Natalie Yacobson - Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials

Manfred would have done anything to gain the support of this invincible warrior. He would set snares for him if only to catch him and force him to fight on his side. The war halted, but the king’s passion for the unknown knight only grew stronger. Manfred was almost mad. He was certain that had the faceless fighter been with them now, Loretta would have been celebrating victory. It was useless to remind him that it was not the lack of a warrior that was preventing them from fighting further, but the cold, the hunger, and the epidemic. The winter had been mild in Loretta, but near Menuel they were so cold that weapons froze in the hands of the fighting men, and all manner of provisions were crusted over before they could be cooked. There was no way to build a fire in this cold. Any flame was extinguished by the immediate wind. On top of that an epidemic broke out. The first to fall ill and die was a regimental healer. The cities locked their doors, not wanting to let the lepers in. Moren tried his best, but he could barely keep order, even in his garrison. The people were afraid.

They heard screams at night, saw creepy creatures flying in from the mountains and devouring carrion. Of course, all these visions could only be attributed to hallucinations caused by illness, but those who were not yet sick also saw these things. Riots were brewing, and people were going mad. Moren tried his best, but sometimes he felt himself losing his sanity. Someone kept killing the blond girls. Their corpses were thrown off the walls of the fortresses for fear of contagion. Sometimes as he drove in front of the gates of another closed city he would see bodies in the snow, covered with a hideous plaque of festering wounds and covered with some hideous insects. More often than not these scavenger bugs seemed to him to have human faces and thin black wings, eating flesh from the wounds directly with the pus and buzzing disgustingly. Hunger must have driven him to such visions. He ordered his subordinates to burn such corpses if they saw them, but he could not destroy the contagion. The scarlet pestilence was spreading all the same and the signs of the epidemic were becoming more and more ominous. Moren moved out of camp more and more often to avoid hearing the screams. A few more of these losses and they would no longer be able to fight. If the ice crust on the battlefields melted and the enemy attacked them right now, they would not be able to fight back worthily. Moren did not dare storm one of Loretta’s own fortress cities. First, he did not have the authority to do so. Second, it was unlikely that several regiments could be quartered there at once. The rebellious soldiers could start rioting. There would not be enough room for everyone inside the fortress. Besides, they might have brought a contagion with them. It would have sufficed if the men of the fortress had let some of them in to warm themselves and share provisions, but he could not begin negotiations. No one would open the door for him, and no one would answer his summons. It seemed as if everything around him was dead. The ground before him was as desolate as the battlefield, and the carrion on it was being torn apart not by crows but by ghastly beings like devils. No crust of ice would hinder their fangs from devouring the dead. They would have attacked the living, too, if they had not had the strength to defend themselves with their weapons. Once Morin had driven into an empty battlefield and had to defend himself against a swarm of black creepers that swooped down. He had no idea what to call them. Do the faces of hell have names? They weren’t wounded by the sword or frightened by fire. And the harder the cold became, the more ferocious they became. If this continued, one night they would attack the camp. Moren was lost and did not know what to do.

Early on he rejoiced at the appearance of the irresistible knight. He flashed into the midst of battle, brought a moment’s victory, and disappeared, leaving behind a trail of misery and death. That’s how the devil comes, beckoning gold but causing only pain. But that knight was to Moren almost a god. He prayed for his new appearance. He dreamed of talking to him, of simply removing his helmet and looking into his eyes, of shaking his gauntlet-shrouded hand in a friendly way, without even fearing that one. Incredibly strong and hard, it would just crush his bones. Somehow he was sure that in the eyes of this ghost or demigod, whom he did not even know, he would be able to find all the wisdom of the world and understanding. The nameless warrior would give him answers to all his questions and become an associate. They will fight shoulder to shoulder. And God knows, it is not Manfred but this knight that Moren would have wished to see as his king.

Yes, what’s the matter with him. He is almost in love. How silly and frightening at the same time. Moren felt as if he had touched something forbidden, removed his helmet and armor from a body that must not be exposed. And there beneath the armor instead of flesh was a red-hot piece of steel, an imitation of the sun, scorching hot and ready to envelop you in a deadly embrace.

Moren awoke from his visions. All around him was the winter cold, the wind, the frost, the snow-covered forest, and the uncultivated virgin snow. No cottage nearby, no hut, no village, the nearest town many miles away, the country road long since marked by snowdrifts. He could freeze to death here. And he thinks of the sun, the glowing rays and the hot iron. In his tired, depressed mind the hammers of the Zwergs forge the armor of the deity and it glitters like the dawn. In his dreams this same deity, shining like the sun, comes to his bed, holds out his hand in his gauntlet, and bids Moren become his associate.

“Forever!” utters a beautiful harsh voice, the sound of which chills the blood and sends shivers down the spine. “Forever, my earthly brother, for my term of service to the god is eternal. There will be only battles, blood, and chopping, and no lost heaven. Are you ready to fight alongside me until the end of time?”

Oh, yes, he was ready.

“You are an angel, aren’t you? Or are you God himself? And are there really wings hidden under your cloak?” Moren asked in his dreams, and he awoke in a cold sweat, his fingers still reaching for the golden vision, though the tent before his bed was empty. No golden light, not even a candle burns in the cold, but he was sure that if he stretched his hand forward, he would surely get burned. He dreamed of touching the fire. In his dreams his hands reached out to remove the helmet from the head of the radiant warrior and even if he burned his fingers, even if his hands burned or shattered, he longed to see the face of his new commander and lord. He is sure that this face will be the answer to all his questions. It is in the warrior’s face, not in himself, that secrets lie hidden. This is why he never shows himself close to anyone except those he will pierce with his sword and never reveals his name to anyone. For with a name he must show his face.

Moren could almost see him in his dreams, even through his helmet. The face was more like a maiden’s, so stern and so luminous that it was almost impossible to make out the features. But somehow he was sure it resembled Rianon’s features in some way. Absurd, of course, but a dream is not reality. It could be full of absurdities. Dreams are by nature messy, but you have to be able to interpret them, and then everything comes together into a clear picture. But Moren was no expert at interpreting dreams, and he certainly couldn’t find a witch doctor here to interpret them for him. He could only surmise that the dream, which burned inside him, was momentous and fateful.

Now he dreamed of a banner adorned with the head of a golden dragon and of a warlord in shining armor.

“My earthly counterpart. Earthly, not heavenly,” the voice from the dream was still in his head, calm, commanding, and mesmerizing. He offered nothing and demanded nothing, but Moren was willing to follow him anywhere. He would even gladly give the unknown warrior his place at the head of the remaining troops. He was sure that the warrior-god would not lead him to certain death. The first time he disappeared and they began to lose, but if he returned, things could still be sorted out.