Dragon Castle (25 page)

His long steel is aimed at Temny's black heart. His short blade is raised like a dagger to stab down into that vulnerable space between neck and collarbone where a killing strike may sink deep. So sudden, so beautifully lethal is his attack, that it seems for an instant as if it might succeed.

“Cierny vietor!
Black wind!” Those two words explode from Temny's mouth in a harsh cough of breath that expands into a dark-tendrilled cloud. It ensnares Black Yanosh in mid-leap.

Our old weapons master tries to escape, but cannot. The thick dark wraps itself about him, pinning his arms to his sides. He's still holding his blades, but his struggles are to no avail. The inky mass squeezes its charcoal coils tighter, an endless headless serpent.

Temny laughs. Our old teacher's ribs are as stout as oak staves, but under such pressure even strong bones will crack.

Poteshenie holds up her hands, curled as if grasping an invisible ball. Small sparks flicker between her fingertips. She's also about to release something sorcerous.

Something finally comes—as if of its own accord—to my grasp. I yank my right hand from Prince Pavol's pouch and lift the eagle feather that found its way to my questing fingertips. As I raise that plume, it seems too large and perfect to have been in so small a sack.

Pavol's silent voice speaks two words to me.

I repeat them aloud.

“
Jasny vietor!
Clear wind!”

The feather bends in my hand. A buffeting gust bursts forth as if from the wing-stroke of a great bird. It peels the suffocating mass from Black Yanosh, tears it into thin strands of smoke that dissipate and disappear. That same blast, filled with the cleansing scent of a spring breeze, strikes the baron and his wife.

Temny takes a step backward, but braces himself and barely manages to stay upright. Poteshenie, though, is bowled over. She tumbles back, rolls head over heels, and ends up under the great table in an ungraceful heap.

Rather than assist his partner in treachery, Temny ignores her and her inventive string of curses as she struggles to her feet, trying to comb back with her fingers the rat's nest of disarranged hair that has fallen across her face.

Temny's thin-lipped smile seems almost pleased. His hooded eyes focus upon what I'm holding.

“Sooo,” he hisses. “Finally! You've brought me just what I seek.
Dobre!
I knew you would do so, fool. All I had to do was apply the right pressure, no?”

His words send a chill down my back. His plan? He expected me to retrieve the pouch for him? Instead of a hero, have I been the world's biggest fool?

Temny holds out his mailed left palm. “And now I shall recover what was taken from me. Give the pouch to me. Now!” He slowly curls his iron fingers in a beckoning gesture.

His voice had seemed hypnotic before. However, I now realize he was barely trying then. It's as if that steely hand of his has grasped me by the throat, cutting off my breath and pulling me forward at the same time.

And as my traitorous feet twitch and begin to move, I suddenly see it all clearly. Too clearly. Rather than the wise one of our family, I'm the opposite. I have been so proud of being undeceived that I've fooled myself. I've fallen into Temny's trap. He and his wife have experienced setbacks, but not to his larger plan. Unable to enter the cave beneath our castle because the one power he fears is there, he has used me to do it.

If he holds the pouch he can regain all that was stripped from him by Pavol, become the great Dark Lord once again.

I've failed to understand my parents, underestimated everyone else around me. I've imagined myself to be the hero of a story in which I am actually the dupe. Not a knight, but a pawn who has failed his teachers, his family, his great ancestor Pavol, himself. By the head of the dragon!

Temny's stare locks my eyes to his, which are now as red as twin pools of blood.

No one else around me moves. My brother with his raised blade, Teraz and Zatchni in their postures of defiance, Black Yanosh, who fell to the floor after the dark cloud released him, but bounced back to his feet, twin blades at the ready—all of them are frozen in place. They've been paralyzed by the false baron's forceful spell. Even the hosts of Temny's mercenaries seem unable to twitch. It's unnaturally quiet. I can't even hear anyone breathing.

All I hear are my own feet shuffling slowly across the floor, closer and closer to Temny, whose hand is held out in an imperious gesture, whose fingers are about to grasp Pavol's pouch.

“Pod!”
the baron demands. His voice is as certain and harsh as blood and steel. “Come.”

I feel as if I am leaning over the edge of a precipice. I'm struggling against not only gravity, but also a great weight around my neck. It would be easy to overbalance and fall. But I do not.

Powerful as his pull may be, I cannot allow him to drag me forward as much as a hair's breadth. If I do, I'll be lost. I grit my teeth, shift my weight onto my back leg.

Yes, I have been foolish, but not selfish. Temny's evil is strong, but it stands alone, even though he has allies who obey and fear him. He does not have what I have. My brother, who stands by me; my parents, whose love is always with us; my teachers, my new friends, my loyal dogs, and this very place itself, this castle that is rooted in the blood of my family like a tree in deep fertile soil. And Pavol himself.

“Pod,”
Temny commands again. This time his voice sounds strained.

Then, from that place within me, another word comes.

Nie!
No!

I take a breath and feel my lips move, no longer paralyzed by the spell.

“Zosilni,”
I whisper to the eagle feather. “Strengthen.”

The feather grows heavier. It increases in size, becomes more solid and substantial in my hand. I feel a wave of power flow from it into me.

Sweat is appearing on the baron's brow. Even the blood red of his eyes is not as bright. He shakes his head infinitesimally.

Temny relaxes his hand. His spell dissipates around us. Life and motion return to the hall and I hear the intakes of breath, the creak of leather, the soft clank of weapons brushing against armor. Temny's men are moving to attack from behind.

I turn quickly, sweeping the feathery wand like a sword delivering a crossing blow.

“
Rychly vietor!
Quick wind!”

The swift wave of wind strikes Temny's men with such force that it hurls them staggering back, losing their footing and their weapons as they go rolling out through the back doorways.

My two faithful dogs and my other four companions were untouched by the gale from my feathery sword. Recovered from their spellbound paralysis, my brother, our two warrior maidens, and Black Yanosh stand with me. They're all looking at me.

For some reason, they seem to be waiting for me to take the lead.

Ucta and Odvaha too.

What we do now, indeed.

I'm not that sure their trust in me is well-founded. That last gust of wind did not affect either Temny or his two bodyguards, who remain above us on the raised platform. Having regained her feet, Poteshenie is again standing beside her hateful husband. Her lips are moving in a silent spell to call up something else. Heaven knows what.

Further, that was my third request of the powerful object from Pavol's pouch. Magic often runs in threes and then runs out. It seems this feather is no exception. It is shrinking in my hand. Rather than a large feathery wand, it is now something I can hold between my thumb and forefinger. It's no bigger or more threatening than the limp tail feather of a halfgrown chicken.

Think, Rashko! What else was in Pavol's pouch?

I place the depleted feather in the pocket of my tunic and slide my hand into the pouch a second time. This time something long and smooth finds my fingertips.

Black Yanosh lets out a shout and raises both blades. A dark shape has just appeared to stand before him. No, not one black shape. Three more, materializing as if out of the air itself. They are twice the size they were before. Each one is as big as a draft horse. Razor-clawed, sharp-fanged, and hungry for our blood, they're the remaining incarnations of Laska, Poteshenie's little pet.

THE FOUR MONSTER cats spread out around us slowly. They don't seem at all wary of us—even after losing three of their number against just Odvaha, Ucta, and myself. I'm a bit surprised by that. After all, Paulek and Black Yanosh and the two skilled sisters have been added to our side. Perhaps their increased size has made them more sure of themselves.

Then again, their mistress is here, as is the baron—as are his soldiers, who have begun to regather themselves after that wind sent them tumbling. Peklo has left the podium to rally one group of them at the far left of the hall. To the right Smotana is doing the same. No sign of Truba, their herald. Probably hiding safely behind something.

One of the giant cats crouches in front of me. There's a lazy, self-satisfied look in its eyes. Its front paws move up and down as it flexes out its scimitar claws. Its black tail flicks back and forth.

We are ready
, Ucta tells me.

Very ready,
Odvaha adds.

Neither of them seems worried. I wish I could say the same for myself.

Paulek elbows me in the ribs. “I have the one to the left, Rashko.”

“Get ready, Teraz,” I say.

“
Nie
Teraz!” she answers. “Appollina!”

She's not taking her eyes off the second of the crouching monster beasts that is staring at her. If it thinks it has singled out a weak adversary, it's in for a surprise. She's holding up not one but two double-edged daggers. I'm not sure where that additional blade appeared from. Perhaps it was concealed in her boot.

“Appollina,” she repeats, more forcefully this time.

“Appollina?” Is she calling the beast by that name? “What do you mean?”

“
Moje meno je
Appollina,” she says in the sort of voice one uses with the slow-witted. “My name is Appollina.”

Lovely name! Enchanting, in fact. Appollina. Much better than Teraz. Should I introduce myself now? Hello, I'm Rashko? No, she already knows my name. After all, it is our castle and Paulek just said my name and . . .

Stop! I'm smiling and mentally babbling like an idiot. There's no time for that now. I need to act.

I pull out the object that just slid into my palm in Pavol's pouch. It's the white polished wingbone of a goose. Words come to my lips.

The goose bone throbs as if it has a heartbeat. Then it lengthens, grows heavier, shines. A goose bone no longer, it's now a long, silver-bladed sword with a bone handle. I lift it, make a double crossing cut in the air. Perfect!

“Napred!”
I shout. “Forward!”

Odvaha and Paulek leap at the one farthest to our left. Teraz, I mean Appollina, and Zatchni take the one next to it. Black Yanosh and Ucta attack the monster farthest to our right.

I'm alone as I take on the one directly in front. But when one has a long, sharp, swift magical sword, that is a bit of an advantage—even attacking a creature the size of a small house. When a monster is that large, its heart is an equally sizable target. My sword thrust drives deep into the middle of its chest. The giant cat melts away into gray mist.

I turn just in time to watch the conclusions of the other three contests. Ucta has the second great cat by its flank. Black Yanosh's twin blades cross in midair to slash out its throat. A second cloud of mist takes the creature's place. Odvaha's leap has carried him onto the third creature's back. His teeth dig into the back of its neck as Paulek drives his blade so hard into the black horror's side that he breaks the worn blade off. Gray mist again.

Thonk! Thonk! Appollina's dagger sinks into the fourth black cat's right eye as her sister's knife, hurled with equally deadly accuracy, dives just as deeply into its left, piercing its brain. And yet more mist.

Those four gray clouds coalesce, then dart like a frightened bat back to the podium, where the visibly aged Poteshenie opens her mouth and sucks that mist down her throat.

Appollina's sister turns to my brother and directs a wide smile in his direction.

“My name,” she says, “is Valentina.” Her voice, though less lovely than her sister's, is quite pleasant. She then does a little curtsey.

Appollina rolls her eyes toward the ceiling as if to say this is no time for courtly gestures. I wonder if her relationship with her sister is like mine with my brother.

Paulek sketches a bow in Valentina's direction. “I am most pleased to meet you, Valentina, even under these difficult circumstances.”

My brother turns to me, holding up his broken sword. “Rashko, it appears I need a new weapon. Do you have one for me in that magic pouch of yours?”

“Use this one,” a commanding voice intones from behind us.

Paulek turns as Baron Temny steps down from the podium. He's holding a sword in his left hand. Its hilt is bejeweled. Its blade glows with strange markings, runes that spell out some message I cannot read.

Before I can react, Temny tosses his weapon toward my brother.

“Nie!”
I shout.

But Paulek does not seem able to hear me. His right hand thrusts out to catch the glowing sword that spins in midair and settles its hilt firmly in my brother's grasp. The glow flows like water from the hilt into his hand.

Paulek turns slowly to face me. There's a look I've never seen on his face before. His eyes are as red as blood. Behind him, Temny's lids are closed, his right hand held out as if grasping an invisible blade.