"A rock dragon!" groaned the experienced Kleba, who recognized the creature he had once heard of at the inn on the Dyed River. He knew just how dangerous this barrel-shaped monster was.
The rest of Dali's inhabitants learned of the rock dragon's capabilities moments later. Its first blow dislodged several massive boulders, which immediately vanished in the monster's terrifying jaws. The next blow from the dragon's head knocked off their feet most of the defenders standing on that section of the walls. It became clear that the monstrous beast would inevitably breach Dali's fortifications. The leader of the attackers, who had been directing their actions from afar, also understood this. A high-pitched whistle suddenly resounded near the rock dragon, signaling the sand hunters to regroup. Their long greenish-brown columns clearly moved toward the monster's area of operation, waiting for the right moment to pour through the hole it had made.
The old baron also understood this, and with violent gestures and shouts, he began to gather the men around him, throwing them to the spot where he expected the final decision would soon be made. With despair in his eyes and his long hair disheveled, he struck down with powerful blows the sandeelers who had managed to scale the walls.
Meanwhile, Brag, who was still carefully guarding "his" chatelaine, though this earned him no interest from Jolanda, also noticed the threat threatening the walls.
"Water him!" he roared at Kleba. "Hot water!"
But no one heeded his shouts, and the hunchback was finally forced to abandon his position and roll with remarkable agility to a large jug of steaming water that one of the servants had just brought up. With great difficulty, he lifted it above the battlement and looked down. The great, dish-shaped head of the rock dragon was just below him, biting into another enormous stone block.
At that moment, the wall swayed, and for a moment, Brag lost his balance and, staggering, nearly spilled the boiling water directly onto his head. With his last remaining strength, he tipped the bucket over and watched the monster react.
Water sprayed in all directions, striking the beast's wide-open maw. The roar that followed nearly deafened the ears of the castle's closest defenders. The sand viper, perched on the creature's neck, tumbled headfirst into the barrel-shaped legs of the rock dragon, which, after a short jump, fell to the ground and began to quiver throughout its monstrous body. The beast was no longer a threat.
A shout of triumph rose from the castle battlements, and the defenders attacked the besiegers with even greater ferocity. A few of the braver ones overstepped their bounds in the thick of the fight and jumped on the fallen pine trunks onto the necks of the sand badgers, slashing mercilessly at the exposed places.
In the distance, something even stranger was happening. Suddenly, from the western road, sounds that could easily have been the blare of war horns were heard. Everyone who could listened in disbelief, while the peasant women gathered around the plump Flo squealed joyfully, pointing west.
"Help! Someone's coming to our aid!" they shrieked, growing louder!
Finally, the eagle-eyed guard Zado, who, ignoring the whirling blades whizzing around him, leaned far out from the top of the western tower, shouted joyfully.
"It's Odrzywół's cavalry! Prince Odrzywół is coming to our aid!"
The joyful news immediately spread along the walls and energized the defending guards. No one was heeding the danger any longer! The fame of Prince Odrzywół, ruler of the Painted City, encouraged everyone. Now the monstrous attackers had to surrender.
Ignoring everything, Kleba gathered a group of warriors armed with enormous axes around him and ordered the gate opened.
"The squires won't blame us later for waiting for them like hens in a henhouse!" he hissed to one of his men.
The sand squirrels panicked. It seemed no one was controlling them anymore. The high-pitched screeches echoing from the distance clearly testified to the defeats inflicted upon them by the riders of the ruler of the Painted City. The guards from Dale were not lagging behind either. They pressed forward, slashing furiously at the fleeing ones with their copper blades and literally bathing in the greenish blood of the monsters, who were now fleeing back towards the dark depths of Stary Bor. For the pursuit had no intention of venturing there.
Brag was panting heavily, exhausted after his latest exploit. When the last sand squibs had vanished from beneath the castle walls and the retainers began clearing away the dead bodies of the fallen defenders and throwing down the triangular-headed attackers, who had
been finished off without much ceremony, the hunchback's gaze sought out the chatelaine. Seeing her safe, he breathed a sigh of relief and immediately took a few steps toward her. Jolanda was slowly brushing aside the golden strands of hair that had fluttered in the wind during the battle. By chance, her gaze lingered for a moment on the hunchback's face, contorted with sudden emotion. A brief grimace, the meaning of which he couldn't fathom, froze his heart, and the words he heard nearly knocked him off his feet.
"You have done well, my defender!" The chatelaine nodded approvingly, and Brag felt ready to leap into the rock dragon's throat for her.
He did not have time to answer her, however, because almost at the same moment a high guard from the personal guard of the count himself approached the girl and, bowing his head, said:
- Your eminent father, madam, calls you to accompany him when he greets our savior – Prince Odrzywoł!
So Yolanda followed the powerful guardsman, while poor Brag, who dared not follow, followed her with his gaze, trying to keep her in sight. He saw the chatelaine's slender figure approach Stogniew, who was pacing the courtyard. He spoke to her with a distinct reprimand, clearly criticizing her for needlessly exposing herself to danger. However, the hunchback didn't hear the words. Besides, everything else was drowned out by the loud shouts of praise for the riders from the Painted Castle. Even Brag leaned out through a narrow opening in the wall to get a better look at the cavalcade of soldiers approaching the castle gate.
Indeed, the sight of them could have evoked shouts of delight.
In neat ranks, riders dressed in plain colors, riding on beautiful black horses, their long lances raised, gleaming bloody in the sun high in the sky. It almost seemed they were returning not from a battle, but from a parade. Particularly noteworthy was the enormous knight in gilded armor riding at the front, a large knight in his hand swinging a large lance, which he swung with such ease as if it were made of wood rather than venerable, well-forged copper.
"Odrzywół!" A murmur of admiration rippled through the castle walls.
And the prince himself, hearing these hushed voices, twirled his long mustache cockily and smiled, his lips slyly twisting, and intently surveying the castle, which he had never been to before, and which he practically considered his own.
Brag had the opportunity at that moment to take a closer look at the powerful magnate, who happened to be passing by the spot where the hunchback was leaning.
The very name Odrzywół spoke for itself. Indeed, there was something about him that resembled the power of the beast he bore. His powerfully arched chest betokened incredible strength, and his hands, as large as loaves of bread, must have served his owner to crush an opponent with a single blow. His flat face, while not particularly handsome, clearly concerned the prince the least. With a proud look from his gray eyes, he swept over the half-bowing residents of Dali, who were already cheering him without embarrassment. He gave a gracious nod to the panting Kleba. He knew him as Stogniew's envoy to his court.
Meanwhile, the count and his daughter were already standing at the castle gate. Odrzywół dismounted gracefully from his horse and approached Mr. Dali on foot, which was met with resounding applause from the residents, whose chorus of cheers drowned out Stogniew's first words. Only the raised hands of the mighty prince, signaling that he now wished to speak, silenced the crowd.
"Eminent castellan, and you, noble lady Jolanda!" the prince's voice boomed in the suddenly ensuing silence. "I believe that these hideous monsters have done no significant damage to your noble city, and that we arrived quickly enough to completely crush them! I also believe that all this will ultimately prove beneficial, and that the Painted City and Dale will be united in eternal friendship! And the hideous sand-eaters will be condemned for all eternity!"
"We are grateful to you, eminent prince, for your rescue!" the fat count bowed courteously. "And how much we will make this known to everyone at the feast we will throw in your honor this evening, to better celebrate the joy of victory over the monstrous creatures that sought to crush us! I beg you, ladies, to your rooms! Your men too!"
Stogniew turned and led the prince toward the manor, to the constant cheers of the castle's inhabitants. Behind him strode the enormous Odrzywół, holding the blushing chatelaine by the hand.
Brag turned his head and sat down heavily against the wall. No one paid him any attention anymore. Everyone was absorbed in the entrance of the castle by the savior's party, triumphantly led by old Kleba.
To the hunchback's surprise, old Flo found him near the pigsty, bringing him an invitation to a feast. However, his exploits on the walls had clearly been noticed. Brag was so delighted that he forgot to even question the plump cook about her dealings with the Goat Witch. He practically ran toward the bright interior of the castle common room, where guests were being entertained. There were so many of them that makeshift tables had been set up in the courtyard for some, and wine liqueur was already flowing freely there.
The hunchback, however, managed to reach the castle's spacious common room, where a massive oak table, laden with a variety of food and jugs lapping dully with frothy liqueur, loomed over the diners. At it sat the eminent Prince Odrzywół himself, tenderly embraced by Count Stogniew, who was barely able to stand. The beautiful Jolanda watched from the side, a proud expression mingled with clear distaste at her father's behavior.
Brag then felt as if he were seeing a figure straight out of his dreams. Her beauty dazzled him so much that he sat down on the threshold for a moment, only a violent tug brought him back to reality. He stepped aside, making way for the servants, who were just bringing in the next course for the diners' tables. Meanwhile, the hunchback had fallen back into a stupor. He practically couldn't take his eyes off the slender figure of the chatelaine, openly adored by the enormous prince, something against which—to Braga's growing despair—she clearly had nothing.
The words of the drunken Stogniew, who shouted to Odrzywoł with a terrible laugh, completed the bitterness.
"Our alcoves are comfortable, my lord prince!" he cackled loudly. "If that's your wish, you won't have to wait long for your first night with your wife! What, prince?!
" "Father!" Yolanda's cry momentarily sobered the obese count, who staggered and looked with a clearer gaze at the chatelaine's suddenly pale forehead. "I haven't been blessed with the green branch yet, and for now, the prince is not my husband!
" "But I will be, my lady!" Odrzywół muttered, his thick lips twisting into a sly smile. "Sooner than you think!"
"I see it's time for me to seek refuge in my own chamber!" Yolanda replied dryly, leaping to her feet, and only their combined strength could stop her from carrying out her threat.
Brag was about to rush to his beloved's rescue, and would have done so without fail if not for a bony hand that grabbed his arm with indescribable force, nearly knocking him to the ground. He turned angrily to deal with the insolent man. He saw a tall, stick-thin man in the colors of the twig-haired manor. Beneath a black mustache that hung down to his chest, a mocking smile played across his thin lips.
"It's not worth it!" the intruder murmured soothingly.
Brag felt a sudden tingle run down the curve of his back. He knew that voice! He knew that man! He didn't know where, but he knew. The force of the memory washed over him in a sudden wave. It had been so long ago! The woman's narrow face and those long whiskers that tickled his face.
"You are Brag, son of Zend!" the newcomer stated rather than asked. The hunchback unconsciously nodded his shaggy head. "You want to reach high!" added the mustached man. "You have every right! But she's not worth it! "
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