The Legend of Drak'Noir

by Ploof, Michael James

  “Why did you come out here?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “I was looking for death. But it seems that the gods do not want me,” he said, and then began to laugh and cough. “Who can blame them?” he added between episodes.

  Akitla laughed with him, but then all mirth left her when she saw the blood on the snow beneath him.

  “You’re badly hurt,” she said and began to get up. “We must get you back to the city.”

  “I’ve got nothing left, Kit. Just leave me here, and know that you made my last moments worth living.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You must, for I would not have you stay here and die with me.”

  “Well then, that is just what I will do. I’ll stay here and die with you.”

  “Kit…”

  “What? This den is home to, hmm, let’s see, at least four yetis. And it is almost morning. They will soon return from the hunt, and they will kill us both.”

  “Kit, you must go.”

  “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “Trust me, you will be doing the world a favor. I’m no good, kid. I’m no good for anyone.”

  “That’s whale shit and you know it,” she said, grabbing him by the collar.

  “Ah! The arm.”

  “Oh, sorry. Is it broken?”

  “No, just dislocated. But I think I’m bleeding on the inside. I won’t make it anyway, and I’d rather die here in this yeti den than out there in that gods-forsaken wind.”

  “You’re not dying in here, and you won’t die out there. I’ve a sled team waiting not far from here. Please, Father, come with me.”

  Sir Eldrick looked to his daughter, but he seemed unable to meet her eyes. “Your affection is in vain, Kit. You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough. I’ve heard stories from my mother, and I’ve read the book about you, written by that bard.”

  “Hah!” Sir Eldrick erupted with laughter that left him coughing and weak. “That fraud? He said that he journeyed with me once, but I never met the shyster. I sued him for slander you know, and I won. To this day I receive half of his profits from that blasted book. I tried to get him to admit and omit the lies, but he refused, saying that they made the story better.”

  “You can tell me all about it once we’re back in the city. Come on, Father, you must try.”

  “Beautiful, fierce, stubborn, Kit. I’ve been trying all my life. I’ve been fighting all my life. And I’ve been struggling all my life. I try to do what is right, but like a broken compass, I always point myself in the wrong direction.”

  “You know what? Me too.” She settled in beside him, resting her head on the cold yeti. “I guess that we’ll just die here together. For what is the point in struggling, when in the end, there is only death? It is much easier to just do it your way.”

  “Enough of your foolishness. You are young, you have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “No, I don’t. When I was born I had my whole life ahead of me. Now I just have the rest.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “If you mean that I have the rest of my life ahead of me, well, so does everyone else. So do you. Isn’t it up to us to make the most of it?”

  Sir Eldrick scoffed and fished in his pockets for a bottle, unfruitfully. “Those are just words.”

  “Really?” Akitla cleared her throat. “Life is hard, death is easy. Life is endless toil, death is dreamless sleep. But it is better to have lived and died than to have never lived at all. Before you were born, you were dead. Soon you shall return. So, live a little.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Sir Eldrick asked, startled.

  “I told you, I read the book about you.”

  “That was in there?”

  “It is documented as the last thing you said before you charged the Giant of Calamity. Was it not?”

  “Yeah,” said Sir Eldrick. “Those are my words. The words of a drunk with a death wish.”

  “But you were victorious against the giant. You are victorious against every challenge that you face.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, kid, but you’re wasting your breath.”

  A heavy crunch of snow and a low growl caught their attention. Akitla turned to her father and smiled. “Sounds like the yetis are back. Did you know that there are at least four?”

  “You’ve got to hide, Kit. Rush past them once they are inside.”

  “Nah,” she said, rubbing her hands together and cracking her knuckles. “What fun would that be? I’m the daughter of Sir Eldrick, after all. If I am going to die, I’m going to die fighting. You just sit there, old man. See if you don’t learn something.” She got up and began toward the tunnel leading out.

  “Kit.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Kit!”

  Akitla stopped, took up a fighting stance, shifted her body to the right, and produced one long ice saber.

  “This is suicide, Kit. Listen to me!” Sir Eldrick warned, his voice thick with fear.

  She let out a low growl that turned into a high-pitched, ear-piercing roar, deafening in the small chamber. “You show up after a lifetime of silence and then try to kill yourself! Screw you!” said Akitla.

  Sir Eldrick hobbled to his feet and limped across the chamber, grabbing his daughter’s arm firmly. “I’m not going to let you do this.”

  The yetis, who had gone silent after Akitla’s challenging roar, finally answered it with one of their own. The deep, throaty rumbles of at least six of the beasts echoed in the chamber.

  “You’re not letting me do this? Oh, now you want to be a father?”

  Snow and ice and bone crunched beneath the yetis’ heavy feet as they barreled into the tunnel.

  “You’ve made your point,” said Sir Eldrick. “Now for queen’s sake, child, hide!” He grabbed his blade from where Akitla had left it and stood steady on his good leg, trying to shoulder her out of the way.

  The shadows of the charging beasts played on the walls of the tunnel as they approached.

  “You gave up, remember? Just go lie down and die!” said Akitla, her body now covered in frost from head to toe.

  “Godsdammit!” said Sir Eldrick, and then he charged.

  Akitla proved the faster, and she rushed ahead of him as the yetis crashed into the chamber. She spun, throwing one ice shard and then another, and even as both found their mark, sinking deep into the lead yeti’s abdomen, she produced two more and finished the creature off. The yeti fell to the icy floor and the others scrambled over its body, teeth gnashing, eyes wide and alight with bloodlust. Before Sir Eldrick could reach her, one of the beasts leapt into the air, black hooked claws spread wide. Akitla reached toward the floor and suddenly raised her hands over her head. On command, a thick sheet of ice sprang up in front of her. The yeti crashed into it, breaking it into a thousand pieces, but Akitla was already out of the way. Side-stepping and spinning a circle, she came around with another conjured shard and buried it in the passing yeti’s back.

  Sir Eldrick was astonished and excited by his daughter’s prowess. He gave a battle cry, quite forgetting the injury to his leg and the pain of his recently dislocated shoulder. In that moment, there was only life and death, glory and gusto. His mind went quiet and his spirit took over, pushing his body to limits unimaginable. It was times such as these, when he knew the gods were watching, that Sir Eldrick felt most alive. He lost himself to instinct and joined his daughter in the fight.

  Chapter 4

  The Prisoner of the Twisted Tower

  High Wizard Hinckley sat against one of the spikes sticking out of the top of the Twisted Tower, and slowly, laboriously, opened his eyes. He had expected to die the last time he fell asleep, and he met reality with a steady sigh. He glanced at the scratches on his arm just above the oozing stump, looked to the moon shakily, and with a long fingernail, he added a seventh line.

  A week. He had been atop the tower wasting away for a week.


  The stump where his hand used to be had been cauterized by the spell that took it, so there was no risk of infection; still, it itched and throbbed, and in his state of starvation and delirium, he felt worms digging their way through his flesh. To distract himself from the hallucinations, he spent his waking hours meditating and trying to puzzle out the problem at hand.

  He wondered about Kazimir, and that abomination Zuul, likely now sucking the teats of the witch—both baby and wizard.

  That made him laugh, and he soon began to cough weakly. It hurt his ribs terribly to do so, and he focused on the pain, hoping to sober his mind. He attempted once more to summon magic to his core, but he felt no connection to that timeless stream of power. If magic was a river, then his had been dammed up tight. He had spent many days and nights in deep meditation, trying to summon a great tidal wave of magical energy to him, one that might break the dam, but he had failed every time. Kazimir was a clever one, and had added an incantation to the spell shielding Hinckley from the forces of magic, which turned any resistance into energy that only intensified the spell. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and it was very effective.

  Hinckley gave up on any idea of summoning magic just as soon as it sparked in his tired mind.

  “There is more to being a wizard than magic,” he said aloud, noticing an eagle flying by. His mind screamed an idea at him, and he jerked with a start. “What are you doing up here so high?” he asked the eagle.

  The eagle circled overhead three times before landing at his feet and cocking one beady eye at him. “What are you doing trapped atop a tower?” the eagle asked before tucking its head beneath a wing to groom itself.

  “Ah, you talk. Excellent. That is a very good question, but the answer is long, and there is more pressing business at hand. I would ask a favor of you, good eagle.”

  “Call me Caw.”

  “Isn’t that a crow’s name?”

  “It’s a long story,” said the eagle.

  “Alright, Caw, how would you like to make some money?”

  “Keep talking.”

  “Fly south until you see the coast of Fallacetine. Follow it east to the Iron Mountains. There, you will find a great moth that the dwarves call Dustywing. He is the king of his kind, and lucky for me, he owes me a favor. Do this, and I will pay you handsomely!”

  “Handsome to one is ugly to another. How much money we talking?”

  “Money? I thought you might like a lifetime supply of seeds or something,” said Hinckley.

  “What do I look like? A friggin’ parakeet?”

  “I’ll give you fifty gold,” said Hinckley.

  “One hundred.”

  “Seventy-five.”

  “One hundred.”

  “Ninety, and that’s my final offer,” said Hinckley, crossing his arms.

  “One hundred, or you can stay up here and rot.”

  “Fine, one hundred.”

  “You’ve got a deal,” said the eagle, and he leapt into the air.

  “Fly, fly, my little friend. Fly to the Iron Mountains, or it is the end!”

  He watched it go, disappearing over the sharp edge of the hated tower. With nothing to do but wait, he slept, and as he began to doze, a smile crept across his face.

  ***

  Zorromon’s magic carpet chittered a small laugh and swooped down toward the Wide Wall. The wizard screamed, clutching the two frilly corners, and braced for impact. To his surprise and relief, the mischievous carpet pulled up at the last moment and landed smoothly.

  “That’s about enough of that!” said Zorromon, annoyed. He straightened his robes and stomped a foot down on the carpet. “Keep up your shenanigans, and I’ll—”

  The carpet suddenly zipped across the battlements, pulling Zorromon’s feet out from under him and leaving him on his sore backside, groaning. “I should have given Murland that blasted carpet and kept the backpack,” he grumbled.

  “High Wizard Zorromon?” came a nervous voice, one he recognized. “What are you doing here?”

  It was Charlie Spearnt, one of the most annoying apprentices to ever grace the halls of Abra Tower.

  “Ah, young Wizard Spearnt. My, how you have grown…around the belly. You look more like a cook than a wizard.”

  Charlie laughed his quick, obnoxious laugh. “Right you are. I’m actually studying to be a chef.”

  “Well,” said Zorromon. “Which is it? Are you a wizard or a chef?”

  “I want to be both. You wouldn’t believe the applications that magic has in the culinary arts. Why, just yesterday—”

  “Yes, yes, I can’t wait to hear about it. But for now, I must speak with Headmaster Hinckley.”

  “I’m sorry, Headmaster, but Headmaster Hinckley is not here.”

  “As I have feared,” Zorromon mumbled to himself.

  “Pardon?”

  “Then bring me to his office.”

  “Yes, Headmaster. But…well, he is away, and no one is allowed in his office.”

  “You just let me worry about that.”

  “Of course, Headmaster. Please, right this way.”

  Zorromon scowled at his carpet, which flew circles over the Wide Wall, and followed the pudgy wizard toward Kazam College.

  As they walked into the open main hall of the college, Zorromon realized that he hadn’t been there in decades. He looked to the west wing, where he had spent so many years with his old chaps, studying magic and talking long into the night about how they were going to change the world.

  He followed Charlie up the many stairs, keeping his gray hood drawn low. He wasn’t trying to hide per se, but then again, he didn’t have any time for small talk, and he recognized enough of the comers and goers to know that they would want to stop and chat.

  “The headmaster’s office has moved?” he asked Charlie, realizing that they were headed in a different direction than he remembered.

  “Yeah, a few years ago. Headmaster Hinckley said that he was tired of the same old view. Which is strange, because we don’t stay often in one place for more than a few months.”

  When they reached Hinckley’s office, Zorromon waved Charlie away. “Thank you, that will be all.”

  Charlie seemed apprehensive, but he knew better than to disobey a high wizard. He offered Zorromon a small bow and headed back down the stairs.

  Zorromon squared on the old oaken door, preparing his mind for the arduous task of unraveling the many spells the headmaster would have put on the entrance, but to his surprise, it opened wide for him, revealing the dark, musty office. He stepped inside and was not surprised when the door closed behind him.

  “Lux!” he said with authority, and the many candles and torches in the office lit up.

  Zorromon’s eyes were drawn to the desk, where sat a letter sealed in glowing wax. Like a beacon, it pulsed with soft light, beckoning Zorromon to it. He moved around the desk and took up the envelope, which opened at his touch. The script was small and flowing. It read:

  Headmaster Zorromon,

  If you are reading this, it means that I have not returned from the Twisted Tower. I am either dead or have been taken prisoner. Let us hope that the latter is true.

  I traveled to the Twisted Tower to investigate. For upon learning of Murland’s success in mending the wand, I set out to find Kazimir, so that I might let him know the good news. I scried the Most High Wizard and learned that for some ungodly reason, he is in the Twisted Tower. I believe that he may be in league with Zuul, and If I have not returned to Kazam College, my fears may be justified.

  I beseech you, Zorromon, do not come to the Twisted Tower alone, but please do come prepared.

  Yours in Magic,

  Headmaster Aldous Hinckley

  Zorromon stared out the window at the land west of the Wide Wall, pondering what he should do. Murland was out there somewhere, still headed toward Bad Mountain, oblivious of the true fate of the champions. Zorromon thought that he should just tell the other high wizards about the Twisted Tower
and let them deal with Kazimir, but he knew that they would not succeed without him. No, he could not change his fate, for the vision that had scared him those many years ago was now coming true. Zorromon had to continue as planned. For the time being, Murland would have to fend for himself.

  There came a pounding on the door, tearing Zorromon from his thoughts.

  “Zorromon! Are you in there?” came a voice that he knew.

  He moved to the door and was not surprised to see High Wizard Bourdoux, Professor of Divination, standing just beyond the threshold and scowling at him. Behind him stood a sheepish Charlie Spearnt.

  “What is the meaning of this?” asked Bourdoux, his mustache twitching as it always did when he was perturbed.

  Zorromon looked past him, offering Charlie a knowing scowl. “I have grave news. Please, summon the other high wizards to the main lecture hall. This concerns everyone.”

  Bourdoux looked to have more to say, but he obeyed the elder high wizard.

  Once he was alone, Zorromon took the enchanted timepiece from his pocket and put it in the top drawer of the desk, before leaving a short not for Hinckley.

  Twenty minutes later, the twenty-seven professors of Kazam College were gathered in the main lecture hall, waiting for Zorromon to speak. Hushed voices echoed through the high-ceilinged room, causing the webs of privacy spells to sparkle and glow. There were three hundred and thirty seats in ten circular rows of thirty-three. At the center was a small raised platform and an old wooden podium, adorned with runes and crystals. A silver-handled gavel sat on its side on the podium. Zorromon took it up and banged it against the podium three times, bringing the meeting to order.

  He looked out over the crowd of high wizards, recognizing most. He had taught many of them over his long career, and he now looked on them with pride. They stared back, brows furled, eyes questioning.

  “Professors of Kazam College, I have summoned you all here today to discuss a matter of grave importance. As you know, Headmaster Hinckley has been absent for some time. He wrote me recently to tell me that the Dragon Champion of Magestra, Murland Kadabra, has mended the wand of Kazam. He is also in possession of the spell book of the same name.”