Dragon Castle (22 page)

Still holding the bear tooth, Pavol lifted his right hand, displaying the bronze bracelet about his wrist.

“Your magic is no use to you against me,” Pavol said in a soft voice. “Would that it had been the same for my innocent parents.”

He pointed at the Dark Lord with the tip of the bear tooth.

“By the head of the dragon who now guards this land, I take from you all that gives you strength.”

At those words a wind came up, as if rising from the earth itself. It swept over the Dark Lord and his host of men, hurling those who were mounted from their horses, knocking those who stood off their feet. Strong as that wind was, it did not even stir the hair of Pavol or the mane of his mount as they stood there, unmoved. That wind blew and blew, blew as the sweet spring wind does that comes from the south to melt the last of the winter snow. And when it ceased at last, all of the Dark Lord's army were no longer there, swept away like soot by a chimney sweep's broom, not destroyed, but scattered to the four directions with no memory of who they were or what they had done.

Only the one who had been the Dark Lord remained, much diminished now in size, bent and stooped over, his right hand that had wielded such power shriveled to the size of a monkey's paw.

He looked up at Pavol with an equal mixture of anger and fear, cringing as he waited for the word or stroke of a weapon that would end his existence.

Pavol calmly put the bear tooth back into the pouch, tied it, and then studied the shrunken being who had once been a figure of dread.

Pavol shook his head. “I will not begin my reign with a death, even yours.”

“Too bad,” Pavol's horse said.

Pavol leaned forward and patted its neck.

“Nie,”
he continued, pointing at the one who had been the Dark Lord. “Instead, I send you off to wander and think of all that you have done. If your dark heart can find kindness, it may heal.”

“Not likely,” Jedovaty added.

Pavol nodded, a firm look on his face.

“If not, then your evil will fester within you, eating at you like a worm in a fruit. Go now, and know that if you ever return, one who guards this land will be waiting. And with your second coming there may be no mercy. Now go.”

And with those words, the shriveled figure that had been the Dark Lord was gone.

And Pavol's long and blessed reign of justice and peace was begun.

I PUT DOWN the scroll, thinking of all that it has shown me.

One who guards. I have to be that one.

I reach for Pavol's pouch. As my fingertips touch it, I hear what sounds like a heavy exhalation of breath from somewhere behind me in the deepest shadows of the cavern. I do not turn to look. I expected that sound. I pick up the pouch. Its weight is not great. However, as I lift it and put the cord around my neck so that is hangs down against my chest, I feel something settle upon me and within me.

My whole body feels the tingling power still held within it. And I understand, accept who I am. I am Rashko, but I have always also carried someone else within me. And now that consciousness is waking. Am I ready or worthy to be this generation's . . .

The thought that touches my mind is not from either Ucta or Odvaha. It is a bigger, breathless voice. It's deeper, colder, infinitely older. I do not turn to face the direction from which it comes

My answer must be honest. I don't hesitate to give it.

A shadow looms over me. I feel a gaze that does not just stop at my skin. It goes deeper, into the place where Prince Pavol lives within me.

“Dakujem,”
I say out loud.

I feel as much as hear that great voice harshly hiss a reply.

The dragon's presence slowly recedes. But another voice speaks.

I stand and wait. I have this unexplainable feeling that something else is about to come to me. I'm not sure what it is, but I know that I must continue to wait. I remain like a tree rooted into the living stone.

I'm not alone.

Ucta and Odvaha have ignored my request. They're on either side of me, leaning into me, steadying me.

It is a good thing that they do. Though it comes slowly, when it does arrive it is with such force that it almost knocks me off my feet. It's a great wave of awareness.

Hladka Hvorka is no longer just above me and around me. It is within me. All of it, all of them. The hill, the great cave, the castle, Pavol the Good, and every generation of my family that followed in here.

I sigh deeply.
Ano.
I accept it.

I am too young for this. I still don't know if I have the strength and the knowledge to accomplish what I must now. But I accept who I am. I am the one who must thwart the Dark Lord this time.

But I cannot do it alone. I need all the help I can get.

As that thought comes to me, a window seems to open before me. I look through it and see, once again, the silver ballroom, the elegant figures of the Fair Folk, the solid shapes of Father and Mother among them. My parents turn their heads. They see me. They smile, and then those smiles widen as their eyes drop to the pouch that hangs around my neck.

“Rashko,” my mother remarks, “how nice to see you this way!”

“Well done, son.” Father beams.

Then they both nod and wait. The looks on their faces seem much the same as the expectant expression that comes to Uncle Jozef whenever he believes I'm about to solve some hard problem he's posed for me.

Or is Father just getting ready to quote one of his meaningless proverbs? Perhaps the one about the salmon always knowing the way to its own brook?

“Otec, Matka,”
I say. “Hear me. Come home now. We need you.”

“We'll be there soon,” Father says, without even a hint of a proverb. “In the meantime, trust yourself.”

“And trust your brother,” Mother adds.

And that is all that I have time to say. The window vanishes. There's only the wall of the cave before me. I only hope they've understood. I look down at Ucta and Odvaha.

Now,
I agree.

We turn and start walking. It takes a long time, but when we come at last to the great door it seems too soon. I'm not ready. However, it's too late to turn back. I take a deep breath and shout the words.

The big door opens. We pass through. It closes behind us.

Now to go upstairs and see what will happen next. Shall I take the narrow, winding passage that leads to the door concealed behind the tapestry?

Or shall I just walk over to this smaller door to my right? It opens onto a straight set of stairs up the great hall. My mother never uses this simpler, more direct route whenever we descend to our secret treasure cave. But she sees nothing wrong about going back up the easier way, weighed down as we usually are by soon-to-be distributed wealth.

The most obvious approach to your enemy may be the one he least expects.

We pass through the right-hand door. As the three of us climb the wide, straight stairs, I see through the embrasures that the sun has moved far across the sky. Much of this new day has passed. Once again, the clock has played tricks on me. It must be close to the evening meal. There's been more than enough time for Baron Temny and Princess Poteshenie to consider any number of imaginative ways to deal with me—all of them fatal.

To my considerable surprise, when I reach the top and open the heavy door to our great hall, I am confronted by neither spells nor daggers. A grand party is in full swing.

A party?

A party, indeed. It is nothing less than a wedding party with my besotted brother as the groom—or should I say victim?

“Isn't it marvelous, Rashko?” Paulek says to me. “I'm to be married tonight! They made all the arrangements for me! Come.” He yanks my arm. “Take your place by my side.”

“Paulek,” I say, Ucta and Odvaha by my side, “this is not a good idea.”

I'm talking about his impending wedlock, but he misunderstands me. He looks down at our two faithful friends and pats their heads.

“You are right, little brother. Bringing Ucta and Odvaha into the hall just now would not be good. The princess has her little pet with her.”

Rather than argue, I decide to agree with him. I need to spend my energy convincing him he's making a terrible mistake.

Wait,
I tell them.

So my two allies step back and allow the door to be closed, shutting them outside.

Paulek leads me toward the raised platform that has been erected at the back of our hall and has been garishly decorated with streamers of silk and lit by tall iron braziers topped with candles. The baron is waiting there, seated in his raised chair. To his right and slightly behind him is the bride-to-be. Her poisonous pet in her lap, the princess wears a falsely demure self-satisfied smirk. Paulek sits down on her other side, a delighted and innocent smile on his face.

“Ah,” the baron says, his voice oily. “The brother of the groom at last.” His sardonic smile shows just how certain he is that I've been checkmated. Temny lazily gestures to the chair at his left. “Do take your place, my lad.”

If I sit there, he'll be between me and Paulek. So I do as he says. I take my place, picking up the heavy chair and carrying it over to thump it down in the space to my brother's right.

Temny is not pleased, but he makes a small gesture with his left hand. Immediately his two captains, Peklo and Smotana, move over to stand behind me. They're well armed and both grinning like jackals.

I look out at our hall that is filled with more people than I've ever seen here before. Many of them are among the better-off in our valley. Tradesmen and women, merchants, farmers who own large plots of land. There are equally as many faces that I do not recognize. They must have arrived from outside our kingdom during my absence. They're easy to distinguish from our people by their avaricious expressions. The eager expectation on the fat countenances of Temny's friends and supporters is like a gathering of cats surveying a meadow full of mice. They've come to join him in sucking the life from our land.

Among them are two dozen or more of Temny's other men who seem just as happy. Well and conspicuously armed, they lounge about with cups of wine in their paws, delighted to be present for my brother's imminent marriage. Too imminent. Paulek has just whispered to me that the ceremony is to take place at the end of this very hour.

I look around the crowd again. One face is conspicuously missing—Georgi's. As majordomo he should be here, there, and everywhere making certain that all goes well. Has something been done to him? Have they recognized that he too cannot be fooled or misled by magic? Did they discover him lighting that lantern in the high room of Hladka Hvorka? Is he somewhere in chains? Is he even still breathing?

Paulek's face is glowing. He still hasn't asked where I've been all this time. Perhaps he's been so bespelled by the princess that he never noticed I'd been gone. He gestures at the garish way our hall is decorated.

“Wonderful, no?”

“Nie,”
I reply. “No.”

He turns to look at me. Is there a different look in his eye, almost one of agreement with me? He opens his mouth as if to reply—then his attention is caught by the sound of music entering our hall.

“Look, Rashko!”

A group of male and female dancers, dressed in the traditional wear of our valley, swirl in front of us. Usually, like Paulek, I'd be enjoying this. The red and gold embroidery of the women's skirts and aprons, bright, fine-stitched designs that represent flowers and trees and the arch of the rainbow, would usually delight my eyes. I'd be admiring the fur-trimmed vests of the men, the broad, tooled-leather belts, the tilt of their wide-brimmed hats topped with eagle feathers.

Under normal circumstances, my feet would be tapping with the beat of the men's black-booted feet. My heart would be lifted by the rhythms of the drum, the skirl of the long-horned bagpipe. I'd be joining in the song. It's one of my favorites, about the small cold streams that come down the mountains, to join the rivers and dance to the sea.

But not today. Not for this party!

“
Ano,
Rashko!” Paulek exclaims.
“Dobre! Dobre!”

The dancers make one more circle, one final turn, then stomp and shout to signal the dance's end. They wear the smiles of practiced performers, but I suddenly realize how much those smiles are for show. There's uncertainty on the dancers' honest faces. As they try to make their way out of the hall, one or two of them catch my eye with looks that seem to be pleas for help.

They're attempting to exit as far as possible from Temny's men. Several of his mercenaries move to stop the youngest women in the troupe. It's not innocent flirtation on their minds as they grab at the women's dresses. Captain Peklo steps forward to watch the little drama. One of his armed men looks up toward the platform. Peklo nods and makes a small hand signal of assent.

My brother seems oblivious to all of this. He's too busy right now looking over his shoulder at the princess, who's drawn his gaze to her with a little movement of her hand, like a puppeteer pulling strings.

I reach down to touch the back of Ucta, who normally would be resting to the right of my legs. I don't find the reassuring thickness of his fur and his warm heavy-muscled shoulders. The space is empty where he normally lies. Nor is faithful Odvaha there to my left.