No one was at the front desk, which was just as well as far as he was concerned. In the pocket with the paper was a key, and when he tried it in door number twenty-seven, it worked.
Inside, he gathered his clothes and stuffed them in the sack that held his armor, then slipped his sword sheath onto his thick leather belt. A glance out the window told him that the arena was beginning to empty, for people were walking east from the center of the city. Sir Eldrick rummaged through his pack, looking for the small oak box holding his assorted jewelry. Most of it was enchanted, gained through a lifetime of heroism and questing. He found the sapphire-studded ring he was looking for, one that was said to hide a person from the seeking spells of witches and wizards, and slipped it on his finger.
“I never should have come back here,” Sir Eldrick told the mirror.
He knew the King was furious with him, but Sir Eldrick had never imagined Henry would set him up like this, especially after all he had done for the kingdom.
With one last scan of the room, he headed for the door, but when someone knocked, he stopped dead and held his breath.
Shit!
He waited, thinking that any second Kazimir would blow down the door with magic, but then again, the wizard would not have knocked…
“I know you’re in there, Eldrick,” came a hushed voice.
It was the queen!
Sir Eldrick dropped his things and rushed to the door. He flung it open and came face to face with his former lover. She was shrouded in a lace veil and hooded brown cloak, but her piercing green eyes remained luminescent beyond the shroud.
“You came alone?” he said, glancing up and down the hall.
She pushed past him wordlessly and he closed the door behind himself. He watched, mesmerized, as she strode across the room with the grace that she was famous for.
“You never should have come back,” she said, turning at the center of the room and raising the veil.
Sir Eldrick’s heart fluttered when he saw her face. He stepped forward purposefully and meant to take her in his arms, but she held up a hand and took a step back. His own reaching arms slowly fell to his sides.
“What did you hope to accomplish coming back here?” She was all business, and was doing a good job at hiding her feelings for him—if indeed she still had any.
“I came back for you,” he said, bravely moving forward and taking her face in his hands. He kissed her deeply, and she did not pull back. For a moment, she melted into him, and his passion grew, but then suddenly she pulled back and slapped him across the face.
He laughed, touching his cheek. “That is twice today I have been slapped by a woman. Seems I’m on a roll.”
“Never do that again,” she said, composing herself and moving away from him.
“Elza…”
“I am the queen of Vhalovia, you were a knight. What did you think was going to happen? How did you think our little fling was going to end?”
“Fling?” he said, surprised by her cold words.
She raised her chin, staring at him with unwavering emerald eyes.
“You know that it was more than that,” he said.
“Listen to me. Henry knows that you are back. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? He could have had you hanged, instead he let you leave unscathed. But now, now he is furious.”
“And he’s told Kazimir to send me on this fool’s quest,” he said, spitting the words. “You know as well as I the truth of the Prophecy of the Champions of the Dragon, you know the truth of Drak’Noir. How could you let him do this?”
“You must have known that returning would mean certain death,” she said, not unkindly.
“I know only that I love you,” he said, hoping to break through her façade. “Being without you is certain death.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it is true. I loved you from the first day I met you.”
“Stop.”
“Come with me, Elza.”
Tears began to pool in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away and put a staying hand on his shoulder. She leaned in and, avoiding his lips, kissed him on the cheek.
“You must leave and never return,” she said into his ear, her breath light on his neck. “Go west, make your way to the Golden Gulf. I’ve a ship prepared for you in Port Peterson. Look for the Valiant.”
“And where will I go. What shall I do?”
“Forget about me, and start a new life somewhere else.”
“And the child, should I forget about him as well?”
She backed away from him. Her eyes were diamond-hard. “You need not worry about him. He is not yours. Do you understand?”
“Are you sure about that?”
She held him in a steely gaze and seemed to have more to say, but instead she walked past him.
He grabbed her arm and she stopped, patiently waiting and not looking at him. Slowly, reluctantly, he let her go.
She walked to the door and stopped at the threshold. He held his breath, hoping that she would turn and rush back to him. Instead, she remained rigid.
“Goodbye, Eldrick,” she said and opened the door.
“Elza…”
She paused, but then walked out the door and out of his life forever.
Chapter 3
The Champion of Fire Swamp
West of Vhalovia, in the foggy, bog-filled marshes of Fire Swamp, a very hungry and very large ogre awoke with a smile on her food-crusted face.
Willow Muckmuck stretched out and gave a great yawn. She rubbed her large green belly and glanced around, licking one of her tusks absentmindedly. To her surprise, she found herself in one of the baker’s storerooms in the center of the village. All around her were half-eaten loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, moss cakes, fern cookies, and a plethora of other delectables.
With slight embarrassment, she realized that she was also naked. Frosting and chocolate and sugar had been spread all over her body, and upon seeing it, she thought of the baker’s son. She smiled to herself at the memories of the night before and found her clothes, not wanting to be caught in such a state. With effort, she dressed in her alligator skirt and vest, tucking in her round green belly and large bosom as best she could, reminding herself to have her mother take the outfit out a few sizes yet again.
Once she was properly dressed, she made her way out of the shed, hoping that she hadn’t missed breakfast. Her father had caught a twenty-foot python the day before. It was the biggest Willow had ever seen in this part of the Fire Swamps, and she couldn’t wait to try it.
She exited the storage shed, head down and eyes peeking around the door as she went, but there was no one about in the village. Figuring this meant that it was still quite early in the morning, Willow hurried through the village unseen, and went straight to the banks of the swamp to clean up.
From there she rushed home as fast as her seven-hundred-pound frame and bulging belly would allow. Her family’s abode, like all ogre homes in Fire Swamp, was made of clay and twigs and swamp grass, built in a circle around a tall willow tree. She reached it, quite out of breath, and rushed inside. In the kitchen, a clean pot sat on the small table beside the fireplace, and no wooden dishes sat in the wash bucket.
“Mah, Pah, you two nannywiggins still sleeping?” she said, moving to her parents’ room and knocking on the door.
“Mah? Pah?” She opened the circular door, but found the bed made and no one inside.
“Where’d they run off to?” she wondered aloud and returned to the kitchen.
Her growling stomach reminded her again of the snake, and she went outside to see if it was still hanging. She found it to the right of the door, skin stretched and drying on a board and meat hanging from a tree.
Glancing around the village, she noted that still no one stirred. She looked to the sky to determine where the sun was sitting, but the silver glowing mist hanging over the village hid the exact location.
“Great Turtle’s shell, what is going on here?” she w
ondered.
The day itself was much like any other—thick gray fog hung motionless in the air, the constant frog song sounded in the surrounding swamp, lizard monkeys swung overhead on vines hanging from spider trees—yet there was not another ogre to be found.
The smoke from their chimneys was still curling up into the fog, and guard crocodiles sat chained to spikes outside the pod doors, lazily sleeping away the morning. She regarded her family’s croc, asking him what he knew, but of course, he didn’t answer.
Her stomach growled again, and she returned to the pod to get something to eat; if she was going to investigate the strange disappearance of the tribe, she wasn’t about to do it on an empty stomach. She found nothing to eat inside but yesterday’s leftover frog legs and a loaf of pussy willow bread. She ate it all quickly and then ventured back outside. After a final look for anyone else still in the village, she headed over to her grandmother’s dwelling. Turtle stew hung simmering in a cauldron over the still-burning fire, and she helped herself to three bowls of it before heading on to the next dwelling. She had to investigate, after all, and to come calling around the village was the best way she could think to do it.
But no one answered their doors.
Willow searched the raptor stables at the center of the village and found that the mounts remained. Growing more curious by the moment, she made her way to the banks of the swamp and searched the boats and barges. Still, she found no one.
Willow worked herself up with worry, imagining what mysterious events might have befallen the village. Perhaps the ghosts of the giant Agnarians had swept across the land from the west while she slept. Everyone knew that those long-dead spirits held a special animosity toward the ogres, who had refused to come to their aid when Drak’Noir had descended upon what is now called the Blight. Or perhaps the villagers had been lured to the murky depths by the bog monster and his scaly sirens.
Willow shook the thoughts from her mind and decided to search the dwellings more thoroughly. It appeared that many of the families had been preparing breakfast before suddenly disappearing. In nearly every cooking hut she found food simmering over fires—and, of course, not wanting the overcooked food to go to waste, she helped herself to much of it.
An hour later, she sat on a stump beside her family’s dwelling, rubbing her big green belly and wondering what had happened to everyone. Now that she was full and no longer had the distraction of hunger, she became genuinely concerned about what might have occurred. She cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, “Dingleberry!” as loud as she could. The little bugger was bound to be around somewhere. She had to call three more times, but eventually the telltale jingle of her approach could be heard.
The tiny little six-inch fairy hovered suddenly before Willow, her wings a blue blur of motion.
“Willow, what-what are you doing here? Have you not heard-heard?” Her high-pitched voice was even more keening than usual.
“Heard what?” said Willow, nearly going cross-eyed as she tried to focus on the sprite hovering right in front of her face.
Dingleberry slapped herself in the head and did a backflip. “Kazimir has come-come! He is going to name-name the Champion of Fire Swamp,” she yelled over her shoulder, zipping away as fast as a humming bird. “Come on, follow me!”
“Wait for me!” yelled Willow. She ran quickly to the stables and saddled Tor, her father’s raptor, as fast as she could.
Willow was suddenly overcome with excitement, for she knew that a grand feast was sure to follow the naming of the champion. The stories of the previous naming were legend in Fire Swamp. Willow hadn’t yet been born at the time, but her parents told her that the celebration had lasted for seven days.
Dingleberry led her through the village to the north, past the Foul Falls and the Mushroom Forest, all the way to the mouth of Skull Cavern. Thousands of ogres from all surrounding villages were gathered in and around the ancient bones, and there, at the center of the hollow skull, stood the many chieftains…and the mighty human wizard, Kazimir.
Willow shouldered past the standing ogres at the back of the gathering and stood atop a rock to get a better view. Dingleberry landed on her shoulder and they shared a grin.
Upon seeing her, however, the surrounding ogres began to burp and slap their bellies in appreciation. Willow glanced around, confused, and quickly realized that everyone was looking at her.
“And here she is now,” proclaimed her chieftain. “Willow Muckmuck, the Champion of Fire Swamp!”
The crowd cheered and gave great bellowing burps. The sound of slapped bellies became deafening. She saw her parents standing upon the rock with the chieftains and Kazimir the Most High Wizard.
“Wow-wow, Willow!” said Dingleberry, wide-eyed.
Willow slowly realized what was happening. She had been named Champion of Fire Swamp. For a fleeting moment, she was excited, but then she remembered that the celebrations took place after the champion set out. She was going to miss the feast! Willow’s head swooned, and she passed out at the feet of the adoring ogres.
Chapter 4
The Champion of Halala
Brannon the wood elf hummed to himself as he clipped the dead leaves from his rose bush. He cupped a drooping blossom and whispered a gentle word. The flower glowed brightly and straightened, spreading its velvety petals.
“That’s better, now isn’t it?” He gave the plant some extra water and a pulse of floral magic before finishing off the others. Content, he walked to the balcony overlooking the garden pond and stared out over the water at the city beyond. It was turning out to be a lovely day.
“Brannon, Brannon!” came the shrieking voice of his sister Annallia, jolting him from his reverie.
“Must you screech so?” he asked, rubbing his right temple.
She rushed into the room and ran to his side. “Have you heard the news?”
He snapped his fingers haughtily, and a servant rushed over and began fanning him with a large peacock feather. “Do tell,” he said to her impatiently.
She laughed and twirled, clapping her hands like a young lass, though she was over forty years old. “You don’t know? Oh, but this is juicy.”
He feigned indifference and waited, yawning.
“Guess who has just arrived in Halala?” she blurted.
“The king of the dipshits, coming to take you home?” he offered with a grin.
“Clever, but no. Guess again.”
“I grow weary of this game, sister. Out with it.”
“Kazimir!” she said finally, and then gave a pip of a laugh before quickly covering her mouth, as though she were a child who had just uttered a swear word.
“The Most High Wizard? He comes so soon? But spring has only just arrived.”
“I know! Isn’t it wonderful? Come, let’s get ready. Everyone has been summoned to the temple.”
Brannon was suddenly filled with dread. “By the Lord of the Wood…what will I wear?” He grabbed the peacock tail from the servant before slumping down on the cushioned bench beside the balcony and began fanning himself worriedly.
“Oh, brother, who cares about you? What am I going to do about this hair?” said Annallia as she turned this way and that before one of Brannon’s many mirrors.
Brannon snapped to his feet and slapped his hands together. “Forren! Gather together the entire staff. We must prepare for the ceremony!”
The head servant bowed once for him and again for his sister before running off to do his master’s bidding.
Brannon paced, biting his long purple thumbnail. Kazimir had come to choose Halala’s Dragon Champion. He instantly thought of Valkimir, worrying that his brave lover might be chosen. Val had been away for six months, fighting beyond the Wide Wall, and had only returned but a week ago. To think that Val might once again be torn from his side filled Brannon with dire trepidation.
His sister must have sensed his mood, for she came to him then and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Fret not, brother. If Val is
chosen, he will come home victorious.”
“Valkimir is the greatest warrior in all of Halala, of course he’ll be chosen.” Brannon shrugged away from his sister and stared out over the pond. Tears pooled in his eyes and threatened to ruin his maquillage.
Just then their father and king, Rimon, strode into the room. The ever-regal elven king was dressed in his best golden armor. A red cloak trailed ten feet behind him, each corner held by a scantily clad servant girl. “I assume you have been informed of our visitor,” he said in a deep, commanding voice that was always laced with disappointment. “We leave within the hour. See that you look presentable…not so much of that coloring you fancy so.”
Brannon waved his father off and snapped his fingers. “Oh, she’ll be ready, don’t you worry.”
The king regarded him with a tired scowl. “I was talking to you. This experimentation…this phase of yours has come to an end, my flamboyant son. Everyone has been called to attendance, everything has been prepared. Lady Claristra Fallingleaf will be seated beside you.”
“Father, this isn’t the time to argue about that. I—”
“I’m not finished!” said the king.
The servants’ eyes all darted to the floor, and Brannon felt his cheeks flush—his father rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was like thunder.
“After the champion is chosen,” the king continued, “you will ask the lady’s hand in marriage.”
“I will do no such thing!” Brannon found himself saying. Having forgotten his place, he cowered for a moment. But then thoughts of Valkimir brought him courage, and he quickly straightened again.
He knew that his father had sent Val to the front lines to punish Brannon—the king didn’t agree with his and Val’s way of life—and Brannon had been sick with worry for months. Finally, at long last, Val had returned to Halala victorious. The king had slapped a medal on the brave warrior’s chest and then given him lands far from the city.
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