Читать книгу Graymore is a dragon hunter - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 10

Graymore’s heart ached. Who to marry, if all suitable guys were either elves or naga? It couldn’t be that the future queen of Livellin would marry a naga! And why was she suddenly thinking about marriage? She didn’t seem to have any intention of getting married at all. To be the sole ruler of a country is far more pleasant than having to reckon with her husband in everything. Graymore liked being free.

Why was she so drawn to this naga? He might have the face of an angel, but he had the body of a snake! You don’t go to the ball with a lizard! She would have been better off falling in love with an elf.

Thoughts of mountain elves kept creeping into her head. Graymore tried to go around the mountains, but they wouldn’t end. She seemed to be riding around them in circles. She felt as if the mischievous elves had lured her into a witch’s ring. Everywhere she turned there were mountains and mountains, and lianas of tropical flowers stretched across them.

The rose the stranger had given her had almost withered away, but when she put it in the loop of her corsage, it bloomed again, as if it were powered by Graymore’s heart.

«My blood is fiery,» the Princess recalled. «Could it be that this rose draws its life force from fire?»

She could see indistinct silhouettes in the thicket. Maybe she should turn back into the forest. It was impossible to go around the mountains.

She put her palm to her forehead and peered at the mountains. The very top of the mountains seemed to have been chiseled into the shape of castle towers. Was this a joke of nature or the work of mountain fairies?

There was a noise from somewhere above. It sounded like the beating of wings! Were the dragons really coming? Instead of dragons, all that Graymore could make out was a large bird, diving down in a sudden dive.

A gryphon snatched her from her saddle and carried her into the mountains. There must be an eagle’s nest, and the gryphon’s cubs were long overdue for supper. Gryamore wanted to tell the griffon that princesses weren’t even meant to be eaten by eagles, but would he understand? Killing the gryphon was a pity, too. Graymore kept her hand on her dagger, but she hesitated. As long as nothing threatened her life, she would not kill the griffin.

As it turned out, up there was a mountain plateau, not an eagle’s nest. The griffin had brought her here and placed her on the edge of the plateau and then flew away. How strange!

Had the gryphon decided to make it difficult for her to go down the mountain? Is it in league with the dragons? Graymore wanted to swear at the entire avian race. Should they have thought of bringing her down here? Griffins must be like magpies, dragging all men adorned with glittering jewels up into the mountains. She should have taken off her wreath, her earrings and rings.

The sounds of chanting came to Graymore’s ears. So the plateau was not as empty as it seemed. It was hard to tell where the sounds were coming from. Graymore walked from corner to corner of the huge plateau for a long time before she came upon a cave-like hole. Strangely enough, it was curtained with a fringed velvet curtain. Pendants of gems stretched across the curtain. Could it be that mountain peri live here? Unlike fairies, they’re fond of opulence.

Graymore drew back the curtain and stepped inside. This is not a cave! It was a palace carved into the mountain.

The floor had been rough and stony to begin with, then replaced by smoothly hewn slabs and even mosaics. The walls of stone, though uneven, were decorated with tapestries and sconces. Graymore recoiled from one orange tapestry, which appeared to be woven of sparks and fire. Tiny fire fairies, no bigger than a cat, were crawling about, finishing the job. They wove fire around the very top of the tapestry. What a miracle!

Graymore clenched her dagger tighter. She could hear the harp and tambourine. Was there dancing nearby? She passed farther and entered a spacious hall, where couples were waltzing. All the dancers wore masks. She was the only one who came in with her face uncovered. Graymore noticed the vines on the walls. Could a semblance of a mask be woven from them? The vines were green, but as soon as she touched them, they burst into flames.

«The gryphon brought another girl into the tribute,» someone whispered.

A tall man in a green cloak and a scaly half-mask was walking across the hall toward Graymore. The crown in his curly hair was also made of green scales.

He was alone without a lady. Not surprisingly, he asked the first one who entered the hall alone to dance. Graymore didn’t suspect a trick. They’re just some kind of wizards, not dragons. They live in the mountains, and naturally they might try to bewitch her, but she seemed immune to spells. Otherwise she could not become a dragon-hunter.

The dance had barely begun when she felt dizzy. It was as if she’d been drugged or bewitched. She had to concentrate on something to drive away the mesmerism. That was the advice the wizard skeleton usually gave. The first remedy for someone else’s compulsion is to think of something you like. Graymore noticed a musician sitting at her harp. She had green leaves sprouting in her red hair. Her dress was green, too, with a fringe of leaves. She must be a forest nymph. Graymore had heard a lot about them, but hadn’t seen one yet. The sight of the nymph distracted her from her witching frenzy. The dance partner was angry.

«Look at me!» He demanded in a snarling tone.

«You have charming harpists,» Graymore avoided looking up at him in spite of his demand. «Are they nymphs from the forest?»

«Do not think of them, think of me.»

«But I like them better.»

It was an insult. The partner hissed. Graymore put the blade of her dagger to his throat, and burned herself. The stranger’s blood was fiery.

Could it be a dragon? Graymore tried to look into his eyes. Were they serpentine? She’d never seen a dragon turn into a human before, though legends had it that way.

«You are cheeky girl!» The man with the fire blood didn’t even apologize for burning Graymore’s hand, nor did she apologize for mutilating him with her dagger. The score is even! It is time to run away!

The vines that spanned the pillars burst into flames. The leaves were burning, but they were not consumed. Graymore dashed for the exit. No one tried to stop her. There was nowhere to run. She is in the mountains. She has no wings. She can’t fly. It’s all calculated. She cannot escape from here. Graymore is frozen on the mountain plateau, and a snide laugh can be heard behind her. She would have to go back. A gust of strong wind came. Some huge creature flapped its wings near the plateau. It was a dragon! Graymore was frightened. She usually killed dragons, but now it could easily take her down. One dagger would not be enough to overpower the monster. And behind her there was a chase.

«Come back, you wretch!» A familiar voice hissed behind him.

She had no choice but to fly away on her dragon. The dragon had just flapped its wings for her. Graymore took a chance and climbed on top of it. In a moment she was soaring over the mountains on her dragon, and below her, inhuman beings hissed and wailed. They couldn’t make it from the plateau to the dragon.

«Farewell!» Graymore waved to the creepy elves, in whose company she did not wish to remain.

Flying on a dragon was far more pleasant than dancing at a mountain ball. How could she have never thought of taming a captive dragon so she could fly on it? This dragon, however, she had not yet captured. On the contrary, it was he who had kidnapped her. What if he carried her into some creepy tract? She was unarmed at the moment.

Instead, the dragon lowered her to the ground just where the voracious Maverin was peacefully nibbling on the grass.

«Thank you!» Graymore never thought she would say such a thing to a dragon.

She should have grabbed her crossbow and aimed it. Surely this must be the dragon that terrorized the southern borders, but it was in no hurry to attack. Instead, it picked up a fallen rose with its claw and held it out to Graymore.

Strangely enough, she accepted the flower without expecting a catch. She did not think of fighting now. She stood as she did, not touching her weapon until the dragon flew away.