Flight Into Darkness (65 page)

“Madame,” Enguerrand said, bowing to his mother.

“If this has all been a joke, Enguerrand, it's been in very poor taste.”

“No joke, Madame, I assure you.” Enguerrand turned to Ilsevir, who had gone very pale. “What is the meaning of this, Brother?” He gestured to the stake. “Why are two of my most loyal subjects about to be executed?”

“They are guilty of—” began Donatien.

“I was not speaking to you, Maistre Donatien,” Enguerrand said curtly.

“Is that really the king?” Celestine heard Jagu ask dazedly. But she was distracted. The darkness was growing thicker and a wind had begun to whine around the place.

Something is coming. Something unimaginably powerful…

CHAPTER 12

As Nagazdiel came soaring down from the clouds, Rieuk recognized the winding Sénon far below. The physical exhilaration of flight had utterly overwhelmed him, driving all other thoughts from his mind. He had watched through Ormas's eyes countless times before, but to feel the wind against his face, to see the great city of Lutèce from this dizzying height, was the most thrilling sensation he had experienced in his life.

“Azilis!”
The Drakhaoul had found her. They came hurtling down at such speed, weaving past pointed steeples and pepper-pot towers, that Rieuk was terrified that Nagazdiel would lose control and smash his body on the cobbles.

He took in the situation in one glance: the two prisoners tied to a stake; the dais filled with dignitaries come to gloat over the barbarous execution; the Inquisitors bearing flaming torches to ignite the pyre; the watching crowd.

“It's Celestine,” he cried. “They're going to burn her!”

“Jagu, look,” Celestine urged.
“Look up!”

Flying through the ominous sky, drawing the trails of darkness behind him like a vast cloak unfolding to smother the whole city, came a Drakhaoul. At first she could only see his eyes clearly: two crimson flames searing through the gloom. But as it drew nearer, she saw a powerful figure bearing down on them on wings of shadow. And she heard the Faie cry out suddenly in recognition.

“Father!”

* * * 

Jagu's left wrist throbbed so piercingly that suddenly he knew with absolute certainty that his magus, the one who had marked him in Kemper, had come back to claim him. Looking up, he saw the dark angel descending, swooping down out of the blackened sky like a creature forged from flame and shadow.

So he's summoned his dread lord to carry me away to the Realm of Shadows?
The thought struck Jagu as so bitterly ironic that he almost laughed aloud.

“Lord Nagazdiel,” Eugene murmured. “Why have you come?” And, in the depths of his heart, he felt a memory stir, a memory planted there by Belberith the Warrior, his Drakhaoul.

It was the briefest of visions that flickered through his mind, but in it he saw Nagazdiel as a tall, dark-haired Heavenly Guardian, turning to hold out his hand in friendship to him, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion.

That must have been before he was imprisoned in the Realm of Shadows. Before he became embittered and corrupted…

“Light the pyre!” A lone voice cried out in the stunned silence. Celestine recognized the strident tones of the Haute Inquisitor. “Are you going to stand by and let this daemon set his servants free?”

“Stop him, someone—” Enguerrand launched himself forward but Visant seized a torch from one of his terror-struck men and threw it onto the straw bales.

“Burn them!”

The straw crackled into bright flame. Celestine gasped as she felt the wave of heat hit her. And then the acrid fumes from the rising smoke blew in her face, making her eyes stream.

“Keep your mouth closed,” warned Jagu through the roar of the flames.

“Faie?” she rasped in desperation, coughing as she breathed in a lungful of smoke.

”
I'll do… what I can…
” The Faie cast a translucent shield around them. But as Celestine felt herself growing dizzy, the shield began to waver.

The Faie needs me to stay strong, or we'll all be lost. I mustn't black out…

* * * 

Rieuk saw Visant set the pyre alight. He saw how fast and how hungrily the flames leaped upward. Celestine would die if he didn't move speedily enough. And if she died, what would become of Azilis, cast adrift without a mortal host?

The sky had become so black that the flames burned fiercely bright and the dust-laden wind which had blown in his wake only fanned them higher. And then Rieuk heard a voice crying out for help—that same high, anguished, piercing voice he had first heard all those years ago when he released Azilis from the Lodestar.

“Save her,”
Nagazdiel commanded.

There was no time to quench the fire. Rieuk took to the air again, swooping down into the intense heat and smoke to land on the pyre itself. The burning logs singed the soles of his feet, but he hardly felt the pain. Celestine's fair head was drooping. With Nagazdiel's sharp talons, he slashed at the ropes that confined her until they shredded and she fell forward against him. Clasping her tightly in his arms, he lifted from the pyre, flying with strong wingbeats over the heads of the mesmerized onlookers.

“Jagu…” Celestine murmured faintly. “Save Jagu…”

Eugene had stood watching long enough. He turned to Linnaius. “Wind mage,” he said, “can you call down a rainstorm?” Linnaius appeared to have read his thoughts, for the Emperor saw

that his fingers were already at work.

The daylight was blotted out by the fast-gathering dark. From nearby the sonorous tones of the clock of the cathedral of Saint Etienne could be heard striking noon, but the sky was as black as if it were midnight. The only light in the Place du Trahoir was the harsh light of the pyre flames.

On the royal dais, Captain nel Ghislain pushed his king to the ground, shielding him with his body as the Drakhaoul flew overhead. Donatien threw his arms around Aliénor. Enguerrand alone stood in the rushing darkness, gazing after the Drakhaoul.

“My lord Nagazdiel,” he whispered. “Protect her. Protect your beloved daughter.”

* * * 

Through the clouds of choking smoke, Jagu saw the Drakhaoul rising into the air with Celestine in his arms. And he could do nothing to prevent it.

“Hold on, Jagu! Hold on there, man!” Men's voices penetrated the crackle of the flames.

He was finding it harder to breathe and his senses were swimming.

“We'll get you down, Jagu!” And was that the sound of water sloshing onto the flames?

Must be losing consciousness…

Yet he could see black shapes looming up out of the smoke, men clambering over the burning logs toward him.

“Fire! Fire on them!” Visant ordered his Guerriers. Jagu heard the sound of shots, then screams of panic from the crowd.

A man loomed up over Jagu, slashing the ropes that bound him, catching him as he slumped forward. A stab of pain jarred through his hand, jolting him back to consciousness.

“Steady there, lads, don't forget he's injured,” warned a familiar voice and he thought he recognized Alain Friard's homely features, face streaked with ash, as his rescuers bundled him down over the dying fire.

Enguerrand had never felt so angry in his life as the moment he saw Alois Visant set the pyre alight. And when the Inquisitor ordered his men to fire on the Commanderie Guerriers, he could take no more.

He drew his pistol and walked up to Visant, pressing the muzzle into his back.

“This time you've gone too far, Inquisitor.”

Visant half turned, a puzzled expression on his face that twisted into a humorless smile. “Surely your majesty is joking…”

“Guerriers!” Enguerrand called out to the Commanderie squad who had come running with buckets of water to Jagu's rescue.

“Sire?” One turned around and Enguerrand saw that it was Alain Friard, Ruaud's loyal second-in-command.

“Arrest Inquisitor Visant.”

Friard saluted and beckoned two of his men up onto the dais. They seized hold of the Inquisitor and started to drag him down from the dais.

“You fools!” Visant cried. “You'll live to regret this. I am all that stands between you and the darkness!” He went on shouting as the Guerriers dragged him away.

“Sire, I really must object—” began Donatien, but Enguerrand turned on him.

“I am ashamed that my guest, the Emperor, has been forced to witness this barbarous display on his first visit to Francia.”

“The—the Emperor Eugene?” Donatien stuttered, his face changing color from pasty white to a dark, choleric red.

Aliénor found her voice at last. “Enguerrand, what have you done?”

“What have I done?” Enguerrand echoed. “If Celestine is not set free, this darkness will never lift. She is the only one who can heal the Rift.”

“Make way! Make way for the duke!” The sound of raucous shouts and the clatter of horses’ hooves filled the darkness.

Enguerrand scanned the Place du Trahoir. Armed horsemen had appeared at the far side; at their head rode a grizzled, broad-chested warrior. The banners they carried, flapping in the swirling wind, were russet, black, and gold—the colors of Provença. The last of the crowd scattered as he led his retainers on, urging his charger straight up toward the dais.

“Raimon?” said Aliénor querulously. “What does this mean?”

“I've come to support my future son-in-law,” announced the Duke of Provença, letting out a rumbling laugh.

Aude had been riding behind her father; she jumped down and ran up onto the dais to Enguerrand's side. Oblivious to his mother's presence, Enguerrand kissed her.

“I've never been so humiliated in my life.” Ilsevir came forward, his Rosecoeur captain close behind him. His voice shook, but whether with rage or terror, Enguerrand could not be certain. “Perhaps I should remind you all that I was crowned king of Francia but a short while ago. Am I to be ignored?”

“My dear Ilsevir,” said Eugene, taking him by the arm, “you and I need to talk.”

“We got you down just in time, Lieutenant!” Jagu found himself surrounded by his triumphant Guerriers. One handed him a water bottle and, gratefully, he poured the cold liquid down his seared throat until he choked. He stood, wheezing and hacking, as they slapped his back and cheered.

“Thank you, lads,” he managed to say, between coughs. “I owe you; every one of you.” But now that he had got his breath back, he
gazed up into the churning sky. “Which way did he take her? Which way did the Drakhaoul go?”

Celestine opened her eyes. She was clasped in the arms of the dark Drakhaoul as tenderly as if she were a little child being carried home by her father. And they were flying; she could feel his body shudder with every powerful wingbeat, she could feel the dark air on her face. Her eyes and mouth stung with the smoke that she had inhaled and her throat and lungs felt as if they had been seared by the pyre flames. But she was alive. Unless this was another dream…

And then she remembered.

“Where is Jagu?”

There was a little public garden below, shaded by acacia and willow trees; Rieuk could even hear the splashing of a fountain. He alighted and set her gently down on a bench.

She was still coughing from the smoke she had inhaled, so he went to the fountain and brought her water in his cupped hands. She gulped it down eagerly, so he brought her more.

“Father?”
Celestine heard the Faie's voice issuing from her own mouth. And suddenly she was filled with Azilis's yearning to be reunited with her lost father. At the same time she felt her love for her own father surge up within her, mingling with the Faie's feelings until she could no longer distinguish what she felt.

“Azilis, my dearest child.”
The Drakhaoul clasped her to him again, enfolding her in his arms.
“I've found you at last.”

The magus's mark gleamed ever more brightly in the gloomy alley as Jagu, bare feet slipping on the muddy cobblestones, forced himself to follow the Drakhaoul's trail. He was certain that there was a connection between his magus and the daemon that had rescued Celestine. And the more his marked wrist throbbed, competing in intensity with the constant dull pain of his crushed hand, the nearer he reckoned he must be to finding them both.

But why had the daemon taken her? He was certain that he had heard the Drakhaoul cry out a name as he came soaring down out of the darkness. And that name was “Azilis.”

“Could it be?” he muttered. “Could it be that your guardian spirit is the Eternal Singer, Celestine?”

The ironwork gates to a public garden lay ahead. And the mark on Jagu's wrist burned so fiercely that it felt as if it had been painted on his skin with acid.

He passed through the ornamental gates and saw a glimmer of white ahead, through the swaying trees, their slender branches still tossed and torn by the unruly wind. He was so tired by now that he could hardly find the strength to struggle along the gravel path. But he wanted answers. And above all, he wanted Celestine.

An ornamental fountain lay ahead; stone dolphins spouted a constant flow of clear water into a wide curving basin. The sound of the flowing water soothed his jangled nerves. But, with a shock, Jagu saw the Drakhaoul standing on the far side of it, Celestine clasped in his arms, his dark head resting against hers. As Jagu limped closer, the Drakhaoul raised his head and stared forbiddingly at him through cruel, slanted eyes seared with scarlet fire.