Champions of the Dragon: (Humorous Fantasy) (Epic Fallacy Book 1)

by Michael James Ploof

  “Fool! I know why it is that you want liquor.” The old wizard nodded knowingly at Sir Eldrick’s surprised expression. “Yes, I know what you are trying to do. But it would not work against me. You can drink yourself silly for the next two hundred years if only you can remain sober for a few weeks. Lead the idiots west to King’s Crossing, beyond the Wide Wall, through the Forest of the Dead, past the Swamp of Doom, over the Horrible Hills, across the Long Sand, all the way to the shadowy peak of Bad Mountain.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “If you don’t, then I will be forced to kill the queen that you love so much.”

  Sir Eldrick pulled his dagger in a flash and pressed it up against Kazimir’s ribs. But the blade was stopped dead by an invisible energy shield. An electric shock shot up his arm and there was a flash of light.

  The next thing Sir Eldrick knew, he was against the wall on the other side of the room, being slapped gently by the barkeep.

  “Dammit, man, get off me!” said Eldrick. He staggered to his feet and eyed the Most High Wizard, who still sat, leisurely eating his breakfast at the bar.

  Sir Eldrick returned to his stool with a slight limp and a newfound respect for wizards. “I’ll tell you what, wizard,” he said, sitting with a groan. “I’m in no mood to fight an old man today anyway, and this sounds like my kind of adventure. I’m in.”

  Kazimir dipped his bread in golden yolk and grinned. “Excellent.”

  Chapter 8

  Shadow Forest

  Gibrig and Snorts seemed to have avoided the search party, and soon they found themselves in the middle of Shadow Forest, walking among tall ancient pines whose thick boughs blocked out the sun completely, leaving the ground barren and rocky amid the bed of gnarled roots.

  “N-n-nothing to worry about, Snorts.”

  Gibrig held himself and shivered. The lack of sunlight made the forest dark and ominous, and it was too quiet. The tall trees seemed to always be watching, and he had not dared stop for a second to rest. Instead he trudged on through the forest to the south, away from the Iron Mountains. The night had been a long and hungry one. Gibrig had left with such haste that he hadn’t had the time to gather any supplies. He and Snorts had found water in streams along the way, but neither had eaten since the day before.

  Gibrig had been through the forest before, years ago when he was just a young lad. His father had taken him and his brother Gillrog through it on a hunting trip, and they had returned with a good-sized stag. Thoughts of the venison that they had harvested from the beast caused Gibrig’s belly to rumble. He thought of his brother then, and a dark melancholy overcame him.

  “Boy, I wish Gill was with me now,” he said to Snorts. “Me brother weren’t afraid o’ the dark woods like I be. Ye woulda really liked him. He was the nicest dwarf ye ever done want to meet. Had humanism just like me. We was twins, ye see. I ever tell ye about him?”

  Snorts looked up from rutting in the soft earth and wiggled his backside.

  Gibrig gave a sigh. “He was a good dwarf. Never hurt no one. But the other dwarf lads picked on him nonstop. We weren’t identical in looks, ye see. He was a lot taller than I be. The tallest dwarf that ever lived, they say. Well, the others ignored me for the most part, but they were on poor Gill all the time. Finally, I suppose that he couldn’t take it no more…”

  Gibrig got too choked up to talk to Snorts anymore, and tried to think of something else.

  They continued south through the whispering trees, and Gibrig thought of his father, to whom he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.

  “I reckon Pap’ll be alright though, Snorts, so don’t ye be worryin’ ‘bout him. Probably be better off without me. Ain’t nobody needs a tall weed like me around anyhow. We’ll make our own way, Snorts, just you and me. This here’s a big, wide open land. We’ll find our place. Maybe there be a village o’ dwarves with humanism around somewhere.”

  Snorts gave an exuberant honk.

  “That’s right,” said Gibrig, wiping his eyes despite his brave words.

  Many hours later, they finally reached the edge of the dark forest, and Gibrig stopped, hesitant to continue. As much as he feared the forest, he feared the unknown lands even more. He looked out over the land and gulped. The wide world was just that, and stretched as far as the eye could see. The great expanse of nothingness somehow seemed to carry far more ire toward the two than the terrible forest of dark pines had.

  Gibrig swallowed hard. “Ye know what, Snorts? If I take one more step, it’ll be the farthest from the Iron Mountains that I’ve ever been.”

  Snorts looked sidelong at him, almost expectantly.

  “Here goes,” said Gibrig. He gathered his courage, closed his eyes, and took a big step forward.

  His foot slipped forward slightly, and he opened his eyes to find that he had stepped in a huge cow pie.

  “Son of a—”

  “Ah! It’s about time you found your way through the forest,” came a stern voice suddenly. “Come now, no time to dillydally.”

  Gibrig stood there blinking, unbelieving of whom he saw. The old man was tall, despite the slight curve to his back. A long white beard fell to his knees in a neat braid. He carried a staff in his right hand, and his pointed hat was adorned with stars and moons. His robes were like a cloud’s silver lining, and Gibrig had to squint against the sudden glare.

  “W-Who are you?” said Gibrig, taking a step back, right into the cow pie again.

  “You know who I am, Master Hogstead.”

  “Ye’re…ye’re a wizard, aren’t ye?”

  The wizard gave a nod. “The Most High Wizard.”

  “Ka…Kazimir? But why in the hells…holy dragon shyte, y’ve come to take me back to the mountain to be hanged, haven’t ye?”

  “No, I am not taking you back to the mountain. Now, if you are quite done with your exposition of expletives, you will kindly follow me,” Kazimir said over his shoulder, acting quite sure that Gibrig would follow.

  But Gibrig’s fear paralyzed him, though Snorts gave a happy snort and started moving immediately.

  Kazimir stopped suddenly and slowly turned back to the frightened dwarf. “I never repeat myself, lad.”

  “Why should I follow ye? And how do I know that ye be who ye say ye be, eh? They…they say that Kazimir always speaks in riddles. So…so go on and explain that, ye falsifier!” said Gibrig, quite wanting to seem fierce. He tried to remind himself that trembling was not a part of bravado.

  “Idiot! Who in their right mind rhymes all the time? It’s an act. I’m Kazimir, and Kazimir means me. If I must prove myself to you, I’ll do it by turning your hog into bacon with a snap of my fingers.”

  “Ye wouldn’t!” said Gibrig fearfully.

  The wizard cocked his head. “Of course I would…and at any rate, you would be best off to kill the poor beast now, smoke the meat, and hope it lasts you to Bad Mountain.”

  Gibrig scoffed. “I’d never cook me hog—did ye say Bad Mountain? What’s this ye be sayin’?”

  “Haven’t you heard? You have been named the Champion of the Iron Mountains, Master Hogstead. I have come to escort you to King’s Crossing, where you will meet the other heroes.”

  Gibrig stared at Kazimir, dumbfounded. “I’ve been named the Dragon Champion of the Iron Mountains?”

  “Indeed,” said Kazimir. “I have read it in the stars, and the stars are never wrong.”

  Gibrig became suddenly dizzy, and he found that it helped to sit.

  Snorts licked Gibrig’s cheek and settled his round frame on the ground beside his master.

  “Ye’ve got it all wrong,” began Gibrig.

  There was a sudden bang and a flash of light that left a cloud of smoke hovering where the wizard had been. Gibrig shut his eyes against the glare, and when he opened them, Kazimir stood right in front of him, glaring down. “You are Gibrig Hogstead, and that is your hog, Snorts. I am Kazimir, be there no doubt about it. I am here to do what I have said. Make me repeat mysel
f, and I will hang you in a crow’s nest.”

  “But, the Champions of the Dragon are brave heroes. I’m—I’m just a hog farmer!”

  “Young Gibrig, I have seen seven generations of heroes off to Bad Mountain. Would you recoil to know that the great Vexler of Magestra was a simple baker’s son before he set out? Or that Sir John Frail once called the shantytowns of Pearnt his home? How about the fabulous Floren van Perth of Halala? When first I met him, he darkened his pretty pants. But one and all helped to defeat the dragon in their time…and you will do the same.”

  The wizard straightened and eyed Snorts. “You will need a steed for this quest, young Gibrig.” He waggled his fingers and spoke strange words. In a flash of light and a puff of smoke, a saddle suddenly appeared on Snorts’s back.

  ***

  Just then, far to the south, a man’s horse was leaping over a fence when the saddle suddenly disappeared. The horse landed, jarring the man’s crotch and causing him to give a high-pitched squeal as he fell over.

  And there went the young farmer’s ability to father children, for he would have sired the greatest knight in the southern lands.

  Chapter 9

  Courage, it Couldn’t Have Come at a Worse Time

  “This is ludicrous. I won’t do it!” Brannon screamed, rushing into his quarters and throwing himself on his bed.

  “Oh, but you will,” said the king, marching after him. “You have been chosen by Kazimir, and you will do your duty.”

  “That’s dragon shit and you know it! I’m no warrior…I’m no hero. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you put him up to this just to be rid of me!”

  The king grabbed Brannon’s shoulders firmly and lifted him off the bed with ease. The fire in his eyes burned with unmistakable hatred. “I’ve tolerated your effeminate sensibilities long enough,” he yelled. “You will go on this quest, and you will make this family proud.”

  Brannon couldn’t help but break down and cry, which caused his makeup to run down his cheeks like wet paint upon a canvas.

  The king growled and backhanded him. “Act like a male for once in your life!”

  “You can’t make me into something I’m not!” Brannon shot back.

  The king slapped his son again before tearing off the wig and shoving it in his face, which of course caused further tears and even more of his coloring to smear.

  “And neither can you!” said the king, shoving Brannon hard against the wall. He stood there panting, looking down at his son with a face twisted in anger.

  “Stop this!” Annallia screamed.

  Brannon lifted his head and regarded his furious sister through blurry eyes.

  She took a step toward her father, seeming much bigger than she really was. “He’s about to leave. Possibly forever. Can’t you show your only son some compassion?”

  The king looked from her to Brannon, and then to his own hands, as though he didn’t recognize himself. His face was twisted in rage and regret. “You leave within the hour,” he said breathlessly, before turning and lurching out of the room with none of the highborn grace that he was known for.

  “Are you alright, dear brother?” Annallia asked, running to Brannon’s side.

  He shoved his face in a pillow and started weeping.

  Annallia tried to comfort her brother. “It’s alright—”

  Brannon shot up and began pacing the room. “No it’s not!” His hair was a mess, and his coloring had now run down all over his face. He didn’t care anymore. His life was over.

  “Champion of the Dragon?” he vehemently spat. “I had feared that Val would be the one chosen. But I never imagined…What is this terrible curse that Kazimir has cast upon me?”

  Annallia straightened bravely. “Perhaps you are a warrior at heart…”

  He leveled her with a grounding glare. “Really? You of all people know the fallacy that befalls your tongue.”

  She faltered, but then redoubled her steely façade. Three determined strides brought them face to face. “You are the bravest elf that I have ever known.”

  “Stop—” He turned from her, but she caught his arm firmly and forced him to face her.

  “You are the bravest elf I have ever known!” she said again. “What is a dragon in the face of the prejudice you have had to endure for your love of Val? I have seen you face a crowd, wearing things that you know will bring you disdain and hatred, yet, you care not, because that is who you are. When you kissed Val at the award ceremony two years ago, in front of everyone, I thought it was the bravest thing I had ever seen. You were scorned, harassed, and teased, yet, you acted as though you didn’t care.”

  “I care. It kills me…” He choked up, unable to find his words.

  “Of course it does. That is what courage is all about. Doing what you feel is right, even though it might kill you.”

  He sniffled, meeting her eyes. In them, he saw only sincerity. “But what does that kind of courage have to do with questing to Bad Mountain? What do I have to offer a group of heroes?”

  “First of all, your bravery. Secondly, you are quite skilled in floral magic.”

  He gave a laugh at that. “Yes, indeed! I’ll kill the dragon with flowers.”

  “Do not underestimate your power,” said Annallia. “You know how you impressed the elementals. If you had finished your training—”

  “They want people like me for the military. They care nothing about creation.”

  “True as that may be, you’re special, you’ve always been special.” She was tearing up now, and her voice threatened to give out. “And now you’ve got to be brave, for me, for Val…you’ve got to come back.”

  “Annallia…”

  “You’re going to come back. You hear me? If it’s a dragon Father wishes you to fight, then you bring back its head. You show them—you show them all!”

  Her energy was contagious, and Brannon found himself suddenly believing that maybe she was right. But then he faltered again.

  Annallia saw how his resolve came and went, and she squeezed his arm harder.

  “You can do this, Brannon. I believe in you—Val believes in you.”

  Val…

  As usual, Brannon found courage in the thought of Val, and he stood tall for the first time since the naming.

  “That’s better,” said Annallia, wiping her brother’s eyes lovingly. “Songs will be sung about you, dear Brannon, songs of victory and heroism. You just watch.”

  He wanted to believe her. More than anything he wanted to believe her. But he knew the truth of it—he was no warrior. Her words were pretty, and they did much to stir the heart. But of course, that was her gift. And in the end, they were just words. There was no way he could face a dragon, band of heroes at his side or not. It just wasn’t possible.

  “Stop!” came a voice from the hallway.

  Brannon and Annallia glanced at each other, for the voice had come from a guard.

  “We have orders from the king,” said the guard. “I’m sorry, but no one can see him.”

  Brannon took in a shocked breath. Could it be?

  “I will be quick,” came another voice, and Brannon’s heart leapt.

  “Valkimir!”

  He shot off the bed, ran to the open doorway, and skidded into the hall. Valkimir was in full armor, his black hair shining like raven’s wings and a burgundy cloak trailing behind him, as he marched past the guards, who just stood there, looking at each other helplessly.

  “Val! I knew you would come!” said Brannon as he rushed into his lover’s arms.

  Valkimir took him up and lifted him off his feet, kissing him deeply. “Come, we must speak privately,” he said, before letting him down.

  They left the guards arguing in the hallway, and Brannon smiled at his sister as she closed the door. Neither he nor Valkimir cared if she were in the room with them, for she had often been around when they were sneaking it in the old days, back when everyone thought that Valkimir was courting her.

  “I�
��m so glad you came,” said Brannon, falling upon him once more. He kissed Valkimir and held him tight.

  “Did you think that I would let you go on a quest without bidding you farewell in person?”

  Brannon recoiled, crestfallen. “You don’t mean to take me away from this nightmare?”

  Valkimir looked confused.

  “Surely you do not expect me to travel to Bad Mountain and do battle with Drak’Noir,” Brannon insisted.

  “You have been chosen by the Most High Wizard. You must go,” said Valkimir.

  “Val, are you out of your damned mind? I’ll surely be killed long before I even reach Bad Mountain.” He looked to Annallia for support, but she just pursed her lips and turned toward the balcony. “This is a nightmare!” he said, pulling at the sides of his hair.

  Valkimir took Brannon’s hands in his own and squared on him, blue eyes holding him in a deathly serious gaze. He had that look in his eye that he always came back from battle with. It was stoic and hard, with a hint of melancholy. “You have a serious decision to make. One that will determine your fate. I love you, Brannon, but you have a negative streak in you that holds you back from your full potential. Too often you cling to the perception that you are a victim.”

  Tears welled in Brannon’s eyes, but he determinedly stood straight and proud before his beloved. “I am the prince of Halala. Heir to the throne and—”

  “No!” said Valkimir in a voice that he had never used on Brannon. It was a tone saved for scared soldiers quivering in the face of an overwhelming foe. “Not anymore. Now you are the Champion of the Dragon of Halala. I cannot save you this time. Do you understand? You have only Kazimir and the other champions and your own strength.”

  “But, Val…”

  Valkimir caressed Brannon’s face and smiled on him lovingly. “You have more strength than you know. Please, please remember that.”

  Brannon felt sick with fear. He was dizzy and exhausted from all the excitement. All he wanted to do was get into bed with Val and snuggle up to his strong, warm body and sleep forever. He didn’t know why Val was being so cruel, but it hurt more than anything ever had.