Kitabı oku: «Rhianon-5. Along the way of deception», sayfa 13

“On the contrary, I appreciate your intelligence. You alone could understand my hardship.”

He could not be teased. Rhianon pressed her lips together in annoyance, but she would not give up.

“Looking for wages and servants? Look for them away from my domain. I will not give you anything, even if you are as poor as a church mouse. My husband will not be pacified. His wrath, on the other hand, is easily incurred. So is my fire.”

He retreated immediately upon sensing the danger. Rhianon smiled contentedly. Her flame is her strength. Burnt Rothbert did not want to be. Yes, he is not handsome at all, though he is quite elegant, but the face he has he values highly enough to want to keep it intact.

“Farewell. For the first time, I apologize to the one who invaded my lands. We will decide that it was unintentional. The second time, however, I will not forgive you.”

She showed him the flame that had formed on her fingertips. It burned brightly, dazzling, gradually descending into a ball of fire. In a moment it would fly forward. Rothbert hesitated, and stepped back.

“Tell your men to be gone,” Rianon grinned contemptuously as she gave him a closer look at his servants. “Though I may have gone a little overboard in calling them men.”

“You’re right,” he hastily replied. “They are the rabble from the Outback… I have not lured from your Lord Holder anyone he would not have driven away himself.”

“I see,” she said coldly.

He would not have had the strength to poach anyone. The dragons were stubborn, to mention a few. And the stubborn Athénais was no more cooperative. They were no match for the prince. Rhianon was struggling with them herself.

“And now it’s time for you to return to your territory, you’re not welcome in this forest,” Rhianon felt the forest dwellers tense in their hiding places. One command from her and they would crawl out and surround the uninvited guests. She was ready to call them out, but for the first time since they’d met, Rothbert decided to show some intelligence. He held up his narrow, disproportionate hands and knotty fingers as a sign that he surrendered.

“I guess I’ll have to wait until one of the creatures I want to see enter my territory. A dragon, for instance…”

“You might have to wait forever.”

Rhianon squinted at his hands, so strong and vulnerable at the same time. She wondered where those knotty ridges on his toes that knew no labor had come from. He is neither a peasant nor a plowman, but a prince. And these imperfections bear little resemblance to ordinary calluses. You’d think he’d decided to get his hands on witchcraft just as he did on other people’s gold, but instead he harmed himself. Now his hands gave away his singularity. Perhaps there was more to him than that. Rianon glanced at his eagle-nosed, hooked nose. It didn’t match his fairly regular features at all, too big and too convex. If it had been any bigger, it might have been ugly.

“Alas, eternity is yours and not mine,” Rothbert quickly found a catcher for his strange bird to lure it off the branch and into its cage. “But who knows, maybe this flaw of mine can be changed in time.”

“What is it?” Rhianon stared at his hands, which were more nimble to catch a treasure-hunting bird than a dozen trappers. She hadn’t noticed any other flaws as yet, but Rothbert was looking deeper.

“Mortality,” he called. “Unlike your husband and his subjects, I have to find a way to rid myself of the burden of human frailty. And that is rather difficult.”

“It is iImmortality!” Rhianon almost laughed. “Can it be bought? Like a breast chain or an expensive carriage? Or beg for it by means of sacrifices and witchcraft offerings? Do you think you can cheat time? Or someone will stop the clock for you…”

She remembered Dominique, the chime of the unearthly chimes and the fancifully shaped gilded hands. Only fate could stop or wind such a clock. It was the clock showing the path of time itself. It is inexhaustible as long as they measure it. What would happen if they were disrupted? She already tried once, and Dominic paid the price. But if Rothbert does something like that with his sorcerer’s tricks, she won’t feel sorry for him at all. Nor would she feel pity for him if he were incinerated by one of the dragons he’d summoned with his magic. Rhianon took solace in the thought. The Prince is asking for it, and he will have to pay for it himself.

“Goodbye,” she said, turning her back on him with a deliberately defiant expression.

“See you later, Princess,” his mocking voice echoed through the thicket.

“Princess, queen, goddess…” the rustling leaves echoed.

Within seconds the treasure was safely buried beneath the tree roots, tucked away again. The earth itself seemed to have closed over it as soon as the diggers had taken their tools and gone. Rothbert didn’t manage to get his hands on a dime. It made Rhianon very happy. She wasn’t greedy at all, but she didn’t want to give away gold to just anyone. It is unusual, of course, out of the king’s favor is customary to pour gold coins in a crowd on holidays, to feed the poor out of indulgence, to give the poor things that have fallen out of fashion. But Rothbert begged and robbed so openly that she did not want to feed his greed at all.

After all, she’d already paid him for a house he’d probably never owned, but had simply invaded it and wouldn’t leave until the spirits kicked him out.

Rhianon watched to see if any crows were flying nearby. If one of them, large and crowned, was sitting in the branches of a tree, then Rothbert had not yet abandoned his scheme to get out of the woods.

All the others who had received her coin donations were already rotting in their graves. Rothbert was alive.

So he dreams of immortality. Rhianon snorted incredulously. Well, he can sit in his desolate principality, in his windswept, impoverished fortress, waiting for the dragons to fly in, bowing and begging to be called his lord. Let him pore over the pages of sorcerer’s books, whisper spells, and perform rituals. All is meaningless. Who so longs for power never gets it. It takes more than possession to have a clever head. Rothbert had no mind. It was replaced by greed.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if his dukedom hadn’t been overrun by more successful neighbors because everyone who set foot in his lands was contaminated by poisonous fumes and lost their minds to spells,” she muttered, turning to herself. But someone on the branch quickly answered her.

“So it is.”

Rhianon looked closely at the moving leaf. She could see the purple plumage at first, and then the proud head and sparkling eyes. It was a phoenix. She reached out a hand, but then remembered better not to touch it. It might burn it. It didn’t seem real enough. It was fire itself. Still, caution must be exercised.

“The land, shrouded in ever-renewing spells, soaked in poisonous miasmas, and surrounded by bloodthirsty thorn bushes…” she guessed the bird’s thoughts. You have already burned there once, only to come back again and tell me all about it. And how in burning did you manage to burn with yourself and the thorn bushes you were caught in?”

The question was unnecessary; she had already guessed the bird’s thoughts, had seen with her eyes the bleak gray land, covered with thickets of thorns and strewn with ash like sand. In its midst towered a castle even more sullen than the contaminated ground. Anyone who set foot on this land was almost immediately sick, and no longer survived. That’s why it was impossible to invade. And then there were the thorny thorns that were eternally bloodthirsty. No man, no animal, not even a bird could escape. Only the dragon that lived nearby in the rocky cave spat fire at all these tricks and spells. He himself kept in his lair, along with his treasures, so many ancient folios of sorcery that it was hard to imagine. An entire library of books braided in precious settings and containing the most dangerous spells. A wise dragon was Rothbert’s coveted goal. The prince needed not only his books, but also his strength for loyal service. But so far no amount of threat, cunning, or persuasion had brought him closer to his goal. The all-knowing cave-dweller remained elusive.

“Did you see the dragon and his precious books?” Rhianon asked, walking toward the phoenix. “You must have wondered.”

Instead of an answer, the bird tilted its head. The purple plumage glowed dazzlingly, mimicking a blaze. Maybe it was a fire, and now the whole feathery hide would be a blazing torch. Rhianon recoiled, but nothing like that happened. The phoenix’s movement, on the other hand, could easily be mistaken for a bow. It was paying homage to its mistress. Was he bowing to her, or to the flame within her? Rhianon froze in amazement.

She would have stared at the bird forever if she hadn’t heard a very different sound somewhere in the distance. It was no longer the rustling of wings or the shuffling of earthlings, but a silent song that reverberated painfully in her brain. The sounds were both wistful and mocking at the same time. They titillated the soul, like a heady drink, arousing both excitement and fear. Only faeries could sing like that. An irresistible interest drew Rhianon forward.

To follow a call from the netherworld is always dangerous. Divine voices could sound here and there, deliberately throwing her off her path and luring her to the precipice, but all came out contrary to her fears. The melody did not lose its rhythm, but came from a single direction. Soon Rhianon heard the murmuring of water as well. As she followed the sounds, she came out to the stream and noticed hundreds of sparkling sparks over the water. A little farther out, where the body of water grew more turbulent and deep, there were more lights as well. They were bustling and moving from place to place. Apparently they were working hard at night.

Rhianon stepped closer and examined what the little creatures were doing. The faeries were building a pontoon monster. Pontoons of shimmering pollen hovered above the water current. Only a select few could walk across such a bridge. It could not bear the weight of human feet.

“She is her Majesty! Look!” Some of the laborers had spotted Rhianon, and the entire glowing anthill was abuzz with excitement. In the ensuing turmoil it was hard to tell who was rushing to finish the job, and who was in a hurry to get away.

In any case, Rhianon was alone in a matter of seconds. The golden flock was a cloud away from the water. Only the rippling pontoons remained. Rhianon reached down to touch one of them. The glittering pollen crumbled beneath her fingers.

“I could have done better for you.”

The voice coming from the depths didn’t surprise her at all. Rhianon saw the dainty head, covered in seaweed and topped with a coral crest. The anemone flower seemed to sprout from green curls, as if it were a mere ornament. Below the pearl-embellished navel, fish scales gleamed.

“Anemone? She remembered her acquaintance from the fountain. Was she naiad? Was she mermaid? It didn’t matter who the creature was, as long as Rhianon recognized her. Except that the thin golden lace that formed over the surface of the water at the touch of her bluish fingers was a complete surprise. It strengthened, contradicting the fact that it could only be a skillful illusion. The gold wove together and took the shape of an openwork bridge spanning the stream.

“Is this what you wanted?” The creature in the water rippled invitingly, revealing a slender maiden’s waist and carefully hiding its fins in its depths.

“I… no…” Rhianon didn’t even know what to say. Meanwhile, the illusion was dissipating. The gold was vanishing into the darkness as if it hadn’t existed.

“There’s so much I could do for you,” said Anemone sweetly. In a moment she was already sitting on a knoll of rock by the water, her tail shimmering with scales, its wetness gone.

“Why do you want to do something for me?” She wanted to ask what you would ask in return, but the mermaid shrugged her frail shoulders.

“Because you are you,” she said with surprising simplicity.

Her nipples were smooth and her skin was blue, and there were drops of water dripping down her shoulders, like pearls stuck to her nipples. If the sunlight touched her, it would dry out such a creature. But at night, and near water, she is indeed capable of much.

“Then I have a favor to ask of you,” Rhianon hesitated half a word, unsure of how to say it without being rebuffed. Perhaps she should use the same disarming directness as Anemone. “I have business in Loretta…”

“A city with many wells,” Anemone grinned understandingly. “I have business there, too. I’m a regular visitor to all the towns that have fountains. It is including Vinor. That’s where you’re going, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rhianon marveled at her perceptiveness and how quickly word spreads among the supernatural creatures.

“Will you do something for me in Loretta?” Rhianon asked uncertainly.

The mermaid merely smiled invitingly at the corners of her colorless lips. It was a promising smile.

“I’m going there now,” she said, her voice murmuring in the silence.

The first books about the adventures of Rhianon are called “Rhianon — Princess of Fire”, “Rhianon-2. Princess of Fire and the Winged Warrior”, “Rhianon-3. Palace in Heaven”, “Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials”. After “Rhianon5 — Along the Way of Deception”, the book “Rhianon-6. Mistress of Magical Creatures” will follow.

The girl on the cover is author Natalie Yacobson as Rhianon.