Читать книгу Gryphon dynasty - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 4

«You’ve made a mistake!» Fiona tried to break free, and the gold in her pockets spilled out onto the road.

«How could a simple peasant girl have so much gold?» Ornella triumphed. «She conjured it up. Everyone knows that witches can turn the blood of their victims, tortured under the moon, into gold or silver.»

«She could have just stolen it,» remarked someone sensible. He was so close!

«I found it. It is treasure,» protested Fiona, and Ornella suddenly looked at her with great interest.

«She is a treasure-hunter!» She murmured in amazement. She would have pouted a little more, but the verdict could not be reversed. Fiona was dragged away.

She could have sworn that Ornella smelled something in her to her advantage. Probably thought she would find her another treasure, since she had already found one. There were probably a lot of them in the ruins. But Fiona’s secret would die with her. She will not lead her executioners to enrich themselves. Though thanks to her awkwardness they have already had handfuls of gold and stones picked up right off the dusty road.

Ornella was the only one who didn’t pick them up. She must be from a rich family, after all. She’s got treasure enough. She’s got a crown to match! If robbers from the highways seize such a captive, she alone would be equal to the treasure found. That is probably why there are so many guards with her. And yet in the mountains Fiona had seen her with no escort at all. While her brothers were in the cave, Ornella was absent. And only then did she come. Alone! She hardly climbed the mountains like a simple villager. Maybe she flew in on a griffin. The birds certainly obeyed her. Take, for example, the game of snooker. Fiona was hurt by the birds, but Ornella was not, though they were both in a cave full of birds. Now the guards turned out to be more molesting than the birds. Fiona did not like their insistence on dragging her somewhere.

«Ornella! Stop them!» She didn’t want to ask, but what else to do. Given her acquaintance in the mountains, Ornella was almost like a friend to her. Well, with a stretch of the imagination, of course. But you could say that. She was in touch, so she was a friend. Only Ornella did not respond to her cries, and those around her considered her crazy, or confirmed their speculation that she is a witch who is now trying to bewitch a noble lady.

It’s a moment like this that makes you want to curse all the people in the world. But Fiona was no witch. Her curse was unlikely to work. Besides, she was never allowed to speak again. The guards shoved her roughly into a cramped, barred van. Why not string her up or burn her on the spot in front of the cheering villagers? We had to jolt along the bumpy road for hours. Was she really going to be taken to a dungeon and tortured? Fiona became frightened. If an evil spirit had spoken to her and offered to trade her soul for her escape, she would have said yes without hesitation.

People had got it into their heads that the redhead was a witch. No one in the town where they’d brought her was shrieking with delight and pointing their fingers at her, screaming «witch». The crowd was far more aristocratic. She was either turned away or looked at with devastatingly arrogant stares. She must have been brought to the capital. There is fabulous luxury everywhere, but Fiona was led not to the palace, but to a dungeon.

The witch who had been captured was confined to a small cell. There was no room to expand. There was not enough space. The dirt floor, lined with a thin layer of straw, was the only place to take a nap.

Fiona dreamt of the red-haired noblewoman in the carriage. She was alive in the dream, though the gray stains of decay and wounds remained on her body. Her eyes were still missing, but in their place there were gems of emerald and ruby that had been inserted into her eye sockets. They were the same stones Fiona had dropped on the road when she had been captured.

The dead woman, whose name seemed to be Claretta, was reaching for her hands. Not hands, but rotting meat in lace cuffs. She couldn’t see very well. Besides, the two multi-colored eyes were frightening. They say only witches’ eyes are different colors. And it didn’t matter that they were stones. In her sleep, Fiona couldn’t move or run away from Claretta. The dead girl’s hands fumbled for her.

«They are looking for one special girl. Not me! It is the other redhead. Run away from them!»

Good advice! Run! But where could she run? There are bars and locks everywhere. The smell of deadness was lingering in the cell after her sleep, as if Claretta had really been here.

Could the conversation with the crucified dead man on the pole have been just a dream, too? After all, corpses, as everyone knows, don’t come back to life. Or did they? What if the inquisitors’ omen is true, and dead bodies briefly come back to life if their murderer happens to be around to point a finger at the criminal.

If that were indeed the case, then criminals would be very easy to catch. With one «but» – the murderer must be near the corpse to be convicted in this way. Such a trial is easy to conduct only if all the suspects can be brought to the corpse at once. But what to do if the criminal has already fled and it is not known who he is? Then the method is ineffective.

Fiona could not have killed all these people, or even one of them. Or could she, since the corpses came back to life in her presence? They say the dead know everything, unlike the living. Those who have stepped over the brink of death discover the secrets of the netherworld. But this time, the dead have messed up, or someone has deliberately confused them. She wasn’t a killer, that’s for sure. It is not as if she were a bird of prey, capable of tearing a man’s flesh apart with her claws.

She was slandered. Ornella had arranged the whole thing cleverly. Such timing! Except how did Ornella know that Fiona would stumble upon a carriage load of corpses on the way back? Hadn’t she organized the murder herself, and then led the whole regiment to catch the witch. It was all subtly calculated. The only way to believe a frail girl could tear apart several tall men with her bare hands was if she was a witch.

Unfortunately, Fiona couldn’t do witchcraft, or she would have evaporated with the black wind or the smoke. Or what else could witches turn into?

Slander was a terrible thing. It could make an ordinary weak girl the stuff of fear for the big city. Fiona determined that she’d been dragged to the capital. A mob will soon be raging outside the prison windows, demanding an emergency execution for the witch. What a mess! If she had known it would end like this, she would never have gone to the mountains for a dozen golden eagles.

What was she going to do now? First, Fiona decided to look around. Was there any way to escape from here? The place was as bright as a campfire.

A spider web of fire stretched along the walls. A fire fairy the size of a cat crawled across it. Fiona carelessly touched it with her finger. The fire stung a larger bumblebee. The fairy grinned with her hot mouth and braided a flaming web around the already barred window. Yes, there’s no escaping from here! It is the local rulers who are witches, not she. Who but witches have flaming orange fairies as watchmen?

«Scram!» Fiona scolded the insolent firewoman. She may have been very pretty, but she was terrifying to be around. Touch such a beauty and there’d be no cure for the burns.

Apparently, when she realized she was being insulted, the fairy hissed in displeasure, spitting out sparks, and crawled up the wall in an offended manner.

It was calmer without her. Fiona listened to the silence. Not even the footsteps of the sentries could be heard. No prisoner would escape from a fairy. She could burn him alive if he escaped.

The sea was splashing beneath the dungeon window. She wished the fire fairy would fall there!

«You are unhappy, but there is nothing you can do,» came a mesmerizing voice from the sea.

«I am the king of Sultanit. I can do anything,» a hoarse, unpleasant bass protested.

«And I am the king of the sea. Which of us has a better chance of controlling the other?»

Is she dreaming of those voices? The meaning of the conversation was somehow fantastic, unless the talkers were joking. Fiona stood up and tried to look out the window. It was high enough above the floor, but she could see the edge of the surf. Fiona could see the helmets of the warriors, with their puffy cockades. An entire regiment had been brought ashore. Were they all really going to catch the Sea King? Or was it the nickname of some pirate?

Fiona peered around, but all she saw were belligerent men. Someone she could not see, however, was speaking to them from the side of the waves of the surf. His voice was hypnotizing, depriving her of will and reason. The sounds made her dizzy.

Outside the window something was happening on the water. First she heard the sound of an argument, then the clatter of weapons. Through the grating of the window Fiona could see only a corner of the shore. She had to tiptoe up to get a glimpse of the battle. Some kind of giant with blue skin and golden horns, strongly reminiscent of a watery creature, was battling a huge bird. The torn bodies of the guards were washed by the surf. A moment ago all those men in armor were alive. How could an entire squad be wiped out so quickly? And where had the Earth’s King gone? All Fiona could see was a huge griffin with a crown on a bird’s head.

Was she not dreaming about all this? Fiona rubbed her eyes. Somebody who had come out of the waves and looked little like a man had already beheaded the king and was walking away, clutching the severed head by the hair with his webbed hand. The head in his hands was definitely human and crowned. But where had the gryphon gone? Fiona looked closely at the face of the dead head. There was horror on it. The eyes remained wide open. The wrinkled skin showed traces of claws.

If she was not mistaken, it was King of Sultanit who had just been beheaded, and there was no one even to raise the alarm because everyone was dead. Fiona kept waiting for a gryphon to pounce on the assassin from behind, but the bird was gone. But the victor himself resembled a king, too. He had a blue scaly body, spikes on his back, pearls sprouting in his skin like armor. A crown glittered on his eerie head, too. As he went underwater, a turquoise dragon-like tail wriggled behind him.

He looked at Fiona. It was as if he sensed she was watching him!

«Let me out of here!» She called out to him.

The water monster, however, decided that the poor prisoner was not worth his attention. And in the coastal villages there are still legends that watermen are fond of women’s beauty! Apparently, if he’s no ordinary water-boy, but the king of the sea himself, he wants nothing more or less than a princess.

Though, on reflection, it’s even good that he didn’t like her. After all, the watermen drown their chosen ones. What’s better: drowning or burning? Fiona had an unenviable choice.

The firebrands hissed unhappily at the ceiling. The proximity of the water tsar displeased them. A shout of summoning came from above the castle towers:

«Seal!»

Ornella seemed to be shouting. Fiona was not mistaken in her hearing.

She kept hoping that the water king would come back and smashed the dungeon wall with a single blow of his powerful fist, but he went under the water slowly, as if descending a ladder. The last to disappear in the waves was his pointed crown, like a starfish of gold and coral. She wondered if she was dreaming. There’s no such thing as creatures with blue skin, shell ears, and a crown that grows right out of their heads.

It was easy to see if she was dreaming or not. The decapitated body in the royal robe would have been left on the beach. Except the bars were so narrow you couldn’t look out through them. One could not see the shore. Only the sea and the thin edge of the surf are visible. The water seems to turn scarlet closer to the shore. Or maybe it’s the rays of sunset.