Flight Into Darkness (37 page)

“You're weak from lack of food,”
said the Faie. “
Let me help you.”
In the fast-increasing gloom, the little burst of white energy that broke the lock was bright as lightning, but no one was around to see, only the moorhens and ornamental ducks, who let out startled shrieks in the reeds below.

There was still hot water in the samovar. With shaking fingers, Celestine eagerly filled a teapot with bergamot tea, leaving it to brew as she searched the little kitchen for food. The Tea Pavilion was famed for its ice creams, but she was too cold and weak to go down into the icehouse. But the staff had left in such a hurry that she soon found apple and plum jam and some delicious little pancakes filled with curd cheese and honey. She was so famished that she crammed them into her mouth, hardly bothering to chew, even though her empty stomach soon protested at the sudden onslaught.

As Linnaius climbed out of his sky craft onto the lawns at Erinaskoe, the Empress herself came running to meet him, her eyes reddened as if she had been weeping, her hair unbound, her clothes disheveled. “Magus,” she said, her voice low and harsh, “a Drakhaoul has
taken my baby. It attacked me—and took Rostevan.” Tears leaked from her eyes. “Eugene has gone after it. But I fear—”

“A Drakhaoul?” Linnaius repeated. There was a sinister pattern emerging and he dreaded to think what the outcome might be.

“It looked like Andrei. It spoke like Andrei,” she said, “but then it changed. It killed Valery when he tried to stop it. Why would my brother kill his best friend? Why would he steal my son?”

Why indeed? Linnaius thought grimly. One Drakhaoul had already abducted Eugene's daughter, Karila, from Swanholm. Now another had stolen Rostevan. If his worst fears were correct, they must be planning to sacrifice the children at the Serpent Gate to set free their master, Prince Nagazdiel, from the Realm of Shadows. Karila was a frail, sickly child, but he cared for her, and he could not bear the thought that the daemons were subjecting her to such an ordeal, let alone her newborn baby brother.

Astasia put her hand on his. “Magus,” she said through her tears, “I know that I've spoken ill of you in the past. But please, if you can forgive me, go and help Eugene get our children back.”

“Will Lord Gavril come, Belberith?” Eugene whispered to his Drakhaoul as he gazed out over the rich blue of the Southern Ocean. “Or will he side with the other Drakhaouls against us?” For every minute that he waited, the danger to his children increased, and he was almost sick with anxiety.

“
He is here.”

A
shadow darkened the sun. Eugene turned instinctively to see Lord Gavril swooping down from the cloudless sky to land beside him on the grassy cliff.

“What do you want, Lord Emperor?”

They had been bitter enemies and there was still an unspoken tension between them. But Eugene was desperate. He said, blinking back tears, “They've stolen my children.” And he never wept.

“They? The other Drakhaouls?”

“Help me, Nagarian. This is all my fault. I released these monsters. I have to destroy them, before they—” Eugene broke off, choking on the words. “I want to put things to rights again.”

A glint of sapphire flame kindled in Lord Gavril's eyes. “Before they open the Serpent Gate?”

“‘Only by the sacrifice of the Emperor's children can that Door
ever be opened again and the dread prince Nagazdiel released,’” quoted Eugene.

“We have to stop them,” said Lord Gavril in a low, tight voice.

“It's gone very dark.” Even as they had been speaking, Eugene had become aware of a change in the skies. “Is there a storm coming?”

Gavril gazed upward. “This is no storm.” The black clouds were uncoiling, like a nest of shadowy serpents spilling out across the sky. “This is coming from the Serpent Gate.”

Eugene could wait no longer. He clapped Lord Gavril on the shoulder. “Are you with me, Nagarian?” he cried. “You and I, together against the others?”

And he leaped into the darkening air. As he wheeled around on outspread wings, Lord Gavril took off, shouting out, “Do you remember the way to Ty Nagar?”

“Just steer into the heart of the darkness!”

Celestine rested her head against the window frame as the darkness blotted out the last of the sun. As she was slipping into a doze, she felt a sudden charge of wild, elemental energy in the air. She flung open the door to see the trees in the darkened gardens swaying wildly in the rush of a tremendous wind.

“Kaspar Linnaius!” she screamed into the turbulent, windswept darkness. “Is all this
your
doing?”

CHAPTER 2

Alain Friard bowed as Queen Aliénor entered the ruined interior of the Chapel of Saint Meriadec, leaning heavily on her cane. He saw her gaze at the bloodstained tiles and the colored glass fragments littering the floor beneath the broken windows.

“Where is my son?” she demanded. “Where is the king?”

Alain Friard had been dreading this question. “We have found no trace of the king, majesty.”

“No trace?” repeated the queen. “Your Commanderie will have much to answer for if he's been harmed, Captain! Especially de Lanvaux; I always said that man was a bad influence on my son.”

“The Maistre was dying when we found him,” said Friard hotly. “He said that a winged daemon had attacked him and carried off the king. I believe, majesty, that Maistre de Lanvaux died trying to protect your son.”

“Winged daemon? Oh please, Captain, don't insult my intelligence.” Aliénor struck the tiled floor with her silver-tipped cane. “Tielen agents, more likely. Where were your Guerriers when Enguerrand was kidnapped?”

Friard looked away, unable to sustain her accusing gaze. He knew it would grieve him to his dying day that he had not been at the Maistre's side to defend him and the king against the daemon.

“You will order all your Guerriers to search for my son, do you understand me? All other missions are to be abandoned until Enguerrand is found.”

“I understand, majesty.”

“This abduction is almost certainly a countermove on the part of the Emperor's secret service,” continued the queen, adding, “and if he has come to any harm, Eugene of Tielen will pay—and pay dearly.”

“Maistre.” Jagu stood looking down at Ruaud de Lanvaux's body in the golden light of the many funerary candles burning around his bier. The Grand Maistre's waxen face was calm in death, all signs of his final agony erased by the skillful work of the embalmers. Jagu heard a sob, and glancing at his captain, saw that Alain Friard was weeping unashamedly as he stood at attention before their leader's coffin.

“How could such a thing happen?” he asked Friard, his voice low and unsteady. “Murdered—and, of all places, in Saint Meriadec's?” He wanted answers to the questions crowding his mind; answers would keep the grief he could feel welling up inside him from spilling out.

Captain Friard saluted the coffin and took a step back; Jagu did the same, following him swiftly down the aisle. Other dignitaries, Commanderie and Inquisition, were arriving to pay their respects. He saw Friard take out a handkerchief and blow his nose. “What do you say we go drink a farewell glass to the Maistre?” he said as they emerged from the chapel. Jagu understood; in the noisy bustle of a city tavern, they'd be able to speak frankly with less fear of being overheard than in the Forteresse.

The Pomme de Pin tavern was crowded, but the two Guerriers made their way through the drinkers to a secluded corner table.

“Your usual, Captain?” The landlord brought over a bottle of red wine from Provença; Jagu poured two glasses and touched his to Friard's. “To the Maistre.”

Friard nodded and they both drank in silence.

“And to his successor,” Jagu said, raising his glass to Friard.

Friard glumly shook his head. “Haven't you heard? The queen's summoned Maistre Donatien back from retirement.”

“But by rights it should be you—” began Jagu.

“Listen, Jagu.” Friard leaned close in and began to speak in a quiet, urgent tone. “A great deal happened while you were in Smarna. A great deal that we've had to keep quiet. Don't you think it's strange that the Maistre's favorite student is nowhere to be seen? Wouldn't you expect to see him paying his respects at his tutor's bier?”

“Not the ki—”

“The word from the palace is that his majesty is prostrate with grief. But I was the first to reach Ruaud.” His voice became unsteady. “I fear the king may have been abducted—by a Drakhaoul.”

Jagu was still recovering from his recent daemonic encounter in Smarna. “
A
Drakhaoul?” One hand shot out and gripped Friard's arm. “Was it Lord Gavril? Describe it.”

“It was golden—almost too dazzlingly bright to look at, the priests at Saint Meriadec's said. But that's not the first time it's been seen here.”

“So it wasn't Lord Gavril.”

“Lord Gavril was here too, at the Forteresse. The king used Sergius's Staff against him. But…
others
came.”

The noisy hubbub around them seemed to recede. “Others?” Jagu leaned closer still to Friard. “Other Drakhaouls? How many?”

“Four of the Seven were here. They destroyed the Staff.”

“Four?” Lord Gavril in his Drakhaoul-form had been terrifying enough; Jagu still remembered the way the air had turned blue-black around him as he flew, shimmering with the same penetrating cold fire as the creature's glittering eyes. Eyes that had burned with a bleak and relentless anger. Eyes that had chilled him to the depths of his soul.

But four of them let loose…

“We're powerless against them, Jagu. Is this the beginning of the end of the world?”

“So the Staff was useless. And our mission was all in vain.” Jagu released Friard's arm. Friard refilled their glasses, swilling the dark wine around in the glass, staring at it—through it—before taking a long, contemplative swig.

“So is Celestine back in Lutèce?” Jagu asked.

“Haven't you heard? Inquisitor Visant sent his men to arrest her. But she gave them the slip.”

“It was Visant?” Jagu's heart juddered wildly with shock. He had been dreading this possibility for years. And Celestine had become so headstrong of late that she had become careless. “What does the Inquisition want with Celestine?”

“Ruaud thought a great deal of you, you know, Jagu.” The wine was loosening Friard's tongue. “He always spoke very highly of you.”

Jagu stared at the pitted, wine-stained tabletop. Hearing Friard refer
to the Maistre in the past tense brought home to him the brutal fact that his mentor was dead and could no longer protect Celestine from the Inquisitors.

“We're all marked as Ruaud's men,” said Friard glumly, as though reading Jagu's thoughts. “If I were a betting man, I'd wager that you, Kilian, and I will soon be sent off on some obscure mission overseas. Just like Père Laorans, all those years ago.”

“Kilian's in Lutèce?” At the mention of his friend's name, Jagu lifted his head. Kilian would help him get a better perspective on matters; his clear, cynical eye would see through the lies spun by the Inquisition.

As Jagu rose, Friard caught hold of him by the arm, pulling his face close to his own. “There were three priests assisting Ruaud,” he said in a slurred undertone. “They were injured when the Drakhaoul took the king. But Visant's keeping them under lock and key, ‘for their own protection.’ I reckon he's interrogating them, Jagu, and he doesn't want anyone else to learn what they saw.”

“And that's because…”

“There was a circle of Galizur marked on the chapel floor when we broke the door down. When I returned to the chapel, it had been erased.”

“An exorcism? You don't mean…” Jagu wondered a moment whether the wine was talking, but the look in Friard's bloodshot eyes convinced him that he was talking the truth.

“Enguerrand
was
the Drakhaoul. Ruaud was trying to drive the daemon out of the king's body when it turned on him.”

Is this the beginning of the end of the world?

Friard's drunken words echoed around Jagu's mind as he hurried through the darkening streets of Lutèce toward the Forteresse. His ordered life was fast crumbling about him. Ruaud was dead, and creatures of darkness, the daemon Drakhaouls, were wreaking havoc.

He reached the banks of the Sénon; the wide river churned as grey as the threatening sky overhead. A lightning bolt of memory threw him back suddenly to the moment he and Kilian had first sailed with the regiment for Enhirre.
She
had come to wave him good-bye, standing just a few yards from where he was now, the dawn sun catching glints in her hair. Until that moment, he had not dared to dream that she cared for him.

He stopped, gripping the rough stone wall, overwhelmed by a feeling of regret so strong it punched the breath from him, leaving him gasping.

If this is the end of the world, what am I doing here? I should never have left her side.
He hit the balustrade with his clenched fist. She had become so distant, so evasive, during the last months. She had taken idiotic risks. She had used her father's secret grimoire, even though she had promised him she would never take such a risk again. Was it the Drakhaouls’ destabilizing influence that was affecting her? What was causing her to behave so recklessly?