Yorlan, Fool for Love

King Harliss’s court consists almost entirely of wizards.  He has spent years gathering them together, and never was a more powerful group of wizards assembled.  King Harliss, when he was a young man, was a great wizard himself, but now he is very old and rarely casts his magic anymore.  So when his granddaughter, Nallison, falls ill by means of foul magic, he calls his wizardly advisors to him.  None can break the spell.

“There is only one thing left to do.” says King Harliss to his court.  “Someone must go and fetch a Flower of Benevolence.  The scent of these flowers is renowned for the ability to break the most powerful of magical curses.  Who will accept this quest?”

None from his court speaks up.  Xacazix, the mage who single-handedly defended the gates of Syn from an Orcish horde, stands silent.  Nysosoon, who breached the walls of the Forbidden City of Zaar in search of lost, arcane knowledge, makes no sound.  And Hassylyn, the Great Hassylyn, who is forever doing battle with the Giants of the North, even he is quiet.  For, as everyone knows, the Flowers of Benevolence are the possession of the dragon Vassimaral.  No wizard, no matter how powerful, dares challenge even a young dragon.  And Vassimaral is a most ancient and mighty dragon indeed.

King Harliss surveys his court.  He says quietly, “Is there no one brave enough to accept this task?”

A voice calls out from the crowd, “I will my Lord.”  King Harliss cannot see who has called out.  A murmur goes through the crowd.  The crowd ripples, parts, and a figure, the one who has cried out, steps forward. 

It is Yorlan, the court’s jester.  He steps forward and approaches the King.  Just as he nears the King he trips, splaying himself out at the King’s feet.  Despite the gravity of the situation, the court erupts into gales of laughter, so comical is Yorlan’s fall.

“Silence!  Yorlan, this is not time for jest.  My granddaughter is gravely ill.  Step back before you embarrass yourself further.”

“I am not jesting, my Lord,” says Yorlan as he picks himself up.  He is lanky, pot-bellied and spindly legged.  He wears the comical, colorful dress of one of his vocation.  Only his dark, deep set eyes suggest there is something of substance to the court’s clown.

“Yorlan, your magic of sleight of hand and illusion would be no match for the great Vassimaral.  Vassimaral is five elephants big and can turn a troop of soldiers to ashes with one mighty exhale of his breath.  He has magic of his own that out-matches the best among us.  One cannot even do something as simple as look into his eyes without falling under his sway.”

“Please my Lord, since none of the others will do so, at least let me try.  What harm could it do?”

And since none of the other wizards will brave an encounter with the dragon, King Harliss reluctantly ascents to Yorlan’s request.



Days later, a tired and bedraggled Yorlan stands at the mouth of a narrow mountain pass.  Chained to the wall of one side of the pass is a gigantic hellhound.  Yorlan muses that it eats regular hounds as snacks.  It is completely jet black, right down to its teeth.  The only colorful thing about it is its breath, which are flames of orange and red.  The hellhound stares coldly and calmly at Yorlan from where it lies at the mouth of the pass.

Well nobody told me about this, thinks Yorlan.  Looks like Vassimaral got himself a guard dog.  Yorlan scans the surrounding terrain.  It is made up entirely of impassible cliffs.  This is the only way in, or out.

Yorlan begins to mumble and gesticulate.  The hellhound immediately stands, as if it recognizes that Yorlan is casting a spell.  The hackles rise on its back as Yorlan’s words become louder and clearer.  Then Yorlan says cryptically, “You are the weakest link!  Goodbye.”

A link in the hellhound’s chain disappears with an audible pop.  The hellhound turns and inspects the broken chain.  It howls, proclaiming its freedom to the world.  Then it launches itself toward Yorlan.  In the ultimate act of ingratitude, the hellhound intends to make a meal of its deliverer from bondage.

Just as it reaches the point at which its chain would have stopped it in the past, it is jerked cruelly backwards.  Yorlan’s spell is only an illusion; the chain was never really broken.  The hellhound is momentarily stunned by its own momentum.  Yorlan makes his move.

He dashes past the dazed hellhound and runs toward the pass as fast as his chicken legs will carry him.  In a moment the hellhound is up and chasing him.

The hellhound, who is much faster than Yorlan, is wasting no time in closing the distance between the two.  Yorlan, fueled by adrenaline and fear, gives it everything he has.  Just as the hellhound closes the distance and launches itself to bite Yorlan, it again reaches the length of its chain and is jerked to a halt.

Yet it does not entirely miss him.  Yorlan yelps in pain as he completes his dash out of the hellhound’s sphere of influence.

Yorlan stops running.  With a wave of his hand he produces a small mirror.  He uses it to examine his behind.  The whole back of his pantaloons have been ripped or burned away.  His backside is bleeding from the three or four teeth that just managed to puncture him.  It is also very red, and a few blisters are beginning to appear where the hellhound’s fiery breath has scorched him.  As Yorlan makes his way further into the pass he utters, “Man, that hellhound really burns my ass.”



The pass snakes it way through the mountains for a mile or so.  Eventually it opens up to reveal a small valley nestled within the surrounding mountains.  In this valley are three things of import.  First is a field of flowers, the Flowers of Benevolence.  They will only grow here, for they are magical and such are the ways of magical things.  Also here is a large pile of treasure.  It has been amassed by the dragon Vassimaral from his centuries of killing of all the warriors, mages, thieves and adventures who have tried to obtain a flower, or even some of the treasure itself.  And lastly, there is Vassimaral himself - ancient, huge and dangerous.

Yorlan looks down upon the valley.  He is moved by the beauty of flowers, amazed by the size of the treasure, and awed by the sight of Vassimaral.  Despite this, he makes his way toward the dragon without trying to conceal himself.  The dragon watches him approach.

Yorlan nears the dragon.  He bows his head and drops to one knee.  The dragon hisses, “Who are you, and what brings you to my valley, brave but foolish one?”

“I am Yorlan and I come for a Flower of Benevolence, your vastness.  King Harliss, of the Kingdom of Thassily - his granddaughter, Nallison, is under a black spell and will die soon if not freed from it.”

“This does not concern me.  Adding to my trove of treasure and lining my belly are my only concerns.  I prefer goats, sheep, and cows as meals, but I have been known to eat men.  Why should I not eat you?”

Now Yorlan knows it is said of dragons that they often like to talk to men.  They are purveyors of information and enjoy useful conversation.  Often they like to play games such as riddles with men to keep their minds sharp.  And they thoroughly love to be entertained.  Many of the ways of dragons are mysterious and often unfathomable, but in these ways they are not so different from men.

“I am a rather skilled jester in the court of my king.  If your lengthiness will permit it, perhaps you would like to hear some jokes, and I could perform some acrobatics for your amusement?”

“Yes, let me see you jest.”

Yorlan begins to turn cartwheels and he says, “What do you call a child’s wagon with no wheels?”

Vassimaral says nothing, so Yorlan continues without the response. “A little, red dragon.”

Vassimaral says, “Is that joke some kind of joke?”

“Yes, indeed it is your massiveness. They get better.”  Yorlan begins to execute some somersaults.  “What do you call a spell casting dragon?”

“Vassimaral the Great?”

“Yes, you’re Giganticness.  But you also call him a wizard lizard.”

At this Vassimaral begins a low, angry growl.  Yorlan is confused.  For a moment he believes Vassimaral may have been angered by being referred to as a lizard, and then he realizes his mistake.  He falls into a hand stand.  “I mean a lizard wizard, your weightiness.”

Vassimaral’s anger dissipates, but his disapproval does not.  “Do you mistake me for some kind of child of your kind?”

“No, your titanicness.”  Yorlan begins to do back hand springs.  “What did the one gay queen say to the other gay queen?”

Again Vassimaral doesn’t respond, so Yorlan says (after landing a last back flip), “You look much prettier with your drag-on.”

“That’s enough.  Those are the worst jokes I’ve ever heard.  I’ve decided to eat you.”

“Wait!  Let me show you this one last trick, your cold-bloodedness.”  Seemingly out of thin air Yorlan produces three glittering gold balls.  “I have been working on this trick for some time now.”  He begins to juggle the three balls.  They sparkle very prettily in the air.  Vassimaral leans in closer to watch.

“I’ve worked on this trick so long now; I’ve grown very tired of working on it.  Watch closely.”  With that Yorlan produces yet another sparkling ball. He now juggles four balls.  “See how this new ball sparkles like the rest, your scaleyness?”

Then Yorlan does the thing he was advised against doing.  He looks directly into Vassimaral’s eyes.  “It, in and of itself, is a very tiring trick.  I hope that you are not growing tired of watching me perform it, your monstrousityness.  Here, I shall add another sparkling, gold ball to the mix.  Look, I believe this ball sparkles even more than the others.  Do you see how this ball sparkles so?”

Now Vassimaral, strangely enough, is beginning to feel tired.  He decides since this man is foolish enough to look him in the eyes, then he will make him his slave.  Vassimaral looks into Yorlan’s eyes for some weakness to take a hold of.  Of hate, envy, greed, or pride he finds none.  He does come across quite a bit of fear, but it is buried deep and, for some reason, he cannot reach it.  (Actually, what even the great Vassimaral does not know is Yorlan’s fear is untappable because it is overcome by his love for Nallison).  Strange, thinks Vassimaral, this one’s dark eyes seem to sparkle just like the golden balls.

“I am so sorry if my boring trick is making you sleepy.  I shall add yet another golden ball to the rest.  I think every time I add another ball to the mix; you are growing a little more tired.  That is okay though, you are very weary and ready for some rest.  Here is another glittering ball.  That makes six, or is it seven?  They are so hard to keep track of as they fly through the air.  So very hard.  Why don’t you sleep, your reptilianness?  You are feeling exhausted.  Why don’t you sleep?”

Vassimaral is feeling very sleepy.  He thinks he will close his eyes for just a moment.  Just for a second he will close his eyes, and then he will eat this one with the strange eyes.  He closes his eyes and remembers no more.



In the magnificent courtyard of King Harliss, the wizards of his court are assembled.  They are practicing their magic.  So intent upon this task are they that at first none of them spots the small dark speck in the sky.  As it becomes bigger, one of them finally sees it.  He calls out to the others.  They all watch it quickly become enormous.  As it becomes apparent what it is, they all flee in fear - all but three.

Xacazix, the conqueror of the orcish horde and Nysosoon, the interloper of the city of Zaar, both stand frozen and slack jawed.  Only Hassylyn, the giant slayer, holds his composure as a small, knowing smile creeps across his face.

The massive Vassimaral lands with a ground shaking thud into the courtyard.  A man, tiny in comparison to it, slides off of its back.  He speaks briefly to the dragon.  Then with a mighty roar, the dragon flaps its wings and takes off.  It heads back in the direction from which it came.

Yorlan approaches Hassylyn, triumphantly holding up the Flower of Benevolence he has retrieved.  Just as he reaches Hassylyn, his foot catches on the ground and he falls in a heap.  Hassylyn laughs, not unkindly, and helps Yorlan to his feet.  As he dusts Yorlan off Hassylyn says “Come Yorlan, get up.  This is no way for a hero to act.  We must see King Harliss with haste.  We have his granddaughter to revive, and then, no doubt, we will be feasting tonight in honor of your great feat.”

Indeed, the feast is magnificent, and the King’s granddaughter Nallison looks as beautiful as ever.  Yorlan is strangely quiet, and when he is asked how he accomplished the taming of Vassimaral, he is close-lipped about the great accomplishment.  He will only say that Vassimaral, when he awakes the next day, will remember nothing of Yorlan, and nothing of his trip to the palace.

Many of the wizards cry out for Yorlan to perform, and as he gets ready to begin.  Nallison says, “Grandfather, let us give Yorlan respite from his foolery.  Let us instead dance, and I ask you Yorlan, my champion, will you have this first dance with me?”

King Harliss, of course, acquiesces to his beloved granddaughter’s request.  Yorlan dances the first dance with Nallison.  Indeed, he spends much of the evening and night receiving and accepting requests to dance from various ladies of the court.  And while he enjoys all of the dances, without a doubt he enjoys the dances with Nallison the most. 



A year later to the day finds the court of King Harliss assembled in his hall.  The King stands by his throne.  Next to him is a veiled and shrouded figure dressed in white.  The doors to the great hall open and a figure walks through.  It is Yorlan.  He walks across the hall, and as he comes to the steps of the dais, his foot catches upon his flowing cape.  He is laid out most ungracefully upon the steps.  Raucous laughter breaks out from all assembled, including King Harliss.  The figure in white laughs too.  It is sweet, musical, lilting laughter.  The figure reaches up and lifts the veil to reveal her face.  It is Nallison, and she has never looked more beautiful.

“Come, my champion.  Pick yourself up, come up here and marry me, before you embarrass yourself any further,” she says.

And that is exactly what Yorlan does.



And what of Vassimaral, you ask?  Although he continues to reside in his valley and still lays claim to his treasure and the flowers, he is never quite the same dragon after his encounter with Yorlan.  He is even known to part with a flower from time to time.  If you are rich and in need of one, you can buy one at a dear price.  This treasure he adds to his trove.  If you are of modest means then perhaps cow, or a couple of pigs, will do as payment.  And if you are poor, and one of your loved ones is afflicted by a dark curse, you can obtain a flower by means of sharing some information, or perhaps by performing some sort of service for the dragon.  It is also said one could purchase a flower by providing Vassimaral with some good entertainment.  And it is even rumored that if you are destitute enough, Vassimaral will give you some of his treasure, but this is definitely a matter of conjecture.

Of which there is no doubt is this - if someone comes to Vassimaral’s valley and the great dragon happens to look into his or her eyes and he sees too much wrath, or envy, pride, or greed, then he will pull you under his sway and make you do his bidding. 

Or he may even eat you if he is hungry, for although he has grown a little more kindly after his meeting with Yorlan, he is still, after all, a mighty and treacherously dangerous dragon.



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