Free Dragon Castle by Joseph Bruchac Page A

mine. He looks worried. “ Bratcek, are you jealous?”
    â€œNo, far from it. Not at all.”
    A happy grin as broad as a sunrise over the High Tatra Mountains spread over his face. His big left hand thuds into my chest. “ Vyborne! Wonderful. Then all is well. On guard!”
    And before I can say another word—or fully regain my breath—his sword is swinging at me and I am barely deflecting it with my own blade.
    â€œUtok!”
    No time for persuasion or argument now. I raise my weapon just in time to catch the gleaming blade that descends as swift as a falling star toward my head.
    Clang!
    â€œUdriet!”
    And again!
    Clang!
    â€œVelmi dobre!” Paulek shouts as his feet shuffle forward on the floor of the high-fenced practice field. “Good! Good defense, small brother.”
    Defense? Standing within sword’s length of a grinning madman who thinks that attempting to bash his innocent brother is an enjoyable pastime? To be fair, though, Paulek would feel terrible if he really did injure me. The strength of his attacks have only increased over the years as my ability to defend and fight back has grown. He prides himself on having been the one—even more than Black Yanosh—who has done the most to turn me into a skilled swordsman. As our wise old teacher has often said, to know how to attack, first learn to defend.
    And defense is what I need to put my mind to right now. Blunt blade or not, Paulek is strong as a bull. Any one of his blows may break bone if I fail to either deflect or dodge it and it connects with something other than my much-dented shield and helm. I have to put my mind to this. No time now to worry about my missing parents or the hungry grin on the face of Baron Temny. At least Paulek is his old self while we’re here, and he’s trying his best to help his beloved brother grow as a fighter by endangering his life! A smile starts to come to my own face as the two of us engage in our dangerous dance.
    â€œUtok!”
    Thwang!
    â€œNicely taken, brother!”
    Luckily, Paulek has never been one to think silently as his mind runs through the various techniques we have both been taught by Black Yanosh. Our persistent (and still hidden) weapons master has spent eight weeks of every year with us since Paulek was seven and I was six.
    â€œUtok! Udriet!”
    Attack! Strike!
    No matter what Yanosh has tried, including stuffing a gag in his mouth, Paulek has never been broken of the habit, in the excitement of battle, of stating what he is about to do a split second before doing it.
    â€œUtok!”
    Swoosh!
    The wind stirred by the deftly executed crossing downstroke of my brother’s blade swishes past my nose as I jerk my head back.
    â€œUdriet!”
    Thwang!
    My right arm is jarred by the powerful, perfectly placed backhand blow that could have broken my shoulder had I not taken it on my shield.
    â€œUdriet!”
    Thud! The sound of the hilt of a quickly reversed sword as it strikes the center of an unguarded stomach.
    â€œOoof!”
    A body hits the ground hard. A suddenly regretful brother drops his shield and sword to kneel and apologize.
    â€œ Prepac! I’m sorry, Paulek.”
    My older brother sits up slowly. As always, there is no anger in the look on his face. In fact, he looks pleased that I’ve bested him.
    Lately, unless I try really hard to control myself, things just happen. I don’t know how or why. One moment Paulek is pressing the advantage and I’m doing my best just not to get maimed. Then, the very next second Paulek is flat on his back and I’m standing over him.
    If Black Yanosh were here and not still lying low, he would be looking at me with one snowy eyebrow raised, his leathery right hand stroking his small, elegant mustache.
    â€œZnova,” he would say. Again.
    That is all Black Yanosh ever says whenever one of my lucky moves manages to knock down my brother. I never have met anyone