Sir Eldrick laughed. “And while I still think that you are the most stuck-up princely prude I have ever met, you’ve learned that sometimes you have to get your hands dirty, and you are ready to sacrifice yourself if need be for those you love.
“Murland, when I met you, you couldn’t so much as light a fart with magic. Now look at you. Flying around on a winged backpack, wielding fire like a god, and courting a princess.”
Willow whistled through her fingers and tusks and cheered, “Way to go, Murland!”
“And Willow,” said Sir Eldrick. “You used to eat all our food and then complain that you wanted more. Your bitching was only second to Brannon’s. But now look at you. You’ve lost at least two hundred pounds being on the road, and even after finding out the truth of the prophecy, you are ready to trudge forward.”
She looked down at her body with a worried look. “Have I really lost that much weight?”
“And Gibrig, worried, sensitive, passive Gibrig.”
“Aww, shucks, Sir Eldrick. Ye ain’t gotta try to think o’ somethin’ ‘bout me too, just to make me feel good.”
“Then I won’t make it up,” said Sir Eldrick. “I will speak the truth, and the truth is that you have evolved from a dwarf scared of his own shadow to a great warrior, and with a shield from a god to boot. You have learned that sometimes you have to fight, but in the midst of war, you remain as caring and loving as ever, and that takes a special kind of person.”
Gibrig smiled and wiped his eyes. He then gave Sir Eldrick a hug that the knight saw coming a mile away. Sir Eldrick patted the dwarf on the back and looked at them all with pride swelling in his heart. “Even if this quest ends with our deaths, isn’t it better than living a lifetime the way we used to be?”
“Don’t leave yourself out,” said Brannon. “You’ve grown as well.”
“Yeah,” said Gibrig. “Ye were ready to trade us to save your arse not so far back, but now I feel like, well, I feel like ye really care.”
“You got control of your drinking,” said Murland.
“And you aren’t such a bossy pants,” said Willow, which made them all share a much-needed laugh.
“To tell you the truth,” said Sir Eldrick, “you are all the best people I have ever served with, and I am humbled to be considered your friend. I said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ve never believed in anything before, but I believe in you all. I believe in the Champions of the Dragon.”
Chapter 34
Late for an Important Date
The next morning, the sun rose behind an overcast sky. Dark clouds had crept in overnight and blotted out the moon, leaving the hills bathed in darkness. The temperature dropped considerably, and when the companions awoke, they found everything slick with dew. The wind howled through the mountains, and it seemed to whisper urgently. Murland felt as though all the universe’s secrets were held in that breath of the world, only to steal away as he listened and mock him as it continued on, timeless and beautiful.
He stood on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the jagged rocks below. He wondered of death, as he often had in his younger years. Being nearly twenty, he was, as Headmaster Zorromon often said, “in the clutches of the immortal delusion.” Murland never understood what that had meant until this quest. He had since faced death a dozen times, but he realized that he never truly felt the fear of death. He had believed that he was a champion by prophecy. But now, knowing it was all a sham, and knowing that he would likely die fighting Kazimir or Drak’Noir, he felt true mortality creeping into his mind, infecting his resolution and teasing his soul.
Looking down at the jagged rocks below, he imagined a world without him in it. He had always been invisible, happy to go about his days as the simple fool everyone felt sorry for. If he had died three months ago, few would have cared, and fewer still would remember him. Now, however, even in death, he would be a hero.
But what did that mean?
What good was being a hero if you were dead? Considering that everyone died sooner or later, Murland supposed that a life well lived, even if lived shortly, was better than reaching a ripe old age in the tedium of mediocrity and the curse of selfishness.
Murland looked down at the jagged rocks and opened his arms wide. He let the fear of death fall away from him, closed his eyes, and leapt.
The wind buffeted his hair as he became weightless. He knew that soon he would hit the stone. Soon pain would sear his nerves. Soon his blood would brighten the dull gray earth. It was coming fast. Like a ghost in the night, cutting through the fog with groping, desperate fingers and reaching, reaching… Murland shunned the panic. He condemned the fear.
He opened his eyes.
A jagged stone, like the accusing finger of a vengeful corpse, waited for him below. It went from ten to five feet away in a heartbeat, and Murland smiled.
Packy spread its wings and caught the rushing wind. Murland’s nose grazed the stone meant for his head as they shot down the side of the ravine lined with hard gray rocks, like the toppled stones of a desecrated graveyard.
He flew out over the barrens and circled back to the group, which was just about to set out. He landed beside Sir Eldrick, who stared at him with a furled brow. There was concern in his look, but also scorn.
“What?” said Murland.
“What was that little stunt?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Murland said as he began to walk past him.
Sir Eldrick grabbed his arm, but a brilliant flash of light stole their attention, and the fae blade was in the knight’s hand in an instant.
Murland had seen Kazimir come and go enough times to know who had produced the light show. He pulled his wand from beneath his clothes and aimed it at the gathered smoke.
Kazimir coughed and waved his hand out before him, peering at the group through the smoke. “Ah, there you are. I thought that perhaps you had turned tail and ran.”
“You son of a bitch!” said Brannon, arm cocked back with a handful of seeds.
Kazimir checked his watch. “As much as I like redundant dialogue, I am afraid that my time, or should I say, your time, is short. For tonight marks the solstice, and you lot are late as usual.
Everyone looked to Sir Eldrick, for indeed, they had not expected to see Kazimir so soon, and though they had talked about fighting him—often with gusto—now that he stood before them, they didn’t quite seem to know what to do.
“We know your secret,” said Sir Eldrick.
Kazimir’s cocky grin disappeared, and he stroked his beard. “I have many secrets, and good for you for knowing one of them.”
“We know that you killed the original champions in their sleep and used them for a spell to keep Drak’Noir at bay, and we know that you want to sacrifice us as well. You have no intention of letting us fight her.”
“Hmm,” said Kazimir, looking impressed. “You have been doing your homework.”
“Now is the time to choose,” said Sir Eldrick, pointing his fae blade and popping the top of a small flask with his teeth. “Fight with us, or fight against us.”
Willow slapped her club. Gibrig hefted his shield up in a fighting stance, shovel in hand. Murland’s wand began to glow at the end, and Brannon dropped the handful of seeds on the ground, which quickly grew into a tangle of vines that pointed at Kazimir like snakes…waiting.
Kazimir looked as though he might laugh, but then his eyes went wild and he took a threatening step forward. “You know, you five are the biggest pains in the ass I have ever met! I have told you that Drak’Noir cannot be defeated, yet you continue with this ridiculous charade. You know that if you fail to defeat the beast, she will spread darkness throughout all of Fallacetine, and still you persist, all for the sake of your own sorry hides.” Kazimir spit on the ground, looking disgusted. “And you call yourselves heroes? Hah!”
“You cannot keep this up forever, Kazimir, and you know it,” said Murland. “Even if you sacrifice us, she will keep coming back, gene
ration after generation. Let us help you be rid of her once and for all.”
“I have defeated you five once already,” said Kazimir. “Why in the world would you challenge me again? Suckers for punishment, is that it?”
“Because, we will be victorious, with or without your help,” said Sir Eldrick.
“I told you that if you gave me any trouble, I would kill your friends, yet you still rebel. I’m starting to think that you don’t respect me. Amazing.” Kazimir looked to his watch and then back at the companions.
Murland wondered if he was contemplating frying them all right then and there.
“You are indeed fools,” said Kazimir at length. “And fools will do foolish things. Get your asses to Bad Mountain by the witching hour, for that is when I begin to kill the others. Starting with precious Akitla.”
“No!” Sir Eldrick charged forth and stabbed at the wizard, but his blade found only smoke.
Kazimir was gone.
“Ye really think he’s gonna start killin’ ‘em?” said Gibrig.
Sir Eldrick sheathed his sword forcefully and kicked a stone before screaming into the air.
“Yeah, Gib, Kazimir means what he says,” said Brannon.
“Then let’s get a move on,” said Willow. “Ain’t no point standing around here picking our scabs.”
“Go ahead,” said Murland, and Gibrig and Brannon followed the ogre.
Sir Eldrick was pacing back and forth with his hands on his hips. The left hand still held the flask of liquor.
“Did you really intend on using that?” Murland asked, nodding toward the flask.
Sir Eldrick looked to the container and pocketed it. “You plan on using your wand?” he asked.
“Well…yes,” said Murland.
“Indeed, because it is your greatest weapon. And the bottle is mine.”
“But—”
“Come on. It’s going to take a miracle to get to Bad Mountain by the witching hour.”
Sir Eldrick started out at a jog after the others, and Murland shook his head and took to the sky.
Murland rose above the clouds and saw Bad Mountain perhaps twenty miles away. Its peak pierced the cloud cover, glowing red against the blue sky. The moon was just rising, pregnant and opaque against the horizon. On the other side of the world, the sun was two hours from setting.
We’ll never make it in time, Murland thought.
He swooped down and landed among the others, telling them of his prediction. It was determined that rather than exhaust themselves, they would use Packy as they had done so many times before. Murland started with Brannon, and flew him five miles ahead, leaving him on a high bluff among the barren terrain of never-ending hills. He ferried Gibrig, Sir Eldrick, and Willow as well, and by the time they could see Bad Mountain only a few miles away, the sun had been set three hours.
“Packy is exhausted,” said Murland. “We’ve got to huff it from here.”
“B-b-bad Mountain don’t look s-s-so bad,” said Gibrig, trying to put on a brave face despite his terror, which just made him look pathetic.
“No,” said Sir Eldrick with a kind smile. “It doesn’t, does it?”
“You guys looking at the same creepy-ass twisted mountain that I am?” asked Willow, scratching a tusk. “Because it looks like the baddest damn mountain I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, my, gods, shut up!” said Brannon. “You have absolutely no tact. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Tact? What kind of fancy pants word is that?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Queen’s sake,” said Sir Eldrick. “Will you two shut up? This is it. This happens tonight!”
His words sobered them quickly.
He put his arms behind his back, hooking a hand around the opposite wrist, and began to pace.
“You’re not going to make another speech, are you?” said Brannon.
“Well,” said Sir Eldrick. “Somebody has got to do it. By all means, go ahead.”
Brannon glanced around apprehensively, but then lifted his chin, threw back his shoulders, and replaced Sir Eldrick on the high ground. He took on a brave, stoic façade and pointed to Bad Mountain. “WE!” he began, but then he suddenly stopped, and his hand began to shake. “Are doomed!” he said suddenly, and fell to his knees on the dry earth.
“Queen’s sake,” said Sir Eldrick, throwing up his arms. “You call that a speech?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just, it’s just, well it’s true.”
“Maybe we should just give ourselves up,” said Gibrig, wringing his hands. “I mean, let Kazimir do the spell. If we can’t beat Drak’Noir, she’ll, she’ll destroy the whole world. But we could make sure she don’t.”
“Are you suggesting that we give up?” said Murland incredulously.
“And let ourselves be killed?” Brannon added.
“I thought you was afraid of everything,” said Willow, impressed. “But you would do that?”
Gibrig looked to Sir Eldrick, waiting for him to add his thoughts, but when the knight only stared, looking crestfallen, he continued. “The Champions o’ the Dragon before us, well, they was doomed as well. And they was champions, one and all. They stopped her in a way, just like they were meant to.”
“Have you gone mad?” said Brannon.
“No I ain’t gone mad!” Gibrig suddenly yelled. “But darn it all to heck! We can’t do this. Don’t ye see? It be just like Kazimir said. We be trying to beat the dragon to save our own hides. It be cowardly, and if I learned anything on this quest, it be how to not be a coward.”
“You’re talking about suicide,” said Brannon. “And it might run in your family, but it doesn’t run in mine!”
“You take that back,” said Gibrig, nostrils flaring and anger darkening his once bright eyes.
Brannon saw the change, and indeed, he was afraid. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But what you are saying is madness.”
“I just don’t see no other way.”
“There is always a way,” said Sir Eldrick.
“Yer words be nice, and they stir the heart, but that don’t make ‘em true,” said Gibrig, looking ashamed to speak the words.
“Look. First, we have to fight Kazimir and free our friends. Right? So, let’s focus on that. Whatever happens next, well, we’ll just have to worry about that when the time comes.”
Chapter 35
Raining Cats and Dogs
The Champions of the Dragon trudged along through the pass. In the distance, Bad Mountain loomed. Signs littered both sides of the pass, reading, This Way to Bad Mountain, Turn Back NOW! and Warning, Bad Mountain Ahead!
Murland wondered who had put up the signs. Probably Kazimir, trying to be funny. He glanced around, surprised that they hadn’t run into one monster or another in the barren mountains. Daring not to trust their luck, he kept his eyes open and his ears perked for danger.
They moved through the pass at the base of Bad Mountain and stopped, their heads all slowly moving up the peak, where lightning suddenly struck, causing Gibrig to jump.
“Steady now,” said Sir Eldrick.
A storm was gathering over the mountain. It swirled slowly and erupted with periodic flashes. The rumbling of thunder shook the loose stone at their feet and echoed through the mountain range.
“Come on,” said Willow. “Let’s get this over with.”
She began trudging bravely toward the opening at the bottom of the mountain, and the companions followed.
“How can you be sure that this is the way?” asked Brannon, hurrying to catch up to Willow and Sir Eldrick.
Sir Eldrick pointed at a sign that read, This is the way. Why haven’t you turned back yet? Then he pointed toward the opening.
“Oh,” said Brannon, looking into the darkness of the mountain pass with obvious apprehension.
Sir Eldrick lit a torch from his pack and went in first to scout, and for many tense minutes, the others waited. Finally, Sir Eldrick emerged and gave the all-clear.
&
nbsp; Murland took up the rear as they crept into the mountain. The walls of the passageway were slick and slimy, and it’s ceiling was smooth and curved. Willow had no trouble standing upright, for the hall was as tall as it was wide. No mushrooms or moss grew here, but a smell permeated the air, one of minerals and damp earth.
“Smells like the Iron Mountains,” said Gibrig.
“Do you think that dwarves carved this tunnel?” Murland asked.
Gibrig’s eyes went wide with wonder, and he surveyed the stone work. “Perhaps. But I ain’t never heard o’ no Bad Mountain dwarves.”
The hall proved short, and soon they came to a dead end with a lift housed against the back wall.
“You think it goes all the way up to the top?” Brannon asked, eyeing the flimsy-looking elevator cage.
“That’s usually what lifts do,” said Willow, snorting a laugh.
“Indeed, Kazimir must have built it,” said Sir Eldrick. “This is it. Murland, prepare your wards of protection. It is time to face Kazimir once and for all.”
***
Headmaster Hinckley was in his quarters studying battle spells when a frantic knocking came at the door.
“Open,” he commanded, and the door complied.
A young wizard hurried into the room, looking frazzled. “Headmaster, a storm has hit. It’s…well, it’s raining cats and dogs!”
Hinckley looked at his watch and nodded. “This close to Bad Mountain, it isn’t surprising. I will be along shortly, I am just finishing up.”
“But, High Wizard Fracco sent me to summon you. He was quite adamant that I did not come back empty-handed.”
“Is the storm really that bad? I hear only a little thunder.”
“Like I said, Headmaster, it’s raining cats and dogs.”
“Fine, fine,” said Hinckley, standing from his desk with a small groan.
He followed the young wizard down the many flights of stairs and through the main antechamber, and finally he began to hear a commotion outside. Men and women were yelling, and the sound of spells crackling came to his ears.
The Legend of Drak'Noir: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 3) Page 26