The International Dragon Conspiracy

By George Buford

Morris the Jewish wizard and this traveling companion, Trog the troll, enter a country where the king has his police grabbing and torturing people to make them confess that theyre part of what he believes is the International Dragon Conspiracy. There is a real dragon, one who keeps burning large areas of the kings land and burning any knights who come after him. Morris and Trog, who are traveling to a distant land to meet the wizard who controls the great dragon of Alhambra, decide that a good way to get money for their trip is to get rid of this dragon and claim the reward. A problem develops, however, in that the dragon turns out to be a nice fellow named Zil who is only burning things because he has serious allergy problems that make him spray fire whenever he sneezes. Morris cures Zils allergies, but knowing that the king will have Zil killed if they take him back, Morris, Trog, and Zil make a run for it and escape from the kingdom.
Morris needs to disguise Zil. Trog can be passed off as merely a large, hairy man, but Zil is obviously a dragon. A cooperative tailor who believes that being a dragon is merely a valid alternative lifestyle, provides Zil with a monks robe that covers him from head to toe.
While camping one night, they meet Ezzie, a runaway servant girl. Ezzie sees Zil uncovered, but Morris convinces her that Zil is really a good and noble monk who was cursed by an evil wizard. Ezzie joins them in their journey and becomes Trogs lover. She eventually learns the truth about both Zil and Trog, but accepts them for what they are.
At a chapel in the middle of a large cemetery one night, Morris encounters a beautiful young woman who has gone into a coma called false death. At the urging of her lover, Morris performs a ceremony to raise her from false death; unfortunately, he also accidentally raises all the real dead in the cemetery. Zombies start digging their way out of the graves. Morris and the others make a dash down the hill to the nearest village to warn them that the zombies are coming. With the help of some ancient books on black magic, Morris manages to get rid of the zombies--but its a close call.
Farther on, they enter a large forest and come to a village that that is plagued by vampires. The woman who runs the inn where Morris and his friends are staying is horrified, because her daughter is in love with a vampire boy. The boy is a vegetarian; unfortunately, the boys father is not. With a combination of his silver tongue and his wizard skills, along with help from Zil, Morris manages to unite the boy and girl while dealing with the vampire father.
In yet another village, Morris and his friends encounter a man who turns into a werewolf at every full moon. The man, knowing that Morris is a wizard, pleads with him for help. Morris studies the problem and manages to cure him--but not at in the way the man was expecting.
Later, while staying at an inn, Morris and the others meet three young witches who have accidentally called up Satan and need Morris to help send him back. Thats fine with Satan; he wants to be sent back, but no one can figure out how. Finally, they call up Satans wife, Lillith, and she uses her knowledge to send both Satan and herself back to their realm.
Finally, Morris and his friends come to the end of their journey, a meeting with the wizard who controls the great dragon of Alhambra. The wizard proves to be the local baron. He also proves to be power crazed and insane. After dealing with him, Morris and the others climb a nearby volcanic mountain and go into a cave where the meet the great dragon himself. The dragon is grateful to them for freeing him from the grip of the wizard, but what he grants them is not quite what they were looking for when they started their journey

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483624617

George Buford

George Buford is a professor of classical studies at the Missouri School of Veterinary Medicine. He did not violate the American embargo on travel to Cuba by going to Mexico on a false passport and then flying to Cuba. He didn’t do that. Honest.

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Copyright © 2013 by George Buford.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4836-2460-0

                Ebook         978-1-4836-2461-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 04/11/2013

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Contents

Chapter One The International Dragon Conspiracy

Chapter Two Ezzie

Chapter Three The Ungrateful Dead

Chapter Four The Bite Stuff

Chapter Five A Hairy Situation

Chapter Six Her Who Must Be Obeyed

Chapter Seven Romeo And Reggie

Chapter Eight Genghis Schwartz And The Mongol Association

Chapter Nine The Witching Hour

Chapter Ten The Great Dragon Of Alhambra

CHAPTER ONE

The International Dragon Conspiracy

The sound of the night birds mixed with the gentle rustling of leaves as a soft wind blew through the forest. Morris the wizard was sitting on a rock, stirring a pot of rice and lentils that was going to be his supper. He was dressed in felt boots and leather pants, more like a woodsman than a wizard. He had a wizard’s robe with the cowl and long, floppy sleeves, but the robe ended at his knees, rather than at his ankles. Morris was bald, being in the habit of regularly shaving his head. He said that he did this because the lack of hair allowed him to focus on more important matters; in truth, he shaved his head because he was mostly bald anyway.

He had been aware for a time that he was being watched by someone in the bushes, but the reason for it puzzled him. Bandits never worked alone, and whoever was in the bushes was far too clumsy to be professional thief. Finally, he decided to settle the question.

You might as well come in and sit down, friend, Morris said. I assure you that I’m quite a pleasant fellow, and I have nothing worth stealing.

My apologies, a man’s voice replied. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m reluctant to show myself because I’m afraid that you might blast me with wizard fire.

You needn’t worry about that, Morris assured him. The truth is that I never could quite get the hang of wizard fire. The most I could hope to give you would be the equivalent of a bad sunburn. Besides, when it comes to self-defense I prefer a large knife.

Then I’m afraid you’ll use your knife on me.

And why would I do that?

Because I’m a troll.

Really? Morris said. Shouldn’t you be living under a bridge somewhere?

That isn’t possible, the voice replied. What with the economic downturn, so many peasants are living under bridges that it’s impossible to find a bridge that isn’t already occupied.

Morris considered this. Since trolls are known for eating peasants, I would think that this would be a golden opportunity for you. I mean, you would have your food coming to you.

It would seem that way, the voice said, "but not only is your average peasant not exactly into personal hygiene, I gave up eating meat entirely after I read How To Achieve Perfect Health, Long Life, Spiritual Serenity, And Get Dates With Beautiful Woman Through Macrobiotics buy Kuchi Ku."

Morris nodded. Yes, an excellent book. I read it myself; in fact, I’m fixing one of the recommended recipes for supper, brown rice and lentils. I have plenty if you would like to come in and join me.

With some reluctance, still worried that he might be blasted with wizard fire, a large knife, or some such thing, the troll slowly stepped into the open. He was indeed a troll: He had black fingernails and coarse brownish-black hair over his head, face, and hands. He was wearing boots, leather pants, and a tunic of some rough fabric with a leather vest over it. He was holding his rucksack in one hand.

I can hardly call you ‘Mr. Troll,’ Morris said. I assume you have a name.

Yes, my name is Trog.

Trog?

Yes.

And you’re a troll.

Yes.

You’re Trog the Troll?

Trog hung his head. What can I say. My mother thought it was cute.

Morris nodded. Yes, mothers are like that. But come friend, pull up a rock, sit down, and we’ll have supper. I hope you have a bowl; I’m afraid I have only my own.

I do indeed, Trog replied, and he pulled a bowl out or his rucksack.

Trog sat down on a handy rock, and Morris ladled a portion of the brown rice and lentils into both his bowl and Trog’s.

As they ate, Trog said: You know my name, but I don’t know yours.

Of course, Morris replied. How rude of me not to have mentioned it before. My name is Morris.

Trog looked puzzled. "Morris, isn’t that a Jewish name?"

It is, Morris said. Does that bother you?

Not at all, Trog assured him. It’s just that I didn’t know that a Jew could become a wizard.

There’s no rule against it, although I did have to convert from Judaism to Black Magic.

Indeed, how did your family react?

My mother, not well. The day I told her about it she spent the better part of the day running back and forth screaming ‘I have no son! I have no son!’ The rest of my family was more relaxed, being of the opinion that Judaism could only be improved by my removal from it.

Yes, Trog agreed, mothers are like that. I dread to think of what my own blessed mother would say if she had lived long enough to see me give up the ways of trolls and become a vegetarian.

Perhaps she would be understanding, Morris suggested.

Perhaps, Trog replied, but she always took great pride in her cooking skills. I have fond memories of holiday dinners when the family would be sitting around the table and mother would come in from the kitchen, pushing a cart with a tray holding a stuffed and roasted peasant.

Morris nodded. Well, at least now you’re following a healthier diet.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the flickering light from the fire reflecting off their faces, and then Morris said: You appear to be a traveler. May I ask to where you are traveling?

I’m hoping to go and see the wizard who controls the Great Dragon of Alhambra, Trog explained. It’s said that he is the most powerful wizard in the land. I’m hoping that he can help me with my problem.

And that problem is?

Popularity. I want to be popular and have dates with beautiful women.

Yes, women, Morris said. They can be a colossal nuisance, but they can also be loads of fun.

You like women? Trog asked, surprised.

Of course, I’m a wizard, not a priest. But back to you: Tell me more about your quest.

Well, it’s like this: Thanks to macrobiotics I’m healthier and more serene—and these things will no doubt lead to a long life—but I can’t seem to become popular and get dates with beautiful women. Trog paused, gave Morris a questioning look, and said: I don’t suppose you could help me with my problem?

Morris shook his head. Me? No, I’m just a humble bush wizard. I’m afraid that what you’re asking is quite beyond my modest level of skill.

Trog nodded in understanding.

Tell you what, Morris continued, It occurs to me that the wizard who controls the Great Dragon might be able to teach me some useful wizardly tricks. What do you say that you and I travel together to visit him?

I would be happy to have your company, Trog replied, but I must warn you that because I’m a troll people keep trying to kill me. Traveling with me could be dangerous for you.

Morris smiled. My dear fellow, the problem is easily solved: I’ll simply tell everyone that you’re an ordinary man who merely looks like a troll because you were placed under a spell; and that you’re traveling to the wizard who controls the Great Dragon to have the spell lifted.

Trog was skeptical. That seems a bit far-fetched. Are you sure anyone will believe it?

Of course they’ll believe it, Morris assured him. No matter how extreme the lie, people will always believe it if you tell it with enough sincerity.

In the morning they fixed a quick breakfast and then picked up their rucksacks and began hiking down the dusty road. The road led them through a forest that opened into meadows here and there. From time to time they passed travelers going in the opposite direction. Some were riding horses, some were in carts, and some, like Morris and Trog, were walking. They all gave Trog and extra-close look, but seeing him walking in the open with Morris, everyone assumed that he was merely an ordinary man who had the misfortune to be very unattractive. No one suspected that he was exactly what he appeared to be, a troll. The lie that the silver-tongued Morris was prepared to tell proved unnecessary.

They knew that ahead of them—they weren’t sure how far—was the kingdom of Gridonia. A little after noon they began to encounter an occasional cottage surrounded by a small field. Judging from the dilapidated state of the cottages and the weedy condition fo the fields, things were not good in the local farm economy. They also noticed that the farther they traveled toward Gridonia, the more often they were passed by carts going in the opposite directions. These carts were transporting peasant families and their belongings. From the bedraggled condition of the families and their belongings, it was obvious that they were fleeing from something worse rather than going toward something better.

Finally, a cart approached with the wife and three children riding with their belongings while the father walked along in front, leading the mule.

Excuse me, good sir, Morris said, but my friend and I are new in these parts; might I ask why so many families are traveling this road?

You might well ask, the man said, taking the opportunity to stop to give both himself and the mule a rest. The kingdom is afflicted by many evils. It began six months ago when a dragon began burning up crops and burning up all the knights who were sent against him. The king then decided that this must be part of the International Dragon Conspiracy—that’s what he calls it—so he’s having the secret police arrest and torture anyone who looks suspicious. He’s also placed a bounty on conspirators; so if you want to make some quick money, you go to the secret police and inform on one of your neighbors you don’t like. The secret police then come in the middle of the night, grab him, take him to the dungeon, and torture him until he confesses. The secret police pay you a bounty, so you make some money; but it’s only a matter of time until someone informs on you. That’s why my family and I are leaving. That’s why anyone with any sense is leaving.

But didn’t the king have any advisors who told him that this is wrong? Morris asked.

Of course, the man replied, so he accused them of being part of the conspiracy and had them tortured and killed.

Morris nodded in understanding; having dealt with kings and other forms of royalty before, he was only too familiar with this form of twisted reasoning. He decided to pursue a different line. You say that the king has sent knights against the dragon. Isn’t there a knight somewhere able to do the job?

Perhaps Sir Guy, the man replied. He is known as the most brave, most skillful, most noble knight of all.

So why hasn’t the king sent him against the dragon?

It is said that the king is holding him in reserve. It is rumored that the king is terrified that he might discover that not even Sir Guy can slay the dragon.

Morris considered this. Well, what a knight cannot do, perhaps a wizard can.

If you can indeed slay the dragon, the king will shower you with riches, the man said. But if you fail and survive, the king will have you killed.

Yes, the favorite incentive program of the power crazed, Morris replied. I have seen it in action before.

Do what you will, friend, the man said, but if you’re smart you’ll turn around and leave the kingdom as fast as you can.

With that the man took hold of the rope attached to the mule’s bridle and began leading the mule, the cart, and his family down the road.

Perhaps our friend is right, Trog suggested. It sounds as if we’re heading into something very dangerous.

Perhaps, Morris agreed, but it is a very long way to the wizard who controls the Great Dragon of Alhambra. If we have plenty of money in our purses we will have an easier and more comfortable trip. Besides, you said you want to be popular. If we slay the dragon, we’ll both be heroes, and heroes are always popular. You’ll have men buying you drinks and beautiful women throwing themselves at you.

That would be nice, Trog agreed, so despite the little voice in the back of his head screaming Run away! Run away! he adjusted his rucksack and walked alongside Morris as they went toward the kingdom of Gridonia, its crazy king, and the dragon who kept burning up people.

As was often the case, the kingdom was known by the name of its capital city—Gridonia, in this case. Morris and Trog continued walking toward the city, still noticing that most of the traffic was going the other way. They saw more and more farm cottages; and while most of these cottages appeared to be occupied, their poor state of repair sent a clear message that things were not well.

Towards evening they came over the crest of small hill and saw Gridonia in the distance. The city was impressive. A stone and masonry wall surrounded the city, and even from a distance Morris and Trog could see that the streets were paved and the houses in good repair. In the middle of the city, sitting on a rise, was the castle. It had impressive walls and battlements, and such buildings as they could see over the top of the wall were solidly built. The castle building itself had tall walls that were well-provided with battlements and appeared to have been built with as much an eye to impressing people with the king’s wealth as to intimidating his enemies. Gridonia’s king, like most kings, felt that the greatest service that he could provide for his kingdom was to glorify himself.

Morris and Trog walked on. At the city gate, a team of guards were inspecting anyone coming into the city. This was typical of most cities, but these guards appeared to be doing more than going through the motions. More ominously, the guards were also doing a close inspection of anyone who left the city—no doubt looking for members of the International Dragon Conspiracy.

Morris approached the guard sergeant and said: Greetings, my friend and I are travelers from a far land. Could you recommend a place where we might find a good meal and a room for the night.

Not so fast, the sergeant growled. What’s your business here?

I am but a humble wizard, Morris replied, exuding his best oily charm, and my friend here is my assistant. We come seeking gainful employment in the wizard’s trade, if that might we possible.

The sergeant looked Trog up and down, but then shrugged, assuming that he was merely a very ugly human. Turning back to Morris, the sergeant said: "If you’re looking for a place to stay, you might try the Hound and Wolf. Make a right at the first intersection; the place is just a few steps on. They have rooms upstairs; the food isn’t great, but it’s cheap and edible."

I thank you, good sir, Morris said.

The sergeant signaled the other guards that these two were clear to enter, and Morris and Trog walked through the gate and into the city.

As had been obvious from a distance, the buildings were in good repair. The people in the city were all wearing good, clean clothes; but the sharp-eyed Morris quickly noticed that the people were all thin—a little too thin—and he didn’t see the smiling faces and friendly conversation among the locals that he normally saw in other cities. One group that Morris did see who were well fed were the soldiers. They were everywhere throughout the city. All of them were lean and fit; and while none of them was fat, it was obvious that they were getting plenty of food.

The Hound and Wolf was exactly where the sergeant had said it would be. Morris and Trog went inside and were greeted by the tall, thin proprietor. A tavern keeper without a pot belly, Morris thought—not a good sign. Either this man wasn’t getting enough food, or he was the only tavern keeper in the world who was into physical fitness.

After arranging with the tavern-keeper, whose name was Will, for a room for the night, Morris asked about getting something to eat. Will immediately turned apologetic. I’m afraid our regular supplies have not yet arrived, he said, doing a very unconvincing job of lying. At the moment I can offer you only black bread, bean soup, and cider.

That would be lovely, Morris replied, smiling. What he couldn’t accomplish with his wizard skills, he could accomplish with charm.

Their room proved to be basic, but comfortable. In the morning, Trog was still sleeping on the bed while Morris standing at the washbasin, gazing into a mirror, and using a straight razor to shave his beard stubble and hair stubble, or at least what little remained of his hair that could produce stubble. As he shaved, he pondered how he was going to get an audience with the king to sell his wizard services—but the problem was about to