Swan and Dragon. Dragon Empire

“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.

“Yes, I need to go for cover. The fortress is not so easy to burn down,” the woman was delighted. “And you hurry to the shelter before it’s too late!”

She too harshly underlined the last words, as if warning the princess herself. Rose was not impressed. It was only on the way back to her carriage that she suddenly remembered the footman who had brought the terrible news and the golden snake. It is necessary to ask the retinue about this, but all accompanying persons are silent, like idols. Apparently, the guards received clear instructions from Odile not to enter into negotiations with the princess, whom they hide and take away in a closed carriage from some punishing, unknown force.

The small detachment set off again. The smoky shroud that enveloped the road and the stinking ashes were left behind. Soon the scorched forests and fields disappeared from view, replaced by the former fragrant nature.

The gentle voice of the lady-in-waiting was overflowing with nightingale trills. She was sitting on a bench by a flower bed and sang some kind of romance, accompanying herself on the harp.

Rosa noted to herself that Mara’s dwelling resembles a mirage. Its lands were small, but fertile. Their mistress was engaged in trade with overseas rulers and received considerable profit from this, but she did not keep troops with her. It’s amazing how the invaders have not yet turned their gaze to its tiny state. All of Mara’s entourage consisted of court ladies, young aristocrats and numerous guests who stayed with her for a year or two, and then were replaced by new guests.

It seems like a scandal broke out last year. Several distinguished guests disappeared without a trace. They were searched everywhere, but they were never found. Someone accused Mara of a villainous murder. Then this brave man died under strange circumstances, and her title, wealth and surviving friends became Mara’s protection from evil tongues.

The magnificent chateau was surrounded by a huge park. The gazebos were drowning in flowers. The gardeners were not visible. The main facade was decorated with intricate stucco molding. The atmosphere of joy and harmony was spoiled only by the windows hung with blackout curtains. It is unlikely that even a single ray of light could penetrate the heavy, mourning-colored material. Subsequently, the servants explained to Rose that their mistress does not like daylight.

Many of the guests were still rested. Rosa despised such laziness, but since her cousin preferred an idle lifestyle, then no one had the right to tell her. There was no one in the chambers draped in silk and multi-colored twill. Luxury accompanied a strange loneliness. It seemed that the inhabitants of the chateau hibernate all day and wake up closer to the night to get to a feast or carnival.

The young page accompanied Rose to a small bedchamber, claiming that all other rooms were already occupied. The girl with difficulty pushed back the heavy curtain and let the light into the room. Sunbeams immediately danced on the panels. A barely audible groan broke the silence, as if the rays of the day had burned someone who was invisibly present in the bedroom. Footsteps rang out, the traces of two small feet were imprinted on the fluffy carpet, and the door opened by itself.

Rose tried to shake off the obsession, but moans still came from the corridor. Obviously, the light caused unbearable pain to the invisible being. Has the cousin decided to put a spy on the princess? Not. The very guess seemed ridiculous to Rose. Mara knows nothing about witchcraft.

The bedroom became light and comfortable. The atmosphere of evil left her along with the invisible spy. There is hardly any room left for a secret passage or a sliding wall. The whole room was filled with furniture. There is an embroidery frame by the window. This item seemed completely useless to Rosa. She had no intention of doing needlework. The table with curved legs served as a decoration rather. Nobody thought of putting writing instruments on it. Nearby are a rosewood wardrobe and chest of drawers. In the corner stood a screen painted with pastoral scenes. A lilac canopy with silver trim hung over the colossal bed.

Rose brought about a third of her wardrobe with her. But even her clothes could not match the chic of this setting. Rose wanted to pull the comb out of her travel bag, but instead she found a wreath of forget-me-nots exuding a wonderful scent.

For a moment, the girl was numb with surprise. After all, last night she put a dried wreath with crumpled petals in this bag, and now the flowers are fresher. Dew drops were heavy on the tiny, blue cups. The troll’s gift regained its original appearance and gained new strength over a long night. Forget-me-nots needed neither food nor water, but at the same time they radiated tangible energy and created a protective barrier around their owner. By the will of the donor, they became a talisman.

Rose put the magic item on the table and went to the window. There was a great view of the park from here. The maids of honor played music in the oak alley. They will entertain guests with their flutes and harps in the evening. Water gurgled in the fountain. From a height, the shoots of petunias and gladioli appeared as a palette of bright colors. Peacocks walked across the grass, from time to time letting loose their colorful, patterned tails.

“Autumn is coming,” Rose whispered, addressing the void of air.

The girl pressed her face against the glass in an unconscious desire to get closer to the mother-of-pearl butterflies fluttering from flower to flower. Immersed in dreams, she closed her eyes and heard a terrible, disturbing whisper right above her ear.

“Don’t be afraid,” a quiet, heartfelt voice said, “the worst will come only in winter.

“What?” Rose perked up. She realized that she was no longer alone, that there was someone on the other side of the window. This someone is talking to her. The princess opened her eyes. Her lips parted in surprise, but she could not utter a word. Behind the glass hovered that flexible, coiled snake. Not even a snake, but a miniature dragon. His eyes sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow. The wings glittered, and behind them stretched in an instant the darkened celestial sphere. Rose waited for the intruder to say something else in her bewitching, melodious voice, but he was silent.

Rose pressed her hot forehead to the glass. She wanted to ask her mysterious acquaintance about something, but her tongue did not obey her. She reached out with her hand to the golden scales, and touched only the glass partition. Unreasonable tears choked the princess. She saw how white smoke envelops the sparkling silhouette and the serpent itself slowly escapes from sight, returning back to its magical world.

Outside the window was again a marvelous landscape. Butterflies filled the garden. Yellow lemongrass nestles on the window ledge. And the winged serpent was gone. Rose froze in place like a mannequin. An aching feeling of loneliness arose in her heart.

As soon as it began to get dark, the door to the room swung open noiselessly. At first it seemed to Rose that the figure that appeared on the threshold was surrounded by a black cloud and did not allow her feet in ridiculous, crimson shoes to touch the ground.

The vision vanished instantly. Mara strode into the room with a stubborn, arrogant gait. A dress embroidered with satin flowers and beads could not brighten up the pointed features of her face. On the contrary, artsy fashions added a repulsive arrogance to her shortcomings. The desire to stay on top in front of everyone has become a kind of mania for the mistress of this palace.

Mara shook a shock of red hair, the headband sparkled with the smallest emeralds, softening the bright redness of her hair.

Rose had to listen to enthusiastic greetings and compliments. Not a single word from Mara was sincere. The fire-haired cousin could boast of wealth, but not honesty. But she boldly poured out pleasantries. Her narrowed brown eyes wandered beside the sofa in the stone alcove and unpacked luggage.

“I’m glad you got here safe and sound,” Mara said, drawing out every word. Her chatter now resembled a chorus to some intriguing ballad.

“You know that several villages have been burned to the ground. And around the burnt earth a poisonous mist settled. The fauna wastes away at the behest of the dragon. Gnomes are hiding underground. The elves are more fortunate, they have holes. But the peasants are doomed to perish. Mara paused and gave her companion a sly smile.

“You have nothing to fear here, my dear,” she continued. “For those who are within the walls of my chateau, I guarantee complete safety.”

Mara walked over to the piled-up belongings in the corner and pushed open the lid of a massive wrought-iron chest. Rose did not even notice how it was brought in along with her own things. The heavy, copper-plated chest was completely unfamiliar to her.

“I want to give you a present,” Mara announced, and drew a sparkling ball gown from the copper void. The glitter emanating from the flowing matter dazzled the eyes. Rose ran her hand along the lush cascade of brocade skirts and immediately recoiled, as if she had skinned her fingers. A strange coincidence struck her. The dress was golden. After the peasant’s story, only the sight of gold could cause nausea and fear, and the reminder of a flying snake was identified with secret and magical darkness. What kind of inexorable fate could connect links in a chain of strange and exciting events?

Rose turned her gaze to her cousin. Now Mara looked like a pale moth. If it were not for the red plait of hair intertwined with a thread of pearls, then this arrogant lady would not be more beautiful than the deceased. Even in her heavy, smoky outfit, she looked splinter-thin. Long, tenacious hands gripped the gift like a deadly amulet. The garment was accompanied by a headdress in the same style.

“You should wear this to the ball tonight,” Mara said in a hushed voice. She handed Rose a dress and headed for the exit.

“At five to twelve we are waiting for you in the hall of mirrors,” she explained in an indisputable tone. Mara paused at the door. The light of the lamp fell on her face, outlined thin cheekbones. A deathly pale brow was covered with a rash of freckles, and her mouth curved into an avid, cruel grin. In the next moment, the cousin slipped out of the room like an ethereal ghost.

The door slammed shut behind her with such force that the hinges creaked and groaned. Each wall in this building resembled a living, mythical creature. Each window casement here had eyes that closely watched the newcomer. But as soon as one turned around and the walls turned to stone again, and the spirits living in them imperceptibly laughed at their accuser.

Rose stood in the middle of the room, clutching a gift, and shadows flickered and waltz around her. The gold brocade burned her fingers. The enchanted bedroom walls whispered among themselves.

Sharp beams of light danced across the polished table top. But the wreath was no longer on the table. Together with it, the otherworldly force disappeared, by order of the troll hiding in flowers and protecting the princess.

As midnight drew near, life awakened in the chateau. The guests dressed up and floated out of their chambers, as if resurrected from the underworld. If at the height of the day it seemed to the princess that this palace was uninhabited, now she could only be surprised at the abundance of dressed up and arrogant gentlemen crowding at the front stairs and passages. Footmen in colorful liveries pushed aside and fastened the curtains with ribbons. And outside the windows in all its splendor appeared the starry sky.

Sunlight had no right to enter the palace premises, and the night here enjoyed special privileges. Windows were specially opened for her, as if she was an honored guest and patroness of local entertainment.

Rose walked through the suite of rooms and found herself in a kind of gallery. Dim pointed stars gazed silently at the girl from both sides through the Gothic windows. No matter how much Rose looked at the dark firmament before, she had never seen such bizarre constellations. A terrible guess flashed through my head. The bizarre interweaving of stars condones witchcraft, which is why they seem ridiculous in comparison with other luminaries. And they appear exclusively over the dwelling of a sorcerer or a person against whom witchcraft is directed. So, in the chateau, someone is either initiated in the wisdom of the forbidden sciences, or incurred the hatred of an evil wizard and thus deserves a magical punishment.

Suddenly a cold, dank wind whipped Rose across the face. The princess was even indignant. Whatever tricks the sorcerers do, and winter winds should not be allowed to walk through the summer expanses. Rose inhaled the frosty air, and it burst from her mouth in warm steam. Steam floated across the floor and surrounded the girl’s figure in white clouds. But she hurriedly tore herself out of the white ring and walked away.

Miracles like winter winds in summer and frightening constellations usually don’t bode well. Rose was afraid that her hearing was about to pick up another vibration in the wall or a low, malicious laugh emanating from the void, but this time nothing of the kind happened. Where a company of people gathered, the self-willed walls instantly stopped whispering, as if they had turned into a rumor.

It was rather difficult to navigate in the luxurious maze of halls and guest rooms. Rose lost her way, turned into a narrow corridor and found herself in a dead end. There was only a rickety spiral staircase that led to a round, flaky door at the very top. Bolts protruded from the rusting railing. The steps creaked. And the dirty, shabby door was tight against the wall. Such squalor was inappropriate among the surrounding tinsel and lush decoration. Why was this staircase not repaired and the door not painted? Mara could buy any trinkets and jewelry, she could give her home a fabulous look, and she didn’t even deign to clean up one single corner in the palace.

On the steps were dry leaves and scraps of woolen cloth. The servants didn’t even bother to throw this trash away. Maybe someone brought here dried tulips and gnawed fish bones on purpose. All this was like some kind of mysterious ritual. Rose wanted to go upstairs and see what was hidden behind this door. She had already stepped on a shaky step, but then out of nowhere emerged two agile pages and blocked her path.

“Don’t go there, lady!” One of them whispered. His face looked like a boy of about seven years old, but his voice sounded hoarse and capricious, like a sick old man.

Both pages were delicate and fragile, like two wax candles. The loose sleeves of their suits dangled like torn sails. The strange green caps gave the boys an inhuman appearance. Mischievous eyes betrayed a bully, but at the same time the shifted, bushy eyebrows on the children’s faces spoke of the evil disposition of these guys.

Rose ignored their warning and wanted to step further, but the second page, with the speed of lightning, found himself a step higher than the girl and blocked the narrow passage.

“You can’t go there,” he croaked. His voice sounded even more disgusting than the first.

“Why?” asked Rosa, straightening up to her full height and showing by her appearance that here she is the mistress, and not some dwarfs.

Two kids in green caps immediately realized their mistake and forgot about the impudent tone.

“They have been waiting for you at the ball for a long time,” the first page sang in a sugary, honeyed voice.

His companion unceremoniously grabbed Rosa by the arm and pulled her away from the stairs. The princess barely had time to turn around to look at the mysterious door, kept like a forbidden passage to another world, before the quick pages carried her into another corridor, away from the temptation to reveal other people’s secrets. Rosa never ceased to be amazed at the insolence of these disgusting mischief-makers. How are they just kept in the service? Mara should be reprimanded

“Leave me alone!” Rose shouted at them as soon as the ballroom doors appeared ahead. She snatched her hand out of the firm, but far from friendly, grip and walked swiftly forward along the carpet. Her steps echoed in the confined space of the corridor. The lamps on the walls alternately went out, warning the approach of the girl. The candles in the candelabra were extinguished, and the beauty in the golden dress illuminated the approaching darkness by itself. Rose’s emerald eyes took on a feline shine in the shadows. Classic eyebrow arches curved over them. The shoulders of the princess were striking with whiteness and grace. The hair flowed in a dark waterfall from under the enamel hoop. Relentless rock hovered over a beautiful head. If a magician was here, he would have seen a slender, radiant lady hurrying to the ball, and the angel of death flies behind her, rustling with black wings.

A chamberlain stood at the sash doors with a list of guests. He smiled ingratiatingly. Flattery showed in his speeches.

Rose turned around and saw two little pages at the other end of the corridor. They boldly met her gaze and quietly, maliciously laughed.

The tall grandfather clock by the window showed a quarter to twelve. The chamberlain crossed out one of the names on the list, and the doors to the hall immediately swung open by themselves.

“It wasn’t without magic,” thought Rose. She spread the bucked sleeves of her dress and stepped over the threshold. The doors immediately closed behind her, like a prepared trap.