Kitabı oku: «Rhianon-5. Along the way of deception», sayfa 9

“Perhaps I should introduce me to the ivy that serves as your shelter. It’s alive too, isn’t it?” The princess couldn’t resist a quip.

“Of course it is!” Athenais nodded toward the snaking vines and murmured something indecipherable in her ancient tongue, but the sound made the twigs grow brisker.

“Formalities have been observed,” Athenais smiled slyly at her guest. “Etiquette is most important at court, isn’t it, Your Majesty? Business is business and manners come first. You could lose your throne that easily.”

That’s a sharp jab. Rhianon nearly burst into flames, literally. Her fingertips were ready to strike sparks; apparently, sensing it, the vines of green pulled away, and the table became wobbly for a moment.

“I’m not a queen,” Rhianon corrected her.

“Not in Loretta,” Athenais shook her naked shoulders coquettishly, around which, like black lace, festoons of slime and moths gathered. “With us, yes. My lord so wished.”

“And you yourself?” Rhianon tensed. Her future depended on their answer.

“We already followed him once. Why should it be different now?”

“Now you are the only one paying the price for what he did. He’s still brilliant.”

“What are you suggesting? Follow you, like we used to follow him?” It was as if Athenais had read her mind.

“Would you be happy with your existence?”

She’d hit the target. The heads around the table drooped for a moment, but only a moment.

“We take pleasure in making fun of people,” Athenais intervened, “teasing passersby, joking, playing as we please, we didn’t have that will before. We do now. And then there are the cards. Thank you for them.”

Rhianon only now noticed the small rectangular cards, painted with intricate patterns and monograms. Everyone present held several, with the rest of the deck in the center, and the trump card below it. Hearts! The red heart in the corner of the card seemed alive and beating, the image of the copper-haired lady beneath it smiling. What an ominous smile.

“Only a mortal sits down to play and his pockets are empty, all our host rejoice, watching the final game,” Athenais sang with a laugh. “So many were empty hopes, and now the dreams are shattered, we take from the ignorant, their lives with the outcome of the game.”

A quiet, snide laugh hung over the table like a misty haze. Rhianon involuntarily removed her hands from the green tabletop. The soft, frizzy surface felt like a real mushroom cap or an ivy leaf. What was it like for tiny pixies? They sat on mushrooms, or made them into tables, or rode on field mice? Yes, soaring through the air was easier. But how to appeal to Athenais’ sanity if there is none at all? How to negotiate with such creatures?

“Remember, the gambling table must be lined with green cloth to emphasize that the game came from the forest. And we all approve of it,” Athenais instructed. “Your mate did his best. We’ve already tried it on so many mortals. How many unhappy, destitute, suicidal people there are now? Some lose their fortune, some are in the triumph of greed for a moment, only to lose it all again. Gold comes and goes as it should. It has already slipped through the fingers of many, guided by the cards. Don’t you want to try your luck?

“I want to…” Rhianon stammered.

“I know you want to conquer Loretta… with our help. You think we will follow you.”

“And why is it not?” Rhianon was surprised at her impertinence, but it was too late to retreat. “You can do for me what you did for him? Am I not like him?”

There was silence for a moment.

“So is your son,” Athenais suddenly remarked. “Leave him to us and stay with us yourself.”

Rhianon shrank back. That was not a promise she could or would make. That was not what she wanted.

“I propose a wager,” Athenais suddenly had the whole deck in her tiny hands. She began to shuffle it. The spider-shaped ring on her middle finger glinted. Or was it a live spider? Rhianon shuddered. If so, it was badly embedded in the flesh just below the knuckle.

“You will play with us, but you will put your child on the line. It is your son. It is his son.”

“Is it a son and not a daughter?” She didn’t like the way Athenais’s eyes glittered greedily, like two black stars against the pale of her eyelids.

“Everyone can see it,” the mushroom fairy said.

“Is it everyone?”

“Without exception, even some people. The fairest is coming…” she smiled tautly. “People, stupid as they are, can recognize their doom easily, even before it has come.”

“All right, you’ve convinced me. But if this is the son of Dennitsa himself, which none of you doubts, then the price for him is too high-your submission to me. If you lose, you will lose my army, which I will send to Loretta. You will obey me.”

“We and all who are with us,” Athenais nodded affirmatively. “I promise you many things. And there are too many of us all, in the forests of the world… there are the especially strong. We are yours. If you lose, and you will stay with us.”

Rhianon thought only for a moment. She had nothing to lose.

“I promise,” she nodded.

“Take the card, it will be a trump card,” Athenais held out the shuffled deck to her.

With a little shudder, Rhianon reached for the top card, flipped it over. It was the queen of hearts again. What is it? The girl frowned. Why couldn’t it be another card? She didn’t like the hearts. Her own heart in love rejected them for some reason. If you think of heartache, you’re sure to lose. In business it’s all about calculation, and in the game, too. But luck is also important. Orpheus seemed to say that the cards should obey her alone, as they were created for her. Rhianon trusted her power and before she put her trump on the table, the image on the card had already taken on a different shape. Diamonds, not hearts. It was the king of diamonds.

Athenais exhaled in a strange, disappointed way, as if the image on the picture had hypnotized her, but she quickly came to her senses and began to deal the cards with surprising agility.

“For Mistress, for Madeleine, for Nirissa, for me…” she said the name of the recipient as she dealt the card, and so it was every time.

When she received her cards and unfolded them in a fan, Rhianon was amazed. All trump cards, including the ace. Victory was in her hands. Really, she was ready to swear. That the first moment she’d taken them, they’d been entirely different suits. Someone went first, then others, a low mishmash of cards was already scattered on the table. Rhianon wanted to beat it with a jack, but all she heard around her was laughter. She stared and distrusted her eyes. Her trump card suddenly became a three of a suit.

“Now take it, it’s all yours.”

Rhianon noticed how angrily the images from the cards scowled at her, as if they were laughing at her, too. The queen of diamonds seemed to quickly wink at her, turning into the queen of spades as the next one lay on the table. Athenais laughed loudly. The echoes in the walls reflected her laughter with many ominous shimmers.

And there was something to laugh about. Clumsy, Rhianon scolded herself, if she is mistress of this game, how can the cards disobey her. She just doesn’t know how to control them, just like she doesn’t know how to control her own fire. Or maybe it’s the revenge of the abandoned Orpheus. He could have done so out of meanness. She wished he were here now. He’d know how to get out of it. If only she could give him her seat at the table and ask him to get even for her.

Athenais seemed to have already mastered all the intricacies and tricks of the new game. After all, there was a reason she encouraged the cards so much. Her tiny hands were already itching to win.

“You can’t go on like this,” Rhianon thought, and held the next card in her hands before she laid it on the table. She was very familiar with the rules of the game, they had been invented by Orpheus himself, but the magic power of the cards remained a mystery to her. How to change the drawing to your liking? What magic draws the pieces and suits and turns one into another depending on what the strongest player needs. Yes, it’s all the same. What matters is her desire. Rhianon had barely realized it when she noticed that all the trumps were coming out of her fingers on the table. Threes and tens of spades changed in her hands and took the scarlet outline of diamonds as soon as they touched the table. It seemed even the tabletop itself resisted it. The attendees opened their mouths in bewilderment. Athenais watched the game with a silly look, but she was no longer playing herself. Rhianon, on the other hand, wasn’t just playing. She was winning. No one even noticed that there were ten trump aces in one deck. The evil spirit accustomed to manipulating and deceiving the players, was not prepared to withstand the deception of others.

Victory! At last! Rhianon laid the last ace on the table and looked triumphantly at Athénais. Her pale face was darkening with anger right before her eyes.

“How is it? How could you?” Athenais jumped up, clawing her claws at the stinging table, her figure shrinking before her eyes, her pupils burning with inhuman anger. “How did you manage? You should not have won.”

The fairy was not shy. Rhianon gave her an arrogant look.

“And I’m a winner in every way,” she announced with self-assurance. “Unlike him,” she said, slightly ashamed to denigrate Madael, but how else could she get them all on her side? He’d lost once. I have not yet lost once. And you are all mine now.”

“That’s not fair,” the spinners cried out in one voice.

“Honesty is not a term here,” Rhianon cut them off, “but conditions will be remembered. Your oath will force you to obey me.”

She wasn’t so sure of that, but she hoped it would be the case. There was no way out, the enchantments would not allow it. This is not a contract between humans, which both sides can break in good conscience. This is where magic comes into play.

Athenais was out of her mind with anger. This was clearly not the outcome she’d hoped for. And now she wasn’t even hiding her anger and disappointment. If she could throw lightning bolts, she would be doing just that now. Rhianon, on the other hand, was keeping her fire under control. She would need it if she went to war. So far she has won with her other abilities. How many talents she could still discover in herself?

Rhianon even felt pity for the maddening fairy. She appreciated what she had missed.

“Here, maybe this will comfort you,” the girl took out one of the three remaining coins and handed it to the raging Athenais. It was a coin with a celestial lock on it.

“Take it away! Take it away!” Athenais’ almond-shaped eyes flashed with scarlet fire.

“All right,” Rhianon hurriedly clutched the gold one in her fist. “Be quiet.”

Instead of taking her advice, Athénais stomped her foot angrily, turned, and went behind the wall of ivy. The ivy itself parted in front of her, the vines pulled back in different directions as if they were only curtains.

“Where are you going?” Rhianon was afraid that in her distraught state she might do something bad to herself. Even though she was an evil spirit, Rhianon felt sorry for her. The diminutive lady, evil as she was, was still a marvelous creature.

“Gather them all,” Athenais muttered back. “I told you there are many of us, and I don’t have a horn to blow and summon everyone. It was stolen by one of the hunters. Maybe I can get to his castle. But now we’ll have to sit and wait for you to declare war.”

“So you will go to it under my banner after all,” was more of a statement than a question. Rhianon had no doubt of her victory.

“Yes!” Athenais hissed one last time, clenching her fists angrily, and then she was gone, and the other seats at the table were empty. Rhianon could see only the puffs of smoke. The cards were still moving around the table, shuffling themselves, but there were fewer and fewer of them. Soon the entire deck was gone. The only thing in front of Rhianon was an ivy. It was as if the table had never existed.

She stood still for a moment, then turned and walked away. She wondered if Fate belonged to the host of creatures that Athenais was responsible for. Then he too would have to take orders from Rhianon now. And she was in dire need of a miracle pendant right now. She was tired of going back and forth without a map, a compass, or even a horse. It was much easier just to wish where she wanted to end up and instantly go there.

And if she didn’t have a pendant, she could use a horse, or better yet, a luxurious carriage, which the fairies sent for her. In such impenetrable wilds as these one would need just such a carriage. But here in the woods, one could only saddle a woodchuck. Rhianon chuckled at her own thought.

How ridiculous. What a position she found herself in. And she had lived in a heavenly palace not so long ago.

If you say his name, he will come for you, her mind told her. Maybe even he will not be angry, and immediately forgive your escape, since you yourself have returned to him. Or maybe there would be a quick quarrel. Then would be an embrace… It was a tempting prospect, except that Rhianon wasn’t about to give up on her plans. If Madael would not give her Loretta, she would take it herself. He does not know how to use the power of his subjects for their intended purpose, but she can. He is too proud to rule them, and she is forced to seek their support. She is sure to win.

Rhianon was frightened by her own thoughts. The statue of a queen in armor defeating a dragon was on her mind. Could the sculptor have foreseen the future? Was such a victory necessary when one cut off the head of another as if it were oneself? Was this how the angels in heaven felt when they defeated and overthrew their beloved Dennitsa? Is that how the now indifferent god felt? How can you execute someone you love just because he stands in your way? Inevitability… Rhianon shook her head stubbornly. She had hoped it would never come to that. Besides, her plans were too far-reaching. How could she deal with one who was far stronger than she was? Even with all his armies she could not defeat Madael. He alone is stronger than all his armies. He is placed above them only because he can easily subdue and tame them. Any disobedience will be instantly crushed. The Almighty has a delicate calculation. He has given the control of the dark armies to one who is their superior, the only invincible warrior. And this warrior himself is a slave of God. Thus the balance is preserved. The wheel of the world turns irrevocably. Everything runs its course. It was this measured course of events that she was about to disrupt.

If Madael cannot throw off his shackles, she has no shackles on her. And no matter what God told him to do, he could not kill her. She knew this as surely as she knew that at the end of the night there would be a new dawn, golden like her chosen one’s curls. What part had fate assigned her in this whole divine story? Rhianon had seized her own position. Now she was going to strengthen it.

It was time to move on. She suddenly realized that she didn’t want to sleep, and she had the strength to walk again. Something inside her, infinitely strong and fiery, fed her inexhaustible supply of energy.

“It’s good to have you around,” she whispered to the one who was still asleep inside her. “You might be a burden, a temptation, a temptation to the world, but you’re so easy.”

She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, either. It was as if all her problems were solved at once. Rhianon smiled to herself, but also, of course, the creation within herself and moved on.

Shared paths

Conrad was still fiercely stabbing the breathless body with his knife. The presence of Hildegard, silently watching from her shadowed archway, did not embarrass him one bit. He seemed oblivious of everything except the dead chest where he was stabbing. One blow, a second, a third… there were no more of them. He was madly stabbing the body of a young man whose name he didn’t even know. But Conrad was sure it was the same young man… blond, handsome, in spite of the posthumous, suffering expression on his features. All in all, looks like dawn. That’s what Douglas told him.

Now the enemy is in his hands, even if they are dead. And any punishment is not enough for him. Conrad did not even pay attention to the shredded wrists and fingers. What torture he would have devised for this boy if he had lived. The devil himself would have shuddered at his torment.

“Do you think he slept with her?”

Her brother seldom descended to talk to her, especially after his meeting with Rhianon, and yet Hildegard answered without flattery.

“He was hardly a peasant, look what delicate skin and thin hands, palms that were used to a feather or a sword. And also,” she discerned an already bloody face. “Your rival was handsome.”

“He was a bandit, a common outlaw, a mere thug, and she chose him over me,” Conrad grumbled angrily. Had he been born as special as his bride and now he would be breathing fire with anger.

“A woman’s heart is unpredictable,” Hildegard concluded diplomatically.

“It was more likely that he was molesting her. Rhianon doesn’t give a damn about anyone. I know her; she has no attractive face but her own.”

“It is not surprising with her beauty she attracts everyone.”

His sister — this gloomy shadow — was surprisingly calm. Conrad was angry with her. Not that she inflamed him, but she didn’t calm him down either. And why else would a sympathetic sister be needed, if not to cheer him up.

“I’ll throw this body to the dogs,” he finally dropped the knife and rested his head on his bloodstained hands. “Call someone from the kennels. I want those remains mauled in front of me.”

“That would not be wise,” Hildegard’s hand, pale and graceful but surprisingly strong, rested on his shoulder. The dark stones, opals and topazes, glittered in the fancy setting of the rings.

“What do you mean?” Conrad was taken aback. He turned to his sister, the dark gas veil falling from the fanciful headdress in her hair. Hildegard always dressed as if she were going to a funeral. Black silk dress with black embroidery around the edges, over it a black robe, in the slits of the upper arms peeped dark buffs, only barely edged with silver braid. The waist is tight and the chest is covered by a dark tent. The sheaves of heavy braids are twisted with dark ribbons. Only this time there was a gold cord inserted into the sangria that stood out sharply on the corsage.

“And better Rhianon does not know that her lover is dead,” Hildegard whispered confidentially, with a little bend to Conrad’s ear. “Spread the rumor that you have him prisoner. It would be the right thing to do. If this boy is important to Rhianon, she will come for him. You won’t have to look for her anymore. My reckless brother, you have the bait in your hands.”

Conrad thought for a moment. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, brushed away the wet strands, and looked at the mangled corpse beneath his feet.

“He’s dead…” the prince whispered.

“And not many people but you know it,” Hildegard’s dark eyebrows arched in a cartwheel over her unimpressive eyes. Her smile somewhat resembled that of a snake. The lush silk of her petticoats and the taffeta of her robe rustled like funeral cloths. “You want your little golden-blooded salamander back, so fight for her. Not by force, but by cunning. Strength, Conrad, was never your strong suit.”

He wanted to protest vehemently, but thought about it, he bit his tongue. His sister’s right. It’s time to think things through.

Hildegard looked thoughtfully and long at the wounded corpse, then she turned her eyes to Conrad.

“You look so much alike, you and he,” she remarked.

“Why is it?” The prince, no matter how hard he tried, could not understand her. He even ran his hand through his tar-black hair. Did he look anything like that white-haired puppy? He ought to have a mirror. You’d have to ask Markus or Drusil if they’d be honest.

“Because you both went to extremes for her,” she didn’t explain, but moved forward to touch her brother’s cheek with her lips. It was the gesture of a sister. Her lips were sticky and cold, like the skin of a snake. Conrad made an effort not to lift his hand and wipe the trace of her kiss from his cheek. Hildegard had already left, rustling her luxurious robes, and he still felt as if he had just been defiled, as he himself had defiled a dead body.

It was suicide. Conrad looked down to where the corpse lay. He was cursed after death. His soul might return, for it has no rest. It might even haunt him, the desecrator of the grave. Conrad didn’t care.

“So you’re still alive and you’ll be the bait,” he concluded, as if he could convince even a corpse of that. It all made sense. The only thing was whether it would work.

Douglas was no longer watching the king or the Crown Prince. In the first place the castle had become too boring lately, and secondly the crows from Manfred’s balconies, could watch everything instead of him and willingly shared gossip. And thirdly, he found something more interesting to do.

Now every time he dozed in the hammock suspended between the overhead bookshelves near the ceiling, he turned mentally to Rhianon. Of course, this was sacrilege. Mastema could punish him for spying on his chosen one. However, the wayward girl seemed to have already abandoned her patron. Douglas mentally applauded the sassy girl. Well done, you’ll achieve more on your own than hiding behind the devil’s shoulder. After all, there is something better than an incubus in your bed. It was a crown, for example.

Of course, his mental appeals did not reach the princess’ ears. Douglas didn’t even know if he wanted to make contact with her from a distance or not. On the one hand he wanted to, but somehow Rhianon’s thoughts were completely inaccessible. Even with the tricks and the most powerful spells, he could not get through to her. Well, on the other hand he was hampered by timidity and some unfamiliar fear. You’re always timid in front of a beautiful lady, even if you’re a wizard. It was true that nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been attracted to a woman… or a man. Except for Dennitsa… but he was an exception in his own right.

And now a shard of ice jammed into his heart, and he felt a chill inside. The others Rhianon inflamed and scorched, but he felt only ice from her side. Wasn’t that strange?

Douglas looked at the white owl beating its wings against the bars of the cage and smiled dreamily. No, he did not want his captive heart to turn into a bird in a cage just like it. A free-thinking wizard wouldn’t want that. But once that happened, there was nothing he could do about it.

Leprechauns ran across the carpet below, like a real field, as if to prove that his magic power was already weakening. How did they only manage to get out of the box he had imprisoned them in? But they couldn’t break the spell anyway… Oh, well, they’ll never get out of the tower anyway. His enchantments and the secret symbols at the door would not let anyone out.

Douglas still thought that when he had a spare moment, he could get the little rascals to take him to the place where they hid the treasures. Magic is magic, and ringing coins wouldn’t hurt either, especially if he had to get away from the royal court.

No one will feed him or clothe him in silk or velvet when he travels. That’s when he would need the help of the Leprechauns. He knew how to get the secret out of them. All he had to do was give them a good scare with a hot candle. He could have done it now. But he didn’t feel like it.

He was too immersed in dreams, or rather in thoughts of Rhianon. He tried to look for her, wherever she was, with his inner sight. And he always found her. Rhianon moved from place to place with astonishing speed. Was it some kind of mystery or magic trick? He could not yet figure out exactly what it was, but he would figure it out later. He needed to know as much as he could about her… But why is it? Douglas himself did not know. But now he did not need to ask himself that question, he merely observed.

Down on the first floor of the tower, multicolored liquids slid down the retorts, unimaginably tiny creatures beating their wings in transparent flasks. And those creatures he placed under the mica were impossible to see, even with a magnifying glass. Sometimes he was able to reduce living creatures to the size of insects. He once shrunk a tavern-keeper who refused to pour him a free drink and turned him into a tiny horned creature with the body of an octopus. Those who watched the quarrel did not understand it, but Douglas had drunk that night in the cellar of wine, which had no owner left, and the monster the size of a thimble still lived in one of his closed flasks and even with its appearance frightened away the tiny black pixies trapped in the neighboring jar. These creatures, light as moths, resembled black butterflies. Douglas adored looking at them, but was not going to let them go free.

“It’s a mockery of nature,” one of the wandering wizards who hadn’t stooped to such things once told him. For which Douglas promptly dealt him a powerful mental blow. The poor man was now covering the red finger-shaped mark on his cheek with the edge of his high, standing collar.

It serves him right. No need to meddle in other people’s business. Douglas didn’t tolerate insults, and he wasn’t looking for like-minded people, either. All he wanted was to be first and only. All the other wizards were talentless trash. Who among them had the imagination to compete with him?

The captured stars in the nets he had set up on the roof were beating and moaning pitifully. He would have to gather them before morning, lest they be burned by the first rays of dawn and the guards suspect something amiss. He would not burn his fingers on them or fish them out of the pond with a succulent, but only lure them into one of his enchanted boxes. And then they would grant any wish and only then would they extinguish themselves… but he had no time for them now. He was no longer even thinking about finding his way to the School of Witchcraft. Even the beautiful and desirable Mastema was suddenly no longer tormenting him in his thoughts. It was like a release. He thought of the fallen angel and no longer felt the fire in his loins. The passion was gone.

Only dreams remained. He wove them into a thin cobweb on the ceiling, weaving the image of Rhianon. In his mind he could follow her and watch as if she were very near.

Here Rhianon sits down to play cards with Athenais and her fairies and beats them all because they don’t yet know Orpheus’ tricks. After all, the cards are inventions of her spirit made just for her, and it turns out that she is able to beat even the evil spirits because she wields the thing she has launched better than they do.

“Go ahead, brave girl,” he mentally encouraged her. “Perhaps you will achieve even more than you want to.”

He really believed that.

She could outsmart even evil spirits. It was a pleasant surprise for Rhianon. Maybe she was capable of many things, only her abilities were dormant for now.

She wasn’t going to stop there. She needed more.

Rhianon thought of dragons. She wished she could get her hands on one. She was abruptly reminded of an emerald dragon from Madael’s pack, with a side of shimmering crests running down its entire backbone, from head to tail. The same wickedness could make an elegant lady’s saddle for her, so that the princess would perch on the dragon’s back, just above the flapping wings.

She needed the dragon only for intimidation. She had already realized that she had more fire in her than an entire pack of dragons. And her flames are more powerful than theirs. It’s frightening to even think about it, but there is such power dormant in her.

Would she herself burn if she set that power free? Rhianon preferred not to think about the bad. Victory awaited her, not defeat. That was all that mattered. Victory was worth sacrificing something for.

She had already sacrificed her heavenly castle and the arms of an angel. She can still come back, though. Or could she? Rhianon began to think seriously about how to outsmart Fate and lure the pendant from him. Maybe she could get him to play cards for jewelry, too. Or maybe he’d already seen how cleverly she outsmarts the others and would never sit down to play with her himself. Then she’ll find another way to fool him. She must have an imagination.

Rhianon fell asleep briefly on the grass under the shade of a towering tree, and when she awoke, she heard the gurgling of water nearby. Strangely, she hadn’t even noticed that there was a stream running nearby, as if the fire inside her had overcome the water element.

It was already beginning to get cloudy in the morning. Rhianon stood up and looked around. The trees nearby were willows, and the brook that ran along the rocks not far from them was getting deep in places. It is said that the evil one cannot cross the flowing water. Could she?

Rhianon decided to test it. She picked up her brocade skirts and stepped into the water. She did not feel anything unusual. The water felt good on her feet.

She saw a white animal on the next bank of the river, near the waterhole. Its skin was shiny, as if it glowed from within. It bore a striking resemblance to a horse, though its hooves, shaped as if they had been carved with ivory rather than nature, hinted at something supernatural. Rhianon also noticed the silky mane and the finely beaded horn in the middle of her forehead. She wasn’t at all surprised to see the magical animal by the stream.