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

by Michael James Ploof

  Gibrig was so delighted that he nearly let out a cheer. A precious air bubble escaped his nostril, and he grabbed Murland’s wrist and began kicking his way to the top. His ears screeched and his lungs begged for air, but he ignored the pain and the dizziness and swam with all his might. The salty water seemed to repel him like a springboard, and Gibrig suddenly shot to the surface with Murland in tow. He gasped and coughed, taking in a mouthful of seawater in the process as the ocean tossed them around angrily. Lightning flashed overhead, and Gibrig felt a swelling beneath him. He caught his breath and wiped his eyes, holding on to Murland’s wrist like a vice.

  “Murland,” Gibrig yelled. “Murland!” He pulled his friend’s head out of the water and hooked an arm around him.

  Murland wasn’t breathing, Gibrig realized with sudden, terrible clarity. He squeezed Murland around the stomach and leaned back so that his head would stay above water. The waves jostled them around, crashing down and dunking them once again. Gibrig broke through the surface once more. He was in a panic, for he knew that Murland had precious seconds before he slipped away forever—if he hadn’t already.

  “Come on Murland, you’ve got to breathe!”

  Gibrig Didn’t know what else to do but breathe for him, so he kicked his legs furiously, trying to keep them both above water as he grabbed Murland’s face and blew air into his mouth.

  “Come on Murland, now do it on your own,” he said between breaths.

  Feeling the air coming back out of Murland’s nose, he pinched it off with his fingers and blew in his mouth again. He continued stubbornly as the ocean tossed them around and the terrible storm raged overhead. Lightning showed Gibrig brief flashes of his unconscious friend, and he cried as he continued to blow air into his mouth.

  Suddenly, to Gibrig’s utter delight, Murland began to sputter and cough.

  “Murland!” Gibrig cheered as they rode a surging wave.

  Packy returned just then, and Gibrig hurried to wrestle the straps over his shoulders. Once he was secured, he wrapped his arms and legs around Murland and yelled to the backpack to get going. The thrashing ocean seemed determined to stop them, and like a gargantuan, vengeful hand, a wave rose up and crashed into them, taking Gibrig’s breath away and nearly snatching Murland.

  “Oh no ye don’t!” Gibrig cried, retaining his hold on his friend.

  Packy finally escaped the clutches of the stormy sea and flew up into the whipping wind and rain, which pummeled them mercilessly. Their flight was erratic, and Gibrig wondered how long the backpack could keep it up.

  “You try to hold on!” he told Murland as he held him in a bug bear hug.

  “What…where are we?”

  “Never mind that, Packy’ll bring us somewhere nicer, won’t you Pa—”

  Gibrig’s voice abandoned him, for overhead, the churning storm was replaced by clear sky, which was seen through a kind of funnel. Inside the tunnel there was no storm, but a silence so complete that Gibrig thought himself deaf.

  “Ye see that, Murland? It be like the tunnel to the heavens.”

  Murland said nothing, but stared up into the swirling funnel at the marvelous morning sky beyond with a strange grin on his face.

  Packy flew them all the way to the top, and as they came out of the swirling funnel, Gibrig and Murland erupted into morning sunlight, warm and beautiful and safe. Below them the funnel at the center of the storm moved on toward the west, and the dark gray hateful clouds burst with lightning and growled with thunder.

  “We made it, Murland! We really made it!”

  Murland smiled dopily, and in a weakened voice he began to laugh.

  Chapter 16

  A Hero’s Tale

  Sir Eldrick watched as the storm continued to the west. The Iron Fist sat anchored in calm waters, and the companions all stood huddled around Ravenwing as she performed a spell that might help to locate Murland and Gibrig.

  “Do you think there’s a chance they survived?” he heard Brannon ask Valkimir.

  “There is always a chance,” said Willow, and Valkimir nodded his agreement.

  “They’re doomed! Doomed I tell you!” said Wendel, pacing the deck and biting the end of his bony fingers.

  “Say it one more time!” Hagus warned. “And I’ll knock that head o’ yers into the ocean!”

  “Will you all please shut up!” said Ravenwing.

  “If anything happens to Murland…” Caressa began.

  Ravenwing stood from her work and stared dangerously at the princess. “You’ll what?” she asked, eyes beginning to glow.

  “Come on,” said Sir Eldrick. “Let her do her work.”

  Caressa offered one last scowl at the sorceress and shrugged her arm out of Sir Eldrick’s grip. “And you can stop trying to lead me around like some mindless wench.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Caressa. “I’m just concerned about Murland.”

  “We all are, my lady. But there is no need to attack Ravenwing. You saw how Murland passed out. I do not believe that she had any ill intent. It is like she said, Murland gave too much energy to the spell.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. I don’t trust her.”

  “I can hear you, you know,” said Ravenwing, though they were fifteen feet away and whispering.

  “That’s it!” said McArgh. “All of you shut up and let her do her work.”

  “Ye heard her!” Hagus suddenly erupted. “We gots to find me boy and Murland. Do yer bitchin’ later.”

  “Look!” said Wendel, pointing up in the air. He began doing a little dance and repeating, “Look, look, LOOK!”

  Sir Eldrick blocked the sun with his hand and smiled when he saw a winged speck coming their way from the east.

  “Can it be?” Caressa asked, gripping Sir Eldrick’s arm.

  McArgh aimed her spyglass at the object and gave a laugh. “Well I’ll be damned.”

  “Well then, what ye see for stone’s sake?” said Hagus.

  “It’s them. It’s Murland and Gibrig.”

  Brannon gave a triumphant cry and kissed Valkimir as the others cheered as well. Caressa kissed Wendel on the top of his skull and squeezed him so tight that his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

  As Murland and Gibrig drew closer, McArgh ordered the anchor brought up and the sails lowered. When they landed, Caressa and Hagus practically tackled them to the deck.

  “I thought you were dead!” said Caressa, kissing Murland all over and hugging him fiercely.

  “That was a damn stupid thing ye done, me boy, but it be damn brave as well.”

  “Thanks,” said Gibrig, laughing.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Brannon, hugging them both once they had been pulled back up to their feet by Hagus and Sir Eldrick. “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Well then? What happened?” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Yeah,” said Willow. “How’d you do it. Was it your magix?”

  Murland and Gibrig grinned at each other. “Ye won’t believe it! It was amazin’,” said the dwarf.

  “First, we need water and food,” said Murland in a hoarse voice.

  “Of course, of course,” said McArgh. “Come, retire to my quarters and you can drink and sup, and tell us your tale.”

  They all spent the afternoon in the captain’s quarters, listening to the amazing story of how Gibrig had saved Murland, and how they had escaped up through the eye of the storm. The Iron Fist sailed steadily west, for they had been propelled hard and fast by the storm and were now only a hundred miles away from where Atlas had last been anchored.

  Murland didn’t blame Ravenwing at all for what had happened, saying that it was his fault that he had used up so much energy. Ravenwing said that in the end, his sacrifice had saved the ship, which surely would have been sunk by the storm. And though Murland was dead tired due to his near drowning, he raised his glass many times with the others.

  “They seem like a great group,” said Akitla as she joined Sir Eldr
ick, who sat in the corner of the companion’s quarters, watching them with a smile.

  “They sure are,” he said with a laugh. “The best friends a man could have.”

  She glanced at his mug with a cocked brow.

  “It’s just water.”

  “Mine is wine. Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all,” he said, waving her off.

  “Does it bother you, not drinking?”

  He shrugged. “Yes and no. There is a part of me that would like to partake, but the much wiser part of me knows where that path leads. But I do envy those who can drink without becoming disasters. I really don’t know how they do it.”

  “We all have our vices,” said Akitla.

  “Really? Then what is yours?” he asked, intrigued, but then he noticed how the question made her uncomfortable and said. “Sorry if that was too personal.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, straightening. “Fairy dust is my vice. I had a pretty bad habit a little while back.”

  Sir Eldrick laughed. “Don’t even get me started on fust.”

  She looked to him curiously, and he told her the story of the Forest of the Dead.

  ***

  Gibrig lay awake in his hammock that night, long after everyone else had fallen asleep. He should have been dead to the world hours ago, but he found that he wasn’t tired in the slightest. On the contrary, his mind and body teemed with excitement. He replayed Murland’s rescue over and over in his mind. It was like watching someone else’s memories, for he had never thought he could do something so brave. He hadn’t intended on being brave, it had just kind of happened. He realized as well how absolutely foolish it had been to dive into the raging ocean after his friend. By all estimates, including that of Captain McArgh, it was a miracle that he had found Murland at all, let alone survive such a powerful storm. Once again, only a few short weeks after nearly dying in the Swamp of Doom, Gibrig had cheated death. His excitement and newfound heroism led to thoughts of saving his brother Gillrog from the In-Between. And though he had no idea how one went about actually getting there, he was more determined than ever to do it. He felt that if he could stand on the brink of death and return victorious, then indeed nothing could stop him.

  It was a strange feeling for Gibrig, one of power and might, and he found it all to be too much. He lay in his bed and cried himself to sleep. His tears were not born of sorrow, but rather, wonderment, possibility, and newfound faith. He had never felt like a champion in his life, but now it was becoming hard to ignore the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, he was a warrior after all.

  ***

  “What was it like? Almost dying, I mean?” Caressa asked as she and Murland snuggled in the swaying hammock.

  Murland lay with his arm around her as she rested against his chest. He was teetering on the brink of sleep, but her question roused him, and he thought back on that dark time after he had thought himself doomed. He realized with regret that he had resigned himself to his fate.

  “I…I don’t know. It is all kind of a blur.”

  “Many people say that they see the gods, or they see their lives flash before their eyes.”

  Murland wished that he had a story like that to tell, but there had been only darkness. He had fought to stay alive at least.

  “After I fell into the water, I was semi-conscious. I was spent, and didn’t hardly have the strength to try to swim. Packy came in after me, but I was too weak to even grab for his straps. I sunk deep, until it felt like I was floating among the stars. Then, the next thing I remember is Gibrig kissing me. Anyway, that’s what it seemed like. But he was breathing for me. He saved my life…”

  She clung tighter to him, and once again he was reminded of what he had almost lost. Rather than making him more fearless, the near-death experience left him feeling tired and vulnerable.

  “We all exist on such a precarious ledge,” he said, to himself as much as Caressa. “One minute you are here, the next you are gone. And as much as we want to think that we are special, that those things don’t happen to us, as much as we want to believe that our story will go on forever, it doesn’t. Death takes peasants and kings without prejudice. And sooner or later, we all sink into that dark abyss…”

  “If you’re trying to get me in the mood, it isn’t working,” said Caressa.

  Together they laughed, and they held each other a little tighter in the dark.

  “I believe that you are wrong, Murland Kadabra. You might not have seen it, but there is something after.”

  “I hope that you are right.”

  “I know I am. And not because I spent every Sunday at worship. I don’t know if the gods are real, I just feel that…I don’t know. Trying to explain it is like trying to recite a foggy dream. It is a remnant of a thought that is only ever realized fleetingly.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Murland.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it is true that any account of the afterlife can be explained as near-death hallucination brought on by trauma and the brain’s need to soothe itself, but…I don’t know. When Gibrig told us about the Eternal Mountain, it just seemed so real. He believed it, and I did as well. And then there was the Great Turtle in the Swamp of Doom. Hells, it knew Willow’s name for queen’s sake. But it makes me wonder, can all these gods really exist all at once, or do only some exist, or none? Are we all just a bunch of crazy creatures running around talking to the clouds?”

  ‘That would be tragic,” said Caressa.

  “Such is life.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  Murland didn’t know how to answer.

  “Well I think that life is a miracle,” said Caressa. “What are the odds of being born anyway? One in a million, a billion, a trillion? Think about it. Your mother and father are the only people who could have made you, and their parents were the only ones who could have made them. And there were thousands before them that needed to have children, in the right order, just for you to be alive.”

  “I suppose, but isn’t that true about everyone? Even trolls? Are you telling me that even they are special?”

  “I’m telling you that life is special.”

  “Yes, but if all life is special, then no one life is special. Existence in this life doesn’t prove one in another. What if this is it? What if this is all there is?”

  “Then we should make the most of it,” said Caressa, kissing him deeply.

  Chapter 17

  Witch Hazel

  “Kazzzimir, we have returned with the witch,” said one of the darklings as it suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

  “Well it’s about time!” said Kazimir as he put the screaming Zuul back in his crib none to gently and wiped the puke off his beard.

  “What is the meaning of this?” said Witch Hazel, looking bored.

  “I need your help, my old friend.”

  “Ah, Kazimir,” she said, adjusting her spectacles. “I should have known.”

  Kazimir noticed how much wider she had gotten over the years but was pleased to discover that most of it was due to the expansion of her backside. Her once blonde hair was now white as snow, and her rosy cheeks were full of the same glowing life. She had the same button nose and girlish face that he remembered, and her voice still soothed him the way it once had.

  “Yes, it is me, my dear. I—”

  “My dear? You left me on the altar looking like a fool.”

  “Yes, that, well you see…”

  “Yes, that. You’ve got some nerve asking for my help now.”

  “Hazel, darling—”

  “Don’t you darling me.”

  Zuul screamed in the corner, and Kazimir pulled at his hair and shot a silencing spell at the crib.

  “What is that?” Hazel asked, eyeing the crib apprehensively.

  “I know that you always wanted to have children,” said Kazimir with a weak laugh.

  “Kazimir Cassius Rimizak, what have you gotten yourself into? Is that yours?”


  “No! I mean, heavens no. But the babe has been poisoned. I don’t know what to do.”

  “And why should I help you?”

  “Do it for the babe’s sake.”

  She offered him a withering look and walked over to the crib and bent over it. “By the gods, what is wrong with the child?”

  “Like I said, he has been poisoned.”

  “Not that. What was wrong with him before!” She glanced around the room and moved swiftly to the window. “Kazimir, tell me that we are not in the Twisted Tower. Tell me that the child is not…not…”

  “He is Zuul,” said Kazimir, watching her closely.

  “He…that thing is the Dark Lord reborn?”

  Kazimir nodded.

  “Then why in the heavens would you want me to heal him?”

  “I could spend all day explaining myself, but I would rather show you.” He took the jade water pipe from a shelf and presented it to Hazel. “Smoke this and tell me what you think we should do. If, afterward, you want to let him die, then so be it. But…if you see the potential in keeping him alive, in learning from him, then help me.”

  “You expect me to smoke that? Are you mad?”

  “Haze, what interest would I have in harming you? Do you know what this is?” he said, his hand still holding the pipe out to her. “It is the Dark Lord’s pipe, and it will give you powers, visions, knowledge beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “I have some pretty wild dreams…” she said, still skeptical. But at length, she took it.

  Kazimir lit a fire with his thumb and put it over the silver bowl, waiting. Hazel eyed him one last time and seemed to make up her mind once and for all. She plugged the choke and took a deep breath. The jade pipe’s gurgle echoed, and Hazel’s eyes widened as the now enchanted smoke hit her lungs. She let out a violent cough, spit, and sputtered before turning to Kazimir with a look of pure ecstasy.