The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4) Read online

  Epic Fallacy

  Book 4

  The Mother of Zuul

  Michael James Ploof

  Copyright © 2017 Traveling Bard Publishing

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  The Mother of Zuul

  Table of Contents

  Other Books

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  Map of Fallacetine

  Chapter 1

  There Is No Try, Only Do

  Chapter 2

  No Matter Where You Go, There You Are

  Chapter 3

  The Greasy Spoon

  Chapter 4

  Moonswamp

  Chapter 5

  Off-White Wedding

  Chapter 6

  The Day of Rainbows

  Chapter 7

  The Actors Guild of Atlas Presents: The Champions of the Dragon

  Chapter 8

  The Show Mustn’t Go On

  Chapter 9

  A Visit from an Old Friend Foe

  Chapter 10

  Step Back from That Ledge, My Friend

  Chapter 11

  Aftermath

  Chapter 12

  Bad Tidings

  Chapter 13

  Princesses Be Trippin’

  Chapter 14

  Crystal Vision

  Chapter 15

  Hell Hath No Fury like an Elf Prince Scorned

  Chapter 16

  Moral Compass

  Chapter 17

  The Fall of the Twisted Tower

  Chapter 18

  Regarding Insults Properly Performed

  Chapter 19

  Dominus Fever

  Chapter 20

  The Rise of the Jade Phallus

  Chapter 21

  The Black Tooth

  Chapter 22

  The Fools of the Dragon

  Chapter 23

  The Prison Job

  Chapter 24

  Faewatch

  Chapter 25

  Escape from Azkatraz

  Chapter 26

  The Battle of the Jade Army

  Chapter 27

  Revenge of the Vine Monster

  Chapter 28

  One’s Victory is Another’s Defeat

  Chapter 29

  Stepping out of a Champion’s Shadow

  Chapter 30

  Sweet Dreams

  Chapter 31

  Until Our Roads Meet Again

  Edited by Holly M. Kothe. https://espressoeditor.com/

  Other Books

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  Michael James Ploof

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  Whill of Agora

  A Quest of Kings

  A Song of Swords

  A Crown of War

  Kingdoms in Chaos

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  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

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  Map of Fallacetine

  Chapter 1

  There Is No Try, Only Do

  “Concentrate. Feel the magic flowing through you,” said Headmaster Hinckley.

  Murland was concentrating, but the high wizard’s constant direction wasn’t helping much. The pots and pans, stacked one on top of the other, reached nearly to the ceiling, and it was all Murland could do to keep the conglomeration of cookery from tumbling over. To make matters worse, Hinckley insisted that Murland stand on his head whilst trying to manipulate the kitchenware. Blood rushed to his temples, and Murland thought that his eyes must be bulging out of their sockets. He held his wand steady in his right hand while at the same time keeping himself balanced with his left. The cookery was stacked and leaning two feet in front of him like a precariously slanting tower, and Hinckley stood on the other side, watching closely.

  “Now that you have it steady,” said Hinckley, “use the levitation spell that I taught you.”

  Murland and Hinckley had been working on these types of spells for nearly a week, and though Murland was getting much better at it, he was still having trouble incorporating a secondary spell to the main one, and his efforts often ended in disaster.

  He focused on the steadying spell, trusting that it would remain intact, and spoke the words to make the entire awkward pile float into the air. For a moment it was working, and the cookery slowly began to rise, but then in his eagerness, Murland pushed too hard and lost his control. With a grand crash and clamor, the leaning tower of kitchenware came crashing down, and Murland was hit by more than one of the heavy pots and pans.

  “Damn,” Murland cried, and then “ouch!” as a crashing pan hit the bridge of his nose.

  “You pushed too hard again,” said Hinckley. “What have I told you about being too eager? It doesn’t work with the ladies, and it doesn’t work with magic.”

  “You know,” said Murland, checking his nose for blood and standing among the toppled cookware. “I might be able to do it if I wasn’t also trying to stand on my head.”

  “If I taught you how to perform magic under perfect conditions, I would not be doing you any favors. There will always be distractions, so get used to it.”

  “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “Now pick up this mess and meet me in the garden in five minutes.”

  “Yes, Headmaster,” said Murland. He began picking up the pots and pans with his hands.

  “Not like that, with magic!” said Hinckley before exiting the small cottage.

  Hinckley’s cottage, one of many homes he owned throughout Fallacetine, was situated outside of the city of Kingstead, just five miles from the coast. Willows, oaks, berry bushes, and birch trees surrounded the glen, and a lavish garden took up most of the property. Murland had been here for nearly two weeks, and he hadn’t had a day’s rest from the grueling training schedule that the tireless old wizard had him following. Murland got four hours of sleep a night if he was lucky, and aside from the constant physical challenges, he had already read through the first five of a twenty-seven tome set of encyclopedias dedicated to magic. He often wondered if it was this difficult for all apprentices, but he guessed that Hinckley was pushing him harder than usual due to Murland being named in a prophecy to defeat Zuul, the Dark Lord reborn.

  Silently cursing to himself, he levitated every pot and pan and floated them back to their respective pegs on the kitchen wall beside the large bay window. With the task done, Murland ventured out into the garden and glanced around, but Hinckley was nowhere to be found.

  He was about to call to his teacher when Hinckley suddenly yelled, “Defend yourself!”

  Murland whirled around in the direction from which he thought the voice had come, and a moment later, a spell hit him in the rear end, zapping him and causing him to jump.

  “Owi!” yelped Murland. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “Do you think that your opponents will wait until you are ready?” came Hinckley’s voice, seemingly from e
very direction.

  Another spell hit him in the back of the leg, and Murland cried out in frustration and pain and whirled around. He thought he saw movement behind a rosebush, and he prepared himself for the coming attack. But to his surprise, a spell erupted behind him again. He turned and brought up his wand, speaking the words quickly and producing an umbrella-shaped shield that barely deflected the whizzing spell. No sooner had the deflected spell dissipated into the air than another one came at him, but this one too he deflected.

  “Good, good,” Hinckley’s voice echoed.

  Murland stayed on guard, turning in slow circles and waiting for the next attack. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, bringing the wand with him. Rather than a spell, a stone the size of an acorn came flying at him. Murland deflected it easily, but at the same time a spell zapped the back of his neck, causing him to momentarily go rigid as the small electric shock traveled down his spine. To his dismay, the zap caused him to lose control of his bladder, and he felt warm liquid trickling down his leg.

  Enraged and embarrassed, Murland met the next attack, another spinning stone, with a blast from his wand. The stone exploded, and Hinckley’s laughter echoed throughout the garden. Three more stones came at Murland, and he took hold of all of them with a spell that caused them to stop dead in the air. He held the spell intact, knowing that another zap would be coming. When the spell came, Murland was ready, and in one fluid movement he sent the rocks streaking toward the shrubbery and brought up his shield. The zapping spell exploded against the shield as the rocks cut through the bushes, followed by a satisfying shriek.

  Murland gave a cheer, amazed that he had hit Hinckley, but his celebration was short lived, as suddenly the old sneaky wizard was behind him. Murland was too slow to react, and before he knew it, a spell hit his arm, causing him to drop his wand. Then a staff found the back of his head, laying him low.

  “What have I told you a hundred times?” said Hinckley. “Combat wizardry is not a game. You don’t do a victory dance when you think you have scored a hit! Let that lump on your head be a reminder.”

  Murland groaned in his attempt to say, “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “Now come on and get yourself cleaned up. Your graduation ceremony is in an hour, and you smell like piss.”

  A half hour later, Hinckley whooshed himself and Murland to Abra Tower. They found everyone in the back lawn, where dozens of white chairs had been set in neat rows before a raised platform. Tables of food and drink were lined on the right side, and on the left, a trio of bards sang the old Magestrian favorite, “My Sword Is Bigger than Yours.”

  Gram spotted Murland and came running over with a wide smile on his face. “There you are,” he said as they shook hands and gave each other a brotherly hug. “Can you believe that we’re finally graduating?”

  Murland laughed. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised that I’m graduating at all.”

  “Bah,” said Gram, waving him off. “I never had a doubt.”

  “So, what are you going to do once this is over? Backpack Vhalovia for a while?”

  “Nah, that soul-searching crap is for fust heads.” Gram glanced at Hinckley, who was speaking with Headmaster Bumblemoore. “I applied to the College of Kazam to study potions.”

  “That’s awesome. But potions? I thought you had your heart set on transmutation.”

  “Nah, I’ve gotten a lot better,” said Gram, glancing around conspiratorially and handing Murland a vial. “Check this out.”

  “What is it?” said Murland, eyeing the sparkling contents.

  “Invisibility potion. One teaspoon lasts ten minutes.”

  Murland moved closer to Gram, hiding the vial from view. “Wow, Gram, this is some advanced stuff. You made this?”

  Gram nodded proudly. “With you gone for so long, I had nothing much else to do but study. Turns out I have a knack for potions.”

  Murland grinned and shook his head, handing the vial back discreetly.

  “Nah, you keep it. Might come in handy with the crazy life you live.”

  “Thanks,” said Murland, unable to disagree.

  “So, what do you think? You think I’ve got a shot?” said Gram.

  “With your grades, you should get in easily.”

  Gram shrugged. “There’s a lot of stiff competition this year, and only seven spots at Kazam. Hells, I hear that Presto Tower alone has a dozen kids applying for potions. I was hoping that maybe you could put in a good word, being the headmaster’s apprentice and all.”

  “Yeah, of course,” said Murland.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Ah, there’s my famous son!”

  Murland turned to find his father standing behind him with a big smile on his face, and under his arm was Murland’s beaming mother.

  “Mom, Dad! I’m so glad that you could make it,” said Murland as his mother hurried to give him a hug.

  She kissed him on the cheek and rustled his hair, grazing the bump on his head.

  “We would have come to see you sooner,” said his father, shaking Murland’s hand firmly. “But that grump Hinckley said that you were busy until graduation.”

  “Where did you get that nasty bump?” said his mother, pulling his head down to inspect it as though he were twelve.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, politely extracting himself from her groping arms.

  “Champion of the Dragon,” his father said dreamily and shook his head. “I never knew you had it in you.”

  “Of course we did,” said Murland’s mother, slapping her husband’s shoulder.

  “It was just as much of a shock to me, believe me,” said Murland. “And even more of a shock when we defeated the beast.”

  “Are the other champions here today?” said his father, glancing around. “I would very much like to thank them.”

  “Nah, they couldn’t make it, but I can introduce them to you when we tour through Magestra.”

  “I have heard about this…tour. They say that some pirating cecaelia is funding the whole thing,” said his mother, looking horrified.

  “His name is Lyricon. He was a big help to us when we were brought as slaves to Atlas by the sand gnomes,” said Murland.

  His mother clutched her chest and blanched. Beside her, Albert Kadabra shook his head with a look of admiration; it was a look that Murland had never seen his father give him. “You must have one hell of a story to tell.”

  “Yeah, and believe me, I’ve already had to tell it a hundred times.”

  “Well, we’d love to hear it from you rather than the actors and the bards,” said his father. “If you have nothing else planned, we have made reservations at the Jade Gate for seven o’clock. The king may even attend the dinner.”

  “And Caressa,” said his mother.

  Murland studied her face for any sign that she suspected what was true, but she seemed oblivious to their secret love affair. Of course, it wasn’t entirely a secret. The king knew about it, but he wasn’t about to go bragging. Caressa had said that she told her father of their intentions, but that Murland should wait to ask her father for her hand in marriage until she had worked on him a little more. Proposal or not, he was excited to see Caressa, for he hadn’t seen her since the day after they returned to Kingstead.

  “That sounds great,” said Murland. “I might attend a little last hurrah here later tonight, but that shouldn’t start until late.”

  “Then it’s a date,” said his father, patting him on the back.

  The ceremony was slow and boring for most of the attendees, for nearly every professor gave a long-winded speech, but Murland cherished every minute, and he glanced often toward the gardens and small barn. He still could not believe how is life had turned out. Only a season ago, he had been a lackluster wizard apprentice without so much as a hint of magic in him, and now he was graduating.

  When his name was called by Bumblemoore, he stood proudly in his white robe covered in shiny stars and moons, and made his w
ay up to the podium. As he climbed the steps, the crowd clapped and cheered, and Headmaster Bumblemoore smiled at him, ready to shake his hand and present him with his diploma. But as he reached the top step, a spell suddenly zapped him in the rear end, causing him to jump with surprise. The crowd reeled, but then they slowly began to laugh. Murland smelled burnt hair and felt the breeze blow in through the wide hole in his robes. He reached back instinctively, and to his horror, grabbed ahold of a bushy cat tail protruding from above his bare butt cheeks.

  He whirled around, searching the crowd, and that is when he saw Lance Lancer laughing with his cronies, a smoking wand in his right hand.

  “Lance Leonard Lancer!” said Bumblemoore angrily.

  Murland’s blood boiled, and before he knew what he was doing, the wand of Kazam was in his right hand. The words came to him in a rush, and he hit Lance in the chest with a streaking spell before he could bring up a shield.

  The spell, one that Murland had found deep inside Allan Kazam’s spell book but had never successfully cast, was said to reverse the gravity of whomever it was cast upon…and it worked.

  Lance shot into the air like a rocket and, screaming, continued to climb higher and higher.

  The crowd gasped, and Lance’s parents cried out in alarm.

  “Murland! What have you done?” said Bumblemoore.

  “Oooh, shit…” said Murland as he watched Lance grow smaller and smaller as he cartwheeled toward the clouds.

  “Somebody do something!” cried Lance’s mother.

  Murland put two fingers to his mouth and whistled before throwing off his robes, and Packy came shooting across the lawn. Murland ran toward the backpack and dove out over the crowd. At the same time, the backpack spun around in its flight, coming at Murland backwards. Murland’s arms flew through the straps and they fell a few feet before Packy beat its long white wings and surged into the sky.