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go” could only mean the one place that we should not go. It was...
    â€œCierny Les,” he said. “That’s where we’ll find some excitement.”
    How right he was. I groaned inwardly. Cierny Les, the Black Forest, in the north of our dukedom, was nothing like Stary Les, the Old Forest. Stary Les, close to our castle, had once, before the arrival of our famous ancestor Pavol the Good, been a place of deadly peril. Now, though, it was as safe as an old family friend.
    â€œOur parents told us that those who are wise always avoid Black Forest.”
    Wrong thing to say. I bit my tongue as soon as I uttered those words. I’d forgotten what passed for logic with my brother.
    â€œOf course,” Paulek said, a pleased grin on his handsome, innocent face. “But not those who are brave! As Father says, ‘Wisdom and adventure seldom travel together.’ Thus there must be some sort of adventure there. Let’s go!”
    Off he went, me trailing behind him and hoping I had learned enough of Cesta from Uncle Jozef to save my reckless brother from his own eagerness.
    â€œCesta” means the Road. I suppose I should tell you a little about it, since Cesta—and Georgi’s parting gift—was so important that day. So here is a bit of what old Uncle Jozef taught us about the way.
    The Road teaches us to give one thing for another.
    That, as I said, is a little about Cesta.
    That is how Uncle Jozef has always taught the way. He answers questions with simple sayings. Simpler than even one of my father’s proverbs.
    Or Uncle Jozef gives even less than words. Only a gesture. Such as pointing to his nose or knocking his knuckles against a water jug. Then he leaves me stewing in my own juices for days and weeks, trying to figure it out.
    Until suddenly, in the most obvious way, Cesta becomes clear to me. I see the path to follow. For a moment, at least.
    Then I think about it and it becomes even more complicated.
    Suffice it to say, my foolhardy brother and I stayed on the path Paulek had chosen. We rode on over hill and dale, across brook and stream, down valley and up, until we came to the edge of the Black Forest. We’d left all ways but one behind. Before us the narrow twisting path that dove down beneath the old, ominous branches of the oaks into the dark silence where no birds sang and the shadows grew strong.
    â€œDobre, dobre,” Paulek chortled. “This is perfect. There has to be adventure here.”
    â€œAno,” I replied.
    How else could I have answered him? Other than we are doomed as doomed can be?
    We did not have to venture far. We rounded the first corner in the wood and suddenly there they were. They stood in the center of the path. They were huge and menacing. Each of them was twice as large as a bull mastiff. Their coats were black as coal and their eyes red as flame. Their sharp, gleaming teeth were bared. The tense muscles in their shoulders rippled as they crouched, ready to spring. Their deep-throated growls made the air seem to throb.
    My right hand began to slide slowly down toward the side where my short sword hung.
    Although he has never been imaginative enough to be terrified—he always leaves that up to me—Paulek was impressed enough to rein in his horse. He looked over at me—as he always does when he gets us into trouble.
    â€œWhat now, Rashko?” he asked in a calm voice. As if I would know?
    Surprisingly, I did. My hand continued past my sword hilt to the saddlebag with Georgi’s package in it. I pulled it out, unfolded the cloth.
    â€œTu,” I said. “Here.”
    Then I tossed each of the wolves a piece of bacon wrapped in bread. One thing for another.
    Each of them caught their bread and bacon in midair and gulped it down. Then they began to wag their tails.
    â€œOh,” Paulek said. “Nice doggies.”
    My brother, as I have mentioned earlier, has always loved animals. It was Paulek and not