"Turn back!" yelled Jagu to the rowers, but they were too far away to hear his voice.

"If only Abbot Yephimy hadn't been so stubborn, we could have used Sergius's Staff." Celestine could only stare at the dark-winged daemon, eaten up with frustration at their helplessness. And yet, even as she clutched the wet rail of the ship, the creature halted in midair.

It shuddered.

Suddenly, it let out a wailing cry, inhuman and desolate. Then it began to plummet toward the waves, losing its hold on its human burden.

"Can it sense the Angelstone?" Jagu leaned far out over the rail, straining to see what was happening.

"Be careful, Jagu!" Celestine grabbed hold of him, fearful that he might be swept overboard.

For a moment daemon and man disappeared below the surface. Then a whirlpool began to churn the waves. The sailors shouted out and cursed, gripping the sides of the rowboat as it was thrown sideways, almost capsizing. And out of the spinning water, Celestine saw a shadow rise, dark as smoke, and speed away, low across the waves.

The sailors gently laid the two fishermen down on the deck. Celestine went to help them but Jagu put a hand on her shoulder. "Wait."

The younger of the two began to retch, spewing up a lungful of seawater. He forced himself to his knees, turning to the older man who lay motionless beside him. Celestine watched in growing distress as he tried to revive him.

"Come on, Kuzko." The fisherman laid his head against the other's chest, as if listening for a heartbeat. "Don't desert me now!"

The old sailor's head lolled back, mouth gaping.

She saw the fisherman lay him back down on the deck and gently close his eyes. One of the sailors came up and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Only then did the fisherman crouch beside the still body and weep.

Celestine opened the cabin door and took a long, appraising look at the young fisherman, who lay deep in exhausted sleep. In spite of his untidy black curling hair, rough beard, and skin dark-tanned by wind and sun, there was something about him that suggested he was no ordinary fisherman.

Jagu was busy discussing their itinerary with Captain Peillac. She felt a little guilty acting on her own initiative, without his approval, but she was certain that the young man's features were familiar.

"I know know you," she whispered. "We've met before. But when... and where..." you," she whispered. "We've met before. But when... and where..."

He began to mutter in his sleep, twisting and turning, as though in the grip of a nightmare. Mumbled words escaped his salt-dried lips.

"Drowning... I'm drowning!" He flailed wildly as though fighting to stay above the waves.

She caught hold of his hand. "You're safe now."

He sat bolt upright. Eyes of dark violet-blue stared into hers. "I- I'm so sorry. I was dreaming."

"It must have been quite a dream." Gently, she released his hand.

He nodded, still staring at her. "I've seen you before. You sang in Mirom last winter. You're Celestine-"

"De Joyeuse. I'm flattered you remember me." I've seen eyes of that unique hue very recently. Can he be one of the Orlovs? I've seen eyes of that unique hue very recently. Can he be one of the Orlovs?

"Celestial in voice as well as in name," he said. "How could I forget?"

"The daemon creature that attacked you," she said, ignoring the compliment. "That would be enough to give anyone nightmares."

"That was not what I was dreaming about. My ship went down in the Straits some months ago. The old man, Kuzko, rescued me. And now-" He choked on the words. "Now he's dead."

"You don't talk like a common sailor." She was looking at him curiously. "What's your name?"

"Andrei."

"Andrei?" she said, her mind racing. My ship went down in the Straits... My ship went down in the Straits...

"Where are you bound?"

She made an effort to focus her thoughts. "Why, to Swanholm, to sing for Princess Karila's birthday at the request of the Emperor's wife, Astasia."

"Astasia," he repeated, p.r.o.nouncing the name with affection, almost reverence. "Demoiselle de Joyeuse," he said in Francian, "may I confide in you?"

"He says he's Andrei Orlov, Crown Prince of Muscobar?" Jagu stared at Celestine, his brows drawn close in a frown of disbelief. "How can you be sure he's not an impostor? Or out of his mind?"

Celestine had been expecting this reaction. She forced herself to count to ten before replying. "You met Prince Andrei last year in Mirom, at Count Velemir's reception, Jagu, didn't you? Before the Revolt?" Their cramped cabin was not the best place for such a discussion; the sea was still choppy and, seasoned travelers though they were, the creaking and pitching of the Dame Blanche Dame Blanche made it difficult to talk about such a sensitive subject without raising their voices. "You have to admit that the likeness is remarkable." made it difficult to talk about such a sensitive subject without raising their voices. "You have to admit that the likeness is remarkable."

"The same Prince Andrei who went down with the Sirin?" Sirin?" Jagu crossed his arms defensively as he sometimes did when not wishing to admit that she might be right. Jagu crossed his arms defensively as he sometimes did when not wishing to admit that she might be right.

"Can't you see what a trump card has fallen into our hands?" she went on, trying to keep her voice low. "When Eugene forced Muscobar to capitulate, Andrei was believed to be dead. Now that he's alive, there's a rival for the throne. And if he allies himself with Francia, Eugene will find himself in a very tricky situation indeed."

"And then there's the Drakhaoul." Jagu pulled out the precious Angelstone and showed it to Celestine; the trickle of darkness that had polluted its clarity had disappeared. "Is it gone for good? Or could he summon it back and destroy us? We have to interrogate him, Celestine. The Maistre would expect nothing less."

"Let's leave him to rest a little longer." She put on her most appealing tone, one that she knew Jagu could not refuse. "If we bombard him with questions when he's still in shock, we'll only make him more confused." Although the prospect that Prince Andrei might be able to summon the daemon to his aid was deeply unsettling.

"Help me... Drakhaoul..."

The prisoner was dying. Wasted with fever, the brilliance of his blue eyes dimming, the young man suddenly murmured a few words, barely intelligible. And his jailer had been ordered to summon the Director of Arnskammar Asylum if he said anything, so he dutifully locked the door and set out to fetch his master. For some reason, it seemed that the Emperor had a personal interest in the prisoner.

He had just reached the courtyard when he sensed the sky darken overhead. Glancing up, he saw a stormcloud speeding toward the tower. He stopped, terrified. For he had glimpsed eyes in the whirling darkness, eyes that burned with the piercing blue of lightning.

The director came running into the courtyard.

"What in G.o.d's name-?" he began, then fell silent as both men stared at the top of the tower. The prisoner's cell was shrouded in shadow and little flashes of energy crackled and flickered about the conical roof.

A flash of dazzling light seared their eyes and the top of the tower exploded, shattered stones and tiles showering down into the courtyard. The jailer pulled his stunned master to the ground, covering his head with his hands. As he glanced fearfully up, he saw-or thought he saw-a great winged creature, blue as midnight, wheeling away through the cloud-veiled sky.

"No one could have survived such a lightning strike," said the director, getting unsteadily to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes. The jagged ruins of the broken tower were silhouetted all too clearly against the clearing sky.

"But d-didn't you see it, Director?" the jailer stammered. "The winged creature... like a dragon..."

"A dragon?" The director gave him a stern look. "I have no idea what you're babbling about. I will inform the Emperor straightaway that the prisoner died when lightning struck his cell."

"Captain Peillac has just informed me that we'll reach Tielen by dawn." Jagu ducked as he entered Andrei's cabin to avoid hitting his head. He set down a bottle of red wine and proceeded to pour with a steady hand. "So that gives us plenty of time to make the journey to Swanholm." He handed both Celestine and Andrei a gla.s.s, then lifted his own in a toast. "To your miraculous survival, my lord Andrei."

"Miraculous?" Andrei took a sip of the wine. "If you hadn't sent out your men to the rescue-"

"I was referring to the creature that plucked the old man from the waves," Jagu said.

Andrei set his gla.s.s down. "You saw it, then?" A lost, sad look clouded his eyes.

"What was it, Andrei?" Celestine was gazing sympathetically at him. Jagu leaned back against the cabin wall; it was best to let her charm the facts from the young prince.

"It healed me. Whether it was a spirit that haunted the place where I was shipwrecked, or it sought me out for some purpose of its own, I don't know. All I know is it healed my body and restored my mind."

"It healed you?" Celestine shot Jagu a swift, meaningful glance. "Did it ever reveal its purpose to you?"

"Not on Lapwing Spar, no. But in Mirom it spoke to me. It said, 'You were born to rule. But it is too soon.'"

" 'Born to rule,'" echoed Celestine. "And then it abandoned you?"

"I don't know why. For a moment I thought I heard a distant voice crying out for help." Andrei gulped down his wine. "But it might have been Kuzko." His voice faltered and Jagu refilled his gla.s.s. "Where was Eugene's war fleet going in such a hurry?"

"We asked ourselves the same question," Jagu replied. "Who knows where Eugene's ambitions will lead him next?"

"Our countries have always been allies, Andrei," Celestine said in Francian. "Your command of our language is excellent. We understand each other well, don't we? You've been deprived of your right to rule Muscobar by this new regime. Yet your family also claims descent from the Emperor Artamon. Had matters gone otherwise, you could have been Emperor of all Rossiya."

"I could be Emperor?" Andrei said slowly. "But how? I have no country, no name, no troops at my disposal. The Muscobite army and navy have been absorbed into Eugene's forces."

Celestine consulted Jagu with another glance. He nodded. Then she turned to Andrei and said, "We believe that our master, King Enguerrand, would be very interested in meeting you."

"I'm going to the council meeting," said Enguerrand. "Alone. Without my mother."

Ruaud de Lanvaux stared at his young protege, astonished. "But with respect, sire, how can you keep her away?"

Enguerrand glanced round at Ruaud as Fragan, the king's valet, fussed about him, obsessively brushing his jacket and straightening his lace cravat. Ruaud caught a glint of a dark little smile behind Enguerrand's thick spectacle lenses. "I've contrived to send Maman on my behalf to open an orphanage. On the opposite side of the city."

So Enguerrand was beginning to stand up to his domineering mother at last. Ruaud offered up a silent prayer of thanks as he followed him into the council chamber. The councillors rose with a sc.r.a.ping of chairs and bowed, waiting to sit until Enguerrand had taken his place at the head of the long table.

Chancellor Aiguillon, first minister of Francia, addressed the council.

"Your majesty, gentlemen of the council, we have received an impa.s.sioned plea for help from Smarna. Eugene's forces have imposed martial law."

The councillors began to murmur among themselves. Ruaud was watching to see how Enguerrand would react to this disturbing news. He saw that the king's hands had tightened their grip on the arms of his chair until the knuckles were white.

"In view of the unstable situation," Aiguillon went on, "I think it would be prudent, sire, to postpone your pilgrimage to the Holy Land."

"Did my mother make that suggestion?" Enguerrand stared at Aiguillon and when he was a second or so late in replying, added, "Of course she did; your hesitation confirms it. But I tell you now, Aiguillon, that I will not let either my mother's overprotective nature or the Emperor's overweening ambitions interfere with my plans."

Ruaud was surprised to hear how forcefully the young king had spoken. The whole council was listening attentively.

Enguerrand turned to Ruaud. "The Second Fleet is under orders to act as our escort, isn't that right, Grand Maistre?"

"Indeed so," said Ruaud. "Your majesty will be traveling with an escort of twenty-five well-armed warships, under the command of Admiral Mercoeur."

"I like this plan!" The Duc de Craon, Enguerrand's uncle, thumped the table enthusiastically. "That will place our ships close to Smarna, should the need arise..."

"Where will Eugene's ambition and greed for power stop? Francia could well be next! But"-and Aiguillon leaned forward over the council table- "we are well prepared this time. Grand Maistre, if you would be so good..."

Ruaud rose. "Twenty years ago, the Tielens destroyed our fleet in the Straits, using alchymical weapons devised by Kaspar Linnaius. And now, at last, we're in a position to retaliate. Acting on the intelligence of our agents, we have a plan in place to arrest Kaspar Linnaius, then destroy the alchymical munitions factories. The Armel fleet is on maneuvers off Fenez-Tyr. Admiral Romorantin is standing by to launch an attack on Eugene's naval dockyards just as soon as you give the order, sire."

Enguerrand nodded.

"Arrest Kaspar Linnaius?" It was Inquisitor Visant who, until then, had not contributed anything to the meeting. "And how, precisely, are you going to achieve that, Maistre de Lanvaux? The self-styled Magus has persistently evaded all our attempts to bring him to justice. What makes you think you'll succeed where the Inquisition has failed?"

"I have every confidence in my agents," Ruaud said patiently.

"Isn't it a little rash to hazard so many sailors' lives on the a.s.sumption that your agents will capture Linnaius?"

"Isn't it more rash to sit pa.s.sively by and wait for the Emperor to make his move against us?" Ruaud had not planned to oppose the Haute Inquisitor so openly in front of the council, but Visant had left him no choice.

"Then we will a.s.sure the Smarnan council that they can count on Francia's support." Aiguillon looked round at all the councillors. "Any objections, gentlemen?"

"Such an a.s.surance will commit us to a needless war with the Emperor," protested Visant.

"Smarna today, Francia tomorrow," said Aiguillon. Ruaud looked around, surprised to find an unexpected ally in the chancellor. "Let's act now before the situation deteriorates any further." He turned to Enguerrand. "Sire?"

"I authorize the arrest of the Magus," Enguerrand said. "And once we have him in our custody, I say we strike at Eugene's dockyards."

The councillors rose to their feet, applauding. All except Visant, who sat, stone-faced, staring at the council papers in front of him.

Gavril Nagarian opened his eyes. He was lying on a cliff top, gazing up into the brilliance of a sun-warmed blue sky.

"Free," he whispered. "I'm free free..." And then he remembered how he had come to escape the Iron Tower. "Why did you come back for me, Drakhaoul? I cast you out..."

" You called for me. You were dying. You called for me. You were dying."

"And you rescued me...and healed me, in spite of what I did to you..."

"We are bonded for life, bonded by your blood," whispered the daemon. " whispered the daemon. "I need you as much as you need me."

The image of Kiukiu's limp body still haunted Gavril, her throat marred by the ravages he had inflicted in his hunger. "I nearly killed her. The bloodl.u.s.t was so strong, I couldn't control myself. Do you understand, Drakhaoul, why I sought the exorcism?"

"I understand that she means more to you than Azhkendir."

Gavril put his hands to his head. He had had too much time in Arnskammar to try to square matters with his conscience. He had saved Kiukiu's life, but in losing the Drakhaoul, he had also lost his country to Eugene. It was a bitter fact to live with. "I-I love her more than life itself. She accepted me unquestioningly for what I was, half-man, half-monster. But now that we are united again, Drakhaoul, how can I ask her to take me back?"

The distant sound of cannon fire disturbed the drowsy silence of the gra.s.sy cliff. Gavril Nagarian got shakily to his feet and went toward the cliff edge to gaze out to sea. "But this is Smarna," he said, astonished. "And what are all those warships doing in Vermeille Bay?" And then his surprise turned to anger as he recognized the Emperor's colors flying from the masts of every ship. They were bombarding the citadel of Colchise. Colchise, which had been his home for many years.

"No," he murmured, feeling the anger burn fiercer within him, "I can't let this happen. This must stop. Drakhaoul!" he called suddenly.

"You are still weak, Gavril. Are you certain that you want to attack them?"

"If I don't strike now," Gavril said, flinching as another round of shot smashed into the citadel walls, "then it will be too late."

A few seconds later, a dark-winged dragon took to the air, darting straight toward the Rogned, Rogned, the flagship of the Emperor's Southern Fleet. the flagship of the Emperor's Southern Fleet.