"Ballard the Brave" by Michael S. LaReaux

It was no mere idle talk that garnered the knight his title, nor was it any coincidence that it was he who rode out that morning in search of Maachelion’s lair. He’d been in more battles than anyone alive, and had won a few of them nearly singlehanded. When the Black Guard poured across the Grimstone border, it was Ballard who broke the charge of the enemy's Heavy Elite. That, of course, turned the tide of the battle in favor of the Grimstone Guard, and sent their enemies scrambling back over the border into the safety of their mountain strongholds. When the Nohmidians assembled on the border, Ballard leapt his horse over the Nohmidian Warlord’s personal bodyguard, and felled the Warlord with a single stroke of his trusty broadsword. Seeing their Warlord’s head separated from his neck before the battle even started frightened the Nohmidian host so much that they took to their heels, never to return.

So, when rumors surfaced that Maachelion had once again stirred from his lair to menace Grimstone, the King wasted no time summoning his greatest knight to rid the realm of such an ancient and thoroughly evil creature.

Ballard, of course, wasted no time accepting the king’s assignment. It was a great honor to be sent on a mission by the King himself, and Ballard made it a policy to back down from no challenge, no matter how daunting or impossible it might seem. At the time of the king’s summons, Ballard happened to be between challenges, which made the prospect of such a grand adventure all the more appealing. As if the prospect of adventure and glory weren’t enough to convince the worthy knight to take up the quest, the king had also promised Ballard the hand of Lady Angelica Mavenlace, the loveliest and most cultured woman in Grimstone. She wasn’t the King’s daughter, which tended to make her more rather than less appealing, as the triumphant suitor would avoid many of the unpleasant duties associated with marrying into the Royal family, including the privilege of avoiding the incessant parades the king was wont to have.

Ballard happily contemplated his prospects as he plodded down the King’s road toward the mountains where Maachelion was said to have his lair. Birds sang in the trees, and clouds drifted lazily past the sun, dappling the earth here and there with shadows. On the whole, the scene was enormously pleasant. Upon noticing the beauty and splendor of a springtime morning in western Grimstone, Ballard grunted and shook his head.

"Surely this can only be a bad omen," Ballard thought as he plodded along. "Things that start out this serene and peaceful usually end rather poorly. "

The cool air, warm sunshine, and the smell of cut grass and sunflowers only increased Ballard’s unease. He began to ruminate on the possible obstacles he might encounter.

The first problem was of course his complete ignorance of Maachelion’s actual location. No one had ever reached Maachelion’s lair and returned to tell about it. In fact, no one had actually seen Maachelion and returned to tell about it, which led Ballard to his next problem. He had no idea what the beast actually looked like. According to rumors, Maachelion was a gigantic greenish-brown shadow that swept down from the mountains to carry off children and cattle, leaving nothing but charred earth in its terrible wake. Like many rumors, this one tended to leave much to the listener’s imagination, and, like most rumors, this one had probably started out much simpler, and grown a bit with each telling. For all Ballard knew, Maachelion might be nothing more than an average-size firedrake that had seized a lamb or two before the knight had been born, and people were just now getting around to rooting the creature out for a reckoning.

Of course, no one assigned names to errant firedrakes, so the possibility remained that there was more truth than fiction in these rumors. Ballard sincerely hoped that they were true. Defeating the creature would be far more enjoyable if it managed to put up a good scrap. Spitting a firedrake against a tree with his lance wouldn’t even work his horse into a lather, and certainly wouldn’t be worth all the toil and trouble a trip to the mountains would entail. No, this creature had better be something big and thoroughly imposing, so that killing it would require great effort and skill, thus further entitling him to both his title and his future wife.

So intent were his thoughts on the coming battle that he completely neglected the road, trusting his faithful horse to get them where they needed to go. Since Ballard had often stood duty at the border Gate, the horse knew the way. He clop-clopped along, paying little heed to his master’s profound and rather overabundant sense of adventure.

Shortly after nightfall, Ballard reached the Border Gate. The name was rather poorly applied; the Border Gate consisted of little save a small tower surrounded by a ten foot high wall of ugly gray stone. The only Gate was a portcullis that more often served to keep the guards in than it did to keep anyone out. This particular night, the Portcullis was raised and cheery torches lit the courtyard of the Gate in anticipation of Ballard’s arrival. The scent of roasting pork wafted through the air, reminding Ballard of just how hungry he had managed to get on the road between Grimstone Keep and the Border Gate.

A rotund figure dressed in a shirt of mail waddled out from the shadows, waving Ballard toward him. Ballard smiled.

"Well, if it isn’t old Captain Boughlin. I would have though you’d have made Castellan by now."

"Aye, if it isn’t Ballard the Brave! What an honor it is to have you with us here tonight. Castellan? Me? Why I’d sooner guard the King’s privy. My place is here, at the border!" Boughlin’s chins and jowls jiggled with pride and conviction.

"It’s an honor to be back here," Ballard said.

"Would you care to join us for the evenin’ meal? We have roast pork, and several other dishes to delight the palate and fill the belly."

"Thank you, Boughlin. I would be honored." Leaving his horse in Captain Boughlin’s capable hands, Ballard made his way into the tower, where the other guards sat ready to feast.

They feasted and drank well into the night, trading war stories and telling jokes that weren’t fit for the ears of most Church-going folk. During these trades, Ballard did more than his fair share of both drinking and telling tales, relating in great detail his exploits, often embellishing here and there. He also told them of his quest to slay Maachelion.

"Aye, that’s a fine quest indeed, " said Boughlin, spitting a chicken-bone across the room. "We’ve heard some stories from travelers lately. From what I can gather, the old dragon is getting bolder since the last time. Word has it the beast even carried away the daughter of a wealthy merchant not two days ago."

Ballard’s heart leapt at the news. A bold enemy! What could be better? "Terrible!" Ballard said. "Do you have any idea where this Maachelion might be found?"

Boughlin stroked his chin. "Well, word has it that the old dragon makes his home somewhere in the Western Mountains. I’d say that’s probably true. Best place to look would probably be the Mirror cliffs near the coast. There have been many stories of fishing boats getting attacked as well. "

The news made Ballard positively giddy, and with the amount of ale he had imbibed, it was a difficult thing indeed for him to keep himself from leaping upon the dining-table and dancing his favorite jig. Ballard managed to control himself by slamming a fist-sized portion of bread into his mouth.

By the time he’d finished chewing the bread the rest of the guards had passed out on their wooden dinner-plates, leaving Ballard to his own devices. As quietly as he could, he got up from the bench and tiptoed to the door. He wanted to get an early start.

  O o o o o o o o o o o o o o oO

The western mountains loomed ahead as Ballard the Brave made his way across the foothills. It was rumored that the foothills contained bands of brigands who preyed on unsuspecting merchants and travelers. Ballard had met no one on the road since leaving the Border Gate nearly two weeks before. He assumed that the brigands recognized him, and stayed away from him out of a well-developed sense of self-preservation. It occurred to Ballard that the lack of activity in the foothills could be another sign of Maachelion’s presence, but with no one to question, he could do nothing but speculate and plod toward the western peaks. Ballard’s anticipation grew with the size of the western peaks, which disappeared majestically into a permanent bank of mist. He found himself at the bottom of a narrow path that snaked its way into the mountains, a narrow ribbon that disappeared here and there, only to reveal itself again farther onward.

"Here is where we find glory, old friend," Ballard said, patting his horse and urging him up the path.

Progress through the mountains was slow; icy winds buffeted the horse and rider, threatening to pitch them off the path and into the steep ravines and canyons formed by the surrounding peaks. Twice, Ballard had to dig through rockslides, and once, he was forced to jump his horse over a section of the path that had fallen away. Despite these difficulties, Ballard pressed on, quite confident that he would soon discover Maachelion’s lair.

"If I were an evil, ravenous dragon, I would likely put my lair as far out of reach as possible," Ballard said to no one in particular, "and we’re about as far out of reach as we’re likely to get." Nevertheless, the path continued to snake its way gradually upward, disappearing behind a gigantic expanse of dark gray stone. Knowing his quest was nearing completion, Ballard pressed on despite the rising wind.

Ballard wrapped himself tighter in his cloak, and hoped the blanket that covered his horse was doing a better job than the cloak was for him. Icy gusts blasted him without cease or mercy. Finally, Ballard was forced to take shelter behind the horse, where, despite the horse’s bulk acting as a shield, he still had to lean directly into the wind to make any sort of progress.

As they rounded the bend, the wind stopped abruptly, as if some mighty Wind-God had noticed the chill and promptly drew in the shutters. The mountain evened out into a gigantic plateau, shielded on three sides by vast sheets of dark-gray granite. A grassy sward covered the plateau, broken up here and there by small copses of trees.

Relieved by the sudden warmth and absence of the wind, Ballard set his horse to graze and lay down for a well-deserved nap.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Wake up, warrior. I am in love with you." The voice, a sonorous, female voice that sounded as rich and pleasant as the sound of a forest brook at first light, penetrated to Ballard’s consciousness, which lay buried beneath a rather deep layer of sleep.

Ballard opened his eyes, more surprised at the presence of the voice than at what the voice had said.

"Of course you are," Ballard said, "It’s quite natural, really." Somehow, his standard reply to such confessions rang hollow in his increasingly dry throat. He’d heard such things before on many occasions. However, never had he heard such words from a more delicately beautiful woman than the one before him Her almond shaped amber eyes seemed a little too large, but they complemented her slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones and full lips in a way that Ballard could not explain. He found himself studying her, trying to discover just what it was that held him paralyzed.

"Is it?" she replied. "I suppose it is. You are a wonderfully handsome knight after all. Have you come to slay Maachelion?"

Her utterance of the name was enough to partially break the creature’s spell, enabling him to sit up.

"You know of him?"

"Of course I do. He lives right over there," she said, gesturing to a path that disappeared between two copses of trees.

"Can you take me to him?"

"If you like. But wouldn’t you rather stay here with me and enjoy the evening together?"

Ballard looked up. The sun had indeed climbed across the sky and was on its way past the high walls that sheltered the plateau. Half of the plateau was already obscured in darkness.

Ballard shook his head to clear it, and struggled to his feet. The woman made no attempt to stop him. She merely smiled and leaned back on her hands, gazing at him with those amber eyes and arching her back slightly.

In his mind, Ballard knew that this woman wasn’t natural, nor did she come upon him by accident. She was most certainly a servant of Maachelion, sent to distract him and detain him from his quest. This knowledge did nothing to diminish her beauty, nor did it take away the intense desire to sink back down into the grass and into the woman’s waiting arms.

It did however, give Ballard the strength to whistle for his horse.

The horse wasted no time covering the fifty yards that separated him from his rider. Leaping into the saddle, Ballard once again felt the anticipation of battle. "Even your maidens couldn’t deter me, Maachelion," he said to himself, "I will have my battle yet."

"I suppose this means you wish to see him." The woman said, still smiling. Apparently his rejection had done nothing to dampen her seemingly indefatigable good humor.

"Yes. It is my duty. I would ask only one thing of you, dear lady."

"And what’s that?"

"That you would tell me your name. Beauty such as yours should be remembered in song, and I shall see to it that you are immortalized in them."

The woman laughed, the sweetness of which threatened to dislodge Ballard from his saddle. "I am called Naaia. And what should I call you, warrior?"

"Ballard the Brave, Champion of Grimstone." Ballard said, secretly enjoying each syllable. It was the "Champion" part that rang most beautifully in his ears. Aside from parades though Grimstone Keep after a victory, introducing himself to strangers was one of Ballard’s favorite things to do.

"Very well, Ballard the Brave. Follow that path, and you will come to the abode of Maachelion. May your resolve be as true as the edge of your sword."

"Thank you," Ballard said, and turned down the path.

The trees parted to reveal a long, straight path flanked on each side by poles twice Ballard’s height. On each pole rested a helm, a shield, and a suit of armor, except for the first pole on the left side, which remained unoccupied. The poles led up to an archway which outlined a gigantic black semicircle cut into the granite. The condition of the suits of armor deteriorated as Ballard approached the mouth of the cave.

"It appears that I am not the first to attempt this," Ballard said to no one in particular. His heart began to pound in his chest, and his limbs felt infused with new power. Glory, at last!

He came to a halt a few yards from the mouth of the cave. Ballard lowered his visor and fixed his shield. Drawing his sword and raising it above his head, he cried, "Maachelion! It is Ballard the Brave, Champion of Grimstone come to kill you! Come out and meet your death!"

"Kill me? Why, whatever for?" said a deep, resonant voice that spilled from the mouth of the cave and echoed off the cave walls. To Ballard, it seemed as if the voice was suddenly coming from all sides.

"It’s another trick, Ballard said to himself." He edged a few feet closer to the mouth of the cave.

"You have kept the people of Grimstone in your grip of fear for far too long. Now it is my duty to send you to your death." Ballard knew, even as he said it that his second challenge wasn’t nearly as confident and awe-inspiring as his first one was.

"You seem quite intent on slaying me, so I suppose I should turn and have a look at you, at the very least," the voice answered. Ballard couldn’t detect even a slight edge of fear in the voice, which was more than a little unsettling for him.

A gigantic shape rose from the cave, a huge shadow, only distinguishable from the shadows it blended with because of a glowing pair of almond shaped eyes that shone with the luster of pure gold. The shadows dissolved, revealing a head so large that the King of Grimstone could most likely hold court on the snout, and still have room for an honor guard. Whiskers draped from his eyes and chin, trailing behind him to disappear into the darkness of the cave. His head and sinuous neck were covered in deep green scales that shimmered in the receding light like sparkles on a pond. The dragon looked at Ballard intently, and shook his head.

Ballard swallowed hard, and tightened his grip on the sword and shield, and glanced over the dragon’s head and neck, probing for weaknesses. The eyes, perhaps, and there was a good chance the creature’s nose was sensitive. However, he was certain he’d have no luck initiating the combat, so he sat, quivering with the excitement of impending battle.

"You have a lot of spirit for such a tiny thing. Very well, I will fight you, but on one condition," said Maachelion, dropping his head low to look Ballard straight in the eyes.

"Oh, and what’s that?" Ballard asked.

"That you satisfy my curiosity first."

"About what?" asked Ballard, somewhat perplexed at the dragon’s penchant for conversation.

"Your motivation. You faced the perils of the mountains, and got past Naaia’s enticements, all for the chance to lose your life in a fight against me. Why?"

Ballard hesitated. He knew the dragon’s question was a trick to lull him into dropping his guard. He had heard tales about just this sort of thing happening to other Champions, and he had no intention of letting it happen to him. Ballard decided to turn the tables on his foe.

"I’m motivated by duty. When an evil, despicable creature threatens to enslave and destroy the lives of the people of Grimstone, I will take action. I am the King’s Champion."

The dragon raised an eyelid. "Evil and despicable? Those are rather strong words. And when did you arrive at the conclusion that I was, as you say, ‘evil and despicable’?"

"The people are living in fear of your next attack, tyrant!. You are enslaving them in chains of terror, and I am here to break those chains and set the people free!" Ballard braced himself, tightening up his grip on the reins, anticipating the arrival of the dragon’s flame attack. The dragon’s head remained level, golden eyes fixated on Ballard.

"You’ve mentioned slavery twice. I think I can assume with some degree of confidence that you find the presence of slavery a reasonable indication of evil. Am I correct?"

Ballard’s mouth hung open. He had challenged the dragon four times, and the beast hadn’t moved a muscle! Perhaps his verbal assaults weren’t strong enough. Something else gnawed at Ballard; the dragon seemed a little more than curious about his motivation. Ballard’s slack jaw tightened into a barely concealed sly grin. Perhaps he could play the dragon’s game, and lull the dragon into letting his guard down.

"Of course slavery is evil. Although I don’t expect a villain such as you to understand why."

"Thank you for your consideration. You’re quite amiable, really, despite your zeal. So, if you would indulge me just one more time, answer me this: How did you convince that horse to carry you all the way across Grimstone, and the Western Foothills, and all the way up the mountain.?"

"Convince? The horse needed no convincing. He is my horse. He carries me where I wish to go."

The dragon’s jaws widened into a jagged, toothy equivalent of a smile. "So the horse had no choice in the matter?"

"Of course not. He’s a horse. Horses are trained from their youth to serve the people of Grimstone. The horse is loyal to me, and I treat him well. We are partners. You might even say we are friends." Ballard lowered his sword and reached down to pet the horse’s flank.

The dragon cocked his head slightly, angling one eye at Ballard.

"Then by that rationale, if I trained the people of Grimstone from their birth to serve me, and forced them to do my bidding, but at the same time treated them with kindness, they would cease to by my slaves and would become my friends. Is this reasonable?"

Ballard suddenly felt hot under his armor, and it had nothing to do with the gusts of hot wind that blew over him when the dragon spoke. "Are you saying that horses are slaves?"

The dragon smiled again. "Well, I hadn’t actually thought of it that way, but now that you mentioned it, it does seem a bit like slavery to me. What do you think?"

Ballard nearly fell from the saddle. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to be attacking? He reached up and scratched his eye beneath the helmet. This Maachelion was even more cunning and ruthless than Ballard had anticipated. Instead of merely trying to lull the knight into lowering his guard, Maachelion was striving to confuse him, which was even more dangerous. Somehow, he had to regain the upper hand.

"You’re wrong, dragon. You can’t equate horses with men. The horse isn’t smart enough to understand the ideas of freedom and slavery. It is under no duress. Therefore, it is not a slave." Ballard smiled in triumph. "Take that, dragon," he thought.

Ballard’s rebuttal had no effect on the dragon’s outward demeanor. He looked at Ballard intently for a moment before replying. "So, because the horse has no idea what it means to be free, it is acceptable to deprive him of his liberty?"

"If he doesn’t know what it is like to be free. It makes no sense that he would be unhappy without freedom."

The dragon nodded, and smiled, but said nothing.

Ballard sat astride the horse, reveling in his victory. "Now that we’ve satisfied your curiosity, let’s start this battle, shall we?" he said, readying his sword and shield again.

"All right, if you insist, we’ll fight," said the dragon. Ballard’s heart raced. He had defeated the dragon at his own debate, and now he would defeat him in battle! Ballard dropped his visor and raised his shield.

"Now, let’s see if you’re a good armorer or not," said the dragon, raising his head. "You did make that armor, didn’t you?"

Ballard flung up the visor. "No! I didn’t make the armor. I’m no craftsman. I’m a warrior. If I spent all my time making armor, I would have no time to train for battle. Now can we please get started? It’s nearly dark out."

The dragon dropped back down to Ballard’s level. If you didn’t make that armor, who did?"

"The Royal Metalsmiths made it. they make armor for all the Grimstone Knights. They also make swords and shields and barding. Now, I’m going to use all this wonderful armor to-"

"And how did the Grimstone knights convince the Royal Metalsmiths to make all that armor and swords and shields and barding? It must have been quite an arduous task, with a lot of noisy hammering and working the bellows, and things like that. You must have been quite eloquent when convincing them-"

"We didn’t have to convince them. They made the armor by Royal Decree. The King commanded them to make it, for the good of the Kingdom."

"You mean they had no choice in the matter?"

Ballard sheathed his sword and put his hand on his forehead. First horses, now armorers! What did this dragon find so endlessly fascinating about debate? He fought back his frustration, knowing that frustration led to mistakes in battle. He defeated the dragon in the debate about the horses, and he knew he could do it again.

"They chose to do the King’s bidding. It’s is their duty as citizens of Grimstone."

The dragon cocked his head again, aiming a golden eye at Ballard, staring more intently than before. "And did they choose to be subject to the King’s will?"

"You don’t choose whether or not to be subject to the will of the King! He’s the king! The King’s duty is to rule, and our duty is to follow."

The dragon smiled. "Spoken like a true knight." He raised his head a little, and lowered his snout in a mock bow. "You are probably the truest knight I have had the privilege to meet. I only have one more question."

Ballard dropped his visor. "Ask away, dragon."

"Do you know what it is like to be free?"

"What?"

"Do you know what it is like to be free? "You have trained since youth to serve the king, and the King treats you well. Are you and the king ‘partners?’ Or would you go one step further and say that you and the king are friends?"

Ballard’s retort died in his throat. Maachelion continued to bore through him with those gigantic golden eyes. A hint of a smile curled around the dragon’s massive jaws. Maachelion rested his head on the grass, apparently unconcerned about the possibility that Ballard might attack him.

Ballard stared into Maachelion’s eyes. The dragon’s logic burned into his mind with far more force than any flamestrike. Could it be possible that he, Ballard the Brave, Champion of Grimstone, was no freer than his own horse?

Ballard pulled off his helmet and dropped it into the grass. His shield slipped from his hand, landing next to the helmet with a thump. The sword followed.

"I’m no one’s slave," Ballard said, loosening the leather straps that held his breastplate in place. He pulled the breastplate off, exposing his blue tunic to the evening air. The breastplate landed with a clatter against the shield. The gauntlets and greaves followed the breastplate, and Ballard was left sitting astride his horse in nothing but a tunic and a pair of leather leggings.

The dragon didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there, watching Ballard. The hint of smile broadened into a wide, sharp-toothed grin.

"If you’re going to eat me," said Ballard, "then do it. At least I’ll die a free man."

Maachelion laughed, a low rumble that echoed across the cliffs and filled the entire plateau. "I never had any intention of eating you. Do you honestly believe that I survive on a diet of human flesh? Imagine how many of you tiny creatures I would have to eat every day. It would be far too much work, the way you scurry around alerting each other and trying to defend yourselves with those silly little sticks. I’ll gladly leave that business to the firedrakes."

Puzzled, Ballard looked around the plateau. "Then what exactly do you eat?"

"Fish," said Maachelion. There’s an entire sea filled with them, and they are much easier to catch."

"That seems to make sense," said Ballard. "So what do you intend to do with me?"

"Nothing," said Maachelion. "Do what you like. If you don’t want to go back to Grimstone, there’s a fishing village to the west. Keep on the path, and you’ll run right into it. They are always looking for another hand in the boats."

"Perhaps I’ll go back and try to find Naaia," said Ballard, "She seemed quite taken with me."

"You could do that, " Maachelion said. "If you want to get turned into a tree."

"She turns people into trees?" Ballard’s eyes widened. The darkness prevented him from counting the trees, but he was certain there were over a hundred of them.

"She certainly does. She’s terribly insecure. I don’t mind, because it gets rid of all but the most ardent knights who come up here to slay me. It’s not such a bad fate, as I understand it. Every night she turns one of them back into a man, and enjoys his company until daybreak."

"I’d rather try my luck in the boats," said Ballard.

"Very well. The path is just to the north of my home. Follow it down a few hundred yards, and you’ll see the village lights below. You’re safe from Naaia as soon as you get out of sight of the trees."

"Well, I’ll be off. Congratulations on your victory, dragon."

"Thank you, Ballard the Brave."

And with that, Ballard kicked his horse into a trot and made for the path

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Naaia snatched the armor and shield from the grass and scowled at Maachelion. "You cheater! You’re not supposed to tell!" Despite her scowl, Naaia barely controlled a giggle. She found it impossible to stay angry at the dragon for more than a few minutes at a time.

"You had your chance, Naaia. I’m sure another one will be along any time now."

Naaia stuck out her tongue and left the dragon’s cave, bearing Ballard’s armor and sword. She walked down the path, stopping in front of the last post. Carefully, she fitted the sword into a slot in the post, and rested the armor on top of the sword. The greaves, gauntlets and shield lay in a pile in front of the post.

In the distance, Naaia heard the scrape-clop of a horse’s hooves against stone.