Ah dragons, a knight's worst enemy! They are scaly, winged, awful creatures who live cruel, selfish, bitter lives, thinking nothing but wicked thoughts and doing nothing but wicked deeds. In short, a dragon is the opposite of everything a knight chooses to be.
Our story begins, in fact, when a particularly evil dragon paid Mikhail's home village a nasty visit one moonless winter's night during his boyhood, when he was still too young to fight.
“You see the bright star there, right above the treetops?” The village elder pointed up into the sky. Mikhail nodded silently. He often came with his father's old friend to this quiet forest glade. Together they would read the magnificent stories written into the night sky.
“That is the Polar Star,” the village elder continued. “All other lights in the heavens move to and fro, but the Polar Star remains fixed and constant. It reminds us to hope, to be faithful and true in all that we do.”
“Faithful and true like my brother, the knight!” Mikhail added enthusiastically.
“Vitaliy is most certainly a noble knight,” the village elder agreed. “But remember, Mikhail Andreyevich, there are many ways to be faithful and true, to be a good man, besides knighthood.”
As Mikhail turned to gaze once again at the bright Polar Star, a great dark shape glided overhead and blotted out the night sky. Its hideous wings beat with such fury that the trees of the forest shook and swayed as the shape flew swiftly on towards the distant village.
“Dragon!” hissed the village elder. “Quickly,” he cried, pulling on Mikhail's arm before the boy had recognized the danger. “Back to the village!”
The two, elder and boy, ran through the thick forest trees as fast as the darkness allowed, but when they finally reached the familiar white birch gates, it was already over. After a terrible fight, the townspeople had finally driven the cruel, fire-breathing beast away. But the village had lost two of its finest knights in the battle: Mikhail's father, Andrey, and his older brother, Vitaliy.
Picking his way through the burned timbers of his family's shattered house, Mikhail wordlessly set out to help the villagers put out the fires still burning across the square. For days afterwards, everyone whispered of the boy's remarkable courage and stoicism. Of course, he had plenty of both.
But no one saw Mikhail pick his way by starlight through the burned crop fields, or walk past the old steam house. No one saw him break into a run along the twisting paths of the black forest towards the hidden cave where the ashrooms grew. No one saw him frantically rip one up by its roots and swallow it whole before blinding tears began to flow.
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