‘Yeah,’ the princess eyed the proportions and weight of the proffered “spell”. ‘An amulet really can’t help against that! You should be careful with that, otherwise someone could easily die from such a …mhm… spell. It’s not the guards’ fault, it’s just their job.’
By the end of her little monologue Oleg was simply shaking with laughter.
‘OK, I’ll try not to hit them too hard. Seeing as it’s you who’s sticking up for them. And by the way, it seems as though everyone’s gone. We’ll wait another hour and then set off.’
Time passed slowly and sluggishly. The nervous princess either quizzed Oleg on how he planned to get them out of the tower and the castle once she’d finished the right of succession to the throne, or fell to crying because she wouldn’t manage to finish anything as the ritual took at least fifteen minutes, and Victor, having sensed when it began, would send the guards straightaway. Oleg calmed her down, but didn’t answer her questions. He’d long since thought through their escape plan, although it was pretty original to say the least, and could easily get the princess worked up. Let her learn to trust me, Oleg reasoned.
Finally the time Oleg had allocated for the courtiers to fall asleep had expired and he and Ataletta, without particularly bothering to hide, headed towards the Central Tower. Before leaving their quarters, after thinking for a moment, Oleg left a note addressed to “Victor Kreghist, Regent of Fenrian”. In it he expressed his apologies for their unexpected departure, caused by the danger to his own life and to his wife’s honour “which is regarded with too much interest inside your court”. Oleg did this to muddy the waters and confuse the investigation at least a little, but a desire to play a dirty trick was also present.
They went on the principle: “I’m a tank and as for those who didn’t hide, it’s not my fault,” but luckily they didn’t meet anyone. The guards at the doors leading to the King’s tower were circumnavigated without much problem. Ataletta, with her elfin appearance, conversed with them, telling them a pitiful tale about how she had gone for a walk before going to bed and had lost her way in the endless corridors, and would the valiant guards be so kind as to help her find her room. While the guards were vying with each other as they explained how she should get to where she needed to be, bitterly regretting that they were unable to leave their post and lead the despairing girl wherever she wanted to go, Oleg in his demon body climbed up to the ceiling behind them and then put his “spell” into action.
The guards obediently “fell asleep”. After carefully piling them up in the corners, Oleg and Ataletta made their way up the staircase and came out into the chamber of the dying king. After a quick glance at the blue-brown wheezing and bubbling king, his companion darted forward with a cry of ‘Papa!’ Oleg turned away at once, busying himself with barring and strengthening the door. The King, dying from the curse, was a most unpleasant sight. There wasn’t much to do. The door was sturdy and the staircase leading to the top of the tower so narrow and winding that you couldn’t a drag a battering ram up it, so Oleg could reckon on being able to hold out long enough for the princess to complete her ritual.
Once he’d shunted the bolt across and piled furniture lying against the door, Oleg turned to Ataletta, still trying hard not to look at her father.
‘Go on, begin your ritual,’ and then he noticed that she was standing stock still, squeezing the King’s hands in hers, her lips moving, whispering.
‘Already,’ Ataletta mumbled interrupting her ritual for a second, then whispering again.
And at once, as if to confirm her words, a loud shriek arose out of the courtly calm below them and Oleg could easily recognize the voice of the Lord Chancellor.
‘Guards, on your feet! Men! Follow me! The princess is with the King! They are carrying out the ritual!’
***
That evening the Lord Chancellor and great Regent Victor Kreghist could not fall asleep for a long time. He was overwhelmed by thoughts of future grandeur. Not more than two days were left before he would be able to put on the crown and officially declare himself king. Everything was unfolding exactly according to his plan. The unexpected visit of the elfin girl was an additional and very pleasant gift. It was not without a certain smugness that Victor thought: ‘Seems I have pleased Orchis the Light Bearer quite greatly if he is rewarding me so generously.’ At forty-three he was already beginning to feel with some trepidation the shortness of human life and was not now about to miss the chance of growing younger and living three to four hundred years. For that was the amount that, as legend had it, elves can extend the life of their chosen ones.
The elfin girl’s current chosen one, that minstrel Arioch who was so ready for a fight, posed a small problem. Now, after sober consideration, the Lord Chancellor was even glad that his impulsive and not-thought-through attempt to orchestrate the minstrel’s death in a “chance” duel had failed. After all, then what would have happened? Lúthien would have grieved, maybe would have cursed the murderer and ridden off to her elfin enclave. And to hold her back – no, no. Only a madman would rush to meet an elfin curse. The legends paint a very clear picture of the fate of fools who dared to try to take an elfin woman by force. Remembering some particularly colourful episodes from the legend of the Prince of Reir and the elfin girl Tariel, the regent shuddered. And you couldn’t just put it all down to the story-teller’s imagination. There it was, the Reir Sea, lapping not far away. And the archipelago was still there, too, pirates used it as their base. In times gone by, according to the legends, they were mountains, the Reir Mountains.
Yes, he was entering shaky ground, a dangerous place. Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk? Court the elfin girl, keep her here as a guest, show her his might and if she was not seduced, it would be better to let her go. Otherwise nothing would come of it. Tseld Reir, or so they say, lives to this day in that cave and begs any passerby to kill him, to relieve him of his suffering. But then, winner takes it all, as they say. But he probably wouldn’t be able to woo her. To all appearances, this elfin girl was still young. You can’t win over that sort with power and wealth, you have to hand them youth and heroic deeds. In other words, trying to winkle her away from that singer wouldn’t work, then. ‘Well, that’s OK. I wasn’t really burning for it. It’s not true love I need from her but youth and long life,’ Kreghist thought as he tossed around in his bed.
Pity, of course, that he couldn’t use force. But maybe he could think up something more cunning. What if, say, her companion was arrested and sentenced to death, wouldn’t the elfin beauty soften then? And there would be no need to fear the curse. No need for the Firstborn lords to get involved. We don’t lay a finger on elves, your subject is free, she may go wherever she pleases. But as for holding her companion, as a human, he’s a criminal. It is our business, for us humans, to punish our criminals. ‘So it may work, it may just work!’ the Lord Chancellor thought with delight as he fell asleep. ‘She won’t go anywhere, not so long as I put her lovebird behind bars, she’ll come running to me herself, to plead for her hubbie. And then I’ll propose she stays with me in exchange for his life. She won’t run off anywhere, she won’t turn to her lords for assistance. She’ll stay here to save her young minstrel lad. And everything’ll be fine. Now I can go to sleep.’
But sleep didn’t come. Aroused by the image of Lúthien’s beauty and splendour almost within reach, Kreghist tossed and turned, quite unable to fall asleep. Finally giving up, he rang his little bell, called the attendant and ordered him to bring one of his concubines, a young one. Full of expectation, while he was waiting for his orders to be fulfilled, he once again set about thinking his plan through.
So he would have to set the minstrel up. What could he be accused of? It would have to be something major so that the elves wouldn’t dispute it, even if they wanted to. The murder of a courtier? Someone quite important? Stupid idea. They’d never fall for it. Seeing as he commanded his weapons so well, he could kill anyone he wanted in a simple duel. What, then? Steal
ing royal jewels? An attempt on the life of the king, or his heir? Hang on! There’s something in that! Only not an attempt on their life, but murder! That’s it! ‘And I happen to have a spare heir to the throne! Mmm… Everything’s falling into place perfectly. Of course, I don’t expect I’ll be able to talk him into doing it, but never mind.’ Victor had been keeping a small phial of elixir for a long time now, and it enabled a magician – or even a pretty weak wizard like himself (Victor didn’t deceive himself; rumours of his powers were seriously exaggerated) – to subject a person’s will to his own for a short while, providing that person didn’t possess magical powers and was not protected by a special amulet. And if that didn’t work, he could steal the minstrel’s dagger and do the dirty deed himself, no problem.
At this point the Lord Chancellor was distracted from his musings. ‘Where’s my concubine, demon take those slow servants! My hands are already trembling with desire and I want to stroke something soft. Hang on. What’s going on? I’m trembling? Impatient? An urge to hold something in my hands? That sounds like the ritual! But she couldn’t have got in to see Freidrich – there are guards!
Fearing the worst, the Lord Chancellor looked down at his hands and froze. A rainbow hue enveloped his palms, clearly indicating that the ritual of handing over the inheritance was already going on in the Central Tower, turning his niece into a queen and him into the successor. What’s more, judging from the brightness of the glow, it had already been going on for five minutes or so, in other words, a third of the time needed to complete the whole ritual. There was no time to lose. And it was right then that a cry rang out, the cry which Oleg heard and which so amazed our hero: “Guards, on your feet! Men! Follow me! The princess is with the King! They are carrying out the ritual!!” The Lord Chancellor could act speedily in an emergency.
***
Kreghist’s guards sprang into action with amazing efficiency. The princess had only just reached the key part of the ritual when heavy blows could already be heard on the door.
‘In the name of the Regent, open up!’
There was no reply. Ataletta was too caught up in her ritual and Oleg preferred to remain silent, to remain an “unknown component” for as long as possible.
‘She’s in there, you idiots! What are you waiting for? Break down the door!’ And the door was battered with renewed strength. Then Kreghist’s yelping squeals could be heard again: ‘What are you doing? You’ll be beating it till you’re old men at that rate! Get some axes!’
There followed a short interval and then the blows rang out again, this time with the characteristic sound of iron cutting into wood. Oleg was beginning to estimate how thick the door was and, as a result, how long it would hold out, when the whispering behind him ceased and two narrow little palms were laid on his shoulders.
‘That’s it then. Forgive me for dragging you into this. Now we shall both die together,’ came the princess’s woeful whisper. The next instant the hot, dry lips of the girl were pressed against his. She was inexperienced but really tried her best, and Oleg only just managed to withdraw his fangs in time – he was in his demon-body after all!
‘I guess I should have told her earlier,’ Oleg thought not without penitence. ‘But on the other hand, if I had told her everything, then I would probably never have landed something like this,’ he replied to her kiss with enthusiasm. ‘So everything’s alright. I’ll make her happy now.’
‘What gave you the idea that we’re going to die?’ he said when the princess – no, the queen now – came up for air. (He himself, an experienced guy, had been breathing carefully through his nose and was barely out of breath.)
‘All the Royal Guards and half the municipal watchmen are out there! Not even you can get through them. And there’s only one way out of here,’ and she nodded towards the door, which was already beginning to splinter.
Oleg cocked an ear to the noise and decided it wasn’t worth dragging the comedy out any longer.
‘Well, actually, not only one. You people are so unobservant! What don’t you like about that one? I don’t think anyone’s guarding it.’ Oleg nodded towards the window.
But the new queen didn’t get it.
‘What I don’t like about it is that I’m a person, not a bird! I can’t fly! My dear uncle would be most delighted if I used your “exit”. He wouldn’t even have to kill me…’
Oleg didn’t give the girl the chance to finish. She was getting hysterical again and he interrupted her very rudely. ‘Sure, people can’t fly like birds. And neither can I. Not like a bird, that is. Only like a demon. Though they do say that demons fly just as well as birds. And they can carry loads, too. Such as virgins or princesses they’ve kidnapped. Which category do you fall into?’
To back up his words he slightly spread his wings which till then had been hanging from his shoulders like a black cape.
‘To both!’ Ataletta finally got his point and she laughed. ‘I have never known a man and so until my official coronation I can count as a princess! So you can fly! I thought it was just some sort of cape.’
While she was laughing Oleg climbed onto the window ledge and flung back the window.
‘Well, are you ready to be kidnapped?’ he asked her.
‘I am!’ The girl who could be counted a princess until her official coronation ran up to her “kidnapper” and embraced him tightly. ‘Off we fly!’ she ordered.
‘So that’s the way it goes sometimes,’ Oleg thought light-heartedly to himself. ‘In the blink of an eye, a wilful demon transforms into the personal transport of a royal personage.’
Then he stopped joking, glared at the door (which was shaking ever-more strongly, cracks already appearing in it revealing the blades of axes), tossed his head (a few little snakes scattered from his hair - a surprise for those who cut their way in), grabbed Ataletta firmly below the waist (mixing business with pleasure) and stepped out into emptiness.
Chapter Six
The Road to Maidell
The hirelings were waiting at the agreed spot by the city wall. Oleg was pretty out of breath – ‘She may be a princess, she may be a virgin, but try carrying about 110 pounds from the centre of a big town to the outskirts! In the air!’ So Oleg experienced a great sense of relief as he landed a little way off the agreed spot (so as not to shock folk); a little further and they would have had to hunt out the hirelings on foot.
Oleg turned back into a human and straightened his guitar, which had reappeared on his back. Whenever he fully took on his demon form and then transformed back into a human, he always appeared in the same clothes and with the same things as he had the very evening when he had been killed. Oleg really liked that – except for the fact that no matter how he sewed his jacket, the slash from the Boar’s knife was always there again. But on the other hand, all other tears in his tattered jacket should have theoretically disappeared, too.
So now he had to adjust his scabbard a bit, displaced by the guitar which had materialized out of nowhere, and he and Ataletta set out towards the clearing from which horses’ neighs and people’s voices could be heard.
‘I tell you: it was the princess! Why else would he need to cast the semblance over her? And by the way, he paid me three hundred Imperial coins for it!’ Clairene’s ringing voice cut the night’s darkness.
‘What do you mean? You don’t take more than two silver pieces for a semblance,’ A deep bass came in reply. Oleg recognized the voice of Olaf the Swordsman.
‘He wasn’t paying for the semblance itself, but for me to teach him the spell. By the way, twenty minutes ago there was a flash of magic in the city, and by its spectrum it looked like the inheritance spell. So I reckon our boss will show up in an hour or so, once he’s left the city. And that girl will be with him for sure, well disguised most likely. I’ll bet you an imperial coin!’
‘Agre...’ Olaf began, but just then Oleg, who didn’t want to set the girl up nor hang out in the woods for a whole hour, especially seeing as it was highly l
ikely they would be chased, walked up to the hirelings without dawdling. They at once fell silent and grew wary.
‘Greetings, my good folk,’ Oleg said loudly. The hirelings put down their weapons and breathed easily. But not for long, incidentally: Ataletta followed Oleg out of the woods, still as an elfin girl. The hirelings froze again, open-mouthed.
It was Clairene who came to her senses first.
‘She’s not real, right?’ she asked in a hopeful voice. ‘I mean, you put that semblance I taught you on someone? Such a beauty can’t be real, right? Right?’
Three pairs of eyes were trained on Oleg.
‘Partly. That is not a real appearance but a disguise laid by me. Allow me to introduce Ataletta Kreghist, former crown princess of Fenrian, and now, after the death of her father, apparently, the Queen?’ He said the final word with a question in his voice, looking at Ataletta.
She laughed. ‘No. As I already told you, I remain a princess until my official coronation.’ And she gave Oleg a mischievous wink. As an elfin girl with huge eyes, this was particularly expressive. ‘But the other thing is that now no-one can be crowned but me, no matter who they might be.’
‘So she’s still a princess for now. However, although her present appearance is illusory, my imagination’s not good enough to think up something like that. The current appearance of her Highness is, with some slight alterations, taken from an acquaintance of mine, who, by the way, is not human.’
The hirelings’ reaction was marvellous. Although that was no surprise in their profession. No sooner had Oleg finished his short speech than Kendir and Olaf barked as one: ‘Can you introduce us?’
‘Do I look like an idiot? Dream on! I’m still hoping to seduce her somehow!’
The Road to Magic (Book 1 of the Way of the Demon Series) Page 12