The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4)

by Michael James Ploof

  “Hurry, Packy!” said Murland, hardly able to make out Lance, who was about to pierce the clouds.

  Murland quickly realized that they would never catch up, and Lance would end up spending the rest of his days among the stars. Murland would be guilty of murder, and his hopes and dreams of marrying Caressa would be over.

  “Hold on, Packy!” he cried against the wind, and aiming his wand back down toward the earth, Murland let loose a furious blast of fire.

  The backpack tucked in its wings against the furious wind as their speed doubled, and they shot through the clouds after Lance.

  “Just a little closer,” said Murland, focusing more energy into his wand and in turn the spell that propelled them faster than the upward-falling Lance.

  When he was within twenty feet of the screaming and terrified-looking boy, Murland spoke the words to reverse the spell and shot it in his direction. The spell went wide, missing Lance. Murland tried again, but once more he missed. His velocity slowed, and though Packy spread its wings and beat them furiously, Lance once again began to pull away. With one last chance, Murland steadied his hand as well as he could against the wind, focused his power and intention, and let loose one last desperate attempt.

  The streaking spell flew like a comet, curved, and at first looked like it might only miss by inches, but then it hit home. In a shower of sparks, it nullified the original spell. Lance slowed in his ascent, leveled out, and for a moment, the boy floated like the moon before plummeting back toward the earth.

  “You know what to do,” Murland told Packy breathlessly, and as Lance sped by them, screaming with renewed terror, the backpack went into a spiraling dive.

  Murland and Packy shot toward the ground, Packy with its wings tucked, and Murland with his arm outstretched. Lance was falling facing the sky, and he reached desperately for Murland’s hand. They hooked fingers, then clasped hands, and Murland pulled him up and wrapped his arms around Lance’s waist.

  “Let me down you psycho!” Lance screamed as Packy brought them down and circled the gathering.

  “My pleasure,” said Murland, and dropped him right on the heads of Lance’s shocked stoolies.

  Murland landed back on the platform, took his diploma from a slack-jawed Bumblemoore, and bowed for the crowd.

  “What in the nine hells is wrong with you two?” Bumblemoore yelled, slamming his fist down on the desk and glaring at Murland and Lance. He was so furious that his eye was twitching.

  “Why are you yelling at me?” said Lance. “What I did was a little prank; this nutjob almost killed me!”

  “You gave me a tail, you asshole!” said Murland.

  “Shut up, both of you!” said Bumblemoore. “Do you know how many rules you have broken? Performing combat wizardry in a crowded area, disrupting the sacred graduation ceremony, and—”

  “Let’s not forget shitting yourself in honored robes,” said Murland, glaring at Lance—who indeed wore a change of clothes.

  Lance offered him a murderous glare. “I like your tail, pussy,” he said.

  “Enough!” Bumblemoore bellowed, and the paintings in his office crashed to the floor. “I have a mind to reject both of your diplomas and make you shovel dung together until you are friends.”

  Both young men stared at Bumblemoore soberly, waiting to hear the alternative.

  “But alas, the wide world has other plans for you, Murland.” Bumblemoore tapped his cheekbone in thought as he glared at the two. “I will not take your diplomas, for that would mean another year of putting up with you both. So, I will consider your punishments served. Lance nearly died due to your spell, and I believe that he has learned his lesson.”

  “I really have,” said Lance, being the suck-up that he was.

  “You’re not going to make him do something about this tail?” said Murland incredulously.

  “No, I am not. And no one else is going to do anything about it either. Since you are so fond of casting spells from the book of Kazam, then I will leave it to you to get rid of the tail yourself.”

  “Awe, come on,” said Murland. “I’m terrible at transmutation.”

  “Then may that tail of yours be a lasting reminder of your carelessness. I mean, damn it, man, you could have killed him!”

  Murland glanced at Lance, not feeling sorry in the least.

  “You have heard my decision,” said Bumblemoore. “Now get out of my office.”

  Lance got up and bowed before hurrying for the door. Murland let him go and, standing, turned pleading eyes on the headmaster. But Bumblemoore raised a staying hand. “My decision is final, and Hinckley will be made aware of it as well.”

  “Yes, Headmaster,” said Murland, and he sullenly headed for the door.

  “Murland.”

  Murland turned with renewed hope. “Yes, Headmaster?”

  “Do try to control yourself, for with great power, comes great…er, accountability? No, that’s not it.”

  “I believe that the word you are searching for is responsibility,” said Murland.

  “Responsibility! Yes, that’s it. Then you have heard the saying before?”

  “Yeah, it comes up all the time in the Legend of Spiderguy.”

  Bumblemoore looked lost.

  “It’s a story the bards like to tell,” said Murland.

  “Ah, well, isn’t that a marvel? Maybe you should learn from the stories that you listen to.”

  “Yes, Headmaster,” said Murland.

  Murland had intended to ask for Caressa’s hand in marriage at the dinner that night, but he wasn’t about to do it with a cat’s tail sticking out of his robes. Instead, he laughed about the incident with the king, saying, “You should see the other guy.”

  He told the story of the Champions of the Dragon beyond the Wide Wall to his parents and the king. Those who ate nearby said nary a word to each other, eavesdropping on the famous story as they were.

  Nothing was brought up about Murland and Caressa’s intentions, but she flirted with him all throughout the dinner, caressing his leg with her bare foot under the table where no one could see.

  Toward the end of the dinner, the hostess approached the table and tapped Murland on the back. “A letter has arrived for you,” she said, and she handed him a velvety scroll of hardwood.

  He thanked the hostess, glanced around at the watching table, and unfolded it. To his surprise, confetti shot out, and the voice of Brannon sang, “Save the date, bitches!” Silver elven glyphs floated into the air, changing into Fallacetinian letters. Slowly, a message began to appear.

  You are hereby invited to the wedding of Brannon and Valkimir. The ceremony will take place on the 12th of this month, on the banks of Lake Tu’Kanchew in the woodland realm of Halala. We hope to see you there!

  P.S. Bring a date…like a princess.

  The letters then converged into a circle above the table, and the circle became one of Brannon’s long-lashed eyes. It winked at Murland before poofing into dust.

  Murland glanced at Caressa and grinned.

  Chapter 2

  No Matter Where You Go, There You Are

  Sir Eldrick reached for the top of Mt. Fallace and was about to let out a cry of victory when the ground beneath his feet suddenly became slick. He slipped, his fingers mere inches from the stack of rocks that represented the peak. Akitla laughed and ran by him, slapping her hand on the highest stone.

  “I win!” she cried, raising her fists victoriously.

  “You cheated,” said Sir Eldrick with a half laugh.

  “The how is not important,” said Akitla, looking out over the vista with hands on hips and the air of a queen.

  “Oh, but it is. It is what separates heroes from villains.”

  “Meh, the world is not so black and white.”

  Sir Eldrick got to his feet and took in the view. He had made this climb a dozen times, but he was always awed by its beauty. It was humbling seeing the world from such a high perch, and it often reminded him how small and insignificant
people were in the grand scheme of things. To the east, the ocean spread out as far as the eye could see. To the south, the city of Utorras glimmered in the noonday sun. Its port was bustling with activity, and people moved about its streets like worker ants. Sir Eldrick looked to the west, where he knew Faeland to be, beyond Tuskull and the ogre swamps. He thought of the fairy queen and laughed to himself.

  He would have to give her a visit…perhaps the tour would be going there.

  “You look so happy. What were you thinking about?” said Akitla.

  “What? Oh, nothing, nothing. I’m just happy to share this with you. It is one of my favorite hikes. This is a small mountain compared to those in the northwest, and even compared to the Silver Mountains, but it is a wonderful view of the kingdom that I love.”

  “You are from Magestra, yet you love this land,” said Akitla, looking to him curiously.

  “I’ve a lot of ghosts in Magestra. A part of me died there…that day. But Vhalovia is where I was reborn. It is where I became Sir Eldrick van Albright.”

  Akitla studied him, and he felt as though she could see right through him. He didn’t know if she actually could, or if it was just a byproduct of the matriarchal society that she grew up in. Whichever it was, he felt uncomfortable beneath that gaze.

  “What?” he said.

  “You know that you have to seek them out. It is time for you to reconnect with your siblings,” she said in an even tone.

  Sir Eldrick scoffed. “Since when did you become my wise mentor?”

  “I say it like I see it,” she said with a shrug. “Would you rather I was not so forward with my thoughts? I know that in human society, skirting around the truth is a popular practice.”

  Sir Eldrick let out a sigh and shook his head. “No, I don’t mind your being candid. It is actually a breath of fresh air.”

  “My advice is air?”

  “It’s a figure of speech,” said Sir Eldrick. He grinned when she took out a little notebook and wrote it down.

  They ate a lunch of fruit, dried meats, cheese, and bread at the summit of Mt. Fallace, and stayed atop the mountain until the sun threatened to beat them to the bottom.

  When they returned to their rented abode in the heart of the city, Sir Eldrick found that a note had been slipped under the door. He glanced at Akitla, who was busy freshening up from the hike, and nervously peeled back the wax stamp—one that bore an insignia he remembered well, for it was one that he and the queen had used in secret.

  Eldrick,

  Meet me near the water, where a mermaid once swam.

  Sir Eldrick turned the note over, but there was nothing more to it. Meet me near the water, where a mermaid once swam. He smiled, knowing exactly where she meant. It had been a warm July day, just before they had finally succumbed to the growing passion between them. They had been standing on the docks, throwing bread to the seagulls, when a thrashing fin had suddenly splashed water on the queen. Sir Eldrick joked that it was a mermaid who had been jealous of her beauty.

  “Who’s that from?” said Akitla as she combed out her long dark hair.

  Sir Eldrick gave a start and tried to compose himself with a deep breath.

  “Oh…the queen,” said Akitla knowingly. “What does she want?”

  “You know, your intuition is kind of creepy sometimes.”

  Akitla shrugged.

  “She wants to meet with me,” he said at length.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you going to meet with her?”

  “I don’t know.” Sir Eldrick shook his head, as if to clear it. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘mind your own business’?”

  Akitla nodded. “Yeah, it’s in my notebook. But you are my father, so you are my business.”

  Sir Eldrick laughed, reading the note again.

  “Do you think that she wants to have sex with you?”

  He gawked at his daughter. “Uh, perhaps candid isn’t the word for you.”

  “Well, if she wants to have sex, are you going to?”

  “No,” he said, and he was sincere. “I doubt that she wants that anyway.”

  “Why the meeting in secret?”

  “Look, I don’t know. Can you let me think for a second?”

  Akitla shrugged and moved toward the vanity to finish combing her hair.

  Sir Eldrick nervously lit a pipe and moved out to the balcony to be alone with his thoughts. What could the queen possibly want to speak to him about? She had not said one word to him since his return, and he, of course, had not tried to communicate with her. Sir Eldrick had made amends with the king, and he had no interest in relations with the queen.

  He debated ignoring the summons, but a part of him wondered, and would always wonder.

  Sir Eldrick reached the docks at sundown, noting how eerily similar the weather was to that distant July day. Fishermen were coming in from a hard day’s work, their storage bays full of fish, lobster, and crab. Seagulls screeched as they circled overhead, eagerly anticipating the disposal of the unused chum from the sides of the boats. A few merchant boats sat anchored off the bay, along with upper-class cruisers where wealthy lords entertained women their wives surely did not know about. The shore was lit from one end to the other by the torches and candles of castles, restaurants, shops, and abodes that lined both sides of the harbor. In the distance, near the center of the city, Presto Tower shone with the multicolored light of magic, as did Castle Winterthorn to the south.

  Sir Eldrick saw no sign of the queen. But a maiden with her hood drawn low walked up to him and dropped a speaking stone on the ground beside him, and without acknowledging either him or the crystal, she continued on her way.

  He glanced around nonchalantly and bent to pick up the crystal. He waved a hand over it and brought it to his ear.

  “Come to the tower where a broach was lost,” came the voice of the queen.

  Sir Eldrick pocketed the stone and glanced at the old abandoned tower to the north, just beyond Castle Brightbart. Built by a wealthy lord for his wife, the tower, commonly known as Broken-heart Tower, had never been finished. Legend told that to this day, it was haunted by the ghosts of the lord and his wife. Sir Eldrick and the queen had never seen the ghosts, though their moans of passion had probably added to the rumors of its haunted halls.

  He made his way back through the city to the tower and, making sure not to be seen by anyone, he slipped through the rusted gate covered by years of ivy growth. Sir Eldrick had no torch, and he needed none. They had met here half a dozen times that summer, and the halls, steps, and landings were as fresh in his mind as the curves of the queen’s body. When he reached the room that she had preferred and found light emanating from beneath the door, he tried to compose himself. He straightened, took a deep breath, and pushed through the door.

  Queen Elzabethalynn stood, looking out of the large bay window facing the city. She did not move when she heard him enter.

  Sir Eldrick stopped a few feet behind her and took a knee. “My Queen,” he said, and waited.

  “Arise, Sir Eldrick,” came that sweet, familiar voice that made his insides turn to jelly.

  Sir Eldrick stood, and she slowly turned around. He was about to ask her why she had summoned him when he noticed the bundle in her arms. The queen rocked the bundle and walked toward Sir Eldrick. She stopped before him, still not looking at him, but rather, staring at the big blue eyes of the babe in her arms.

  He felt his throat constrict as he looked upon Prince Edwin. He glanced up, and the queen’s eyes found his.

  “Edwin, I would like you to meet your father,” she said, staring into Sir Eldrick’s eyes.

  He looked down at the year-old babe, and tears found his eyes. She offered Edwin to him, and Sir Eldrick took up his son as though he were made of glass. “Hello, Edwin,” said Sir Eldrick, his voice shaky.

  The infant smiled and squeezed his finger.

  “How strong you are,” said Sir Eldrick.r />
  “Like his father,” said the queen, and their eyes met again.

  Sir Eldrick felt that old pang in his heart, and the child between them only made him feel that much closer to her.

  “I promised the king that I would never lay claim to the child,” said Sir Eldrick, reluctantly but stubbornly handing him back to her.

  She ignored the gesture and turned to look out of the window once more. “The king is dying,” she said, her voice forlorn and heavy.

  “What?” said Sir Eldrick, and suddenly the infant in his hands felt like a great weight.

  “The sages have told me. There is nothing the wizards, witches, or spirit healers can do.”

  “There must be something they can do. He’s the king, for gods’ sake.”

  “They say that it is helpless.”

  “Do you believe them? Perhaps it is a conspiracy to take over the throne.”

  “They have all taken death vows that cannot be broken.”

  Sir Eldrick wanted a drink…a very big drink. “I’m sorry, Elza.”

  She turned toward him, her eyes shimmering with tears unfallen. “So am I.”

  He handed her Edwin, and this time she took him.

  “If they are right, gods forbid, and the king dies, your eldest shall take the throne in his father’s place. And I shall offer my sword to your son, as I have the king, as I have to you.”

  “You are a good friend, Eldrick,” she said, caressing his cheek with her soft hand. He touched it, and they stood motionless in the light of the pregnant moon.

  Sir Eldrick wiped the tears from her eyes and touched her cheek as well, but rather than kiss, they came together and hugged, with young Edwin cooing between them.

  Early the next morning, Sir Eldrick rode to Castle Winterthorn and asked for an audience with the king. Henry Winterthorn was a busy man, to be sure, but he got Sir Eldrick in by noon. The head guard, a man Sir Eldrick knew from the academy, led him to the king’s library, where the self-professed lover of wine stood by the bar, pouring two glasses of wine that likely cost more than a soldier’s quarterly salary.