CHAPTER 14.

"Where's his majesty?" Ruaud had arrived at Enguerrand's apartments to accompany him to morning prayers in the palace chapel and there was no sign of the king.

"Still abed," said Fragan, Enguerrand's valet. "Shall I tell him you're here, Maistre?"

"I'll go rouse him myself." It was unlike Enguerrand to sleep so late. "I hope he's not sickening again..."

The king's four-poster bed was hung with curtains of thick dark brocade embroidered in gold thread with salamanders and lilies, another relic from the time of the king's grandfather. Ruaud went to open the heavy curtains and let light and fresh air into the stuffy chamber. As he did so he heard the king murmur in his sleep, moving restlessly.

"Adramelech," he muttered, "Sahariel... where are you?"

Ruaud paused, his hand on the wrought-iron window catch, wondering what strange dream his pupil was having; the names-if that was what they were- sounded like Ancient Enhirran. He opened the window and, as he leaned out to draw in a lungful of morning air, the Angelstone dropped down on its chain, catching the sunlight. Ruaud was about to replace it beneath his robes when he saw that the crystal was alive with intertwining spirals of rich color again: purple, blue, green, scarlet, and most vivid and brilliant of all, gold. And he felt that same inexplicable sense of anxiety that had first afflicted him aboard ship.

"What time is it?" came the king's voice, slurred with sleep.

"Time you were in chapel, sire," Ruaud said, unable to conceal a note of disapproval at the king's tardiness.

"I had another dream, Ruaud." Enguerrand's eyes were shining as he sat up and reached for his spectacles. "My guardian angel spoke to me again. He said that he would help me defeat the Drakhaoul of Azhkendir and-"

A sharp rap on the door interrupted him and Fragan appeared, bowing. "If you please, majesty, dispatches have just arrived that require your urgent attention."

Ruaud watched the king's face keenly as he read the first dispatch, wondering if Admiral Mercoeur had launched the attack on the Tielen dockyards.

"It sounds as if our ships have dealt the Emperor a severe blow," Enguerrand said, confirming Ruaud's suspicions. "Tielen munitions factories burned down, dockyards under bombardment..." He glanced up at Ruaud. "I wish my father could have lived to see this day. He would have been so proud." He opened the second dispatch, frowning as he scanned the contents. "A letter from my mother," Enguerrand said, handing the paper to Ruaud. "She is entertaining not one but two of the Orlovs at Belle Garde."

"We have an unexpected guest: the Empress Astasia, traveling incognito with her brother, Andrei," wrote Alienor. "It seems that there has been a significant falling-out between her and her husband and she has fled the court at Swanholm. Unfortunately, it transpires that she is enceinte, enceinte, so I can see no real advantage for Francia in keeping her here." so I can see no real advantage for Francia in keeping her here."

"The Empress is expecting a child? Eugene's heir?" Ruaud looked at Enguerrand.

"We must make the most of this, Ruaud." An uncharacteristically resolute look had hardened the king's gaze. "For the first time in this century, Francia has the chance to a.s.sert herself against Tielen. If only we could communicate directly with the Emperor. A letter setting out our demands will lose much of its impact, even if we use our swiftest couriers."

As the king was speaking, Ruaud could think of nothing but the Vox Aethyria. This is how the Tielen generals exchange information over many hundreds of miles, This is how the Tielen generals exchange information over many hundreds of miles, Celestine had told him. Celestine had told him. This Vox is almost certainly linked to another in the New Rossiyan Empire. Perhaps even to the Emperor himself. This Vox is almost certainly linked to another in the New Rossiyan Empire. Perhaps even to the Emperor himself.

"I believe we may be able to overcome that problem," he said, "by using one of the Tielens' devices against them."

The safety of your wife and unborn child must be of the utmost importance to you.

The Emperor clenched his fists as he reread the transcript of his earlier conversation, by Vox Aethyria, with Ruaud de Lanvaux, Grand Maistre of the Francian Commanderie. "Conversation?" One of his fists came thudding down on the desk, making the delicate mechanism of the Vox shudder. "Political blackmail, masquerading as diplomacy. No, worse. Holding Astasia against her will. How could matters have come to this?" Eugene went to the window of his quarters and gazed out toward the smoldering ruins of the Imperial Dockyards, billowing smoke still besmirching the pale evening sky. The Francians had not only sunk several of his warships in the Straits, they had attacked the dockyards too and destroyed the ships lying in dry dock.

"I was too bound up in my own concerns to notice how lonely you were, Astasia," he murmured. Only now did he realize how much she had come to mean to him. He was prepared to submit to the Francians' blackmail if only to ensure that she was safe. Even if it meant sacrificing a part of his empire.

The imperial carriage moved slowly away from the quay. Inside, Astasia sat staring in stunned disbelief at her husband. No longer disfigured by the terrible burns inflicted by the Drakhaoul of Azhkendir, Eugene looked just like his portrait in Swanholm, painted when he succeeded his father nearly ten years ago. His fair hair seemed to have deepened to a richer tint of gold and his skin was smooth, with a healthy glow.

"How did this miraculous cure happen, Eugene?" she asked guardedly. Throughout the voyage back to Mirom, she had been tormented by shame and remorse, knowing that Eugene had ceded Smarna to Francia to secure her safe return. But the instant she set foot on the quay at Mirom and saw him, the heartfelt apology she had rehea.r.s.ed so carefully flew out of her head.

"You're well? And the baby?" he asked, and she heard a tremor of concern in his voice. He had every reason to be furious with her; this unexpected kindness unnerved her. After all, she was the one who had run away from court.

"I'm a little tired, but the baby is growing well, thank you," she said, blushing. He had skillfully diverted the conversation away from himself. "But you-how did you-?"

The sound of cheering voices outside the window startled her; gazing out, she saw that a crowd had gathered to welcome her home. Smiling, Eugene raised his healed hand to wave to them and nodded to her to do the same. Frustrated, she turned away to acknowledge the enthusiastic greetings.

As the carriage approached the Winter Palace and drew to a halt for the imperial guards to open the gilded ironwork gates, he turned back to her and she caught a sudden alien glint of green in his eyes, brief as a pa.s.sing shadow. Had she imagined it? It left her feeling unsettled, as if she could not be sure that the man sitting beside her was exactly the same man she had married.

"Must we stay in Mirom?" she said. "I was planning to go to Erinaskoe to see Mama and Papa. The city is so oppressive in summer."

"If the country air will do you and the baby good, then of course you must go to Erinaskoe." He was still smiling at her. What was different about him? And why was it so disconcerting?

CHAPTER 15.

"Arkhelskoye in summer." Jagu shaded his eyes against the sheen of bright sun reflected off the sparkling water to gaze at the port as the Dame Blanche Dame Blanche sailed into the harbor. "How sunlight changes the look of a place." sailed into the harbor. "How sunlight changes the look of a place."

Celestine was gazing back toward the headland where their escorts, three warships, had taken up their positions, standing ready to defend them if they were attacked yet keeping well out of sight from the mainland. "Do you think the port authorities will accept our story? Pilgrims in high summer when Saint Serzhei's Day falls in the depths of winter?"

Jagu shrugged one shoulder. "If we were to wait for the saint's day, we'd be ice-bound here until the thaw." He still dreamed of that cold night in the Osprey's Nest tavern when she had snuggled up to him for comfort, and he had come so close to breaking his vow. Even the memory sent a shiver of heat through his body. He stole a glance at her, wondering if she remembered that night too... and if it had meant as much to her as it had to him.

"Celestine," he began tentatively, "do you-"

"Lieutenant!" Philippe Viaud hailed him. "The men are ready to disembark." Twenty Guerriers, dressed in hooded pilgrim's robes of raven black, had lined up on deck.

"Let's go over the plan one more time." Jagu gazed at his fellow Guerriers. "Lieutenant Viaud, you're in charge of the horses and the lookouts. Make sure that we're covered for a quick escape. Adjutants Gurval and Vouvay, when we've secured the crook, you and your men will make your way back to the port through the forest."

"Lieutenant!" The young officers saluted him with alacrity. He hoped he had made the right decision in putting his trust in them.

"And me?" Celestine was regarding him with the faintest hint of a malicious sparkle in her eyes.

"As we discussed. Go straight into the shrine and find the relic. I'll be at your back to protect you."

Celestine made one last check before they left the ship for the raid on the monastery. Her pistols were primed and the powder was dry. She hoped she would not be forced to fire them. She wanted to avoid bloodshed at all costs.

She drew out the pouch of sleepdust that she had stolen from the Magus's laboratory in Swanholm. It was potent stuff, as she knew to her cost; it had rendered her unconscious for hours.

But how long does its potency last?

The fine crystals shimmered dully inside the little leather pouch. Celestine took great care not to look too closely, for fear of sending herself instantly into a deep trance.

I won't use it unless there is no other possible alternative. Yet when she remembered how vehemently Abbot Yephimy had refused their request back in the spring, she knew that she might be forced to employ this substance, created by forbidden alchymical magic. The last thing she wanted was to have to fight the monks for the sacred relic. Yet when she remembered how vehemently Abbot Yephimy had refused their request back in the spring, she knew that she might be forced to employ this substance, created by forbidden alchymical magic. The last thing she wanted was to have to fight the monks for the sacred relic.

"I gave you my answer once before, Lieutenant." Abbot Yephimy placed himself on the steps in front of the doors to the shrine. The monks were a.s.sembling on either side of him, forming a human barrier between the Commanderie and their goal. "The crook stays here. With the Blessed Serzhei's bones."

Jagu looked into the abbot's eyes and saw the challenging stare of a warrior. Yephimy was ready to give his life rather than hand over the relic.

"It's so peaceful here in Kerjhenezh, isn't it?" Celestine's clear voice suddenly rang out, breaking the tense silence. "But the situation beyond your walls has changed, Abbot. There are now five Drakhaouls at large. We must reforge the Staff and defeat them, or they will tear our world apart."

"Then let us repair the Staff here," said Yephimy equably. "We have a forge."

This was going nowhere. "I must ask you again, Abbot," said Jagu, "to hand over the crook."

"And I tell you again, Lieutenant, that I cannot do that."

"We have no wish to harm you or any of the brothers, but we have our orders from the Grand Maistre." As Jagu was speaking, he saw Yephimy gazing over his head to the main gateway. Gurval and Vouvay must have arrived with reinforcements. At that moment he also saw Brother Lyashko, the young beekeeper, hand the abbot a heavy broadsword.

"You'll have to kill us first, Lieutenant de Rustephan," Yephimy said, placing himself in front of the shrine doors.

Jagu saw at once from the abbot's stance that he had used that sword before-and probably to lethal effect. Beside him, the brothers suddenly drew out weapons: woodcutters' axes; ancient, rusty pikes; Azhkendi sabres. But many of the monks were white-bearded and stooped; their heavy blades wavered in palsied hands.

This was not going as Jagu had planned. He took Celestine by the arm and drew her to one side. "I don't want any bloodshed if we can avoid it. But they seem determined to put up a fight."

"Leave it to me," she said.

Celestine's hand closed around the leather pouch. If she could just edge close enough to the monks- "Charge!" yelled Adjutant Gurval, running forward. The ringing clash of metal sent the crows sitting on the chapel roof scattering, cawing into the air.

Jagu wheeled round, his hand raised to stop the attack. But it was too late; the Guerriers had drawn their swords and followed Gurval. One of the monks fell to his knees, run through the throat by Gurval's blade. Jagu swore.

Celestine was staring, transfixed. She had never seen action at such close quarters before. The shouting, the sudden stink of blood, terrified her. This was all going wrong.

Jagu drew his pistols. "If we get out of this alive, I'll have that young hothead demoted!"

The monks had formed a tight knot, attempting to beat back the Guerriers with pitchforks, hoes, and rusty swords. Only Abbot Yephimy wielded his weapon like a trained warrior. Before the dazzle of his scything blade, the Francians began to drop back.

A sudden explosion beyond the walls made Celestine flinch.

"Reinforcements?" Jagu, grim-faced, signaled frantically to Viaud to check it out.

I have to act now or it's all for nothing. Celestine plunged a hand into the pouch, feeling the sleepdust tingling faintly against her fingertips. Celestine plunged a hand into the pouch, feeling the sleepdust tingling faintly against her fingertips. Faie. Protect me. Faie. Protect me.

"I will be your shield." As the Faie's bright energy went sizzling through her body, she set out, zigzagging through the fighters, making straight for the abbot. As the Faie's bright energy went sizzling through her body, she set out, zigzagging through the fighters, making straight for the abbot.

One moment Celestine was at Jagu's side. The next, she was gone. To his horror he saw her running into the very heart of the battle, right toward Abbot Yephimy.

His heart stopped.

And then he noticed the translucent shimmer of light about her. Her guardian spirit must be protecting her.

With a dexterous flick of the wrist, she cast a fine glittering powder into the air about the abbot's head. As the abbot's broadsword came slicing down, she neatly sidestepped the blow and darted clear.

The broadsword dropped from Abbot Yephimy's grip with a sonorous clang. The abbot fell to his knees, then crashed forward onto his face, his big body slowly rolling down the steps. The brothers nearest to Yephimy began to sway and collapse to their knees.

The Forbidden Arts.

Celestine turned and beckoned to him. Jagu had no choice but to follow her into the shrine.

The clatter of the Guerrier's boots shattered the candlelit peace of the shrine. Beneath the dark eyes of the painted saints staring down from overhead, Celestine lifted the lid of the wooden box containing the golden crook. She looked up at Jagu. In the gloom, her eyes blazed bright with that same strange crystalline gleam he had seen only when the spirit had taken possession of her body.

"It's ours," she said.

"Let's get out of here," Jagu said tersely. He hoped none of the other Guerriers had noticed her appearance. But as they came up the stairs into the main body of the chapel, the sound of frenzied shouting arose from the courtyard.

"Listen." Jagu put his hand on Celestine's shoulder, holding her back.

"Drakhaon! Drakhaon!" Drakhaon!" It was a war cry. It was a war cry.

"Lord Gavril's men." He primed his pistols. "Get ready to fight your way out of here."

"Open the doors."

Jagu's men pulled the chapel doors open, revealing an extraordinary sight. Most of the monks lay unconscious. One of their lookouts was dead, a crossbow bolt through his throat. But instead of the hordes of druzhina druzhina Celestine had expected to find, there were only two, wielding their sabres like madmen as they attacked. And behind them, she spotted Viaud's men returning from their reconnoiter. Celestine had expected to find, there were only two, wielding their sabres like madmen as they attacked. And behind them, she spotted Viaud's men returning from their reconnoiter.

"Put down your weapons," she ordered in the common tongue. "You're surrounded."

Jagu stared at the carnage below. Bodies lay sprawled across the chapel entrance: both monks and his own Guerriers. He could see blood trickling slowly down the steps. The air stank of gunpowder.

"Drakhaon!" yelled a defiant voice again.

There, surrounded by his Guerriers, stood three strangers; one wore a Tielen uniform, the other two looked like barbarian warriors, with tattooed faces and war braids.

And Jagu remembered the enigmatic words that Ruaud had whispered to him before they set sail for Azhkendir. "You'll be in the Drakhaon's lands; don't neglect to gather any intelligence that could be of use to us in the war to come. "You'll be in the Drakhaon's lands; don't neglect to gather any intelligence that could be of use to us in the war to come."

"The war to come," he repeated under his breath. He looked at the two warriors and saw that, in spite of their ferocious appearance, they were very young, one scarcely more than a boy.

What better way to learn about the Drakhaon than from his own men?

"Take those two alive."

"Are you mad, Jagu?" Celestine cried. "Let's just get out of here before reinforcements arrive."

"I'm merely obeying instructions."

"You'll never take us alive!" yelled the taller of the two Azhkendi warriors. Whirling his sabre about his head, he rushed toward the steps.

Jagu saw the Tielen raise his hand in a vain gesture, as if to stop the boy. He heard the dull thud of pistol-stock blows on flesh and bone. The two Azhkendi warriors toppled and fell at the feet of their attackers. The Tielen slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"Bind them, hand and foot," Jagu ordered, "but leave the Tielen behind."

"They'll only slow us down." Celestine pushed past him, daintily lifting the hem of her robes to avoid soiling them in the spilled blood. She turned at the gateway and said, "Well, what are you waiting for, Jagu? The Drakhaon? Didn't you hear? They called for him."