Cowards of Comfort

Two men risk their lives on a thankless quest with impossible odds.

Original art by Brian Reindel

Boudwin and Emmerich, royal guards of the highest rank, set out on the controversial mission at daybreak. They were greeted with taunts and ridicule. While King Hassan and his army prevented outright rebellion, nothing required complicity. Some villagers kicked dirt on the path in front of the men’s horses, and others shouted they were murderers for risking the populace to save the life of the king’s precious daughter.

“Don’t you find it interesting, my friend, that the king only accepted your suggestion when his own daughter won the lottery?” Boudwin asked.

“What I find interesting is that they still call it a lottery. It’s a sacrifice. There is nothing to be gained,” Emmerich said.

“Protection, our very livelihood, is it worth so little to you? We haven’t had to fight a war with a neighboring kingdom since you were swaddled.”

“Servitude. At the cost of our mothers, sisters and daughters.”

On the outskirts of town, a hobbled old woman using a cane stopped momentarily. After the horses trotted past, she looked up through long strands of scraggly gray hair, sneered, then spit in the other direction. Curses were mumbled under her breath.

“We should send the old hag to face the dragon. She has more spirit than you,” Emmerich said.

“She stands at death’s door already, a life spent. I want to sire children one day. That’s difficult to do with my flesh torn from my bones and seared to a golden brown,” Boudwin said.

These arguments between the men were commonplace, repeated behind closed doors over bottomless steins of ale, every time a “winner” was chosen. Families wept and begged for mercy or some miraculous release from the obligation, only to watch a young woman led away by the Priesthood of Baldog. On each occasion, Emmerich would raise his objections to King Hassan, only to be ignored. Then the princess was chosen. Immediately plans were set in motion and a decree issued from the king’s lips to the scribe’s pen.

The pronouncement was met with resistance, especially from the priesthood, the fattened, well cared for sect that sanctified the offering and enjoyed an opulent, debaucherous lifestyle free of condemnation. They were the chosen representatives of the Turgesh Empire, elected within their own ranks to present with pomp and circumstance a fleshly gift to the dragon. Villagers could voice objections to the allotment of men to the priesthood, but nobody did, satisfied that the duty was fulfilled at the change of seasons.

The light clip clop of hooves echoed off the western wall of Mount Sheol. The rocky trail wound up and around the mountain, wide enough for two horses, a steep eastern descent leading to certain death with a single misstep. At nightfall, Boudwin and Emmerich came to rest near a cave midway, carved out by priests ages ago, marked as the last stop before reaching the summit.

“There’s no place worse than between two swords,” Boudwin said while dismounting his steed at the mouth of the cave.

“You make it sound like death is certain,” Emmerich said.

“Is it not? Even if Baldog chooses to spare us, our men will find themselves drawn to the battlefield, dead by the thousands. Better a few maidens, eh?”

“Your own cousin, burned at the stake, and you talk like that!”

“At least her death was not in vain. I see that clearly, but you’re content with this vague notion of freedom, fraught with unimaginable perils, destitution, war and famine. Baldog grants us peace and asks so little.”

Emmerich dismounted and untied his satchel of supplies, unable to squelch his growing anger with Boudwin’s viewpoint.

“You didn’t need to volunteer. King Hassan would have chosen another to join me — possibly someone with better hygiene who doesn’t ride a broken nag,” Emmerich said.

“And give all of the glory in death to a man as ugly as yourself? I could never show my face in the village again,” Boudwin said.

“Well then, let’s not argue tonight, since it may be our last.”

The men tied their horses to hitching rods set in the wall. Ancient runes were carved into the stone on the sides of the cave. At the top a large relief carving of Baldog warned of impending danger. In this depiction, the dragon reposed over the dead, with a long-spiked tail tucked around skulls and rib cages. Massive wings hugged the body from shoulder to spine and the slender neck curved slightly. A ferocious head with curled lips, showing long fangs, looked sideways with a single open eye. Thin wisps of smoke rose up from the nostrils.

“We will be the first to see the beast, other than the priests,” Boudwin said, pointing up at the carving.

“We’ve all read The Laments and have seen the illustrations. I suspect it’s not much different than the monstrosity we were taught to fear as children,” Emmerich said.

“What an oddity, to fear something for so long that has no form or substance other than what we’ve been told.”

“Ha, is this Boudwin the philosopher? I prefer Boudwin the warrior.”

The men fed their horses, ate and rested. When nightfall arrived, they laid down bedding, built a fire, nestled their broadswords and slept deeply.

“Wake up, my friend, our horses were stolen,” Emmerich said.

“Thieves, up here?” Boudwin asked as he stirred awake.

“No, I suspect not. Thieves work in smaller numbers and do a better job of covering their tracks. At least three to four men walked the animals toward the peak.”

“They must not know the surprise that awaits them at the top of Mount Sheol.”

“Or they know all too well. We walk. It will take all day by foot.”

Morning led to afternoon and then to dusk as the two guards walked steadily, stopping only once to rest, content to meet their end, neither knowing exactly what future events would transpire. If it weren’t for the clear sky and full moon, they would have needed to hug the western wall and sleep until the next day. Both slowed their pace, unable to see much past the length of their reach. A single arrow screaming through the air would cut them down before they could respond, and Emmerich was certain an ambush would arrive soon.

“Do you feel the change in temperature?” Emmerich asked.

“Yes, it should be much colder at this elevation and time of night,” Boudwin said. He drew out his sword, inched forward and then sniffed into the air, curling up his nose. 

“Brimstone,” Emmerich said.

Smoke began to pour out over their feet and then further up to cloud their vision. They walked forward to an opening that led to a large courtyard surrounded on all sides by the mountain, carved out large enough to house the beast. Baldog’s head and neck rose up out of a fog and its tail swirled around the mist. The dragon’s eyes reflected the moonlight, twinkling yellow as it turned to face the guards. Small tongues of fire flickered up and out of its nose.

“Fools among men,” Baldog’s voice boomed.

“We bring a message from King Hassan. Your contract with the Turgesh Empire is being terminated. We no longer require your guardianship,” Boudwin said.

Baldog stretched up to the sky, and a deep guttural sound flittered in the dragon’s throat, followed by a burst of flame over Boudwin and Emmerich’s heads. The men ducked down as the heat scorched their hair and skin. Boudwin geared up to attack, but Emmerich motioned for him to hold their position. The fire receded and the dragon swayed its head from side to side, contemplating the news.

“Your destruction will be swift,” Baldog said.

“Not so. The king’s army stands at the ready, and while you have the power to destroy our way of life, you’ll never destroy our will to survive. In the end you will die in the ashes of ruin,” Emmerich said.

“Think you so wise. Have you considered my allegiance with the Kingdom of Thrull or even the Raiders of Megiddo? Together we would wipe Turgesh from history.”

“I’m wise enough to know the small group of raiders were exterminated by a dispatch of our finest mercenaries, and an alliance has been formed with Thrull’s king. You have no leverage.”

Baldog let out an angry growl, but beneath that awful noise the faint whinny of a nearby horse could be heard. The dragon stomped its front legs and stood upright, more than twenty men tall, sinewy muscles flexed and front claws stretched out, ready to crush the men. Emmerich pulled out a throwing dagger from the sheath attached to his belt and reared back to throw.

“Are you mad? No dagger can pierce the armored underbelly of that dragon!” Boudwin said.

“It’s no dragon,” Emmerich said, and released the dagger.

The blade soared end-over-end, then hit its target, which screamed in dismay — the petrified voice of a priest. In an explosion of sparks and lighted spectacle, the dragon disappeared, and the mist dissipated to reveal three priests in a semi-circle. The fourth lay dead, a dagger protruding from his forehead. Boudwin and Emmerich’s horses were shackled to the mountain.

A nervous priest stepped forward to plead their case.

“Please, you must understand, the mere threat of a dragon has kept the kingdom safe for years. Even if it came into existence through magical means, the perception is just as effective as the reality,” the priest said.

“Tell me, are the women alive?” Boudwin asked.

“Their sacrifice is the life force behind our sorcery. The princess, royal blood, would give us unimaginable power — to share, of course, with two enterprising individuals.”

“I would rather bathe in the acid pits of Baracus than keep company with your lot,” Emmerich said.

The two guards took swift action and swung their swords in a flash of gleaming silver, cutting down the priests without hesitation. While neither of them was prone to bloodlust, the event left them satisfied and energetic. They gathered their horses, ate and drank their fill of rations and rode the animals until they reached the cave.

The return trip in the morning passed in less than a day and apprehensive, wandering eyes waited back home. Although the people were anxious, their dispositions brightened at the sight of both men alive. When the king asked for an outcome, the royal guards stepped forward to face the crowd of onlookers, smears of dried blood on their faces and armor still present. 

“We slayed the dragon!” Boudwin shouted.

Cheers erupted.

Emmerich smiled.

It was a small deception in a land of illusions.