Коллектив авторов - The Realms of the Elves

He kneeled before the dais and laid his staff at his master's feet.

"Rise," Orchtrien boomed. "Rise, my friend, and let me look at you. Stone and sky, you're thin as a straw!"

"It's a pleasure to see Your Majesty again. As I hope was clear from my report, the warriors you gave me performed wonders in your service."

"As did you. You actually killed one of the greens, all by yourselves?"

"We had little choice. I called for help, but neither you nor any of the princes appeared to succor us." He hadn't meant to bring it up, but somehow it slipped out anyway.

Orchtrien hesitated for a heartbeat then said, "The message never reached me."

"Of course, Majesty. I assumed that for whatever reason, the magic failed."

"Be glad it did. Your victory over the green demonstrated your prowess as nothing else could. In a month or so, when we march to war in earnest, you'll be one of my chief marshals."

Rhespen reminded himself it was what he'd always wanted, and struggled to appear grateful. "Thank you, Majesty. I'll strive to be worthy of your trust."

Orchtrien smiled. "But not immediately. You've striven enough for the time being, and now I want you to relax and enjoy yourself."

Relax and enjoy himself. In its way, it was a royal command, and Rhespen endeavored to obey it like any other of Orchtrien's orders. He choked down delicacies that weighed in his stomach like stones, guzzled drink that tangled his feet and tongue but only darkened his mood, and bedded ladies and servant girls whose affections left him feeling lonely and hollow even at the moment of release. Through it all, he smiled and chattered as the court expected, and whatever the entertainment, be it banquet, hunt, ball, or play, endeavored to ignore Winterflower's presence.

But a royal favorite had no reasonable hope of avoiding proximity to the king's mistress, and besides, for all his intentions to the contrary, Rhespen often found his eyes drawn to her. He supposed it was the same impulse that prompted a person to pick at a scab, or to probe a sore tooth with his tongue.

So it was that he stared after her as Orchtrien escorted her out of a masked revel. She apparently said something flirtatious, because the transformed dragon laughed and took her in his arms. As they embraced, Rhespen could see Winterflower's face with its winged half-mask of white swan feathers over his master's shoulder. For just a moment, it was as if a second mask dissolved away behind the first, and she regarded him with the same desperate, miserable expression she'd worn the first time the king danced with her. Then her eyes sparkled once more, and her amorous smile returned. His arm around her waist, Orchtrien led her onward, no doubt to the bed they shared.

At the center of Dawnfire stood the royal palace, a sprawling hive that was home to a legion of servants, guards, and courtiers. Within that complex rose the high keep containing Orchtrien's personal apartments, and the quarters of those he wanted closest. Prowling the benighted garden adjacent to the tower's southern aspect, inhaling the fragrance of brunfelsia, Rhespen pondered how best to slip inside, and wondered too if he was mad.

Wasn't it likely that, half-drunk as he'd been, he'd imagined Winterflower's momentary change of expression? Even if he hadn't, even if she was secretly unhappy, what could he do about it? Nothing! Whereas he was all too likely to forfeit his life by probing any further into the matter.

Yet something inside him demanded to know the truth. He shifted his shoulders to work the tension out, gripped his staff, and strode to the keep's primary entrance.

At the top of the steps leading to the arched double doors, a long-legged pair of half-dragon guards saluted. "Milord," they said in unison. "The king isn't in residence tonight," the one on the right continued.

"I know," Rhespen said. He'd chosen tonight for this harebrained escapade precisely because Orchtrien had flown south to confer with barons busy recruiting and training warriors to replace those slain in last year's battles. He drew twin pulses of power from his staff. The half-dragons swayed, and their eyes opened wide, as the magic touched their minds. "But I need to retrieve an important document I left inside. So please, admit me."

Ordinarily, they might not have cooperated, his rank notwithstanding. But thanks to the charms he'd cast, they trusted him completely, and made haste to swing open the small door set in the middle of the huge, dragon-sized one on the right.

Once they closed it again, leaving him to his own devices, he took a wary glance about to make sure nobody else was watching. No one was, so he whispered the words to veil himself in invisibility, then stalked onward, his elven boots muffling the sound of his passage through the sleeping tower's hushed and shadowy chambers.

Orchtrien invariably installed his mistresses in the apartments directly above his own; it was an open secret that a concealed staircase connected one bedchamber with the other. As he approached the entrance to Winterflower's suite, Rhespen was disheartened to see that no additional sentries guarded the way. Their absence cast doubt on the forlorn hope that the king was somehow compelling the elf girl to serve as his concubine.

I could still turn back, Rhespen thought, before I humiliate myself or worse. Instead, he touched the head of his staff to the door. The lock clicked, disengaging, and the panel swung ajar.

He closed it behind him and stalked on through the darkened apartment. He found Winterflower lying on a couch in front of an open casement, immersed in Reverie or simply staring into the gloom. Whichever it was, she bolted upright as soon as he dissolved his spell of concealment.

"Milord!" she exclaimed, glaring. "Are you insane, to intrude here?"

"Probably, for I perceive that I'm unwelcome."

"Of course you are."

"From which I infer that the look you gave me meant nothing."

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Then I'll leave. Unless you'd care to scream for the guards." He realized he didn't much care if she did or not.

"I should. You've betrayed the king, compromised me-" Her face twisted. She snatched hold of his hand and squeezed it hard. "What am I saying? Forgive me!"

He shook his head. "To forgive, I need to understand."

Still clasping his fingers, she rose. "You're a true wizard, not a dabbler like me. I assumed you could tell. After he sent you away, Orchtrien labored tirelessly to seduce me, and always I refused him, even when he hinted that my 'ingratitude' might prompt him to hurt my kin. Until finally, weary of coaxing and threatening, he laid an enchantment on me."

"To alter your affections?" Elves possessed a degree of resistance to magic that clouded and altered thought, but of course no one was impervious to dragon sorcery.

"Yes. Most of the time, I adore him, and yearn for his touch. Only rarely do I remember myself, and my true feelings, and only for a little while." She smiled bitterly. "So you see, there's the real reason no maiden has ever declined to become his harlot."

"It's monstrous."

"I don't suppose Orchtrien sees it as any different than when a person like us trains a hound or a horse. At any rate, I'm glad you know. I wouldn't want you to believe I forsook you of my own free will. Now you truly should go, before you're discovered. Just be happy, and remember me."

"I won't abandon you to this slavery. We'll run away together."

"As you once explained to me, Orchtrien would find us, and all the more easily since I'd struggle with all my strength and wits to make my way back to him."

"I'll lift the curse."

"I know you'd try, but you also told me that neither you nor any other elf commands magic to rival Orchtrien's."

He felt queasy with helplessness, then an idea struck him. It was reckless, mad, but perhaps that was what the situation required.