Kitabı oku: «Rhianon-5. Along the way of deception», sayfa 8
Rhianon pondered for a moment. Then she decided to move in closer. The hounds at the door darted away from her, not even daring to whine. Surely they had sensed the fire. Rhianon grinned. Animals are sensitive. They know who to be afraid of. Whether their masters would be clever enough to get out of a house she could burn and leave it to her.
The servants who slept on the mats in the hallway did not hear her footsteps. Besides, they were so drunk that they would probably have mistaken her for a ghost that had appeared out of the woods. There was no use in sending out sentries who had been given bottles of wine from the master’s table for supper. Rhianon was once more convinced of this. She carefully stepped over the wicker jars and shredded bones lying on the floor and made her way to the second floor, where the gentlemen were having fun. Though having fun is a strong word for it. Yes, brass goblets were clattering, knives were clanking on plates, and the smell of venison roasting on a spit was wafting up her nostrils. Rhianon noticed the tiny brownies and house gnomes picking up the remains of their bones from the stairs. They’d obviously decided it was an offering to them, so they didn’t inconvenience the visiting gentlemen. Involuntarily she smiled. Some creature from the magical world was always fidgeting under her feet, reminding her that humans were far from being masters of the world around them. Nor are they the masters of Loretta. With an army of the evil spirits, it would have been easy to take it. You wouldn’t even have to fight. Why use weapons when the invaders could simply seep through walls, through water in wells, and materialize out of thin air.
Rhianon peered into the upper room, and to her surprise, instead of a bunch of boozing hunters, she saw people sitting rankly on either side of the table. There was no drunken chorus, no corrupt maidens, no dancers, no harp or lute playing. Judging by the rich clothing, there were only gentlemen present and not a single servant. It was strange to have no servants at the table. Rhianon could not imagine a feast without footmen and cupbearers. Who was going to refill the drained glasses, bring in new dishes, and take away the dirty dishes. The remains of the game smoked on a spit in the mouth of the great fireplace, and there was no one to serve them. There was not even a bard or a minstrel to entertain.
So this dinner was no entertainment. Rhianon looked at the lean, tense faces and tried to remember the features of each. There were several of the older men and two of the younger ones, all richly dressed. Their hunting weapons also made an impression. The short swords, the darts and quivers for arrows, and the arrows themselves were very skillfully forged. It was the arrows that attracted Rhianon the most. For some reason they reminded her of the forges of the dwarves. Couldn’t be metal forged by them here and go into arrows used for hunting by humans. Magical creatures do not approve of hunting at all. Why would they give humans weapons against themselves.
Rhianon frowned. She noticed many draperies in the hall and a large tapestry on the wall in front of the entrance depicting a scene of a wild boar hunt. What if she could sneak into the hall and hide behind that tapestry. Then she could overhear the conversation. It was risky, but not so risky that she would give up the tempting idea. Besides, if discovered, her self-defense is fire. She’d just burn the whole house down before she could be captured. It’s about time she realized her own power and wasn’t afraid of anything.
Rhianon slipped through the opened door and hid behind the edge of the tapestry. She made no more noise than a mouse in the darkness. No one even turned around at the sound, but she could hear voices. Quiet conversation was taking place at the table.
“It’s fun to eavesdrop on people’s conversations, isn’t it?” A low voice squeaked in her ear. Perhaps one of the forest pixies had flown in behind the tapestry to keep her company, but Rhianon brushed it aside like a mosquito.
“What is it, Phebe?” One of the young gentlemen turned around. “I thought I heard something.”
His neighbor turned as well, but when he looked behind him there was nothing there, he only shrugged. The gesture, however, looked rather nervous, as if he were afraid of being caught doing something forbidden.
Playing cards is forbidden here, then that’s what they’re going to play, Rhianon thought sarcastically. Only it didn’t look like the latter. Those present were more occupied with each other than watching the steady flame of the candles or the fluctuations in the atmosphere. There were no golden spheres on the table, no ritual knives. It was an ordinary feast, only there was no fun in it either.
“Raymond, look at the door,” Phebe shoved his young friend in the shoulder.
“Why waste time,” Phebe set his goblet aside with a rumble and leaned back in his chair.
“You, then, Leon.”
The other young lord reluctantly stood up and headed for the exit. Rhianon caught a glimpse of his dark, curly hair and graceful profile. He was an aristocrat, and not of lower rank. He might even have been an advisor to the Court. A ring on his ringed hand also glittered, a ring with a royal seal on it, the highest sign of goodwill. Rhianon noticed the thinness of his fingers as he closed the door. Those hands clearly didn’t know hard work, but their very shape was something reminiscent of a very different aristocracy — in the forbidden realm.
“Our Leon fears nothing,” someone at the table remarked with sarcastic praise, “and he himself, according to the family records, is half forest spirit. Isn’t that so?”
The young man returned to the table pale, but did not utter a word. He remained silent in his previous seat, ignoring the prying eyes that gazed at him from all sides.
“It must be hard to trace your ancestry back to an elf,” the same man who’d been speaking challenged him. “Or any spirit friend that evaporated just after you were conceived.”
“That’s a handy explanation,” someone else said. “If the father evaporated before the wedding, it’s easier to say he was a spirit. He disappeared, which doesn’t mean he was born illegitimate. And the clan that spawned from him were bastards.”
“It is enough,” Raymond tried to reason with them, but someone else was eagerly picking up the conversation.
“No wonder the supernatural freak managed to seduce the former king’s sister, your mother, Leon. They say the bastards of the elves have some of their devilish charms, too. How else to explain the number of ladies you had in your chambers. And you, despite their abundance, still seem to be unsatisfied. It is a peculiarity of the damned creature — never to enjoy what you have, but always to strive for more. Eventually you won’t need a crown either.”
“But I’ll get it,” the young man hid his too graceful, almost inhuman fingers under the table. His tense face was now a threat. “Otherwise we’ll all be quartered as conspirators.”
There was silence for a moment. Rhianon was afraid to breathe lest she give herself away. Her slightest sigh would have burned through the tapestry and spoiled her hiding place.
Leon seemed to have made the right lunge. He didn’t need to reach for a weapon to threaten. Words were weightier.
No one else dared to take up the opposition. The truce was shaky and temporary, but everything seemed to be going toward getting these people to agree among themselves. They were all from Vinor, Rhianon guessed as she examined the coinage on the gold chain of one elder seated at the head of the table. The crowned falcon, flying against the sun’s disk, is the emblem of Vinor. So they are all courtiers, perhaps ministers or advisors, and a young man named Leon is even related to the royal dynasty. Which he now intends to take advantage of, along with others interested in him.
Rhianon could easily read the conspirators’ minds, but she liked to listen more. Besides, the conversation was taking an unexpected turn for the very people she was talking to.
“What do you suggest?” Phebe asked Leon, he was the most senior and the most influential. “We cannot lure the king out to hunt. It would be easy to give him the poison or attacked him with a dagger. Your elves’ tricks won’t work here.”
“That’s why I wanted to do something special, isn’t it?” Leon remained unfazed.
“What? You would lure a white woman out of the woods to drive our charming widower mad?” Raymond chuckled, but he bit his tongue when Leon looked at him with a devastating look.
“I’m just saying,” he joked. “Everyone knows you have more favor with the spirits than most mortals. No one’s ever seen the spirits themselves.”
“Your inexperience is an excuse,” Leon threw back, nonchalantly and arrogantly, as if he were already a lord. “I’ll give you more than Ferdinand,” he turned to everyone with sudden conviction. “My cousin, though amazingly handsome, is no ruler, much less a warrior. He’s a peacemaker and a mourner. He still wears mourning, though his wife passed away years ago. It would be time to strengthen Vinor with a dynastic marriage. But he doesn’t think about it. You see, he has two eligible heirs. And I’m their regent — if anything happens to father.”
“Yes. But what might happen to the king?” One of his former opponents wondered rationally.
Leon brought out a long, thin object from somewhere in the lapel of his coat. Rhianon looked closely and realized that it was an arrow with a graceful plumage at its tip and a razor-sharp point. Except that from a distance it was impossible to see exactly what. Was it some sort of runic sign?
“Is it an arrow?” Phebe was astonished. “You are going to hire an archer to shoot it, and then kill him too. There will be no witnesses, of course, but who in the kingdom can shoot as accurately as you can?”
“He won’t need marksmanship,” Leon smiled triumphantly. “This arrow is not from the forge,” his eyes gleamed ominously. “Not from Vinor’s forge. It’s from under the ground.”
His quick laugh was muffled by the wicked look in his eyes.
“There is a legend that the Zwergs inscribe the name at the tip of an arrow, the name of the one whose heart it shall strike,” Leon continued unabashedly. “It is an enchanted arrow,” he stared at the shiny tip with pleasure. “Whoever let it off the bowstring will hit the target. It is Ferdinand’s destiny.”
“And if it wasn’t?” Raymond hesitated. “What if it’s all just some superstitious peasant’s tale?”
“Shut up,” Leon took his words as a personal insult. “What do you know? I didn’t borrow this arrow from men, from others — that will convince you.”
“Then what if, contrary to tradition, such arrows sometimes don’t reach their destination?” Raymond wouldn’t let up. “Look, we’re worried, we all depend on it.”
“And you’ll have a great destiny,” Leon snapped at him. “Don’t doubt it. I’m sure of this arrow, and I can show you something that you’ll be sure of, too.”
“I know you can shoot a passing rat from a hundred paces,” remarked Phebe, “but this is more serious…”
“And I’m not going to show you my skill as a marksman,” his eyes lit up. “I only wish to introduce you to the creatures in the forest.”
Everyone recoiled from him at once. There was a long silence. No one wanted to test the veracity of superstition. This was proof that their confidence had been shaken.
“You mustn’t be afraid of them,” he went on, reveling in his victory, “you see, they will run away at the sight of a bright fire. You may be able to negotiate with them, if only to frighten them. It’s more difficult with dwarves, they forge in fire, but fairies and dryads are more compliant. They are good counselors. A king who obeys them will accomplish much. Unlike the current one, he will not engage in peaceful politics and fortify the limits of the existing country, he will move to conquer new lands and new riches,” Leon waited until the eyes of those present glittered greedily. “A king should be a warlord and benefit his subjects, not send a messenger to Loretta promising support to one of the warring parties. Our task is to attack ourselves. There is a better chance of capturing both countries. And I will be able to do it. Not without the help of the forest creatures, of course. Anyone object?”
“I do,” Rhianon said suddenly to herself, throwing back the edge of the tapestry and stepping forward. Those around the table were stunned. Of course, tales of fairies and white ladies were still prevalent in these parts. To play along with them, Rhianon had wished that her dress might take on the color of forest green, and that the fringe around her shoulders and along the hem might resemble plucked leaves; one might have wished for a wreath of leaves and berries in her hair, but that would not have been necessary. All she wanted was a wreath; she was going to take the throne next to Madael once. Learn things yourself, the ghost from the School of Witchcraft had admonished her, and Rhianon suddenly realized that she really was capable of a lot. The outfit she was wearing turned emerald in a second. That’s what the scales of a lizard and the leaves of a maple tree look like at the same time, both the danger and the mystery of the forest. Combined with her pale luminous skin and rich golden hair, she really could have seemed to them like someone ethereal.
Even Leon didn’t dare object, only clutched his inhuman fingers together tightly. He acknowledged her, just looked into her eyes and knew that she was a supernatural being. If he had only known how tall she was compared to the others.
“Are you from the forest?” Raymond muttered nervously. The strange woman caught his eye, he could tell, but he was trembling with fear.
“I’m from hell,” Rhianon stepped forward, blowing lightly in front of her to blow away the curls that had fallen to her forehead, only at the same time a stream of fire slid a ribbon across the tablecloth. Those present jumped from their seats, some trying to put out the fire, some remembering God, and some crossing themselves. Nothing would help them if they didn’t give up on their goal.
“And there is hell in Loretta, and if you go there, you will perish,” she warned the already frightened conspirators.
“Will you burn us?” Leon looked at her long and studied. He was looking for a way out.
“I will only ask you to abandon your plans,” Rhianon held out her hand forward. “Give me your arrow, and I will go back into the forest without taking either of you with me. I’ll give you something in return,” she opened her palm to reveal the remaining coins, seeing that he hesitated. “It is a token of Lucifer’s favor, gold from his palace. It is enough for everyone. They say it has no value. Is that enough to buy your arrow?”
Leon nodded yes, mesmerized by her gaze. Rhianon easily took the enchanted object from him and gave him the coins in return. Parting with most of her gold, she suddenly felt an amazing lightness, as if all her troubles and hardships along with the coins passed to others.
“It’s so easy to part with your misfortune, just give it to someone else,” the same pixie sang over her ear with a voice like a mosquito’s squeak. None of the conspirators heard it. They were each fascinated by their share of the payment. Their coins seemed to have bewitched them. Rhianon didn’t remember losing her own head looking at them.
It was time to leave. After all, she couldn’t stay here all night.
“Don’t tell anyone about me,” she whispered to Leon, who was still watching her, “or you’ll be sorry.”
She put her finger to her lips, urging silence. Leon recoiled as her mouth rounded, fearing another trickle of fire, but Rhianon only smiled, triumphantly, ominously.
It seemed the pixies had brought her here for a reason. At any rate, she had already averted one danger from her country. It had been far from her to let Loretta become a mere province of Vinor. Frankly, her accidentally dropped phrase about an afterthought in Loretta wasn’t to her advantage either. Rhianon suddenly realized what she needed. She must see King of Vinor and negotiate with him. She could do so with or without the use of enchantments.
She needs exactly an audience — a long talk in private, persuasion, if necessary hypnosis. This requires a good opportunity. How to seize the moment? Fortune has not favored her for a long time. And what is about the witchcraft? What if she simply wished that the coincidence of circumstances would turn out and she would meet the king.
On her way out of the house, Rhianon simply wished that her dress would take on its former color and turn from green to azure blue again. That was good. She loved the blue color of the water. She felt more comfortable at once, even though it was as if a tight lump of fire was shrinking and moving inside her.
The arrow she’d bought back from Leon was of no value to Rhianon herself. She had taken it only as a guarantee that their plan was ruined. Now she could throw it away or bury it somewhere in the woods. Rhianon looked up to see how dangerously the tip glittered. And immediately she heard something move in the bushes.
“Fate!” She even grinned. “Come here, don’t hide. What do you think of my acquisition? Do you want a closer look?”
She waved her arrow, hoping that the glitter of the tip would attract the greedy dwarf. But he reacted differently than she would have liked.
“They are dangerous arrows,” he muttered. “Arrows made to drain his soul from the wounded man.”
“Why is it?” The Princess protested.
“They make men writhe and beg for death,” the dwarf grinned maliciously.
“Don’t you want an arrow like that?” Rhianon slyly teased him.
The dwarf made no reply, but hid in the bushes so that he was no longer visible. He was a difficult man to deal with. Rhianon was almost desperate. There was no negotiating with him. It was better to go on her way and not pay any attention to Fate. Maybe then he would leave her alone. He was following her like a shadow, or rather like an evil fate. There was a reason she called him The Fate.
Rhianon felt tired, but she kept on going. Something gave her strength, nourished her from within. She could not have walked that far on her own. And now she seemed strong enough not only to go through the whole forest, but to wield a sword and blow the head off any enemy. Where did these powers come from? From that new creature that was maturing inside her.
“It is your child. Leave him with us,” whispered voices from the forest, or was it only the rustle of leaves.
Would that she had the strength to draw her sword and defeat the golden dragon. Rhianon imagined a winged serpent body with golden scales wriggling beneath her feet. If Madael decided to take the form of a dragon forever, he would be a golden and crowned dragon. He would be the only dragon to wear a crown. She remembered her statue in armor trampling a serpent. In her mind for some reason clearly appeared image, she — a princess in a purple dress tramples dragon, her bare feet are placed on his wriggling body, but a golden tail still entwines her ankle and it is not clear who defeated whom — she the dragon or the dragon her. Rhianon shook her head to drive the vision away.
These strange thoughts came from someone else. It was better not to let them go, or you would find yourself held captive by them. Her head was spinning with new impressions and sensations. She could hear every movement, every ripple in the thicket. The forest had a life of its own, and every inch of land here was inhabited. She was fascinated by the surrounding forest, and at the same time she wanted to burn it. This desire seemed to come from within, from the one she carried within her.
It was a dangerous child. It would have been better to destroy it. But somehow it had kept her safe. It gave her inexhaustible strength that she herself could not have. And it was also like supernatural beings treated it with even more awe than she did. As long as she carries him within her, she is out of danger. But what happens when he becomes a creature separate from her.
Rhianon bit her lips almost to the point of blood, lest she be tempted to call for Madael or to speak the name she had already promised to give her child. Not a name, but folded symbols, emblems of every spirit that dwelt in the tower and who knows what power they harbored. Edwin! She tried not to say the name or even think of it, but it would exist someday. He was a creature with her grace, her face and the power of Madael. Almost like an angel, created to the doom of many, because his enchantment is omnipotent. Rhianon had noticed that magical beings longed to have him.
Perhaps they were the ones who showed her the way to the little clearing. Rhianon noticed the large stones and the hulks of the walls, twined with ivy. Could it be that she had reached the verdant city that Madael had shown. However, the first close look dissipated her assumptions. Out of the darkness and the ruined ground rose uneven fragments of stones and entire monuments. And what remained of the walls protruded like rotten teeth next to the roots of trees in the ground. They were the ruins of a tower.
Rhianon was about to turn away from them, but she saw the glow of a fire. She walked around the particularly high wall and peered through the opening into it. There was indeed a fire crackling merrily, and the stunted creatures were jumping about wildly.
She couldn’t help but think of the elves who danced in the woods at night. They could dance to death any mortal who stepped into their circle. They know no fatigue, and a man would be exhausted if they made him dance until morning. They are also capable of giving people unusual fruits that deprive the mind. Their very society is like poison. But Rhianon was not afraid. She simply had nothing to fear. She shared a bed with the most dangerous creature placed above them all. Only did that mean she was now protected from his subordinates as well? If she lived in the devil’s tent, would she be able to take root in the habitat of his company as well.
“It is a lady!” someone said, and the dancing stopped abruptly. Many colorful, wary eyes stared at Rhianon.
“I mean you no harm,” she said.
That naive statement should have been followed by laughter, but no one laughed. That was good. So they knew who she was.
“What do you want, Radiant?”
They said Radiant? Wasn’t that the title of Dennitsa? She bit her lip. How painful any reminder of him was? Even his image imprinted in her brain prevented her from thinking straight.
“It is a arrow,” Rhianon held it out and waited for the bravest one to take it and examine it. “Is there any way to destroy it?”
“Of course, it is,” the clawed paws whirled tentatively for a moment, and then they snapped the shaft and tossed the two halves into the fire.
“That’s all, my ladyship. Is there anything else?”
“Thank you.” Rhianon thought it would be nice to thank them. She had to show royal generosity. She still had two or three coins, one of which she handed to the trolls.
“Here it is. This is for you.”
However, the reaction was unexpected. At first there was a shriek of dismay, then turmoil, and then a minute later there was only smoke billowing from the lonely fire extinguished. There was no one left beside it. There she was, and she wanted to do them a favor, give them a trinket. You should never extend your charity to evil spirits. Whatever Orpheus said, they’re terribly ungrateful. And not even polite, though they recognize her as their mistress. Or it’s the gold that frightens them. The conjecture struck her suddenly. So it’s not just doom that fears these coins. But what is so special about them.
Rhianon sat down on a boulder by the extinguished fire and examined the embossing on the coin. It was nothing special, just the walls of a castle in the clouds-the castle of Madael. On the back was a spiked crown. Another coin showed a heart and a crown around it, and a third showed an angel with a sword. Which one was the one on the side of the god or the one on the side of Dennitsa? Even in the delicately cast thin lines it was not difficult to recognize the features of Mastema. That seemed to be the name given to him by those who fought with him. The slight bulge on the coin looked like a personal imprint on a glowing disk of the sun.
The glint from the fading embers was enough for her to see it all. Her vision was extremely acute. She could spot a mouse slipping far between the rocks and even insects far away on the flowers. If Madael were to lift her off the ground and into the air now, she would be able to see the miniature world beneath her in all its details from up in the sky. Only dragons are said to have such super-sharp eyesight. They can calculate their prey from a height of flight and rush down, catch it and soar up into the sky again, examine the bowstring of a hunting bow, or rain their fire down on a tiny village. One can only envy their ability and vision. But Rhianon’s is now sharpened to the same level. How can it be? Could it be that she carries a dragon in her womb and that his powers are passed on to her? She gave a startled gasp. Madael could take the form of a golden dragon, willingly or as a game. What if his son was born like that? She would give birth to a monster. It is a golden monster. Like any witch who copulates with a demon or incubus, she would give birth to something unimaginable. Only it will not be a bat, a freak or a snake like those witches, who after such unusual births are captured and executed by the Inquisition, she will have something already crowned, hot as the sun, identified with its father and golden, like the treasure of Dennitsa. But after all, she doesn’t feel like there’s a monster inside her. Rhianon imagined Madael’s calm features, the blue of his eyes, and his perfect winged body. She did not know how he was in hell or with his subjects, but he was always beautiful during their copulation. It was impossible for an angel to become the father of a monster. He had become a devil, though. Rhianon had heard legends that fairies, if they became wives of mortals for a short time, gave birth to unimaginably ugly children. She wondered if it were the other way around.
“Come to us,” a voice from the darkness dispelled her doubts. How familiar it was.
Rhianon turned around.
“It wasn’t polite to visit someone and not even pay attention to them.”
Now she unmistakably recognized Athenais’ mellifluous and cheeky, tuneful voice. This time it was particularly sweet, even insidious, as if the little fairy doubted that something long desired was in her hands.
“Would you like to play with us?”
Rhianon only now noticed the best-preserved wall, wrapped in lush vines. It was as if it hadn’t been there before, but now the lush shoots of grapes intertwined with the ivy and stretched like life across the rocky almost. For a moment it even seemed to Rhianon that they were wriggling like snakes under her feet.
“Don’t be afraid,” Athenais teased. “Fear not,” Athenais teased, “that the most beautiful maiden in the world has been in the arms of one who terrifies no one.”
Rhianon stared at the low, ivy-leaf-shaped green table as if it had grown out of the ground. She was willing to swear that its single leg, a strut in the center, was wrapped around and supported by curly green shoots. Was it actually ivy or a mushroom that had sprouted to gigantic proportions? Or an elaborately carved table from a solid emerald bush, imitating the shape of huge ivy. How beautiful! Rhianon stared involuntarily. She was no longer conscious of the green shoots stirring beneath her feet and tugging at her ankle. When she came very close the air smelled of honeysuckle and balsam and wild violets. But it was only spring. All these plants can’t be here yet. They will bloom a little later. But Athenais’ hair is full of ripe berries gathered in bunches, and on her tiny neck are beads of rowanberries and mushrooms. Do berries ripen before autumn? The tiny lights flying over the table reminded her of tiny pixies. Rhianon waved away the ones that flew toward her face. Even if they were just fireflies, they caught her face out of the gloom, illuminating it like tiny lanterns.
“Sit down, don’t be afraid!”
Rhianon saw a green stool pop up out of nowhere, as if woven from vines and leaves.
“Help yourself!” Athenais offered, but Rhianon only shook her head in disapproval when she saw the dainty brass dish of ripe grapes. She had heard of fairy treats and the effects of such feasts on humans. She wasn’t entirely human now, and she wasn’t likely to go mad or fall asleep forever from their delicacies, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
She began to look at those sitting at the table. They were several strange burnt creatures that looked either like harpies or gargoyles. She found it difficult to give them a name. Black claws, cloven wings, charred bodies, and eyes that glittered like jewels were all she could see. There were two unfamiliar dwarves in motley clothing, and oddly enough, a pair of tiny fire-haired spinsters. When she saw them, Rhianon was most surprised, but the little beauties only condescendingly shrugged, as if to say that this is life in a magical world, these are the rules, we are nowhere and we are everywhere.
“Madeleine, Nirissa,” Atenais nodded in their direction, introducing them both in turn. Rhianon would not have been able to distinguish one from the other. The names of the others present were a long incomprehensible sound to her.
