Graymore is a dragon hunter

Graymore is a dragon hunter

Natalie Yacobson

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

© Natalie Yacobson, 2022

© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2022

ISBN 978-5-0059-4341-5

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Dragons’ Attack

The dragons swooped down on the city again. Graymore sensed them at a distance. Before, their approach had aroused her excitement and she reached for her sword, but today she was angry. The dragon’s swoop ripped her from her magical dream.

She was dreaming about the most beautiful young man in the world. Or was he an elf? It was impossible to tell in the dream. It was as if he was composed of golden fire. Making love to him in the royal bed was like floating in the sky. Except that his kisses burned her lips, and his breath set the canopy on fire. Why is his breath fiery? He himself exudes golden light, but his sighs are full of the usual orange fire. Do elves breathe fire? The young man is definitely an elf! After all, his wings of light are folded behind him. But why are there scales sprouting in his skin?

«Who are you?» she asked. Her voice sounded in her sleep like an echo in a witch’s maze.

The young man did not answer, but a new wave of passion burst forth like dragon’s fire. A mischievous thought flashed through Graymore’s mind: What if he were a dragon-wizard himself, who’d taken on a seductive form and decided to seduce her for revenge? After all, she had defeated so many dragons in fair combat, or lured them into a trap! Could love for a dragon be subtle revenge on a princess who was born with the magical gift of a dragon-hunter?

If it weren’t for the scales and the fire, the young man of the dream could have been called an elf or a spirit of sunlight, about which so many stories were told. His kisses were magic!

The dragons had already taken their revenge on her by pulling her out of paradise. She had to wake up and come down to earth. In the figurative sense, of course! Waking up in the tallest tower of the castle was hardly what she had come to expect. The clouds were a stone’s throw away. Sometimes at night, Graymore could hear the songs of the spirits of the clouds. Perhaps the young man in the dream was one of them.

The sentries on the castle walls sounded the alarm. The sound of the alarm could not be ignored. Another ruler would have called a militia, but Graymore reached for the shirt of mail and weapons stacked in the corner of the bedroom. She always kept her weapons and warrior gear with her.

The dragons usually struck unexpectedly. Now their pelted skins gleamed in the sun like gemstone armor. How beautiful! Graymore had no time to marvel at the beauty of the monsters that attacked her capital. Suddenly the girl was twisted with pain. It was as if fire had swept through all her veins. This is normal! For a sorceress! The princess was considered a sorceress by everyone since she was a teenager because she reacted so sensitively to dragons. No sooner had they reached the borders of her country than she was on fire from within and ready to fight. The dragons’ proximity started a fire in her blood. So why did she oversleep today!

Silver, gold, copper, ruby red, emerald-green, and amber-yellow dragons flew over the city skyline like rainbow shards. They were all enormous flying monsters. The dragon swarms did not approach the city silently at all. The sky trembled with the flapping of their wings. And that thunderous roar was worth it!

«We shall avenge you, bewitched princess, who uses her magic to slay dragons like tin soldiers!» As if they wanted to shout, all they let out was a low growl.

A pack of them! Swords won’t help! Graymore could count more than a dozen mighty dragons in the sky, and she couldn’t see them all. The tower overlooked only the main square.

She must change her strategy! Instead of her chain-mail, Graymore donned a fur-trimmed pelerine and buttoned it up on her way to the fortress walls, where her best archers and cannoneers had gathered.

«Only don’t fire the cannons!» She warned. «Cannonballs will damage the capital, and a dragon is not so easy to hit on the fly.»

Most arrows missed their targets, and when they hit them they bounce off the scales of the dragons with ricochets.

«How could you defeat them if you couldn’t even penetrate their hide with a spear?» The archery commander asked.

«Well, I am enchanted!»

«And they?»

«It would seem that they are too!»

The spear thrown by one of the guards at the green dragon didn’t really do any damage to the dragon’s hide, but it boomeranged back and pierced through the guard who had thrown it.

The smell of blood and guts made everyone sick. This is worse than war! A single dragon attack could take an entire kingdom in an hour. The dragons were already beginning to breathe fire. The town hall and several palaces were ablaze. And dragons are treacherous! They want to smoke out all the humans or burn them. Graymore got the feeling that they wanted to lure her out of the castle alone, so the first thing they did was torch the buildings that were most valuable to her. One amber dragon squinted at her slyly, as if he’d been expecting her.

«I must get you to my lord!» As if he was informing her. «That’s who’ll take care of you!»

The yellow dragon charged toward the towers. Its claws almost caught Graymore, but she dodged them. The dragon grabbed one of the guards, realized his mistake, and threw his burden against the fortress wall. The unfortunate man crumbled. The shattered body was left a hideous mass of shards of bone and bloody bits of flesh. Dragons killed men with ease, but men could do no harm to dragons. The cannon fuses were lit again and again. The cannonballs fired from their embrasures couldn’t even muffle a dragon’s tail.

«We’ll never make it!» Graymore watched as an arrow from an apt archer ricocheted off the dragon’s hide, whistled back, and pierced the archer’s own eye.

Dragons are magical creatures. They can be dealt with not by force, but by magic. Graymore remembered the wonderful net she had woven from special threads and her own hair on the advice of an ancient wizard.

«Give me my net!» She shouted when she saw the commander-in-chief of her armies below, who was standing at the castle gate, unsure of what order to give to the assembled warriors. – Send a soldier on horseback to each end of the city, and have them climb the watchtowers at the corners of the city walls and stretch over the city the net I have woven for defense.»

The commander-in-chief did not want to believe in such a dubious undertaking, but what else could be done. The dragons flew too low, disoriented by the fact that no one could overpower them. They were catching and eating people alive, clawing through the windows of palaces and pulling young ladies out, then crushing their bodies like nuts. Graymore was their target. She could feel it.

The three dragons: red, green, and yellow conspired about something on the fly, rubbed their paws together contentedly, and dashed toward the wall where Graymore stood. It would have taken a minute for them to drag her away, but the net over the city had been stretched earlier. The dragons were caught. All of them!

They were beating at the bottom of the magical net, like caught fish. The net wouldn’t let them fly up, and it wouldn’t let them get away either. The dragons threatened Graymore with clawed paws.

«Cunning is my strategy!» She praised herself. Who else would praise you for your courage? The knights and archers were gloomily silent, until someone clever asked:

«What shall we do with them now?»

«Put them in the cellars,» Graymore commanded.

The cellar was already shaking from the aggression of the dragons they had captured. It was unlikely they would fight for her. She could brainwash them with enchantments. So far, that has not worked. Dragon scolding and cursing could be heard from the cellars.

«My lady, your dungeons are hell with dragon sparks! It’s as hot as an oven!»

Graymore brushed the harsh warrior aside. She knew her cellars were like a cauldron of fire, but the flames didn’t go up the walls. Magic doesn’t.

«Everything will be all right! Trust me! Who else would have saved everyone if it weren’t for me?» Graymore snatched a crossbow from one archer and took aim at the supposed dragon that was flying in from the west. It must have fallen behind the pack. But the target vanished from sight. Where had the dragon gone? Graymore looked up at the skies, which were suddenly overcast. A storm was coming.

«You have angered the dragon gods,» she heard the distant thunder.

She imagines it! Graymore snorted. Where are the gods? The only other knights bustling around were the knights in armor, who had long since become fearful of her. They could not do with an army what she alone could.

For a moment Graymore thought she saw in the towers among the archers the very elf boy she had dreamed of. He looked at her sternly and sadly, as if judging her for something. At the sight of him everything turned over inside her. But he vanished as soon as the storm began. And the fragrant rose on the parapet of the tower remained. Where had it come from? And why did the sight of it conjure up thoughts of dragon claws? What can a lush scarlet rose and sharp dragon’s claws have to do with it?

Ball of Fire

Victory over dragons is celebrated with a noisy celebration. Firecrackers exploded over the city, and Graymore’s heart ached.

She had done something wrong. But what is it? She had forgotten to bind the dungeons with dragon-locked enchantments, or to mutter a magic mantra before she caught dragons. Or had the trapped dragons managed to cast spells on her and arouse her conscience?

The townsfolk put on a dance, and there was a ball going on in the castle. The well-dressed courtiers danced. Graymore sat on her throne and watched the festivities as etiquette dictated.

No fair! The dragons were defeated by her, and others danced. By the unwritten rule of the ancient wizards, the dragon conqueror had to spend the evening of the feast alone. You could watch the ball, but you could not interfere with the entertainment. Stupid rule! Graymore was bored. Before her, only men had been dragon hunters. They could ponder their exploits for twenty-four hours, but she wanted to dance. She excelled as much at dancing as she did at fighting. Her grace was the envy of all.

Graymore paced the curly strands of her long auburn hair that fell from beneath her ruby crown and contemplated the fanciful ceremonial. It had occurred to some long-dead council of wizards to force a dragon fighter into a day’s solitude. A vow of silence for the day was attached. Otherwise the defeated dragon would speak to you and try to enchant you.

Nonsense! How can a captured dragon speak to her? It doesn’t even understand human speech. Or does it? Graymore had the impression this morning that dragons could speak human. Not with their mouths, but with their eyes. Their gazes haunted her: azure, red, orange, emerald. A firework of glittering eyes watched her from every corner of the ballroom.

«A dragon can become your master if you let its charms enter your mind,» the ancient council of wizards dictated. According to their beliefs, dragon’s charms are strongest on the day of capture. After a day they are weakened. Therefore it is necessary to isolate oneself for the whole day. But you can’t put off the feast for 24 hours, alas. Victory over the dragon must necessarily be celebrated on the same day to cement your superiority over the monster.

Her forced vow of silence sent Graymore’s imagination into overdrive. It seemed to her that dragon voices were calling to her from all sides, and that dragon heads hung like masks on every wall.

The pairs twirled in a waltz. The winding music made it difficult to sit still. Graymore nervously unfolded the folds of the sumptuous golden-yellow dress she had planned to wear on Coronation Day, but wore today.

«Oh, my! She’s managed a whole flock!» The ministers whispered excitedly in a corner of the hall and drank to her health. They did not dance either, but they could make toasts, and she would have to sit all evening without parting her lips. It did make her feel enchanted.

«I’m like a statue! I sit there to decorate the throne, and I cannot move or speak!» Graymore thought, and suddenly there were sparks on the wall. They ran down the lambrequin. Only Graymore saw them. For some reason the others didn’t notice. The sparks formed a sort of face or mask on the wall. Its lips moved, but no words could be made out.

«Don’t answer them!» A peculiar bird, with a purple tail as big as a peacock’s, perched on the armrest of the throne. Where did it come from? Was it from the king’s garden or from the park? But there are no such birds there. There are peacocks, swans, ibises, herons, cranes and flamingos, even talking parrots, but there are no small sapphires growing in their feathers. This bird, on the other hand, has precious stones scattered in its feathers, and a violet blooms on its head instead of a crest. What a wonder of a bird! Graymore wanted to stroke it, but the bird dodged.

Human speech came out of the bird’s beak again. It was a warning:

«They will burn everything if you answer them and carry you away from the fire to be sacrificed to the dragon deity. There is only one man who can help you, but he has been forced to take the dragon’s side ever since he himself became covered in scales.»

«Who is he?»

Graymore opened her mouth, and the violet bird squeaked with consternation. Instead of a favor, she pouted. Had it not been for her warning, Graymore would not have broken her daily vow of silence.

«I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Now the garden fairies will be furious with me,» the bird hastily took off, while Graymore was left in a state of heavy contemplation.

She wasn’t bored, though. Fire hissed from the walls. Was the whole castle on fire? Graymore nearly screamed:

«Run for your lives! It is fire!»

For some reason the dancing couples were stubbornly oblivious. The musicians continued to play, the footmen carried trays of champagne, the ministers chattered. No one felt the heat from the blazing walls, but Graymore felt and saw faces in the flames. They were saying something, but their speech was like an echo.

«Damnation! Vengeance! Redemption! Love the one you hunted,» it came to Graymore’s ears.

She was just tapping his scepter on the armrest of the throne, and the obsession vanished. The walls were no longer ablaze, but something strange began to happen to the guests. The dancing silhouettes became fiery. It was a dance of fire, not people. Graymore was even frightened. The dancing flaming figures looked aggressive. They were on fire, but they didn’t burn. No ash fell from them.

Perhaps it’s just imagination again, Graymore judiciously decided.

Indeed, the obsession had passed again. It was already the second in the evening. Perhaps the captured dragons are tempting her. She suddenly felt an unbearable urge to take the keys to the cellars and go free all the dragons. The desire hurt like passion. Graymore could barely contain her impulse.

She needed to breathe steady and think of pleasant things. It is about the next dragon hunt, for example. There! She’s calmed down. Nothing seems to be happening anymore. Her mind is free from foreign spells.

An unfamiliar face flashed into the hall. A slender stranger in a cloak of improvised scales and claw clasps was strolling between the dancing couples. Is he choosing a partner? For some reason Graymore’s heart sank at the sight of him. He wore a mask that mimicked a dragon. But there were many who wore such masks now. After all, the skinned dragons are not available to all, but only to the victors. So others order dragon masks for themselves. It is also a kind of luxury.

The stranger wore expensive jewelry. Even ministers would have admired his rings. Perhaps he was some kind of overseas king. Graymore herself had not yet been crowned. She is tacitly recognized as ruler, since she alone can protect the state from dragons, but her brothers are still alive and settled in foreign lands. Before the coronation, their renunciation of rights to the throne in favor of his sister must be settled.

The stranger who attracted Graymore’s attention may be their messenger. The princess has decided to ignore principles and violate etiquette. Why can’t the winner be allowed to have one dance? It was as if the stranger was waiting and looking for just her.

He said nothing, but it seemed to her that he called out to her.

The few candelabras in the hall and the chandelier went out. A gust of wind that blew in through the window must have extinguished them. The ball continued in the shaded surroundings. No one would even notice that she had broken the rules. Graymore stepped toward the stranger. There was no invitation to dance, but he eagerly put his arm around her waist and spun her around in a dance. This was a dance that Graymore did not know. The steps were too complicated. Sometimes she had to fly above the floor in her partner’s arms. Maybe he was an elf with his wings hidden under his cloak.

«Are you from the northern woods?» Graymore broke the prohibition against talking. It is unlikely that the spirit of a captive dragon had come for her to speak to her on purpose. Most likely she was a winter elf, as the northern woods are full of them. The thickets there are teeming with the harsh but beautiful elves of winter. Since they themselves for their stubborn temperament are not invited anywhere, what could he do but sneak into the ball.

Her partner said nothing. And his hands were not cold at all. Maybe it was the velvet gloves. The gloves threatened to turn into mittens, because sharp golden fingernails protruded from his fingers. They were red-hot to the touch. Graymore even burned herself on them. She guessed her partner wasn’t a winter elf after all. Otherwise he would have brought the cold with him to the castle. But then again, if he were a dragon-agent, the candelabra wouldn’t be extinguished by his approach. As soon as dragon ambassadors arrive or fly in, all the candles are ablaze. Graymore knew this for a fact, for once a dragon-worshipped minstrel was sent to her to declare dragon war. There was fire in the dragon-slave’s eyes. As he spoke, sparks spewed. As he entered the throne room, all the fireplaces and candles flickered, even the pillars. But once Graymore had defeated the dragons and unmasked the minstrel, he was just a shy boy who claimed to have been grabbed by a clawed paw at a dusty crossroads and dragged off into the heavens. That was all he could recall. Before his captivity, he had heard a voice calling to the crossroads, telling him to obey. But dragons can’t talk, can they?

Could her dancing partner speak?

He just picked her up and almost flew above the floor with her.

«You are not one of my courtiers!» She looked closely at the eyes beneath his mask. They were golden as sparks. «You are not a knight, nor an advisor, nor an ambassador! I do not know you.»

«You know me!» The voice beneath the mask resembled a hiss, but it caressed the ear nonetheless.

«And who are you?»

«Suppose I am your conscience.»

«How interesting is it!» Graymore snorted, suspecting something fishy. It is time to call for the guards, for she is unarmed now. Even the dagger she usually wore behind her corsage she had left in her bedroom. She should have known that even on the day of her victory over the dragons there would be danger! Today is her triumph, after all, and an attractive and dangerous stranger leans toward her and whispers as if she has lost.

«I am your conscience! I am your destiny!»

Graymore tore off his mask and screamed. Beneath the mask blazed solid fire. The stranger had no face at all. Only flickers of flame burst from the exquisite jabot, forming a head. The dancer turned into a pillar of fire, hovering above the hall. Graymore fell to the floor as soon as he let her out. There were no burns on her, but it was as hot as the inside of a furnace.

Graymore screamed for so long until the column of fire, formerly a stranger, dissolved into darkness. The candelabra in the hall were lit at a very bad time. Everyone could see that the dragon-winner was screaming in terror. The crowd stared at Graymore in bewilderment.

«Perhaps she’s had too much to drink,» the guests whispered.

«It’s bad luck to scare a dragon maiden on her moment of triumph,» the ministers murmured.

Graymore could hear every rustle and understand the words of any who stood far away. Her hearing was sharpened. It sounded like someone’s magical interference.

The situation was uncomfortable. Graymore jumped up from the floor and hurried out of the ballroom. Outside the windows, the motley lights of the fireworks were still blooming. They resembled heavenly bouquets.

How marvelous that after the deadly dragon fire, the skies above the city were lit with multicolored flames of joy. Graymore did not immediately see the dark dragon’s silhouette, which almost merged with the darkness of the night. The dragon hovered above the towers, displaying its spiky tail as if taunting:

«You won’t catch me!»

Before Graymore could raise the alarm, the dragon vanished into the night.

Enchanted Princess

The events of the feast were delicately silenced. Compromising the future queen was not an option. Well, if it’s not too much to drink! It happens to everyone! Graymore had never had more than a glass of wine in an evening, but who would believe her. She acted like a madwoman or bewitched at the ball.

You can’t blame magicians you don’t even know. Such accusations had been made before. Back in her childhood days, when healers had failed to cure a strange ailment that caused her whole body to burn as if she were being burned at the stake.

Some sorcerer had bewitched her. So it was said, at any rate. Was it rumor or truth? Where did the frail girl get her strength when it came to fighting dragons? Where did her magical instinct for approaching dragons come from? If she is not enchanted, then there is no explanation.

She was probably enchanted out of goodwill. The internal fever that heralded the approaching dragons could be considered a curse. But the gift of defeating monsters was itself a blessing. It was probably the gift of some good fairy who had decided to protect the whole country. Livellin had been besieged by dragon packs for centuries. The kingdom bordered the mountains on all sides, where in all likelihood, there were dragon nests. Somehow the neighboring countries suffered less from dragon’s raids. Dragon’s raids happened to them once or twice a year. But to Livellin, dragons were drawn like a magnet. What do they all want here?

«They want you!» A small voice inside Graymore’s mind prompted.

Probably some joking spirit spoke to her. Graymore brushed the voice aside.

She could also have been summoned in this way by a court wizard. Though the Council of Magicians had long since been banished, and there was still one powerful wizard in the castle, Gryamore would not consult him now. He would appear before him, and in a mentor-like tone he would begin to instruct her in the right thing to do. All his advice took the form of orders.

Once she was officially crowned queen, Graymore would not let anyone else tell her what to do. She would change the rules at Livellin’s court as she saw fit, too. There will be no more days of stupor after defeating a dragon.

She proved at the ball that it is possible to break a condition and still not be caught by captive dragons. She wasn’t being guided by any of them right now.

«You’re so sure of that?» The cryptic voices sounded as if they were coming from the cellar, but dragons can’t talk.

Graymore knocked the goblet of wine to the floor. She must not drink another drop of spirits! It’s time to switch to milk and fruit nectar. Milk and fruit nectar would never get you drunk. The wine poured out red on the marble floor, a reminder of blood.

A dragon’s face was in the pool. Graymore flinched, glancing toward the window. There was no dragon hovering outside. She shuddered as if a dragon had gotten cocky enough to peek through the window and reflect in the spilled wine.