"I've marked the place," said Judicael.

Friard overcame his revulsion and opened the book. There, above an intricate engraving, was the sigil he had seen before, this time drawn in faded brown ink. Friard peered more closely, seeing that the woodcut portrayed tier upon tier of stylized, winged angels. Closer inspection still showed that many wielded spears and fiery swords and, tumbling down from the highest tier of heaven, fell one of their number. A little inscription had been scratched on the woodcut in the same brownish ink.

"Do you recognize the language?" Judicael asked.

"It looks like a variant of ancient Djihari," Friard said, scratching his head. "Is that word 'fall'?"

"'The fall of the angel Nith-Haiah, one of Seven.'"

"Nith-Haiah?" repeated Friard, staring at the sigil.

"Written in human blood."

"How could I have been so stupid? 'Th' and 'l' are interchangeable in ancient Djihari," Friard muttered. "So Nilaihah is Nith-Haiah. The blood-sigil is the sign of the apostate." The king's "angel" was one of the rebels. He thrust the book back into Pere Judicael's hands. "I must warn the Grand Maistre straightaway."

Ruaud stared at his king. Enguerrand looked like a young saint in his pure white robes, and the Grand Maistre felt a catch in his throat as he gazed at his protege. There was a radiance about the king, as he placed the Tears of Artamon on the altar; his eyes gleamed gold and a faint glimmer seemed to encircle his head, like a halo.

"Will the Drakhaon come, do you think, Ruaud?" Enguerrand asked. And the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear and his vulnerability.

Ruaud came closer to Enguerrand. "If you have the slightest doubt as to the wisdom of this venture..."

Enguerrand gave him an affronted look.

"There would be no dishonor in abandoning the attempt," Ruaud said gently.

"I won't abandon my duty." There was a stubborn glint in Enguerrand's eyes. "I'm no coward, Ruaud. I have my guardian to guide and protect me."

The summer daylight outside the chapel began to fade. Clouds must be rolling up fast, Clouds must be rolling up fast, Ruaud thought, feeling the hairs p.r.i.c.kle on his body; thunderstorms were common at this time of year. A fitful wind began to gust outside, high about the chapel spires. Ruaud thought, feeling the hairs p.r.i.c.kle on his body; thunderstorms were common at this time of year. A fitful wind began to gust outside, high about the chapel spires.

The great door suddenly banged open. All the candleflames guttered wildly and went out.

"Is he here already?" Ruaud swung around. A man stood in the doorway. Even in the dim light, Ruaud could see that his skin glittered as though jeweled with iridescent scales and his wild dark hair tumbled about his shoulders.

"I am here," said the Drakhaon. He began to walk down the aisle toward Enguerrand, who took a step back. "Well?" he said. "You promised that my druzhina druzhina would be released. Where are they?" would be released. Where are they?"

"Your reign of terror is over, Drakhaoul!" cried Enguerrand. He raised the gold-tipped Staff high, brandishing it like a hunting spear, ready for the kill. "Daemon, I command you to leave this man's body!" The golden crook gleamed like a crescent moon as the daylight faded from the chapel.

"I call upon my guardian angel to help me. Nilaihah, work through me-and draw out this daemon."

"Nilaihah?" echoed Gavril Nagarian.

The rose window splintered into a million shards of colored gla.s.s. Through the deadly rain of splinters burst two daemon-dragons, one scarlet as flame, the other dark as purple twilight.

Enguerrand turned, wielding the Staff, pointing it at them with trembling hands.

The scarlet Drakhaoul s.n.a.t.c.hed the Staff from him, snapping it in half as if it were matchwood. The other breathed a little burst of violet flame. The golden crook melted into a puddle of liquid metal.

Enguerrand collapsed.

Disjointed words issued from his mouth as he cowered on the floor. "Why-did you-to your Chosen One? Am I-unworthy?"

Ruaud started out toward him but stopped as the king's body began to twitch and thrash about as though he were in the throes of a violent epileptic fit. A fine gilded mist arose, spinning around him, until the air glittered.

In the king's place, a third daemon-dragon crouched, armored with burnished scales as resplendent as the morning sun. "Why was I-so deceived?" it cried and its voice was Enguerrand's. "Save the Tears, Ruaud!"

Ruaud started out toward the altar, only to see the scarlet Drakhaoul seize the casket in its talons, hissing a warning at him that seared the air.

"Wait!" cried Gavril Nagarian. "Why should you you take charge of the Tears, Sahariel?" take charge of the Tears, Sahariel?"

"Because, dear brother," came back the mocking reply, "we don't trust you." "we don't trust you." And the scarlet and purple Drakhaouls rose into the air and flew out through the ruined window. And the scarlet and purple Drakhaouls rose into the air and flew out through the ruined window.

"No!" Before Ruaud's astonished eyes, Gavril Nagarian transformed in a dark whirlwind into his dragon form, leaping into flight after them, the gust from the beating of his great wings sending Ruaud sprawling. Before Ruaud's astonished eyes, Gavril Nagarian transformed in a dark whirlwind into his dragon form, leaping into flight after them, the gust from the beating of his great wings sending Ruaud sprawling.

Fists thudded against the barred wooden doors of the chapel; m.u.f.fled voices clamored to be let in.

Ruaud de Lanvaux pushed himself to his feet. There was no sign of the Drakhaouls-or the Tears of Artamon. Broken gla.s.s and fragments of stone were scattered everywhere. The Commanderie chapel was cracked open to the sky, a great, jagged hole gaping where the magnificent rose window had been.

And sprawled on the floor, unmoving, lay Enguerrand.

"Sire," Ruaud called. "Sire, are you unharmed?" Little remained of Enguerrand's white robes; they had been shredded to tatters, leaving the king nearly naked. Yet he could see no bruises or wounds on the king's body.

What would he do if the daemon had killed the king? And how would he explain it to Alienor? She would blame him. She would have him and his closest advisers executed in the most prolonged and painful way she could devise.

Loud, rhythmic thuds made the locked doors shudder on their hinges. He guessed that his Guerriers must be trying to force them open.

The king let out a soft moan.

"Sire?" Ruaud helped the king to sit up. "Thank G.o.d you're alive." He took off his jacket and slipped it around the king's shoulders. Enguerrand was shivering uncontrollably; he seemed in a state of shock.

The doors crashed open and armed Guerriers came rushing in.

"Maistre, the king?" Alain Friard appeared.

"The king is unharmed."

"Thank G.o.d. Because that name you gave me, Nilaihah, it belongs to one of the Fallen. Pere Judicael only just-"

"Alain, go make sure that no one has been injured in the attack." Ruaud could not bear to hear any more.

"Maistre." Friard saluted and hurried away.

"The Staff." Enguerrand's voice was a barely more than a whisper. He was staring fixedly at the scattered splinters.

"It was just wood and metal." Ruaud felt a deep sense of disillusionment pervading his soul. "And we were arrogant fools to think that any of us was pure enough to inherit Sergius's powers."

All he heard in response from Enguerrand was a m.u.f.fled sob.

CHAPTER 22.

Steam hissed on the surface of the luminous waters. A haze of shifting mist almost obscured the surrounding rocks, which were streaked with white and jade from the healing minerals bubbling up from the hot springs.

Kaspar Linnaius rose gasping, water streaming down his face. He blinked and found that his failing sight had cleared.

A woman was watching him through serpentine eyes, her long locks of hair flowing down over her shoulders like waterweed.

"Lady Anagini," he said, bowing his head. "Thank you. You've restored me a second time."

"Don't thank me yet," she said. "I have not yet told you what price I must exact from you."

Linnaius bowed again, waiting to hear the guardian's will.

"And, as I warned you before, these are not the springs of eternal youth, no matter what the local legends may say. You've lived a long life, even for one with mage blood. I can never give you back your youth, Kaspar."

"I am content with this," Linnaius said stoically. "I only ask that you give me long enough to aid my master, Eugene."

"This is the first time that I've ever heard you express such a selfless wish," she said, floating toward him. One dripping finger gently stroked his cheek. Was she smiling? "Has your cold heart begun to melt at last?"

He did not know how to answer such a question. "So, lady, what is your fee this time?"

Her jade-flecked eyes narrowed. "You committed a crime, many years ago, Kaspar, when you stole a certain crystal from Azilis's Shrine in Ondhessar. And since that crime was committed, the barriers between the mortal world and the Ways Beyond have begun to disintegrate. Your powers-and mine-have already begun to diminish."

"You want me to put the crystal back?"

"I want you to find the aethyr spirit it contained: she who kept the balance between the worlds. The Eternal Singer: Azilis."

Linnaius's lost memories were returning to him. Rieuk Mordiern, his green eyes burning with hatred and defiance as he gazed up at him, over the dying body of his lover, his young face twisted with grief and incomprehension. Rieuk, the last living crystal magus. Rieuk Mordiern, his green eyes burning with hatred and defiance as he gazed up at him, over the dying body of his lover, his young face twisted with grief and incomprehension. Rieuk, the last living crystal magus.

"Surely only the one who set her free can put her back?"

"If it were that simple, he would have done so many years ago. But Azilis is still joined by a bond of blood to another master...or should I say, mistress?" Anagini's slanted eyes glinted.

"Do you mean Celestine de Joyeuse?"

"Magus! Come quickly!" A man's voice came floating through the mists. It was Chinua, his Khitaran shaman guide. "We must go!"

His voice jolted Linnaius back to more urgent concerns. "Eugene," he said, remembering. "The Emperor needs me. The Empire is under attack."

"Go, then," said Anagini, drawing the billowing mists around her like a cloak, "but don't forget, dear Kaspar, that if you neglect your part of our bargain, your powers will begin to evaporate as swiftly as the mists rising from the springs ... and then what use will you be to your beloved emperor?"

The translucent waters swirled and Linnaius found himself alone, blinking, as Chinua, his shaman guide, appeared in a narrow gap in the craggy rocks surrounding the springs.

"Chinua," Linnaius said, wading out of the hot waters into the bitter chill of the mountain air, "I need a boat."

A sea fog was blowing in across Lapwing Spar as the sailors rowed Andrei and Celestine ash.o.r.e and visibility was rapidly decreasing. Celestine could just make out a ramshackle little cottage perched on the edge of the dunes.

"Tikhon? Is it really you?" Old Irina appeared, surrounded by crooning chickens. She stared at Andrei through rheumy eyes. Then she flung wide her arms and hugged him. "My boy. My boy's come back to me!"

"Irina, this is Celestine," said Andrei, returning the hug. "Could she keep you company for a few days? Until I return to collect her?"

Irina peered at Celestine and nodded. "Well, you're a pretty one and no mistake. Come in and have some tea, both of you."

Andrei hesitated. "I wish I could stay longer, but my ship's waiting."

Celestine hugged her shawl to her, shivering in the damp as the fog rolled across the dunes. She looked uncertainly at the drab little fisherman's cottage. Andrei took her in his arms and kissed her. "Just for a few days," he said, then set out over the sands to the waiting row-boat.

She stood, waving forlornly to him, until the fog swallowed the little boat up and he was lost to view.

I can't stay here, she thought as she walked back up the dunes. she thought as she walked back up the dunes. I have to get to Mirom. I have to get to Mirom.

Back on board, Va.s.sian came up to Andrei in a state of some agitation. "Those two Francians, they're either dead drunk or ill."

Andrei went below to look. The officers lay on their bunks and did not respond to slaps or cold compresses, except with the faintest of groans.

He had only done as Celestine had bidden him; a draft, she had said, that would make them sleep for a day and a night. She had given him her pearl-and-diamond ring, which concealed a fine white powder within the bezel and, when no one was looking, he had added it to their wine, for a toast "to Francia and confusion to all her enemies."

Surely she wouldn't have made him poison her captors-would she?

CHAPTER 23.

Ruaud knelt in the desecrated chapel in darkness. A shimmer of moonlight shone in through the gaping void of the ruined rose window, starkly illuminating the destruction wreaked by the Drakhaouls.

He clasped his hands together but he could not pray. The familiar comforting words that he had repeated day after day since he became a Guerrier had deserted him.

Ruaud pressed his hands to his temples, trying to erase the terrifying images imprinted in his mind...

"Maistre."

Ruaud raised his head. Enguerrand stood in the chapel doorway.

"So you couldn't sleep either." He knelt before Ruaud, his head bent. "I'm corrupted," he said, his voice heavy with self-loathing. "Tell me how I can rid myself of this curse."

Ruaud gazed down at Enguerrand's abject posture and knew that he was utterly at a loss. The king was begging him for consolation- and he had none to give. The Drakhaouls had defeated him.

"It told me it was my guardian angel." Enguerrand choked on the words. "And I believed it. How could I have been so gullible? It was just using me to steal the Tears of Artamon. And now the Drakhaouls plan to open the Serpent Gate and set Prince Nagazdiel free." He raised his head and Ruaud saw with alarm that his eyes glittered in the dark, flecked with the same gold as those of the Drakhaoul that possessed him. "Help me, Ruaud!" He reached out, clutching Ruaud's hand in his own.

Ruaud pulled out the Angelstone from around his neck; in the gloom, the thread of gold that had deceived him burned brightly. The other threads-blue, scarlet, green, and violet-had faded. The Drakhaouls must have taken the precious rubies far away. "We must move fast, before the other daemons return," he said, determined that there was only one possible course of action. "There isn't much time."