Sir Eldrick stepped in then and got between the two. “He’s right,” he told Brannon. “We gave him our word, and the word of a champion cannot be broken.”
“Did you just make that up?” said Brannon, rolling his eyes.
“I tell you what,” said Lyricon. “I will let you play your part…on one condition.”
“What’s that?” said Brannon, intrigued.
“You stick to the damned script and do your job. I don’t need any more princesses of the theater thinking they’re Queen Shit of Turd Island and causing trouble.”
“Oh yeah, no problem,” said Wendel, his boney shoulders jerking with mirth. “Brannon won’t be a pain in the ass at all!”
“Will you please shut up!” said Brannon before turning to Lyricon with a wide smile. “You’ve got a deal.”
Brannon and Valkimir had only invited a few close friends to their private ceremony, which was held upon the banks of Lake Tu’Kanchew. The guests gathered at dusk beneath the drooping boughs of giant weeping willows as the small orchestra began a slow, sweet tune. Valkimir was dressed in a crisp white uniform with a stiff, pluming collar heavily adorned with medals. His black hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and though he acted as stoic as ever, Murland sensed that he was nervous. Beside Valkimir, on the raised wooden dais, an elf wearing rainbow-colored robes and holding a wooden scepter shaped like a long, thin mushroom waited patiently. Murland glanced over at Caressa, noting how enamored she seemed with the whole thing.
“Look,” she said, pointing and smiling happily. “Those floating lightning bugs spell out Brannon & Valkimir.”
“I wonder how they got them to do that,” said Murland, watching his beautiful fiancée rather than the glowing bugs.
“You think they’ll have good food afterward?” Willow asked from behind them.
Beside her, Gibrig sighed. “What happened to yer diet?”
“It’s a special occasion,” said Willow.
“It’s a gay wedding,” said Wendel. “I’m assuming the food will be faaabulous!” He sang the last word as he waved her off with a limp wrist.
“You’re in my seat,” said Sir Eldrick as he and Akitla joined the others.
“Where’s Wendel’s seat then?” the skeleton protested with a pout.
“Are you even invited?” said Willow.
“O’ course he be invited,” said Gibrig. “This be for all o’ Brannon’s friends.”
“Friend?” Wendel whispered. “I…I’m Brannon’s friend?”
Just then an elven guard stomped over, calling, “You there, skeleton!”
“Oh, good,” said Wendel before the elf could say more. “Go find me a seat, metalhead.”
“You have not been invited, please leave.”
“What? This is an outrage. When Brannon finds out that his esteemed guest—”
“It was the prince who sent me to extract you.”
“Oh,” said Wendel. “Well, in that case, piss off!”
“Don’t make a scene, Wendel,” said Sir Eldrick, taking him by the boney arm and dragging him over to the guard.
“After all we’ve been through?” said Wendel, limply being dragged and looking back at the others with hound dog eyes.
“Sorry, Brannon’s wedding, Brannon’s rules,” said Sir Eldrick.
Wendel bowed his head and was led off. Caressa rolled her eyes and shook her head, but Gibrig stared back at the spectacle with a frown.
“Awe, poor Wendel.”
The music changed, and all heads turned toward the archway that they had all ventured through. But Brannon was nowhere to be seen.
“Look!” said Gibrig, pointing into the air above the trees.
A long tangle of vines, like an arm stretched out over the treetops, cupped at the end like a dome. The long vine appendage touched down in front of the altar, releasing its domed tangle before retracting. Everyone stared at the bundle of vines with bated breath. Caressa squeezed Murland’s arm, flashing him an enchanted smile.
At length, the dome opened wide to reveal Brannon, who wore a flowing gown covered in red, yellow, orange, and blue flowers. He extended his arms, and the flowers grew twice their size.
Valkimir smiled and wiped a tear from his eye.
“He’s beautiful,” said Caressa.
“I suppose he is,” said Murland, happy for his friend and feeling the urge to itch the corner of his own eyes.
The music took a dramatic turn, and Brannon walked up the steps to stand across from Valkimir.
“Friends of the Heartsworn,” said the priest. “Thank you for joining us during this most historic of events. It is said by many that marriage between those of the same sex is unnatural, and against the will of the many gods. But it is also said that haters are going to hate, and lovers are going to love. For what could be more natural than love? Those of you who know the Heartsworn know that theirs is a love stronger than the winds of winter, hotter than the summer sun, and deeper than the oceans of time. Their love has endured the scorn of kings, the test of distance and time, and the disdain of the masses. It flies in the face of tradition and dares to challenge the norm. I for one am proud of Brannon and Valkimir, and I am honored to wed them here today before the gods and you, their cherished friends.
“The cock rings, please,” he said, turning to Annallia, who stood off to the side.
“What did he just say?” said Caressa, but Murland was too shocked to answer.
Willow chuckled.
“That sure seems like a strange place for a ring,” said Gibrig.
“It’s more like an earring than a ring that slips over your finger,” said Willow matter-of-factly.
“But…” Gibrig stammered. “What does it…go through?”
“Use your imagination,” said Sir Eldrick with obvious mirth.
“Oh…” said Gibrig, and Murland glanced back to find the dwarf cringing and holding himself like he had to pee.
“Are you ready to present your vows?” said the priest, turning back to the couple with the pillow holding the two rings.
“I am,” they said in unison.
“My prince,” said the priest, gesturing to Brannon.
Brannon took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He smiled upon Valkimir with teary eyes. “Valkimir, my knight in shining armor. My moon and my stars. In a world so oft filled with hate, you have shown me love. You are not only my lover, but my dearest friend. You are the sword to my sheath, the arrow to my bow, and the balls inside my cannon. I vow that from this day, until the end of my days, I will love you and no other.”
Caressa sniffled and laid her head on Murland’s shoulder.
“Brannon,” said Valkimir, taking his hand. “I have faced monsters, and I have faced armies, but the only thing that has ever scared me was the thought of losing you. The gods blessed me when you looked upon me with love in your eyes, and I will never forget it. You are my lover, my friend, but also my prince, and together we shall one day reign over Halala. Together we shall usher in a new age of acceptance and brotherhood. I swear that from this day, until the end of days, you have my heart, and my sword.”
Brannon smiled upon his beloved as they turned to the priest.
“By the power vested in me by the goddess of love, I give to you Brannon and Valkimir Woodheart. You may kiss the—”
Valkimir kissed Brannon deeply, picking him up off his feet as the crowd cheered.
Chapter 6
The Day of Rainbows
Brannon and Valkimir’s wedding reception and the party that followed came to be remembered as the Day of Rainbows. With his considerable wealth, Brannon had hired the Fae Angels—an aerial act out of Faeland consisting of hundreds of sprites and fairies of all colors who created incredible patterns in the sky. Rainbows streaked across the skies of Halala, and to King Rimon’s annoyance, the streets were soon filled with males and females embracing elves of their own sex.
“I understand gay pride,” said Sir Eldrick as he watched a parade
go by. “But what does that have to do with assless chaps?”
“Or whips?” said Akitla.
“Or chains…” said Willow, cocking her head to the side.
“You wish you knew,” said Brannon teasingly. “Come on, we have reservations at Ménage à Trois for nine o’clock, and I’m starved.”
The companions were led through the streets by a host of scantily clad elves in celebration, even though the not-so-secret service, or royal woodland guard, tried to maintain a perimeter around the prince.
The restaurant had been bought out for the night by Brannon, and only those select few guests who had attended the ceremony were allowed inside. King Rimon, of course, was one of them, and he sat stiffly beside his beaming wife, not sharing in her joy whatsoever. Brannon often smiled at his father, who offered only the slightest of nods. He had allowed the wedding to keep his son quiet about sending him to his death, and Brannon could tell that the king was second-guessing his decision. Brannon’s mother, on the other hand, was genuinely happy, as was Annallia, his ever-loving sister.
The companions all sat together at the end of the long table overlooking the city, and Brannon raised a glass. “To the Champions of the Dragon, my dearest friends.”
“Here, here!” said Sir Eldrick, tipping back his water.
Willow clashed tankards with Gibrig, and together they guzzled down the beer—much to Sir Eldrick’s envy.
As the salads were served, Brannon turned to Murland with a smirk. “You must tell me about this tail of yours.”
Caressa snickered, gaining a playful glare from Murland. He let out a sigh and told them what had happened at the graduation ceremony.
“And so, I have to find a spell to get rid of it on my own,” he finished.
“I think it looks good on ye,” said Gibrig with a kind smile.
“Thanks, Gib.”
“You look ridiculous!” Wendel yelled from end of the table, where he had slipped in with some of Valkimir’s friends and family.
“Guards!” Brannon yelled.
“On it, Sire,” said one of the elven guards, and a short chase around the dining room ensued.
“Why ye so mean to him all the time?” said Gibrig.
“He’s lewd,” said Brannon. “And who needs a corpse around when they’re eating? But who cares about Wendel? Did you ask that dwarf lass of yours to marry you or not?”
Gibrig blushed and pushed his salad around with his fork. “Yeah, I done asked her.”
Everyone waited expectantly.
“And!” said Murland, Willow, Sir Eldrick, and Brannon in unison.
“She said yea!” Gibrig told them with obvious pride.
“Bravo!” Sir Eldrick cheered, slapping him on the back and raising his glass. “To Gibrig Hogstead!”
The table cheered, and Gibrig told them the story of his proposal. Soon after, the attention turned to Murland and Caressa.
“And what about you two?” said Brannon with a knowing grin.
Caressa glanced at Murland, taking his hand in hers. “We haven’t set a date yet.”
“And the king,” said Sir Eldrick. “Has he given his blessing?”
Murland shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I, uh, haven’t asked him yet. I was going to, but then…” he glanced at his tail, which seemed to always have a mind of its own, and was often batting him in the back of the head.
“Well, I see no reason why he should say no,” said Brannon.
“What about you?” Murland asked Willow, hoping to take the attention away from himself. “Did you go see little Fern?”
Willow froze in the middle of a bite of food. She wiped her mouth and chewed quickly before downing another tankard. “Yeah, I went to visit.” She resumed eating, and everyone waited for more.
Gibrig, ever sensitive to others’ moods, changed the subject for her. “What ye and Akitla been up to, eh Sir Eldrick?”
“We’ve just been catching up. Staying in Utorras mostly.”
“The city is beautiful,” said Akitla. “Your entire continent is so beautiful, especially Halala. Growing up in the white-on-gray world of Shivermoore, I never imagined such beautiful country could exist. I mean, I had seen pictures, but it never seemed real.”
“I guess we underestimate the places we’re from,” said Caressa. “I thought Shivermoore was quite enchanting.”
“Not after eighteen years,” said Akitla with a laugh.
“It is so good to have you all together again,” said Brannon, taking Valkimir’s hand in his. “We are truly blessed.”
Later that night, when everyone had gone to bed in their respective suites in the new palace, Sir Eldrick found Murland in the hall leading from the latrine.
“Murland, I wanted to tell you something earlier, but I didn’t have a chance.”
Murland had been eager to get back to his room, where Caressa waited, but the look on Sir Eldrick’s face got his attention.
“What is it?”
“Don’t tell anyone this, but King Henry, well…he’s dying.”
“Jeeze, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. I am only telling you because it affects you as well.”
“How do you mean—” Murland began, but then he remembered.
“Yes,” said Sir Eldrick with a nod. “Caressa is betrothed to Prince Beuford, and unless a cure is found for what ails Henry…”
“Beuford will be king,” said Murland with sudden dread.
“And Caressa will have a chance to be a queen.”
“Shit!”
Sir Eldrick slapped his shoulder. “Thought you should know. Good night, see you at the play tomorrow.”
“Good night,” Murland mumbled, considering the implications of Sir Eldrick’s news.
Chapter 7
The Actors Guild of Atlas Presents: The Champions of the Dragon
Murland and Caressa found Willow and Gibrig seated in the second row behind King Rimon, who didn’t so much as blink when he and Murland made eye contact. Instead, the king sneered at Murland’s tail. The amphitheater was packed to capacity, and Murland found himself nervous, even though he would not be performing.
“Brannon must be worried sick,” he said to Caressa as they shuffled down the aisle to sit beside Gibrig, who offered them a big smile, and Willow, who had already polished off a huge bowl of popcorn.
“Brannon will do just fine; he was born for this kind of thing,” said Caressa.
“Hey guys,” said Willow. “We saved you a seat.”
Murland noticed that she took up three seats on her own, and he did not envy the elves sitting directly behind her.
“We’ve got a five-silver wager that says Brannon breaks from the script,” said Sir Eldrick. “You two in?”
“Do I look like a sucker?” said Murland. And seeing Sir Eldrick grinning, he added, “Don’t answer that.”
The play opened with an introduction from Lyricon, who glided out from between the curtains on his many tentacles, leaving a trail of slime in his wake. “Good elves of Halala! Welcome, and thank you for coming to the show. We have all grown up hearing about, and fearing, Drak’Noir. For two hundred years, the great dragon threatened this land, and for two hundred years, the champions fought her back. This show is dedicated to the many champions who have bravely marched forth every generation. May their sacrifice never be forgotten!”
The elves cheered, and the companions looked to each other excitedly.
“Now, without further ado, I present to you the Actors Guild of Atlas, performing: The Champions of the Dragon!”
The lights dimmed, and the curtains parted to reveal elaborate stage props and a background that depicted King’s Crossing. A blinding flash of light at the center of the stage was followed by billowing smoke, and there, silhouetted by the backlighting, stood Kazimir the Most High.
“Wow, that sure be a good costume,” said Gibrig.
“He looks just like the old stinker, don’t he?” said Willow.
�
��Shh,” one of the elves behind them hissed.
The actor portraying Kazimir raised his hands as the smoke cleared, and a spotlight found him.
“Once again, Fallacetine stands upon the brink.
And it is up to me to help the dinks.
But who shall march forth this time?
And why in the world do I always rhyme?”
The crowd laughed, and Kazimir pointed at the sky as a streaking comet shot past.
“Ah, you think it is champions that I choose.
But what you don’t know, is they are meant to lose.
The truth that you have never been told,
Is that to defeat the dragon I use their souls!”
The crowd stirred, and confused whispers began to fill the amphitheater.
“Lyricon is telling the real story?” said Murland.
“This could be bad,” said Sir Eldrick as the actor went on.
“Given as sacrifice by their leaders,
The fools march forth proudly, holding their peters.
Unbeknownst to them, one and all are doomed,
But along the way they must be groomed.”
The crowd’s whispers grew, and many suspicious glares found King Rimon, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Oh, boy,” said Gibrig. “If everyone finds out ‘bout what I did to King Dranlar, he’s goin’ to be right pissed.”
The companions said nothing, for each was thinking about their own leaders. Until now, the secret had been kept, and it had gained them some leverage against those who had sold them out. Murland and Caressa had hoped to use the secret to convince King Roddington to allow them to marry, and Sir Eldrick had finally made amends with King Henry.
They listened nervously, their minds racing to think of what else might come out in the play if it were indeed based on the truth rather than legend.
“Ah, here they come now,
A drunk knight, a bumbling wizard, and an ogre as big as a cow.
And there is the hog farmer and the faggoty prince.
After I shake their hands, I should wash and rinse.”
The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4) Page 6
