Dragon Empire
Natalie Yacobson
Translator Наталья Николаевна Лилиенталь
© Natalie Yacobson, 2020
© Наталья Николаевна Лилиенталь, translation, 2020
ISBN 978-5-0051-4413-3
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
PROLOGUE
Quiet, calm night. The silver moon shimmers. A dark river sleeps under a stone bridge. Small islands of stars scattered across the dark canvas of the sky.
The young traveler dimly sensed a threat in the cool air. He got out of the carriage. Ahead lay a gloomy bridge. Torches blazed on either side, illuminating the road. Suddenly, in the silence, they heard quick, echoing steps. Heels pounded on the cobblestones of the bridge. An echo echoed them.
The stranger groped for the cleaver in his belt. The steps approached. The girl ran headlong across the torch-lined bridge. Her long, black hair fluttered behind her back. A grimace of fear froze on her gentle, white face.
“Please help me!” She shouted. “Help…”
Her voice broke. She rushed forward, tangled in her own skirts and stumbling. The traveler managed to notice on her hand a gold ring with an amethyst.
The girl looked around fearfully. She was afraid to look at the sky. She wanted to run on, but then a huge black shadow covered the moon. There was a wild roar. A winged shadow fell on the bridge and part of the river. An unexpected gust of wind stirred the fallen leaves along the shore.
The frightened, pale beauty froze halfway, like a statue. The silhouette of a huge golden dragon stood out high against the black sky. Scales gleamed on powerful wings, a tail wriggling behind a sparkling hump. The monster’s aquamarine eyes sparkled with anger and fury.
And suddenly the dragon rushed down. Its strong clawed paws wrapped around the girl’s waist. In the next moment, he was already hovering high in the sky with his burden. All that could be seen was the relentless, smoothly flapping wings, the pure gold of the torso and head, and a tiny cloud of the dragon’s prey’s scarlet dress.
The young traveler lowered his eyes sadly. The coachman, sitting silently on the box, seems to have become accustomed to such incidents. And the young man could not help thinking. He did not have time to use the weapon. It wouldn’t have helped anyway. How good she is – a dragon sacrifice. But this time the dragon was wrong. Fate haunts everyone.
RANDOMITY
A tent of green foliage swirled overhead. The earth around it was blooming and fragrant. Pansies and primrose covered the meadows. The golden sea of buttercups stretched deep into the forest. The rising sun dazzled the eyes and transformed the magical flora. It is dangerous to enter here, but for the daredevils there are no barriers and laws.
Rose looked over with an admiring glance at the elderberry bushes and lush crowns of trees. Wild raspberries sparkled with dew drops. A piece of blue sky peeked between the tops of the pines. Elves usually live in such forests, but not everyone is destined to see them.
Rosa slung the gun over her shoulder. She shot great. The king himself taught her. And if he allowed her to carry weapons, then he would allow her to hunt in the reserved forest at the same time. It was not for the princess to wander unaccompanied in unfamiliar places, to communicate with commoners, and even more so to wear men’s clothes. But Rose did not care that the courtiers and masters would condemn her. Now she was thinking about her father’s ban. No one should step over the line and enter the forest.
This was the only prohibition for violation of which there was no special punishment. But people kept it. After all, the elves who lived in the forest should have punished the violator. And this is more terrible than dungeons and casemates. Until Rose met not a single magical creature on her way. Maybe the people themselves invented all these legends.
Rose walked quickly along the narrow, uneven path. Her long black hair fell over the red velvet of her caftan. Tall, leather boots were much more comfortable than women’s shoes. Trousers and a sling with a dagger made her look like one of those idlers who drop out of military service and rush in search of adventure, but more often find their own death.
The deeper Rosa went into the forest, the hotter and more suffocating it became. Such a change is against the laws of nature, which means that other forces rule more often. Perhaps a magician settled here, who dictates his conditions to the weather. Anyone who knows how to conjure has the right to subjugate rain, hail, and lightning, what can we say about the heat.
Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the larynx was dry. The air became hot as in a pottery oven. And there is no brook or reservoir nearby. Rosa was about to turn off the path when she suddenly heard a broken cry. Someone desperately called for help.
Rose listened. The cry rang out again, now it was clear that it was coming from the thorny, bare bushes blocking one of the paths. What if this is just a joke of the invisible inhabitants of the forest? However, Rose, without hesitation, rushed there. The thorns scratched painfully. Rose skinned her hands, tore the sleeve of her caftan, and a red rag from it hung on a branch of a bush.
A strange picture opened before the girl’s eyes. At the top of the mountain there was a fierce struggle. The eagle attacked a helpless, crying child. The child screeched shrilly, but for some reason it seemed to Rose that his voice was not childish at all.
Shooting a bird from this distance is almost impossible, but Rosa was a well-aimed marksman. She had loaded the gun an hour ago, and she had no doubts about her abilities either. The girl concentrated, took aim and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out, an angry bird’s squeak spread across the skies. Rose missed. How can this be, with her dexterity. She pointed at the heart of the eagle, and instead only interrupted the wing.
Rose fired again. Now right on target. The eagle fell heavily down. Good game! But the princess was more worried about the child. Had she not been around, the predator would have ripped him apart.
Climbing the mountain, Rose ran to the rescued person, and she froze in place. It turned out to be not a child at all, but an ugly little troll.
At that very moment, a dark figure stepped onto the path. The tall gentleman’s white, beautiful hand carefully removed the red patch from the bush. A scrap of princess clothing is a valuable trophy. Especially if another cunning plan is brewing in an insidious head.
Meanwhile, the dumbfounded princess stood on the top of the mountain, rooted to the spot, and looked with surprise at the rescued. How could she take this brat for a child, because the skin of the troll is gray, earthy, and not at all pinkish, as is the case with human children. Instead of a child’s, a lace shirt on a shaggy little body hung, as if on a hanger, a fancy, silvery robe. Furious, sparkling eyes stared at Rose.
“Eagle!” suddenly croaked the troll, waving his hand in the direction where the dead bird was supposed to lie under the mountain.
At first, Rose did not understand what he was trying to explain to her. In addition, the troll uttered several phrases in a language that people did not understand.
In vain she only ruined the eagle, thought the princess, because everyone knows how harmful these trolls are. The most valorous knight would not have saved them for any price, but she fell for the bait, believed that she was doing a good deed.
“He’s alive,” the troll yelled, gesticulating hard at every word. He did not recover from fright, but did not forget how a huge bird of prey circled over his head.
“I swear I killed him,” Rose said, her tongue tangled with emotion. She looked down to be sure she was right, but another disappointment awaited her. There was no eagle at the foot of the mountain. True, the nettles were crumpled in that place, as if recently there was something large and heavy in it.
“Couldn’t he take and fly away with a hole in his heart and a bullet