“Go on then, kill me!” Brannon screamed. “What does it matter? Valkimir is dead. Precious is dead. My father wants me dead! Do it, you coward!”
Sir Eldrick released the rope, and Brannon closed his eyes. The quicksand was just that, quick, and it swallowed up the elf like an ogre might a bite of horse meat.
Sir Eldrick paced, glancing at the sand now and again. Half a minute went by, and then a full minute. And still Sir Eldrick paced. He was glad to finally be rid of the elf, but he also knew deep down that he needed Brannon. For some ungodly reason, he needed the pompous bastard.
He tied another rope to his leg, fastened it to a thick tree, and meant to leap into the quicksand, when suddenly vines from the surrounding trees lashed out and shot into the pit.
Sir Eldrick fell back and watched.
The vines went taut, flexed, and pulled the elf prince out of the pit with one great heave. He landed five feet away from Sir Eldrick and knelt, shaking on hands and knees, puking sand.
Sir Eldrick regarded the elf warily. “Now that you know what it is like to die, would you like to live?”
Brannon panted and regarded the knight through golden strands of sandy hair. “You tried to kill me.”
Sir Eldrick raised and shook the rope in his hand. “I was just about to go in and get you.”
Brannon stalked forward, seething.
Sir Eldrick unsheathed his sword and stood erect. “Stop!” he said, throwing out a defensive hand.
Brannon raised hands of his own, and vines came to life, bearing down on Sir Eldrick like vipers.
The knight regarded them warily and looked back to Brannon. “I knew there was a warrior in there somewhere,” he said calmly.
Brannon faltered, and regarded him with a cocked brow.
“Look what you have done,” said Sir Eldrick, indicating the vines. “Even back there, you subdued an ogre and killed a raptor.”
“And I just might kill you,” said Brannon.
“Indeed, you would try,” said Sir Eldrick. “Which is more than I can say for that pompous little bitch that I met a few weeks ago.”
Brannon relaxed a little, and the vines backed off and waited, swaying like hypnotized cobras. “Where do we go from here?”
“To the Wide Wall and beyond,” said Sir Eldrick, spreading his arms. “We lead the others to Bad Mountain and—”
“And we watch them die? Eldrick, I don’t know if I can do that.”
Sir Eldrick let out a long pensive sigh. “It’s us or them, Brannon.”
“Is it?” They stared at each other, neither wanting to speak more of the terrible deed.
“Come on,” said Sir Eldrick. “They are going to be wondering where we went.”
They returned to camp to find that indeed, the others had heeded Sir Eldrick’s orders. The only remaining mounts, Sir Eldrick’s horse and Snorts the hog, were laden with Willow and Brannon’s many bags. Murland, Gibrig, and Willow waited beneath a moss-covered husk of a tree near the road, looking sullen.
Brannon strode up to Willow and regarded her with a contemptuous glare. She waited, they all waited, tense and straight, and not wanting any more yelling.
“I do not forgive you, but we are even,” he said, extending his hand.
Willow glanced over at what was left of her harvested raptor. “A tusk for a tusk, like they say,” said Willow.
They shook hands, and suddenly what was left of the smoldering fire roared to life, and Kazimir’s big head turned to regard them with a cockeyed look. “Can you fools hear me?”
“Kazimir, is that you?” said Murland, rushing to the fire with the others in tow.
“No, it’s your uncle. Listen, nitwit. Caressa, Valkimir, Hagus, and that sprite are all safe.”
“Did you say that Valkimir is safe?” asked Brannon.
Kazimir nodded. “You have heard me correctly. It took some doing, but they are all on their way home. Fret not, my champions, for Zuul could not endure the wrath of your good ole friend, Kazimir.”
Something shattered in the background, and Kazimir disappeared from the fire for a moment. There was a small scuffle, and what sounded like a baby wailing.
“Look,” said Kazimir, coming back into the fire. “Continue on to the Wall and know that all is well. You’re all doing great!”
Another crash issued from behind the wizard, and what looked to be a bowl of soup landed on his head. “Dammit, you little dark stain!” said Kazimir. “Look, I’ve got to go. It appears that I am now a babysitter. I’ll be with you again on the other side of the Wall. Peace!”
And the fire winked out.
The companions exchanged glances, shrugged, and headed west down the road toward the shadow of the Wide Wall.
Chapter 36
The Iron Fist
The endless scorching sun beat down on Valkimir’s shoulders, which had once been fair, but were now raw, blistered, and oozing. He had given up rowing long ago. Dingleberry was passed out on Hagus’s shoulder. The burly dwarf had rowed for hours under the effects of fairy dust, but had proven to row them in a circle. Caressa lay draped over the side of the small boat, fingertips still dragging the water. She had passed out early in the morning. Wendel lay there with his jaw half opened, bloodshot eyes staring lifelessly at the sky.
Valkimir shakily raised his hand to the scorching sun, trying to blot it out and get his bearings. They had done well for a time, slowly but steadily paddling south toward Fallacetine, but three days of baking sun and no water had proven too much. They were listlessly floating now somewhere in the northern ocean.
With much effort, Valkimir sat up against the side of the boat and glanced around, fighting the urge to lick his cracked and peeling lips. To his surprise, he saw a large ship heading their way. With a hand to the sun he focused in on the vessel, trying to make out the flag flying high upon the main mast. To his dismay, he realized that it was the Jolly Roger, and it was pink. He noticed as well that the figurehead sticking out from the bow was a long metal fist.
“Pirates,” he croaked, shaking Hagus’s boot. “Wake up!”
The others slowly roused as the ship drew closer. Soon commands could be heard being barked at the crewmen onboard. An anchor was dropped, and shortly after, a small rowboat was dispatched.
“What do we do?” Caressa asked miserably.
“There is little we can do. We’re trapped. Just follow my lead, and don’t give them any information about who we are,” said Valkimir.
“What the hells do we say instead?” Hagus asked.
“Tell them…tell them that we are merchants. Our ship was attacked by pirates in the night, and we barely survived.”
“Prepare to be boarded!” came the voice of a female pirate standing upon the prow of the approaching boat.
The pirates, all women, roughly transported Valkimir and the others to their rowboat and tied their hands behind their backs before confiscating their bags and weapons. When they were brought to the pirate ship, a pulley was used to hoist them all up onto the deck.
The five weary travelers were arranged in a row at sword point as their bags were rummaged through. The pirates kept what they fancied and tossed the rest in a pile on deck. None of the companions had the energy to object.
“We need water,” said Wendel in a dry, cracked voice.
“And sugar,” said Dingleberry, who had not the strength to fly, but sat on Hagus’s shoulder.
The door to the captain’s quarters banged open, and in the threshold stood a large woman whose silhouette filled the doorway. She wore baggy brown trousers tied off in a knot about the waist, and big dragon scale boots that must have cost a dwarf king’s hoard. A leather jerkin covered a purple shirt, and a pluming peacock feather stuck high out of her long, curved captain’s hat. Aside from the nose ring and a large tongue ring, she wore no jewelry. Her only weapons appeared to be a curved sword sheathed on her left hip and a leather whip curled and hanging from her right.
A very curious-looking parrot
sat on her shoulder, its wings green, purple, red, and yellow.
“What do we have here?” she asked in a voice deep and husky and sure.
“Thank the gods you found us when you did,” said Valkimir. “We—”
“Liar,” said the big woman, and she slapped him across the face.
In his exhausted state, Valkimir dropped to one knee.
“What about you, eh dwarf?”
“We be merchants who come in to some bad luck, ye see—”
“Liar!” said the captain, slapping him as well. She walked down the line, puzzling over Wendel. “And what, by the cursed gods, are you?”
“Just an unfortunate horse trainer, Captain…”
“Captain Grimace McArgh,” she said, tipping her hat to them all and slapping the backside of another pirate as she walked by.
The entire crew seemed to be made up of women.
“Well then, you going to tell me the truth?” said Captain McArgh, looking Caressa up and down.
“It is as my friend…” she glanced at Valkimir, realizing that they hadn’t made up fake names.
“Brawk!” squawked the parrot. “A Roddington never gives anyone the shaft, brawk!”
Captain McArgh squinted at Caressa, leaned in, frowned, and then suddenly her eyebrows shot straight up. “Say it ain’t so,” she said to the parrot.
“Aye,” said one of the crewwomen. “That be the Princess of Magestra, I recognize her from a paintin’ I seen.”
“But ye…ye,” Hagus stammered, “ye be a dwarf!”
“Aye,” said the pirate, who was indeed a dwarf.
Captain McArgh winked at the princess and spread her arms out wide to the crew behind her. “This is the crew of the Iron Fist. Women one and all. We are the scorned, the beaten, the malcontents.”
Valkimir looked closer, and indeed, all of the crew were women. And not even all humans or dwarves. There were elves, ogres, fairies, small trolls, and even a centaur.
“And who, might I ask, are you?” said the captain, raising a finger before anyone could speak. “If you lie this time, I will slit your throats and feed you to my dragon.”
The companions glanced at each other, and it seemed that they all agreed the talking should be done by the princess.
“I am indeed Princess Caressa of Magestra, and I am on the utmost important quest. I demand—”
“There it is!” the captain sang, pointing a finger into the air and spinning to grin at her sisters. “She demands.”
Valkimir glanced over at Caressa, meaning to shake his head at her, but she did not look his way.
“You do not demand anything here,” said McArgh, pointing a finger at her. The captain drew closer, slowly. Her finger traced the rim of Caressa’s left breast, then the right. Suddenly she took one in hand and gave a firm squeeze, putting her face so close to Caressa’s that they could have kissed.
“I have never tasted a princess,” she whispered, her large head leaving Caressa’s petite face and frame in shadow.
“I have never tasted a pirate,” said Caressa, jerking forward suddenly and biting the captain’s bottom lip.
McArgh reeled back and stood, wiping at her lip. When she saw blood on the back of her hand, she grinned and looked to Caressa, licking the blood off her hand slowly.
“Now that is more like it!” she announced gleefully, and the crew cheered. “Take them below. Pull up the anchor! Set a course for eastern Magestra! We’ve a ransom to collect!”
Chapter 37
Hail! The Champions of the Dragon
Murland flew high over the hillside, trying to get an angle on what was to come and spare the others any ugly surprises. When his backpack crested the hill, and the land beyond was laid out before him in golden light and springtime splendor, Murland took in a breath. What shocked him and put a smile on his face was not only the wide expanse of green grass that seemed to go on for miles, but rather it was the sight of the Wide Wall that gave him pause. It rose silver and gray and colossal above the green earth, and spread off into the northern and southern horizons, curving with the earth and disappearing into haze.
Upon looking at the Wall, Murland felt an overwhelming sense of safety, security, and power. And renewed faith in the power of the combined races.
Then his eyes moved up above the Wall, beyond the green, green grass, into the shadow that dwelled like evil whispers in a mad man’s heart. A dark forest lay beyond the Wide Wall. But it was not just the ominous dark that those tall, shadowy trees provided, it was an awareness. There was a feeling of being watched. It was a feeling so naked, so raw, and so terrifying, that Murland had to force his eyes away, lest he be pulled, mind, body, and spirit into that dark forest, to be lost forever.
He shifted his weight and pulled the left strap, telling Packy that he wished to turn back. The backpack complied, circling around and gliding down to where the others were waiting just below the top of the hill.
“How’s it looking?” Sir Eldrick asked.
“It all looks clear. Just a long field of grass. Perhaps twenty miles to the Wide Wall.”
“You saw it?” Gibrig asked, and Snorts seemed just as interested.
“Yeah, come on, you can too. Just over this hill.”
Murland led them, Sir Eldrick on his horse, Gibrig on Snorts, and Brannon and Willow following up the rear on foot.
They crested the hill with many oohs and ahhs, and the companions stood side by side, grinning at their accomplishment.
“Look there,” said Sir Eldrick, pointing straight out at the road.
“Looks like soldiers,” said Brannon with some interest.
“Indeed,” said Sir Eldrick, glancing at the sun. “And they will be making camp soon, very close to where we must put up for the night. Come, let us meet them and see what they know.”
He took a few steps forward and stopped when no one followed.
“This is it,” said Gibrig. “No more messin’ ‘round. Once we go beyond the Wide Wall…”
“There is no turning back,” said Murland, glancing at the scared-looking dwarf and mirroring his mood.
“Come, come,” said Sir Eldrick. “We are the bloody Champions of the Dragon. We are basically celebrities now. Let’s use it to our advantage. Willow, you hungry?”
“When have you ever known me to not be hungry?”
“Exactly. Well believe me, heroes are fed, and fed well. Come on.”
They followed Sir Eldrick up and over the hill and marched down to meet the soldiers. Murland didn’t bother flying above for them, for the view was all encompassing here on the highland ridge leading down like a bowl to the field of green grass and the Wall beyond.
“Ho!” said Sir Eldrick sometime later, after the sun had set and the stars had taken their place in the clear spring sky.
The soldiers had already made camp off the road in a clearing of cut grass that looked to be a common spot for the troops. There were even a few small buildings scattered about.
“Ho, declare yourself!” came the reply.
“We are the Champions of the Dragon!” said Sir Eldrick happily. He dismounted, handing the reins off to Murland. He strode forward with a bowlegged swagger and met the captain with a firm handshake.
“The Champions…” said the captain, shaking Eldrick’s hand dreamily and looking them all over with an unbelieving stare. “Did you hear that, boys? We are in the presence of the Champions of the Dragon.” He looked back at Sir Eldrick and rattled his mind for a name. “You’re…why, you’re the one they call Slur…Sir Eldrick! Yes, that is it. And this must be Murland, and Brannon the prince of elves, and Willow, and Gibrig. Yes, yes, we’ve heard of you all. Who hasn’t? Marching west to save us all from Drak’Noir!”
“Oorah!” the soldiers cheered, raising their swords into the air.
“Thank you, thank you for your warm welcome,” said Sir Eldrick. “The road has been good to us, but everyone knows that food cooked by someone else is sweeter.”
“Of cou
rse, of course,” said the captain. “Let me introduce myself. I am Captain Markus Verus of Magestra.”
He took Sir Eldrick by the shoulder and led him farther into camp. “We have just come from the Wall after six months on duty. We’re returning home for a month and then back again.”
“How are things on the other side?”
“Nothing too crazy. A rabid troll stormed the gates a few weeks back. But he became target practice for the archers.” Markus snorted a bit when he laughed, reminding Sir Eldrick of Snorts. Looking closer, he realized that the man did have a mild resemblance to a pig. He was pudgy, for one, and not the type of man who rose to captain during war times, Sir Eldrick could tell. Things had been quiet up on the Wall and beyond for decades. Now the armies were reduced to soft, lazy boys who had no other options but to go into the military to make something of themselves. It was a blessing that they hadn’t been attacked recently and there hadn’t been strife between the kingdoms of eastern Fallacetine in a century, but it was also a curse.
“Peaceful men become soft men,” Sir Eldrick heard himself saying. “Peaceful nations become easy targets,” he said, finishing the adage.
“What’s that?” said Markus.
“Oh, nothing. Where’s the mess hall?” Sir Eldrick said with gusto.
The champions were received like heroes, and Sir Eldrick’s promise of a heroic meal was no lie. The soldiers knew how to eat, and they had come prepared. The road back to Magestra was nearly three weeks’ march for a battalion of one hundred, as these men were, and such an army required enough goods to get them home. Therefore, two wagons full of grains, vegetables, smoked and salted meat and fish, barley, cereals, rice, water, mead, and liquor had been awarded them on their journey.
A long table was erected and the companions sat, eagerly eating all that was put before them and sharing their stories of their adventures thus far. They embellished a bit, one and all, but the soldiers seemed not to notice, cheering their tales as they were spun.
Murland had been one of the best wizards of Abra Tower in his tale, and had been singled out among the other apprentices early on. His being named by Kazimir had been no surprise.
Champions of the Dragon: (Humorous Fantasy) (Epic Fallacy Book 1) Page 26