Flight Into Darkness Part 51

"Now wait a moment, Enguerrand," began Ilsevir, who, until then, had stayed silent.

"We are about to enter into talks with the new Arkhan," continued Enguerrand, determined not to be interrupted. "He is of a more scholarly, peaceful nature than his father. I believe an understanding can be reached between our two nations that will bring an end to the bloodshed. And as a gesture of our goodwill, I want the statue returned, along with the other relics."

Girim nel Ghislain bowed his head, but not before Enguerrand had glimpsed the expression that distorted his face: anger mingled with dismay.

"We are moving into a new age," Enguerrand said, addressing the court. "An age of hope, even an age of enlightenment. I want to encourage the study of the sciences in our universities. I want to encourage the expansion of our nation, working with our new ally, the Emperor." Exhausted by the effort of speaking for so long, he sat down. Yet to his surprise, he heard the sound of applause; his courtiers had received his speech with approval.

"An inspiring speech, your majesty," said Chancellor Aiguillon in his ear. He was beaming approvingly. But Enguerrand's gaze was drawn to a portrait he had ordered hung in the hall. It depicted Ruaud de Lanvaux, dressed in his ceremonial robes as head of the Francian Commanderie, with the Angelstone on a gold chain around his neck.

"I think you'd have been proud of me today, dear Maistre," he said under his breath.

"Are you certain, Doctor?" Adele, sitting up in bed, gazed keenly at Doctor Vallot.

"Absolutely certain, majesty." Vallot said, smiling at her as he packed away his instruments.

"Oh, but now that my brother has returned, you mustn't call me 'your majesty' anymore," she said.

He looked horrified. "Forgive me, highness-"

"No, forgive me; it was rude of me to tease you so, and just when you've delivered such excellent news."

"Excellent news?" Ilsevir had just entered the bedchamber. Ever since Enguerrand's return he had been plunged into a depression, hardly saying a word to anyone, and she looked at him anxiously. "Is my wife fully recovered, Doctor?"

"I don't believe she was ever ill, highness, unless pregnancy can be counted as a disease."

"Pregnancy?" Ilsevir's face altered instantly as he let out a shout of delight. "But-but that's wonderful!" He hurried over to her bedside and kissed her. "When is the baby due?"

Adele felt herself blus.h.i.+ng with pleasure at his reaction. "Early autumn."

"Nevertheless, given the princess's delicate state of health, I don't recommend that she undertake the journey back to Allegonde until the pregnancy is well established and there is no risk of another miscarriage."

"I may have lost a kingdom"-Ilsevir took her hand in his- "but, G.o.d willing, it looks as if I have gained an heir."

Adele glanced up at him anxiously but saw that he was still smiling. She squeezed his hand. The union between Francia and Allegonde had been annulled by the Francian Council and she knew that he had felt deeply humiliated. Yet the Emperor had managed to allay some of his grievances by setting up some carefully negotiated trade treaties that would bring new revenue to Allegonde.

"Is there anything you would like, Adele?" Ilsevir said anxiously. "You have only to ask..."

"I really would like to tell Celestine," she said with a little sigh. "Is there no news of her yet?"

Adjutant Korentan checked his orders again. The instructions came direct from Captain nel Ghislain and were succinct: " The statue The statue is to be returned to Ondhessar straightaway. Make all necessary arrangements." is to be returned to Ondhessar straightaway. Make all necessary arrangements."

From time to time he had crept back to the secret place where Girim had ordered the disintegrating statue of Azilis to be stored while the copy was displayed in the Basilica shrine. He had felt it his special duty as a Rosecoeur Guerrier to watch over her even as she decayed. The statue was no longer a thing of beauty but to him it represented something infinitely more precious: a direct link with his beloved saint, Elesstar, carved out of marble that came from the land of her birth. It saddened him to see the ravages that the impure air of Allegonde had wreaked upon her perfection. Left in the dry desert air where she was first carved, she would not have begun to crumble away, he was certain of it.

He made his way through the musty cellar, lantern raised high to illuminate his path. Why, he wondered, did it feel as if he were lifting a sheet from a dead body?

"Forgive me, Blessed Elesstar," he murmured as he raised the heavy cloth. Then the cloth fell from his grip as he took a step back, astonished.

Pale stone glimmered in the lantern's flame.

"Is someone playing a trick?" Korentan, recovering from his initial shock, stripped the cloth away and stared. For the Azilis statue lay there as if she were freshly carved from semitranslucent marble, whiter than milk, a vision of purity in the dank, musty cellar. Tentatively he put out a hand and touched the statue's cupped hands, his fingertips grazing hers.

The prince must have arranged for the statues to be switched overnight again. How else to explain this unmarred perfection where all had been discoloration and crumbling decay? Unless a miracle had occurred...

Acir Korentan dropped to his knees in the dust before the statue.

CHAPTER 16.

On a summer's day of brilliant suns.h.i.+ne, Enguerrand of Francia attended Saint Meriadec's, accompanied by the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Provenca and the king's betrothed, their youngest daughter, Aude. Grand Maistre Friard arranged a special escort of Guerriers of the New Francian Commanderie, led by Captain Philippe Viaud, all resplendent in their new uniforms of black and gold.

They had been specially invited by the Maistre de Chapelle to hear the first performance of his new work, which was dedicated to his patron, the king.

The players of a chamber orchestra, strings and woodwind, were seated before the altar, between the choir stalls, bows at the ready, reeds well moistened.

The Maistre de Chapelle stood in front of his musicians, twisting his baton to and fro between his fingers. He was not yet entirely accustomed to conducting. He would have felt far happier to be back in his old place, out of sight in the organ loft, but he had come to realize that the damage to his left hand meant he might never achieve the agility and accuracy of which he had been so proud. It could take years of patient practice to meet his own exacting standards at the keyboard but he was determined not to give up.

Until then, he had decided to concentrate on composing and conducting.

Suddenly he felt nervous and unsure. Suppose he made a mistake and gave the wrong cue to the singers or players? Worse still, suppose the king hated his composition?

He turned nervously to the king, who smiled encouragingly and nodded.

Why am I in such a state? I've faced far worse than this...

The Maistre de Chapelle tapped his baton on the edge of his music stand and gazed warningly at the singers, gesturing to them to rise. The organist softly depressed a key to give the soloist her first pitch. The courtiers' chatter faded away as she moved forward. It was a long time since she had performed in Lutece, and there had been rumors circulating that her voice had lost its magical purity and that her singing career might be over.

A look pa.s.sed between her and the Maistre de Chapelle-a long, meaningful look. And then she began to sing.

"Blessed Azilia..." One long, yearning phrase issued from her lips after another, "let your light s.h.i.+ne out..."

The Maistre brought in the choir-first the trebles, then the altos, until all were quietly singing the ancient vesper chant he had first heard sung by the monks in the Cathedral of Saint Simeon in Mirom. And from that solemn hymn, slow-moving like a funeral procession, the soloist's voice gradually emerged, soaring upward, her bright, glorious tone rising to the heavens like an angel's flight.

The last, aethyrial notes lingered on in the reverberant at mo sphere. Jagu quietly laid down his baton. Celestine was looking at him, he knew, her eyes warm with encouragement. For a moment there was utter stillness.

And then the applause began.

"Bravo!"

Jagu had been so involved in the music that the applause took him by surprise. He turned, astonished, to see King Enguerrand beaming his approval. He turned back, automatically, to gesture to Celestine. She came forward and took his right hand. They looked at each other and smiled, happy to be repeating the old, familiar ritual. Jagu raised Celestine's hand to his lips and kissed it, to the audience's delight.

"I think they like your Vesper Prayer," she whispered to him.

"I think they love your singing," he replied. Then they turned once more to acknowledge the rapturous applause together, before returning to their places to continue with the concert.

Epilogue.

"So what is this surprise?" Rieuk, blindfolded, let Oranir guide him downward through the darkness.

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," came back Oranir's voice teasingly. "Not much farther now."

Rieuk stumbled but Oranir caught him, righting him again.

"Why am I fool enough to trust you, Ran?"

"It's worth it, believe me," Oranir whispered, his lips softly grazing Rieuk's ear. "We're here."

Rieuk raised his hand to pull off the blindfold. A soft green-hued radiance s.h.i.+mmered over the ragged trees of the Forest of the Emerald Moon. High above them, the emerald moon shone down once more, bathing them in its calm light. The healing of the Rift had begun.

"It's... beautiful," he said, finding his voice.

A distant thread of melody echoed through the forest.

"But look. Look over there!" Oranir pointed.

As the moonlight grew more intense, Rieuk saw that a sapling had sprung up in the clearing since he had last visited the Rift. And as they set out toward it, he felt Ormas wake within him, fluttering up to perch on his shoulder. New leaves were unfurling on the slender branches of the young tree. They were shaped like lotus flowers, and they gave off a strange, yet irresistible perfume-with something of the spiciness of cloves mingling with a bittersweet honeyed scent.

"I know what this is, Master." Ormas took to the air, circling above the young tree. Ormas took to the air, circling above the young tree. "It's a haoma tree. "It's a haoma tree."

"A young haoma tree." Rieuk gazed gratefully at Oranir.

"They're coming," Ormas cried excitedly, taking off into the sky. " Ormas cried excitedly, taking off into the sky. "My brothers are coming back!"

And as the two magi followed him, they saw other hawks winging in, dark as smoke against the delicate green of the moonlit sky. They circled high overhead at first, then suddenly swooped down to skim above their heads.

As Rieuk lifted his head to watch them, he saw one that darted closer than all the others, almost as if it recognized him. As it pa.s.sed by him in graceful flight, he caught sight of its brilliant eyes gazing at him. Brown eyes, flecked with dark gold, like tortoisesh.e.l.l.

Rieuk stood, his mouth a little open, an unspoken question hanging on his lips.

"Imri?" he whispered.

The tips of its wing feathers brushed the top of his head softly, almost like a caress. And then it was gone, darting away to join the others in their ecstatic, eternal winged dance.

Author's Note

The full story of the events that culminated in the battle at the Serpent Gate is explored in much greater detail in my trilogy The Tears of Artamon. The first book, Lord of Snow and Shadows, Lord of Snow and Shadows, introduces Gavril Nagarian, unwilling heir to the throne of Azhkendir and its cursed heritage, who soon finds himself locked in battle with ruthless Prince Eugene and his dreams of empire. In the second, introduces Gavril Nagarian, unwilling heir to the throne of Azhkendir and its cursed heritage, who soon finds himself locked in battle with ruthless Prince Eugene and his dreams of empire. In the second, Prisoner of the Iron Tower, Prisoner of the Iron Tower, we first meet Celestine de Joyeuse and her accompanist, Jagu de Rustephan, as Francia is drawn into the conflict. The third book, we first meet Celestine de Joyeuse and her accompanist, Jagu de Rustephan, as Francia is drawn into the conflict. The third book, Children of the Serpent Gate, Children of the Serpent Gate, sees the disastrous repercussions as Eugene's ambitions threaten not just to bring down his empire but to bring the world itself to an end. sees the disastrous repercussions as Eugene's ambitions threaten not just to bring down his empire but to bring the world itself to an end.