Snowy tale.

Gliding smoothly through the night sky, a dragon flew toward the camp broken by soldiers, its enormous wings gracefully cutting through the air, shimmering beautifully in the starlight. The captain, frozen to the bone and tasked with monitoring the beast's movements, stepped away from the massive telescope on an iron tripod. Shouting something below and waiting for a response, he commanded "fire!". A tall Barbarian with a torch in hand ran to the projectile tip, igniting it; a dwarf grunted as he knocked out the retainer, after which a huge flaming arrow soared into the heavens. On the other side of the tower, the soldiers performed the same action.
The dragon, which until that moment had paid no attention to the lookout post, grew angry and changed course. The piercing sound of a war horn rang out, demanding readiness from the few remaining soldiers. Cursing, the warriors hastily reloaded the ballista, while archers scattered across the area to take advantageous positions. One of the projectiles hit the dragon, leaving a small scratch on its scaled belly; a whole cloud of arrows followed, but were easily stopped by a powerful blast of air created by its wings.
The dragon dove steeply downward, preparing to drown the land in fire. At this, even the bravest archers ran for cover with screams. In a matter of seconds, the stream of fire engulfed the wooden structures, turning the ground into a blazing hell. Quickly realizing where the huge, heavy arrows were coming from, the beast folded its wings and began climbing up the stone wall. The soldiers at the ballistas were ordered to retreat, but Hommi did not want to lose the chance to fire the last projectile, for which they had spent so much effort preparing. Shouting "wait!" to the Barbarian yelling at him, he waited for the dragon's head to finally appear over the wall. The beast did not make them wait long, leaping onto the wide, frozen wall in a single bound. The arrow, fired almost point-blank, clanged off its chest without causing harm. Lunging forward, the dragon grabbed the ballista with its teeth and threw it down onto the burning ground.

Nervously fiddling with a flare gun, the general stood by his tent on top of the hill, gazing into the distance. The troops below were ready to move out, awaiting only the command, but something made him hesitate. Perhaps it was hope for the return of the elven ambassador or an unwillingness to send innocent soldiers into an unequal fight. Or perhaps a knowledge of something secret that allowed him to see things in a completely different light. An out-of-breath adjutant arrived, reporting the destruction caused during the dragon's attack. Surprisingly, there were no losses among the soldiers; the men had escaped with only minor burns. As soon as the general dismissed his subordinate, a second one ran up to him, reporting the arrival of a member of the Mages' Guild who had completed his assignment. Ordering that the mage and all his companions be admitted immediately, Naver fell deep in thought, weaving the appearance of a powerful guardian into the current plan.
Waiting for the arrivals, the general invited them into the tent, where at least it was bright. To his great surprise, he was introduced to a little girl holding the hand of a southern Sorceress. Noticing His Excellency's confusion, Ment began to explain what had happened in the attacked village. Realizing that no support could be expected from an eight-year-old "guardian," the general turned to the mage, wishing to know his thoughts on the difficult situation. Ment confirmed the presence of an unstable background interfering with the casting of magic, suggesting that its source was much stronger than those they had previously dispersed. If two people had handled the large gemstone in the troll's estate, then here, likely, four would need to apply themselves. The main problem was crossing a completely empty snowy field while being as plain as day before a dragon that could see perfectly in the dark.
Interrupting the discussion, Arandor burst into the tent. Instead of explanations, the elf raised a hand with a bright cloak, trying to catch his breath. At that very second, the general called for the adjutant, sending him with an order to prepare the fastest horses capable of covering the required distance. For the next ten minutes, His Excellency explained a simple plan to Arandor and everyone present: they only needed to approach the ruins of the castle and correctly recite a spell, after which the dragon should be defeated. Ment asked for more details about the mysterious spell, unknown even to an experienced mage like him. Naver, not wishing to waste time, brushed it off by explaining that it was a special form of curse created exclusively to fight a specific creature.
Watching the business-like adults shouting and pointing fingers at a large map, the little guardian suddenly piped up:
- But what about the star?
Hearing her, Sesam loudly repeated this question, which had been lost in the depths of the negotiations. The general looked up from the map, frowned, and asked "what?". Stroking his beard, Ment thoughtfully uttered "the star." That very thing that gives all sorcerers a headache, making the dragon an invincible opponent on its own territory. The general silently poured himself wine into a glass, drank it in one gulp, and whispered "I need to rest."
- We don't know exactly how the energy of the "gemstone" affects curses, - Ment said.
- And why should it affect them any differently? – Fail asked.
- Because these are two different types of magic, - Sesam explained.
- Since it hinders us, we must destroy it! – Alexis shouted.
- To destroy it, you first have to reach it, smarty-pants! – Heroist said irritably.
- If you ask me, I think the dragon will incinerate us first, - Dag added reservedly.
- What if we use a sled?
- And are you going to drag it across the field?
- But what about the horses?
- In such snow, it's faster to go on foot than by horse.
- I can help, - said the shaman, who had been standing aside all this time.
Everyone fell silent, abruptly turning their gaze toward the nature caster. Slightly embarrassed, he explained his idea, which involved moving forward on a sled pulled by enchanted horses. Of course, there was a huge amount of risk in this, but unfortunately, they had no alternative solutions.
Rushing out of the tent, the general ordered the transport to be prepared and provided the operation participants with everything necessary, after which he led Arandor into his private tent where the coveted scroll was kept. Moving through the camp, the elf noted that the soldiers were ready, awaiting orders. Campfires burned, people warmed themselves as best they could without leaving their posts at the loaded bolt-throwers. Despite the dangerous proximity of a beast of incredible power, the men chatted cheerfully and laughed; no one wanted to think about a possible bloody battle. Giving the guard the command to let the elf through, the general flew into the tent, immediately rushing to a small chest on one of the tables.
Before Arandor had even entered, the general was already carefully unfolding an old parchment on the table in the center of the room, ensuring its integrity. Showing the negotiator faded letters stamped in black ink, to which he nodded affirmatively, confirming his knowledge of the ancient language, Naver just as carefully rolled the spell back into a tight scroll. Handing the elf a sturdy shoulder bag that perfectly fit the vital artifact, the general also handed him a sword.
- Will the dragon not fall after the curse is read? – Arandor wondered.
- That's exactly how it will be! But you'll need the sword after that, take it! – Naver commanded.
Nodding gratefully, the elf fastened the sword to his belt, put on the bag and raised the hood of the magic cloak, emphasizing his complete readiness. Together with the general, they headed down to where the hill smoothly transitioned into a flat snowy field. The sleds equipped for the journey, harnessed to three horses, awaited departure.
- Whatever the dragon tells you – do not listen. It is a cunning creature that has destroyed many! – the general suddenly said.
Arandor nodded, not fully understanding what was meant.
Standing on the sled, Oben hurried the commander, shaking a torch. An angry Drakkosha argued desperately with Fail, proving she deserved her place on the sled, to which he insistently objected, saying this was no pleasure trip and girls, especially those so skilled in cooking, would have to wait in the safe camp. An enthusiastic Heroist chatted with a mysterious stranger, who was actually the demon Ple’Sen. Naturally, a couple of mages were along, discussing the mysterious spell and possible scenarios related to its use. The final participants were the rogue Tox and the silent shaman, settled on the driver's seat. Jumping up, Arandor commanded "forward!".

Sputtering green sparks from under their hooves, the horses raced across the smooth snowy plain at incredible speed, leaving behind only a shallow trail from the sled runners. The rogue steering them was encountering such magic for the first time and was therefore deeply impressed and thrilled. The sled quickly approached the ruins; the amazing thunder of hooves on a snow cap that didn't give way by a single centimeter very quickly attracted the attention of the master of these lands. An angry beast appeared in the heavens, descending rapidly toward the ground. Patting the driver on the shoulder, Oben pointed to a half-destroyed wall running along the ascent. A pillar of fire, cast down by the dragon from above, formed a small steaming pool behind the heroes. Urging the horses with all his might, Tox directed them toward an illusory shelter indicated by the elf. A wave of bright fireflies rushed forward, lighting the way. Although natural magic experienced no negative consequences in the presence of the star, the caster felt them fully. The heavily breathing shaman supported the spell with his last strength, preventing the sled from suddenly getting bogged down in the snow. The dragon descended to the ground, again breathing fire toward the unwelcome guests, but the sled was faster this time as well.
The wall indeed made flight very difficult for the dragon, allowing the daring driver to win enough time. The horses burst through the ruined gates, ending up in the center of a chaotic pile of stones that were once part of a beautiful castle. The heroes immediately scattered in all directions, splitting into two groups of four, while Arandor had to remain alone this time. A furious roar echoed from outside the castle, wings flapped, and the monster, flying over the heads of the intruders, perched on the remains of a high tower.
Wrapped in his magic cloak, Arandor hurried toward the half-destroyed steps leading to an elevation. To successfully read the curse, he needed to take a good position that allowed maximum visibility of the target. Somewhere there, behind the wall, the dragon roared again, filling its own ruins with fire. It suddenly grew warmer, and as he moved forward through the stone debris, it became hot. Keeping his hand on the coveted bag containing the key to victory over this ghastly creature, Arandor slowly moved toward the black tower, which he intended to use as a platform for casting the spell. From somewhere to the side came the crunch of stone, a growl, and suddenly a coarse, thunderous draconic voice asked:
- What are you seeking here, brave one? A feast is coming, it's time to have fun, is it not?
Arandor froze in place, seeming to forget how to breathe. His heart hammered wildly, a shiver ran through his body; fear, which until this moment had barely manifested itself, completely took hold of him.
- You have no need to hide, I know where you are, - the dragon said, guessing his thoughts.
- I seek your doom! – the elf shouted without thinking, running to another shelter.
- Are you a renowned warrior, possessor of enchanted weapons, a master of the blade?
- No! – after a brief hesitation, the hero answered.
- Hrr... are you a master-wizard, an important figure in the guild, endowed with secret knowledge?
- N-no! – through shivers replied the lone dragon-slayer, suddenly losing all faith in himself.
- In what then are you renowned, killer of dragons, what trial same I face?
- I... I trade in silks, spices and jewelry; I am a wealthy, respected merchant!
- A wealthy merchant? – the dragon let out something like a laugh. – Why then have you come here, O master of the world? What else but money grants absolute happiness? Could killing truly bring you more joy?
- Yes! Partly because of glory! But... you are a monster, a destroyer of lives! For me it is an honor to slay you, saving the lives of many innocent people!
The dragon laughed loudly, causing the walls to shake. Taking advantage of this, Arandandor ran to the next shelter; the dragon, as if nothing had happened, flew from one spot to another, closer to his interlocutor.
- Are these people so innocent? – the beast inquired. – I recall it was they who burned my castle, destroyed its beautiful towers, and trampled the flowers in the meadow.
- A dragon cannot live in a castle! – Arandor shouted. – Even if that's true, I believe you deserved it!
- Why?
At that moment, a huge draconic head appeared above the elf, making him scream as he fell onto stone warmed by the fire behind the wall.
- Was I cruel? Unjust? Did I harm someone who did not deserve it?
Crawling backward, Arandor did not know how to answer this terrible creature that had suddenly drawn him into this strange conversation.
- The curse of madness, the very one lying in your bag, O merchant, that is the price of greatness!
At that moment, a bright flash illuminated the ruins, signaling that the interference from the star was gone. Caught by the dragon, the hero jumped up and ran toward the tower; his enemy followed him. Barely running into the wide arch, Arandor pressed himself against the wall, trying to catch his breath and organize his thoughts. The tower shook violently, stone dust fell from the ceiling; it seemed the dragon had landed on its summit.
- Well then, merchant, answer my question, - the dragon spoke from above, – is the glory of a dragon-slayer worth what you are about to experience?
- How did you know I have the spell? – the elf shouted into the darkness of the tower.
- I felt it.
- Glory is not the main thing! I will not allow you to sow destruction and death!
- In that case, you have nothing to worry about; troops are already on their way, - striking the tower wall with its tail, causing another tremor, the dragon revealed.
- I don't want the soldiers to suffer!
- Oh, you can be unconcerned about that as well; the destruction of the crystal returned magic to its former course; a few strong mages will easily be able to repel my breath.
Arandor pondered the beast's words for some time, suddenly realizing that he could have long since been resting under piles of stone if the creature had wished it. Nothing stopped it from protecting the precious star, thereby making the assault on its fortress an incredibly difficult and costly endeavor. But for some reason, it preferred this silly conversation with a completely harmless merchant possessing a scroll with a curse.
- Tell me, trader of silks, what drove you when you agreed to read the curse? Did you desire so much to protect all these people that you agreed to share the great madness?
- Madness? – Arandor asked back, beginning to understand something.
- He didn't tell you? How sweet of him, - saying a growl similar to laughter again, the dragon said. – He who reads the ancient symbols shall share the curse, freeing the prisoner from his shackles.
The dragon jumped from the tower, landing smoothly on the stone platform.
- You have satisfied my curiosity, merchant, - the dragon said, looking at the lights below, the soldiers' lanterns.
- What now? – finding the courage to step out of the tower, the elf asked.
- Nothing, - the beast flapped its wings, rising into the air.
- Hey! Stop! – Arandor shouted. – I have a question!
But the dragon did not hear him, soaring in the heavens, preparing for a steep dive into the faces of the approaching shooters. At one look at them, his malice slowly grew, displacing reason. Letting out a frenzied roar, he released a stream of flame into the air. Realizing this was the last chance to use the scroll, Arandor tossed between decisions. The general's words came back to him, only now gaining meaning.
Focusing, the dragon-slayer pulled the scroll from his bag, hastily unfolded it and began reading the symbols. Just in time, for the dragon was already ready to enter battle. The beast froze in mid-air, growling something in an ancient language. As he read, the dragon tossed from side to side, unable to control himself; the rage in its eyes would either subside or flare up with incredible force. Having read the last symbol, Arandor wiped sweat from his forehead, feeling himself shaking from intense heat. The beast that descended groaned in agony, scratching the cold stone with its claws and making rasping sounds. Finally, a crack rang out, after which the dragon crumbled into black dust, carried by the wind in an unknown direction, and in its place lay a man with very long black hair. He was unconscious.
Completely unexpected, Arandor froze in place, trying to understand what had happened. Coming to his senses, he ran to the unclothed man lying in the cold, took off his magic cloak and tried to wrap the unfortunate soul in it somehow. Remembering the sword hanging from his belt and the general's words accompanying its acquisition, he was horrified. It is one thing to slay a monstrous beast threatening a city; it is another to kill a defenseless human!
Magic lights flew past, illuminating the stone square covered in ash. A cry was heard: "He's here!".