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

by Michael James Ploof

  “Show ‘em how it be done, lad,” said Hagus. And as the Ironstrikes stared in amazement, Gibrig easily hefted the shield and stood tall.

  “It’s got to be magic,” said Dally.

  “Mind if I take a closer look at it?” said Hammar. “Though I doubt I could do it any harm if I tried.”

  Gibrig didn’t mind at all, for he had often wondered about the shield. He put it on the workbench carefully, which, curiously, did not buckle beneath the seemingly impossible weight. Hammar took out an assortment of instruments, tinctures, and magnifying glasses. First, he rubbed a small section of the shield with an oil before covering the spot with sparkling dust. He then wiped off the mixture and put it inside a vial of clear liquid. He shook the vial and held it up to the light, nodding to himself.

  “Well, it be gold, that be for sure. And the purest I ever did see,” he said as he scribbled notes. “Ye don’t mind me writin’ down me findin’s, do ye lad?”

  “Not at all,” said Gibrig. “Ye got a way o’ checkin’ what kind o’ magic it be enchanted by?”

  “O’ course,” said Hammar, and he took out another assortment of tools. He checked first for wizard magic, and finding none, he moved on to witch, fairy, and even more exotic magic like mermaid, ogre, and troll—but he found none. When he had exhausted his knowledge, Hammar stared at the shield, scratching his beard. “I don’t know, Gib. It be obviously magic, but for the life o’ me I can’t figure out which one. And there only be one left that I ain’t tried.”

  “God magic,” said the three brothers in unison, sharing looks of amazement.

  Everyone crowded around Hammar’s workbench as he went about testing the shield once more. He had never performed the test, and so relied on the instructions in an old smithy guidebook with well-worn pages. Hammar had to send his sons looking through his many drawers for the ingredients he needed for the test, the most important of which turned out to be a small silver hammer. The blacksmith washed it with wine, sprinkled it with sand, and placed it over fire for exactly thirteen seconds. He prayed over the small hammer before making the sign of the axe over it, and abruptly pinged it against the golden shield.

  “LAAAHHH!” came a chorus of cherubic voices, and the shield began to glow.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” said Hammar as the glow and the song died away. “It be infused with god magic!”

  “Well, Slides said that it was made by a human and enchanted by a god,” Gibrig shyly admitted. “But I guess I didn’t really believe it one-hundred-percent-like.”

  “Slides?”

  “Yeah, he was a racing snail that I met in the mole people mines. He done be the one who gave it to me,” said Gibrig.

  “Shields enchanted by god magic, racing snails, mole men…Ye must sure have one hells o’ a story to tell,” said Hammar.

  “It can be told over dinner,” said Annabelle from the doorway. “The food be ready.”

  Gibrig’s heart leapt when he saw her standing there in her pretty blue dress. Her hair was up in an intricate braid and tied with a bow, and her eyes sparkled in the torchlight. He left his shield on the work bench and followed the others to the kitchen, where he was surprised to find himself sitting between Annabelle and his father. On the other side of the table sat the three brothers, and at each end, husband and wife smiled at them all.

  “Taters?” said Annabelle, handing Gibrig a steaming bowl of golden-yellow spuds.

  “Thanks,” said Gibrig, and as he took the bowl, his fingers grazed hers, sending a jolt of excitement charging through his veins.

  She smiled at him coyly, and her already pink cheeks became red.

  “Do ye take elderberry sauce with yer lamb?” Ruby asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Gibrig heaped his plate with potatoes, carrots, biscuits, and cranberry jam, but his attention was on Annabelle the entire time. In his absentmindedness, he nearly toppled the pitcher of goat milk, but his father caught it just in time.

  Breathe, his father mouthed when their eyes met.

  “Master Gibrig,” said Annabelle in that sweet cherubim voice. “Do tell us o’ your adventures beyond the Wide Wall. I’ve been dying to hear it.”

  “Alright, Miss Annabelle. Where would you like me to start?”

  “At the beginning,” said Dilly with a chuckle.

  “Well,” said Gibrig, making sure to skip over the part about his altercation with the king’s men at market. “I was walking through Shadow Forest one day, and suddenly Kazimir the Most High Wizard poofed into existence…”

  Gibrig told his story through dinner, dessert, second dessert with coffee, and three mugs of beer. He did not finish until the moon was high and bright. The Ironstrike family was enthralled with the tale. They laughed at some parts, gasped at others, and even cried at times, like when he told them of meeting his grandfather in the Mountain in the Clouds. He ended his tale with the defeat of Drak’Noir and sat back in his chair, spent from so much talking.

  “Phew,” said Ruby, fanning herself. “I feel like I was actually on the quest with ye.”

  “That’s a hell o’ a story,” said Hammar as he sat back and lit up a pipe.

  “Damn!” said an animated Diddle. “The way those mole men went flyin’ when ye hit ‘em with that shield o’ yers. I wish I could’a seen it.”

  “And standin’ up to Drak’Noir like that,” said Anabelle, her nostrils flaring adorably. “That was very brave o’ ye.”

  “Awe, I was just doin’ me duty to me friends and the people o’ Fallacetine.”

  “Spoken like a true hero,” said Hammar, raising his glass. “To Gibrig Hogstead!”

  The family cheered to his health, which made Gibrig blush all the more.

  “Father, might me and Gibrig go for a walk about? We need to talk about me helpin’ out at The Spoon and all.”

  Hammar raised a brow. He glanced at his wife, then at Gibrig, and finally nodded. “Go on then, ye crazy kids.”

  Gibrig dreamily followed Annabelle out of the house and into the quiet streets of the small town nestled in the shadow of the mountain. The moon was still bright, with only a few clouds around to hinder its silver glow. But those puffs of mist were lazy and seemed hardly to move. In the moonlight, Annabelle’s fair skin had a magical glow, and her eyes darted to his now and again as they walked, causing Gibrig’s throat to go dry and his legs to wobble.

  “Th-th-thanks a lot for helpin’ me pap while I be gone on the tour,” said Gibrig.

  “Ye be welcome. I hope to own a restaurant someday. It’ll be good practice.”

  They strolled down the street together, and Gibrig was all too aware of how close their hands came.

  “Ye must be so excited,” she said, offering him an enchanted smile. “Ye’ll get to see so much o’ Fallacetine. Well, I guess ye already seen more o’ it than most dwarves.”

  Gibrig shrugged. “I guess I seen a lot. But ye know, there be few places as beautiful as the Iron Mountains.”

  And none more beautiful than ye, he wanted to say, but the moment passed too quickly. Gibrig remembered how, on the road to Bad Mountain, he had sworn to himself that he would marry Annabelle if he got out of the quest alive. And now here he was, barely able to give her a compliment, let alone propose to her. Of course, he had to ask her father first, and that was perhaps more intimidating.

  “What ye thinkin’ ‘bout?” she asked, smiling sidelong at him.

  “Uh, ah, nothin’.”

  She turned onto the main market street, which, given the hour, was quiet but for the occasional mountain guard doing his rounds. Gibrig was easily enough recognized, what with being at least a head over every other dwarf alive.

  “Must be strange, bein’ a celebrity and all,” said Annabelle, noticing the respectful nod that Gibrig gained from the passing guard.

  “Awe.” Gibrig kicked a stone. “I wouldn’t call meself a celebrity.”

  “Ye kiddin’? Why, everyone in the Iron Mountains…nay, everyone in the world m
ust know yer name.” She nudged him playfully. “I know the girls talk ‘bout ye all the time.”

  “They do!” Gibrig lowered his voice. “They do?”

  She nodded. “Aye, ain’t ye noticed all the looks ye get?”

  Gibrig laughed. “I been gettin’ looks me whole life.”

  “Not like that, I mean the look. I know at least a dozen dwarf lasses that would marry ye on the spot.”

  “Now ye just be teasin’.”

  “I’m not,” she said, her face serious.

  “Well,” said Gibrig, wringing his hands and trying to find his courage. He knew that it was now or never, and the longer he waited to reply, the louder he could hear Wendel in his head yelling, you’re blowing it, man!

  He stopped beneath the sign of Maggard Megglie’s Chocolate Shoppe and took a deep breath. Annabelle eyed him with mild amusement and more than a hint of curiosity.

  “Well…if ye want to be knowin’ the truth,” he said, his voice sounding too high-pitched for his liking. He coughed to clear his throat. “If ye want to be knowin’ the truth, I don’t see no lasses lookin’ at me, ‘cause I always be…I always be lookin’ for ye.”

  There, he had said it. His heart fluttered, and he held his breath as he watched the words sink in. A blushing smile crept across Annabelle’s face, but then she squinted at him suspiciously. “Now ye be teasin’,” she said.

  He took a knee, and her eyes went wide. “Annabelle,” he said, gulping down the last hint of cowardice. He became overcome by excitement, and the words came out in a flurry. “I’ve had me eye on ye ever since we was just wee little dwarves. I know we ain’t knowin’ each other that good, but well, I’d like to spend the rest o’ me life gettin’ to know ye better. During the quest to Bad Mountain, when I thought I might die, me only regrets were the death o’ me brother, and not tellin’ ye how I felt when I had the chance. But now, gosh darn it, I got me chance. Annabelle Ironstrike, I love ye, and if ye don’t mind havin’ a tall husband, I would be honored if ye would be me wife.”

  Annabelle stared at him, looking shocked. Gibrig began to feel silly kneeling there on the cobblestone, and so he stood slowly. She looked up at him, her eyes beginning to water, and Gibrig began to fear that he had offended her with his blunt words.

  “Annabelle…I—”

  She kissed him full on the mouth and his eyes widened. Seeing that hers were closed, he closed his as well.

  Bad idea.

  Gibrig became dizzy as their lips pressed together, and he grabbed her about the waist to steady himself. She took a handful of his hair in her urgent hands and pulled him down to her level, her plump lips exploring his. Then, as if they had decided it on their own, their lips parted and their tongues began to dance. Gibrig’s head spun, and his stomach felt as though it contained a dozen quivering sprites.

  They ended the kiss simultaneously, staring mystified into each other’s eyes.

  “Sweet, sweet, Gibrig. I would be honored to marry ye,” she said breathlessly.

  Gibrig felt hot tears spilling down his face, and he took her up in his arms and spun her in the streets to the music of her delightful laughter.

  Chapter 4

  Moonswamp

  Willow chewed on her swamp rat jerky nervously as she approached the border to Moonswamp. Dingleberry sat on her shoulder, suspiciously eyeing the large bullfrogs that seemed to be so prominent here.

  “This place stink-stink,” said the sprite.

  “Smells just like any other swamp,” said Willow.

  “Nope-nope, not true-true. Smells like bull-bullfrog, yuck!”

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” said Willow, knowing how nervous Dingleberry was to be in the part of the swamp where she had been attacked by a bullfrog.

  “Are we there-there yet?” Dingleberry asked for the hundredth time.

  “Almost,” said Willow. She pointed to the smoke hanging above the trees less than a mile off. “That’s where we’re headed.”

  “Them blues got any sugar-sugar yum-yum?”

  “I’m not sure…” said Willow, noticing the blue ogres keeping watch from the spider trees. They eyed her suspiciously, and she knew that more than one arrow was trained on her. She was not worried about the arrows, however; what made Willow so nervous that she thought she might puke was that she was about to meet her daughter for the first time since giving birth, nearly two years ago.

  “Bwraaap!” came a deep burp, and a tattooed blue ogre with sharpened tusks fell from a tree and landed five feet in front of her raptor.

  “Steady, Gorge,” said Willow, petting her mount’s neck.

  “Who goes there?” said the blue.

  “I am Willow Muckmuck, Champion of the Dragon of Fire Swamp!”

  “And Dingleberry fairy-fairy!” said the sprite.

  The guard glanced up at the other blues watching from the trees, looking unsure. “Willow Muckmuck is said to be gargantuan. She is said to be the biggest green ogre in Fire Swamp.”

  Willow dismounted and tossed the rest of her jerky to her raptor. “I am Willow Muckmuck, and I was the biggest, but I’m on that Ratkin’s diet.”

  “Ratkin’s?” said the blue, looking perplexed.

  “Yeah, you know, you eat nothing but swamp rats for a time so that you can lose weight.”

  “Why would you want to lose weight?”

  “Look, you going to let me in or not?”

  Just then the gate behind the blue opened, and a big, tall ogre with brilliant blue eyes stepped through. Willow’s heart leapt, for it was the father of her child. He wore only a gator-skin loincloth, and his rippling muscles reminded her of their long nights of lovemaking deep in the heart of the swamp.

  “Willow!” he said as he rushed past the guard and took her up in a big hug, lifting her off her feet. The fact that he could actually lift her only turned her on all the more.

  “Hello, Gryll,” she said, trying not to cry.

  He let her down and looked her over, seemingly liking what he saw.

  Dingleberry coughed, and Willow laughed nervously. “Sorry. Gryll, this is Dingleberry.”

  “I’m a hard-hardened criminal,” said the sprite, eyeing him suspiciously. “So, don’t get any idea-thoughts, see?”

  “Good to meet you,” said Gryll, though he did not take his eyes off Willow. At length, he shook his head and blinked as though he had been under a spell. “My apologies. Please, follow me. You are welcome here.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say that she could go in,” said the guard.

  “Shut up, Phrump,” said Gryll, and he led Willow and Dingleberry past the gates.

  Moonswamp was everything that Willow had imagined. There were plants that Willow had never seen before and beautiful multicolored birds everywhere. Green, glowing butterflies seemed to cover every wall of the huts built high in the canopy of spider trees. And below, neat gardens of pussy willow, cattail, reed grass, and swamp rice were bordered by tall walls of bamboo.

  “Look-look,” said Dingleberry, pointing. “They’ve got houses in the tree-trees.”

  “It is beautiful,” said Willow.

  Gryll stared at her with a big smile, his perfect white tusks shiny in the bright sunlight. “But not as beautiful as you.”

  Willow punched him in the arm playfully. “You’re such a flirt.”

  A horn blew somewhere in the trees, and it seemed that every blue in the village came to their window. Soon the ruckus of a hundred pounding feet echoed through the swamp as the many ogres raced down the stairs to see the Champion of Fire Swamp for themselves.

  A basket lowered slowly from one of the hanging abodes, and a well-decorated ogre with many warts and a belly that any ogre would envy stepped off the lift and strode toward Willow. His ears donned many bone piercings, as did his nose, nipples, and even eyebrows. He was dressed in a fine crocodile skin jerkin with pearl buttons and a blue kilt of hemp. His impressive tusks were covered in ceremonial golden caps with thin chains hanging from them. On
his head was the tallest hat Willow had ever seen; it looked to be a giant knot of pythons.

  “Chief Fangmore!” said Gryll, falling to his knees. “I present to you, Willow Muckmuck, Dragon Champion of Fire Swamp.”

  Willow didn’t drop to her knees, for Fangmore was not her chief, but she did offer him a deep bow. “Greetings, Chief Fangmore.”

  The chief eyed her over and looked to Dingleberry momentarily. At length, he farted, which was of course the highest form of greeting that one might expect from a blue ogre. Willow, not having one brewing in the back oven, instead gulped down air until her belly was full and let loose an extensive burp that rattled the bamboo window frames in the huts above.

  The chief nodded, looking impressed. He extended his hands, and his hundreds of bracelets jingled loudly. “Welcome, Willow Muckmuck, Champion of Fire Swamp!”

  The crowd of blue ogres cheered, and Gryll smiled brightly at her and winked.

  “Willow Muckmuck, greatest of ogre champions, you honor us all with your visit. In return, I invite you to fight my most cherished beast!”

  This time the crowd went wild. The sound of tusk slaps and farts filled the swamp, which made Willow’s eyes water for more than one reason.

  “I accept!” said Willow.

  The chief raised his heavily adorned scepter and cried to the heavens, “Prepare the arena!”

  Willow followed the chief, waving at the crowd, and leaned in to whisper to Gryll. “Where is Fern?”

  “With my wife,” he said, smiling happily.

  Willow was taken aback. “Your what!”

  “I knew it!” said Dingleberry. “You’re nothing but a game-playing player-player!”

  Gryll ignored her, but looked to Willow with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked Willow. “I thought that you knew.”

  “How would I know that you had a wife? You never told me that!”

  “I have three wives. I mean…look at me,” he said, flexing a bicep. “Why would you think that I was single?”