Natalie Yacobson - Rhianon-4. Secrets of the Celestials

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 the ruler to such a state with his instigation and charms. What if the furious advisers attacked him and demanded that his mind be returned to the King? They would need a culprit if they wanted to overthrow Manfred, and his sorcerer would come along. Of course, fists and spades weren’t much use to him. He could have flown to the ceiling beam in a moment and watched from on high, then escaped through a secret door or window, but Douglas had the foresight to play it safe. He had made a secret path in the attic compartments and now used them alone to climb out of the tower. So he crouched on the ceiling beams and watched what was going on below in the throne room. He was not afraid of heights; a special ointment made from the bones and flesh of strange creatures or babies gave him the ability to fly. It was difficult to make and even more difficult to find all the ingredients, but it served its purpose. He felt like a feather flying in the wind when he rubbed it on his body. The unpleasant tangy smell permeated his body and was impossible to wash away, but the sensation of flight was worth it. It was worth dying for a moment in the air, let alone rubbing a disgusting ointment on it. Douglas valued his means of witchcraft. His entire sorcerer’s arsenal consisted of rare and hard-to-find remedies. He excelled at many things. Surely not even the School of Witchcraft had such diligent students as he. He was proud of the fact that he had taught himself everything. He needed no one’s guidance or help. He proved his independence and giftedness. But the legend of the place where black power was bestowed still drew him in. If he had caught the star in his net and clutched it in his fist without fear of being burned, its light would have shown him the right way.

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