Swan and Dragon. Dragon Empire

It was getting dark. Rose went out into the castle courtyard, hoping to see the noisy crowd of servants again. It’s time to listen to their gossip. Commoners always speak bluntly. From them you can easily learn what you cannot get from the nobles under torture. Now Rose was interested in any rumors. If only none of the nobility came down here after her. In the presence of gentlemen, the servants are afraid to open their mouths to forbidden topics.

However, there was no one in the courtyard. The gray light still fell on the paving stones and jagged walls. How old is the royal castle? This question haunted Rose. Is there a more ancient and impregnable fortress in the world than this one?.. They say that there is, but everyone who sees it is doomed by the powerful owner of this citadel to a long and painful death.

A dull hiss broke away from Rose’s thoughts. An unbearable stench hit her nostrils. The princess could not understand what was the matter and where the servants had gone. By evening, everyone crowded around the well. And now there is no one around, only a cracked bucket is lying in the middle of the yard, as if it was left here on purpose.

Rose moved forward swiftly. Heat burst into her face, although there was no fire nearby. Then the heat gave way to cold. Rose wanted to get closer to the well, maybe the reason for all these oddities is hidden in it. The girl took two steps and froze in place. What she saw was incredible.

A thin, golden serpent with wings coiled around the well log. His slippery wet body coiled into rings so that the entire well was braided with sparkling ornaments. Two amethyst eyes stared at Rose. Fragile, golden wings fluttered behind the back. A shining halo surrounded the snake. Rose wondered if his skin was actually molded from gold. If so, it is worth a fortune, not counting the fact that behind the soul of the reptile itself, there are undoubtedly also witchcraft.

Now there was a breath of spring freshness from the well. Rose stared in fascination at the golden guest. The snake was graceful and beautiful, despite its unusual body length, it did not seem bulky or awkward. On the contrary, all movements were simple and sophisticated, like a gallant gentleman.

Smooth, as if doused with precious metal, the head jerked up. The narrow stripes of the jaws parted, revealing a red, forked sting. Cloudy saliva flowed from him, from which poisonous fumes emanated.

Rose, as if paralyzed, stood and waited, not knowing why. Glowing, purple eyes mesmerized from a distance. Smoke escaped from its oblong mouth. The girl involuntarily covered her nose with her hand. The stench that spread through the air was unbearable. Another minute, and the creature on the well would have breathed fire, but then a weak, human voice called out to her highness in the distance.

This voice sounded like deep, stringy sounds. Such is the song to the accompaniment of a viola in the mouth of a tired minstrel.

Sensing someone’s approach, the snake began to tumble, its slippery, sparkling body streamed like a ribbon along the frame of the well and disappeared into a round, stone hole.

Rose could not understand anything. In annoyance, she kicked the bucket lying nearby. It rolled away with a crash, leaving behind a puddle of dirty, green liquid, just like the one that poured from the snake’s sting. It’s good that the snake didn’t spit this poison in her face. In general, it is good that he retreated without burning half of the castle. But just what could this creature be afraid of?

The princess turned around. Not far from her stood the same sad minstrel whom she had noticed in the crowd during the day. He was thin and poor, like all free musicians. A pleasant, swarthy face was slightly weathered during endless wanderings. Short, brown hair was sunburned. The pale blue eyes contrasted sharply with the bright, oriental tan. The young man was about the same age as Rose, but a life full of worries gave his calm gaze senile or even magical wisdom.

A staid and silent boy, obedient to the fate of fate, seemed completely devoid of any human fussiness.

“Did you call me?” Rose asked.

“The carriage is ready, Your Highness,” he reported barely audibly.

Rose wanted to talk to him heart to heart, to ask about the reasons for his sadness and withdrawal. But she said nothing. Why etch other people’s wounds? She must go, otherwise the queen will get even more angry.

“Thank you,” Rose nodded. She looked with apprehension at the well and at that very moment the wreath, as if with an iron hoop, pulled her head down. Pain shot through her brain. You shouldn’t have taken the troll’s gift. There are only troubles from someone else’s generosity.

Rose plucked the wreath from her head. Almost all the flowers in it withered and withered. Quite recently, the petals were fresh and transparent, and now even the green leaves have curled up into dry lumps, as if someone had drunk moisture and strength from them.

“I’ll keep it as a keepsake,” the girl whispered. She felt that someone was invisibly nearby and hears her words. But the young minstrel interrupted these sensations mercilessly.

“You have to go,” he reminded her.

Rose sighed heavily. The hardships of travel await her. When the carriage starts to move, the mystery of the withered wreath and the winged serpent will be left behind along with the castle’s pointed turrets and the bizarre outlines of the fortress walls.

A small retinue was waiting at the castle bridge. Three guards, armed to the teeth, pranced on black horses next to a gilded carriage, tightly closed and curtained.

Groom opened the carriage door for Rose. The last crimson ray slid over the raised coat of arms and intricate carvings. In the next moment, the valley in front of the castle plunged into darkness, cold water flickered, filling a deep ditch.

A young footman ran up to the coachman. His worried face spoke for itself. Rose leaned out the window, wanting to know what had happened.

“Be careful,” the footman warned. He was instructed to report something important, to make a loud and pompous speech, but the frightened boy limited himself to just one phrase. The fatal words sounded quiet and scary.

“A dragon has appeared in the vicinity,” said the footman. The coachman silently crossed himself and checked to see if his sword was in place. Rose, watching this pantomime, immediately opened the carriage door.

“The Dragon?” She asked with undisguised curiosity.

The footman said nothing. He, like a toy, made a bow and rushed back to the castle, as if looking for cover.

The carriage started to move. The battlements and watchtowers were soon left behind. Rosa heard only the clatter of hooves and the rumbling of wheels. To the right of the road were dense, impenetrable forests, to the left lay wasteland. The borders are still far away. You will have to spend two days on the road, because the kingdom is huge, but if you look from behind the clouds, the world will seem miniature, the universe will appear as a tiny kingdom, and people are insignificant prey. And now the road runs like a thin belt between toy trees and flat saucers of rivers, and the luxurious carriage looks no bigger than a pea. Can the people galloping behind her see a huge, majestic shadow among the clots of clouds and night fog?

The wind sings in the heavens, the star rain scatters in the darkness, but does not reach the ground, but goes out in the air. Glittering sparks pour from the golden wings of the flying monster. The people have composed many fairy tales. From time immemorial, mankind has tried to explain the incomprehensible power of magic, but no one got to the bottom of the truth. Let the legends remain legends, and the truth is too terrible for anyone to know about it.

It’s time to forget about honor and valor. Knights of the noble blood also obeyed witchcraft. Magic has unlimited power. It’s time to remember the battle wounds, the oaths of the royal conclave, and the battle in the marble gallery. Time to remember betrayal, time to take revenge.

A FATEFULL BALL

Even in her sleep, Rose began to choke. Opening her eyes, she saw thick, gray smoke pouring into the carriage window. On the velvet sofas and walls, swirling, dense rings were already crawling. Her throat was tight like a stranglehold.

“Hey, coachman!” Rose shouted, but no one responded. The horses were racing at full speed, as if still hoping to overcome the dead zone. Outside the window, nothing was visible except a white, poisonous shroud. Something hissed and groaned on both sides of the road. No animal can make such terrible sounds, no fire can bring such a hellish haze behind it, which slowly spreads along the road, and strangles everyone in its fatal, implacable embrace.

The carriage rushed forward. The escorts barely kept up with it. Gold coats of arms and monograms served as the only beacon in the gray smoke. Suddenly the coachman pulled the reins sharply. The horses snored in fright and stopped.

The white veil faded and dissipated. The air smelled of burning, but breathing became easier. Rose opened the door and got out of the carriage.

If earlier wonderful landscapes were presented to the eye, then what she saw now could only be called primordial chaos. Before her lay the dry, bare ground. Not a blade of grass, not a puddle remained on the ground scorched by fire. To the left of the road was a line of smoking ruins. The wind stirred the ash heaps under the collapsed walls. Wooden buildings burned to the ground, only charred logs were still lying here and there.

Burnout was all around. A woman was sobbing in the ashes. Her loud lamentations were heard.

The guards, galloping after the carriage, exchanged glances among themselves, but were in no hurry to dismount and find out what had happened. Rose told the coachman to wait and walked over to the crying peasant woman. She kept sobbing and wiping her tears with the edge of a chintz handkerchief. She was wearing an old, homespun dress. Unkempt hair matted. The face was swollen and flushed with tears.

Rose didn’t know where to start the conversation. The woman hardly wanted to explain to anyone now. She did not even pay attention to the approaching princess.

“Tell us what happened here!” Rose asked with all courtesy. And since she accompanied the request with a coin, the woman could not refuse her.

“There was a village here yesterday,” she began to babble. “Now look…”

The peasant woman scanned the ruins with mad eyes and burst into tears again.

“Who caused such a disaster?” Rose found the strength to ask.

Instead of answering, the woman raised her tired, frightened eyes to the sky.

“It flew over the rooftops, spewing flames,” she whispered. “Its skin sparkled like the sun. One could go blind looking at it. No dragon can be so beautiful and cruel. I barely had time to hide in the ravine before it breathed fire, and our village burst out like a T-bar.”

Rose listened in fascination. She understood that the peasant woman had lost her mind from fear. In her words, one cannot distinguish truth from delusional fiction.

There was an unbearable burning smell all around. Embers hissed. Remains from the former buildings equaled the flooring of soot and ash. Usually, the enemy’s fiery arrows turn settlements into one huge funeral pyre, but Rose did not really believe in the fact that the flame was expelled from the mouth of the “heavenly ruler”. Of course, it’s not good to be such an atheist, because she personally watched the grandiose tricks of sorcerers who came to her father’s court. However, none of them was able to create a real disaster. All of them only created illusions, but did not harm anyone. It is possible that evil magicians also live somewhere, but they do not dare to act openly. Their territory is enough for them, they do not climb on someone else’s without need.

Rose thought about it and decided that the peasant woman was crazy.

“If at least one castle of the feudal lord survived here, then look for help there,” advised Rose.