Which Way to the Dragon?
Michael Angel Schnitzengruben, Bavaria. 635 A.D. (Tuesday) The herd of sheep grazing in the pasture didn't stand a chance. Quietly, the dragon approached from upwind, the better to hide her stink of sulfur and brimstone. Her outstretched wing tips brushed the edges of the twin peaks which overlooked the valley. She descended with the breeze, silent as a ghost-feathered owl. It was only when the sheep heard the final beat of her wings that they bleated in terror, scattering in all directions like a spilled pile of soap flakes. The dragon pistoned her talons downward in a scooping motion. She caught a single fat ewe by its woolly haunches and carried the animal off. She headed for the cleft between the peaks to consume her lunch at leisure. Now, had anyone of an appreciative mind been watching, they’d have declared the dragon a singularly beautiful animal. Long and sinuous like a great golden-red snake spiked at the ends with claws and teeth. Unfortunately, no appreciative mind was available as a witness. The shepherds angrily waved their crooks at her from far below. The dragon sped off, disappearing into the glare of the bright midday sunshine. “Damn you, you sheep poaching lizard!” one of the shepherds cried, “A thousand curses on you!” The sound of cantering hooves cut him off. A gray stallion came into view over the hill, and his rider reined him in. The rider was a big man, as it was reckoned in this part of Europe. Gray eyes glinted from beneath a shaggy mane of straw-colored hair. He jingled as he rode, and the glint of chain mail was visible beneath his black fur-trimmed coat. The handle of a long bastard sword, sheathed in a worn, scaly scabbard, projected up from between his shoulder blades. “Ho, shepherd,” the man said, holding up his palm in a gesture of friendship, “Which way to the dragon?” The shepherd, who looked at the newcomer peculiarly, simply pointed in the general direction of the peaks. “Up there?” the rider asked. “Ja,” the shepherd said, “She feeds up there.” “All the better.” “Better for what?” “For doing my job,” the rider said, as if explaining the concept to a small and not particularly bright child. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled his sword from the sheath with a mighty ringing sound. “Behold, for I am Rothgar, son of Wulfgar, and I am a slayer of dragons!” The shepherd considered. “You work for the church?” “No,” Rothgar said, puzzled. “I work for myself.” “Ah,” the shepherd said, making up his mind. He pointed to the cluster of natty houses below. “A solicitor, then. You'd best be off down there. The town council will speak with you.” “My thanks, shepherd.” “Neh, don't thank me. I wouldn't expect too much.” Rothgar scratched his head as the shepherd walked away, but he nudged his mount forward and down into the valley. The town was tidy and thrifty looking, with neat cobblestone streets and buildings coated with fresh paint. Rothgar was surprised, therefore, when he saw that the town council was having a noisy meeting in what was undoubtedly the local tavern. “We must move forward with this resolution!” an old man stated with authority. The other men gathered at the tables banged their beer steins against the table in agreement. “We are resolved that we shall try to rid ourselves of the dragon!” “Try?” Rothgar snorted, and the room went silent but for the sounds of creaking chairs and swiveling necks. “You need not try, for it shall be done. I am Rothgar, son of—” “Ratgar?” someone asked. “Rothgar,” Rothgar repeated, more loudly. “Son of Wulfgar, slayer of dragons.” “Really?” the speaker said, “Ja, then I am Jalk the Giant Killer.” “Jalk and his beanstalk is a fable,” Rothgar said, “Your dragon is not. Hire me and you shall be free of it.” “Why should we hire a foreigner?” someone asked. “I am not a foreigner,” Rothgar said, “I was born in the north, near to the eaves of the Teutoburg Forest.” “Well, you talk funny, so it's really the same thing.” “Do you want this dragon slain or not?” Rothgar said, his temper slipping a notch. “Oh, very well,” the speaker said, “We were about to put the whole thing to a vote, but go ahead, let's hear your proposal.” “Fine,” Rothgar said, settling down a bit. Now things were going according to the script. “Tell me about the dragon.” “Speaker Erbrechen! Speaker Erbrechen!” came the clamor. The old man waved tolerantly, cleared his throat, and addressed Rothgar. “She came upon us nigh ten days ago,” said Erbrechen, “She swoops down upon us, taking our cattle and sheep. If we shoot arrows at her, she burns our barns and shops.” “How big is she?” “Forty feet long!” someone interjected. “Forty-two!” someone else said. “Neh, it's fifty as if it were a day.” “Aren’t you counting her tail?” “Look,” Rothgar interrupted, “She's big. I get the picture.” “Big enough,” Erbrechen agreed. “Long teeth?” “Like swords!” “Tail?” “Bladed.” “Breathes fire?” “Oh, lots.” “Hm,” Rothgar considered. He counted on his fingers, then said, “Counting time and materials, I will do the deed for fifteen hundred gold crowns.” There was a stunned silence; then the crowd burst out laughing. The townspeople started speaking all at once. “Fifteen hundred?” “Feh, we could bribe the dragon away with that kind of money.” “Ridiculous! What does he think we are?” “Mister Rothgar,” Erbrechen said as he tried to still his shaking belly, “Thank you for your offer, but we've come up with some cheaper alternatives.” He turned to the crowd. “Vote?” The villagers raised their left hands, fists clenched, and shouted, “Stimmen sie zu!” The meeting broke up rather quickly after that. Rothgar stood in the middle of the empty floor, flabbergasted. He slumped in the nearest seat, dejected, until the barkeeper came up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, you. Buy a drink or get out.” (Wednesday) Rothgar sat on the tavern's back porch, chin in hands. The townspeople gathered on the open field to the east. He took a sip from his stein, and then went back to his sulky watch. The sips were small, as he wanted to sit for a while. “Okay!” one of the townspeople said, “here she comes!” The dragon flew across the lake by the town, a fat cow clutched in her talons. The townspeople dove under the tarpaulin of red and yellow fabric they had set out before dawn. On cue they stood up and began marching forward. The person at the front held up the frame of timber and straw, fashioned to look like a dragon's head, complete with working jaw and eye flaps. The other members of the team swayed their parts of the dragon’s body back and forth in a sinuous motion, banging on drums and bells and creating an incredible din. The dragon stopped in mid-air and dropped her cargo. The bovine gave a plaintive 'mooo!' as it plunged into the icy water and began cow-paddling to shore. The dragon swooped down low, nose to the ground, and with a great snort, sent a sheet of fire over the false dragon on the ground. The townspeople, their hair and eyebrows set smoldering, quickly dropped the cloth and rolled in the wet grass or jumped in the lake. The dragon circled the town once before it left, and it let out a deep, throaty laugh like thunder. Rothgar smiled. He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp and strode over Erbrechen, who was brushing ashes off his tunic. “Whose bright idea was that?” Rothgar asked sardonically. “The snake handler,” Erbrechen pointed to a young boy who had a corn snake draped over his bony shoulders. “Well, dragons are like snakes,” the boy said, “And snakes don't like loud noises or challengers, ja?” “Try a stupid stunt like that again and you'll all be so much roasted meat,” Rothgar said. Erbrechen and the boy exchanged a look. “What did you have in mind?” Rothgar flexed his biceps and smiled. “I have, in my mercy, re-considered my offer. Fourteen hundred crowns, not a pfennig less.” A look of consideration passed over Erbrechen's face. “Care to discuss it over a cup of herb tea?” “No! Take it or leave it, old man!” “Okay,” Erbrechen shrugged, turning away from him. Erbrechen raised his voice to the townspeople. “Let's go, time's wasting if we want to try the next plan!” Rothgar swore and stomped off. That night he drank enough beer to float a longship. (Thursday) The dragon landed atop the bull's carcass and began tearing off chunks of meat with gusto. The bull had been staked out in the middle of a clearing in the woods just outside of town. “What do you think?” one ratty looking peasant said to Erbrechen. Erbrechen, Werner, and Rothgar had hidden in the deep underbrush, out of the dragon's sight. “She looks pretty occupied, Werner,” Erbrechen replied. “Your boys going to do anything soon?” “Ja, don't you worry,” said Werner. He pointed to the nearby cottages. “They’re all the village’s best timber jacks. They made our homes from these trees, they know what to do.” With a crack, the largest tree behind the dragon began to topple forward. Rothgar stood, eyes locked on the large pine as it curved forward towards the dragon's back. The dragon snapped her head around, as fast as a whip. She caught the falling timber in her massive jaws and swung her burden around. With a careless flick, she tossed the tree away. The mass of timber whirled end over end and came to rest with a crash on top of a row of the cottages. “Scheisse! My house!” Werner wailed. The dragon turned in their direction. She blew a ring of smoke in derision, and then flew off, unconcerned. Rothgar coughed into his hand. “Erbrechen, I've been thinking. How about we settle up for twelve hundred gold crowns?” “Twelve hundred? Are you joking?” “Eleven!” Rothgar said, his palms out in supplication. “Sounds like you need the work. Care to discuss it over some herb tea?” “Damn it, I don't want any tea, I want the job! Why won't your lord pay me for my services?” “Lord? Who said we had a lord?” “Well, I just assumed—” “Ja, you assumed,” Erbrechen said wryly. “You like bridge tolls?” “Well, no.” “Highway tolls?” “No, not really. What does this have to do with what we're talking about?” “How do you think a lord 'pays' you for your services? Taxes, that’s how! Well, this town doesn't like taxes, so we broke away and set up independently.” “But you're the town speaker.” “So? Feh, you think I would hold meetings in the tavern if I had money to build a town hall? It's expensive to meet in the tavern. You can't even sit down there unless—” “You buy a drink,” Rothgar groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I know, I know.” (Friday) This time they had ten sheep carcasses staked to the ground in a clearing across the valley. “You people are just stupid if you think she's going to fall for that again,” Rothgar grumbled. The dragon made a neat banking turn on her left wing tip and settled in the clearing for her meal. She picked delicately at the warm mutton, pausing every now and then to burp up a stringy ball of wool. Erbrechen looked at Rothgar. “Shut up,” Rothgar growled. Erbrechen and the snake handler boy were in the thicket with him. Finally, unable to keep quiet, Rothgar tapped the boy on the shoulder. “Tell me one thing,” Rothgar said, “How do you know that the dragon's a female?” “Oh, that's simple,” the boy said. He plucked the corn snake from its perch around his shoulder and held the wriggling animal upside down. “See? This one's a girl too.” “There's the flag!” Erbrechen said, pointing at the green piece of cloth which waved from the top of a nearby hillock. Behind the summit, the townspeople's huge catapult twanged as it loosed the five ton boulder from its hide platform. The rock whistled over the hillock and came down silently from almost straight above. The dragon gave a squawk, and as it spread its wings, the boulder smashed it with a horrid crunching sound. Black dragon blood flew through the air in a fine mist, sizzling as it hit leaves and grass. The outstretched wings which stuck out from under the rock quivered once and were still. A raucous cheer went up from the townspeople. They whooped and tossed their hats in the air, rejoicing. They had almost settled back down when with a mighty shudder, the rock tipped back on its edge and rolled off. Rothgar stepped forward, drawing his sword. The dragon raised its head shakily. With an angry shriek, she beat her wings and rose above the clearing. She roared, making the waters of the lake quiver, and she spat forth a jet of flame which set the woods to the west afire. Erbrechen hurriedly detailed all the village’s men to fighting the blaze before it reached the town while the dragon flew off unsteadily. Rothgar was waiting at the tavern, stein in hand, when Erbrechen returned. He motioned Erbrechen to take a chair, sized the man up, and spoke. “Nine hundred. Don't tell the dragon slayer's guild or I'm in trouble.” Erbrechen considered. “Care to discuss it—” “Over a cup of herb tea,” Rothgar nodded fiercely. “Fine, whatever the hell you want, let's deal!” “Hermann, let's have the special over here,” Erbrechen said. The tea was laid out, steaming hot, and Erbrechen carefully poured two cups. He picked his cup up, inhaling the aromas and savoring the scent. Rothgar tossed his off and pounded the table with his fist. “I've satisfied your stinking custom, old man. Now do I get the job or not?” “After all we've done, only to fail? You've got it.” “About time! Now, the dragon's lair, can you show me how to get to it?” “Ja, I'll draw you a map.” Erbrechen pulled out a sheet of parchment and drew in lines and noted landmarks in a flowing script. He laid it out on the table. Rothgar studied the parchment shrewdly. It was hard to make out some of the smaller words. He lay his head on the table, got a good look at the lettering, then let out a great snore. (Saturday) Rothgar awoke with a moan, sick to his stomach. He lay on his back, and he could make out the sides of an open wagon around him. He tried moving his arms and legs, and it came as a bad shock when he discovered he was bound. Erbrechen and a second old man leaned over him. “What the devil are you doing?” Rothgar demanded. “Untie me at once, or I'll cut your hearts out with my sword!” “Can't do that, son of Wulfgar,” Erbrechen replied. “You see, you took the job, so you have to finish it.” “You drugged me!” “We had little choice,” Erbrechen shrugged. “That dragon, she's intelligent for her kind. She speaks some human tongue.” “Ja, and apparently, we were successful in our efforts to drive her off,” the second old man agreed. “Sort of,” Erbrechen said. “She flew down in the midst of our efforts to fight the fire after you left. She said that we were becoming mighty fine pests after we clobbered her with that rock.” “Liar!” Rothgar snarled, “She would have eaten you all!” “Oh, neh,” Erbrechen said, “She's smart. Why work for your food when you can pick up a fat cow or sheep whenever you like? If she killed us she'd be depriving herself of her meals. But she promised us that she'd leave for other parts, so long as we promised her two things.” Rothgar didn't like the way the conversation was going. “First,” Erbrechen continued, “She wanted us to give her a dozen sheep carcasses, for rations when she sets out. Second, she wanted us to sacrifice to her our most beautiful maiden.” “What for?” “Well, it's just good form. If the word got out that a dragon had gone soft, well, nobody would take her seriously! This way, both she and our town save face. It's a win-win situation, and it’s very economical.” “I'm hardly a maiden, old man,” Rothgar said through clenched teeth. “Well, we’re in luck there. Dragons can't see too well.” Erbrechen reached down, lifted Rothgar's head by the hair so that the dragonslayer could see. “You should be flattered. We were able to lengthen my daughter's blue gown before we slipped you into it.” He held up part of Rothgar's scalp lock. “And the young girls at the school braided these lovely mountain daisies into your hair—” “You bastards!” Rothgar shouted, straining mightily to free himself from the ropes. His muscles bulged under the robins-egg blue dress, but they failed to part the bonds. “I swear, I've slain entire families for less than this!” They came to the end of the road, right below the cleft of the peaks. They carried the struggling Rothgar from the wagon and lashed him to a nearby tree. Erbrechen pulled out a small box and opened it. “Lipstick or rouge?” Rothgar told him where to stick both items. “If you don't decide, I'll use both,” threatened Erbrechen, “And I'll pick shades that don't match.” Rothgar seethed. “Lipstick.” Erbrechen finished his work and climbed into the wagon with the others. They started their creaky ride back down the mountain slope. “You have my word, we'll do our best to make sure your next of kin gets the six hundred crowns!” “Nine hundred!” Rothgar called back. He cursed them floridly as they dwindled in the mist. In due time, he ran out of breath. Later that day, all was silent except for the beat of approaching leathery wings. Medieval accounts about dragons incorrectly liken dragons to simple animals. Dragons were quite intelligent, thoughtful creatures at heart. And once their word was given, they always kept it. Schnitzengruben, with its easy-handed government and light taxes, soon became a major trading spot known throughout Europe. People would remark about the calm waters of the lake, the high, dark forest, the charming houses and the clean streets. The people themselves were also highly thought of. Their services were sought throughout Germany as blacksmiths, carpenters, and bankers. However, they never produced so much as a single dragon slayer. The End Comments are closed.
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