that the rumors were false.

  Rain had plagued their travels for the last day and a half, but flying with Packy quickly dried his clothes. Still, he shivered as he scoured the mountain range. He found himself wishing that there was another hurdle, another land through which they must travel. Now that they were so close, the entire quest seemed to have gone by much too quickly. It seemed like only yesterday they had set out, and now here they were, about to knock on the dragon’s door.

  His eyes kept gravitating toward Bad Mountain, and he couldn’t help but think of Caressa in chains, possibly even being tortured at the hands of the devious Kazimir.

  He noticed Sir Eldrick waving at him from below—they had reached the foothills leading to the mountain. With one last glance at the dreaded mountain, Murland steered Packy into a dive and joined his friends below.

  “This is where we leave you,” Artax was saying.

  “Thanks for guiding us through the plains,” said Gibrig, and rather than shaking the extended centaur’s hand, he gave him a hug.

  Artax shook the hands of the other companions and reared up on his hind legs, raising his spear triumphantly. “When next we meet, it shall be in celebration!” With that, he and the other centaurs headed back east toward their village.

  Sir Eldrick turned from them and looked to the mountains, which were void of trees or any other sign of life. And though it was only midday, the mountain range was dark and foreboding.

  “Well,” he said, looking to the companions. “I don’t know how we did it, but we made it this far. You should all be very proud of yourselves.”

  “Perhaps you should save the speeches for after we defeat Drak’Noir,” said Brannon, and he shouldered past the knight, unceremoniously beginning up the first of many hills leading into the mountains.

  ***

  Sir Eldrick waved on the others and marched to catch up to Brannon. “What’s gotten into you? I thought that you shed the bitchy prince act a while back.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” said Brannon, eyeing Sir Eldrick incredulously. “We are a few days’ hike away from the most terrifying legend that ever existed. We have to face off with Kazimir as well, and we have no plan. What is wrong with me is that I think we’re fu—”

  “Hey!” said Sir Eldrick, glancing back at the others following less than fifty yards away. “Keep your bad attitude to yourself, for queen’s sake. If you have something useful to add, I’m all ears.”

  “Seriously, Eldrick, how are we supposed to beat both Kazimir and Drak’Noir? Sure, the darklings might be able to help us with the wizard, but the dragon? And how can we do all that and ensure that our friends are not hurt or killed?”

  Sir Eldrick let out a sigh. “Call it faith if you must, but I believe that our roads do not end on Bad Mountain.”

  “That’s it? Just have faith? Are you mad? Hundreds of people with faith die every day,” said Brannon, and he studied the knight as they walked. “You don’t care, do you?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t care whether you live or die.”

  Sir Eldrick looked to Bad Mountain and gave a small laugh. “I suppose that starting out, and even as recently as Shivermoore, I didn’t care if I lived or died. But now…now things are different.”

  “Because of Akitla?”

  “She has a lot to do with it. You know, when Valkimir and the others showed up to save you all, I was jealous.”

  Brannon nodded in understanding. “No one came after you.”

  “Precisely. No one came after me. And I began to wonder, what did that say about me? To tell you the truth, I tried to get myself killed in the arctic wilds north of Shivermoore. I got drunk, trudged out, and went looking for trouble. I found it too, in the form of a five-hundred-pound yeti.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Sir Eldrick shrugged. “I cursed the gods and fought the beast to the death, and I won. I was injured,” he said, slapping the leg that he was slightly favoring, “but I won. I woke up to Akitla tending to my wounds.”

  “She came after you,” said Brannon, smiling kindly.

  “She did, and I guess you could say that it gave me a new outlook. So, to answer your question, no, I do not want to die. Indeed, for the first time since I was a young man, I do not want to die. And you know what?”

  “What?” said Brannon, hanging on his every word.

  “It scares the shit out of me.”

  They walked in silence for a time, and soon the terrain became steep and rocky. The going was tedious, for the stones sat about the hills loosely, and always the companions’ feet were slipping. When they finally crested a particularly steep hill, Sir Eldrick surveyed the range, looking for a path that would lead them through the mountains.

  “Murland!” he said, turning to regard the three trudging up the hill.

  “Right here,” said Murland, who had been behind him, hands on knees and panting.

  “Ah, there you are. Take Packy up and see if you can find us a clear path. Keep your eye out for a defensible resting spot as well.”

  “I’m assuming that we’re all sick of caves,” said Murland, glancing at the others.

  Sir Eldrick chuckled. “Indeed, there will be no rain tonight. Find us a hill big enough to give us time to see them coming.”

  “See who comin’?” said Gibrig, looking worried.

  “Anyone,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Oh.”

  “If I don’t return in half an hour,” said Murland, tightening Packy’s straps, “Call the city guards.”

  With three running strides, he leapt off the hill and soared out into the waning sunlight.

  “What city guards?” said Gibrig, glancing around.

  “It’s an expression,” said Brannon, rolling his eyes.

  “Yeah, you know,” said Willow. “Like ‘so hungry I could eat a horse’.”

  Brannon glowered at her and she blushed—if turning a slightly darker shade of green around the cheeks meant blushing for an ogre.

  “Uh, sorry,” she said.

  “Another good expression is ‘dumber than a box of rocks’,” said Brannon, and he turned with a haughty flip of his long hair.

  “Come on ye two,” said Gibrig. “We only got this range to travel, and we be in the lair o’ the dragon. This ain’t no time for no bein’ mean to one another.”

  “Master Hogstead is right,” said Sir Eldrick. “Now come, we have many more miles in us before sundown.”

  Willow pushed Gibrig back and, laughing, began running down the hill, bringing with her a small avalanche of pebbles and sandy dirt. “Last one to the bottom is a rotten nannywiggins!”

  “Hey, no fair!” said Gibrig as he started after her.

  “Aren’t you going to join them?” Sir Eldrick asked Brannon teasingly.

  “Nah, I’m pretty sure that in Willow’s book, I’m already a rotten nannywiggins.”

  Murland found a suitable place to make camp, high on a cliffside where shelves had formed naturally. From their perch, they could see in all directions but south, and there was only one way to reach them, unless of course one were flying. For that threat, Sir Eldrick kept his bow close at hand, and Murland his wand.

  There was nothing to burn there in the barren mountain range, and so they sat on the ledge and ate by the light of the moon, which was only a few days from being full. Willow ate sparingly, and the others were glad of it. But something occurred to Gibrig then, something that put a frown on his usually jolly face.


  “Say, Sir Eldrick. We got enough food to get to Bad Mountain, but I doubt we got enough to be gettin’ back.”

  Everyone looked to Sir Eldrick, and he smiled. “Half rations then, for we will indeed return.”

  “Ye thinkin’ so? Ye thinkin’ we be returnin’ with our loved ones and all, and in one piece?”

  “Are you afraid of death?” Sir Eldrick asked bluntly.

  Everyone stared at him, and their faces mirrored Gibrig’s. He thought about it, and slowly determination dominated his features. “No,” he said at length.

  “What about the rest of you? Because just like in gambling, scared money always loses.”

  “But you said that you were afraid earlier,” said Brannon, before glancing around and looking apologetically at Sir Eldrick for disclosing such private information.

  “Only a fool is not scared. And we are no fools. Besides, I did not mean that I feared death, I meant that I was scared of finally caring. For caring is harder, is it not? How easy is it to throw your life away, get lost in the bottle, bed every woman who smells nice, and ignore your responsibilities? I realize now that I was indeed a coward. I may have faced monsters with ease, but I was a coward all the same. You four have shown me what true bravery really is. Look at you. Here you are about to face Kazimir and Drak’Noir, the odds are against you, and if you fail, you shall be devoured by a dragon, possibly even made into a wraith—”

  “We get it!” said Brannon, eyes wide.

  “Yes, well, here you all are, still heading west, still ready to face death for the greater good. That, my friends, is bravery. I mean hells, look at what you have all accomplished. Brannon, when I met you, I thought you were the most stuck-up princely prude I had ever met. You pissed and moaned about getting dirt on your pretty boots, and you would have done anything to save your own ass.”

  “I hope this is a transitional speech,” said Brannon.

  Sir Eldrick laughed. “And while I still think that you are the most stuck-up princely prude I have ever met, you’ve learned that sometimes you have to get your hands dirty, and you are ready to sacrifice yourself if need be for those you love.