Remedy

 

The cottage looked like all the others around it. A steep,

thatched roof, small, dirty windows set into

the clay wall, and a deep doorway with

a bench opposite it, shaded by a prominent eaves. Only the chimney seemed

more substantial, and thick, yellow-gray smoke poured from it, which

O'Dillen's sharp eyes immediately noticed. Without

further delay, the traveler approached the entrance and knocked.

"Who's there?" a muffled voice sounded from inside the house.

"Peace be with you! A traveler begging for hospitality!"

O'Dillen called, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible

.

A moment later, the hinges creaked, and the broad-shouldered figure of a man in a linen shirt appeared in the doorway

. The farmer

cast a wary glance at the newcomer, his face hidden in

the shadow of a huge hood.

"Peace be with you, innkeeper," O'Dillen began again. "

Is there no room for you? I'll pay..."

The farmer sighed.

"Silver comes, luck goes... come in, ladies,

you'll get food, and if you want, stay the night."

He gestured invitingly toward the interior of the room.

O'Dillen bowed his head under the low beam

of the entrance and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, but O'Dillen's eyes

quickly adjusted to the darkness, and he was soon able

to look around. However, few things held

his gaze for long. The hut's sparse furnishings consisted of

a central table with benches on either

side. Nearby stood two barrels, half-filled

with grain, a hollowed-out cabbage log, and next to it was

a "bedroom"—a dirt floor covered with straw and hide sheets.

"Wichna!" "The host called out towards

the delicious smell of frying cracklings. "And give us another

place to set, a guest has just entered our doorstep!" Then he turned

to O'Dillen. "Sit down with us and eat what's there.

" "God bless you."

A moment later the hostess appeared, carrying a steaming

bowl of porridge and spoons.

"Eat, to your health, I'll bring the milk in a moment,"

she said.

"But quickly!" the farmer interjected, impatient with

his wife's tardiness, who stood over the table, watching

the guest. "Get a spoon," he said to

O'Dillen.

"Forgive me for..." O'Dillen pointed to his

"But my rule forbids wearing an uncovered head.

I'm a traveling healer, my name is O'Dillen, but

I'm no stranger to trade either; I buy, sell, or barter. Perhaps you

need something, farmer?

" "Call me Roch. Oh, yes, it's necessary, the whole village

needs it, if not something you could sell.

" "What's that?" asked O'Dillen, but he didn't hear

an answer.

Meanwhile, Wichna arrived with two jugs of sour

milk, which she placed before the diners.

"And where is God leading this?" she asked timidly.

"Ho, ho, from far away, from across the sea," replied O'Dillen, and wanting

to liven up the atmosphere, launched into a colorful tale about his

wanderings to the ends of the earth.

Roch ate slowly, with dignity, listening attentively.

Wichna bustled around the table with exaggerated eagerness,

listening to O'Dillen's words, and

two curious children's faces peeked out from the corner.

"...Gold, marble, diamonds..." O'Dillen recounted

between bites. "

Hundreds of palace servants alone... and what military equipment! Oh, look..." With that,

he reached into the bundle he carried and pulled out a

silver-handled dagger. He handed it to Roch.

"Gallant," the host murmured, examining it with admiration,

then extended his hand to return the knife.

O'Dillen looked at Roch's sad eyes.

"Take this, host," he said. "It's... a gift from

me. You'll need it.

" "It can't be!

" "Take it." You'll be one of the few who

find it worthwhile to associate with me," O'Dillen smiled.

Roch finally accepted the gift with a confused expression.

O'Dillen, seeing his embarrassment, reached back into

his pack and pulled out a leather waterskin.

"I have something else here that you don't have," he groaned,

bending down again and placing two copper

mugs on the table. "Now I'll take care of the refreshments," he said, and

began filling the glasses.

"Your health, host!

" Roch sniffed the liquid suspiciously, then took a long

sip.

"Ugh!" he coughed. "Strong, that brandy!

" "Because it's supposed to be that way!" O'Dillen laughed and quickly

poured the drink into the empty mugs.

Over time, the host's face brightened, and his eyes

twinkled. O'Dillen continued to talk about the wonders of overseas, which

He'd seen, or heard about, or made up some on

the spot. When the matter turned to dragons and other monsters, Roch

cursed vehemently.

"But stay away from such swarming as ours, damn it!

" "Oh?" O'Dillen raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yes! It's been two years since that nasty creature

started to rage!

" "Where?

" "Shut it down." Roch gestured to the barely visible

outline of a steep mountain standing alone among the fields through the opaque glass. "

All the castle's goods are being snatched from us, to appease it.

" "What's that? And no one was found who would go to

the swarming?

" "Yes, there were, peasants, oaks, castles, rectors, so that their

eyes only glowed from their armor, sorcerers... and there weren't many

of them left, but a real nuisance to us." We must always pay tithes every

month, or the damned monster would burst

!

"I can't believe my ears!

You're putting your own possessions under the dragon's nose!!

" "What are we supposed to do? The castle staff are going to the cave and

we're bringing everything. Cows, pigs, chickens. And

they're bringing the castle trinkets. Wherever the beast conspires, he'll

leave the village in peace.

" "What is it like?

" "Did I see that? It's scary to stand by the cave for long...

" Roch lowered his head.

Silence fell. O'Dillen finished

his drink in silence and put down his cup. Roch fixed his gloomy gaze on

the window.

Suddenly the door burst open, and

a breathless adolescent burst into the room.

"The castle staff are stripping Maciej! Hurry!" he panted.

"Kaj?

" "Adic, by Kubowa's farm!" Hurry up!

Roch jumped up abruptly, shaking the table and

overturning the dishes. They both ran from the room, the innkeeper not

even having time to close the door.

"Laboga, what the devil is going on with him!" Wichna wrung her hands as

she stepped out of the house.

O'Dillen calmly gathered the mugs, put them in

his bundle, and went outside. Fears of losing

sight of Roch proved unfounded.

The entire village was in turmoil.

Anyone alive, just as he was, with a shovel, a scythe, in

his shirt or shirtless, headed towards the house

on the edge of the village, from where the bustle of the fair emanated. O'Dillen

headed there, overtaken by those just returning from the fields . Often, the colorful skirts of young girls or the aprons of peasant women

flashed by . After a moment, O'Dillen saw

A throng of people gathered. Near the road running through the village stood

a wagon, filled to the brim with incredibly crammed junk,

drawn by a gaunt and worn-out horse. The wagon served

a rather strange purpose—a fortress, whose defender turned out to be

a hot-headed man threatening a pitchfork at the aggressors—

the castle's footmen.

"Beware!" shouted the peasant. "Beware! You touch him, and he

'll kill you!

" "You have to leave something behind! You run like a hare, but he

leaves even dung behind!" replied one of

the servants.

"Just watch how much you leave behind, and I'll feel your

ribs!" came a voice from the crowd, which

had gathered around the unusual spectacle.

The previously silent commander of the soldiers turned to

the desperate driver:

"Maciej, you're a wise man. You know he owes something."

You want to go, go, no one will mind you. But

you have to pay the tax. You'll ride, less of us, and the dragon

has to be buried just as much. You ride, we stay.

Pay what you owe, and you'll ride.

"I won't! Get lost, you bloody bastard! I gave you what was due, when

everyone else was giving!

" "You ride. You have to give more.

" "And I'll give you as much as you cover yourself with, you

lost Gypsy!

" "I wanted to be kind..." the decurion remarked, and

nodded to the servants.

In the blink of an eye, two of them jumped up to Maciej and disarmed

him effortlessly, while the others began to drag

the goods from the wagon.

The gathered peasants were seething.

"You'd die, sick with mange, to

fleece like that, yuck, you filthy bastards!

" "We don't fleece, we seek justice!"

"If I take a stick, I'll give you justice!

" "Shit, people, help us! Why should we go when

we can't afford a penny?! Why can't we go begging?!" Maciejowa shouted. "

You tramps, you whiners!" she wheezed and began to struggle with

the nearest soldier, who was robbing sacks of rye.

"She's gone!" the soldier hissed at her.

"She has a right, she's demanding hers!"

the peasants shouted louder and louder, tightening the circle around the wagon.

"You fools, everyone has to give equally, he, you, and we.

" "Equally, but the gold on your coats glitters!

" "You're all sick in your eyes, you drunkard!"

The din grew louder. Maciejowa had no voice and

no strength left, so she only croaked with curses and threats until

One of the footmen couldn't take it anymore and grabbed her by the hair.

"Either you stop yelling, or I

'll jam that tongue down your throat!"

At that moment, anger overcame fear of the soldier's

chainmail, and several tall peasants advanced with whatever

they had in their hands. The footmen dropped everything and grabbed their swords.

"Try it!

" "You bastards! "

They were about to clash when a loud voice boomed—

"Halt!"—stopping both of them in

their tracks. They turned to see

Roch stepping out of the crowd of onlookers, passing them without a word and approaching

the decurion. He held out his hand, and a silver dagger,

O'Dillen's gift, glinted. The soldier instinctively grabbed the hilt

of his sword. Roch smiled contemptuously.

"Take it," he said, "and leave Maciej in peace!"

A hush fell over the servants, at the commander's signal ,

departed from the wagon and went to

the horses left on the other side of the road. Maciej, with the help of his neighbors,

quickly gathered up the scattered pieces of his belongings and

loaded them onto the wagon. Without looking back, he quickly jumped onto

the stool.

"Wait, little one..." he whispered.

The wheels creaked, and the wagon, followed by the eyes of the entire village,

soon disappeared behind the hills. From the opposite direction,

the earth rumbled, and eleven riders galloped

toward the castle, beside which loomed the ominous cone of

Dragon Mountain.

"May you perish forever for our wrongdoing!... May

the worms infest you!" suddenly rang out a desperate female

voice. "I'm a scoundrel!... I work like these oxen!... and days!... and

nights!... for the farmhands!... and who is it?!... who?!... but

for the cursed pit!... God, how much longer?!... how much

longer?!

"Not much longer," growled O'Dillen, but no one

heard him.

* *

* "Not much longer," he, he, he," laughed King Scanoux. "

I see you've come to amuse us with a joke. So tell me how

you intend to slay this monster, for by your

feeble frame I suspect you'll speak more colorfully than our Bold."

With that, he patted the jingling, three-cornered hat

of the jester sitting below, who, thus encouraged,

approached O'Dillen.

He walked around it and examined it as if he were looking at cattle

for sale at a market.

"Ooh..." he grimaced in disgust. "But...

getting back to the point, what trick did you think of to kill the beast, you

weakling?" He looked into O'Dillen's eyes. "Perhaps you want to catch it

in your hands and hold it in the air until it loses its strength, like

Beerteld caught Unchez? " The king cackled, and the dignitaries gathered around

him quickly followed suit. Only the king's daughter, Fediana, remained serious. The fool continued. "Or perhaps you thought of punching it between the eyes, like this." He gently shook his clown's staff, taking it between two fingers, which provoked another outburst of mirth. "Like Zorian when Irrac blocked his way? And do you know who Zorian was, you whip? Beerteld?" And do you know, you boor, that the servants will soon take you by the muzzle and rip off your filthy hood, because it's not proper to cover your head when the king is awake? O'Dillen, without looking at the jester, turned to the monarch. "King! It's wrong and hasty to make judgments based on superficial impressions. As a rule, they are false... " "They say 'Your Majesty,' you wise philosopher!" Bold cut in. "I, for one," O'Dillen continued, "I had the false impression that you are a wise and just ruler... " "Insolent!" the jester shouted. "Hold your tongue if you don't want to lose it! " "Proud!" Scanoux enraged. "Guards! Teach the vagabond some respect! " "Dad..." The frightened Fediana glanced at her father, but two halberdiers were already running toward O'Dillen. There were a few muffled thuds, and a moment later they were both lying on the floor, groaning in pain. A murmur echoed through the hall. The Fool leaned over the fallen men and nodded approvingly. "Good work. Good trick! And why?" He approached O'Dillen and waved his stick, adorned with bells, in his face. "Exactly—an impression! To create an impression! A delusion! A delusion! A bluff!" Bold began dancing around him. "An impression! An impression! An impression!" he approached again. " And what is the impression? Ha—an illusion! Your word! Are you so strong? You boast in vain; there are those who can overpower you. A clap of your hands will suffice, but"—and here he turned to Scanoux—" even so, our king will graciously listen to the end of your nonsense. " The beaten guards began to scramble from the ground. Scanoux

waved them away impatiently.

"I'm disappointed," O'Dillen continued. "Where

sadness and worry should reign, I see jokes and frolics! Or

perhaps it's a good thing that only three versts from here a monster rages

and torments people? Probably so, for I've been a guest in many

kingdoms of this world and everywhere I encountered obvious

care for my subjects, and here...

" "Grief! You abuse the king's grace, stranger!"

Bold interrupted.

The king silenced him and, taking a deep breath, spoke up

.

"Your speech is arrogant, stranger, and I don't like to hear it.

Your attire is strange, your customs are foreign, you speak in a foreign language; it's evident

you come from foreign courts. Therefore,

it's not for you to seek justice on my estates!"

He raised his voice. "What the hell did you see that would make you judge me here

?

" "Impression!" Bold said. "Illusory!" False!

Scanoux gestured broadly around the audience hall,

where everyone was gathered.

"Just look. Poverty everywhere. No gold, no silver,

no luxury of any kind, which in all courts the wealth and

wealth of the kingdom display. I walk in almost rags, for

I surrender my wealth before the den," he said, pointing now at the hall,

now at everyone gathered there. O'Dillen followed

him with his gaze until his gaze met

the Fediana's.

"Do you think you'll put down the beast?"

Scanoux continued. "And what if you don't? I'll heap two inch of earth over your head

if anything remains of you and the dragon grows angry.

And what will happen? And we'll have to drag even more wagons up the hill

, cruel cries and curses will rise up, the peasants

will start to rebel, and that's all the benefit you'll get from

fighting the dragons." Many braver men have been braver than you

, and none have managed. And I see that you will die

from the monster's breath before you even grasp a weapon. So,"

the king solemnly raised his voice, "I grant you, stranger,

neither permission nor aid to fight the dragon!

It will be better for you and for us if you leave this sad

kingdom, for we have no help to look for elsewhere." At the last

words, the ruler raised his eyes, and his face

took on an expression of reverent concentration.

O'Dillen laughed quietly to himself.

"Wherever I, despite everything, turn for help,

Waiting for a miracle doesn't come so easily... and comfortably!"

he added sarcastically.

"No..." Fediana wanted to say something, but Bold

beat her to it. Ringing and making a noise, he ran up to O'Dillen and

stopped right in front of him.

"Go!" He waved his jester's staff, pointing to

the hall's entrance. "Whenever you wish!" He did a backflip, and in this

way, flipping, he returned to the foot of the throne. "And

when you have defeated the dragon, strip it of its skin, and before

you cover yourself with glory, cover yourself with this skin boldly; it will cover the holes

in your cloak, and you will look like Reangall after

his battle with Frothod the lion, something you have probably never

heard of! "

Bold's words aroused general mirth, but Scanoux

quickly darkened, silenced the company, and shouted menacingly to

O'Dillen:

"What are you waiting for?!" The audience is over, enough

of this nonsense!

"I waited for reason and goodwill, but I see it was in

vain. So—goodbye," O'Dillen replied, and headed

for the large wooden door.

"I say 'goodbye,'" he turned, standing by

the guards opening the gate, "for I have no doubt

we will see each other again.

" "Certainly!" Bold replied, "we will see you, but

it will be difficult for you to see us, for one of your eyes from

the other, the dragon with its other entrails will drag across the fields for

a verst! See you!"

O'Dillen disappeared behind the door, accompanied by laughter and jeers

that followed him all the way to the castle entrance gate. As

he crossed the drawbridge, he heard the voices of soldiers

on guard in the watchtower.

"Look, that's the one who wants to climb on the dragon.

" "On foot? Hey!" "The second guard leaned out. "And

where is your mount?"

O'Dillen continued walking, silent.

"You don't even have a horse, and he's preparing an expedition, clearly

crazy.

" "It's laughable. Because when you got dark last night

, every peasant who could manage a wealthy man

would stamp his feet, and he thought he heard the sound of hoofbeats.

" * * *

Something like the hoofbeats of a galloping horse reached

O'Dillen's ears, and he strained his ears and turned his head. The sound

was coming from behind and was clearly growing louder. It could only be

someone from the castle, because the road led straight from the palace.

gates, without any forks or intersections, and

no more than an hour had passed since leaving the town.

O'Dillen tensed, but he didn't stray from the road.

The sun was already very low, and by the time the unknown horseman approached

, O'Dillen could follow his movements by observing

the long shadow ahead.

There was no cause for alarm; the way he sat in the saddle

gave away the rider before he himself dismounted and approached

O'Dillen, hiding behind a voluminous cloak with a hood

even larger than O'Dillen's. And though it served

its purpose well, O'Dillen knew whose face it concealed.

"To what do I owe this meeting?

" "Shh..." the stranger tugged on the horse's bridle,

signaling O'Dillen to follow him.

The two of them turned off the road toward the nearby forest.

"No one can see or hear us," came

a woman's whisper.

"Ho, ho, that sounds quite tempting..."

O'Dillen muttered.

"You don't know what you're talking about," the mysterious figure reprimanded him. "

Were you not on your way to the village?

" "Perhaps...

" "Thank God I made it. Turn back as quickly as possible

, madman!

" "What, has His Majesty the King changed his mind? "

The stranger stopped abruptly.

"You mock me, and the King has sent heralds by a long way to

warn the peasants. Ever since the zeal of the knights, lured

by adventure, only led to ever more severe burdens, the people

have come to hate anyone who intends to fight.

Return to any village, and death will surely

come upon you!

" "How do you know this, and what is your name, lady, if

I may believe you?

" "I am Fediana, daughter of King Scanoux, lord of this land

." The princess threw back her hood.

"Then you risk much by speaking with me here. You could have

sent someone."

"I know that all too well.

" "Then why...

" "Don't ask again!" Fediana turned and walked

a few steps away. "Because..." she began, lowering her head and

looking away. "When I saw you, it was...

hard to understand...

" "Should I answer this question myself?"

O'Dillen approached her.

"Ah!" Fediana suddenly threw herself into his arms and embraced

him, then recoiled just as abruptly in fright. "

Cursed is this kingdom, and I am cursed! Flee if your life is worth it."

My dear, you can still do it. Two furlongs

north, heading from here, you'll find a shelter. You'll spend the night there, and

when dawn breaks, run through the forest!... It's time for

me!" The princess grabbed the saddle and jumped up, but

to no avail. The second time, she also slipped helplessly

from the saddle, clearly unused to riding, until

O'Dillen approached and, catching her, lifted her halfway up and sat her

ladylike on the bahmat. He felt her warm hand squeeze

his.

"Farewell!" whispered Fediana.

The horse moved slowly and soon disappeared from sight, weaving

among the trunks of the black forest. Before the sound

of hooves striking the ground faded completely, an echo repeated the distant call:

"Remember! Don't go to the peasants! You will die doing so!

" * * *

"You will die doing so!" "O'Dillen ," O'Dillen growled to himself

as the arrow lodged just inside the edge of the makeshift

target hanging from the tree.

He drew his bow again and aimed. There was a hiss of air,

but now the entire target remained intact.

"Damn it!" he cursed, though he could have easily placed

the arrowhead squarely in the center of the concentric circles.

He reached for another arrow and slowly drew back the string.

"Maybe this time I'll be right?" With that,

he spun on his heel and aimed at the nearby bushes.

Suddenly, he felt the tension in the string slacken, and even though

he stretched his arms as far as he could, the string began to lengthen until

it hung limply between the tip of the bow and O'Dillen's hand.

"You don't aim at strangers!" someone spoke from behind

the bush.

"You don't spy on strangers!" O'Dillen retorted,

tossing aside the useless weapon. "Snobbish tricks,"

he grumbled.

"But we know each other." The hidden interlocutor stepped out from behind

the bushes, and O'Dillen recognized the royal jester, who

raised both hands.

"I'm defenseless too.

" "Do you think I'm a fool?" O'Dillen pointed to the fallen bow.

"You only seem defenseless." He noticed, however, that

the bow looked intact again.

"Wait a minute, I've heard that somewhere before.

" "Yes.

" "But that's not why I came here.

" "I guess," O'Dillen muttered, and walked over to the fire

burning in front of the hut's entrance. Then he sat down and

gestured to the seat on the opposite side. "Please, sit down!"

Regardless, I'll welcome you as a guest.

"You don't attach much importance to last night's

performance, do you?" Bold replied, settling himself on the ground. "

The court masked theater, you know..." He winked.

O'Dillen entered the hut and pulled out two pieces of

dried meat. He handed one to the jester.

"Better for my tongue than shredding

it trying to convince me how terrible a dragon is,"

he said sarcastically. He speared his portion on a sharpened

stick and placed it in the flames.

Bold, without looking back at the stick, threw his piece

into the fire. Instead of falling, the meat hung over the flames,

held in place by an invisible force controlled by the jester's hand

.

"More tricks," O'Dillen shook his head.

"Habit is second nature, even for magicians."

O'Dillen's face involuntarily tightened.

"Preparations, I see, in full swing." The jester

glanced at the scattered pieces of combat equipment:

arrows, shields, a spear leaning against the roof of the hut. "Stubbornness

and ambition triumphed over reason!

" "Wait a minute, I've heard this somewhere before,"

O'Dillen drawled.

"And you'll hear it again. Okay, listen." Bold

changed his tone. "Perhaps I was too harsh and unpleasant, but

I had to. Do you think being a jester means constant jokes and

carefreeness? May you never know what it means

to remain in the circle of power. But let's get back to the point. I understand

you perfectly; I would have gone spearing at the monster myself if

I hadn't seen it before. Besides, the Fediana truly can

turn your head. I know the pain that gnaws at you, but

it's really not worth it. You want to be great and admired—who would

n't! But true greatness is realizing

your own smallness. And in front of this beast, you'll grow tiny, tiny,

like everyone else." Give it a rest. And don't forget—

we could finally give up on you and say, "

Let him die," but your defeat will mean

tragedy for us all. It's too expensive. If you've heard

anything about dragons building their caves, you'll understand

you can't count on victory.

O'Dillen reached into his shirt, pulled out the medallion

he wore around his neck, and held it up to Bold.

"You've worked hard putting that speech together.

Unfortunately, I'm neither a farmhand nor a youth,

looking for adventure, so leave it alone."

Bold's face involuntarily tightened.

"That Remediary arrogance and self-confidence..." the jester

raised his hand and made a slight movement.

The silver hexagon, the symbol of the Remediary Brotherhood, which

O'Dillen was still holding by its chain, glowed with

a blue-white light and lasted for a good while before

fading. O'Dillen blew on it a few times and put it back

where he had found it.

"Where are we?

" "You're using Sky Metal. Resistant, but only up to a point

," Bold replied.

"I mean, titanium. Let's skip the magical

names and draw our own conclusions.

" "Is this your Remediary school of example logic?

" "More or less.

" "I'm listening.

" "Ergo—everything is resistant up to a point. Dragons

too.

" "But not Remediary—to reason."

"Is this your magical school of refuting arguments?

" "First, you have to have something to refute."

"There's no shortage of farts. Just in case you're up for such a counterattack.

" "Why not? Farts are safer than dragons.

" "The kind with large mouths, wings, covered in scales,

breathing fire and devouring young girls." O'Dillen

opened his mouth wide and bit off a piece

of meat browned over the fire. "And preferably virgins." He swallowed loudly

and licked his lips. "As for that, I saw

more dragons than virgins in my young life, and the worst creature was

always a human fantasy, fed by fear.

" "If there," the jester pointed behind him with a thumb, "is a fantasy lurking

in the cave, it's not human, but at least

devilish.

" "Not long ago you asked me what I knew about dragons

building their caves." I offer my services: the armored dragon,

Dragonus infraterrans, a fire-resistant, flightless anaerobe,

exceptionally resistant to pressure and temperature, reaches up to

one hundred and thirty feet in length and eight hundred centners in weight, and can live

up to four hundred years, including periods of torpor. Its embryo,

enveloped in caustic mucus, burrows into the soil and then into rock,

where it undergoes a larval stage of development until

it develops an external skeleton that forms its armor.

The young individual emerges to the surface,

simultaneously building a hiding place in the form of a mound of rocks, where it excavates a network

of caves... oh, I forgot to say at the beginning – faint.

intelligence, so it's difficult to communicate with him...

"Monstrum remediarum teratologicum! Is this

the remedial school of chatter?

" "We speak to everyone in whatever language we

deem best.

" "And yet, remember that it's not easy

to talk to a dragon.

" "Somehow, I'm strangely calm about that.

" "No wonder, you think you've eaten

all the intelligence. "

O'Dillen bit into another piece of meat.

"You don't have to eat intelligence. You just have to

use it. And that's precisely what distinguishes our school from magicians.

Yes, my wizard. You utilize forces that

nature bestows only on a few, which are merely a small,

inaccessible part of all nature, which

we, in turn, study. And we understand it. And we pass on knowledge to others so that

they are not eternally condemned to your expensive services. Perhaps you were needed once

, but now your discredited

aristocracy must go. That's what we call historical

necessity. " You no longer know how to serve what you once

so desperately served, you know no help. Even a common

dragon can ravage the grounds right under your nose, and you

do nothing. You only know how to sit comfortably and guard your

craft. But we'll come after you, sooner or later...

" "Now you've worked yourself up quite a sweat over that lame tirade.

Well, since you insist so strongly, I'm addressing

you not as a noble knight-errant, but as

a cynical, rational bastard called a remedy.

We'll arrange a massive fight with the monster for you, from which you'll emerge

unscathed, save for a few aesthetic cuts.

We'll spread the word that you've wrung the dragon's ransoms.

You'll be a dragon slayer, Fediana will get into your bed herself. And

we'll manage somehow, as long as the dragon doesn't

know anything about it." We'll compensate for the reduction in tributes later, let's say

the beast grows bold after you leave. Now, use

your remedial, minimax logic – can it be done differently,

so that the wolf is satisfied and the sheep is safe? So, rationalist,

prudent man, what do you say to that?

"Yes," O'Dillen rose, folded his arms across

his chest, and began to drawl coldly. "It all

fits together very logically. It all slowly reveals a certain picture.

You know what it is. All you need to do is connect the dots skillfully."

Thinking has a great future. And that is the Brotherhood's power, and

your downfall.

The Fool sighed pityingly.

"Let me tell you something in conclusion, as I'm leaving now, my

poor little conceited one. You'll have many more complaints

about your remedial knowledge, that it won't straighten your path in life

." Bold approached O'Dillen and almost whispered, "

Because your path will be exceptionally winding and bumpy."

* * *

The path was exceptionally winding and bumpy. It wound in a tight

serpentine around the mountain, only to bite halfway up the hill into

a forked peak, a sort of ravine

between rocky walls. One of these walls held

a large opening, from which came a loud panting sound, audible even

at the foot of the mountain.

O'Dillen walked slowly and cautiously, every now and then casting

brief, masked glances at the numerous rocky crevices and

depressions that dotted every step. He carried a bow and quiver on his back

, and in his hand he held a spear, its

silver blade glinting in the sun.

He had reached about halfway when

he thought he heard the sound of crumbling rocks. He stopped and

listened. Something was creeping along

a part of the sloping hillside, invisible from here. O'Dillen continued along

the path, which at one point stopped winding around the mountain and

turned inward, cutting into the very center of the peak.

The rocky wall of the shoulder began to climb until it transformed

the path into a solid ravine, splitting the hill into two

irregular half-cones. Only there did O'Dillen stop,

unslung his bow, and lean on his spear. Thanks to the polished tip of his spear, O'Dillen could see what was happening behind him

, as if in a mirror. The man, dressed in a suit that blended perfectly with his surroundings, stood with his legs spread wide on the sloping edge of a rocky outcropping and began swinging his sling, clearly aiming at O'Dillen, who, in this case, had no difficulty quickly placing the arrow in the belly of the completely exposed and surprised assailant. There was only a broken cry, the projectile released from his hand in a leather pouch, spun in a semicircle, and, hitting the stones, rolled downhill following the path of the limp body. O'Dillen slung his bow over his back, picked up his lance from the ground, and moved on when suddenly

He heard a soft whistle and felt something sharp pierce his

back. Although he felt no pain, he immediately fell flat on

his face, groaning loudly. A moment later,

a man approached him, wearing identical attire, a blowgun in his hand

. He stood over the prone O'Dillen and kicked him

onto his back, finally confirming the effectiveness

of his shot. And then, with a lightning-fast lunge, O'Dillen

threw a small knife, which plunged up to the hilt into

the assassin's neck. A moment later, the roles reversed – O'Dillen

stood and kicked the actual corpse, this time,

before taking a deep breath. The thin

titanium chainmail shirt hidden beneath his jerkin had once again saved his life.

The goal was not far away, and soon O'Dillen reached

a place where the road widened into a small, rocky

square, shrouded in the choking fog rising from

the cave. He paused for a moment, wrinkled his nose, and,

smiling enigmatically, disappeared into the dark pit.

* * * -

"...And vanishing into the dark pit, he would never

see God's world again, for anyone who had attempted a dragon attack,

or would in the future intend to do so, would end miserably,

just like his own man. Therefore, our lord,

forced to negotiate with the dragon once again, established new taxes: each

month, one firehouse required nine sacks

of grain a quarter of a cent, two fattened pigs, a dozen geese

, and as many ducks..."

The messenger's voice was lost in the shriek. Everyone screamed at

the top of their lungs, shouting their fate, their

fury, who knew not whether against the dragon, the king,

O'Dillen, or the herald.

The royal messenger, already accustomed to such scenes

, fell silent, waiting calmly for the storm to pass, but the noise,

instead of dying down, continued to increase.

* * *

The noise, instead of dying down, continued to increase. When

the guardsman, entering, opened the door, it transformed into

an unbearable hum, like the buzzing of a swarm of bees,

tormenting the ears.

"Your Majesty, our efforts are in vain! If we could sew into

the thicket, it might retreat.

" "Cattle!" the ruler said contemptuously. "What do they want?

" "They've planned to flock to the dragon in a heap.

" "Cattle!" the monarch repeated. "Damn it!" he slammed.

With his fist on the table, "It's hard for a man to eat in peace!"

He leaned on his hands and stood up. "It seems to me that I myself

need to speak. Guards!" he clapped his hands.

And the crowd, having surrounded the castle, had no intention of giving up. Clenched hands, often armed with sickles, scythes, or clubs,

rose towards the palace , and their mouths sent curses. Suddenly, there was an uproar—it was the king, surrounded by shield bearers, ready at any moment to protect him with armored iron, who appeared on the palace terrace and raised his hand to signal that he wished to speak. The crowd slowly quieted. "My people!" Scanoux cried loudly. "I am a ruler, not deaf to all requests and complaints. Anyone who finds his lot difficult may come to me, like a son to his father. Why—do you incite this tumult, my subjects?" "Because everyone's necks are bleeding!" someone shouted back. "Enough of this!" another added. "Hunger! Plague! We won't let our own people move any further!" More voices merged into a growing clamor. "So what will you feed the dragon?! Isn't it enough for us?! Or do you want him to crawl out and claim his tribute himself?!" the king shouted over the crowd. "And we'll feed him iron and sulfur! " "Yeah?! And do you remember Wronk Skubowy, who stuffed the sheep with tar and what came of it?!" Scanoux fumed . "You fools! You want to attack the monster with a pitchfork! Fools! I won't allow it, because I've sworn to protect you! What?! Another would have waved his hand, but I care for your heads! What? Do you think I'm a slacker?! And how many expeditions have I sent?! For nothing, damn it! - Of course, if you don't want to, nothing will happen! - What?! You accuse me, you boor?! It's me, risking my life, arguing with a dragon so you can walk the earth in peace, and you, you boor, you peasant of God... - That's nonsense! I don't care! We'll go after the dragon and that's it! For the devil's sake, such a life of fear and misery! - Stupid! Wait, just... - I wouldn't wait! You're just talking nonsense! - and once again, insults rained down heavily - Lakutnik! Gobber! To ruin! - Shut your mouths!!! - screamed the king, red with exertion and rage. - Your heads are spinning! You're as stupid as that stray who promised to slay the beast! He must have made it with a tax because of him! He's the only one who's dead, and that was clear from the start! And it's your fault! What 

"You fools, a hundred times fools!

You'll end up like that stray!

" "You're lying, dog!" someone suddenly thundered. "

And who are you, lying to me?! Show yourself,

coward, let me see you!

" "Here I am, and I say you're lying!"

As if on cue, silence fell; even the king was speechless,

for everyone recognized the distinctive silhouette in the long

cloak, with a large hood over his head.

"Here I am, and let my presence here bear witness to my words

!" he cried, turning to face the gathering of

villagers. "In good faith and to pay your debts,

I set out with my sword to fight the dragon! But I was

mistaken!!! Two dragons live in this kingdom! One, on

whose blade I was preparing, has been sitting in a cave sleeping like a dormouse

for many years, and will sleep for a long time, for such are

his natural habits!" For he is long-lived beyond

all measure, and like a bear that hibernates in winter, so too

he sometimes falls asleep, only for a longer time! But there is another dragon!

Inconspicuous in form, yet fiercer than the most wicked beast! Behold, he,

adorned with a crown, the dragon of Scanoux! Yes! After all, who is

he who roars, breathes fire, and spreads terror in the night—

a dragon? Who is he who devours mountains of meat, grain, and

all manner of food, and seizes other goods—a dragon?

And who, finally, is he who slaughters magicians, knights, and famous men

who go to battle with him—a dragon! Brothers!!!

Know, therefore, that when you fearfully closed your doors and windows

at night, packs of foot soldiers would rush out of the castle with fairy-tale

fireworks, frightening the cattle and roaring through copper tubes!

When you stole the last morsels from the mouths of crying children

to place them in front of the pit and escape, then later, in the

smoky darkness that concealed everything, the castle servants emerged and carried all

their belongings through a secret underground passage from the pit to the treasury

, and the next day the walls shook with a

debauched feast for your blood! When you bid farewell with fear and hope

to the warriors going after the dragon,

assassins were already lining the road to the cave to

kill the brave ones with shameful stabs in the back, in defense of a vile deception, which

was to happen to me too! And the beginning of it all was him,

Scanoux, your king, brazenly calling himself, but in

truth—a terrible dragon! The dragon that I and you seek,

He stands before us! I'm going to correct my mistake! Brothers!!! Who

will go with me?!! Who will go FOR THE DRAGON???!!!!

The villagers cowered in anger, like wounded

animals. A terrible scream echoed into the sky instead of

a response, and the terrifying mass of humanity fell

disorderly upon the castle.

The king hastily retreated under the large shields

of the soldiers escorting him. The battle began.

The attackers easily broke through

the moat, long unfilled, and began scaling the walls. With

bloodshot eyes, flared nostrils, and bristling

hair, they clung to the stone wall with their fingernails, trampled on

the heads of their companions, and bit into the protruding

bricks and beams with their teeth. They paid no attention—burning fury was

their ladder, and bloodlust their weapons.

The castle knights, hiding in the towers and behind

the battlements, ruthlessly decimated the attackers with crossbows,

bows, and spears, unleashing a hail of stones, studded

logs, and pouring torrents of hot tar. Within

minutes, the field around the walls was darkened with blood, and the air

filled with the groans of the dying.

Finally, the more intelligent, seeing how things were unfolding,

tried to contain the scattered darkness, constantly being cut down

by the unreachable defenders.

"Pop up, pop up, come to me, don't give up!"

single voices called. "To the gate!

" "With scythes!

" "Over here!"

Hundreds of armed hands attacked the castle gates. The

iron-bound doors bravely withstood the numerous

blades of axes, scythes, and knives. On one side pressed

the unbridled force of long-suppressed anger,

intensifying each blow; on the other, the unshakable nature

of the oak, hard as stone, reinforced with ironwork.

There was no indication that the peasants would breach the barrier

barring their entrance to the stronghold. To make matters worse ,

the besieged, taking advantage of their enemy's concentration, sent

shell after shell at such an easy target, sowing death en masse.

The ranks of the peasants began to thin at an alarming rate.

"Kaj Roch? Kaj Mietliki?!

- Wounded!

- Killed!

- Kaj Detko?!

- Save me!"

Similar cries were repeated with increasing frequency. The losses

were enormous. The attackers realized with horror that they had not

Among them are the bravest peasants and many distinguished

farmers. Voices rose, demanding a retreat.

And then something unexpected happened.

Shouts of terror and panic came from the castle;

the garrison manning the walls, turning their backs on

the attackers, began firing into the castle's interior.

Less than a minute later, accompanied by a mighty boom,

the entire gate, along with fragments of the fortifications, exploded

.

It was O'Dillen, gathering those braver in battle,

whose disappearance later caused alarm, who rushed to

the dragon's mountain and, through a secret passageway used

to transport the gifts he had obtained for the dragon, entered

the castle, taking the defenders completely by surprise.

The fighting flared up anew. New forces

surged into the attackers, inspired by the sight of the breach .

In the blink of an eye, they burst into the courtyard and struck at

their terrified opponents. Seeing their

underground escape route cut off, they redoubled their energy to

defend themselves—not the fortress and its possessions, but their very lives.

Everything swirled in a terrible vortex, churning

so that nothing could be seen in the rising dust.

Every now and then, a sword or pike flashed, occasionally someone

leaped from the tangle on unsteady legs and, after a few

steps, collapsed to the ground.

They fought in single file and in groups, swords intersected with

scythes and pitchforks, flails and clubs clashed with a loud drumming

against shields and armor. Some abandoned their weapons and, rushing

at each other, pummeled each other with fists, crushed each other with knees, strangled each other, and

bit each other.

The first columns of flame and smoke shot up,

bricks and planks rained down, and frightened horses ran into the square, their harnesses

ripping apart in their panic.

O'Dillen, keeping a distance from the fighting,

watched the proceedings with a watchful eye. From time to time, he made

use of his remedial weapons, and wherever

a larger, concentrated group of enemies appeared, he sent an arrow

that exploded upon contact, cutting

down men in a single swarm.

Eventually, the tight defense was broken into numerous smaller pockets of resistance. The sight of individual soldiers furiously fending each other off with their swords against the swarms of peasant lances aimed at them

became increasingly common . The battle was drawing to a close.

Seeing this, O'Dillen rallied Roch and a few more

peasants, with whom he stormed the walls.

"Time for the biggest game!" he shouted, pointing to

the royal tower. "Follow me!"

The inner palace, independently fortified, was

manned by a garrison who had not yet taken part in

the battle, and the crossbowmen scattered along the battlements

greeted the approaching group with a hail of arrows. O'Dillen

pulled a glass vial from his belt and smashed it on the stone

pavement. His group was immediately enveloped in an impenetrable fog,

rising from the remains of the vial. The disoriented

archers began to send a projectile at random, while

O'Dillen threw another smoke vial in the exact

opposite direction to the one he had aimed. The peasants

groped their way, following their commander's voice. When the wind dispersed

the fumes, there was no one outside, but inside

the castle corridors, shrieks and the clang of iron echoed.

The attackers advanced like a storm, destroying

the palace servants and the king's bodyguard who stood in their way. The peasants

spared no one, and O'Dillen spared no one his

meager arsenal.

Soon, under the pressure of exploding fire,

the last door collapsed, and the attackers burst into the throne room.

O'Dillen cast a quick glance at the figures

gathered around the royal seat. It turned out that

the monarch had either refused, or had not yet managed, to hide in

the labyrinth of the palace's underground chambers. Pale as a sheet,

Fediana held the hand of her father, who sat with his head raised

and a solemn expression. The few dignitaries who remained

with the ruler glanced fearfully from Scanoux to

O'Dillen. The jester was not among them.

"Whoever invades my house under the law of robbers

will be treated as such!" The king grabbed the hilt of his

ceremonial sword.

"Alive!" O'Dillen ordered.

The entourage and guards surrendered immediately; only

the monarch himself had to be subdued.

"So I returned... after all, we were

to see each other again," O'Dillen said, slowly striding toward

the ruler.

"Dog! You raised your hand against God's anointed!

You will not escape punishment!" Scanoux wheezed.

O'Dillen laughed, walked to the throne, and sat down

, crossing his legs.

"It's quite comfortable here! Why not have some fun for

a while, eh?

" "Barbarian! You have no right!

" "Right?!" O'Dillen stood up abruptly and glared at

the king. "You reptile!" he snapped. "You dare talk about

the law?!" he demanded loudly. "Look carefully!" With that

, O'Dillen removed his hood. A fair-haired face with regular features and a high forehead

appeared before everyone's eyes . "Yes, you could have seen that before by reversing my name. I am Nellido. And soon I will be Nellidoux, for I have come for what is rightfully mine ! And I will banish you, just as you did, as you undoubtedly remember, and you too." O'Dillen shifted his gaze to the princess. "Nellido!!!" Fediana burst out. "Nellido, forgive me!" She tried to break free from the peasants holding her and run to O'Dillen. " Forgive me, I didn't know, I didn't recognize...Nellida! " she burst into tears. "You knew! I read it in your eyes, but even when we were alone, you didn't have the courage to admit it! That crowned dragon intimidated you so deeply! But I won't be like that!" he declared emphatically to everyone gathered. "You will stay here and no harm will come to you." He turned back to Fediana, then approached Rochu. "She will be yours," he whispered, adding louder. "You, Rochu, will be my right hand, for you have helped me greatly, and I will certainly not forget you, brave warriors," he announced solemnly, and stepped out onto the terrace from which Scanoux had recently spoken. The battle was over; the peasants were busy searching the vanquished and tearing each other's loot. "People!" " O my people! Our misery is over! The dragon's reign is over ! This very day, a great feast will be held, using the supplies taken from the treasury of that wretch Scanoux, whom we defeated together! Bring this joyful news to your women and children! From this day forward, I will ensure that peace and prosperity reign in the kingdom forever ! Let us eat, drink, and be merry! " "Long live our one and only, just king, Nellidoux!" Roch shouted in O'Dillen's ear. "Long live!" the crowds replied weakly. "Long live!" 

"Long live!" the cry grew much louder,

until it finally merged into one universal roar of a thousand throats, and

continued, vibrating in the ears, trembling in the walls, rolling across

the fields, reaching the clouds, even though all human lips

were silent in fear, it grew stronger, thundered, shook the whole

earth, and then O'Dillen thought

he heard Bold's distant chuckle amidst the roar, but the roar drowned everything,

even the repeated cry of the crowd, which only in general panic

could dare to express in words what had become

clear to everyone, with the new king at its head - the dragon had

awakened!