Dionela [https://i.imgur.com/7tkHGG5.jpeg]
- Do you even think about who you give freedom to?
- A captive wild woman. Or are you some kind of creature hiding under this image?
- A wild woman? - Dionela grinned. - Let’s say so. What if you freed an evil witch and now, as soon as she puts herself in order, she will turn the country into dust?
-I don’t believe you, — I objected, and I shook. After all, her words could be true. But I acted with the best intentions. I didn’t want to harm anyone.
- You are a kind person, such people do not live long in our world. You came here from afar and are not familiar with our world.
Dionela's words surprised me:
- Do you have the gift of reading other people's thoughts?!
- Not in that way. I judge by behavior. You didn’t bother shaking over the coins, although every person living here would have thought ten times before giving away money. But does he need to buy the giant just to let him go? For residents, your action is neither reasonable nor practical. You gave the money without bargaining, which means it has no value for you. You bought a creature in a cage without knowing what to do with it next. And now you are taking me to a hotel, with no fear of me, although I warned you. That’s all. What’s wrong with my observations?
I felt discouraged. She said everything correctly and captured my essence. I was just wrong about one thing. I was going to live a long time. Instead of objecting to her somehow, I asked a question:
- Dina, you still haven’t answered me, why can’t you just go home?
- You did not forget? It seemed to me that this question was no longer relevant. The reason for my captivity and non-return is that an evil sorcerer has settled in my area. A dragon protects him; the sorcerer is difficult to overcome. He cast his spell on me and deprived me of my magical powers. Then he put him in a cage and sold him to the servus, the dragon’s servants. They resold me to this freak. And now, I am your purchase. The sorcerer who expelled me from my native forests has powerful spells that block my path back. He is using dark forces to keep me here, away from my true home. I fight these spells every day, but I don't have enough strength to fight them yet. With your help, maybe I will be able to go back to my true home from which I was expelled.
- “An evil sorcerer again. Didn’t Lyon kill him? Then Dionela should thank the young man in all available ways.”
- Where is your native place, where you cannot return? - I asked Dina.
She waved her hand towards the forest from which we crawled out this morning with the entire caravan.
- Dina, you probably don’t know that the evil sorcerer who lived in those forests is dead. So the way home is clear.
- I know about the old man’s death. I just don’t know who to thank for my miraculous deliverance. Until the evil spell subsides, I will not be able to overcome the distance separating me from home, my abilities will not return to me.
Using Crybaby’s hints, I found the guest yard where the merchant rented rooms for us. The merchant's guards and assistants slept on the first floor, in a large room. He rented two different smaller rooms for me and himself.
In my room, the only furniture was a bed. I found the owner of the guest house and inquired about the shower room. You had to pay extra to use the shower.
I washed myself for a long time, enjoying the hot water. Bitter thoughts flowed onto the floor along with bodily dirt. I managed to get out of the forest, the merchant knew where to find Maleus. I made several friends who were able to provide all possible assistance. Together with my friends, I acquired ill-wishers, if you count the mysterious giant as such.
Looking at the brand, I felt a strong burning sensation in this place. I probably shouldn’t have looked at my hand one more time, so as not to get an additional portion of irritation.
After me, Dionela went to wash. My gaze froze on a dirty, exhausted figure entering the shower room. A woman of unknown age was wrapped in dirt and covered with traces of a hard life. Step by step she moved away, and I felt how the unpleasant odors that filled the space around were moving away along with her.
While I was drying myself and putting myself in order by the rules of the competition, Dionela managed to wash herself. When she came out of the shower, my jaw felt like it had dropped. Instead of a dirty and emaciated woman, I saw in front of me a magnificent girl, as if she had come out of the most fabulous dreams. Her skin shone as if illuminated by the morning sun, and her gaze was full of incredible charm. In Ulia's dress, bought at the market, she looked simply magnificent, as if she was created for this moment.
My heart began to beat faster, and I could not take my eyes off this amazing transformation. Daze and surprise mixed inside me. Under the streams of water, the dirt disappeared, like a curse dispelled by a magical touch.
Beneath the dirt was a beauty, immense and sparkling, like a starry sky on a clear summer evening. Dina’s hair shone, framing her face, where her eyes, filled with wild freedom, looked straight into my soul. Step by step, every movement of her body, like a magical dance, revealed her true beauty, turning the darkness of the past into a bright future.
She looked up at me, catching my surprised look, and with a slight indignation, she justified herself:
- I had no other clothes on hand but these. I don’t want to wear any more dirty rags. I wouldn’t mind something to eat.
We entered the refectory in the parlor. With our arrival, the visitors in the hall stopped talking and froze, as if they had met Medusa Gorgon's gaze. The sight of Dionela must have excited them.
We sat down at a vacant table and chose what we were going to eat. The surprised customers continued to watch us. Dionela chose pancakes with raspberry syrup, I ordered scrambled eggs, and Fluffy got an apple pie. Like us, he had showered and had time to brush his dried coat.
Dionela, eating pancakes, asked me:
- Have you been to the cave?
I felt embarrassed. The girl had read my entire journey. How does she know I visited the cave?
- You have a mark on your arm, - she said, catching the mute question in my gaze. - I've had the opportunity to see something similar on a grown man's arm and know why it's there.
- What happened to the man who bore the same mark? Do you know anything about a creature that hands out gifts like that?
- No, I don't know, even though I'm a Guardian of the Forest.
- You’re a forest nymph?!
The scrambled eggs stuck in my throat and my appetite was gone. I was sitting next to a legendary creature sung by poets.
- Not exactly. - Dionela finished the last pancake and licked a drop of raspberry syrup with the tip of her pink tongue. - I am the Guardian of the Forest. I know no other words. As long as the forest lives, I will exist. You’ve seen the state it’s in now. You can’t tell at a glance whether the forest is alive or dried up. And it’s all because of the dragon.
- I communicated with the trees and promised to help them.
- You couldn't communicate with the trees, they only understand me!
- He understands, too, - I nodded to the furry animal eating the pie.
- Your little friend is a great traveling companion. The Guardian of the Forest is familiar with these unusual people. They’re very loyal and friendly. Wait a minute, I hear something. Some strange noises. I hear the trumpet blowing. Maybe it's an alert.I think the battle is about to begin.
We left the refectory.
- I want to let you in on a little secret about the mark you got in the cave. If you put your hand on it and hold it for a while, the pain in your arm will increase, but your strength will increase several times over.
The path to the platform was more difficult than I had expected. The crowd was buzzing with excitement, eager for the spectacle, and everyone was eager to get a seat close to the arena so they could be in the front row. Dionela, her smile shining brightly in the crowd, and the men, like knights, made a place for her, letting her go forward. I, on the other hand, was diligently trying to be pushed back, as if I were invisible. But a few minutes of persistent struggle, quiet and inconspicuous, were not in vain: we found ourselves in the front rows.
As everywhere else, there were judges and organizers of fights. Before the start of each bout, a speaker climbed the platform, calling those who wished to test their strength and announcing the names of the fighters.
We were a little late for the start. Two or three bouts had passed, and the winner of those rounds, a tall, stout man with a wooden club in his hand, was pacing impatiently on the platform, waiting for new opponents.
I looked at Dionela, and she waved her fluffy eyelashes, signaling her blessing for the fight. As I approached the platform I stopped, as my opponent, who turned out to be Plaksa, was already standing on the platform. The referee, a.k.a. the speaker, checked the opponents’ batons for sharp parts and cracks and commanded the opponents to separate into corners.
The rules of combat were quite simple. Tip your opponent on his back or push him off the platform and you will be the winner. Victory was awarded even if the opponent threw the club to the floor. Pushing with the hand or foot, hitting on the head or the legs and arms were allowed. It was not allowed to poke the opponent in the face with the club or to kill a weakened opponent. The fight was divided into several rounds, but going forward, I will say that this was an unnecessary measure. The fight was over within the first round, sometimes at the beginning of the second. No one paid attention to the blood dripping from broken noses and split skin. Tough rules, but fair.
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Each fighter who went on the platform wore a protective helmet on his head, which cushioned the blows.
They tried in every way to support their buddy, giving him various advice.
The audience first hears the trumpet signal, and then cries:
- Ouch! Ouch! Ahah! Don’t hit me, uncle!
Crybaby threw the stick and under the loud shouts hid among the spectators. I didn’t hesitate and was on the platform in an instant. The fans misinterpreted my intention and threw jokes in my direction.
- Hey, boy! Did you forget anything?
- Go to your mom, sucker!
- Hey, rascal, you got it all wrong!
The referee turned to me with a serious look.
- Young man! Your parents know you want to take part?
- Yes! And they won’t mind if I lose.
- No, you’ve seen this impertinent man, —Shouted the slippery salesman who sold me the giant and Dionela. He had a purse in one hand and a bunch of keys in the other. My money would be enough for all his prisoners, only I didn’t know how many cells were still unopened or where he kept them.
My opponent and I walked up to the ref to hear the last words of instruction. My opponent was a full head taller than me. His muscles, however, were of an impressive size, bigger than mine.
He looked at me the way tall men look at short men - from top to bottom. I could see his nostrils and the long hairs growing out of his nose. We went to our corners and then the trumpet sounded.
My opponent threw himself at me, intending to throw me off the platform. For in his eyes, I was thin, with undeveloped muscles. In my case, my shortcomings became my strengths. I slipped past him with ease, dodged the baton, falling on my head, and kicked the big man in the ass with great pleasure. He roared with indignation, and the fans supported my lunge with laughter. I lasted longer than Crybaby and didn’t yelp, but responded to the blows like a seasoned fighter.
Targon’s lessons had not gone to waste. I have always been a quick learner and a model student.
The enemy’s moves were primitive. Raise the stick and lower it, raise it and lower it. He was like a wheat thresher or a pile driver. Swinging the baton, the opponent did not watch his feet at all. We were doing a dizzying dance on the platform. First, I was on the edge of the platform, then he. Waiting once again, I jabbed my club in his direction. He read my maneuver, tried to dodge and ended up on the ground. I attacked him from the middle of the platform when his feet were on the edge of the platform.
The audience exploded with cheers. The frustrated big man looked at me with a frown shook his head and disappeared after Crybaby.
Well, I was a winner for the first time. Dionela smiled and at me, in a way that ignited a fire in my stomach. I sincerely regretted that there was no Stone Bowl nearby, where I could take an evening bath.
My next opponent was an even more unprepared man who reeked of booze. I didn’t understand why they let such people on the platform. The audience wanted a spectacle and I gave it to them. I didn’t try to hit my opponent, I only fought off his blows, but I did it while grimacing and showing fear and confusion on my face. My wiggles and grimaces made people laugh, even Dionela smiled. The drunken man took the applause and friendly laughter on his account, it seemed to him that his outbursts were very successful, and luck was about to open its arms to him. Chasing me, the opponent got tangled in his legs and fell off the platform. Falling off the platform meant losing. The man got to his feet and wiggled his finger at me:
- I remember you, son.
And he collapsed to the ground again.
The next two opponents were a little better than the drunken man, but still worse than the big man. They walked in long circles, squinting their eyes as if trying to enlighten me. Targon had taught me never to rush into an attack, to give my opponent a chance to get nervous. And so I did.
I knocked the stick out of the hands of one opponent with a precise blow, which meant defeat.I knocked the other one on his back and aimed the stick at his head.
The referee remarked to me. It turns out that aiming a stick at the head of a lying opponent is forbidden.
As I listened to the referee’s warning, I picked up an extraneous noise, played by a multitude of feet. The thought of new caravans rushing to take part in the fair flashed through my mind. Most of the onlookers must have thought the same thing. That is until the people began to be pushed around unceremoniously by servus, the servants of the dragon.
I saw the Servus for the first time and was surprised at the unusual appearance of the servants. Straight as humans, healthy and strong, they looked just awful. Imagine the hideous face of a hyena, put a bronze helmet on its head, dress it in bronze or leather armor, arm it with swords or spears and you get a perfect picture of servus. The sight of the dragon’s servants frightened people as much as the dragon itself.
They retreated in front of the troop, giving the dragon servants better seats
The squad stopped near the platform, and the older servus glanced to his left, then to his right. He looked long and hard at me, who stood motionless, waiting for a new opponent. But he looked at Dionela even longer. His thoughts were not the purest; sticky saliva flowed from the half-open mouth of the servus.
Glancing at the referee, he inquired,
- What’s going on here?
- Fair entertainment, Mr. Troth, — the referee smiled. - Men fighting for the title of ‘Dragon’s Best Friend’!
- Best friend?! - I couldn’t contain my outrage. - I came out to compete for the title of Dragon Slayer.
Trot jumped up on the platform and shoved my shoulder, as if unintentionally. That's what instigators do when they want to start a fight. The spikes of his shoulder pad scratched my arm.
- A dragon slayer - you say. And who came up with that title?
- I heard it this morning when I arrived in the village for the fair.
- So you’re a visitor, — the referee ducked down and ran up to me, tugging at my sleeve. - You misunderstood the ad. If you don’t like it, you can leave the competition. No one will hold you back.
I only had to defeat one opponent to win. If the servus squad hadn’t shown up, I would have celebrated a probable victory together with my acquaintances and Dionela. I figured the rank changed nothing in my biography or my plans. Let it be “Dragon’s Best Friend.”
- I like the rules and I’m ready to continue competing. Who is my next opponent?
Trot drew his sword stood in a defensive stance and said,
- I'll fight you, I want to stretch my bones.
The referee looked fearfully around the servus and not knowing what to do, said to Mr. Troth:
- You should swap your sword for this stick.
- How is my sword worse than your stick? - servus grinned, signaling that he would not accept a substitution. The referee looked at me. He knew how this kind of fight ended. Servus’ friends supported their commander’s phrase with friendly laughter.
- I am ready. Announce the start of the fight.
The referee recited the instructions mandatory for every fight, but Trot shoved the man in the chest and growled:
- I know the rules! Where's your signal?
The trumpet sang the signal, and it resounded through the air, filling the surroundings with an inexpressible sadness. We scattered to the corners. Trot's bronze sword could cut my stick from tip to tip, and my stick wouldn't allow me to do any meaningful damage to him. I had dexterity and wit at my disposal.
I looked at Dionela, and she responded with an encouraging nod of her head. We had a long night ahead of us, filled with kisses and sighs. Still looking at Dina, I took a few steps forward and struck hard, aiming for Trot’s leg. The blow reached its target, but the servus didn’t have time to block my stick, his kneecap jingled and Trot’s face grimaced in pain. He tried to stab me, I spun my body around, letting the sword pass me, and struck the sword from below. The servus weapon flew up and struck him flat on the nose. The first blood flowed. Trot roared and began swinging the sword around haphazardly, backing me into a corner. The sword flew in a flash of lightning, threatening to slice through my stomach.
At one point I deflected unluckily, the tip of the sword slicing through my shirt and the skin on my chest. This thin, long scar is the mark of Trot’s sword strike. The servus’ friends shouted with joy, for blood had been shed on both sides.
It made me sad. For a moment I wanted to throw down the stick and end the battle. The blood did not flow, but my chest and cut shirt were colored red.
Once, while taking apart a plaster mold I accidentally cut the tip of my index finger. A minute later I felt myself starting to choke and lose consciousness. A little more and I would have collapsed senseless on the floor. Luckily for me the incomprehensible attack of weakness quickly let me go. But then I had only cut the tip of my finger and saw only a drop of blood. Now, in the battle with servus, I was losing a lot more blood, and I was worried about my unpredictable consciousness, ready to leave me at any moment.
Dionela had said that touching the scorched mark would increase my power. My hands overlapped one over the other as the nymph advised me. A moment later, Trot’s sword gave me another cut. A few millimeters below the previous one. The wait for the increase in strength dragged on. I looked at the burn. It was stained with my blood and probably didn’t work because of that. I cast a desperate glance in Dionela’s direction, and she stood there, biting her lip and shaking her head, letting me know she couldn’t help me.
I crouched down again, letting the sword pass over my head. I felt a warm and fuzzy body at that moment. It nestled against the back of my head and held on tightly with its tiny hands.
- Don’t give up, friend, - I heard his childish voice say. - You can do more!