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

by Michael James Ploof

  Bjorn laughed merrily and lit up his pipe. “It is true that I have been far and wide, but I did not find Ling Ling during my travels. She was a gift from the great Kazimir, who saved her from a terrible marriage set up by her father. She is, how did he put it, not of this world.”

  Sir Eldrick took a new measure of the man. “You are a friend of the great wizard? Small world,” he said, glancing at Brannon.

  “We are friends of the wizard as well,” said the elf before sucking the butter from the end of a carrot.

  Sir Eldrick sighed under his breath.

  “Indeed,” said Bjorn. “And if I am any good at guessing, I would say that five companions, so different from one another and traveling west toward the Wide Wall, must be none other than the Champions of the Dragon.”

  “You sure are a smart one,” said Willow between slurps of soup.

  “Yes, you sure are,” said Sir Eldrick.

  Bjorn smiled pleasantly. “Please,” he said, indicating the food spread out across the table. “Eat up. For the road is long and full of hardships. A little extra fat on your ribs will be sure to get you a long way beyond the Wall.”

  “If I eat any more, my backpack won’t be able to carry me,” said Murland, happily patting his belly.

  Gibrig burped and glanced at Ling Ling shyly. “Sorry, me lady, that be a compliment to the cook where I be from.”

  Sir Eldrick glanced at Brannon, who was smiling at Bjorn like a silly lass beneath the maypole. “I might have room for dessert,” said Sir Eldrick, rising from his seat. “But first I must use your latrine.”

  “Down the hall, first left,” said Bjorn.

  “Out with the old and in with the new, my father always says,” Willow said through her stuffed mouth. She snorted a laugh.

  ***

  Sir Eldrick discretely nodded to Brannon, and the elf offered a knowing glance before excusing himself as well. Brannon followed him into the hall, which was covered in green moss that began to glow as they approached.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Sir Eldrick asked, pulling the elf into the spacious latrine.

  “What? What are you talking about?” said Brannon, yanking his clothes free of the knight’s grip.

  “Are you even paying attention? Bjorn is working for Kazimir, trying to fatten us up for the dragon. If you weren’t busy flirting like a little slut, you might have realized that.”

  “Slut?” Brannon scoffed. He suddenly slapped Sir Eldrick across the face.

  “Is that what you call a slap?” said Sir Eldrick, brushing off his beard.

  “How dare you?” Brannon continued. “I’m faithful to Valkimir. Besides, Bjorn is such a burly, wild beast of a man…” he said, eyes trailing off and a dopey smile replacing his indignant scowl.

  “Yeah, well take off your beer goggles,” said Sir Eldrick. “And start thinking with your other head.”

  “Lighten up. So what if Bjorn is working with Kazimir? So are we.”

  “Look, daffodil, just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. No one can be trusted, not Bjorn, and sure as hell not Kazimir.”

  “But, we’ve a deal with the wizard.”

  “Don’t you know that you can never trust a wizard? How old are you?”

  Sudden doubt crossed Brannon’s face, and his eyes wandered in thought. “But, but you said—”

  “I said that I made a deal with Kazimir, not that he would keep it. If it is in his best interest, he will go against his word. Just keep your ears perked and your eyes open. Don’t let down your guard for a minute.”

  Brannon bit his thumbnail and began to pace, but Sir Eldrick put a staying hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

  “Keep your head straight and watch what you say. We must not give anything away to the others or Bjorn. Do you understand?”

  Brannon nodded, trying to put on a brave face.

  Sir Eldrick sighed and gave him a small shove. “Now get out of here, I’ve got to piss.”

  Chapter 15

  A Roddington Never Gives Anyone the Shaft

  Princess Caressa stood on the balcony looking west over the city. The beautiful view went beyond the walls and out over the rolling hills of green, spilling into the dark blue horizon. She wondered about Murland, worrying of his safety and trying to guess how far he and the other champions had gotten. Surely not all the way to the Wide Wall already, for it had only been two weeks since she bade her oldest friend farewell.

  She had been just as shocked as Murland seemed to be that he had been named by Kazimir. He was not the best wizard that Abra Tower had to offer; everyone knew that. And he was no fighter. That was not to say that Murland was useless. Caressa knew him to be a smart, caring, and happy young man, one who saw beauty in everything and never spoke of anyone with a mean tongue. But those traits would not likely help him on his quest, for the dark land beyond the Wide Wall was full of terrors, and only the strongest and bravest dared venture there.

  The question had gnawed at her night and day: Why had Kazimir chosen Murland?

  Could it be that she was wrong, that she had failed to see something in him? By his own admittance, he was no wizard, and for one of his age to suddenly magically bloom was unheard of. She had tried to instill some confidence in him, for he had always been a shy boy, never one to be cocky in the slightest. Caressa had tried to help him, had tried to bring out the strong young man she knew him to be.

  Hadn’t she?

  The kiss was her gift to him in that regard, and it had surely put some pep in his step afterward. Caressa laughed at the thought, touching her lips and suddenly sobering at the memory. It had only been intended as a kiss to raise his spirits, but to Caressa, it had been something more.

  She drew her finger across her lips as she thought of him.

  Caressa shook her head and snapped herself out of it. Such thoughts were impossible. She was a princess, and already betrothed to Beuford Winterthorn, prince of Vhalovia. Though he was a vile young man who had been trying since the age of thirteen to look up her skirt when no one was around, teasing that what was under there was rightfully his. She shuddered at the thought of it. She would much rather marry Murland. But of course, that was impossible.

  Unless…

  If he returned from Bad Mountain victorious, her father would surely name him the Royal Wizard or some such thing. With such an honored title, he would be given lands and treasure, and would then be suitable to marry a princess.

  The thought bloomed and grew, nurtured by her excitement and passion until she could no longer pace the balcony wondering, wondering…

  She ran out of her room and rushed to her father’s study, where he liked to spend the hours after dinner reading by the fireplace. The door to his study was closed, but light spilled out beneath the crack at the bottom.

  “Father!” she called as she knocked. “Father, I would like to speak to you!”

  The door opened only a moment after, and her father stood, holding a half-full glass of amber liquor, his reading spectacles sitting loosely on the bridge of his nose. He looked at her with his hound dog eyes and frowned. “What is it, my dear? Has something happened? You look distraught.”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” she said, and she took his glass and shot back the contents like a pirate. She walked past her gawking father and moved to the bar. “I have a question, that is all.”

  “What is it?”

  She refilled his glass and brought it back to him, but he only stood, fingers laced over his large round belly, his face scrunching up the way it did when he was intrigued. “What is this question that you have?”

  Caressa knew her father to be a lover of secrets, though he was no good at keeping them himself.

  “Father, what happens when the champions return from Bad Mountain?”

  “Return?” he said, as though he had never heard the word before.

  “Well…yes. The champions are always victorious in scaring off Drak’Noir. What happens when they return?”


  This time, Nimrod took the glass and emptied it himself. He gulped it down and moved over to the bar to pour another. “Yes, you are only twenty years old. I forgot that you have never been through a year of the dragon. Well, they never truly return. They go on a victory tour that brings them all over the lands, and then, being that they are such esteemed heroes, well, they go about doing hero things.”

  “You mean that Murland will never return, even if he is victorious?”

  “I suppose not. He will be named one of the greatest wizards in all the lands. He will be quite busy, quite busy indeed.” The king raised his glass, as if to toast the young man, and drank it down, rubbing his bald head the way he did when he was uncomfortable.

  Caressa did not miss the gesture.

  “Father, what is it?”

  “Hmm? Sorry, dear. What is what?” he asked, rubbing his head and neck.

  She stared at his big hound dog eyes, which quickly looked away and into his glass until he saw the bottom. “Another?” he said to himself. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “Father, what are you not telling me?” Caressa pressed.

  “You mean what are you not telling me? Why are you so interested in the fate of the wizard anyway?”

  “We’ve been friends since we were little. Why wouldn’t I be interested?”

  “Yes, well, you have many friends. Don’t worry yourself. Now, I must get back to my books,” he said, moving toward his favorite reading chair.

  Caressa blocked his path. “I know that look when I see it,” she told her father.

  “What look?”

  “Father…”

  “Now you’re just being silly.”

  “Father…”

  “Now stop looking at me like that. I don’t know what you are trying to do, but—”

  “What are you keeping from me? Is it a secret? I know you love secrets. Tell it to me.”

  King Nimrod tried to avoid his daughter’s stare, but she forced herself into his field of vision and glared at him until he cracked.

  “The Champions of the Dragon never return; it is a hoax. Oh, my daughter, forgive me. But your friend Murland is doomed.”

  “What?” said Caressa, utterly shocked. “What do you mean it is a hoax?”

  The king sighed and slumped into his chair. “The champions never scare off Drak’Noir. They are…she feeds them to her whelps.”

  “What? Why would you agree to such a thing?”

  “You are old enough to know. This is the way of things. Once every generation, Kazimir chooses someone from every kingdom who is…how do I put this delicately…useless.”

  “Murland is not useless!”

  “Yes, well, the high wizards seem to think so. They offered up Murland to Kazimir to be Magestra’s champion, and it is so.”

  “He is my dearest friend, Father. How could you do this to me?”

  “How was I to know that you felt this way about him?”

  Caressa was furious. She slapped the drink out of his hand, sending it crashing into a bookcase. “If you paid attention, you would know that I felt that way. For the sake of the gods, Father, Murland and I have been friends for years. And his parents, what of his parents? Lord Kadabra is a close friend of yours. How could you do this to him?”

  “Now just a second, young lady. What Murland is doing is heroic. The champions might not actually scare off the dragon, and they might be doomed to be food for whelps, but their sacrifice saves us all from the wrath of Drak’Noir, as it has for centuries.”

  “It isn’t a sacrifice if they do not agree to it. It is murder.”

  “Who would agree to such a thing?” her father asked, but Caressa had had enough. She turned and began marching to the door before she said or did something that she would regret.

  “Caressa!” her father called behind her. “Where are you going?”

  She turned at the door to glare at her father. “If anything happens to Murland, I will never, ever, talk to you again. His blood will be on your hands!”

  “Caressa!”

  She slammed the door to his pleading calls and stormed back to her room, where her handmaiden was just turning down the sheets.

  “Never mind that,” said Caressa. “Have my horse prepared for long travel, and gather my armor and sword.”

  “But, where are you going, my lady?”

  “Beyond the Wide Wall,” said Caressa.

  And her handmaiden fainted.

  Chapter 16

  Over the Hill and Around the Bender

  The day’s first rays of light crept over the sill beside Murland’s bed and greeted him with blinding enthusiasm. He stretched and yawned, rubbing his belly and suddenly remembering Bjorn’s promise of hot cakes as big as a knight’s shield at first light.

  He had been assigned a room with Gibrig and Willow, and he soon discovered that the ogre was already up and at ‘em, although Gibrig still snored away.

  “Wake up, Gib,” said Murland, shaking his friend’s shoulder. “Remember, hotcakes?”

  Gibrig stirred and mumbled dreamily. But then suddenly his eyes shot open, and he sat up in bed. “Hotcakes…and bacon! Last night Bjorn said hotcakes and bacon!” He bolted out of bed and rushed into the hall. He slammed into the earthen wall, bounced off, and ran toward the kitchen.

  Murland glanced out the window, and saw Gibrig come to a skidding halt next to Snorts with a look of relief. Snorts was safe and still tied to the post with the other mounts, far away from the raptor.

  Over breakfast, Bjorn admitted that the hog who was honoring their breakfast had been named Ham. He said it with a chuckle, which Gibrig seemed not to appreciate in the slightest.

  When the companions had all finished their meal, Ling Ling loaded them up with brown bags full of little paper boxes stuffed with food from the night before. Gibrig took his with a dopey, starry-eyed grin, at which Ling Ling blushed and nodded repeatedly, saying brightly, “No MSG.”

  “Well, my friends,” said Bjorn at the door. “If you are ever journeying this way again, please, look us up. We would love to have you for dinner again and hear your tales of adventure.”

  “Oh, we’ll be back this way,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Of course you will,” said Bjorn, waving as they left. “Just follow the hills south for a spell, and you will soon find the road.”

  “Thank you, Bjorn. Thank you, Ling Ling,” called Willow, waving with one hand and already eating her share of leftovers with the other.

  They found the road easily and started off again to the west. The weather remained agreeable, though Sir Eldrick kept his eyes on a storm front that seemed always to be just on the eastern horizon.

  Murland had braved his winged backpack as soon as they were on the road, and now flew high above the companions, enjoying a unique view of the wider world. He’d had a good night’s sleep on a feathered mattress, enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and was now flying like a bird. Indeed, Murland was having a good day.

  He thought of Princess Caressa as he flew, and his mind brought him back to their last encounter, when she had kissed him. Flying high above the ground, he imagined the roar of the crowd when he returned from the quest victorious, and he imagined Caressa. She would be dressed in a gown of the purest white, and the king would be so enamored with Murland the hero that he would offer his daughter’s hand in marriage. Together Murland and Caressa would retire to the highest room in Abra Tower, and they would have half a dozen children.

  An hour later, Murland was jolted from his day dreams when an arrow suddenly came from the trees below and hit his backpack, sending him spiraling down toward the treetops. Murland cried out to the others in warning, but he fell so fast that he hadn’t gotten more than three terrified words out before he hit a branch, dropped five feet, and hit another, then another, and another still, before hitting the ground with a thud.

  ***

  Sir Eldrick saw the arrow, and he saw Murland’s sickening descent from on high. “Ambush!” he cried as he went for
the bow and arrow tied off beside his saddle. The companions had just come out of the rolling hills and entered a dense forest. Even as they reined in their mounts to get away, nets came down and covered Willow and Gibrig. Brannon spurred his horse beyond the nets and archers and zipped through the woods the way they had come.

  A net came at Sir Eldrick from on high, and he leapt from his mount just in time. He landed and rolled, coming up with sword drawn and shield out before him. He ran to Willow to cut her free, knowing that she would be the best in a fight, but before he could get to her, half a dozen archers emerged from the bushes and leveled their arrows on him.

  “Stand down!” came a voice from the woods. Another man emerged, this one clearly the leader of the group. He wore a ridiculously large plumed hat with a peacock feather sticking up out of it and sleek leather armor. His face was young and smooth, and his eyes were dark, matching his short-cropped hair.

  “I am a knight of Vhalovia,” said Sir Eldrick in a warning tone. “Release my friends and be on your way, and I will spare you the wrath of King Winterthorn.”

  The man smirked as he bravely strode up to Sir Eldrick and stopped ten feet away. With him came two more goons, one carrying a mean-looking axe, the other a longsword.

  “Let me out of here, you nannywiggins!” said Willow, who was hopelessly tangled up with her raptor. “If my food gets crushed, I’ll kill every last one of you!”

  “Please, dear ogre, do shut up. The humans are talking,” said the dark-haired man.

  A sudden commotion came from behind the bandits, and another bandit walked up to his leader and pushed the lanky wizard down on the ground between Gibrig and Willow. Seeing the arrow, Sir Eldrick was at first alarmed, but then he saw how it protruded from the pack, and not from Murland.

  “A knight of Vhalovia,” said the dark-haired man, tapping his chin in thought. He looked Sir Eldrick up and down, pausing on his belly, and then smiled. He took a step closer and studied his face.