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

by Michael James Ploof

  “How close?” said Murland with bated breath.

  “I just had to kind of lead him on a bit. But listen, nothing ever happened.”

  “No wonder he looks at me like he hates me,” said Murland. Strapped to his chest as she was, Caressa could not look into Murland’s eyes, which was a blessing, for he knew he must look furious despite his calm words.

  “Can we please land? I hate talking about things like this when I can’t see you,” she said.

  Without a word, Murland steered Packy to put them down about a half a mile east of the companions. He unstrapped Caressa and waited for her explanation.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, one hand rubbing the opposite arm and her eyes darting from him to the ground and back again.

  “How am I looking at you?”

  “Like I’m a terrible person.”

  “That was a pretty shitty thing to do to the poor guy.”

  “What was I to do? After Kazimir gave me my own quarters, Benjamin was my only link to the outside world. I had to use him to escape.”

  “You knew that I was coming for you.”

  She gave him a sour look. “What does that mean? That I was supposed to wait like a good little damsel in distress? Spend my hours combing my hair and singing songs of love while staring out the window and praying for my hero to save me? If that is the kind of woman you want, then you’re in for a sur—”

  “Caressa, don’t talk to me like I haven’t known you for most of my life. I know who you are. And I know that you can take care of yourself.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I said what I said.”

  “No, you are right. I shouldn’t have led Benjamin on like that. But I intend to make it right. I have already knighted him, and I intend to do more.”

  “I will try to befriend him as well. Perhaps this little crush of his will pass in time.”

  “Perhaps. I have already made it quite clear how I feel about you.”

  Murland thought of her father then and how soon they would be back in Magestra. She must have seen the change in him, for she put her hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” she said, her eyes telling him that she knew.

  “What is it going to be like when we return?”

  She let out a slow sigh and caressed his cheek. “I will tell Father that we intend to marry.”

  “And he will say no. I know that he will.”

  “Nonsense, he—”

  “Caressa, you know how these things work. I am not a—”

  “Don’t start putting yourself down. The truth is that you are the most famous wizard in all the land. You are the son of a lord, and you are the only man I have ever or will ever love. And that will have to be good enough for my father.”

  “But what of my apprenticeship beneath Headmaster Hinckley?”

  “What about it? You will of course have your career, and I will have mine. Not marrying a prince does not mean that I have no responsibilities as the daughter of the king. Life is long, my love, and while we may be apart at some points in our lives for days, weeks, even months, it does not change the fact that we love each other.”

  “Then I suppose…I guess I should ask your father for your hand?”

  “Most definitely. He will not give you an answer right away, of course, but he will approve. I guarantee you that.”

  Murland breathed a long sigh of relief. “You know what,” he said, putting a hand on each of her cheeks. “You are one hell of a woman.”

  “I know,” she said with a smile. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

  ***

  Another week of travel brought the companions to King’s Crossing. They passed many different travelers on the road and ended up camping with a few. For everyone had finally relaxed now that news of Drak’Noir’s defeat had spread across the land. Murland still marveled at how such news seemed to travel faster than horses, for the companions had been going along at a good clip. They rode ten hours or more every day, and yet they encountered people coming from the opposite direction who already knew of their victory. They had been asked for autographs, even blessings, and one wealthy lord who was traveling to the Wide Wall insisted that they all sit with him for a portrait that took no less than four hours to complete. He had paid them handsomely, and the sight of so much gold sparked Murland’s memory of the map he had attained from Wild Willy and the Road Warriors. When asked, Sir Eldrick looked to have forgotten all about it as well.

  “You hold on to that, Murland,” he had said with a gleam in his eye. “I imagine that the tour will bring us to towns and villages out that way. We will go treasure hunting then. It’ll be an adventure.”

  The mood during the journey home had been full of stories and song and food and laughs, but now that they were so close to the end, it seemed as though dark clouds had loomed above them for days, when in reality it had barely rained the entire time. They reached King’s Crossing on a Sunday, three months to the day that they had set out.

  When they reined in their horses, a silence filled the crossroads, and only the wind and the jingle of Wendel’s old chains made any noise. The companions all just looked at each other, no one knowing what to say.

  It was Sir Eldrick who dismounted first and said, “It is nearly time for dinner, and there is no point in parting ways at night. Let’s make camp one last time. Gibrig, you dig us a shit hole.”

  “Yes sir!” said the dwarf with a smile that could have softened the heart of a necromancer.

  “Willow, be a good ogre and gather some fire wood. None of that stinking mossy stuff that your kind fancies.”

  “I’m on it, boss!”

  “Murland, do you know any spells that will help us put up camp faster?”

  He smiled at the memory of the first time he had been asked that. “Actually, I do.”

  “Excellent. Brannon, you and I will water the horses. There is a stream just south of here.”

  That night, the companions feasted on wild game they had caught in the forests around the crossing and drank the last of Bjorn’s wine. The talk turned to the future, and what the tour would be like. They were all quite excited by the idea of being able to travel together again, even Brannon, who had already begun to write down the details of their adventures and compose songs that might go with one scene or another. Regardless of what Lyricon had said, Brannon was intent on creating a play in the short time they had before setting out again. And he made it quite clear that he would be acting his role, despite what Lyricon had said.

  Morning came too soon. They all rose reluctantly at sunrise and ate an extended breakfast. But inevitably the time came when they could no longer delay, and a few hours before mid-day, they all said their goodbyes.

  Gibrig was less emotional than anyone had expected him to be. He hugged everyone, telling them all that he would see them soon, even Wendel, and stood by his father and Snorts. It was Brannon who broke down while he was saying his goodbyes. He had been shaking Sir Eldrick’s hand, and suddenly he burst out in tears and hugged the knight, surely something that was out of character for the old pain-in-the-ass Brannon.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Sir Eldrick. We all owe you a debt of gratitude for what you have done for us. Before you showed us what we were capable of, we were just another batch of doomed champions. Fools one and all. But now…thank you.”

  “I know when to be cocky, Brannon, and I know when to be humble,” said Sir Eldrick. “It is I who owe you all. You all did something for me, something harder than defeating a dragon. You showed me how to live again. But alas, this is not a final goodbye. So, wipe your eyes and smile, for gods willing, many adventures lay ahead for the Champions of the Dragon.”

  “And Wendel!” the skeleton blurted, eyeing his hanging crow’s nest with unease. “Now can we get the hell out of here? This place gives me the creeps.”

  A final laugh was had, and more goodbyes were said, and the champions went their separate ways…for a time.

  Chapter 43

  The Return o
f the Champion of The Iron Mountains

  “Why ye still got that worried face on, eh?” said Hagus, eyeing Gibrig sidelong with his one good eye.

  “Just worried is all, ‘bout facin’ the king.”

  “Bah, ye be worryin’ too much. Just like yer ma. We done just fought a dragon, for stone’s sake. What more be there to be worried ‘bout? The king would be a fool to have us arrested. Ain’t no one knows I knocked him on his fart muffin but me and him…and whoever else we done told. But there weren’t no witnesses, and if he acts on my crime, then everyone’ll know I done knocked him on his puff pastry. Believe ye me, he ain’t wantin’ that. I’ll be safe publicly, and if he be wantin’ to send hired thugs and the like, then let ‘em come.”

  “Ye know, Pap, I heard more than one dwarf say to me, ‘Gib, me lad, yer pap be a dwarf that just don’t give a shyte, and that be what I like ‘bout him.’ Now I think I know what they meant.”

  “Bah!” Hagus roared. “Now that be a knee-slapper. Ye just wait and see, lad. Everythin’ll work out just fine. Wait until the other dwarves get a look at that golden shield o’ yers. I can just picture the king tryin’ to lift it. Now that’ll be a hoot!”

  “I ain’t for wantin’ to anger him any more than he’s sure to be,” said Gibrig.

  “Bah, he was out o’ line to begin with. Sendin’ ye off on a suicide quest because ye wouldn’t sell him a hog. Well, we showed him, didn’t we?”

  “I guess we did. Funny how things work out sometimes.”

  “Just wait till we get back. I tell ye, Gibrig, ye’re gonna be a hero. Why, ye’ll have dwarf maidens flocking to ye like chickens at feedin’ time.”

  “I will?” said Gibrig, suddenly feeling a little bit dizzy and thinking about the blacksmith’s daughter.

  “Indeed, indeed. I can see it now. Gibrig the Golden Shielded, they’ll call ye. And I dare say that none o’ them other lads be callin’ ye a human ever again.”

  Gibrig hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about the bullies back home at all, really. And to think that maybe the teasing would finally stop forever gave him mixed emotions. He was glad of it, to be sure, but the memory of Gillrog made him feel guilty.

  “Yup,” his father went on. “Ain’t no more farmin’ for ye, I imagine. Ye got bigger and brighter things in yer future.”

  “I do?”

  “Hells yeah. First this tour ye be goin’ on at the end o’ summer, then, who knows what. Ye be a hero now, Gibrig.”

  “But…well, I like farmin’. I never thought that I would see home again, and was hopin’ to just settle back into a quiet life between the mountains.”

  “I guess I ain’t for blamin’ ye, Gib. After I went off to war, I didn’t want to leave that farm for nothin’. But, ye know, I ain’t had this much fun in years. There’s somethin’ to be said for gettin’ out and seein’ a bit o’ the world once in a while. Ye be welcome to live on the farm till the end o’ yer days. Hells, when I be gone it’ll be yers, but I got a sneakin’ suspicion that ye got more in store for ye in this life besides that o’ a farmer. I mean, hells, whoever this Maker o’ Clocks be, seems like he’s got plans for ye.”

  “Ye think so?” said Gibrig. “I just assumed that whatever plans he had for me didn’t go beyond Drak’Noir.”

  Hagus shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Gibrig and Hagus took their time traveling down the well-worn road through Shadow Forest. They came across many traders heading home from the dwarven markets, their wagons full of dwarven handmade wares. Hagus suggested that they try to mask their appearances when they passed others on the road, not wanting the attention that they were sure to get. But some of the traders knew Hagus and Gibrig by gait and outline, and it was hard indeed for the tallest dwarf alive to go unnoticed.

  One trader, a bushy-bearded human by the name of Franklin Fargenjargen, stopped his mule in the middle of the road as they approached on the third day out from King’s Crossing.

  “Well I’ll be. That you, Hagus Hogstead?”

  Hagus glanced at Gibrig from beneath his low-drawn hood and rolled his eyes. “Ho, there, Franklin!” he said as they approached. He meant to continue past the human, but Franklin got right in their path and stood with his big belly stuck out and his thumbs hooking his red suspenders.

  “I can’t believe it! I heard that you and your boy there had defeated Drak’Noir, but you know what they say about grand rumors.”

  “We sure did. On our way back to the Iron Mountains just now,” said Hagus, aiming to go around the portly man.

  “I was about to take lunch,” said Franklin. “I got some elven game birds plucked and ready, some fine sharp cheese, and a bottle of Magestrian wine that needs to breathe. I’ll trade you a meal for a story.”

  Gibrig was hungry. They had been walking since sun up, and it was lunchtime anyway. “That sounds like a fine idea. What ye say, Pap?”

  Hagus scratched his beard and looked to the sun. “Alright then. But we got to be off again shortly, so ye be gettin’ the quick version o’ the tale o’ Drak’Noir.”

  “Excellent!” said Franklin and hurriedly went about setting up his impressive wagon-side kitchen, complete with a sink, a decent-sized counter, and a grill that was already smoking with hot coals.

  “I see ye come prepared,” said Hagus, admiring the grill.

  “I keep a few hot coals ready all the time. Makes life that much easier, it does.” He put three pieces of dry wood on the coals and quickly went about setting up a fold-out picnic table.

  The sound of singing voices caught Gibrig’s ear as he and his father were just sitting down. Looking up the trail, he saw three dwarves riding mountain rams and coming their way. As they approached, Hagus and Gibrig did their best to avoid eye-contact. Nevertheless, one of the dwarves suddenly reined in his ram and proclaimed, “That be Gibrig Hogstead!”

  “What’s that?” said another, and the three of them eyed Gibrig.

  “Aye,” said Gibrig, getting up. “Nice to meet ye.”

  “Well I’ll be a son of a goatherd,” said the dwarf who had first recognized him. He jumped off his ram and shook hands with Gibrig. “Be it true that ye defeated Drak’Noir with yer golden…” his voice trailed off as he saw the shield sitting on the ground beside the table. “Well I’ll be.”

  “It be true. But it weren’t me alone. Credit be due to all the Champions o’ the Dragon. We did it together.”

  “And she really be dead?” said another.

  “She be dead,” said Gibrig, somewhat regretfully. “There weren’t no other way.”

  “She be dead, and we are about to have lunch, if you don’t mind,” said Franklin.

  “Don’t mind at all,” said the dwarf. “Mind if we join ye? We got tators and fish, fresh caught out the brook. The fish that be.”

  Franklin grumbled a response, and the dwarves took it as a yes. But no sooner had the dwarves began to unload the promised fare than another cart came, this time from the opposite direction. The newcomers turned out to be a four-piece band of traveling bards from Vhalovia, and they too had heard of the victorious champions. When they saw tall Gibrig showing the other dwarves his golden shield, they too inquired about his identity. Needless to say, they joined the group for lunch as well, offering up mussels from the faraway southern coast, kept fresh in an enchanted basket said to have been won from a drunken wizard in a dice game. Franklin was just putting two more birds on the grill when another group of travelers showed up from the Iron Mountains. He threw up his arms then, seeing that the travelers, seven in all, were young strapping dwarf soldiers on their way to relieve some of the dwarves from their post near King’s Crossing.

  They too recognized Gibrig and shook his hand vigorously, one and all. To Franklin’s annoyance, more and more travelers ended up stopping over the course of the next few hours, and Gibrig and Hagus had to keep backing up in their story to fill in the latecomers.

  By the time dinner rolled around, more than ten wagons and do
zens of humans, dwarves, elves, and even ogres sat around in an ever-growing circle in the middle of the road, enthralled by Gibrig and Hagus’s story.

  They all ended up making camp there for the night, and when a trader with a wagon full of barrels of wine showed up, what had started out as lunch turned into an all-night celebration.

  In the morning, the hungover travelers all loaded up with intentions to follow Hagus and Gibrig back to the Iron Mountains. As Franklin had put it, “It isn’t every day that you got to see a champion’s homecoming.” The seven dwarven soldiers regretfully said that they couldn’t join them, however, as they were on orders from their superior.

  Hagus grumbled all morning, not keen on having so much company. “Ye know, I had hoped for a quiet journey the rest o’ the way, but I guess that ain’t gonna be happenin’,” he said to Gibrig.

  “Well, we got pretty far undercover,” Gibrig told his father with a smile. He didn’t mind at all the company, and he hadn’t gotten tired of telling his story, for he figured it was one that he would have to tell for the rest of his life.

  By the time they arrived at the gate of the Iron Mountains, Gibrig and Hagus were followed by over a hundred people. Lookouts had likely spotted the large procession, because it seemed that the dwarves knew they were coming. The gate stood wide open, which was a good sign, and dwarves had gathered by the thousands to see the return of the Champion of the Iron Mountains. Soon they were overwhelmed by the cheering crowd, and the guards fought to keep the people back.

  A horn blew deep in the mountain, and trumpets blared. “Make way for the king!” came a voice that rose above the chaos.

  The crowd parted before the king, and the gawking dwarves whispered to one another and pointed at Gibrig’s shield of gold. Dranlar Ironfist greeted Gibrig and his father with a scowl and slowly marched toward them. Hagus’s hand fell upon Gibrig’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze, which helped him to stand a little taller.