Flight Into Darkness (41 page)

“I haven't a clue what all this is about,” Kilian flung back over his shoulder, “but I don't think they're going to give us a raise in pay and a day off.”

Jagu glanced uneasily at his fellow officers who had been summoned to the Grand Maistre's study. Of Ruaud de Lanvaux's elite squad only he, Viaud, Friard, and Kilian remained. Père Judicael was too frail to leave his rooms these days. There were others here he recognized from his cadet days, but while he had been assigned to special duties overseas, he had lost touch with many of his contemporaries.

The inner door opened and three men emerged from the Grand Maistre's private chapel. All the Commanderie officers turned to stare as Captain Friard ushered in Haute Inquisitor Visant—and Hugues Donatien.

“Gentlemen,” said Donatien, smiling at them, “I have just come from her majesty and I have the honor to inform you that she has appointed me Grand Maistre of the order.”

Jagu felt a sharp nudge in the ribs. “Your mouth's open,” Kilian whispered to him.

“The western quadrant is still unstable. And so her majesty has
asked me to do all I can to protect the safety of the realm.” Donatien's smile faded. “We live in difficult times, gentlemen, and it is our duty to set an example to the people of Francia. We must be seen to be above suspicion, upholders of the Sergian Code. If there is corruption in our ranks, we must weed it out.”

Jagu caught Alain Friard's eye; the captain looked utterly dumbfounded. By rights, he should have been promoted to lead the Commanderie. But Queen Aliénor had marked him as Ruaud de Lanvaux's right-hand man and confidant.
Perhaps Kilian's quip about being sent back to Ondhessar was more accurate than he could have imagined; we're all four marked as Lanvaux's followers. And Celestine…

His heart felt chilled.

Celestine has never been in greater danger.

“You've served the order with distinction, Lieutenant.” Maistre Donatien looked up from an open dossier, fixing Jagu with a benign and approving look. This only increased Jagu's sense of unease. “You were commended for your bravery at Ondhessar. You and your partner saved the lives of Prince Ilsevir and Princess Adèle. And you arrested Kaspar Linnaius together. You've worked as a team for six years. So, where is she now?”

Here it comes.
“I don't know, Maistre Donatien,” Jagu said. It was the truth, after all. Celestine had chosen to disappear. Her behavior had become more and more secretive on their mission in Smarna. It still hurt him to think that she no longer trusted him enough to confide in him—unless she had been trying to save him from just such an interrogation. If he knew nothing, then he couldn't be accused of withholding essential information from the Inquisition.

“Listen, Lieutenant.” Donatien's tone was still benign but Jagu detected a steely will beneath. “The Commanderie's reputation is at stake. Your partner has been using the Forbidden Arts. Were you aware that she poisoned the two Inquisition agents sent to arrest her? They nearly died and neither man will ever be fit for active service again.”

“Poison?” Jagu took a step back. Had Celestine intended to kill them? Or had she become careless in her use of the potions and spells in her father's grimoire? She had promised him never to resort to magic again after the incident in Azhkendir, and yet in Smarna he had discovered her using another potion to charm secrets from Lord
Nagarian's mother, Elysia. It was as if she had begun to lose control. Having employed one spell, she could not resist trying another, then another…

“She must be stopped, Lieutenant.” Donatien's voice penetrated his worried reverie. “She is a danger to herself, as well as to others. Above all—and this is the tragedy of the situation—she has brought the Commanderie's name into disrepute.”

Jagu found himself nodding in helpless agreement.

“You know her better than anyone. I want you to go after her and bring her back before she loses all self-control.”

“But I don't even know where to start my search.”

“She was last seen in Muscobar. She may have friends there who are sheltering her.”

Jagu felt as if a constricting hand had begun to tighten about his throat. He swallowed hard. One day he had feared it would come to this. Had the spirit in her father's grimoire taken control of her, compelling her to do its will? Celestine had seemed so…
different
in Smarna—willful, devious, even cruel. If he could exorcise the spirit, would she revert to her true sweet-natured self? And would that be enough to placate the new Grand Maistre of the Commanderie? Or would Donatien hand her over to Visant and put her through the ordeal of a trial for heresy?

“Well, Lieutenant?” Donatien was regarding him with a penetrating look quite different from his earlier kindly expression.

“You're asking me to betray my partner?”

“I'm merely reminding you of the oath you took when you became a Guerrier. She has quite obviously forgotten hers. I'm talking about integrity, Lieutenant. I want the people of Francia to look to the Commanderie as a small but steadfast flame burning in the darkness of an uncertain world.”

Then Donatien's tone softened. “The demoiselle has served Francia faithfully,” he said. “We must help and support our own if they stray and help them to find their way back to the light.”

The intensity of Donatien's words took Jagu by surprise. He had to admit to himself that the Maistre was right. If the Guerriers were to be trusted in such troubled times, if they were to maintain their spotless reputation as the upholders of truth, they must be seen to punish anyone who betrayed the order.

“Well, Lieutenant?” Donatien held out his hand; his ring of office glinted dully. Jagu hesitated. Then, trying to ignore the heaviness
about his heart, he knelt before the Grand Maistre and kissed his ring. When he stood up, Donatien was smiling at him but it was a triumphant smile, as if the Maistre had just won a significant victory.

Jagu shouldered his knapsack and began to descend the steep stone steps that led down to the river. Seagoing barques lay at anchor beside the quay, taking on their first passengers of the day for the journey to the port of Fenez-Tyr.

“Hey, Jagu!”

He turned and, gazing upward, saw Kilian hurrying along the busy quay, pushing through the crowd, greatcoat flapping open as he ran, the rising sun turning his pale hair from ginger to gold.

“Wait!” Kilian reached him and had to lean against the mossy quay wall to catch his breath.

“Is there a change in my orders?” Jagu asked warily. He was not in the mood for one of Kilian's practical jokes.

“Damn you,” Kilian said, wheezing. “Trying to slip away without saying good-bye as usual? I really don't understand you.”

Jagu shrugged. Why did Kilian always read him so accurately?

“I hope you've packed a fur coat.”

Jagu shot Kilian a baffled look.

“Won't Muscobar be blanketed in snow by the time you get there? Doesn't the Nieva ice over in winter? You'll be traveling to Mirom by sleigh!” Kilian said, giving him a punch on the shoulder. “But are you really the right man for this mission?” The playfulness had gone; Kilian's voice dropped to a low, intense tone. “She's not the innocent young woman you remember. She's been corrupted by the Forbidden Arts.”

“I know.”

“Let me go in your stead.”

“But you don't know Muscobar as I do—”

“Ask yourself; do you really have the detachment to arrest her and bring her back to stand trial?” Kilian gripped him by the shoulder, gazing searchingly into his eyes.

Jagu had been asking himself the same question throughout a long and sleepless night. He pulled away from Kilian's grip and walked off without answering.

“Be careful,” Kilian called after him. “She's dangerous, Jagu.”

The sound of many voices shouting in unison penetrated the council chamber.

“What is that racket?” demanded Aliénor.

“It is a crowd of citizens, majesty,” said Aiguillon. He looked anxious. “They are protesting about the high price of bread.”

“This is Francia, not Muscobar. Francians do not revolt when life gets hard!” she said severely. “Increase the guard around the palace and find out who the ringleaders are. I want them arrested.”

“They want to see the king.”

“Then I'll speak to them!”

“The harvest has been poor this year, majesty. And with this severe winter, we have reports of severe food shortages in several regions.”

“So what are you going to do about it, Chancellor?” Aliénor fixed him with one of her most penetrating stares.

“We spent a great deal of our revenue on the invasion of Tielen. Ships, munitions, wages…” Aiguillon's voice died away as the queen continued to stare at him.

“Francia needs a king,” Aliénor said severely. “Why is there still no word of my son?”

CHAPTER 7

Bouts of fever racked Enguerrand's body. He lay in the village chief's hut, out of the glare of the sun, drifting between disordered dreams and lucidity.

Time and again, he relived the moment when Ruaud had turned to him, his eyes filled with disbelief, and he had hurled the spear, pinning him to the chapel door like a butterfly to a collector's tray.

“Enguerrand.”

Someone was calling his name. He came back to himself to find Aude staring anxiously down at him, her heart-shaped face a blur of sun-browned freckles. She leaned closer and touched his damp cheek.

“Tears?” she said uncertainly. “Enguerrand, were you crying in your sleep?”

“I—I killed him.” Enguerrand choked on the words. “I killed Ruaud. And h—he was more a father to me than my own flesh-and-blood father ever was.” Hot tears leaked from his eyes and he was so weak with fever that he could not hold them back. “How could I have done such a terrible thing?”

“I don't believe that you're capable of killing anyone,” Aude said. She took hold of his hand and squeezed it between her own. Outside he could hear the faint lapping of the incoming tide. But in his mind he was half a world away, locked in the bloodstained church, with Ruaud's fast-glazing eyes still staring accusingly at him…

“He was trying to cast the daemon out of my body. He was trying to save me. But it was too strong. And now… now my only friend is gone, and his blood is on my conscience.”

“You didn't kill him, the daemon did. The same daemon that made you abduct me.”

“Aude, Aude, I'm so sorry I got you involved in all this…” Sunlight filtered down through the loosely woven roof of palm leaves, making checkered patterns on his face. It hurt his eyes.

“It's an adventure,” she said, sponging his face with a cool, damp rag. “And so much more interesting than having to do embroidery with Maman!”

Andrei was sitting on the white sands, lifting his hot face to the first cool breezes of evening. He was idly wondering how often spice ships came past the islands. He was even wondering if he wanted to go back to the pressures of court life in Muscobar. Life seemed so much simpler here.

“Prince Andrei?” Aude came to sit beside him, wriggling her bare toes in the soft sand. “I'm worried about Enguerrand.”

“Is his fever still high?”

Aude nodded. “What can we do? None of the islanders’ remedies seem to be working. He's never been strong. He was often sick when he was a child, or so my mother told me. What shall I do if he… if he dies? It's my duty to my country to protect him.”

“Why bother?” Oskar Alvborg's voice, dry and cynical, cut in before Andrei could reply. He came out from beneath the shade of the palm trees and flopped down on the sand beside Andrei. “You're deluding yourselves if you think Eugene's going to send anyone to rescue us.”

“Take that back, Alvborg!” Andrei found Oskar's abrasive manner was becoming harder to ignore.

“I can just imagine the crocodile tears that Eugene will shed as he breaks the news of our absence.” Oskar continued to embroider his theme with flamboyant gestures. “The rivals for his throne, all tragically lost at sea, or whatever plausible reason he invents to explain our sudden disappearances. How extraordinarily convenient for him!”

“You should have gone on the stage,” muttered Andrei.

“Hello, there!”

Andrei started awake. He had fallen into a doze when he was supposed to be watching over Enguerrand.

“We've come to help!”

Aude appeared. “Did you hear? Someone called out in the common tongue.”

“I'll go; you stay here. It could be slavers, pirates…”

She gazed at him with apprehensive eyes and shrank back to crouch defensively beside Enguerrand's pallet.

Andrei pushed open the woven curtain of palm leaves that covered the doorway, blinking in the blinding brightness of the midday sun. He wished he had a weapon on hand to defend himself.

All the time he had been Adramelech's host, he had had no need of swords or pistols; the Drakhaoul had given him unimaginable power. Without that dark energy flowing through his veins, he felt pitifully weak and vulnerable.

Two men, their white robes dazzling in the noonday heat, stood outside beneath the palm trees.

“Who are you?” Andrei challenged them.

One walked toward him, his arms open, as if to embrace him. “Thank God, you're well enough to come to greet us. The islanders told us you were all very sick.” In spite of his white hair, the newcomer's grey eyes were bright in his sunburned face and his tone was brisk and lively. “My name is Laorans, Abbé Laorans. I'm in charge of the Francian mission in Serindher. My companion is Blaize, Père Blaize.”