Kitabı oku: «Rhianon-5. Along the way of deception», sayfa 12
Rhianon herself could protect them both. Her fire was truer than any weapon. Too bad Ferdinand didn’t know that yet. And there was no point in telling him. She can give birth to fire, she can sense danger from afar, and she can read others’ thoughts. In the crunch of twigs she can guess the movement of beasts, in the sway of leaves the play of pixies, in the tremor of the air the movement of spirits. She is not a fairy, she is above them all. But let Ferdinand think of her as a fairy for now. Ignorance is good for him. With his simple-mindedness and his understanding of the truth, he can fall back on it. He conducts the affairs of state well. He is too gentle with his cronies. Is he harsh with others? She caught herself trying to probe his mind, to find his virtues and flaws, to determine his secret tendencies, in general to see everything that was not immediately apparent.
He had become her friend all too quickly, to see if any wormhole would open up in him. But no matter how hard she tried, she could find no flaw. Maybe there wasn’t one. That was hard to believe. How could a strong politician and warrior be such a beautiful man, and at the same time have such an appearance. Ferdinand seemed perfect in all things, both outwardly and inwardly. Yes, he has some pain. He takes the complexities of political maneuvering seriously. He knows how to fight well and command troops. He’s smart. And it seems that neither the intrigues of the court nor the hardships of war have poisoned his human qualities so far.
Rhianon heard the pixie voices in the quiet rustle of the leaves. Whether Ferdinand could hear them, too? Just in case, she decided to distract him with conversation.
“What will happen to the village now? There are no more inhabitants. Will you make any arrangements? Will you give the vacated lands to other vassals?”
“I don’t know.” He frowned and was silent for a moment, unable to say what he was thinking. “Is it possible to live there now? Have you seen the signs? They are everywhere, not only on the walls of buildings, but even in the fields. It’s as if the ground itself was marked with hellfire. I have the feeling that these possessions don’t belong to me anymore, that I don’t have the right to dispose of them.”
He had no idea how right he was. Rhianon was amazed at his shrewdness. Knowing almost nothing, he guessed everything instinctively. She could have explained many things to him, but she chose to remain silent.
“And what would happen to the children?”
He only shrugged. The gesture looked absurd in his armor. The shoulder pads jingled softly. The silence was broken by the sound of metal.
“They could find families for them.”
“Do you have children?” It seemed to Rhianon that there must be. Yes, Ferdinand was young, or maybe he just looked so young because of his appearance. But she realized he was not alone. Behind him stretches a golden thread of something — an extension of life. It was a succession of dynasties. He could not but have heirs.
“Two,” he answered in an indifferent tone. “They are both sons.”
“Then you are in luck. What my father wouldn’t have given to have an heir, a boy,” she paused. It was too soon to tell him about herself. Besides, the grim prospect of how male heirs were dealt with immediately loomed before her. It was only because of Conrad’s weakness that the female heir survived. Had there been a struggle for the throne with the young man, his throat would simply have been cut.
Leon was good at calculating his options. If he became regent of Ferdinand’s eldest son, he would have all the power, and a way to destroy both heirs before the day of their majority would certainly be found. It all adds up, unless there is no queen. Rhianon had somehow not thought of such an unfortunate nuisance. The throne beside Ferdinand might not be empty at all.
“Their mother died a few years ago,” he said as if he could read her mind.
“You have been worried?”
“I wish I could say that, for the sake of decorum…” He grinned nervously. His total detachment and lack of pride in his sons did not quite fit with his role as King. Isn’t an heir the most important thing? All the rulers of the world thought so. But Ferdinand seemed to think only of himself.
“Have you never met a witch, Rhianon?”
The question shocked her a little.
“I don’t mean those poor beggars and herbalists who are captured and burned at the fires of the Inquisition, but a real wicked and perpetually scheming witch.”
She didn’t know what to say and opened her mouth in astonishment. She hadn’t expected to hear something like this from him. But Ferdinand seemed to have been driven to an extreme degree of despair. How long he had kept it to himself.
“My wife was a witch. It was in the fullest sense of the word. With her arrival, the whole castle was in flux, nothing but intrigue, gossip, coalitions of courtiers, a whole war within one’s own house. I’m so tired. A political marriage is bad. Any union without feeling is a punishment. I would live more peacefully with a toothless old hag in the house than a beautiful woman who rushes to bring everyone down. Her actions were always senseless, the domestic battles fought for nothing, and the damage done to everything was such as could not be created by witchcraft. Letitia was the worst witch imaginable.
“Perhaps you haven’t seen a true witch,” Rhianon reasoned. Even now there was a tiny ball of fire at her fingertips, a destructive power, but Ferdinand didn’t seem to notice it.
“I’d rather sleep on a spiked floor than have this witch in my bed,” he grinned bitterly.
“Did you want a fairy?” Rhianon carefully rolled the ball of fire in her fist. She could have thrown it forward and burned several trees, but she held it in place for now. The horse, which had sensed it, snorted softly, but was wary of reeling. Rhianon’s strong arm gripped the reins tightly. The animals obeyed her.
“Yes, fairy,” Ferdinand said gustily.
“Love is blind. And so is sympathy. She wondered if he could see that she was sitting by the fire. In her thoughts Rhianon sympathized with his gullibility. Being near her was worse than holding a torch to a powder keg. She was all fire. For all her attraction, she is followed like a train by an army of evil spirits. A harpy sits in her arms. A demon child grows inside her. Around her are whispered voices of spirits. Even the dragons, as it turns out, are afraid of her, and Ferdinand doesn’t notice it all. Or he doesn’t want to notice. How he gets carried away.
“You are fortunate to have a beautiful wife, but others who wish to enter into a political marriage might have a worse match,” she imagined Hildegard, unattractive, always dressed in black, like a widow, and carrying with her the real threat of spoilage and witchcraft, not evil in the figurative sense. Ferdinand has not yet had the chance to see that domestic quarrels, squabbles, and court intrigue are not the worst things you can expect from an overseas princess. Whoever chooses Hildegard will have a much more difficult time. Along with her meager dowry allotted to her in Loretta, she will bring a whole train of black powers, enchantments, and deadly potions. “Your Letitia was still tolerable. Besides, I have yet to meet men, including crowned ones, who would forgive a woman anything for her attractive looks.”
Ferdinand compromised himself as usual with excessive honesty.
“Well, she wasn’t beautiful,” he confessed, “and we didn’t live a peaceful life… no need to lie, my life was hell, Rhianon, if I can call you that, hell without borders. It makes me sick to think of it.”
She could only sympathize. But who could sympathize with her. It is not only evil fate that follows her on her heels, but all the demons of hell. And Ferdinand naively compares what everyone undergoes on earth in one way or another to the furnace. In Rianon’s life, things have turned out much more complicated. In addition, unlike the young king, she had to study not the politics and strategy of earthly countries, but the complex construction of the rudiments of the universe. The structure of those forces that enveloped the earth like a kernel and threatened to crush it became the foundation for Rhianon. There in heaven she was desired as a replacement for a lost favorite; here on earth, she had to suffer in order to become compliant beforehand and not refuse the higher offer. She had already refused, because she had found her love in hell. The one who caused the evil and the creation of the earth was not just a mystery to her. She clearly imagined his face, though she had not heard him call her. Though if the mental call happened, he would follow her anywhere.
“Bad things happen to everyone in life,” she commented like a philosopher. “You don’t have to be ashamed or regret it. Suffering makes you stronger.”
“You speak as if you’ve been through it yourself.”
The rings on her hands were not wedding bands, but she glanced at them. The multicolored stones in their settings shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow and flashed like living sparks: emerald, sapphire, opalescent, and scarlet, ruby. They were all gifts from him, from Madael, but none of them could be an engagement ring. People are married in church, often only for the sake of formality and against the will of the newlyweds. On earth, marriage is called the sacred union of hearts, but it is only a transaction, for money, power, or the call of the flesh, most often just for the production of offspring. There is no reason for two lovers to marry, they are already made for each other. Nothing will bring them closer than they already are.
If Conrad were near her now, she would have laughed in his face.
“After listening to you, I realize that marital bonds must be avoided,” she said diplomatically. “There’s enough misery in life as it is. I’ve been through many of them, and I don’t intend to add marriage to my list of troubles.”
He didn’t know what to say, but he stared at her for a long moment.
“But you’re so beautiful,” he said after a while.
“I know,” Rhianon urged her horse on. She had the face of a Dennitsa, and that’s for sure. Beauty is a merciless gift. She would know better than anyone.
If it hadn’t been for the thicket around her, she would have galloped. Ferdinand tried to keep up with her. He didn’t care that the whole entourage was far behind him and that he was alone with a strange lady. She might indeed be a fairy and lure him into the unknown. That’s what fairies do to mortals. What would become of this fool if he encountered one? The evil one would have someone to laugh at. Even his companions are more suspicious than he is.
Rhianon tried not to think about who she was the day of them. A witch who came out of the thicket? After her encounter with the dragons, she could feel the respect the knights gave her. Did it apply to her? If it did, these observers could only be laughed at. They mistook her defeat for victory.
“The crown is a heavy thing, Ferdinand,” she said gently. “One can sympathize with you, but many only envy you.”
He did not know of Leon’s plot and probably never will. But that was what she had implied. He would only be able to part with all his problems when someone separated him from his life as well. He’d better be on his guard, since she wouldn’t always be there to seize the initiative and subdue the conspirators. She needed the right moment and all the trust she could get from him. After all, she was going to ask him for help. She would not take no for an answer. If a dragon can turn tail on her and run away, Ferdinand won’t do that. First, he is a gentleman, second, he is captive to her, and third, she already has the spell. She must only wait for the time when the King of Vinor will not be able to favor her in any way.
“I know no one thinks of the burdens of power, but everyone would like to try on the crown, the mark of a ruler. There’s probably not a lady in all Vinor who wouldn’t dream of being first at court. Have you ever wanted to be queen?”
He was right on the money, unknowingly. Rhianon felt confused. Yes, she wanted to be queen. The throne of her country belonged to her by right. She would be queen now, if Manfred hadn’t taken over her right of succession.
“Forgive me, I have gone too far,” Ferdinand interpreted her silence in his own way. — You must possess more than just the throne. That the earthly state is a toy to you? Living here in the forest…”
“I’m not from the forest,” Rhianon interrupted him. “It’s much more prosaic, if you consider my life among mortals, and much scarier if you want to know about my contact with the ethereal,” she said, silent for a moment, awaiting his reaction. Fright, anger, contempt — she was ready for anything, but Ferdinand was silent.
“I will not disappear when we reach the edge of the forest,” she dissuaded him mercifully, “but I will never be a mere human, even if I follow you to Vinor. It was hard for me, beloved lord, I was born a princess of the earthly, but I myself was supernatural. However, there was no alliance between elves and humans that caused me to be born. I came into being as such out of nothing, as fire is born, and it is not clear what its source is. I myself am like fire, don’t you feel it? Can’t you see it?”
He only shook his head stubbornly.
“You are like a mountain spring.”
He reached uncertainly to touch her naked shoulder, but he dared only touch the turquoise ruffles of her dress. He did not feel the heat. Perhaps he would feel it later. She could have burned him long ago, but she had not yet done so. No doubt Ferdinand was playing with fire, but so far he’d managed to get his fingers away before getting burned.
“I’m not a naiad, or a mermaid, or a siren who will call you to your death. I’m worse than…” Her lips rounded, preparing to let out a fiery sigh. She could barely catch her breath at the last moment, and she swallowed hot saliva. Better to burn her own throat than a man who meant her no harm.
How inopportune he reminded her of the mountain springs and pools. Oh, how she longed to go to the sea and summon those who lived in its depths. A dragon, deep at the bottom, would find himself in the ocean. And he would smell her fire from afar, and he would swim out to see its source. Rhiannon remembered her first encounter with the undersea inhabitants. She could have been their mistress. The pearls that unified her dress, her enchanting voice, her hidden flame within — she had all the ingredients to command the undead that emerged from the depths. So maybe it was worth a try.
Rhianon smiled as she noticed the dryad dozing on a tree branch. It was not Phylliss, but a gentle maiden with green hair like leaves and a body half-grown to the tree. She was asleep and reluctantly opened her eyes only when she felt Rianon’s proximity. Her green lashes fluttered open in surprise. Dryad smiled back at her.
Ferdinand took his companion’s smile personally.
“Do you never joke?”
“No,” she thought, thinking that such seriousness was atypical of any of the beasts, and grinned. Everyone but Madael’s former cronies, at least those who belonged to the cohort of supernatural beings, laughed. Not without wicked jokes. They did fall from the heavens because of their unbridled hilarity. Their excitement to follow Dennitsa was also like a joke. That was the joke they were paying for. It would not be a bad thing to listen to Orpheus and look into the Mockingbirds’ sickle. He said the most desperate pranksters were gathered there. Rhianon would like to enlist their support as well. The stronger and larger her army, the more likely she would be able to take Loretta. The only pity is that all of Madael’s troops will not be able to stand against him alone. What if he had to become her opponent on the battlefield? What is more important to the fallen angel: the will of the Almighty, who spared him, or the beloved he found on earth? Which would he choose, if the choice were before him? They say that the vows and promises of a lover cannot be trusted. Was she mistaken in trusting Madael? Yes, what is there to ponder? She wanted to fight. She intended to win at all costs. She only needed to be strong.
Rhianon let go of the reins for a moment, and balled her dainty fingers into a fist. The rings Madael had given her glistened dazzlingly on her fingers. It was as if a rainbow had streamed through the forest.
“Who could be stronger than the greatest warrior in the world?” The intrusive voice inside asked.
“He’s already been defeated once,” Rhianon answered aloud. Her own suspiciousness pleased her. He who had been defeated once could be defeated again. So it was not hopeless. The only question was whether she had the strength.
“I beg your pardon?” Ferdinand didn’t understand her.
“It is nothing,” she smiled at him dazzlingly. It wouldn’t do any harm to have his support, either.
“I like you, Ferdinand. You’re the first man in the world who’s ever stopped me from asking about my secrets.”
If it had been a fairy, she would have teased the gullible suitor, laughed at him, and driven him mad with her jokes, but Rhianon was more tactful. Unlike the wayward and unencumbered fairies, she wanted his mortal kingdom and his trust.
“It is not difficult for me not to be curious, if you so desire, fair Mistress,” he tilted his head slightly in reverence for her.
“And for me it is difficult to meet a true friend, mortals most often try to penetrate my secrets,” Rhianon held up her palm and a tit from the branch trustingly flew down to sit on her fingers.
Ferdinand watched in amazement. It was also new to Rhianon that birds obeyed her in this way. Only unlike her companion she was not stunned. She was used to seeing more and more possibilities opening up in her every day.
“What if I was the first person you could call your friend,” he suggested unabashedly.
Rhianon smiled as the sunlight flickered over the foliage and gleamed in his curls.
“I’d be glad to,” she muttered.
They had to spend the night in the woods. Either they’d lost their way, or it was a long way to Vinor. Rianon even surmised that the spirits of the forest were deliberately driving them in circles, keeping them from their territory. Perhaps the remnants of Lucifer’s host did not like the fact that the lady had changed their lord to a mere human. Rhianon laughed at her own assumption. She did not feel like a traitor. On the contrary, the angel with a sword and shining armor was as if closer to her. As she fell asleep she thought of him, of his wings, his lily skin, the beautiful arcs of his eyebrows over his bright blue eyes, of his hair the color of ripe millet, which fluttered in the fiery wind of battle. He was beautiful. And he was invincible. Nevertheless, if need be, she would have to fight him. Strangely, the more she thought about the coming battle, the more she loved him. And the battle itself was thus like a game. He would not be able to hurt her, for he loves her. And she loves him.
Even so, as she fell asleep, she remembered Ron. His face presented itself to her so clearly, as if he were there. He was handsome and young and a little more serious than she remembered him. There was something masculine and strong about him. This was the look of those who had known betrayal and pain. Ron! He seemed to be hugging her. Long blond strands slid down her face, surprisingly cold but soft lips flattering hers. Is it just her imagination, or is it the smell of decomposition coming from them. In her dreams, though, Ron’s body is not subject to decay. It is as powerful as granite, like a marble sculpture. The naked part of his chest beneath the open collar of his shirt looks powerful and sculpted. She can only dream of some strange markings stretching across the white skin just below. His body could not be riddled with the same symbols — scars like those on Madael. Except that Madael’s were scorched with celestial fire, and Ron’s were drawn with the tip of a dagger. And yet Ron was handsome. She noticed it more keenly in her dreams than in life. He’s a man, too, and he can be coveted. Not yet, he’s just an innocent unacquainted virgin. An exiled boy, forced to join the bandits, could not have a girl, much less a lady. But he knew what he wanted. Cold fingers slid confidently around her waist, her shoulders and her breasts. In the dream he was there for her. In the dream they could have been lovers. Too bad it didn’t happen in life, too. Then she, too, would have had time to know the man before the demon. Though perhaps exactly what is happening now is life on the very brink of death. Rhianon responded to the kiss and felt the unbearable cold of his lips, so scalding that even the fire inside her could have frozen ice. Just below Ron’s fingers flowed something moist and red. His touch left scarlet marks on her skin as well. Until the last moment of her sleep, Rhianon looked only at his face, searching there for the same symbols as on his body, but his face remained pure and beautiful. It was much more beautiful than she remembered. Only his eyes had grown unimpressive. There was pain in them.
“Ron,” she intercepted his fingers, and suddenly noticed the two parallel lines of wound, the two thin bloody lines that covered the inside of his wrists.
“You…” She couldn’t believe it, only watched as his caressing hands left scarlet streaks on her skin as well. Bloody smears were also left on her shoulders. Everywhere he touched her except the brocade of her dress. Magic material is untouchable. It couldn’t be crumpled or soiled, and if it was torn it would be repaired instantly. Ron, on the other hand, the wounds on his wrists would never heal.
With his name on her lips, she awoke. The silence of the night echoed faintly. In the thicket, someone seemed to be repeating it several times.
“Ron! Ron! Ron!”
But he was not there, and there were no dwarves in the thicket mocking her, shouting his name. For a moment she felt a pang of emptiness and pain, as if a piece had been torn from her own heart and now it was bleeding. All this could only be a dream of course. Ron’s image remained in her dream, but the sounds in the thicket resumed.
It was clear now that they were not voices, imitating the name she had spoken. It was the chiming of hammers. Or other instruments of labor. There was no mistaking the ringing of the hammers. The clanging was distant, but so monotonous and annoying. No wonder she mistook the short taps for a repetitive name. Just one syllable… Just one friend she had. The first unselfish friend she admired. Wherever he was now, she would remember him.
The pounding in the distance quickened, became clearer and more forced. But they didn’t wake anyone else. Rhianon didn’t find that strange. Probably somewhere nearby was forbidden territory, and sounds and voices had to break through an invisible barrier to penetrate it. So she, endowed with super-sharp hearing, catches them, but others don’t. Rhianon stood up, straightened the folds of her dress, shook dry twigs and leaves out of her hair, and headed in the direction from which the noise came. She was curious to see how the forest dwellers were having fun or working at night. Only she saw something else.
At first glance dark creatures scurrying through the forest alerted her. Short but not dwarfish, wrapped in dark capes with hoods and shovels in their hands, they made her think strangely.
“Faster! Come on, hurry! Quick, or we shall not be there before morning,” came the shouts. “You are not paid by the lord to be a dawdler. Don’t look. You are lazy bastards.”
Lord! Who is that if not Madael? Rhianon nimbly slid behind the trunk of a pine tree and lurched behind it.
She watched as the surprisingly strong workers dug beneath the roots of the trees. Despite their ungainly build they were hardy. And they worked in total silence. It was terrifying. It was like a funeral. Only once someone grudgingly muttered.
“How can we dig anywhere if we can’t see the shine from under the ground?”
“A bird watches over you,” the gloomy chief called back menacingly. He acted more in the role of overseer or warden. Maybe he was only holding the whip to drive the workers.
She did not have to look for the named bird for a long time. Absolutely plain and monotonous gray plumage, it looked more like a shagged peacock or quail, but there was something of a partridge in it, too. Not a bird, but an ugly creature with big, floppy wings. Rhianon would never have noticed it if the gray plumage hadn’t flashed brightly when it landed on one tree branch or the other. At that moment the whole thing lit up like a firebird, and the orange light from its plumage lit up everything around it like a little sun. It became as bright as a campfire. Maybe at times like this, the bird could burn its fingers, to whoever kidnapped it, to pick off the glowing feathers. Only no one tried. They were obviously not greedy, or they knew how short-lived the luster of its plumage was, but it was not the bird they rushed to grab. On the contrary, as soon as it sat on some branch and flashed, the low creatures rushed with shovels to the tree where it sat and began digging under it.
It was strange. Rhianon wondered what that might mean and almost burst into flames herself with indignation. The treasures of the magical world! Someone is digging up the treasure of Madael out of the ground. So he has ordered them to. But why is it? Perhaps he had a reason. And he said he was giving it all to her. It was to her alone. Liar! Rhianon was about to turn around in annoyance and walk away, but a resounding voice stopped her. How familiar and unpleasant it was.
“Quickly! Get them up!”
If the warder looked grim, who was Rothbert in his black cloak lined with black mink fur? He changed his clothes for warmer, but still as dark as night. In the darkness such coloring might well have been camouflage. He didn’t stand out in the darkness. He looked like a raven, too. He was Prince of Crows!” Ryanon grinned as she watched him. The low creatures were indeed digging up treasure for him. Here someone’s shovel rattled against the lid of a wrought iron chest, and immediately the bird perched on a branch faded.
“Keep looking!” Commanded the prince.
There was an unpleasant caw or croak in response, and the ugly bird flew from the branch.
“Follow it!” Rothbert commanded someone, while he watched eagerly as his servants hauled the chest from the ground. They did it with difficulty. The roots that tightly bound the treasure did not want to let it go. Neither knives nor spades would help. The supernatural entanglements were unbreakable.
“Here, you rascals,” Rothbert almost fisted his servants. Now he read the spell and the roots would part by themselves, Rhianon guessed. It did not work, not even with a dagger that glinted in his gaunt fingers. Rothbert himself was only wounded trying to cut through the tenacious roots, and now he was cursing at the worst of it. If there were any natives lurking in the thicket, they were now laughing their asses off at him. He was loser. He couldn’t even steal from anyone properly.
The only thing he had succeeded in doing after long efforts was to flip open the heavy lid of the chest and now enjoy the glitter of gold and jewels. Rothbert’s eyes were already glittering greedily. Like the gems, only darker. But as he put his hand inside the chest, the lid snapped shut, trapping his fingers.
“Damn it!”
He winced as his hand came free, blowing on his shattered knuckles. Now, they would heal slowly, or he might have a healing potion stashed away in his pocket. Rhianon estimated how long it would take him to resume his efforts.
It was interesting just to watch his fruitless efforts. Rhianon loved a free performance, but her possessive senses took over. She came out of her hiding place with determination.
“What is it, Your Grace? Stealing from my domain?”
He was at first taken aback to see her, but he recovered his composure. In an instant he was standing beside her, ready to bow politely before her. Where suddenly all came from and the stature, and manners, and proud posture?
“Your Highness is exaggerating. The possessions are not at all…”
“Not in your Duchy,” she finished with a haughty chin. “As for forbidden possessions, they all belong to my… husband. That seems to be the word you like best. And the rest of the world, including your unspoken principality, is God’s will at his disposal. Without the devil, no one would need God. Wouldn’t he? Who do you have to ask for help if you have no one to defend yourself against? Or your principality is just now in need of protection, and there are no subjects left there. And you seek means to hire an army?
He smiled flatteringly, careful to hide the frustration that was overwhelming him. “I can defend my own holdings, I am strong enough,” his black agate eyes flashed menacingly. “What is a nobleman without wealth? And in my land is not luxurious now, I have no dragons in my command, so that the fireplace in the castle is not set, the towers of the nesting crows, cracked walls would be nice to hang tapestries. I could use a chest or two of gold coins. I’d like to put my house in order, or I’d be ashamed to invite a lady to my place.”
“But you invited me,” Rhianon ignored his hopeful grin. “Does that mean you value the pure-blooded princess and demon lover less than any other woman in the land?”
