Flight Into Darkness (23 page)

An old man came around the corner. In the faint lanternlight overhead she caught a glint of eyes as cold as winter ice and shivered involuntarily.

He was alone.

She stepped forward and, swallowing back her fear, said quietly, “Good evening, Magus.”

Linnaius started. She had caught him by surprise. Emboldened, she took another step toward him. Faint fanfares drifted from the gardens, mingled with raucous bursts of cheering. They must be lighting the Dievona's Bonfires. She lifted one hand to her gilded mask and untied the ribbons.

“You have me at a d—disadvantage—” he began, stuttering a little.

“Let me introduce myself.” She peeled off the white wig, shaking loose her hair. “My professional name is Celestine de Joyeuse. But Henri de Joyeuse was the name of my singing master, the man who adopted me, a poor orphan in a convent school.”

He did not react when she pronounced Henri's name. “This is all very interesting, Demoiselle, but—”

She took in a deep breath and said, “My real name is Klervie de Maunoir.”

She saw the shock in his face and knew with a thrill of triumph that she had the advantage.

“Hervé's child?” His voice trembled. “Impossible. You are too young.”

“I was just five years old when the Commanderie took my father. That was twenty-one years ago.”

Linnaius twitched his finger and thumb, and the lanternlight brightened overhead, illuminating her face. Such power in his fingertips; she must be very careful.

“But—my dear child—”

“I am no child, Kaspar Linnaius.” Even though she had determined to stay calm, she could feel anger beginning to well up. “After they burned my father at the stake for heresy, I was forced to grow up all too fast.”

“This is fascinating, my dear.” A vague look had glazed his eyes; he seemed not to be paying attention to her any longer. “Let us arrange a tête-à-tête for tomorrow, and I will tell you everything I know about your father.”

“I sail for Allegonde tomorrow.”

He moved closer, gazing searchingly into her face. “Yes, I see the likeness now; your eyes are the same color as his,” he murmured. Celestine tried to take a step backward and found that she could not move. How had he managed to bind her? She could sense his mind attempting to probe hers; it felt as if cold, invisible fingers were reaching
into her brain, turning all her thoughts to ice. She was frozen; she could not move. She saw him slowly raise his right hand…

“Don't try any mage trickery on me,” she said. “I took precautions to protect myself…” Her voice began to trail away as a little shimmering cloud drifted down around her.
Faie!
she called in panic as her senses began to dim.
Faie… help me…

Flambeaux lit the lodge-house gates, elaborate ironwork grilles topped by gilded swans, the emblem of the reigning House of Helmar.

Where was Celestine? Andrei paced the gravel drive, wondering what was detaining her. It was time to go. He had already been recognized by Valery Vassian, his oldest friend. And being reunited with Astasia had stirred up so many emotions.

Can I trust you to keep my secret, Valery? But then, you were always devoted to Astasia. If her honor were at stake, I know that you'd give your life for her without a moment's thought…

The Dievona's Bonfires were burning in the valley below; flowers of scarlet flame springing into bloom in the palace gardens and around the lake. The sight of Eugene's magnificent palace, lit by many hundreds of candles, only served to increase Andrei's bitterness.

“Here I am, the heir to Muscobar, forced to skulk like a poor servant …”

But the Francians had reminded him that he had the advantage of surprise; he must bide his time a little longer.

The sound of hooves on the gravel distracted him; a lone horseman was riding at a slow trot up the drive toward him. By the guttering flambeaux, Andrei recognized his friend Valery Vassian. One of Valery's hands controlled the reins, the other gently supported the slender form of a young woman who lay slumped against him.

“Celestine?” Andrei reached up to take her as Valery reined his horse to a stop. “What's happened to her, Valery?” She weighed so little in his arms, in spite of the voluminous folds of her blue dress, her golden head drooping against his shoulder.

“Let's take her to her carriage.” Valery swung down from the saddle to help him. “Coachman, do you have any smelling salts?”

Andrei gently propped Celestine up in the corner of the carriage. “Did she faint?” Anxiously he felt for a pulse in her wrist. “Her hands are cold.” Ever since they first met, Celestine had been so
resourceful, so strong, her determined attitude to her mission making him feel ashamed of his own indecisiveness.

“He
said she was drunk, but I can't smell any trace of alcohol on her breath.” Valery, leaning one arm against the carriage, peered inside.

“
He?
” Andrei swung around, alarmed. “Has someone drugged her? Has she been molested?”

“The Magus? It must be many a year since he was capable of such a thing,” Valery said, amused.

“She was with the Magus?” Had Celestine dared to confront Kaspar Linnaius alone? Andrei's anxiety and admiration for her increased in equal measure. If anyone had a score to settle with the Magus, it should be he, acting on behalf of Muscobar and his drowned crewmates.

Celestine let out a shuddering sigh but did not open her eyes.

“She just seems to be very deeply asleep.” Andrei turned back to her. “Although…what are these little specks of glitter on her clothes?”

“Spangles?” suggested Valery lamely. “Sequins?”

“Jagu will kill me for letting this happen,” Andrei murmured under his breath.

“What's that?” Valery said.

“Hadn't you better be getting back, Valery? You don't want to raise any suspicions.”

“Right-ho.” Valery climbed back up into the saddle and saluted Andrei before turning his horse's head back toward the palace below.

The fireworks display had come to an end, but the Dievona's Bonfires had been lit all over the grounds of the palace, and the masked revelers were wandering toward them, accompanied by musicians from the surrounding villages; pipers and fiddlers, playing the age-old folk tunes, drowning out the more refined strains of the court orchestra.

Eugene had waited till then to make his excuses and slip away from his guests; he had instructed Gustave to tell anyone who asked that he was going hunting. Although he could not help but feel guilty when he glimpsed Astasia, all alone on the terrace.

“I'm doing this for you, Astasia,”
he told her silently.
“It's the only way that I can protect you—and the empire—from the Drakhaoul of Azhkendir.
”

Earlier, he had removed the Tears of Artamon from his imperial
crown and now carried them, safely stowed in a velvet pouch. From time to time he sensed a tremble of energy from the ancient rubies.

But where was Linnaius? Eugene gazed around impatiently, eager to be on his way. The Magus was late. He could hear the fiddlers playing, the wild music mingling with the delighted cries of the guests as the bonfire flames flared high into the night skies.

“F—forgive me, highness.” Linnaius appeared, a little out of breath. There was something odd about his expression; it was highly unusual for the Magus to show any sign of emotion, but Eugene suspected instantly that something had disturbed him.

“What happened, Magus?”

“Nothing that need detain us.” Linnaius led the way into the obscure shrubbery where he kept his sky craft hidden from curious eyes. “I dealt with it.”

Eugene shrugged. There was no point in prying. “Then let's be on our way,” he said, clambering into the craft as Linnaius raised one hand to the star-speckled sky. Seconds later, the trees and bushes around them began to sway and rustle as a fresh wind blew up and filled the sail. Soon they were rising high above the palace grounds until Eugene could gaze down at the red florets of fire far below, marking each summer bonfire.

And then as they headed toward the coast, he felt the rubies begin to vibrate, as though they contained a vital energy of their own.

Klervie de Maunoir was alive. Linnaius kept seeing her face superimposed against the clouds overhead, her blue eyes, so like her father Hervé's, staring accusingly into his
. If I had known that Hervé's family had survived the Inquisition's purge…

As they passed above the Straits, he turned the craft toward the south.

“You look troubled, Kaspar,” said Eugene. “Is all well?” “I was just checking my charts,” Linnaius said. It wasn't exactly a lie. He knew that it was no time to be distracted by a ghost from his past; Eugene needed transport, as swiftly as possible, for the consummation of his desires.

Linnaius glanced at Eugene's face, catching him in an unguarded moment as he gazed out across the blue of the Southern Ocean toward the horizon. In the heat, the Emperor had stripped off his jacket and tugged open his shirt. The disfiguring scars left by the Drakhaon's

Fire could be seen only too well in the clear light, marring half his face and extending down one side of his body to the hand he had raised—in vain—to protect himself from the searing blast.

A Drakhaoul had injured him, but could a Drakhaoul use its powers to heal Eugene's damaged body and make him whole again? Linnaius, in all his long life, had never attempted anything so reckless. And even if Eugene succeeded in summoning one of the Drakhaouls, why would a daemon so powerful agree to serve a mortal master?

The low hum issuing from the rubies was growing louder and as the sun burned down more fiercely, Eugene took out the stones and began to bind them together with the length of gold wire Linnaius had prepared. As he was completing the task, Linnaius felt a sudden pulse of energy and a bolt of crimson light shot out, radiating far into the sky.

“What in God's name—” began Eugene.

“A beacon,” said Linnaius, now as excited as his imperial master, “to show us the way to Ty Nagar.”

“Can that really be Ty Nagar?” Eugene's voice was quiet but Linnaius saw how his whole body had tensed as he leaned forward to take a closer look. The smoke rising from the peaks of active volcanoes besmirched the clear blue of the sky.

Linnaius gazed up at the Serpent Gate and felt a rush of dark foreboding enshroud him, as if stormclouds had gathered to blot out the sun. The archway of writhing winged serpents loomed high above them, dominated by the head of Nagar himself, fanged jaws snarling defiance at the tangled jungle and ruined temples below.

“This must be the sacrificial stair,” he murmured, “leading up to the gateway through which the priests sent their victims as sacrifices to Nagar. Until the day they summoned one of his daemons into this world…”

But he was talking to himself. Eugene had gone on ahead and was already beginning to clamber up the ancient archway.

“Take care, I beg you, highness!” Linnaius cried.

“Don't worry,” came back Eugene's voice as he climbed, finding footholds on the shoulders and wing tips of the stone daemons. “I always enjoyed rock climbing…”

Linnaius could hardly bear to watch as his imperial master reached
the top of the archway and leaned out precariously far to insert the rubies into the empty eye socket of the daemon's head.

“It's done,” Eugene called down. “But why is nothing happening?”

A blood-red light had begun to emanate from the rubies, tainting the lichened grey stone with their glow. Linnaius felt the unsettling, disturbing sensation growing stronger within him. “Come down, I beg you.”

“Very well.” Eugene sounded disappointed. Minutes later he jumped the last few feet, landing on one knee. Linnaius saw the disillusionment in his face as he sank down on the worn sacrificial stone and wiped the sweat from his eyes on his shirtsleeve. “I failed,” he said. “Maybe it was all for the best…”

“Wait.” Linnaius had heard a deep rumble, as if the earth were groaning. “What's that sound?”

Eugene stood up. “An earthquake? Or is the volcano about to erupt?”

It was growing darker. Smoky fog began to issue from Nagar's maw, billowing out until the archway was filled with swirling darkness. And in that darkness, the rubies glowed more intensely, a daemon's eye, fixing its unblinking gaze upon them.

The ground suddenly shuddered violently beneath their feet. Linnaius lost his balance and fell heavily; beside him Eugene was flung forward onto his knees. As Linnaius tried to push himself up again, he glimpsed something twitch high above his head.

One of the stone daemon-dragons on the Gate had begun to uncurl itself from the tangle of twisted, contorted bodies. A shimmer of color flooded through the grey stone. Linnaius, helpless and terrified, saw the daemon slowly stretch its lithe body as though awakening after a long sleep. Then, opening its great wings, it flew down to alight beneath the Gate. Wild locks of hair—gold and copper and malachite green—streamed down its scaly back.

Eugene rose to his feet and began to move slowly toward the glittering creature.

Linnaius tried to call out to him to stop but, as in a waking dream, his voice would not obey him. As he watched, helpless, Eugene opened his arms wide to the daemon, as if to embrace it.

At one moment, Linnaius saw two figures: the mortal man and the Drakhaoul-daemon. The next, as he blinked the swirling smoke from his eyes, there was only Eugene. Then Eugene began to sway. “H—
help me, Kaspar,” he whispered, then pitched to the ground, insensible.

“
I know you now, mortal. You are powerful.
” The Drakhaoul's voice whispered in Eugene's brain.
“You are Emperor. And yet you bear scars, inflicted by one of my kin.”

”
Heal me.” Eugene managed at last to stammer out the words. “Make me whole again.”

”
You are a warrior, Eugene. Your instinct is to fight me. But if I am to heal you, you must surrender your will to mine.”

Linnaius watched, powerless to intervene, as Eugene's prone body began to twitch and writhe on the sacrificial stone. A spiral of golden mist enwrapped him, and at its heart, a wave of flame arose, utterly enveloping the Emperor.