EPIC FALLACY
Book 2
Beyond the Wide Wall
Michael James Ploof
Copyright © 2017 Traveling Bard Publishing
All rights reserved
Table of Contents
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Map of Fallacetine
Chapter 1
Beyond the wide wall
Chapter 2
The Forest of the Dead
Chapter 3
Rootbeard
Chapter 4
Lufetarg Daed: The City of the Dead
Chapter 5
A Deal is Struck on the Iron Fist
Chapter 6
Pixie Roundup
Chapter 7
Dazed and Confused
Chapter 8
And This Little Piggy had None
Chapter 9
Ogre Revenge
Chapter 10
The Revolution
Chapter 11
Precious Cargo
Chapter 12
Smoke on the Water
Chapter 13
What Gets High, Must Come Down
Chapter 14
Lost and Found
Chapter 15
Out of the woods
Chapter 16
The Swamp of Doom
Chapter 17
Great Turtle
Chapter 18
The Horny Hag
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
The Wand that was Broken
Chapter 21
High Times on the High Seas
Chapter 22
Swamp Pass
Chapter 23
Where in the World is Kazimir Rimizak?
Chapter 24
Into the Horrible Hills
Chapter 25
The Hills Have Eyes
Chapter 26
News from the Wide Wall
Chapter 26
Gurtzarg
Chapter 27
The Gloom of Guilt
Chapter 28
The Sands of Time
Chapter 29
Sandy Pants
Chapter 30
The Doppelgangers
Chapter 31
Inner Vision
Chapter 32
Harru
Chapter 33
The Floating City
Chapter 34
Every Dune has a Golden Lining
Chapter 35
The Lord of Atlas
Chapter 36
The Minions of Zuul
Chapter 37
Too Little, Too Late
Chapter 38
A Hard Confession
Chapter 39
Slur Sirsalot Strikes Again
This trilogy is dedicated to my grandfather, Murland, who always reminded me to put my boots on the right feet.
Edited by Holly M. Kothe. https://espressoeditor.com/
Other Books
By
Michael James Ploof
(Legends of Agora Novels)
Whill of Agora
A Quest of Kings
A Song of Swords
A Crown of War
Kingdoms in Chaos
Champions of the Gods
The Mantle of Darkness
Talon
Sea Queen
Exodus
Blackthorn Rising
(Orion Rezner Chronicles)
Afterworld
(Epic Fallacy Novels)
Champions of the Dragon
Beyond the Wide Wall
The Legend of Drak’Noir – Summer 2017
Visit Michael’s Amazon Author page for links
Special Thanks
I would like to thank my Beyond the Wide Wall proofreaders for helping me put the final polish on the manuscript. Big thanks to Beverly Leonard, Sharon Bryant, Laine Prime, Dan Barker III, Barb Gravel, Bill Paliwoda, Nana Meg, Sharon Bobbitt, Athena Day Robinson, Marshall Mutch, Jonathon hunter Hill, Marie McCraney, and Devin, Destroyer of Worlds. I really appreciate all the help.
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Map of Fallacetine
Chapter 1
Beyond the wide wall
The first rays of sunlight bathed the eastern side of the Wide Wall, causing it to shimmer with golden, magical light. The monolithic shadow, however, stretched far and wide over the Forest of the Dead to the west.
Murland glided over the battlements to the cheers of the guardians stationed in the jutting towers and ramparts. The Champions of the Dragon had been treated like heroes by the guardians of the Wide Wall. Feasts, stories, and laughs had been shared during their three-day stay. But their brief reprieve from the dangers of the road had come to an end, for today they were to set out beyond the Wall.
Steering Packy back east for one last glance at the world he knew, Murland wondered about Princess Caressa. He had been surprised and delighted to hear that she had sought to track him down, but to what end? Surely, she had not wanted to go with him. King Nimrod would never stand for such a thing.
“Come on, Packy, might as well get this over with,” he said with a sigh as he pulled the left strap to bring him gliding back to the battlements.
He landed near the entrance to his companions’ barracks just as they were emerging.
“How does it look out there?” Sir Eldrick asked, looking as chipper as ever despite the circumstances.
“Not a cloud in the sky,” said Murland, not wanting to tell them about the dark shadow that fell over the Forest of the Dead, or how those ominous hollows had seemed to watch him as he flew overhead.
“Excellent,” said Sir Eldrick and shouldered his pack.
They took the lift down to the ground level, where the lord general was waiting for them, along with hundreds of guardians in two smart formations that lined the walls of the wide tunnel leading to the western gate. Headmaster Hinckley had come to see them off as well, and stood beside the lord general, leaning on a tall, crooked staff.
The soldiers began to clap and cheer when the champions entered the antechamber, and the general walked forward, shaking each of their hands in turn before saluting them all.
“Champions of the Dragon, go forth beyond the Wall, and know that you have our blessing and confidence. For Kazimir has always chosen wisely, and the champions have always been victorious in vanquishing Drak’Noir.”
He then presented Brannon with a sleek white horse to replace his mount, and for Willow, a large, thick-legged Vhalovian war horse to replace her raptor. Knowing that Murland would be flying with his backpack, the general handed him a jeweled dagger, saying that it had once belonged to Lord General Whiting. The general presented Gibrig with a mount as well, as the dwarf had been convinced to leave Snorts in the care of the general, who had promised to keep him well while Gibrig was gone. To Sir Eldrick, the general presented a golden flask, one that he ensured the knight was filled with water. The two men had spent enough time together to know of each other’s problems with the bottle, and the knight was heartened by the gift.
“Thank you, General,” said Sir Eldrick, and he waved at the gathered guardians. “Thank you all!”
Headmaster Hinckley slowly stepped forward and stopped before Murland. “Know that you have the blessing of Kazam College. Remember what I have
told you. Confidence is vital.”
“Thank you, Headmaster,” said Murland with a bow.
The guardians cheered as the champions walked their mounts down the long tunnel.
“Raise the western gates!” the general commanded, and the giant iron doors opened before them.
No sunlight bathed their skin as they came to the gate, instead, the dark forest awaited them. Sir Eldrick led the group past the threshold, and the iron doors banged closed behind them. Brannon gave a small cry, startled by the doors, and looked to Sir Eldrick nervously.
“Mount up!” said Sir Eldrick, snapping them all out of their dark ponderings. “Murland to the sky. I want your eyes on the road ahead. Willow, you take up the rear. Brannon to my right, Gib to my left. Be prepared for anything.”
Murland pulled the straps of his backpack tight and got a running start before leaping into the air. Packy beat its wings furiously, bringing Murland high above the trees in a matter of seconds. He scoured what he could see of the road through the dense canopy of dark trees.
Since his wand had been destroyed in the fight with the harpies, Murland hadn’t had a chance to fashion another one. He surveyed the forest, wondering about those twisted branches and what sort of wand he might be able to make with them. He was not familiar with the tree types he saw below, for they were gnarled and twisted and thick. Great wisdom and the secrets of time seemed to be whispered in those boughs by a wind that was as reluctant as Murland to venture there. The hypnotically swaying branches seemed to beckon to Murland.
Come in, weary traveler, rest in the shade of our branches, drink from the gathered rain weighing our boughs. Come, sleep in our shadow. Come…
Chapter 2
The Forest of the Dead
The road leading through the forest from the Wall had become overgrown long ago. Dead trees, branches, and the remnants of last fall’s foliage littered the path, which made the going slow, but not as slow as it would have been to blaze a trail through the haunted wilds.
The companions made good time that day and traveled nearly twenty miles before nighttime began to creep in from the west. Murland found them a suitable place to camp beside an old stone bridge, the waterway of which had dried up some time ago, judging by the dense bed of clover and purple creepers that now crowded the trench.
As soon as camp was set up, Murland went down under the bridge to gather some of the clover. The four-leafed variety was rare, and he had seen it as a common ingredient in the spell book. He brought a torch with him down the bank, which was lined with rock and looked like it had once been well kept, but was now covered in moss and the smell of long-dead leaves. Bugs seemed to like the trench, for there was a swarm down there beneath the bridge. Little black flies they were, and they soon got a taste for wizard blood.
Murland cleared the way with his torch, swinging it slowly out before him back and forth. He hurried into the long darkness of the bridge, a darkness that seemed to have no end. Head down, Murland forgot his fears and grabbed handfuls of the clover until his sack was full. Feeling the gloom glaring at him from the depths of the tunnel beneath the bridge, Murland fled, climbing up the bank sure-footed and coming out into the firelight of the camp.
“What is it?” Sir Eldrick asked, holding his torch high and looking past Murland.
“Nothing, just the creeps.”
Sir Eldrick studied him and nodded. “This forest will do that to you. Come, the food is ready.”
Murland joined the others around the fire beside the bank of the dead river and helped himself to the fresh venison they had been given by the guardians. Bread went around as well, and he tore off a handful before passing the rest to Willow, sure that it wouldn’t come back.
When she nudged him with the slightly smaller loaf after a few seconds, he looked to her with confusion. “What?”
“Just passing it back around,” said Willow before pushing it into his hand.
The companions all shared concerned glances.
“But…aren’t you going to eat the rest?” Murland asked.
“Nope,” she said, and she took a small bite of bread, chewing it slowly and purposefully.
When the companions only continued to stare, she looked up from her pondering of the fire and shrugged. “It’s just…I don’t know. You have all come so far in such a short time. Sir Eldrick, you’re trying to fight your temptations, Gibrig has found his courage, Brannon his strength, and Murland his magic. What have I done? Eaten Brannon’s Precious like some uncontrollable monster and gobbled up all the food before you could all have your rightful share. I don’t want to be like that anymore.”
“I really wish you would have come to this epiphany a week ago,” said Brannon, not impressed by the ogre’s candor.
“I think that you’ll do great,” said Gibrig, grinning merrily.
“Thanks, Gib.”
“This shows great dedication and restraint,” said Sir Eldrick. “I am impressed, for I know what it takes to be without that thing that you love so.”
Murland thought of Caressa then and suddenly realized what it might be like for Willow and Sir Eldrick. The young wizard had never had a vice to speak of, but his yearning for Caressa since the grave warning from the darklings had been greater than any he had ever felt. The only comparison was his love for magic. Now that he had gotten a taste, he wanted more, and that went for both the princess and magic.
Murland took out the piece of wood he had chosen during one of the short breaks earlier in the day and went to whittling another wand. The first one, he had made with only one spell in mind, and he had been surprised and delighted that it had held together through numerous spells. This one, he thought, would be even stronger, and once it was done he would finally be able to try the spell to mend Kazam’s wand. He could of course cast spells without a wand, but that was a dangerous practice for a novice. Wands were used to focus spells precisely on certain targets, and spells cast by the inexperienced with their hands alone tended to be wild and unpredictable. Mental casting was even harder to master, and was a practice of only the most high wizards who had committed decades to the art. Even then, only the best could master such incantations.
“Tell us a story, Sir Knight,” said Gibrig, who had finished eating and now lay beside the fire. “You’ve got great stories.”
“I must bring Brannon around the perimeter; he will be taking second watch tonight,” said Sir Eldrick, getting up and nodding to Brannon, who seemed none too pleased about the prospect. “Perhaps Willow or Murland has a story.”
“Ye ain’t told us much ‘bout Magestra, Murland. I never been there, but I heard stories o’ the city o’ Kingstead. They say the streets be paved in silver there.”
Murland laughed. “Not quite. But it is a lovely city.”
He began to tell Gibrig about Kingstead and growing up on the coast as Sir Eldrick and Brannon headed into the dark forest to scan the perimeter together. Soon the knight’s torch was swallowed up by the thick foliage.
***
“How are you holding up?” Sir Eldrick asked Brannon when he was sure that they had privacy.
“About as well as can be expected. We are in the Forest of the Dead, you know.”
“We’re really in the thick of it now. You’ve done good so far, helping them to gain confidence, and I see that you have found some of your own. But don’t be getting too friendly. Don’t forget that we’re feeding the poor fools to Drak’Noir the first chance we get.”
Brannon scoffed with indignation. “First you want me to be more friendly, now you want me to be less. Which is it?”
“Be as friendly as you want, just don’t…just don’t let them into your heart. I’ve been watching you, and your sentiments have not all been fake.”
“Perhaps you should keep the same thing in mind,” said Brannon. “You’ve become like a father to the fools, and I think that you are beginning to love them.”
“Nonsense,” said Sir Eldrick, but he felt that his eyes lied, so
he looked away. “I’m aware of what must be done, and why. Don’t feel bad for them. Like Kazimir says, their sacrifice will ensure the safety of Fallacetine for decades to come.”
He spoke the hard words, wondering if indeed he were speaking to Brannon, or himself.
Chapter 3
Rootbeard
“One night under our belts!” said Sir Eldrick as everyone roused. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Murland got up with heavy eyes, the fog of sleep weighing him down. He had whittled his wand until the witching hour and then took third watch. He had only gotten a few hours of good sleep, but it would have to be enough. The last few weeks of rigorous travel had helped him adapt to little or no sleep, but in a place like the Forest of the Dead, one needed all his wits about him.
Murland poured cold water over his head and scrubbed his face. He let the cool air dry it for him rather than wiping it off. His shaggy hair was getting long and hung in his eyes sometimes, which was annoying, but it helped to keep his neck warm when flying, so he had decided against cutting it.
The road beyond the bridge lay in the shadow of a great canopy of tall trees with wispy, moss-covered leaves hanging down like the tattered ends of an abandoned flag. There was no wind there among the creaking trees, but small sounds like slow, moaning whispers caught the champions’ ears now and again. It was the kind of sound that disappeared when you stopped and cocked your head to hear it.
The horses neighed when they were led to the entrance to that cool, dark passage, and Murland found himself wishing that he had a wand to light the tip of.
“There’s somethin’ not nice in there,” said Gibrig.