Why was that damned man coming? Why was he talking about the knife? Why was the cold song of steel beginning to seem so appealing to her?
Rhianon thought she should hide the weapon somewhere far away. It tempted her. But they say that steel forged by the Zwergs can do far worse than dream. There are swords that spit their own blood, and in battle to stop them already impossible, taken from sheaths they cut and stabbed all in a row with an unquenchable thirst. They might even turn against their master if there were no one else left to kill. And now it seemed to her that to reach for the knife and spill her own blood would be unbelievable bliss.
Rhianon was afraid to touch the blade or even the opal-encrusted handle. She took a velvet shawl and threw it over the tabletop. Now she couldnt see the knife covered by the cloth, and the call of the steel would no longer be so appealing. Shed rather listen to the sounds of battle from outside than this insidious temptation. And they were intensifying. The jubilation before victory was so great that it drowned out even the roar of war. Rhianon didnt want to cover her ears at all. She could hear swords crossing with swords, steel jingling against steel, arrows being fired whistling. These sounds reminded her of how she herself had once stepped onto the battlefield. She wouldnt mind doing it again. Instead of a shield she would use Orpheus, who would remain invisible to repel the blows aimed at her. And she wanted, of course, a sword like Madeels. His sword would strike without mercy and demand blood itself. With a sword like that it would be hard not to win. The only thing was whether she would be able to convince the dwarves to make such a thing for her. Orpheus seemed to say that it is forbidden. But Orpheus is such a liar. She does not even miss him, though she has not seen him for a long time. He has no right to approach her while she is near the lord of all the damned? So be it. There must be some way to punish him for his willfulness.
If he had been a mere mortal servant, Rhianon would have had him flogged. It was a pity that he was only a disembodied spirit, not in pain or remorse. She chose not to think of him, and concentrated on the battle. It was nearing its end. Her lover was winning again. She had no doubts about the outcome of the battle. She only wondered if any of his victories would be laid at her feet. He could give her the world. But would he fight only for her, and not at Gods behest? A knight must win for his lady, and only for her. Rhianon gripped tighter into the tent canopy, her knuckles turning white.
You must fight only for my sake! She whispered insistently, as if he could hear her from so far away. Somewhere out there in the thick of the battle his golden helmet was gleaming. Somehow she was sure he could hear her.
Well, what did you manage to find out?
Douglas regarded the princes angry tone with icy indifference. Conrad grumbled uncertainly on the threshold of his tower and hesitated to move. He was startled and frightened by everything in the place, from the retorts, where multicolored liquids were swirling, to the white owl perched proudly on a stack of books that almost reached the ceiling. It hardly bothered the prince that the sloppily stacked volumes would fall right on top of him, and the fact that the bird was not in a cage was also quite usual for a wizards chambers. And Douglas could have sworn that the pyramids of folio books, stacked so casually, would not crumble as long as he supported them with his charms, just as the dogs that went wild today in the kennel would not bite anyone, because next to a fireplace with sparks dancing in it, animals felt a little sleepy. Douglas gathered all the dangerous creatures around him, and not only of animal origin. Had anyone known of the towers other inhabitants, they would never have come. One nosy servant who peeked through a keyhole to see what the wizard was doing had already was blind. His friends who had bet with him fell ill with a strange illness, but no one but them. Douglas had repeatedly hinted to the young heir to the throne that he kept his charms under control and that it was not his habit to torment royalty. Yet the door, which had slammed shut behind him as he crossed the threshold, and the black toad which crawled out from under him, made him incredibly wary. Now he squeamishly looked down at his boots, where a sticky stain was spreading from contact with the toads skin, and kept his hands folded across his chest to avoid accidentally touching anything. Douglas didnt accuse him of cowardice at all. The boy had already proved his courage by finding the strength to cross the threshold. Hed been warned more than once that it was a dangerous place, the lair of a court wizard. And, of course, he had watched the torment of those to whom the same sorcerer had repeatedly cast spells at his fathers behest. It seems that in order to win Rhianon back, he is ready even to step on the threshold of hell.
Was it courage? Douglas snorted dismissively. Since when are such effeminate boys called men? Conrad looked more like a pretty girl. And a thoughtful father had seen to it that his child was dressed by the finest dressmakers in Loretta. Merchants with the finest fabrics came here from distant lands. The camisole and shirt with ruffles worn by the prince could well be called a model of tailors art. Here and there in the intricate patterns of fabric glittered small rubies and topaz. The lace jabot around the neck was slightly loose, as if Conrad had wanted to take it off, and the buttons were unbuttoned. The princes chamberlain had, after all, overlooked something. Also Conrad should have combed his hair. His dark hair was tangled in strands over his unbuttoned collar. He hadnt thought of washing it or taping it up at the back of his head. Douglas almost asked venomously if this was a way to keep the prince from grooming himself, or the memory of his runaway queen. But he had enough sense to restrain himself. Though he hated such lanky, pampered sons, to whom his fathers efforts could get everything. But after all, Conrad might one day be king. True, the stars told him somewhat different plans for the future, but there is always an alternative. And one day Conrad may become an important pawn in his game.
Douglas reached forward and held Rianons scarf, which was already quite frayed and stained with blood droplets.
I had to work with it to get the results I wanted, but you can still have it, if its of any value to you.
He pretended to throw the lump of cloth into the flames of the fireplace.
No, dont! Conrad sprang forward at once and snatched the scarf from him.
Douglas almost laughed. So the right bait will make a coward a daredevil too.
So youre ready to step into hell itself, he answered his own thoughts aloud.
What do you mean? Conrad clearly didnt understand him, but he got worried. What did you say?
Nothing, the wizard shook his head. I have much to do besides seek out your betrothed, but it so happens that all the paths in my complex magical map of the world are woven together in the end. Knowing where to look for one thing leads me to another. Have you heard anything about setting nets on stars?
And I dont want to hear, as Conrad was not stupid, but he realized that he was being bullshitted and became embittered. Where is Rhianon? Did you promise to find out?
Isnt Rhianon a star you could set your net on?
Conrad did not understand that. For all his smarminess, he was clearly a stranger to poetry, but no stranger to the pains of love. If only his current state could be called infatuation rather than madness. Douglas was pleased to note that his cheeks looked sunken after long sleepless nights, and that a kind of feverish glint had settled in his tired eyes. A little more worry like that and he would no longer be so handsome.