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

by Michael James Ploof

  ***

  “Few people know of it,” said Brannon as he led the companions through the catacombs deep beneath the city. “But we have been collecting it for decades. It was made illegal to have a pinch of the stuff by the Treaty of the Magic Practitioners of Fallacetine, but obviously everyone of power has their own stash.”

  “What is it that we are down here for?” said Murland, pushing past a thick cobweb and following the silhouettes of Brannon and Sir Eldrick.

  Brannon said nothing as he came to a thick door of knotted roots. The roots shifted and snaked into the form of a face as they stopped before it, and the wise-looking face blinked at Brannon. “What is the greatest gift an elf can receive?” it asked in a deep voice.

  “A straight son,” said Brannon, glancing over at the others and rolling his eyes as the door opened. “My father is so predictable.”

  He moved into the earthen room deep beneath the city. The companions followed, and everyone stopped and stared at the barrels stacked against the far wall. Their cracks and corners glowed bright blue, and an acrid smell sat upon the stagnant air. Murland felt himself grow weak, and he looked to the barrels suspiciously.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” said Brannon.

  “What is it?” said Murland, staggering back to the entrance to collect himself.

  “Those barrels contain the rotting juices of the anti-magic mushroom,” said Brannon. “More elegantly named wizard bane. It only grew in what is now called the Blight. But of course, the wizards were not very fond of it. They managed to destroy most of it, but obviously some survived. My father keeps it just in case the domini ever get out of control, and I think that Witch Hazel qualifies.”

  “Do you feel it?” Murland asked.

  “Yes. It leaches my power just being around it. Imagine what it will do to the Twisted Tower…to Witch Hazel and Zuul.”

  A slow smile crept across Murland’s face.

  Chapter 13

  Princesses Be Trippin’

  “Why did you agree to go with them?” Caressa asked, looking more angry than hurt.

  “They are my friends,” said Murland.

  “I am your fiancée.”

  Murland sighed. “Caressa, I am a wizard. I have responsibilities. You knew this going in.”

  “Sure, but I didn’t know that you would be rushing into fights that you weren’t prepared for.”

  “This sounds quite unlike the advice that you gave me when I was about to face Drak’Noir.”

  “Magestra needs you, Murland. Even Bumblemoore asked you to return. Your friend is dead. Your master is dead.”

  “I know that!” said Murland, quite louder than he meant.

  “And you know that you should return to Magestra with me, rather than seeking revenge.”

  “It’s not revenge, not entirely. Brannon and Sir Eldrick are right, Zuul is weak right now, and I should strike.”

  “Did Hinckley think that you were ready?”

  Murland didn’t have to answer.

  “Exactly,” said Caressa. “Look, I believe in you, you know I do, but you’ve got to be smart. Wizards don’t live for centuries by making stupid mistakes.”

  “I know, and I promise that I’ll be smart about it. But my friends need me right now, and I can’t let them down. I had hoped that the fighting would be over after we defeated Drak’Noir. I had hoped that we might enjoy some peace for a while. But I see now that this is my fate. Perhaps once Zuul is dealt with, we can enjoy some quiet time away from all the craziness of the world, but right now I must answer my calling. Right now—”

  “I know,” said Caressa. “Right now, you must be Murland Kadabra, the wizard who defeated Drak’Noir. Just promise me, Murland, promise me that you will come back.”

  “I promise,” said Murland, and they shared a hug that soon turned into an urgent, passionate kiss.

  Early the next morning, Murland watched Caressa as a dozen knights from the Magestrian Embassy escorted her out of the city. He wondered for a lucid moment if he would ever see her again. He felt that he should be with her, should make sure that she got home safe. But she was a grown woman—as she would surely argue—and she could take care of herself.

  “Heya, Murland,” came Gibrig from behind him. “Brannon be ready to set out.”

  “I’ll be right there,” said Murland as he burned into memory the princess’s silhouette as she rode south over the distant hill.

  Murland gave a sigh and glanced back at Packy. “Well, you ready, old pal?”

  The white wings shook with excitement, and Murland found that he could still smile. He followed Gibrig through the hall and down the spiraling ramp to the antechamber, where the companions waited. Dingleberry, Akitla, and Wendel were there as well.

  King Rimon stood by the door in full regalia, and he was beaming. “Shall we?” he said, and nodded to his personal guard.

  The guard opened the door, and the explosive applause of the elves of Halala assailed them as they marched out. The group was joined by over two thousand elven soldiers and domini, and together they followed the king and Brannon to the shore where the armada waited.

  “Champions of the Dragon,” the king said in his commanding voice as he stopped before the shore. “I am pleased that you have decided to accompany my son. For you fight for the elves of Halala, and it will not soon be forgotten. Go with the grace of the gods, and smite the witch. Bring the Twisted Tower crashing down, and forge your names in the history books forever.”

  “Good king,” said Gibrig, nervously stepping forward. “The gods know that I would rather be flippin’ burgers with me pap in the valley o’ the mountain. But I be goin’ on this quest with your son ‘cause, well, gosh darn it, he’s a good friend, and he’s a good elf. I hope ye be seein’ that.”

  King Rimon cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yes, of course, good dwarf.”

  “Assssshole!” said Wendel, pretending to sneeze.

  The king ignored the insult and turned to the soldiers and domini gathered on the docks. “Go with the blessing of your king! Show the Mother of Zuul the wrath of the elves of Halala!”

  The crowd cheered, and Brannon led them onto the gangplanks with his head held high. Soon the fleet left the harbor to the fanfare of the cheering elves. Murland stood with Brannon and the others at the stern of the lead ship, and he wondered if they had made the right choice.

  “And cut!” came a voice, and Murland noticed for the first time the two pixies hovering behind them.

  “Oh, not you two again,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Freedom of the press-press,” said the director.

  “They are fine,” said Brannon. “If Lyricon is going to go around spreading lies about us, then perhaps a crystal picture will help clear our names. What are your names, little pixies?”

  “You can call me Rye-Rye,” said the Director. She hooked a thumb at the camera pixie. “And this is Tuck.”

  “The pixarazzi always twist things around,” said Sir Eldrick. “They will edit and cut and chop up the footage to make us look any way they want.”

  “Listen Slur-Slur,” said Rye-Rye. “You five need all the help-help you can get right now. Have you read-read the reviews of the play?”

  “What do they say?” said Gibrig, concerned for his father.

  Rye-Rye snapped her fingers, and a scroll dropped onto the deck.

  “Whoa, did you just whoosh that here?” said Willow.

  Sir Eldrick picked up the scroll for all to see and began to read.

  “Lyricon’s masterful adaptation of the Champions of the Dragon is a breath of fresh air in a land where fallacy is all too often accepted blindly. In the gritty and no-holds-barred play, written and directed by the notorious pirate king, we get a glimpse into the hearts and minds of five antiheroes, who, unbeknownst to them or most of us, were actually chosen to be sacrificed to Drak’Noir, just like the unfortunate champions before them. Lyricon has uncovered a diabolical conspiracy in which the leaders of each kingd
om, through Kazimir, conveniently get rid of those who have wronged them, be it through an insult at the farmer’s market, or…” Sir Eldrick groaned. “Adultery of the most forbidden.”

  He lowered the scroll with a sigh. “Awe, Henry…”

  “Let me see that,” said Brannon, grabbing the news scroll and picking up where Sir Eldrick had left off. “To their credit, the five fools that Kazimir chose this generation came together in the end to form strong bonds, and overcame deadly obstacles. But, as you will soon realize, it was not the fate of Fallacetine that most concerned them. For rather than give themselves for the greater good, as has been done for centuries by the champions, these five risk the lives of every living creature in our great land by attempting to actually kill the beast. In the end, they are saved by the brave wizards and witches of Kazam College.”

  “That is such bullshit!” said Murland, ripping the scroll from Brannon’s grip and continuing with ever widening eyes. “But perhaps the most scandalous part of the play is the boiling love affair between Princess Caressa—” Murland stopped and gulped. “…Between Princess Caressa and the lack…the lackluster Murland Kadabra, a wizard who is supposed to save us all from Zuul, but who can’t even get out of his own way without the two most powerful magical relics in existence…”

  His hand dropped, and he stared at the deck shamefully.

  “They must have somethin’ nice to say,” said Gibrig, taking the scroll from Murland before it fell from his limp grip. Gibrig cleared his throat and squinted at the news scroll. “And while Murland is learnin’ how to…to, er, drop royal panties from the oft drunk Sir Eldrick, the queen shagger himself beds just about every queen and princess from here to Bad Mountain, includin’ the queen o’ the fae, in a performance that was said to have lasted for hours, and reportedly, the queen of Shivermoore.

  “When the misfits aren’t snorting fust, they are stabbing each other in the back, fornicating with everything from old hags to dippies, slaughtering hill trolls and mole men, partnering with lesbian pirates, and plotting with darklings to kill arguably the bravest wizard that has ever lived, Kazimir the Most High.

  “And where is Kazimir? Where is the man who has kept us safe from Drak’Noir for twenty-seven generations? Well, naturally, he is now an inmate in Azkatraz. And what of the portal that only he can close, you ask? It stands wide open, ready to spew its ungodly creatures into our world…” Gibrig looked to the others, teary-eyed.

  Willow patted him on the back and took the scroll. “This nannywiggins sure is long-winded,” she said before reading the rest. “The kings and chiefs of the champions’ many kingdoms have tried to ban the play, and burnings of the Champions of the Dragon trilogy are a daily occurrence in the capitals, but truth will not be silenced, not while people like me still draw breath.

  “Your soldier in the fight against fallacy, reporting for the Nigh Times, Jalex Owns.”

  “Like I told you,” said Rye-Rye. “You lot-lot need all the help you can get-get!”

  “Hey-hey!” said Dingleberry. “Can I be on your crew-crew?”

  Rye-Rye and Tuck shared a glance.

  “Got any experience?” Rye-Rye asked.

  “Oh, yes-yes. I was in the crystal pic-pic Dibby-Dibby Does Pixus.”

  “That’s where I have seen you,” said Tuck, licking his lips.

  “Oh yeah,” said Rye-Rye.

  “We’re so screwed,” said Murland, ignoring the three pixies.

  “Poor Henry,” said Sir Eldrick. “I never meant for him to get dragged into all this.”

  “Ah, screw Jalex Owns, he’s just a fear monger,” said Willow.

  “I read his articles all the time,” said Wendel. “He always tells the truth, and he really nailed it on the head with you five.”

  “Why are you even still here?” Brannon asked, looking like he wanted to push the skeleton overboard.

  “I can’t believe that he sided with Kazimir,” said Murland.

  “Oh, they all are,” said Rye-Rye as she handed Dingleberry a business card. “The book-books are a big-big success. I can show-show you some more reviews…”

  “Are they all like Jalex’s?” said Gibrig.

  “Pretty much-much.”

  “Oh boy. Me pap is gonna be in big trouble.”

  “Well, I personally don’t give a shit what anyone says,” said Brannon. “I know what we did, and I know who we are. You just keep rolling, pixie director. Because you’re about to show the world the true Champions of the Dragon.”

  “Are you getting this?” said Rye-Rye out of the corner of her mouth.

  Tuck nodded, hovering in to zoom on Brannon.

  “We sail west!” said Brannon with a flourish meant for the theater. “And soon we shall storm the Twisted Tower and defeat Witch Hazel!”

  ***

  Witch Hazel clicked off her crystal projection device and shook her head, cackling. “The morons don’t even know they are live!” she said to Zuul, who lay asleep in the green glowing incubator.

  She rose from her chair and moved to the window, looking west with a wide grin on her face.

  “How shall we great our guests when they arrive?” she asked, but of course Zuul did not answer.

  She laced her fingers together, tapping her thumbs in thought. “A sea storm? No, too predictable. Perhaps a sea monster…no, too cliché. It has to be something grand, yet unexpected. And it has to show the world my incredible power. Perhaps I will make the ocean boil and cook the armada like a toad in my cauldron. Better yet…I could make all the water disappear, sending the fleet careening to the ocean floor.”

  Hazel knew that there was a better idea somewhere in the back of her mind, and for inspiration, she packed a generous amount of forbidden wizard leaf into Zuul’s jade water pipe and hit it hard. She blew out a shimmering cloud of magical smoke and watched as a vision appeared in that swirling fog. In it, she saw herself, not as a bent old witch, but as a terribly powerful beauty with a crown of horns and bright, glowing eyes.

  She was getting distracted, she knew, but the vision was too alluring to disregard. She saw the spell in the fog. Bright as lightning the fine lettering spelled out the ancient runes, and she began to chant them as she read.

  “Factorem horologiorum. Ego præcipio tibi. Turn dorsum meum rotae in gratiam juventutis. Maker of clocks. I command thee. Turn back my wheels to the beauty of youth.”

  She felt a strange crawling of her skin then, followed by terrible burning and itching. Yet, she smiled. Witch Hazel moved to the mirror, where her hound dog eyes stared back. She looked so tired. Her drooping breasts sat upon a round belly, and she wondered where the time had gone. But she grinned, for her face began to change, and her belly shrunk. Her drooping breasts became pert and full, and her sagging chin tightened beneath a smooth face. Her eyes changed from bloodshot and tired to young and bright and glowing with power.

  Hazel couldn’t believe her eyes.

  She had searched for decades for a spell that could actually turn back the physical clock. Dozens of charlatans and smooth-talking witches had gotten one over on her in the past. She had tried elixirs and potions, tinctures and salves, but none of them lasted more than a few days, and one had nearly killed her.

  Shaking with excitement, she let her now bulky robes fall to the floor, and she nearly cried when she looked over her perfect bronze body. Hazel arched her back, impressed by her large bosom, and turned to the side, marveling to once again see her round hips and perky backside. She thought of her old mirror, and hurrying to the table on the other end of the room, she dug out the old trunk. Nervously, she waved a hand over the lock, speaking the words that would unlock it, and nearly jumped when it snapped open.

  She took up the mirror, smiling into it.

  “Mirror, mirror in my hand, who’s the fairest in the land?”

  The old, faded mirror suddenly sparked to life, and a non-descript male face appeared in the swirling mist. He blinked sleepily, as though he had just been awakened. Seeing W
itch Hazel staring at him, he regarded her with some puzzlement before recognition twinkled in his eyes. “Oh, it’s you. What did you want to know?”

  “Who’s the fairest in the land?”

  “Hmm,” he said, glancing down in thought. “Well, King Winterthorn seems to have made great strides in that regard. Just take his recent pardon of Sir Eldrick.”

  “Not that kind of fairest, you idiot,” said Hazel. “I mean fair as in beautiful.”

  “Ohhh,” said the mirror before scowling at her. “Why do you care so much about the opinion of an enchanted mirror? In your younger days, you asked me this over and over, and went about poisoning with apples every poor lass that I named.”

  “Just answer the damned question,” said Hazel.

  “Well, it isn’t really fair to you or the women you will kill should I name another. Did you ever think that you just aren’t my type, and there is no fairest of the fair? It is really a personal preference thing. I mean, you are obviously beautiful, but you have that resting bitch face thing going on, and you just look like you try too hard. It’s kind of a turnoff—”

  Witch Hazel screamed and smashed the mirror against the wall. Turning from the debris, she glared at the full-length mirror. “I will show the world the terrible beauty that is Witch Hazel!”

  She noticed Zuul’s water pipe on the stand beside the mirror, and she remembered that she had been formulating a diabolical plan.

  “But how to show them…”

  Then she had an idea—a terrible, delicious, diabolical idea—and she grinned at her reflection.

  Chapter 14

  Crystal Vision

  On the second day of the voyage, the companions and three of Brannon’s generals met in Brannon’s room, which was no less lavish than his quarters in the palace. They sat around a large circular table, at the center of which was a dome of swirling mist. One of the most gifted bestia domini from Halala, who went by the name Hawkeye, sat with them as well. The tall female elf wore leather armor covered in hawk feathers, and her eyes were glazed over and glowing white. High above them, one of her hawks glided on a steady current. Being a bestia dominus, Hawkeye could see through the eyes of her hawk, but she had no way to show what she saw to the others; that was where a mentis dominus by the name of Illindell came in. Illindell mind-melded with Hawkeye and in turn projected the vision into the enchanted dome. In the dome, the blue ocean waters came into view along with the hundreds of ships.