EPIC FALLACY
Book 1
Champions of the Dragon
Michael James Ploof
Copyright © 2017 Traveling Bard Publishing
All rights reserved
This trilogy is dedicated to my grandfather, Murland, who often needed to remind me to put my boots on the right feet before setting out on an adventure.
Table of Contents
EPIC FALLACY
Book 1
Champions of the Dragon
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Map of Fallacetine
Chapter 1
The Champion of Magestra
Chapter 2
The Champion of Vhalovia
Chapter 3
The Champion of Fire Swamp
Chapter 4
The Champion of Halala
Chapter 5
The Champion of the Iron Mountains
Chapter 6
All Roads Lead to Bad Mountain
Chapter 7
Slur Sirsalot
Chapter 8
Shadow Forest
Chapter 9
Courage, it Couldn’t Have Come at a Worse Time
Chapter 10
Frog Leg Necklace
Chapter 11
King’s Crossing
Chapter 12
A Secret Kept is a Thorn in the Paw
Chapter 13
Only Fools Try to Fly
Chapter 14
Bjorn Tibiwild
Chapter 15
A Roddington Never Gives Anyone the Shaft
Chapter 16
Over the Hill and Around the Bender
Chapter 17
Truth Unspoken
Chapter 18
A Gift and a Curse
Chapter 19
On Wings of Blue-Blue
Chapter 20
A Haunting of Darklings
Chapter 21
The Hog Farmer and the King
Chapter 22
A Hard Choice on a Dark Road
Chapter 23
Seeking Haven on Ponder Hill
Chapter 24
Poor Wendel
Chapter 25
Shelter from the Storm
Chapter 26
Margi & Egbert
Chapter 27
Tales from the Crow’s Nest
Chapter 28
Mystic Magix
Chapter 29
A Wizard’s Warning
Chapter 30
A Trial by Flesh
Chapter 31
A Drunken Knight’s Tale
Chapter 32
Hunters and the Hunted
Chapter 33
Bad Tidings from Worse Company
Chapter 34
The Twisted Tower
Chapter 35
Horse Meat and Raptor Blood
Chapter 36
The Iron Fist
Chapter 37
Hail! The Champions of the Dragon
Chapter 38
Zuul’s Confession
Chapter 39
The Headmaster of Kazam College
Chapter 40
The Wide Wall
Chapter 41
Looking Westward and Beyond
Letter to the Reader
First and foremost, I would like to thank Paul Fiacco, for his excellent advice during the infancy of this series, and for helping me to discover exactly what kind of story I was trying to write (and more importantly, what kind of story Epic Fallacy wanted to be). You can thank him for Gibrig Hogstead’s Humanism, Sir Slursalot’s reverse nickname, Rootbeard from book 2, and many other nuances that helped to make this story what it is.
Edited by Holly M. Kothe. https://espressoeditor.com/
I would like to thank all my awesome beta readers: Melanie Ploof, Devin Ploof, Destiny Ploof, Haley Mnatzaganian, Marshall Mutch, Karen Marstein, Margo Stewart, Floryie, Ashley (Smashley) Conway, Dee, and my narrator, David (Saethon) Williams. If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize, and offer a sincere thank you.
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EPIC FALLACY
Map of Fallacetine
Chapter 1
The Champion of Magestra
Murland Kadabra had always dreamed of becoming a great wizard, but it seemed all he was good for was shoveling dung. There was surely enough of it around for him to prove his prowess with the shovel. Springtime had come to Magestra, and the manure piles around the pens had thawed out, to create a right awful stink.
For Abra Tower, spring was always a busy and bustling time of year. The vegetables and herbs needed for various spells had to be planted and tended to, which meant harrowing the gardens, clearing irrigation trenches, and mixing into the soil Elder Wizard Bumblemoore’s rotting manure concoction. On top of all that, the spring babes had to be nursed. For our friend Murland, all this meant endless work. He would be lucky to get in any study at the pace the elder wizards kept him running about.
You see, Murland was an apprentice at Abra Tower—one of the best schools of wizardly learning in all the kingdoms. His father, one Lord Albert Kadabra, had gotten his son into the school with the help of a large donation. Murland had shown some proficiency when he took the simple test to determine magical aptitude that all children received, but it alone had not been enough for him to be chosen.
At nineteen, he was quite old for his station. He had failed to grow any wizard leaf to maturity in all his years at the school, but he had a new plant started, and he was determined not to let it die like the others. For without the leaf, he would never be able to open his mind fully to the mysteries of magic.
“I’ll show them all this year, eh Ole Bessy?”
Being that she was a cow, Ole Bessy of course did not reply. Murland tossed the rest of the hay in front of her and sighed. She ignored his lamentations and proceeded to chew her cud lazily.
“Must be nice to just be a cow,” he said. “You get to sit around all day, have your food brought to you. Nobody on you about hanging their wash, cooking ‘em breakfast, taking out their rotting bedpan—but of course…there is always someone tugging at your teats...”
“Murland! Murland!”
The grating voice of High Wizard Waverly shook Murland into action. He took up two buckets and began trudging along toward the hen house, trying to look busy.
“There you are,” Waverly called from behind him.
Murland kept walking, hoping that the old man would forget about him—it often worked.
“Well then, you deaf? Stop!”
Reluctantly, Murland did as he was told.
The old wizard shuffled over to him, bunching his robes in front so as not to trail them in the mud and dung. Murland had given up on that a long time ago, and the weight of his soiled robe kept it clinging to his thin frame.
The elder regarded him over thin spec
tacles, his bushy white eyebrows poking out from behind them like two extremely old caterpillars.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” said Waverly in a huff.
“I apologize, High Wizard. I’ve yet to gather the eggs and milk the cow.”
“What? Never mind all that, you can get to it later. Everyone has been called to the square. He has arrived.”
“He?”
“The Most High Wizard.”
“The Great Kazimir?” said Murland, almost in a whisper.
“Do not speak his name, fool boy! You are far from worthy.”
“Forgive me, High Wizard, but…well…the Most High Wizard has chosen the warriors already, only a week into spring?”
Waverly scowled down on him and turned with a flourish of robes. “Come!”
Murland left his chores behind and followed the old wizard back to the tower. The day was suddenly turning out to be an exciting one. Kazimir was coming to town—the Most High Wizard himself! He hadn’t been seen in these parts in twenty-seven years, not since the last time he’d chosen a champion.
You see, once every generation, Kazimir chose a champion from each of the five kingdoms of Fallacetine. The brave souls then marched west to King’s Crossing, beyond the Wide Wall, through the Forest of the Dead, past the Swamp of Doom, over the Horrible Hills, across the Long Sand, all the way to the shadowy peak of Bad Mountain. There they were destined to do battle with the dreaded black dragon, Drak’Noir.
Murland could only imagine who Kazimir would choose this generation. Perhaps the young knight Maclmoore, or the valiant Sir Johnstonburg. Maybe even Lance Lancer, the best of the wizard apprentices.
He followed High Wizard Waverly around the back of the tower and found the wagon already prepared to leave. The entire school was there, consisting of some twenty-seven apprentices ranging from twelve to twenty years old, along with the other six high wizards. Murland found his young friend Gram gathered with the others and joined him behind the elders.
“Holy witch tits, Murland. You hear what’s going on?” said Gram.
Murland laughed at his younger friend, hardly able to contain his own excitement. “Waverly said Kazimir is to choose a champion. What else do you know?”
“He knows it isn’t going to be you, dung slinger.” The boy, Lance Lancer, slapped one of his stoolies on the back and laughed. Nearly everyone followed suit—guys like Lance always got the laughs, whether they were funny or not.
Murland laughed with them, wanting Lance to like him. “Nah, Lance, course not. You have a good chance though.”
Lance scowled at him, judging his sincerity. Thankfully his scrutiny was interrupted by the other boys, who expressed their agreement with Murland’s claim with much jubilation.
“I’m not kissing anything. It’s true—Lance is Abra’s best wizard apprentice. He is sure to be Kazimir’s choice.”
“You’re still kissing his ass,” said Gram, shaking his head and returning his attention to the podium.
“Quiet down, boys!” one of the elders yelled from the top of the wagon. He leaned back and eyed them all. “Go on then. Neat rows of three, no pushing, that’s it.”
The boys did as they were told, grouping into rows of three that strung all the way around to the back of the tower. Everyone fell in line before Murland and Gram, who found themselves taking up the rear with the youngest of the school’s apprentices.
The trip to the square from the tower took a good fifteen minutes due to the congested streets. Word had gotten around quickly, and everyone with one good leg was making their way to see the legendary wizard of mystery. As the boys and elders got closer, a commotion unlike anything Murland had ever heard came from the center of the city.
The crowd gushed in from each of the seven streets and surrounded the central podium. Thousands of people filed into the square, and soon, the intersections were clogged with those trying to get a closer look. Onlookers took to wagons and rooftops, crowding every window and peeking above every wall.
The wizards of Abra Tower, who enjoyed a bit of celebrity in the city, were allowed to get closer than most, and Murland stood with the other apprentices atop the wagons close to the podium.
“Hey Kadabra, when Kazimir picks me, I might just insist he let me bring you along.” Lance grinned at the other boys with a smirk before adding, “I could always use someone who’s good at handling shit.”
Murland shook his head happily while everyone laughed.
Everyone but Gram.
“That must be ‘cause you’re so full of it,” said Gram.
A collective “ooh” traveled through the group. Lance silenced the boys with a dangerous glare. The worst of it he saved for Gram and Murland. He stalked toward them slowly, hand moving into his robes as if to take up a wand.
Gram did not relent, and squared on the taller boy, reaching for his own wand.
Murland grabbed his arm. “Gram, not here.”
“You should listen to your sweetheart,” Lance told Gram.
“Quiet down, boys!” one of the high wizards hissed.
“Go on then,” said Lance, eyes daring Gram to make a move.
Gram ignored him and turned to Murland. “Never mind them, every one of ‘em would shit themselves if they even saw Drak’Noir.”
Murland laughed weakly, glancing back at a scoffing Lance. “Yeah, I bet they would.”
“Shut up!” said one of the boys. He pointed at the distant podium.
The quiet that followed was so complete that Murland might have heard a mouse fart.
All eyes turned to the high podium. The portly king of Magestra had taken the many flights of stairs to the top and now stood, seemingly out of breath, with a heavily adorned scepter in his hand.
He stood before the congregation with his arms wide. After a minute of silence thick with anticipation, he began to speak into the scepter.
Nothing happened.
Murland and the others strained to hear, but the king’s voice would not carry far enough. Many in the square began to grumble in kind. The king turned around and seemed to be arguing with someone out of sight on the high podium. Suddenly his voice boomed, “…idiots can’t even hear me!”
The king shot upright and turned slowly to face the now gawking crowd. He cleared his throat with an authoritative cough and went on. “The Most High Wizard, Kazimir himself, has called us all to the square this fine morning…for the whispers are true. The sign has been seen at King’s Crossing, and word has come from the Wide Wall of a dark, hungry, evil stirring on Bad Mountain.”
A panicked exclamation flowed through the crowd, and many voices rose up in protest. King Nimrod unsheathed his sword and slammed it into the wooden rail before him, chopping it in half and breaking it off from the post. Silence fell over the crowd as the board fell, and far below, someone cried out in pain.
The king continued. “Every generation, Drak’Noir attempts to settle Bad Mountain, and every generation, Kazimir and the Champions of the Dragon fight her off. This year will be no different! For prophecy tells of the ones who will come together from all kingdoms, and turn back the evil wyrm! Today, Magestra’s champion shall be chosen!”
The crowd began to cheer, but just then, an explosion of light atop the podium silenced them all. A great puff of smoke rose into the sky, and there beside the king stood Kazimir. Surprise turned to shock, shock became wonderment, and the crowd cheered with joy.
Murland and Gram shared looks of enchantment and cheered along with the rest.
Kazimir wore immaculate white robes with many hanging folds. His long, pointed hood covered his face, and a white braided beard hung to his knees and…the beard was on fire! Murland could see the small glow already growing up the front of his robes. One drunk fool in the crowd laughed, and a flustered Kazimir barked a spell word.
The fire puffed out.
The
wizard straightened and raised his glowing staff. Finally, in a voice deep, sure and full of power, he spoke.
“Worms and blood and ooze and sweat.
A streaking comet mine eyes have met.
The winds of time and whispered names.
Five kingdoms, heroes, and dragon games.
I come for one of power and might.
Your champion, I shall name this night.”
He paused as the crowd’s anticipation grew. Murland glanced over at Lance, who wore a big, hopeful smile. He hoped that Lance would be named by Kazimir as well. A wizard of Abra Tower had not been chosen by the Most High Wizard in over a hundred years.
“Your champion is a wizard of Abra…”
Everyone in the square turned to regard the gathered boys and their masters. Lance took a confident step forward.
Kazimir pointed at the group of young apprentices. “Come forth to glory…Murland Kadabra!”
The apprentices and elders all turned, slack-jawed, and stared at Murland. He looked from one to another, not quite comprehending what was happening.
Gram looked utterly delighted. He was patting Murland on the back and saying something. Everyone else was talking as well, but Murland could hear nothing. Suddenly he found himself walking through a parting crowd, being pushed along by a beaming yet flustered elder wizard. The crowd was cheering jubilantly and smiling at him.
Murland finally reached the enormous podium and was led up the stairs inside by High Wizard Waverly and a knight in shimmering armor. His ears were ringing now, and he became dizzy. Strong hands took him by the shoulders when he reached the top of the stairs, and Waverly smiled down at him. The sun blinded him temporarily; he held his hand to the sky and blocked the light enough to see Kazimir and the king standing there. Murland froze, unable to speak, unable to breathe.
A bright flash exploded as Kazimir suddenly snapped his fingers, and the sound of the world came rushing back to Murland. He was led to stand beside Kazimir, who squinted at him from behind large, round spectacles.