The Road to Magic (Book 1 of the Way of the Demon Series) (13 page)

‘No, no, of course not,’ Victor Kreghist was the first to come round after the shock. ‘You may leave.’

Once in their quarters and having checked for the presence of unwanted listeners, Oleg nodded to Ataletta, whose eyes were burning with the desire to speak her mind. Before he could finish his “it’s OK, no one’s listening to us”, the crown princess threw herself around his neck with a wild squeal and began to cover him with kisses, babbling incoherently:

‘Thank you! Thank you!’

Finally, the absolutely astonished Oleg managed to catch the meaning of this rushing torrent of words. The said crown princess felt a great gratitude to the brave, kind, strong and splendid demon who was a manifestation of all earthly and unearthly virtue. Since he, the said demon, had finished off that miserable, treacherous, shitty Morron who had killed many of the said princess’s friends belonging to the male sex and forced several of her female friends to co-habit with him, threatening the lives of their relatives.

‘There, there, calm down,’ Oleg said, stroking the hair of the sobbing girl resting on his shoulder. ‘So you see how well everything’s turned out. Don’t cry, there’s no need for tears. He’s dead, your friends have been avenged. Everything’s going to be alright. We’ll go to your father now and then we’ll leave this vipers’ nest. We’ll set off for your friendly Baron, what was his name… Maidell. You’ll be fine with him. Calm down, sweetie.’

‘Thank you. Forgive me for the hysterics. You see, I hadn’t even dared hope I would live to see this moment. If you could only have seen how he mocked Orvill before he killed him. And his only crime was that he had tried to protect me from my uncle’s attacks. He was in the habit of challenging someone to a duel, then visiting that person’s sister or wife and proposing she became his lover, promising that if she pleased him he wouldn’t kill her brother or husband but only wound him. I remember how Orvetta came to me, all in tears, and told me how he’d done all sorts of vile things to her. And the next day, Morron killed her father. And he was trying to pull something similar just now,’ she suddenly realized, ‘Only you, instead of challenging him – then he could have put the duel off till tomorrow – swore at him yourself! And how you swore! The legends are true when they say “you can’t swear better than a demon!” So then he had to challenge you himself.’

‘And then he got his comeuppance,’ Oleg said with a hard smile. ‘Though I think he challenged me on the orders of your uncle.’

‘Quite possibly, but one wouldn’t get in the way of the other. He could always have broken his word. But that’s enough of pondering about it. Thanks to you, the world’s become a bit cleaner, and that alone is a good thing. But how do you plan to lead me to my father? I can feel he’s close by and the enchantment is drawing me to him. I can hardly bear it. When?’

‘Not long now. They told me your father is in the Central Tower. Do you know where it is?’

‘Yes, of course. But there are no secret entrances into that tower. That’s probably why they put him there.’

‘Not to worry. Now everyone will calm down a bit and fall asleep and we’ll just do what has to be done.’

‘But there are guards there! They’ll stop us!’

‘Don’t worry, the guards will fall asleep, too. Do you believe me?’

‘Yes, but how? Do you know some kind of spell? The guards probably have the amulet of Orchis and magic is useless against them!’

‘Aha, a spell! You figured it out. I have the simplest and most reliable spell.’ Oleg transformed his hands, put out his claws and admired them for a while. Then he drew them back in and made a fist the size of a good melon. Still admiring it, he showed it to the princess. ‘I’ll put them to sleep with this very spell. I assure you, no amulet can help against this, and this spell works on absolutely everyone!’

‘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? Stealing 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.