Flight Into Darkness Part 5

"There's an opening not far below, a cleft in the rock. You can let yourself down. There are footholds. I'll guide you." yourself down. There are footholds. I'll guide you."

Rieuk had never conceived of such a cavern, where crystals bloomed like flowers, encrusting the walls and floor, each stone vibrating at its own unique pitch, filling his ears with a symphony of bright sound. There must surely be one among them that was kin to the first Lodestar in its perfection and clarity, one that was fit to contain Azilis and reflect the purity of her song. A crystal that could be both star and lotus...

The song of the aethyr crystals wound itself into Rieuk's brain, enchanting and beguiling him. He touched one after another, delighting as his body resonated in tune with their individual vibrations. Some spread warmth throughout his limbs, others sharpened his thoughts, and others still spread a slow, twilit calm...

He was in his element at last, in harmony with the source of his powers. He lost all idea of time, obsessively pursuing his search as Ormas slumbered within him, until he found a single crystal that pleased him in a way he did not at first understand. He coaxed it from the cavern wall, cradling it gently in his hands. Its facets were so clear that he could look right through them, yet even as he did, it seemed to him that he could see an evanescent trace of iridescence, like sunlight seen through falling rain.

"This is the one," he said aloud. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. He had not spoken aloud, even to Ormas, in a long, long while. He looked at his water bottle and saw that it was empty.

It was time to go back.

But a dulled weariness spread through his whole body; he had been so intent on his quest that he had not slept in many hours. His head began to droop. Ormas dozed within him. Surely it couldn't hurt to rest for a little while and regain his strength before he set out again to find the Emerald Tower...

"Rieuk! Rieuk!" Oranir stood on the top of the Emerald Tower shouting Rieuk's name into the void until his throat ached.

"Zophas." He summoned his shadow hawk and sent him out into the Rift. "Go and find Ormas."

He stood, his face raised to the las.h.i.+ng of the wind, waiting for Zophas to come winging back.

The look of betrayal on Rieuk's face still tormented him.

How could I tell you that I did it to save your life? For my plan to work, you had to hate me, to revile me. Sardion's moods have become so capricious that if he had once suspected how much you mean to me, he would have had you put to death in the most cruel and perverted way he could devise.

But now he feared that the plan had worked far too well and Rieuk had gone off into the Rift, never to return.

"I can't sense Ormas"-Zophas swooped down, borne on a gust of wind, to perch on Oranir's shoulder-"or any of my brothers. The hawks have gone."

Lord Estael appeared below, tramping up the hill from the endless forest, leaning heavily on his staff.

Oranir went running down the spiral stairs to meet him, but the instant he saw the grim expression in Estael's eyes, he knew that the news was not good.

"There's no trace of him," Estael said. "It's as if the Rift has swallowed him up completely. Or worse still, he's lost his way and wandered into the Realm of Shadows."

"Let me go." Oranir tried to push past him.

"I forbid it!" Estael's hand shot out, grasping him by the arm. "With Rieuk lost, there's only the four of us left." Then his tone softened . "Don't throw your life away needlessly. It's not what Rieuk would have wanted."

"How can you possibly know what Rieuk would have wanted?" Oranir wrenched his arm from Estael's grasp. Was Lord Estael deliberately trying to make him feel guilty? He felt wretched enough already. He had learned far too young that to survive in a harsh world you had to deceive-or be trodden underfoot.

"I wonder how you can still sleep at night," Estael said, walking on past him with slow, weary steps. Oranir scowled down at the ground. He had his own reasons for betraying Rieuk, but he wasn't going to explain himself to Lord Estael. He had never imagined the matters would turn out so badly, with Rieuk disappearing into the Rift. And as for sleeping... the nights had never seemed so long or so empty without the steady sound of Rieuk's breathing beside him in the darkness.

Lord Estael let out a sigh. "I fear we are the very last of the magi," Oranir heard him say, his voice echoing back to him in the void, "and it will be our sadness to live on as our powers slowly fade away."

Part II

CHAPTER 1.

Burning braziers warmed the shadows in the crypt of Saint Meriadec's, yet Celestine de Joyeuse could not repress a s.h.i.+ver as she followed Jagu de Rustephan down the worn steps. Although perhaps that was as much due to the sleety snow falling outside as the eerie chill of the ancient crypt. The dusty tombs of long-dead exorcist priests lay in the alcoves below, surmounted by stone effigies, the features eroded by the pa.s.sing of time and the reverent caresses of their grateful paris.h.i.+oners, a reminder, she knew all too well, of the brevity of life.

"Jagu!" Kilian was warming his hands at a brazier, beside their fellow officer, the taciturn Philippe Viaud. "And Celestine too? Well, this is quite the reunion of the old team. Any idea why the Maistre has summoned us here?"

"I have no idea what this is about," Jagu said, stamping the snow from his boots.

Ruaud de Lanvaux, Grand Maistre of the Commanderie, came down the stairs, brus.h.i.+ng the sleet from his cloak; at his side, a slim, dark young man in priest's robes removed his spectacles to wipe the condensation from the lenses.

"His majesty," Celestine hissed, hastily curtsying. The men bowed, Jagu murmuring in her ear as he did so, "This must be important for the king to attend in person."

"Thank you all for coming so promptly," King Enguerrand said, peering shortsightedly at the a.s.sembled members of Ruaud's elite squad of exorcists. "Some disturbing news has reached us from Azhkendir." He replaced his spectacles. "The Drakhaoul has reawakened."

Celestine had learned the legend of their patron saint, Sergius, the Drakhaoul-Slayer, as a child at Saint Azilia's Convent. She glanced questioningly at the other Guerriers, and saw that they looked as bemused as she.

"For years we've heard nothing about the Drakhaoul of Azh kendir," said the Maistre. "Then, just as the snows began, Eugene of Tielen invaded Azhkendir. The new Drakhaon of Azhkendir, Gavril Nagarian, retaliated. It seems that he used his Drakhaoul to repel Eugene's army, defeating him in what was-by the few garbled accounts we've gleaned-a bitter battle."

" Used Used his Drakhaoul?" echoed Jagu. his Drakhaoul?" echoed Jagu.

"This Drakhaoul merges with his master to take on the form of a powerful dragon that breathes poisoned fire. Its breath is lethal. The secret dispatch our agents intercepted described how hundreds of men-and weapons-had been reduced to ashes."

"A dragon?" Kilian said, his voice dry with sarcasm. "Oh, come now, Maistre, are we really to believe the old legend? Weren't we taught at the seminary, Jagu, that the name 'Drakhaoul' is nothing but a metaphor for the forces of evil?"

"It is our duty, as Saint Sergius's disciples, to take up our patron saint's fight against the Drakhaoul," said the king earnestly, ignoring Kilian's cynical comment. Celestine saw that Enguerrand's eyes shone as he spoke. She was touched by his fervor although she wondered what they could possibly do against a daemon powerful enough to decimate a whole army.

"With respect, sire," said Jagu, "if even Sergius was not strong enough to defeat the Drakhaoul of Azhkendir, what can we do?"

Ruaud undid the top b.u.t.tons of his cloak and habit and drew out a crystal on a gilded chain.

"The Angelstone?" said Jagu. The other members of the squad drew nearer to look. Celestine saw that its clear facets were marred by a trace of midnight shadow, deep within.

"This crystal has been in the Commanderie's keeping since Saint Sergius's time," said the Maistre.

"Does it mean that the Drakhaoul is close by?" Celestine asked uneasily.

"No," said Jagu. "The stone goes dark when a daemon is near."

"We need to learn a great deal more about the daemon before we make our move," continued Ruaud, tucking the crystal out of sight beneath his robes, "and so we're planning to-" He broke off as footsteps could be heard on the spiral stair. Captain Friard appeared, breathless, his brown hair speckled with melting snow.

"I beg your majesty's pardon," he said, holding out a sealed dispatch, "but I was told to deliver this to you without delay."

"It's from Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard in Mirom," said Enguerrand in puzzled tones. He broke the seal and moved closer to one of the burning torches to read. Celestine watched his face as he read and saw a puzzled frown appear that changed all too soon to a look of bemused anger.

"What is it, sire?" Ruaud asked. Enguerrand thrust the letter into his hands.

"It seems that Eugene of Tielen is indestructible. In spite of his injuries, he has not only taken Azhkendir, but Muscobar as well-and annexed Smarna. He has seized the five rubies known as the Tears of Artamon and declared himself Emperor!"

Celestine glanced at Jagu.

"This doesn't bode well for Francia," he said softly. "Will it be our turn next?"

"You mean war?" war?" Just saying the word aloud made Celestine feel disquieted. "Could it come to that?" For as long as she could remember, Francia had maintained an uneasy peace with Tielen, and she hated the thought of the bloodshed and heartbreak that war would inevitably bring. Just saying the word aloud made Celestine feel disquieted. "Could it come to that?" For as long as she could remember, Francia had maintained an uneasy peace with Tielen, and she hated the thought of the bloodshed and heartbreak that war would inevitably bring.

"We must call the council together at once, Ruaud," said Enguerrand, hurrying toward the stair; Ruaud and Alain Friard followed.

"So even a Drakhaoul can't stop Eugene's ambitions," said Kilian wryly.

"Which begs the question," said Celestine, drawing her cloak closer to her as the snow-laden chill seeped into the crypt, "where is the Drakhaoul now? And what does the king intend us to do about it?"

"I'm off for a gla.s.s of mulled wine at the Pomme de Pin," Kilian called back, as he walked toward the spiral stair. "Anyone care to join me?"

"Sorry-I'm late for guard duty at the Forteresse." Jagu sped ahead, two steps at a time.

"You'll come, won't you, Viaud?" Kilian dragged Philippe Viaud after him.

Celestine followed them slowly, waiting until their footfalls had faded away and she was alone in the church with her memories. She never left Saint Meriadec's without lighting a candle for the soul of the man who had been the Maistre de Chapelle there, and the one most dear to her in the whole world.

She put a coin in the box and took out a candle of smooth white wax. In the grey sleety light filtering through the arched window, the little chapel dedicated to the saint was bright with votive candles and after she had added her single flame, she knelt awhile, watching it burn.

"Can it be six years since I last sang for you here, dearest Henri?" she whispered, seeing the shadow of his beloved face looking up from his music stand, smiling at her with those soft, warm grey eyes, as his expressive hands sustained and shaped the choir's tempo, nodding to her to begin. "Six years since that magus stole your soul." The chapel seemed to grow darker as the bitterness of her grief returned. "Yet I still miss you so ..."

She stayed there, lost in memories of her dead love, until she heard the door open and a cold, wintry blast announced the arrival of the sacristan to make ready for vespers.

The salon de musique, like many of the public rooms in the Palace of Plaisaunces, had not been redecorated since the time of King Enguer-rand's grandfather, and the dark oak paneling and heavy painted beams, coupled with the leaded lozenges of yellowing gla.s.s in the narrow windows, gave the whole chamber a dreary and oppressive air.

Jagu dragged the fortepiano closer to a window, so that what little daylight was penetrating the thick gla.s.s could illuminate his music.

As Celestine handed Jagu the new song she had brought to rehea.r.s.e, she could not shake off the ominous feeling that had haunted her since their secret meeting with the king a few days ago. "To think that a daemon with the power to destroy a whole army so swiftly, so ruthlessly, is at large." She couldn't help shuddering, as she imagined the devastation the Drakhaoul could wreak if it attacked Francia. "A creature of destruction so powerful that its breath could reduce hundreds of living beings to ashes..."

"And the Tielens, with all their advanced military weaponry, were no match for it." Jagu propped the music up on the fortepiano, turning down the corners of the pages to facilitate a quick turn. He looked up at her, a little frown shadowing his face. "Yet, Eugene has triumphed, against all the odds. He must have found a way to defeat the Drakhaoul."

Celestine gave a dry little laugh. "I don't know who to be more afraid of: the Drakhaoul or the new Emperor!"

"Perhaps we'll learn more tonight." Jagu turned back to the new piece. "What's this? 'O, Mon Amou'?"

"It's in the Provencan dialect. I've been practicing it all night."

They had been invited to give a recital before Duke Raimon de Provenca on one of his rare visits to the capital, and Celestine had gone to some pains to seek out a song from his native province. She and Jagu had learned early on in their performing careers that thoughtful little touches like that pleased their patrons and could help smooth the way to good diplomatic relations. And what better way to collect useful information as secret agents of the Commanderie than by mingling with their distinguished audiences and listening discreetly? Over the last six years, such missions had taken them from Allegonde to Tourmalise, even to Mirom, to perform before the Grand Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Muscobar.

Jagu peered at the music, leaning so close in the poor light as he sight-read the introduction that his nose almost grazed the paper, while she went through her customary vocal exercises to warm her voice.

The door suddenly opened and Celestine broke off in midarpeggio to see that Ruaud de Lanvaux had let himself in and was leaning on a long metal staff.

"What brings you here, Maistre?"

"I was about to send for you when I heard such delightful sounds issuing from this room that I guessed you were already in the palace." He spoke lightly enough but she saw from his grave expression that this was not just a social visit.

"I've just come from the council." He approached the fortepiano so that the three of them could speak quietly together. "His majesty is sending you to Azhkendir, Jagu, to Saint Serzhei's Monastery. He wants the monks to lend us the saint's golden crook, the one the Blessed Sergius used to defeat the Drakhaouls."

"The king intends to challenge the Drakhaoul of Azhkendir?" Shy, bookish Enguerrand setting out to confront this daemon of darkness? Celestine was touched that he should dare to envisage such a feat-yet, at the same time, her heart was filled with misgivings. And when she looked at Ruaud, she saw her fears mirrored in his eyes.

"Isn't Azhkendir completely cut off by ice at this time of year?" Jagu, ever practical, had already begun to think of potential hazards in the plan.

"By the time you've completed the sea journey up the coast of Mus-cobar, the thaw should have set in. And as proof to the monks of our good faith, you will take this with you." Ruaud placed the staff on the top of the fortepiano and began to unscrew the head. Tipping it, he carefully removed a long, charred piece of wood, so ancient and brittle that it had been reinforced with golden wire. "Do you recognize this?"

"Saint Sergius's Staff." Jagu spoke the words with reverence. "But what makes you think the monks in Azhkendir will agree to the king's request, even when they see this, the Commanderie's most precious relic?"

"I visited the monastery myself some ten years ago. I believe that Abbot Yephimy will take our request seriously when he sees the Staff."

"You gave a talk to us at Saint Azilia's about your experiences in Azhkendir." Celestine could not help smiling at the memory. All the girls were sighing over him for weeks; they thought him so good-looking in his Commanderie uniform...

"And the Commanderie trusts me to take care of the Staff?" Jagu sounded doubtful.

"We're sending one of the squad along with you. Viaud, probably."

"Why not me?" Celestine rounded on the Maistre. She was hurt that he had not even considered her.

"It's a monastery," Jagu said. "Women aren't permitted. Besides, it's too dangerous."

"More dangerous than protecting Princess Adele from those magi-a.s.sa.s.sins in Bel'Esstar?" He had injured her pride and she wasn't going to let him get away with it so easily. "I don't remember Philippe Viaud being of much use on that occasion."

She saw Jagu shoot a look of mute appeal at the Maistre, who affected not to notice, leaning across the fortepiano to place the metal staff firmly in Jagu's hands. "Papers and pa.s.sports are being prepared for you, and we'll let you know soon about your partner. Report to my office in the morning; we've booked pa.s.sage for you on a merchant s.h.i.+p sailing to Arkhelskoye tomorrow." He turned to leave, pausing at the door to say, "And take care; Azhkendir is a dangerous and uncivilized country."

Ruaud finished decrypting the latest intelligence from the amba.s.sador in Muscobar and sat back in his chair to reread his work.

"'Eugene of Tielen has claimed the right, by ancient law, to be crowned Emperor because he has gathered together the five ancient rubies, known as the Tears of Artamon, from the surrounding kingdoms that he has conquered: Khitari, Azhkendir, Smarna, and Muscobar. And as no one has dared to claim this right since the death of Artamon the Great centuries ago, there seems to be no legal reason to stop him reestablis.h.i.+ng the old empire under the name of New Rossiya.

"'The night before the Emperor's coronation, an extraordinary phenomenon was witnessed throughout Muscobar. Five shafts of crimson light were seen emanating from the palace. Official sources at the palace said that they were fireworks to celebrate the completion of the imperial crown. But, having seen these mysterious lights myself, I can only state that I have never seen fireworks that burned so long or with such intense color that the night skies were bathed in red, like blood. Could it be a new alchymical weapon that the Tielens are testing? I feel most uneasy at the prospect.'"

Armed with this ominous news, Ruaud went in search of the king.

"His majesty is closeted with his mother," the guards on the doors to the king's private apartments told him, "and she says that no one is to be admitted."

She. Ruaud ground his teeth in frustration. For how much longer was Queen Alienor going to try to keep control over her son's life? "Then would you be so good as to tell his majesty that I've come on an urgent matter of state that requires his immediate attention?" He placed strong emphasis on the last words. Ruaud ground his teeth in frustration. For how much longer was Queen Alienor going to try to keep control over her son's life? "Then would you be so good as to tell his majesty that I've come on an urgent matter of state that requires his immediate attention?" He placed strong emphasis on the last words.

One of the guards disappeared into the apartments while Ruaud paced the antechamber, aware that the others were watching him curiously. After a while, the doors opened again.

"His majesty will see you now, Grand Maistre."

Ruaud strode in to find Enguerrand seated beside his mother; on the table in front of them were placed several portrait miniatures which, Ruaud noted, were all of young women. Alienor glanced up and gave Ruaud a stare so forbidding that it took all his nerve not to glance away. But he had learned long ago not to allow her to browbeat him; if he stood his ground patiently enough, she would eventually retreat.

"You're interrupting a very important family discussion, Maistre de Lanvaux," she said in a voice of ice. "This state business had better be as urgent as you implied."