not supposed to talk at all,» the tit pecked Graymore’s shoulder resentfully and sprang away. «If you’ve noticed, I’m just a bird.»
That’s all! The tit disappeared into the treetops, as if it hadn’t existed at all. It seemed as if she was only dreaming.
«You are cheeky little bird!» Graymore rubbed her aching shoulder. What else to call a tit? But the tit doesn’t care about insults. She was long gone, but the statues remained. They reeked of cold and heat at the same time. It seemed that everything around them was both on fire and covered with ice. Only the greenery of the thicket softened this impression.
«They could be revived by water from the well, but it was better not to do so.»
Who said that? Was it a tit? The voice seemed different, not so thin. It came from the center of the square, overgrown with grass and littered with sculptures. There was indeed a well with a log cabin covered with a thick layer of moss. The place was in disrepair! Grahamor would not have been surprised if moss had sprouted in the depths of the well, too. Out of curiosity, she jumped off her horse and approached the well. Could one drink from it? There was no bucket or pail to draw water from, but a green serpent hissed at her from the well.
It’s a well’s dragon! Graymore instantly drew her sword and swung it, but the serpent was in no hurry to attack. It only hissed furiously and looked Graymore straight in the eyes. Its gaze must have been hypnotizing. Why would she kill it if it wasn’t breathing fire and biting? Graymore put the sword away. It was the first time she had ever let a dragon go. Her advisors would not have approved of such mercy.
The dragon showed counter-solidarity and retreated back into the well. If he spat venom in her face, she would be ugly. How she hadn’t thought of that right away. After all, well’s dragons are known for their poisonous saliva. It made her flesh blister like a pustule.
Something creaked behind them. Graymore turned around. The sculpture of the beautiful horned lady seemed to have changed her pose. Probably it was just an imagination.
What did it mean, the statue was her rival? Graymore approached the lady again. Her stone eyes were blank, a ligature of dragon scales trailing across her lips and cheek. So is this lady a dragon or not? Do all statues depict people ready to turn into dragons? What did the sculptor want to show? If only the sculptor sculpted them. What if they really are magical?
They said that victims of dragon fever were covered in scales and mutated. And to get such a fever, you have to be scratched, bitten, or poisoned by a dragon’s saliva. There was a time when whole villages died from dragon epidemics, but that was a long time ago. No such contagion had been heard of in recent centuries.
The stone lady looked at Graymore with disapproval.
«I’m sorry, but there’s no water in the well, so I won’t be able to see if you’ll come back to life from it,» Graymore apologized.
She must be losing her mind to talk to the statue.
The horse beat his hoof impatiently on the ground. For some reason he did not like the Stone City. Why is it not? It was so quiet and beautiful. Maybe the horse sensed the dragon’s closeness and was therefore worried.
Graymore remembered the stranger’s story about a certain Ligeia queen who turned into a dragon after marrying a dragon. Could this statue be a monument to her?
Another name was carved on the foot of the statue.
«Donata!» Graymore read it aloud.
What an unusual name!
At the sound of that name the arches shook all at once, as if a giant had stepped on them. The stone began to crumble. Small stones were thrown about in all directions.
What on earth had happened here? Graymore looked up. There was no giant above, of course. The arches were collapsing on their own.
She must get out of here before she was crushed. One large stone bounced off the arch and almost fell on Graymore’s head. The princess was one moment from death. The stone pressed against the hem of her dress. What bad timing! Graymore did not like the feeling of being held hostage. She could not free the hem from under the stone. She had to tear the fabric as hard as she could. A large flap remained under the stone. One could only hope that some wizard hadn’t picked it up to put a spell on the princess. Graymore knew that the small things of ladies are often used for charms and other abominations. It is unlikely that a dragon, even if he found the flap, would cast a spell on her.
It felt as if the stone city belonged to dragons. It seemed to Graymore that the statues came to life and moved. They were all depicting ladies and gentlemen, but they were all unnatural. All of them had their faces and arms partially in scales, or dragon tails were stretching out of their backs.
«There are inscriptions on the arches!» A thin voice whispered. «Read the writing on the arches, and the city will cease to fall.»
How can you read them if the arches are already partially crumbling? The unseen voice is a humorist!
Graymore was barely on her feet when the stone tail of one of the statues whipped at her feet.
The stone must have shattered and flung itself at her feet. There’s no way a statue could have come to life. The whole place collapsed like an earthquake.
Graymore was frightened. She wasn’t afraid to fight a dragon, but the prospect of being crushed by falling rocks terrified her. It was not a worthy death for a girl knight. It was better to die fighting.
The unknown gods heard her prayers. A dragon roared over the crumbling city. Graymore looked up. The most magnificent dragon she’d ever seen was flying across the sky. Its hide glittered like an emerald bordered by gilt. The dragon looked menacing and majestic at the same time.
«I never thought I would marvel at a creature that flew!» Graymore muttered.
She should have taken out her sword and crossbow, but they were still in the bales strapped to her saddle. The only thing she had with her was her dagger. Graymore drew it. At that moment a golden light flashed through one of the arches, as if beyond the archway was not a void but an entire hall. In the archway flashed either a dwarf or a boy, dressed in an emerald camisole.
«Run, you fool!» He hissed at Graymore. «This is a dragon’s country.»
Run from the dragon’s land! Oh, no! Graymore did not move. Meanwhile, the dragon had dwindled. He was now hovering just above the arches, but he seemed somehow unable to see the city below.
Strange that a dragon couldn’t see it, now that it was a dragon’s land. Perhaps the boy was referring to some other creature that was only symbolically called a dragon. Each sculpture had at least one dragon’s feature, but they were essentially people, not dragons. Maybe dragons were called, in layman’s terms, all those who had been stricken with dragon fever.
A monotonous chanting sounded over the ruins, as if a chorus of ghostly voices was singing. Graymore discerned the words:
«Donata, Ligeia, it is sacred hunt, it is tribute to the golden deity.»
The singing was mesmerizing. She wanted to stand and listen to it, even if the dragon was about to dive down and tear her apart.
Another large
