Flight Into Darkness (58 page)

“So you plan to use him as bait to lure Demoiselle de Joyeuse to his rescue?” Visant nodded his approval.

Friard could take no more. He stood up. “P—pardon me, your majesty,” he stammered, staring at Donatien as he spoke, “but when
has it been Commanderie practice to condemn one of our own without anything other than hearsay to go on?”

“Are you challenging my authority, Captain Friard?” Visant's stare chilled Friard to the bone, yet he stood his ground, determined not to be intimidated.

“I'm defending my Guerriers, Inquisitor. I don't want to see two good and loyal agents used as scapegoats.”

“Let's not argue among ourselves, gentlemen,” said Ilsevir smoothly. “We must reassure the people by showing them that we are working together to defeat our enemies. I'm sure you'd be the first to agree that is our priority, Captain Friard? And to that end, I'd like to unite the two branches of the Commanderie.”

Friard stared at the king, then at Donatien, who was smiling and nodding his approval.

“Maistre Donatien will be head of the new Commanderie, with Captains Friard and Ghislain as his subordinates. But Captain Friard, you will need to liaise with Captain nel Ghislain as I intend to combine the two branches into one under the sign of the Rosecoeur.”

“Maistre, did you approve this?” Friard appealed to Donatien.

“Indeed, I did,” Donatien said calmly. “The Rosecoeurs’ methods have been so much more successful than our own, especially in Ondhessar. You have much to learn from Captain nel Ghislain.”

Humiliated, Friard sat down. Everything that Ruaud de Lanvaux had worked for was being swept away by this relentless Allegondan tide. He was more certain than ever that the charges against Celestine and Jagu were false. Had Kilian defected to Donatien's side? He had never been able to read Kilian accurately, suspecting a devious mind at work behind his joking, easygoing manner. But the greatest betrayal of all was that of Hugues Donatien.

As the effects of the drug slowly wore off, Jagu—confined to his cramped cabin—had too much time alone to regret what had happened. He lay gazing at the wooden walls, cursing his trusting nature.
Why did I fall for Kilian's trick? Am I still so gullible?

The truth was that he had been so caught up in his feelings that he had been careless. To be in love was such a new and unexpected state of mind that he had let his guard down.

But what was the worst they could do to him for breaking his
vow? Flog him? Expel him from the order? Imprison him? He could endure all that and more if only he knew that Celestine was safe. But the nagging fear that grew ever-more disturbing, like thunderclouds looming on the horizon, was that Visant and Donatien merely planned to use him to get to her.

CHAPTER 5

“So the fashioning of this new Lodestar took you three years?” Sardion turned the lotus crystal over and over in his hands while Rieuk watched, hating to see the Arkhan's fingers polluting the purity of his handiwork. It was all he could do not to snatch it back. “It's very fine. Almost as fine as the original.” He placed it in an ebony casket on his desk. “But matters have changed since you went into the Rift. You've seen him for yourself, haven't you?”

Rieuk was still staring at the casket that contained his Lodestar.

“Prince Nagazdiel.” Sardion's eyes gleamed with that hungry light Rieuk had learned to hate. “He has come to us at last.”

“To us?” Rieuk echoed uneasily.

“For years without number, my family has waited for him to return. But our mortal bodies are too frail to withstand the atmosphere of the Rift. That is why I'm sending you, as my Emissary, to bring him to me.”

“Me?” Rieuk could not believe what he was hearing. Sardion wanted him to return to the Rift? “But how?”

“By offering him your body as his vessel. He's an aethyrial spirit like the other Drakhaouls; he cannot exist in the mortal world without a host of flesh and blood.”

“You want me to give him my body?”

“You're the most powerful of all my magi, Rieuk. Others have tried and failed. The last I sent in was Oranir. I judged him stronger than the others… but he's yet to return.”

“You sent Oranir into the Rift to look for Nagazdiel?” It was all Rieuk could do to control his anger.

“You still harbor feelings for that boy, even though he betrayed you?” A slow, cruel smile spread across Sardion's gaunt features. “What a fool you are.”

Sardion led Rieuk deep below the palace, through a maze of passageways that ended in a forbidding chamber lined in black marble. An ancient doorway loomed beyond. The Arkhan cut a small nick in his wrist, and then in Rieuk's, smearing their mingled drops of blood on the stone. The doorway slowly opened with a grinding sound, letting a gust of chill air into the chamber.

“This is an honor afforded only to the chosen few,” Sardion said, standing aside. “I shall await your return with impatience.”

So I'm a fool.
Rieuk stumbled onward through the gloom.
I don't know—or care—what's been happening in Sardion's court in the time I've been away. But I can't forget the years I spent traveling with Oranir. He'll always hold a place in my heart, no matter how many times he betrays me. And that's something, Lord Sardion, that you'll never understand.

All that he could hear was the rushing of the dust-ridden wind that had blown in from the Realm of Shadows, bringing the deathly taint that leached the life from everything it touched.

“Where are you, Oranir?” he shouted into the wind, but it only tossed his own words back to him. “Ormas, can you sense Zophas here?”

“
I can sense nothing…
” came back the faint reply.

Walking blind into the gale, he suddenly stumbled over something in his path. A man lay sprawled on the dusty ground. Gently turning him over he saw, to his anguish, that it was Oranir.

“Ran.” He cradled him in his arms, Oranir's dark head slumping against his shoulder. He had only ever called Oranir by that affectionate nickname when they were alone together.
“Ran!”
The young magus was unconscious but his body was still warm; when Rieuk anxiously pressed his fingertips to his wrist and throat, he detected a faint, slow pulse.

“You're still alive.” Rieuk held him close. He didn't care that Oranir had betrayed him; this chance to see him, to hold him in his
arms again, was worth more to him than any worldly reward. And then the truth of Oranir's condition began to sink in. “Alive, but for how long? How long have you lain unconscious down here? And how am I to get you out?”

Rieuk pulled open Oranir's robes and loose shirt, until he could place his hand on the smoke hawk tattooed into Oranir's olive skin. He sensed a faint pulsation, as if Zophas were dozing deep within his master.

Time has no meaning in the Rift.
The atmosphere might even have preserved Oranir's life. But if he took him back to the surface, the sudden change might kill him. Rieuk knelt in the eerie half-light with Oranir's head in his lap, absently stroking the long strands of dusty black hair from his forehead, not knowing what to do to save his life.

Then he sensed it: that dark, disturbing aura he had encountered here before. The shadowy air shimmered. He raised his head to see the Drakhaoul Nagazdiel gazing down at him.

“He is strong, this young magus,” said Nagazdiel in his soft, deep voice, which made Rieuk shiver, “but not strong enough to give me back my freedom.”

“What did you do to him?” Rieuk choked over the words.

“I took possession of his body. But the strain was too great; he could not sustain me.”

“No.” Rieuk clutched Oranir to him, overcome with grief. “Ran, my poor Ran…” The Drakhaoul must have entered Oranir's body, draining him of his life essence to gain new strength.

“He is one of
her
children; she could restore him, if she were here. But he is weak and his hawk is weaker still.”

“She,
my lord?” Rieuk raised his head from Oranir's.

“My daughter, Azilis.”

“Your daughter could heal Oranir?”

“She should be here.” Nagazdiel gazed around him at the moonless waste of dying trees. “I came searching for her. I must find her.” He turned back to Rieuk. “You will take me to find her. We will bring her back together.” It was a command and not one to be disobeyed.

Rieuk laid Oranir gently down again and rose unsteadily to his feet. “I offer you my body, my lord Nagazdiel, if you will accept it.” He had no idea whether he was resilient enough to host a Drakhaoul, but he knew that while there was a crumb of hope of saving Oranir's life, he was prepared to risk it.

Nagazdiel came toward him, his arms open wide, as if to embrace him. Fire and shadow swirled up around Rieuk, engulfing him in a smoke-shot cloud. His body burned as if he had swallowed liquid fire.

Suppose I'm too weak to host him… he's so powerful…

“This fusion suits me well,”
breathed Nagazdiel's voice within him.
“Now take me to find my daughter.
”

CHAPTER 6

Alighting from Corméry's carriage at Swanholm, Celestine was surprised to see that one whole wing was covered with scaffolding and swarming with builders. As she crossed the wide gravel drive, the extent of the damage became clear; the roof must have caved in, taking much of the upper floors with it. She turned to Roget de Corméry, asking, “Do you know what happened? Was there a fire?”

“The official story is that insurgents kidnapped Princess Karila and in the fight to get her back, the wing was hit by cannonfire. But I heard a rumor,” said Corméry confidentially, “that Swanholm was attacked by a Drakhaoul.”

Celestine looked at him in astonishment.

Then they were met by the majordomo and ushered into the palace, to an antechamber to await their imperial majesties’ pleasure.

Celestine, too agitated to stay sitting down, paced the parquet flooring, stopping from time to time to gaze out of the windows at the parkland. When she had last seen the view, the trees had been hung with soft-colored lanterns and the dusky summer air had been filled with music.

“Do take a glass of this excellent amber aquavit,” said Corméry, taking a sip. A tray of refreshments had been brought in by a maid: a crystal decanter of aquavit and a silver dish filled with little almond macaroons. “It will help calm your nerves.”

“Is it so very obvious?” Celestine forced a smile. “No spirits, thank you; they're bad for the vocal cords. I came here to sing for her imperial majesty, and if that is what she wishes…”

“Just don't ask me to be your accompanist!” said Corméry with a laugh. “I never managed more than
‘Good night, little star.’
I almost drove my music teacher insane.”

The door opened and the majordomo appeared, announcing, “Demoiselle de Joyeuse is requested to attend upon her imperial highness in the Willow Salon.”

“My dear Celestine,” exclaimed Astasia, holding out her hands to her, “I'm so relieved to see that you're safe.” And to Celestine's confusion, the Empress embraced her, kissing her on both cheeks. “There's someone here I want you to meet.” She led her over to the fireplace, where a young man was sitting, with a red-haired girl beside him. Celestine let out a little cry.

“S—sire?” she whispered. “You're alive?” She was so surprised that she forgot all about court etiquette, unable to do anything but stare. Then, remembering where she was, she sank into a deep curtsy.

“Please rise, Demoiselle,” said King Enguerrand. He looked thin and frail, as though he had been ill for a long while, but he was smiling at her, and the warmth of his smile made her feel as if there might still be hope for Jagu. “I know we can trust you to keep this a secret.”

“But of course!”

“We cannot even risk telling Corméry yet. I owe my life to the Emperor; he sent Kaspar Linnaius to search for me and the others in my party.”

“The Magus brought us all the way back from Serindher in his sky craft!” put in the girl, her brown eyes radiant with excitement.

“My cousin Aude found the journey rather more agreeable than I,” Enguerrand said ruefully.

“But my stubborn brother has chosen to stay in Serindher,” said Astasia with a little sniff, “to help the priests rebuild their mission. Andrei, doing good works? Whatever next?”