Dragon Castle (15 page)

The woman was amazingly adept with an elbow.

 

 

IT HAS TAKEN only a few heartbeats to revisit my memory. I look up at Uncle Jozef.

“I've thought about it,” I say. “About the dragon's treasure.”

“And?” he asks

What else was I supposed to remember?

He remains maddeningly silent. I wait. So does he. Despite my understandable impatience with my family, I actually can be patient when I need to be. But this is like having a contest with a boulder to see who can sit still the longest. I give up.

“What?” I ask with a sigh.

“Ah,” Uncle Jozef rumbles. “Don't you know?”

Do I? Perhaps I do. It's another of the mysteries that hang about the tale of Duke Pavol. Such as his building Hladka Hvorka in a single night. Or his marriage to the mysterious Karoline, who was acknowledged by all as the cleverest and most beautiful woman in the land. And where did she come from? Or the way neither he nor his wife nor even his horse ever seemed to grow older despite the fact that Pavol's blessed rule lasted four decades and a day? Then Pavol and his wife rode off toward the west, never to be seen again.

Of course, as is true in so many old stories about great heroes, the saying in our realm is that when he is truly needed, Pavol the Good will return again.

This mystery, though, is something other than Pavol's disappearance. It's something I have often seen—more or less. It's the object pictured in the center of the vivid tapestry that always most powerfully draws my eye.

It's surrounded by a nimbus of light. Rays of gold radiate from it with such energy that it seems as if it is going to burst into flame. More than once I've been drawn to it, felt impelled to touch it—rather hesitantly. I always half expect it to be as hot to the touch as a kettle heated over a fire.

I look down at my hands, remembering all the times I've tried to grasp that pouch in the tapestry and felt disappointed when it has turned out to be no more than embroidered threads and cloth.

“Prince Pavol's missing pouch?” I ask without looking up.

“Ano,”
Uncle Jozef rumbles, his voice pleased.
“Pozri
. Look.”

I raise my head and see what he is holding toward me. Another scroll. I read the first words:

Pavol was climbing the mountain
.

HE'D BEEN CLIMBING for a long time. It wasn't bad enough that he had set himself a goal that might quite logically lead to his death. True, he'd had better training with a sword than most. But that was against a more or less human opponent. As fine a teacher and as worthy an opponent as Gregor had been, he was not a fire-breathing reptile reputed to be the size of a hill. Confronting a dragon was not something an inexperienced young man such as himself should hope to survive.

In addition to his probably imminent mortality, he also had to deal with discomfort along the way. First there was the merciless heat of the sun on his head. Then there was the difficulty of making his way back and forth along a narrow mountain track that seemed to wend ever upward to the point where his journey now felt as if it had begun when the trees around him were no more than mere seeds in the stony earth.

His disquiet was added to by the small incessant insects, of some species he'd never seen before and thus could not identify when they appeared in great sociable swarms to demonstrate their fondness for humanity. Actually he now did have names for those little blood-suckers, none of which might be repeated in the presence of polite company.

He looked up at the golden eagle that had just come to circle overhead, its head cocked to watch him. How much easier it would be to undertake this quest if he had wings.

Pavol sighed and looked over at what had become his greatest trial, that which made his journey seem totally interminable—his steed. He had set out not astride a horse—which his purse would not have been able to afford even if he had been given a choice—but atop a slow, stunted donkey named Jedovaty.

Jedovaty. Poisonous. A well-named mount.

Jedovaty's lack of a saddle (which Pavol had been too impoverished to lease or purchase) was compensated for by the innumerable bony ridges of his spine. The uncomfortable young man had shifted his weight first from one side and then to the other to no avail. He even tried a sideways stance, both long legs dangling and scraping the ground, in a vain attempt to find a comfortable seat. Finally he had slid off to walk beside the bony beast.

That, however, had not made things easier. Although Jedovaty might have been uncomfortable as a mount, the delightful creature was just as unpleasant as a walking companion.

Indolent, bad-tempered, uncooperative, vicious, stubborn.

Those were some of the many words that Pavol had catalogued to describe Jedovaty's unendearing traits—each vying for first position. If his back was turned, Pavol now knew, the donkey would attempt to sink his yellowed teeth into any nearby portion of the young man's flesh.

The only good things about his current situation were two. First, it was slightly faster to drag his unwilling steed uphill by his halter than to use him as a means of transportation. Second, with his saddlebags on Jedovaty's back, Pavol was still able to use his recalcitrant (another word to add to the list) companion as a burden carrier.

Not that Pavol's burden was heavy. It consisted of a small bag of provisions, a rusted sword, and a much dented shield. The age of each of the latter two well outweighed any ability they had for attack or defense. Pavol had chosen this weaponry with care. No traveler ever went unwatched in their small kingdom since the Dark Lord's reign began. Thus he knew that his departure would be observed by suspicious eyes. But he had learned—been well taught—that to appear ridiculous remained his best defense. A callow lad with laughable armaments might be the target of jests and insults, but not seen as any sort of threat.

“They will say let the fool go seek his doom,” Uncle Tomas had chuckled.

In fact, quite similar words had been spoken by two of the Dark Lord's men when they stopped him on the road that led past the blackened ruins of what had been his family's small but proud castle.

“Where are you going?” they asked, disappointed when a quick search of his pack proved he had nothing worth looting.

“Up the mountain,” Pavol replied with a bright, slightly loony grin. “To meet and defeat the dragon and take its treasure.”

They looked him up and down, sneering at the ignoble steed old Uncle Tomas had helped him choose.

“What's in the pouch?”

“Treasures of great worth,” Pavol replied, opening it and spreading the contents on the ground before him.

The two shook their heads in disbelief. Only a fool would call such things treasures. A shiny stone, a broken bear's tooth, a bent eagle feather, a goose bone, an old iron ring, a worthless necklace, and a tarnished bracelet? They waved him past.

“Let the fool wander off to his doom.” The first of the men, a great straw-haired brute with a scar down his cheek, chuckled.

“If he even finds the great worm,” the second soldier scoffed.

“Fool today, dragon dung tomorrow,” laughed the first.

 

 

AS PAVOL RODE on he thought of how quickly they had dismissed him. The fact that he cut such a silly figure had worked well. If the eyes of the Dark Lord ever recognized him for who he really was, he would give the command that would end the line of Pavol's family forever.

Of course, his current quest might do just that too.

Pavol smiled and shook his head. At the very least, he had accomplished one thing. He was not being prevented from going to risk his life by scaling the dread slopes that even the Dark Lord avoided.

“Intrepid traveler,” Pavol said to himself as he paused to wipe his forehead, positioning a bush between his bruised hips and Jedovaty's bared incisors, “where fareth ye? Questeth thee for adventure, for fair fortune and fine fame?” Then he laughed. “Or, more likely, to prove yourself a fool indeed by taking on this fool's errand.”

Amazingly, despite his nearly complete discomfort, Pavol was not feeling sorry for himself. His ironic laughter at the seeming stupidity of his quest and the likelihood of it proving to be a complete failure, was amused, not bitter.

“Pavol the Foolish.” Pavol grinned to himself once again. He rubbed the bruise on his shin and edged a bit farther upslope from Jedovaty's back legs that were taking aim. The donkey had now come up with another way of demonstrating his total devotion to Pavol's discomfort by employing not only his teeth but also his hooves.

Pavol looked at the clear blue sky above him and grinned even wider. A little breeze had come up and actually blown away all but the most stubborn of the gnats that had been billowing about him in a jovial cloud. The broad-winged eagle that had become their constant observer cried shrilly from above. Pavol brushed away the remaining bugs, then closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.

“What a wonderful day,” he said.

Then, for he was not totally heedless of his own well-being, he opened his eyes and turned in the direction where he had heard a hoof scrape against a stone.

It was loyal Jedovaty, stealthily extending his lanky neck uphill in the hopes of sinking his yellow teeth into Pavol's arm.

Pavol quickly drew his limb out of biting range. He had to admire the little donkey's persistence. He went down on one knee and looked straight at his recalcitrant beast.

“Kamarat,”
Pavol said. “What better thing could we be doing than this?”

Jedovaty drew his head back and stared at Pavol. “Hunnh-ah? You must be joking,” the donkey said. “How about resting hunnhh-in a nice warm stable and eating oats? And since when have hunnhh-I been your comrade?”

Pavol lifted his right hand to his chin in mild astonishment. “You can speak?” he said. “I'm surprised.”

“Hunnnhhh,” Jedovaty replied. “No more surprised than hunnhh-I am that you can listen.”

Despite his transformation from mute beast of burden to conversationalist, Jedovaty's personality had not changed. As soon as he finished that second statement he made a determined lunge toward Pavol's left hand, which had come to rest on a nearby rock. Pavol pulled back just in time to avoid losing a finger or two.

“Are you enchanted?” Pavol asked once he'd slid upslope to a more discreet distance.

“Hunnhh-ah, not that hunnhh-I have noticed,” Jedovaty brayed, slapping his tail at a new swarm of flies that had not yet discovered Pavol's more tasty flesh.

“Then how can you talk?” Pavol said.

“Hunnhh-I might ask the same of you,” the donkey replied. “Perhaps,” he added with what could only be described as a sneer, “hunnhh-I do so by opening my mouth and forming words.”

Pavol was not quite sure what to say next. He'd heard many a tale from Baba Marta of talking animals. However, he had never heard of one being as fluent in sarcasm as speech.

I could ask why he is talking
, Pavol thought.
No, then he will likely just answer that he is talking because he wants to talk. There has to be some way to approach this. But what? This is giving me a headache!

Pavol closed his eyes and lifted both hands to massage his temples with his fingertips.

“Would you like to know why hunnh-I am talking to you?” Jedovaty asked. His less than friendly voice was a little too close to Pavol. Pavol scrambled quickly out of range of what might have been the loss of his left ear.

Even if he starts reciting poetry
, Pavol vowed to himself,
I am not closing my eyes around this donkey again unless he is safely tethered a stone's throw away.

Then he realized that the question asked by his four-footed fellow traveler had been straightforward.

“
Ano,
I would,” Pavol replied, looking the donkey straight in the judgmental eye that was turned toward him.

In point of fact the animal's attitude at that moment brought back to Pavol the memory of one of his childhood tutors, back before the death of his parents in the days when he'd been known as a prince. Magister Utchtel had been the man's name. He was a stork-like scholar who'd viewed his daydreaming pupil with an air of disappointment. Yes, Jedovaty and old beak-faced Magister Utchtel made a fine pair.

The thought of the two of them—donkey and teacher alike—staring down their long noses at him in disapproval brought a broader smile to Pavol's face. Then he realized Jedovaty had not yet responded. Was the beast waiting for something?

Ah,
Pavol thought.
Be polite.

“Prosim,”
he added. “Please. Would you be so kind as to tell me why you have now decided to converse with me?”

The change in approach worked. A somewhat mollified look came over the creature's face.

“Hunnhh-ah,” Jedovaty brayed, “you do have some manners? In that case hunnhh-I will tell you. Hunnhh-I have spoken to you because hunnhh-I do not want to be eaten by the dragon.”

“The dragon!” Pavol said. “How do you know about the dragon? No.
Prepac!
Pardon me. Please continue.”

“I know about the dragon,” the donkey replied, “because my nose, like my brain, is far superior to that of any pitiable two-legs. I can smell it.”

Further, Jedovaty added, that dragon was both hungry and waiting for them. He knew that because—as any intelligent four-legged beast knows—a hungry dragon's smell when it is lying in wait is quite different from that of a dragon when it is unaware of any potential prey, or when it is sleeping, or when it is just sitting for days and weeks at a time and contemplating the shapes of clouds and stones as dragons frequently do.