Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials. Natalie Yacobson

doesn’t matter what he wants. He himself often does not understand his own desires. His sword must be guided to serve the cause of justice. And justice is on your side now.”

      Moren hesitated. He was not sure of the latter. What is justice in battle? They fought only to win, defending the interests of their homeland or the lords who hired them, without much thought as to who was right or wrong. And what principles could a warrior have who neither needed to be paid nor to defend his homeland? He could only fight on the side of the right. That is what they said about him. After all, he himself had no personal interest in anything. He has no homeland and needs no reward. It is likely that he is an elf knight of some magical kingdom, whom his suzerain sends into battle every time to uphold justice. So he has to cross an invisible line to throw into someone else’s battle, in which he himself seeks nothing: neither glory nor profit. His chivalry must surely come from a magical world.

      “You’re almost right, my friend,” the slightly husky voice behind him became a little more gentle, even mellifluous. It was intoxicating, like a poison to the brain.

      “Only wait,” he whispered, “I will bring you to your knight. You can even swear allegiance to him. You only have to follow me when I summon you.”

      Moren reluctantly nodded. He could scarcely believe it would not be now, but the offer was clear. When the need arises, he will be summoned.

      “But when would that happen?” He wanted to turn around, but he couldn’t. The claws weren’t releasing him right away. Now he could turn his head slightly and examine them.

      “Soon,” was the same unequivocal answer.

      Douglas felt as if he were on the coals of a red-hot fryer. It was as if he was being fried. Not even the pitchforks of hell could be as unstable as his present position in the yard. He kept waiting for Manfred to change his anger for mercy, but the king wanted only one thing: a nameless warrior. He even forbade his personal wizard to enter the council chamber or the throne room until the answer was found: where to find the invincible knight and how to lure him to himself. The king was obsessed with the idea of ruling someone who could not be ruled. And Douglas was sensible enough to hint to the furious monarch that one cannot tame the element of fire. You can only burn against it, but not shackle it. And that must have been what Manfred wanted. Not only did he plan to catch the wind, he also wanted to hold it in his hands and gain obedience from it.

      Douglas, too, was setting up nets for the stars at the top of his tower. He fastened them to the very parapet and read spells, but so far the catch was little encouraging. He dreamed of catching spirits in his nets that would serve him, untamed black souls with diabolical powers, or even glittering faeries. He needed all kinds of servants. It could even be said that while the king slept, his court wizard gathered his own little army of nixes, leprechauns, gnomes, brownies, house spirits, and other evil spirits around him. He could capture them in the attics or the castle’s dark labyrinths, by the riverside, in the undergrowths, or in the meadows. All he had to know was the right spells to keep them subdued, and of course he had the skill and dexterity to catch them. Douglas knew how to do all this and had done it many times before. He already had his own cohort of petty servants, the mischievous ones who had been naughty in the castle kitchens, who had stolen courtiers’ things and harassed his ears. They all obeyed him and followed his orders. All of them he caught. That he could do. But most of all he dreamed of the stars.

      It was the stars that he hadn’t seen yet. And yet he had already prepared a cage in which to keep them, and made plans for their use. Other wizards dreamed of a tame dragon, a pack of griffins, or a horde of goblins, but he dreamed of shooting and capturing stars. To him they were more important than anything else. Manfred, though he did not know what his court sorcerer did, also dreamed of a star in his own way. Douglas even chuckled contemptuously. Could a tiny rodent defeat a large lion? The comparison was almost apt, except the situation was more acute. That very lion was about to lunge at them all and crush everything here. Douglas feared more for Loretta’s towers than for his own skin. He himself could slip away like a chimney, quickly stowing his luggage in a chest and leading away the hordes of spirits that would accompany a wandering wizard, but take care of himself. Escape is easy when you are nimble, elusive, and can become invisible; it is only hard to leave this surrounding splendor to fend for itself. Even if Loretta’s days were numbered, Douglas did not like to think of losing his luxurious quarters. To him, a cozy and well-appointed tower was a luxury item. He had never had one at home. His family did not like him, nor were they eager to do anything for him, and for that he repaid them all. True, the main thing was taking out potential rivals. Now he was alone with his magical talent. He sincerely hoped that the ghosts of his executed brothers would not bother him. They had made no attempt so far, and he himself had thoughtfully inscribed protective symbols on the door, windows, and threshold. He could not see them at once, but they served their purpose. No unwanted guests could penetrate his shelter, neither spirits nor mortals. Anyone who crossed its threshold without the owner’s invitation would feel so uncomfortable inside the tower that they would have to leave. In this way, Douglas protected himself from all uninvited visitors, even from the king’s guards if such showed up.

      Though if they decided to arrest him and send him to the stake, he would know it beforehand. For one thing, he had plenty of his own invisible spies scattered around the castle and even the city below to gather gossip and bring it to his master. Secondly, he could make out sounds from miles around if he wanted to, he just had to gather his strength, whisper a few magical phrases or drink an invigorating elixir, then close his eyelids and listen. A cacophony of sounds, conversations, monologues and dialogues, arguments, quarrels, debates, love confessions and songs would reach his ears so quickly that it would be hard to choose and separate the right one. But he could catch one necessary dialogue out of a thousand and learn of danger or conspiracy. He was very concerned about his own position in the castle, for it was very precarious. Of course, he had managed to gain Conrad’s support, but the boy was too weak. If he had any influence over his father, he was wasting all his energies on allocating more and more funds and soldiers to track down the fugitive. Every fighter was now essential to the war. It was said that the knights were dying like flies out there. Something terrible had settled on the battlefield. Manfred even wanted to send his personal enchanter there, but Douglas, with some help from the prince, was able to dissuade him.

      “Let the astrologers go for now,” he suggested, “and the soothsayer who lives in the city. There’s plenty of work for the soothsayers there, too. They’ll predict the outcome of the battle and figure out who caused the epidemic.”

      Such an offer was murder, but Douglas also wanted to remove all his detractors, or at least all his competitors. He managed to send almost all of them away from the castle. Manfred lit up with the idea that they could help on the battlefield. And Douglas stayed in the castle and pretended to try to summon an invincible knight. Of course he couldn’t do that. But he tried not to talk aloud about his abilities. Why should he? Manfred was already tearing and tearing. All the courtiers already thought he was mad. They said he opened a window into the cold night at night and waited for a winged warrior, angel or demon to come, but all he waited for was a blizzard to sweep into his bed. And in the morning his bedroom looks like a winter meadow, covered with snow. But the old man himself is not ill from this, but is seeking more and more insistently for information that does not exist, asking merchants and peddlers, travelers from distant fears and even captive enemies. He ordered them all to be brought to the court and questioned them about the nameless warrior. Many knew nothing and were subjected to a barrage of threats, some retold myths. From the brief information he received, the king was no closer to his goal, but he became angry. Rumors were already openly circulating around the castle that the legendary warrior was not human, that he had living wings fluttering under his cloak, claws hidden under his gauntlets, horns under his helmet, and the devil himself helped him, and Manfred dreamed of summoning the devil to his aid. Of course, many people no longer want such a king. Douglas was afraid to even wander the corridors, fearing that he would be attacked with fists as the instigator. He was the one who could bring