Czytaj książkę: «Rhianon – Princess of Fire»

Czcionka:

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

ISBN 978-5-0056-8157-7

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Prologue

«They were as winged as my former brethren, and just as badly disfigured.»

In the overcast autumn sky above the mountain range, a bright cloud of scaly dragon bodies mottled and wriggled. Red coral crests, webbed paws with claws, powerful tails, black and emerald, eyes sparkling with fury, and mouths that gnawed at the fiery flames that were about to burst forth-an army worthy of Lucifer. Madeel grinned wryly. His thin, pale fingers tugged at his scarlet cloak, a cloak he no longer needed. Rumors of what he was like were now openly circulating around the world, but few guessed the truth. Only these creatures saw through him and worshipped him almost as a god, and he paid tribute to their strength and singularity. They were dragons. A whole firework of multicolored, wriggling, living ornamented bodies. They were shapeless rainbows over the darkening sky. The tearful cries of birds subsided in the distance. No more songbirds survived; over the mountains and valley, only a vast, all-powerful army of angry dragons. Today their fire would fall upon the city at his command, and all would be over.

«Will you not feel pity at all when all that you valued recently dies?» The young traveler, perched on a boulder, stared thoughtfully at the swirling cloud over the mountains.

«This world is only a place of exile for me. Yes, it’s almost entirely mine, but if it perishes, I’ll have nothing to be sorry about,» he might have been lying a little, perhaps those crazy dangerous nights when she had walked with him through the dark streets of Loretta were the only things to regret.

«Are you sorry about them?» The traveler nodded at the swarm of dragons that were growing in number, and beyond the sweep of their leathery wings the sky was hardly visible anymore. «They really were your brethren once.»

«Perhaps,» Madeel shrugged, and the wings fluttered behind him. He still hid them and pretended not to know why he was invulnerable. Let the rivals whisper that the knight who defeats them is not a human, his beautiful eyes flash with lightning in the heat of battle, that his sword always strikes without a miss, that there is an invisible power in his armor, that wings are hidden beneath his armor. Their attempts to discover who he really is are in vain. Only one knows that… but, Madeel preferred not to think of her now. And his heart burned even harder and more painfully than the heavenly fire that had once burned his forehead millennia ago. Now his skin was still smooth and translucent, but the invisible seal remained.

Madeel shook his head, trying to shake off the memory like a bad dream. The wind fluttered his angelic curls. They had once been brighter than the sun, so bright and pure that they had been admired even in paradise; now they had faded to a golden wheat color, but they still continued to fascinate mortals. He was lucky; at least he was still beautiful, but his former friends had become too ugly. Only for some did beauty return for a brief moment, only to fade again and give way to more ugliness. And more than once it had happened in front of mortals. Madeel squeezed his eyes shut painfully.

«I hope it never happens to me. Some of them might have been like me. The ones the others missed, but now… look at them. Even if I knew them before, I don’t recognize them now…»

«You don’t want to be like them, do you?»

«Of course not,» he said, and his pale wings were already beginning to darken. His insides were churning with anger and fire. «But after tonight, maybe I’ll be worse.»

«Don’t do this…»

«I’ve already made up my mind. Perhaps the higher powers are of a different opinion, but those who live in Loretta deserve it. Their evil has gone beyond all limits. It’s time for vigilante justice. I could do it alone, sweeping over the city with my sword, but what a commander without an army. With dragons at my back, anyone would be more impressive.»

«Would she, too?»

Madeel shuddered. His wings fluttered so that not even his cloak could conceal them. He wanted to fly now, to outrun the dragons, the wind, and most importantly, the nightfall. The night would take everything from him, so why not get ahead of it. After all, he has strong wings and he can penetrate the tower with the last light and take what he needs with him. It was only with a tremendous effort of will that he pulled himself together. What was all this for? He was used to being alone.

«Don’t worry about her,» he muttered, then leaned carelessly against the huge boulder to watch the dragons indifferently. Their scales glittered like jewels against the gray sky. Above the dark cliffs, their cries and their cries shook everything. And inexpressibly beautiful, still childlike purity, Madeel’s face showed no emotion. Arno, the traveler, stowed his harp back in his travel bag without touching its strings. The face of the former angel before him looked as if it had descended from one of the frescos of an ethereal painter. When you look at such beauty, you want no words, no music, nothing.

You want only to look at these uncreated and at the same time not created by nature, but by some unknown magic, and not to think about time, because time has no power over them.

«You may die today, but you don’t want to die alone. You want to take this girl with you, you want to drag her to hell, because her embrace was more beautiful to you than heaven, wasn’t it?» Arnaud sounded like he was almost eternal himself. That’s probably where it’s going. It’s worth waiting to see how what he’s done reflects on him.

«Why lie?» Madeel stroked the razor sharp green scaled wing of the flying dragon, touched the comb with his pale lips, felt his curls explode in the fire’s powerful breath, felt the faint heat wash over his skin. Even the strongest fire could not burn him, nor could it do any harm. His pale, shimmering skin remained unscathed against both sword and flame. Invulnerability was as much a gift as his strength, and he needed it all, until he strayed from his chosen path.

«I wanted to give one beautiful, dishonorable creature the whole world, but all I can give us both is a tiny slice of hell.»

«You did. That means you’re already better than me, even though I haven’t done what you’ve done,» Arnaud still looked sadly at the harp. Maybe play it one last time, but why, the roar of the dragons would drown out all his music anyway.

«I just felt like I’d found someone as beautiful as the ones I’d been with before. This girl, she wasn’t just prettier than them…she was the only one who looked into my soul and didn’t shudder at what she saw there.»

«So spare these people for her sake.»

«I will kill them for her. They deserve it,» the dragon flew back to his friends. Madeel mentally ordered the others to prepare to attack. Fly. It’s about time. The daylight is going out. Night is the time of fire. It will rain like ginger rain on the copper roofs of the city, and the spires of palaces and the domes of cathedrals where there is no divinity, and even on the cherished towers. Like hail, the orange fireworks of dragon fire will fall upon the city, and for tomorrow there will be only ashes and memories. There need be no war, no clang of swords, no long duels, just one raid and in the flames all cries and pleas for mercy are silenced. The world is merciless to his desire, so too will he, the immortal, be merciless to the world. Madeel’s cloak fluttered in the wind. It is time.

«Nor will you spare her,» Arno questioned one last time.

Madeel stopped. His face grew impenetrable, like a stone statue in the glow of a flame that was already blazing over the mountains in the sky.

«Would you have any mortal follow my fate? Better that one of the most beautiful of mortals should die than that thousands should be burned alive? Wouldn’t you?»

Arnaud didn’t know what to say. He had to agree, but suddenly he remembered the tower, and the reflection of the candles in the golden curls and the sound of her enchanting music. Maybe it was better to let thousands perish, and let the angel’s voice singing of love remain in eternity. But it was too late to change his mind. Flames were already erupting over the valley, turning the previously blooming terrain into a steaming inferno. Madeel was gone, and the dragons were in flight.

Escape from Fate

Winning again! The dice fell again for luck. And this was not the first dozen times it had come out. Superior points had fallen regularly since she’d sat down at the gaming table, as if someone had cast a spell on the dice. As long as none of the partners accused her of cheating, because she was not cheating at all, she was just incredibly, amazingly lucky. Rhianon pulled her beret down over her forehead to hide the strands of golden hair that fell out of the bun. No one should doubt that she was just a cheeky, pretty boy, a page or a gamekeeper who’d escaped from her lord for the evening to try his luck at the first pub and have a drink. It is only a pity she had a face too delicate and girlishly beautiful for a boy. She must not be recognized. She will never come back. When she is missed the noble lady must disappear, leaving only the young man, who travels light and wins unusually often.

One of the players slammed his fist on the table in frustration. He had already lost all his money. A mountain of copper change was growing on the table in front of Rhianon, a few gold coins even jingled under her hands. It was all her winnings.

It was another game of luck. The players dispersed, some outraged, others lamenting their bad luck, but that the boy was a cheat was out of the question, for everyone was taking turns rolling the same dice, and he had done nothing to ensure that only he was lucky. The last partner, muttering something about the newcomer’s luck, also moved to another table, and Rhianon collected her winnings. Her long, slender hands dipped into the copper and gold. Treasures like a dragon’s. They would come in handy on her journey.

She should have trimmed her hair so she wouldn’t fear the beret was about to fall from her head and her curls would scatter down her back. It was as if someone was watching her all the time, trying to denounce the girl in her, but who? She looked around the tavern in vain for more than the first time. All the customers were occupied only with themselves and their drinks. No one was watching her. So where did this feeling of someone staring intently at her, trying to remember all her features, and the flame of the candle on the table was already trembling with the close breath of the watcher.

Someone was looking at her through the window of the tavern. It seemed so to her, and she flinched. What is this stalking mania, can’t someone be watching her so long and so intently while remaining unnoticed.

But someone’s silhouette outside the window did loom. Someone with a hood pulled down over his face, a vagabond or a monk. Rhianon would have turned away if suddenly a thin, pale hand had not pressed against the glass. It was too white and long, with elongated fingers and almost translucent skin. A non-human hand!

What strange thoughts? Rhianon would have shaken her head to drive them away if she hadn’t feared her beret might fly off. Whoever was watching her was already in the tavern. She could feel it with every pore of her skin, though no one present could be suspected. Did the feeling deceive her. Everyone seemed preoccupied only with their own business. Still, she looked around every corner, even the chandelier and the stove with the burning coals. It seemed as if someone’s gaze could be on her from anywhere, even from places where no human being was standing. It was especially from these places. Someone was staring, as if from a void, and the feeling made her uncomfortable. Rhianon shuddered. She would have to get out of the tavern and take a walk. Maybe it was because it was too stuffy in here. Her horse was just growling anxiously outside the door to the stable. It was far away, but she heard it and rushed over there. Fresh air wafted in her face, and the thought that someone might be watching her sitting right on the swinging chandelier under the ceiling or perched almost in the mouth of a glowing oven seemed absurd. Was it Imagination? No, her fantasies had dried up since the council sentenced the heiress to the harsh reality that the country, of which she was to be the sole ruler, would never be hers alone. Or it was not yet. Rhianon was used to insisting on her own, only now it was pointless. She had to wait it out, had to stall until she was of age, until she was free.

Her groomed, white horse stood out sharply among the inconspicuous, brown-haired stallions and geldings. We must change him later, or pass ourselves off as a royal messenger. Only that one could have an outfit and a horse of such value. There is no need to arouse anyone’s suspicions now. They must be looking for her by now. They should search the castle first, all cellars, wells, ponds, and houses in the city. It would be wonderful if no one could place the young page at the head of an expensive thoroughbred and the missing princess. But her pursuers might be too cautious, so they would have to be clever at hiding.

Rhianon put a finger to her lips, calling for silence. She should have taken the horse by the bridle, stroked it, patted its withers, calmed it down in general by usual methods, but she was used to doing otherwise. The animals understood her, and she didn’t need physical force to subdue them, just a faint mental contact, a subtle sign «obey me», and it worked. One gesture, one thought, and the beasts understood her in a way humans never would.

Someone clapped their hands, but the clapping sounded not in the night, but in her brain.

«You’re gorgeous!»

No one said it, no one breathed in her ear. Just a whiff of wind touched her cheek. The strange thing was that this wind was only felt for one moment, and then the calm of the night closed over the windless space again. It was cold, but there was no draught. Her head felt like it was on fire, maybe from the feeling of her own daring and boldness. She would never have dared to run away before, but now she could smell the freedom. She did what she had to do.

The horse was worried, spinning his ears, and not at all because it was the first time he had been so far from the castle stables. He was feeling something. Rhiannon touched him with her hand and felt him tremble.

He may not have had enough hay today, and he may have been cold in the wind, but she could sense that his behavior was not one of resentment over a bad life. Rhianon recognized that expression in the animal’s eyes. He was afraid. She ran her fingers over his fur and wondered if he looked as numb as humans do when they’re startled, but she could feel the shivers inside him.

The girl backed away. Something flapped behind her, an enormous wing, it seemed, but no bird’s presence was felt nearby. There was no flight, no long cry, only the flap of a wing and the soft contact with the coat that covered her back. The wounds on her shoulder blades immediately began to ache. Rhianon shivered from the cold and the pain. She should go back to the warm tavern, warm herself by the fire, drink a cup of something hot and dismiss the thought that there was someone lurking in the hearth, bold, laughing, watching her. No one’s eyes were watching her from an empty space, and it was time to accept that.

Still, she wanted to check out what was behind the horse’s back. What was the animal so afraid of? Rhianon looked around, in the distance is nothing but wasteland, and in front of her an old abandoned village cemetery. It was all overgrown with sod, and only now and then she could see the tombstones, lit by the moon. It was not a cross or a tombstone, but something else in the dreary landscape. It looked more like a monument, except that it stood too far from the cemetery and suspiciously close to the inn, almost a couple of meters from the horse-holding stable with the frightened stallion. Rhianon was willing to swear that when she’d come here a few hours ago, she’d never seen anything like it. And what was it. She moved forward, hoping to get a better look. Someone’s ears seemed to catch her every uncertain step, and they succeeded, even though her footsteps were muffled on the loose soil. Someone had pointed ears, an oddly shaped head, and huge wings extending over a bulky bronze torso. It’s a statue. It was just a huge bronze statue. Rhianon was already sighing in relief, but the horse’s frantic snorting made her wonder, even wonder what makes this thing so distinctive, a pedestal with something written on it. Such a huge, majestic sculpture in a place where there are hardly any craftsmen capable of creating such a marvel. Rhianon could not even examine the beautiful or ugly winged creature. She had to raise her hand to reach the edge of the pedestal and touch the long bronze claws with her fingers. They were sharp and warm. She immediately jerked her hand away. There was something wrong here.

She took a few steps back. The moonlight almost caught her face out of the gloom, framed by the wings folded behind her head in a circle, but Rhianon had already turned and ran away. Back to the tavern, back to the warmth, back to the people. Someone came out of the warm building and slammed the door behind him. He stared at her. Something glittered in his hands in the darkness, a folded penknife it seemed.

«You’re a nifty boy,» said a gruff, mocking voice.

Before Rhiannon realized she had to run, someone had wrapped his arms around her from behind. One or two, someone’s arm held her too tightly.

«I’ve been watching you from Loretta,» the knife-wielding man approached her, the blade pressed against her throat, gleaming in the moonlight. Rhianon shuddered; she was a second away from having her throat slashed. Maybe it was the duke’s men. They didn’t look like his retinue, more like mercenaries. The poorly dressed, tipsy men reeked of booze, sweat and blood. One of them had just cut himself. Rhiannon could smell blood, even when the injured man was a great distance from her. Her nostrils immediately flared and caught the strangely pleasant scent. Her nostrils flared up, picking up a strangely pleasant scent and associating it with the opening of a wound. Rhianon almost smiled, though it was inappropriate now. Where did it all come from in her head, scratches like flowers of fire, a bowl of blood, and someone with wings.

«And don’t tell me fairy tales about the princess disappearing at the mountain pass itself, kid,» the bandit grinned a gap-toothed smile, his accomplices clawing harder at her.

«You’re a hustler, you’re a runaway servant, you clever boy, but now you’ll pay,» the blade sliced harder into her neck, and now her own blood would gush out. That was the smell of her blood, and it wouldn’t smell so good. On the contrary, the smell of her own blood always made Rhianon sick, but the blood of this cut man, though disgusting, smelled so appealing. He didn’t recognize her, or he did, but he was in no hurry to reveal his plans. In any case, she was about to get her throat slashed for her lucky winnings, and something had to be done, but not a thought occurred to her.

Rhianon covered her eyes, trying not to look at the blade pressing closer and closer to her. She sniffed at her enemy’s blood, and it seemed to her that someone else had caught that divine scent in his nostrils, and his nostrils had widened just as much as hers.

A second more and her blood would gush directly onto this knife from her opened jugular vein. Rhianon flinched after the knife had been taken from her throat. Whoever was standing in front of her was already lying on the ground, screaming in pain. She couldn’t see what had happened, and it was dark, but she caught sight of someone’s clawed paw stabbing at her. The writhing body under her feet, writhing in a pool of blood, was nauseating.

The two behind her had already let her go. They had no time for their victim.

«Look!» One of them was pointing to an empty pedestal. There was a third man between the men, but it was not a man. He had a non-human figure. Rhianon definitely saw wings and claws. She watched until the carnage was over. One could have huddled against the wall of the inn and watched others being killed. We need to get out of here before the bodies are discovered was her first thought, but someone or something was already dragging the bodies into the darkness, dragging them along the ground, leaving bloody footprints. The pedestal plunged into darkness, but something was still there. It was foolish to think about avoiding people’s questions about the murders when they might have killed her, too. Someone clawed at her shoulders and pressed her tighter against the inn wall. Someone’s clawed hands either squeezed or hugged her. It looks like love, it flashed through her mind. How strange it was that they wanted to kill her, and these wings rustling in the darkness, these claws and the blood on them seemed to her to be symbols of love incarnate.

«Don’t tell anyone,» whispered a quiet and commanding yet penetrating voice over her ear. Some very tall creature leaned down to examine her features. And then it abruptly let her go, and the girl nearly fell. It was hard to stay on her feet, not only from the suddenness of her release, but also from the intense nervous shock. She herself did not fully understand. She could only look around confusedly, looking for someone who was no longer there. The horse was still snorting fearfully, but the reason for its fear was gone. The surroundings were empty and dark. Maybe just someone was sitting on the roof, waiting to spring into action.

Rhiannon tucked her beret back into place, to cover the long locks of hair. It was cold and frightening. Her feet carried her back to the warmth and comfort of the tavern. Even the rough shouts and noisy laughter of the customers didn’t seem so nasty to her now. She sank heavily into a chair near the empty table, as a swaggering boy should, and gestured to the innkeeper. He had already brought another glass of wine before she ordered. Rhianon had already had a few today, but now she needed another. Of course, it wouldn’t hit her head and erase the memory of what had happened, because she had never been drunk. That was one of her strange innate traits. Wine didn’t get her drunk. And it was one more thing. If she needed to get warm or turn the lives of others into a blazing inferno, that wasn’t a problem for her either. She snapped her slender fingers, cutting a thin spark from beneath her skin. Fire was born of emptiness and air when she needed it. I had to smile guiltily at the astonished innkeeper, who couldn’t understand how a light could have flashed in the boy’s hand if he wasn’t holding a candle.

She could still play and win again. She felt she could. Luck was with her for now and would not leave her until morning, maybe longer. She was devilishly lucky at gambling, and her former partners were calling for her again, but Rhianon shook her head in the negative. It was enough gambling for today. She needed to calm down, finish her wine, and banish the intrusive thoughts of someone watching her from the most unexpected places.

«Do you believe in luck?» A sudden question brought her out of her thoughts. On the other side of the table, in the seat that had been empty a moment ago, someone was already sitting there, and his eyes glared at her feline-like from the half-darkness. How unceremoniously he sat down, and how silently he approached, as if he had materialized out of nowhere. Around him, the darkness seemed to thicken. A white, narrow, extremely long palm floated out of the darkness and tossed a gold coin over the table.

«I can give you luck… along with this gold piece.»

Rhianon was taken aback, not by the strange offer, but by the sight of the stranger. Dressed all in green, with bells dangling from his hat and an unpleasant glint in his eyes, he resembled an evil elf from a fairy tale. Red and yellow patches seemed to slip into his attire, but it was impossible to see exactly, for the whole figure on the other side of the table seemed to be woven of fog. The stranger sat beside him, it was only necessary to reach out a hand to touch him, and at the same time Rhianon did not dare to do so, for she was afraid of feeling of emptiness instead of him. This must be what a creature from the looking-glass must look like, not entirely in this world, but balancing somewhere between here and nowhere else. It would not take much to frighten it away, one gesture, one movement, and it would disappear, but the girl did not dare. She looked at the man who sat down beside her as if he were a curiosity. He looked a wonder, too, in that outfit, with his skin like it was covered with white clay, what a lean, mobile body he had, and what unusually thin long fingers. They caught the tossed coin so deftly that the dime barely had time to flash over the table before it was clenched again in his thin fist.

«I don’t want to play anymore tonight,» Rhianon muttered, not taking her eyes off the red glittering eyes on the other side of the table.

«Winning is good, isn’t it?» The stranger grinned merrily, but not at all kindly. «And will it be so tomorrow?»

«Tomorrow is still to come,» Rhianon thundered down her mug on the table, she had to be swaggering, now that she was a boy, no one should question that.

«Yes, it is extremely difficult to survive in these times, isn’t it?» The stranger winked understandingly and leaned a little closer, the bells on his hat tinkling playfully in time with the movement of his head. It didn’t seem to be ringing really, but laughter. It was the laughter of dozens of little tongues.

Rhianon moved a little farther away so that the skinny hand reaching across the table would not touch her in any way. She didn’t like the intrusive interlocutor, though there was something about him that made her heart beat faster. It was as if she recognized an old acquaintance who shared all her interests with her. Except that this was a man she had never seen before. And was he human? He acted like a buffoon, but his eyes… That voice, those understanding nods. She clenched her hand under the table so no one could see. The lines on her palm began to itch. It had happened before. That momentary flash of recognition occurred to her at the sight of those who knew of her secret predilections.. A fleeting sorcery, quick, secret, inept… She had done it herself and now invariably recognized in the crowd those who had done it as well. And they recognized her, though they had never seen her before. But the doomed, that is, those who roll down the same path to hell and can no longer stop, easily recognize each other, easily dragged along with them. She had no choice, they might have, but they always looked at her derisively, just like this stranger sitting imposingly on the other side of the table. There was something else entirely.

«I’m almost on the run myself,» he whispered confidentially, and his eyes flashed dangerously again, as if he could see into her thoughts.

«I’m not,» Rhiannon finished the glass in front of her with a gulp. She tried to be rude and manly, but her overly-cute appearance must have spoiled the impression. It also made her feel uncomfortable how easily the man had figured out her plans. It was a fact one could only look at her wary demeanor and realize she had someone to run from.

«We’re on the run from ourselves,» the stranger said in a gentle voice, and he brushed aside any disbelief that might have been created by his first indiscreet words. «Sometimes what’s inside creatures is stronger than they are, and they try to escape it, but there’s nowhere to go. The danger is inside you, not outside. There’s no escape.»

«What do you know about it?» She asked haughtily, but nevertheless she glanced cautiously at the already-empty glass. The half-full bottle beside her now disgusted her and almost terrified her. How many times they had tried to convince her that her peculiarity was born in herself, like a curse. This curse needed no fuel to fuel it, but Rhianon was certain that alcohol promoted ignition. She couldn’t feel the heat inside her, and she didn’t see the fire rising out of nowhere, but even now she feared that if she got angry, the fire would flare up right on her fingertips, right on the dice on the wooden table in front of her.

She swallowed hard. Can the damned be seen in their faces? It is said that extraordinary beauty marks only those, like rebellious angels, close to the fall. In any case, at court so often whispered behind her back, unaware that she could hear everything from a mile around her. The royal astrologer hated her in silence until her father’s death, but on the king’s deathbed he was able to say it all.

Extraordinary beauty marks those from whom the fallen angel will come. Then she will be the worst of all, because no one has ever been more beautiful than her. Did the stargazer know of the terrible forbidden books she had collected? Rhianon guessed that he hated her for a very different reason. Just like every other mage she encountered. They all looked at her with envy and jealousy. And why was it? She wasn’t all-powerful and unlikely to ever be. Though she needed it so much, to gain superhuman strength and regain all that had been taken from her. To claim her property, she must first defeat all her enemies. And for that, even becoming a powerful king is not enough. Rhianon sighed. The trickster, ready to perform tricks now at her table, could hardly be of any real help to her. But he, with that same sly smile, kept making suggestions.

«I can make you win every time, every day, every night, at whatever hour you wish, the dice will fall as you wish. But do you want to?»