The Legend of Drak'Noir: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 3)

by Michael James Ploof

  “This is your father. Sir Eldrick van Albright.”

  Akitla pushed back her shoulders and strode forward with highborn grace, round eyes unwavering. She stopped before them and glanced at her mother. “You’re joking,” she said in the elven tongue.

  “Unfortunately for you, she is not,” said Sir Eldrick in their language.

  Akitla looked him up and down. “So, you are the one who made my hair black, my ears short, my eyes green, and my skin pale,” she said in the common tongue.

  Sir Eldrick began to respond, but suddenly she slapped him across the face enough to rattle him. He rubbed his jaw and smiled at her. “Attagirl,” he said. She went to slap him again, but he caught her wrist.

  She looked to his hand, then to his eyes, and he thought he saw small tears forming. She pulled her arm away and stepped back, touching her wrist with the other hand.

  “Are you quite done?” the queen asked Akitla.

  “This is not my father,” Akitla said, spitting on the floor. “It is as you said when I was very young. I was a gift from the god of the northern lights, put in your belly during the solstice by magic.”

  “You know that was a child’s tale,” said the queen. “He is your father. And now he can take you to the southern lands.”

  “What?” they both said in unison.

  “That is your punishment for returning,” the queen told Sir Eldrick.

  “And why am I being punished?” Akitla asked her mother. “Why would you send me away?”

  Queen Astrila put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I am not punishing you, but freeing you. You are not like other ice elves. The cold bites at your human skin, and the warmth of summer lifts your spirits. In the south, you will feel at home.”

  “My home is Shivermoore.”

  “Yeah, I think she’s right,” said Sir Eldrick, and both women offered him a scowl, for they were not accustomed to males speaking unless being spoken to. “Look, she is what, eighteen years old? We…knew each other some twenty years ago. It just isn’t possible.”

  “Female ice elves carry their young for two years,” said the queen.

  “Oh,” he said, glancing at Akitla. “I forgot about that bit.”

  “You cannot make me do this,” said the girl.

  “I have spoken my will, and you shall honor it,” said the queen.

  Akitla balled her fists, which began to glow blue and frosted over. She turned and let out a scream. Suddenly, she shot out her arms, and from them two long icicles erupted, sped across the room, and shattered against the wall.

  “This is so unfair!” she cried.

  “If you are done throwing a fit, I—” the queen began, but then Akitla spun around. A shard of ice three feet long was in her hand in the blink of an eye, and she pressed it to Sir Eldrick’s neck.

  “And if I kill him? Will you still send me away?”

  The queen let out a sigh. “Kill him if you must, but he has never wronged you in this life, and he is the only link you have to your human half.”

  “Go ahead,” said Sir Eldrick. “I care not. I deserve it. But know this. I am glad to have met you, for you are beautiful, powerful, and fierce. I am proud to call you my daughter.”

  Tears spilled down Akitla’s cheeks and froze. She pressed the shard hard enough to break skin. “Never call me that again,” she said.

  Sir Eldrick waited, a part of him hoping that she would do it.

  At length, she lowered the ice shard and it melted in her hand.

  “Then it is settled,” said the queen. “You will both leave within the week. Until then…” she grinned at Sir Eldrick, “I require you in my chambers. Come.”

  Chapter 2

  The Search for Sir Eldrick

  The Iron Fist cut through the choppy sea, destination unknown. They had been sailing northeast for a week, away from Atlas, and away from Bad Mountain. After the fire at the pub, the companions had asked around, trying to get a lead on Sir Eldrick. After two days, they finally got a break; an old seaman told them he had seen a man with a glowing sword, pissing off the side of a pirate ship. He had been wearing armor befitting of a knight, and seemed quite drunk, for his blustery singing voice echoed over the waters vociferously.

  Luckily, Captain McArgh had remained on Atlas to trade the booty plundered from the sea battle. She had agreed to help them find Sir Eldrick—though her crew had not been happy about having so many menfolk on board.

  Now, one week after the events on Atlas, Murland sat in the companion’s quarters trying to get the tracking spell to work. He had been working on it for days now, and his frustration was growing with every failure, which in turn created more doubt in his mind, doubt that he could ill afford.

  He sat hunched over a bowl of water, focusing on the small wooden coin floating in the clear liquid. Carefully, he recited the spell from the book of Kazam, mindful to get the inflections just right. Over and over he said it, like he had a hundred times before. Once he was relatively happy with his inflections, he took a calming breath and cleared his mind. He focused on the magic gathered at his core and that which floated all around him. He had stuck a hair from Sir Eldrick’s brush to the coin with candle wax, which allowed the hair to move, but not without also moving the floating wooden coin. With one last long exhale, Murland tapped the bowl with his wand and recited the incantation. There was a small flash and a fizzle, and the coin started to drift to the top of the bowl, indicating north. Murland waited, having been let down more than once by the spell. The wooden coin stayed where it was for a time, and Murland began to hope that maybe, just maybe it would work this time. But then the coin moved south, east, west, and north. It traveled around the rim of the bowl, knocking against it before zipping back to the south once more.

  “Damn it!” he yelled and threw the bowl of water against the wall above Brannon’s swinging hammock.

  “Hey!” the elf protested, wiping his face angrily.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to find Caressa smiling at him. “Maybe you should take a break.”

  “Yeah,” said Willow, who lay in a reinforced hammock below Brannon’s. It drooped all the way to the floor, leaving only her head and feet suspended. She took another bite of bread and chewed happily. “Take a break and have a bite to eat.”

  “There isn’t any time,” said Murland miserably. “Sir Eldrick could be on the other side of the world by now.”

  “Really?” said Gibrig, who sat playing cards with his father, Dingleberry, and Valkimir at a table by the door.

  “It be a figure o’ speech, lad,” said Hagus as he rearranged his hand and studied it with his one good eye.

  “Maybe you are going about it from the wrong angle,” Caressa offered kindly.

  “I don’t know,” said Murland, flexing his scarred hand as he often did when he was stressed and it began to ache. Princess Chastity’s ointment had done wonders, and not only did Murland have most of his feeling back, but he was beginning to be able to use it more and more every day.

  Caressa retrieved the bowl and refilled it with water before dropping in the wooden coin. She laid them in front of Murland, tapping her chin in thought. “Well, let’s see. The spell seems to be trying to work at least. Maybe it just needs some help. What exactly does the spell say? In the common tongue, I mean?”

  “It is really quite simple, that is why I don’t understand why it isn’t working. The spell that I’m trying to use is for finding people or things, heck, even animals. One needs a magnet, so to speak, something from the person in question. Luckily, we have a hair from his head, which should make the spell work flawlessly. Anyway, the incantation is directed at the hair, not the water or the wooden coin—they are just used so that we might observe which direction the hair is trying to go. You follow me?”

  Princess Caressa nodded.

  “Good,” said Murland, rubbing his bad hand. “Now, on to what exactly the spell says. That is a little trickier. Being that the language of magic is so
old, some things get lost in translation. But it basically says, ‘Return this hair to the head of the man from whom it came.’”

  Caressa sat thoughtfully, looking from the hair pinned to the wooden coin, and then to the water, before returning to Murland. “I don’t mean to second-guess you, but…”

  “Please,” said Murland. “I welcome any thoughts or advice that you might have. I am not so proud or skilled that I would take offense.”

  “You botched it up good!” Wendel suddenly blurted out in his croaking voice. When Murland jumped, the skeleton laughed. “Haha, well that’s my advice. Don’t quit your day job!”

  “Shut up, Wendel!” said Caressa, Valkimir, and Hagus in unison.

  “Heh, he’s probably right,” said Murland.

  “Well,” said Caressa, “perhaps you got the words mixed up. You said that sometimes things get lost in translation.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “How fluent are you in the language of magic?” Brannon asked.

  “I did well at Abra. Language was the one thing I did well in.”

  “Yes, well no one is perfect,” said Caressa. “Tell me again what it says, and read what you have written.”

  “Return this hair to the head of the man from whom it came,” said Murland, reciting his scribbled text.

  “When you give this…command,” said Brannon, “who exactly are you giving it to?”

  “The universe,” said Murland.

  “And why would the universe listen to you?”

  “We wizards have a stronger bond to the forces of the universe and can shape reality to our will, to an extent.”

  “That is neither here nor there,” Caressa reminded Brannon. “Please, Murland. Read it again.”

  He did so, and then he read it again, but still nothing stood out.

  “I don’t know,” he said, throwing up his hands.

  “If you used the right words, why did the wooden coin act so erratically? It always seems to settle on one location, which is northeast of here. But then it goes wild.”

  “Maybe it is because the horny, drunken knight has spread himself around so much!” said Wendel, cackling in the corner on his hammock.

  “Wendel!” said Caressa, shooting to her feet.

  “I know. Shut up, Wendel. Shut up, Wendel,” the skeleton sang.

  She ran across the room and kissed him on his smooth white skull. “You’re a genius!”

  “I am?”

  “He is?” said Willow.

  “She’s lost her mind,” said Brannon.

  “No, listen to me. He’s right. Everyone knows about Sir Eldrick’s reputation as a lover. He has how many children spread across Fallacetine?”

  “He did once say that there be too many to keep track,” said Gibrig.

  “Right…”

  “That’s it!” said Murland. “Like you said, the words must have gotten mixed up. The hair was showing me where his children are, that’s why it went in every direction.” He excitedly flipped through the pages of the spell book, and everyone scrambled to gather around.

  “What did you find? Did you figure it out?” Brannon asked. He had finally left his hammock and was pacing the room, biting his thumbnail.

  “Here it is. Yes, I did botch it! It is such a small thing, but with a spell like this, it can become a giant mistake. What I meant to say was, ‘Return this hair to the head of the man from whom it came.’ What I translated it to was, ‘Return this hair to the head of whom came from the man.’”

  “Well then,” said Brannon. “What are you waiting for? Say it the right way and let’s see what happens.”

  Murland settled the bowl of water between his legs, made sure the hair was secure on the wooden coin, and took a moment to settle his mind. He summoned his magic to his core and sent it through his left arm to the wand as he recited the spell.

  There was a small flash and a fizzle, and the hair again moved to the northeast, but this time it stayed. Everyone waited for long, desperate moments to make sure that it didn’t change direction, and to Murland’s relief, is remained.

  “Does it work?” Gibrig asked.

  “I…I think so. Yes, yes, it’s working,” said Murland, turning to Caressa with a big smile. “It’s working!”

  Everyone clapped and cheered.

  “You did it,” said Caressa, giving Murland a big hug.

  “Good job, Murland,” said Brannon.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help.”

  “That’s our wizard, Murland the Modest.”

  Everyone shared a laugh, and Valkimir went up on deck to inform Captain McArgh of the breakthrough.

  Murland felt the ship change direction and speed up, and he finally closed his spell book and relaxed for the first time since setting out to find Sir Eldrick.

  Shortly after, the captain came down and invited everyone to celebrate in the mess hall. Everyone happily accepted, and Murland told them that he would be there shortly. As he had hoped, Caressa told them the same. He had been wanting to get her alone, but now that they were, he found that he didn’t know what to say or do. Their relationship had always been effortless, and he had never felt awkward around her, but since their kiss, things had changed.

  “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” said Caressa, who sat with him on the hammock—which, due to its curvature, forced a closeness.

  “Yeah, I guess he does. I still can’t believe that he intended to feed us to Drak’Noir, and…well, it makes me feel like a fool.”

  “You’re many things, Murland Kadabra, but a fool is not one of them.”

  “No, I am a fool. I’m a fool to have let Kazimir convince me that I was a hero. We started to believe it, you know. We were the Champions of the Dragon.” Murland laughed. “Can you imagine? We actually thought that we might be champions of legend. Now I don’t know what to think, what to believe.”

  “That’s how I felt when Father told me that he knew the truth behind Drak’Noir. I felt like my entire world had been turned upside down. Then I learned about what he did to poor Wendel. I feel like I don’t even know who my father really is. I feel like you can never really know anyone.”

  Murland glanced at her, wondering if she had put him in the same group as everyone.

  Noticing this, she smiled. “Not you, silly. I know that I can count on you. Just like you can count on me.”

  “I’ve never had a doubt about that,” said Murland.

  She kissed him, and the feeling was better than magic.

  Chapter 3

  Dancing Gods and Yeti Dens

  Sir Eldrick crawled out of bed, exhausted, and put on his robe. It was cold enough to see his breath in the bedchamber, but he didn’t mind. The blood of ice elves ran hot, and the queen was no exception. Beneath the sheets with Astrila, he felt as though he were on fire.

  “What’s the problem? I don’t remember the great Sir Eldrick ever having trouble lifting his lance,” said the queen, looking quite annoyed.

  “Part of the problem is you asking me what the problem is,” he grumbled.

  “It happens to every male at some time or another.”

  Sir Eldrick shook his head and rubbed his face. “It doesn’t happen to me.”

  “Have some more wine.”

  “Not now.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked when she saw him dressing.

  “I need to take in some air.”

  “Don’t be too long. Your mouth still works just fine.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “You’re insatiable.”

  “What can I say?” she said. “You just do something to me.”

  Sir Eldrick shook his head and left the queen to marinate. He began down the eastern corridor, aimlessly wandering and running his hand along the smooth circular ice wall. The icy floor was made rough so that it was possible to walk on, and the boots that the queen had provided him had small spikes on the bottoms, meant to further improve footing in the city o
f ice.

  Sir Eldrick thought to go outside and get a breath of fresh air, and he began that way when the hallways converged, but then he changed his mind. He had not spoken to Akitla since their first meeting the day before, and he had grown more curious about her by the minute.

  He made his way to her room and knocked on the door. After four knocks she yelled, “Go away.”

  “It’s me, Eldrick.”

  “I know. Go away.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Nothing.

  He banged on the door harder. “I’ll stay out here all day if I must.”

  “Go ahead,” said Akitla, and loud music began to issue from the room, loud enough to drown out his calls to her.

  “Kids,” he said, shaking his head, and he unsheathed his fae blade. Sir Eldrick stabbed it through the ice door easily, and cut a large circle. He sheathed his blade, smiling to himself when he heard Akitla’s shocked exclamations and pushed the circular chunk of ice inward, where it fell to the floor. Quite happy with himself, he ducked through the hole and stepped into his daughter’s room.

  “Are you deaf!” she screamed over the music. “I told you to leave me alone.”

  “What?” said Sir Eldrick, cupping his ear and pretending not to hear her.

  “I told you to leave me alone!”

  “What?”

  “Ugh!” Akitla growled. She stormed over to a desk and waved her hand over a glowing crystal.

  “Is that a singing crystal?” he asked, intrigued.

  “What. Do. You. Want?” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I just wanted to talk to you. Nothing wrong with a man wanting to get to know his—”

  “Don’t ever call me that again,” she said evenly. “You didn’t want anything to do with me when I was little, and I don’t want anything to do with you now.”

  “Come on, Kit. I didn’t even know about you until yesterday.”

  “Kit?”

  “Yeah, it’s a nickname.”

  “I know what a nickname is, but you don’t get to give me one.”

  Sir Eldrick let out a sigh, and he glanced around at all the artifacts in his daughter’s room. “You sure seem to be interested in humans,” he said, trying a different angle.