Dragon Castle Read Free Page B

Perhaps it would not be that bad. Then, when it was safe again, he could return to his home and his family.
    A tall ancient pine rose from the top of the hill. The stubs of its dead lower limbs were like a ladder. He had climbed it often before. Despite his fatigue he struggled his way up it again. More than once he almost lost his grip and came close to a deadly fall. He paid no heed as his clothes caught and tore on sharp branches, as his fingernails broke and his bleeding palms were blackened by resin and bark.
    His breathing was ragged and painful as he reached the top, wrapped one arm around the trunk, and parted the green-needled branches aside so that he could see. His home lay there in the heart of the valley. It seemed, from this distance, a small structure made from a child’s blocks. But the black cloud that now loomed overhead was still large. It glowed and flickered as if it were a living thing threaded with fire.
    In front of the castle a mass of black ants seemed to have gathered, waiting behind one mounted figure that stood a long spear cast ahead of them.
    â€œThe Dark Lord,” the boy whispered. Far as it was from him, that figure was amazingly clear. Though it was impossible from his great distance, it seemed as if the boy could make out the arrogant features of the man’s face, see the sneer on his lips.
    Now, the boy thought, he will call for our surrender and it will be over. Perhaps he and his parents would have to live as peasants or servants to their new ruler. But that would not be so bad if they could just be together.
    However, such was not to be.
    The Dark Lord raised his hand, his palm glowing as if it were a burning brand. He lowered it and great gouts of lightning came pouring down from the black cloud.
    Every bolt struck the castle. By the time the great roar of thunder reached the shocked boy in his tree, it was over. St’astie Dom was gone, obliterated, wiped from the face of the earth along with every living being within its walls.
    The boy let go his grip and fell.

CHAPTER TWO
    The Invitation
    ON TOP OF my father’s dresser?
    As I start to rush away I think I hear Georgi mumble under his breath.
    It stops me in my tracks. “What was that?” I ask.
    â€œNothing, young sir,” he replies, “just clearing my throat.”
    Georgi’s face is composed, devoid of any expression other than his usual readiness to please. I believe, though, that he did say something. Was it that old proverb I’ve never understood? “Pity the one whose heart is bigger than his eyes”?
    I hardly pause as I pass the great tapestry that tells the story of our mighty ancestor Pavol. Usually, whenever I start to walk past it, it stops me and I study it for long minutes, feeling that somehow its mysterious weave holds a special message meant for me alone in its images of Pavol, the mighty dragon he defeated, his magical pouch, and all the other rather curious figures—including armed men, revelers at a feast, and some sort of fair with Gypsy jugglers and the like.
    But not today.
    I pound up the four flights of stairs, reach the open door that leads into the royal chamber. The first thing I notice is that the bed is still unmade. Then, as I take a few steps into the room, I see, just beyond the bed, a dust cloth left in the middle of the floor. Strange. Though they come from overly devout and underly imaginative parents, Grace, Grace, Grace, and Charity, the four sisters who are our chambermaids, are neat as pins. They never fail to make our beds and would not dream of leaving cleaning things lying about.
    Then my eyes discern something stranger. It shimmers from atop the largest chest of drawers to the left of the bed. It’s a smooth subtle effulgence of light. None of the flickering one would see from a candle. I step slowly toward it.
    Why am I thinking of a moth being attracted by a flame?
    I stop short, lean forward to study it.
    Though I’ve peered in