“I…I swear. I—”
“In the language of magic!”
“Et fidelitatem ad vos,” said Zuul, and he promptly dropped to the floor. A faint light swirled out of him and snaked its way over to Kazimir’s hand to be absorbed into his palm.
“Now you are mine,” he said with a grin. He looked to Valkimir and the others as if they were an afterthought and waggled his fingers, murmuring spell words. Their chains broke, and they all fell to the floor.
“I do not care what tortures you threaten,” said Valkimir, straightening despite the pain in his numb legs. “I will follow my beloved to the ends of the earth if I have to. Lock me up, and I shall break free. Kill me, and I shall return as a ghost. You will never stop me.”
Kazimir looked to him tiredly and waved a hand wide before them. The chamber melted away like an oil painting beneath the rain and was replaced by the crashing waves of the northern sea and dull gray light of the overcast day.
Valkimir glanced around and found that by Kazimir’s magic, Caressa, Hagus, and Dingleberry were there as well, along with Wendel, who stood hunched among them, jaw chattering with terror.
“What do I do with you four?” Kazimir asked, pacing the long stones along the jagged shore.
“F-f-five,” said Wendel.
Kazimir sighed. “I have tried to be fair. And I have been more than patient. Your kings have all agreed to this, the Champions of the Dragon have been chosen. No matter what strange conspiracies you might imagine, one fact remains: Drak’Noir must be dealt with!”
Valkimir rushed forward, his face pleading rather than stern. “Together, we might all have a chance to defeat her. Please, Kazimir, we know that you have made some sort of deal with the wyrm, we know that you are somehow beholden to her. Let us help you.”
“Help me?” said the wizard, laughing mirthlessly. “You have just seen me defeat Zuul the Terrible, and you think that I need help from you?”
“If you will not help defeat Drak’Noir, then we will do it ourselves,” said Caressa. “Every one of us is prepared to die trying.”
“I really didn’t sign up for that,” said Wendel, raising his hand.
“Shut up, Wendel,” said Dingleberry.
“It is good that you are prepared to die, for die you shall,” said Kazimir, studying them all. “But not by my hand…oh, no. Venture beyond the Wide Wall, and you will know horrors that you have never dreamed. Otherworldly creatures that children’s fairytales cannot even begin to hint at. I beseech you now, go back to your palaces and your farms. Your own kings have given the champions their blessing in this, their greatest sacrifice. Leave it alone, for you know what will happen if Drak’Noir is not…taken care of.”
“I have already spoken my intentions,” said Valkimir with a raised chin.
“Aye,” said Hagus before spitting on the stone.
“Yeah!” Dingleberry put in, shadowboxing and flipping in the air.
Kazimir shook his head. “Then I will lament your loss,” he said.
He snapped his fingers, and their clothes, armor, and weapons landed in a pile at their feet. With that he spun on his toes, bringing his cloak up and around him, and in a puff of smoke he was gone.
“What about our mounts?” Hagus yelled at the sky.
“What do we do now?” Wendel asked the group.
“‘I’ll even milk her’?” said Caressa, stalking over and taking a swipe at the skeleton, smacking his jaw and sending the skull spinning on the neck bone.
Wendel caught his head and straightened it and threw up his arms. “I was scared!”
Caressa scoffed and began to get dressed.
When they were all decent once again, Caressa began to search the rocky shore. “There has to be a boat or something—ah, look here!”
Valkimir rushed over with the others and saw the small rowboat that had apparently gone aground against the island’s jutting rocks. They inspected it and found no holes, but no oars either.
“No matter,” said Valkimir. “We all have hands.”
Together they put the boat in the water and hopped in, pushing off from the rocks and paddling the best they could with their hands. Dingleberry did her part as well, pushing against Hagus’s back and beating her little wings furiously.
“We must head southwest,” said Valkimir. “That will bring us to the northern border, which will bring us to the Wide Wall.”
“How far we talkin’?” Hagus asked.
At first Valkimir did not answer.
“Well?”
“Only a few hundred miles, my good dwarf.”
“A few hundred miles!”
Chapter 35
Horse Meat and Raptor Blood
The Champions of the Dragon continued down the western road for three days. The land northwest of the Blight was marshy and wet, with crooked moss-covered trees that looked half dead and grew no leaves. The mood remained solemn, for Kazimir had not yet appeared to them with word of their loved ones. Everyone save Sir Eldrick was wracked with worry.
Murland spent his time whittling a wand out of a good sturdy piece of oak he had chiseled out of a block of firewood left behind at one of the camps they found in their travels. It wasn’t as dry as he would have liked, but it wasn’t green either, which would have been much worse. In other circumstances, the creation of a wand would be an arduous chore spanning weeks, if not months. The perfect piece of wood had to be procured, preferably from a very old hickory, hard maple, white oak, or beech tree. The wand would then be chiseled out and shaped, and often imbued with ancient runes, depending on what kind of magic the practitioner wanted it to enhance. The virgin wand would then be fire hardened using a very slow and time-consuming process. It would then be left to sit for a few days, at which time a hardening salve and other ointments would be applied.
Murland didn’t have time for all that, however. He needed the wand to perform only one spell, that of mending the broken wand of Allan Kazam. He dared not attempt any more spells with the taped wand. The simple fire spell he had attempted had nearly killed him.
After the fourth day of travel since the startling encounter with the darklings, Kazimir had still not arrived. They made camp off the road in a clearing that looked to be used often by travelers, likely soldiers from the five kingdoms headed to and from the Wide Wall.
“Two more days I reckon,” said Sir Eldrick as he sat by the fire with his arms hooked behind his head and boots up on the fireplace stones.
“Tell us again about the Wide Wall,” said Gibrig, who was absolutely distraught with worry for his father. He had been asking a lot of questions about almost everything the last few days, and Murland knew that it was to keep his mind off things.
“Well, what else can I tell you that I haven’t before?”
“Just tell it all again. That be fine.”
“Alright, well, the Wide Wall was built over a thousand years ago by the now all-but-extinct Agnarian giants with the help of us humans, elves, dwarves, ogres, hells, even trolls were part of the alliance in those days. When Zuul first rose up, he took the lands west of the Wall, which at one time were populated with all the races, as eastern Fallacetine is today. Mind you, the rising of a dark lord is not always an overnight affair. Zuul’s attempt at dominion spanned the course of a century. Bad Mountain, once home to the Darwellian dwarves, now extinct, was the first place to be conquered. From there the darkness spread. In ten years, what is now known as the Northern Barrens was taken. Its people, humans of fair skin and red hair, were enslaved and used in his growing army. Another twenty years saw the fall of the Zerellian elves, who were plainspeople, and known for their horses and buffalo furs. Then the human kingdom of Brigmere fell, which, at that time, was the most powerful kingdom in the west. It is now known as the Southern Barrens. The strange and mystic men of the Long Sand joined forces with Zuul after the fall of Brigmere. The ogres of Mossmire tried to hold back the dark tide, but they were overrun by Zuul, who turned all their creatures against
them, turning the once beautiful Mossmire into the Swamp of Doom.
“Now, about this time, the many races of Eastern Fallacetine began construction of the Wide Wall. Never in the history of the known lands have the races come together for such a project, and the finished result…well, you shall see. At first the dwarves proposed to make the Wall seven hundred feet tall, but most people thought the idea ludicrous, and of course, as dwarves will do, they set out to prove the naysayers wrong. When the work was finally completed, the Wall stood not seven hundred, but one thousand feet high, and two hundred feet thick, spanning a length from the northern sea to the southern sea—over a thousand miles of land. They say it can be seen from the moon,” Sir Eldrick said with a chuckle. “But only wizards and dragons would know that.”
“Did the Wall work?” Gibrig asked, although he knew the answer.
“It did, for a time, and the navies kept any attack from sea at bay as well. There were a great number of wizards in those days, too many if you ask most people. They helped greatly in keeping back Zuul and his armies, but everyone knew that sooner or later, one side would have to defeat the other.”
“And so began the Great War of Fallacetine,” said Brannon, staring at the fire hypnotically. “My great-great-great grandfather died in that war. But it is said that he killed over a hundred Zuulians while protecting Allan Kazam and giving him the time he needed to defeat Zuul.”
“Yes, your ancestor Merimus was said to have been a great elf, as is his descendent,” said Sir Eldrick, offering Brannon a friendly smile.
But the elf didn’t smile back. He didn’t scoff or roll his eyes either. He simply went back to staring at the fire, seeming dead inside.
Murland sighed, staring into the fire as well. Just then he wished he had the old Brannon back—snooty, rude, disrespectful, and all, anything but this sulking husk of a prince. Indeed, he wished he had all his old friends back.
“You must be excited to visit the wizardly college at the Wide Wall,” Sir Eldrick said to Murland.
“Huh? Er, yeah. I never imagined that I would see that place.”
“Wizard college?” said Willow, intrigued.
“The College of Kazam,” said Murland dreamily. “It is known as the greatest school of higher wizardly learning in all the land. There are no less than one hundred wizards there at any given time, what with the maintenance of the protective spells and whatnot, they are a busy lot.”
“Sounds great,” said Willow.
“It is a grand place indeed,” said Sir Eldrick. “On a good day, when the sun hits it just right, you can see the layers of wards covering the Wall. It is beautiful.”
“Maybe one o’ them other wizards will help ye out with yer magic,” Gibrig suggested.
“That would sure be nice.”
A shriek of horror ripped through the clearing, and Murland awoke with a jolt.
“Precious! Precious!” Brannon was wailing.
Murland grabbed Allan Kazam’s limply hanging wand and leapt to his feet. Sir Eldrick had risen with his sword, and Gibrig his shovel. One and all were ready for trouble. But rather than bandits, darklings, trolls, or goblins, they found Willow sitting by the dying fire with blood all over her face, eating a half-cooked horse’s leg.
“Oh, my, gods,” said Gibrig.
“You ate Precious! You sick, twisted, fat, useless ogre!” Brannon screamed. His hair was all in snarls, his makeup streaking down his cheeks.
Willow was still chewing, but she looked to the companions with raised green brows and a shrug. “I get really, really hungry when I’m worried. And I’m so worried about little Dingleberry that I just had to have someth—”
“You bitch!” Brannon screamed, and he threw a handful of seeds at the ogre. He reached out with clawing hands and chanted a string of cryptic-sounding words so fast that Murland thought smoke might come out of his ears.
Willow regarded the seeds with mild mystery, but continued on chewing.
“Brannon…” said Sir Eldrick, approaching him slowly.
“Elzick mrathmon dorgo un dar briglytho!” Brannon shrieked, and the plants suddenly exploded with life. They sprouted, rooted, and grew five feet tall in the course of five seconds, and Willow gave a shriek.
“Brannon, no!” Sir Eldrick said as he lunged for the elf.
But Brannon surprised them all when he ducked under the lurching arm of the knight and heaved a shoulder into his side, sending Sir Eldrick tumbling on his backside.
The seeds had been pumpkin, gourd, bean, and cucumber, and with Brannon’s psychic manipulation, they grew to an astounding size. The curling vines of the plants wound their way around Willow’s thick arms and legs in a heartbeat and lifted her off the ground, turning her upside down.
Willow’s raptor gave a grating shriek and snapped free of its reins, which had been lazily wrapped around a tree branch.
“Look out!” Murland warned as the raptor took seven quick strides with its meaty legs and leapt, teeth-first, at Brannon.
Brannon didn’t look afraid in the least, but furious. He raised a hand toward the raptor, and the vines followed his command, wrapping up the leaping beast and forcing it to stop three feet from Brannon, mouth agape and drooling.
The elf unsheathed his sword and stabbed it through the heart of the raptor. He was crying now, and his eyes shimmered and twinkled as he watched the life bleed out of the raptor, staring it in the eyes until they went blank.
“Tor!” cried Willow, and she yanked herself free of the squeezing vines.
Brannon turned on her with murder in his eyes, and Murland found that indeed, he was suddenly terrified of the elf. “Now let’s eat your mount and see how you like it!” Brannon licked the blood off his sword and spread it on his face.
“Brannon, stop this!” said Sir Eldrick, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.
The elf turned to Sir Eldrick, noticed Murland and Gibrig staring blankly at him, and fell to his knees, sobbing. The vines fell with him.
“I’m sorry,” said Willow, sniffling and looking at her dead raptor. “I was just so hungry.”
Brannon suddenly erupted. “Why not just eat the hog, or Sir Eldrick’s horse? Why did you have to eat Precious?”
Willow swallowed hard, glancing around at the others and then back again to Brannon. “I…”
“It’s because you hate me!” said Brannon, rising to his feet and pushing Sir Eldrick away. “You all hate me! You think I don’t know that? Well, guess what? I hate all of you! I wish I had never been chosen for this fool’s mission.”
“Watch it,” said Sir Eldrick evenly.
“You know why none of you feel like champions? Because you’re not!”
“Brannon…”
Brannon pointed at Willow. “A fat, useless ogre who was eating her clan out of house and home. A wizard who took ten years to grow a single measly plant! A dwarf who is obviously a bastard half-breed—”
“Brannon!”
He turned to Sir Eldrick with a shaking, pointing finger, face twisted with sorrow and malice and rage. “And a drunk, over-the-hill queen fucker!”
“That’s enough!” Sir Eldrick warned, eyes on fire and veins bulging from his temples.
“Is it? Is it? Or should I tell them—”
Sir Eldrick hit him with a right cross that knocked him out cold.
“King’s bloody beard! Why’d ye do that for?” Gibrig yelled, rushing to Brannon’s side.
“Leave him alone and break down camp!” Sir Eldrick ordered, sounding very much a military man to them just then.
Gibrig backed away slowly, bottom lip quivering. He looked around to Murland and Willow, eyes pooling. “I don’t know what’s gotten into ye all!” he said and turned on his heel to run to Snorts.
Sir Eldrick sighed and looked to Willow. “That was incredibly stupid, not to mention insensitive. I mean really? Eating his horse?”
“Leave her alone,” said Murland. “You don’t know what it’s like to be so worried
over someone. No one got kidnapped coming for you.”
Murland felt bad as soon as the words left his mouth. But they had been said, and they could never be taken back.
But they were true, and Sir Eldrick’s aging, tired eyes showed as much, for he hung his head and nodded, looking back at Murland with watery eyes. He said nothing, only smiled like a father might.
Sir Eldrick reached down, grabbed Brannon by the collar, and lumbered off into the woods.
***
“Do you want to live, or do you want to die?”
Brannon opened his eyes and found himself hanging from his arms, feet dangling inches over the ground. The marsh around them echoed with the early-morning song of frogs, and the air smelled of moss and mud.
“What in the hells—”
“Do you want to live or die?” Sir Eldrick asked again, holding the thick rope keeping Brannon aloft with one muscle-corded arm.
“Help!” Brannon screamed.
“I’ll slit your godsdamned throat right now!” Sir Eldrick said with a growl, pressing his sword against Brannon’s neck. Instead of killing him, he slowly lowered the elf to the ground.
Brannon was relieved at first, but then his feet hit and sank into the earth.
“That is quicksand,” said Sir Eldrick, glancing down. “If I let go, you will get swallowed up, and no one will be the wiser. Perhaps you will be burped up by a tortoise in fifty years, perhaps not.”
Brannon looked to Sir Eldrick with a feral snarl. “Do it then! I am sick of this charade!”
Sir Eldrick released a foot of rope, and Brannon sank to his shins.
“You almost cost us everything back there,” said Sir Eldrick.
“You’re right. You should just let me go.”
Sir Eldrick released another foot of rope, and Brannon sank to his knees.
“I’ll do it, you know I will!”
“I know you will,” said Brannon. “Because you are a bastard.”
Sir Eldrick released more rope, and Brannon sank to his hips.
Champions of the Dragon: (Humorous Fantasy) (Epic Fallacy Book 1) Page 25