Flight Into Darkness.

by Sarah Ash.

FOREWORD.

In the secret history of the conflict between Tielen and Francia (as described in the Tears of Artamon) the mischief created by Francian agents Celestine de Joyeuse and Jagu de Rustephan threatens to bring down an empire. Flight into Darkness Flight into Darkness recounts those events-but from the perspective of the Francian "enemy"-and reveals the hitherto untold story of what ensues in the turbulent months after the conclusion of recounts those events-but from the perspective of the Francian "enemy"-and reveals the hitherto untold story of what ensues in the turbulent months after the conclusion of Children of the Serpent Gate. Children of the Serpent Gate.

PROLOGUE

SEVEN, THEY WERE SEVEN,.

THE DARK ANGELS OF DESTRUCTIONSardion, Arkhan of Enhirre, stared up at the watch fires burning on the battlements of the ancient fortress of Ondhessar. For centuries it had towered over the desert, his country's strongest bastion against invaders, concealing a priceless treasure in its vaults: the shrine dedicated to Azilis, the Eternal Singer. For centuries it had been his family's sacred duty to protect the sacred Lodestar that housed her spirit, aided by the secret sect of the magi of Ondhessar, his Emissaries.But he had failed. After a bitter and b.l.o.o.d.y siege in which many of his magi had fallen, the Francian Commanderie had seized the fortress. His first attempt to take back Ondhessar had cost him dear; his beloved eldest son, Alarion, had died in the conflict and the Francians had beaten back his forces. The next attempt to take back the fortress, by stealth and magic, would have succeeded, had it not been for the untimely arrival of the Allegondan Commanderie, the Rosecoeurs. And now the hated banner of the rose fluttered from every turret of the fortress.He had sent a mage-a.s.sa.s.sin to exact his revenge against the Francian royal family. First the Crown Prince, Aubrey, had died- and then his father, King Gobain. But it was not enough, not nearly enough to sate the grief or the emptiness in his soul.A dry, cold wind suddenly gusted across the desert and the Arkhan pulled his burnous up to cover his nose and mouth as granules of choking sand swirled into the night air. Above him, the stars burned with pitiless brilliance in a black sky."I must take Ondhessar back," he murmured to the stars, "by whatever means I can, no matter how high the cost." His generals had failed him. Even his magi had failed him."My lord Arkhan? You have a visitor. A most... unexpected visitor."Sardion turned, startled out of his dreams of revenge, to see Lord Estael, the commander of his few surviving magi, standing behind him."Who is it?""Lord Volkh Nagarian. The Drakhaon of Azhkendir."So the legends are true, Estael thought, as he gazed at the Arkhan's unexpected guest. Estael thought, as he gazed at the Arkhan's unexpected guest.Lord Volkh was tall, broad-shouldered, his black hair and beard sprinkled with the first threads of silver. Yet it was the darkness of his aura that compelled Estael's attention; the instant the stranger entered the Arkhan's audience chamber, the elder magus felt a shiver of warning.We're in the presence of a powerful and ancient daemon. Is this why Sardion asked me to stay? To protect him? I fear my powers are no match for the creature of darkness that has concealed itself within this man."This is an unexpected honor, Lord Drakhaon," Sardion said guardedly."I've traveled a long way to see you, Lord Arkhan." The Drakhaon turned to stare at Estael and Estael saw that the Drakhaon's eyes were piercingly, luminously blue. Unlike the magi of Ondhessar, Lord Volkh did not hide the evidence of his daemon blood behind thick spectacle lenses. "This is a matter of the utmost confidentiality; I'd prefer it if we could talk in private.""This is Estael, the eldest of the magi of Ondhessar; he has knowledge that may be of use to you.""If he stays, then Bogatyr Kostya stays too." Behind the Drakhaon stood a single retainer, scarred arms folded, his iron-grey hair braided, Azhkendi-style. He had been obliged to hand over his weapons before being admitted to the Arkhan's presence, but his aggressive, menacing stance was enough to instill respect as he moved closer to his master, glaring suspiciously at Estael."What brings you so far from Azhkendir?" Sardion gestured to Lord Volkh to sit opposite him."I want to be rid of the Drakhaoul.""To be rid of it?" Sardion repeated and Estael heard the astonishment in his voice. "You inherited the powers of a Drakhaoul-and you want to be rid of it?""Have you no idea what it means to use these daemonic powers?" Lord Volkh cried. "Or what becomes of a mortal man's body when it is forced to host a Drakhaoul? Look at me. Look more closely." He lifted his hands to reveal sharp talons where the nails should have been, each one a dark cobalt. "And my hair." In the muted light filtering from behind the linen blinds drawn to shade the chamber from the fierce sun, Estael could just make out now that the Drakhaon's hair was more dark blue than black."Surely a small price to pay?" Sardion seemed unimpressed. "I heard that you defeated Stavyomir Arkhel's men and laid waste to his lands single-handed.""This is merely the outward manifestation of its presence." Lord Volkh's voice grew so quiet that Estael had to lean forward to catch his words. "There is a legend in my country. It tells of the Drakhaoul's Brides, young women who were given to my ancestors ... and were never seen alive again. It is no legend. Using the Drakhaoul's powers takes a terrible toll on a mortal body. It creates a terrible hunger that can only be a.s.suaged by... " The Drakhaon's powerful voice dropped to a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "By drinking fresh human blood."So those hooked talons had torn innocent flesh..."The priests of Nagazdiel summoned the Drakhaouls by blood sacrifice," Estael said. "The only way to bring a daemon into our world from the Realm of Shadows is to dispatch another soul to take its place."Lord Volkh turned to him, and his eyes burned so piercingly blue that Estael could not hold his gaze and looked swiftly away. "How do you know all this, Magus?""It's one of the Seven Arcane Secrets of Ondhessar that have been handed down from one elder magus to another since our order was founded.""I don't suppose that such knowledge would have helped my father." Lord Volkh no longer gazed at Estael but through him at some far-distant point. "The hunger eventually drives us mad. He grew so desperate that he abandoned me and my mother and sailed far into unchartered waters, searching for the lost island of Ty Nagar.""Estael, have you ever heard of this Ty Nagar?" The Arkhan asked the question idly enough, but Estael, who knew his master well, sensed that he was taking far too keen an interest in the matter."Is that where the portal to the Realm of Shadows is said to be?" Estael said guardedly. "The place known as the Serpent Gate?"Lord Volkh gave a brusque nod. "My father's last wish was to send the Drakhaoul back to the Realm of Shadows and end the curse on our family. But he died, far from home, before he could fulfill his quest and the Drakhaoul returned, pa.s.sing the curse on to me. The truth is, Lord Arkhan, that I don't know how much longer I can endure this burden."Estael heard the weary desperation in Lord Volkh's deep voice. It must have taken a great deal of courage for such a proud warlord to bare his soul to two strangers."And why, my lord, do you believe that I can help you?" asked Sardion."I've spent many years researching the history of the Drakhaouls"- Lord Volkh turned his burning blue gaze on Sardion- "and I discovered that your ancestors, Lord Arkhan, were once priests of Nagazdiel, the prince of the Drakhaouls. I believe that you and your magi may possess the lost knowledge that I'm seeking."Estael realized that both men were staring expectantly at him. As elder magus, he had guarded the secrets of the Rift that lay hidden below Ondhessar for many years and he was not prepared to reveal them so freely to a stranger."It was the priests of Nagazdiel who first brought the Drakhaouls from the Realm of Shadows through the Serpent Gate to serve the sons of the Emperor Artamon," continued Lord Volkh. "So you must know of a way to send the Drakhaoul back.""What other means have you tried, my lord? Exorcism?"Lord Volkh let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, the monks at Saint Sergius's Monastery tried-to their cost. It was far too powerful for them.""And what will become of this Drakhaoul, Lord Volkh, when you die?" The Arkhan's question sounded innocent enough, but Estael, to his alarm, detected an underlying hint of interest."It will seek out my son, Gavril. It attaches itself only to the male bloodline. I'd do anything to save my son from inheriting this curse. Gavril is a gentle, artistic boy who's studying to be a painter." To Estael's surprise, a sad, almost wistful look entered Lord Volkh's blue eyes. "He knows nothing of me... or the Drakhaoul.""And if you had no son?"Bogatyr Kostya, who had stood listening, as still and silent as a statue, unfolded his scarred arms and took a step forward."Is that a threat, Lord Arkhan?" He stared challengingly at Sardion."Stand down, Kostya," Lord Volkh growled, as if addressing a disobedient mastiff."Join with me, Lord Volkh," said Sardion suddenly. "Help me drive the Allegondans out of my lands. Lend me your powers."Lord Volkh's fist came down on the table like a thunderclap, making Estael jump. "Have you any idea what you're asking?" In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Estael saw his master's gaze harden. Sardion's moods were unpredictable and Estael inwardly prayed that the Arkhan would not provoke the Drakhaon into transforming into his Drakhaoul-form. But then, to Estael's surprise, the blue fire faded from Lord Volkh's eyes and his expression became distant, almost sad. "I had hoped that you would understand, Lord Arkhan. But I see I was mistaken.""All I know," volunteered Estael bravely, "is that the Serpent Gate was sealed by Saint Sergius and the key to opening it, the fabled ruby known as Nagar's Eye, was divided up centuries ago by Artamon's sons. Even if we discovered where Ty Nagar lies, Lord Volkh, there is no way to reopen the Gate-unless the divided shards of ruby could somehow be found and reunited..."Lord Volkh let out a harsh sigh. "So even you are unable to help me.""I fear you have had a wasted journey, my lord." Sardion smiled, yet there was no warmth in his expression. "But please stay with us tonight and let us entertain you. The sun will soon be setting and the desert nights are cold.""I'll not prevail upon your hospitality any longer." Lord Volkh rose abruptly. "Come, Kostya."Estael still sat at the table, unable to move. He realized that his hands were shaking. So even without revealing the daemon sleeping within him, the Drakhaon could induce this deep, visceral fear in everyone he encountered."He possesses the power of the last of the Seven," he heard Sardion mutter, "and he wants to be rid of it?"A sudden burst of daemonic energy rippled through the air. Heart thudding with apprehension, Estael got up, knocking over his chair, and ran out onto the balcony. Surely Lord Volkh would not attack the palace?"What is it, Estael?" Sardion cried, following him."My lord, look. Look up!" Look up!"Darker than the night itself, a great dragon wheeled overhead, the glittering scales on its body shedding a fine trail, like powdered star-dust. As it winged away, Estael saw it gaze back down at them, and he recognized the proud, bitter look in its moon-blue, slanting eyes."Volkh is a fool." Sardion was still muttering under his breath as he followed the Drakhaon's flight across the moonlit desert until the dragon could no longer be seen against the stars. "He could rule the quadrant." The Arkhan swung round and gripped Estael by the shoulder. "Do you give me your word never to reveal anything of what I'm going to show you? On pain of death?"Estael saw the crazed gleam in Sardion's eyes and knew that it would be madness to refuse his master's request."Follow me, Estael.""Sentient stone?" Estael murmured, watching as the Arkhan made a cut with his dagger in his palm and smeared a little of his blood on the wall. A hidden carving appeared, sigils and the arcane hieroglyphs of Ancient Enhirran. So the hidden door could only be opened by a drop of the Arkhan's blood."Now you. Or else the chamber will never let you out again. And you wouldn't want to end your days walled in belowground, would you?"Estael silently offered his palm to the Arkhan's blade and let a drop or two of his blood trickle down the dark, worn stone. A grinding, groaning noise began and a small doorway opened. Sardion led the way, the magus following down the dark pa.s.sageway until they came to a second door, where the same blood ritual was repeated.The chamber beyond was lined in black marble: Even in lantern-light, the atmosphere was somber and stifling."My father first brought me down here when I was eight," said Sardion. "I was terrified. I thought it was a tomb. I imagined there would be dead bodies."Estael was gazing around him. "No bodies... but there are carvings in an ancient script." He began to translate. "'Seven, they were Seven, the Dark Angels of Destruction.'" He broke off. "What is this place?""It's a shrine to Nagazdiel, the Prince of the Realm of Shadows," said Sardion. He drew aside a curtain that concealed a mosaic portraying a winged man, fashioned from chips of obsidian, garnet, and ruby. "The most powerful of the Drakhaouls.""And this door?" Estael began to feel apprehensive. What was the Arkhan's true motive in revealing these ancient secrets to him?"It leads into the Rift. My ancestors believed that it also led to the Realm of Shadows. And that anyone who could find his way into the Shadows could summon Nagazdiel to do his bidding.""Did any of your ancestors ever attempt such a rash act?""We cannot enter the Rift. Those who tried, perished. In agony. Only those with mage blood can survive in the unstable atmosphere of the Rift." Sardion gazed pointedly at Estael."You don't mean me, me, Lord Arkhan?" Estael stared back at him, aghast. "Surely one of the younger Emissaries would be a better choice..." Lord Arkhan?" Estael stared back at him, aghast. "Surely one of the younger Emissaries would be a better choice...""Rieuk Mordiern, then. He's the most powerful of you all.""Rieuk is still recovering from his injuries. But I beg you to reconsider. If you set Nagazdiel free, can you be sure that such a powerful Drakhaoul would obey you? After all, he- ""Are you daring to suggest that I am not as strong as Lord Nagarian? That I'm not capable of controlling a daemon from the Realm of Shadows? ""No, Lord Arkhan, but I was reminding you that the Drakhaoul of Azhkendir was merely one of Nagazdiel's warriors. Nagazdiel himself-"Sardion quelled his objections with a single look. "Test this doorway for me, Estael."Estael steeled himself and pa.s.sed through the doorway. If the Arkhan was wrong, he would suffocate in the unstable atmosphere. Veil upon veil of shadows parted, like gauzy spiderwebs, as he reluctantly moved forward, not wanting to leave the safety of the doorway. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw a dreary wasteland stretching away into the far distance. Everything was the color of dust. From time to time a chill wind gusted across the emptiness but otherwise nothing stirred."What a terrible place," Estael murmured aloud.And then he sensed it. A mighty power, darker than a stormcloud, was approaching. He shrank back. His sole instinct was to flee, to get away before it discovered him. Two stars had appeared in the dun light, crimson as fire. No, not stars-eyes, slanted, cruel eyes. And they were coming toward him, bearing down on him, relentless and swift. Estael turned to run back toward the doorway."What are you doing here, Magus?" The voice pierced him like an icy spear. Trembling, Estael dropped to his knees. "Have you come to set me free?" "Have you come to set me free?"Estael dared to look up. The Drakhaoul towered over him, its crimson eyes burning into him, reading him to the most secret recesses of his soul. Its powerful body was sheathed in scales of black jet that shimmered in the dull light. A mane of charcoal-black hair streamed down its back."You're not strong enough to host me, old man," it said scornfully. Estael felt its hold over him relax and he fell forward into the dust. And as it strode away into the darkness, he heard it murmur, it said scornfully. Estael felt its hold over him relax and he fell forward into the dust. And as it strode away into the darkness, he heard it murmur, "Am I never to escape?" "Am I never to escape?"

Part I

CHAPTER 1.

Rieuk Mordiern's damaged eye leaked a constant trickle of black blood that ran down his cheek, searing his skin as if laced with acid. And the young magus's good eye leaked salty fluid, as if weeping in sympathy with its ruined twin. He could see little more than a blur of images. Sunlight was a torment, making him seek the shadows.

And scored across his mind's vision was the blinding image of Azilis, her beautiful face superimposed over Celestine's, distorted with rage and loss. He could still hear her cry, harsh enough to lacerate his ears.

"What children would keep their mother imprisoned against her will?"

In his delirium, he relived again and again the moment when Azilis had attacked him, half-blinding him with a single burst of aethyrial energy, whiter than lightning.

I failed. I found Azilis, and she rejected me. After all these years of searching for her. The feeling of failure was almost as painful as the physical mutilation she had inflicted upon him. For many centuries, Azilis's spirit had kept the balance between the mortal world and the Ways Beyond. But since, as an inexperienced apprentice, he had inadvertently set her free, not knowing who or what she was, the boundaries between the two had begun to break down. And after that his life had become an arduous, unsuccessful quest to bring her back. Bound to protect Celestine de Joyeuse, Azilis seemed to have forgotten her role as the guardian of the gateway between life and death. The feeling of failure was almost as painful as the physical mutilation she had inflicted upon him. For many centuries, Azilis's spirit had kept the balance between the mortal world and the Ways Beyond. But since, as an inexperienced apprentice, he had inadvertently set her free, not knowing who or what she was, the boundaries between the two had begun to break down. And after that his life had become an arduous, unsuccessful quest to bring her back. Bound to protect Celestine de Joyeuse, Azilis seemed to have forgotten her role as the guardian of the gateway between life and death.

"Rieuk, I'm cold... " "

Rieuk slowly turns around. There, in the gloom behind him, stands Imri...or a semblance of Imri, his black hair loose about his shoulders, his face half-veiled in shadow.

"Imri? Is it really you?" He has longed to see him so much... yet this feels terribly wrong. "What have they done to you?" Even as he reaches out to the revenant, it begins to fade, leaving him clutching empty air.

As Rieuk burned in fever, he sometimes thought he caught the distant sound of music in the night. Someone was pensively plucking old, sad melodies on an aludh or a dombra, each note falling on Rieuk's consciousness like a drop of cooling rain. Once he called out, "Who's there?" and the music ceased. Perhaps it was a dream...

Someone was gently sponging his damaged face with a soft, damp cloth. It felt unexpectedly, blissfully soothing, as if the water contained some healing balm that was drawing out the infection and lowering his fever.

A shadowy form was bending low over him, turning away from time to time to rinse out the cloth. Rieuk tried to focus with his one good eye to identify who was tending him. A subtle scent arose from the water: cleansing and refreshing, reminding Rieuk of the astringent smell of cuc.u.mbers and watercress.

"Where... am I?" Rieuk managed to whisper.

"You're awake!" The voice, a young man's, was soft and dark-toned, slightly spiced with a trace of a foreign accent; familiar, yet Rieuk could not identify the speaker. "I must tell Aqil."

"Wait." Rieuk heard his own voice, hoa.r.s.e and urgent, as if from far away. He reached out blindly, catching hold of his carer's robe, pulling him closer.

"Don't you recognize me, Emissary Mordiern?" The blur loomed closer until Rieuk could make out a bespectacled face gazing curiously into his. Dark olive skin, framed by long, curling locks of crow-black hair, one side braided with crimson thread, Djihari-fashion. The young man removed his spectacles and Rieuk caught the unmistakable glimmer of mage eyes, liquid obsidian, flecked with the scarlet veins of the earth's fires. "I'm Oranir."

"But you were just a boy when we last..." How long had he been sick?

"I'm nearly eighteen," Oranir said stiffly, with the slightest hint of offended pride. "Old enough to become an Emissary."

The age I was when I first met Imri. Only then did the realization strike him-that he was almost double Oranir's age and had spent most the young mage's lifetime traveling alone, forced to act as the Arkhan's Emissary, to protect dead Imri's immortal soul. Only then did the realization strike him-that he was almost double Oranir's age and had spent most the young mage's lifetime traveling alone, forced to act as the Arkhan's Emissary, to protect dead Imri's immortal soul.

"Let me see my face." His fingertips tentatively moved upward over his right cheekbone. Oranir hesitated. "Show me." "Show me." The skin felt puckered and tender; even touching it made Rieuk squeamish. He had to see for himself. He had to know the worst. Teeth gritted with the effort of pushing himself up from the pillows, he took the little round mirror Oranir gave him and forced himself to look at his reflection. The skin felt puckered and tender; even touching it made Rieuk squeamish. He had to see for himself. He had to know the worst. Teeth gritted with the effort of pushing himself up from the pillows, he took the little round mirror Oranir gave him and forced himself to look at his reflection.

They had skillfully sewn the eyelids together to cover the void behind, leaving a jagged scar where his eye had been. The burned skin was still an angry shade of red.

"Magister Aqil says that the scarring will slowly fade, but never disappear." Oranir spoke without expression.

"My eye..." The words came out on a whispered sob; Rieuk had known that his sight was impaired, but not until that moment just how serious the wound had been.

"Magister Aqil tried to save it. But it had become infected and the infection was poisoning your body. If he hadn't operated, you would have died."

Rieuk said nothing. The knowledge that he was disfigured and half-blind was difficult enough to a.s.similate, but there was another deeper concern.

If one eye is gone, then have half my mage powers gone too?

"Ormas?" Rieuk called to his shadow hawk. Ormas had fallen into a deep trance after Azilis's attack and Rieuk had begun to fear that he would never recover.

"Master... ?" For the first time in many weeks he heard a faint answer to his call. His heart swelled with fresh hope.

"How is it with you, Ormas?" His voice shook. Ormas had been his only companion in his long years of wandering, and the last weeks of silence had proved almost too great a burden to endure.

"I'm sorry, Master. I failed you."

Rieuk placed one hand over his breast where Ormas's image was tattooed, seeking for the beating of the hawk's heart. "Let there be no talk of failure." There it was, a thrumming, weak but steady-a confirmation of Ormas's presence. "She "She was too strong for us." was too strong for us."

He felt a sudden convulsive shiver within his body and Ormas emerged, fluttering down to perch on his outstretched arm. The smoke hawk lowered his head, swiveling it to one side to regard him with one bright amber eye. But Rieuk saw with shame that Ormas's other eye was burned away. His beautiful Emissary was maimed and half-blind too.

Rieuk woke in the night to the sound of music-the same sweet, plaintive air he had heard before in his fevered dreams, plucked from the darkly deep, resonant strings of an aludh. He sat up. The dry, sweet scent of the desert night perfumed the air. His turret room was silvered with fragile moonlight; out on the balcony he could see a man seated, his back against the parapet wall, his head tilted to one side as he leaned over the instrument, placing each note with infinite care.

Rieuk swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted a few shaky steps toward him. The player stopped and looked around. It was Oranir.

"Don't stop."

"I'm not very good." Was there a hint of a blush in Oranir's words?

"It sounded fine to my ears." Rieuk reached the balcony and eased himself down to sit beside Oranir. "I've heard you playing that song before, haven't I?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you."

"So it was you." Rieuk was touched. "You were watching over me while I was ill."

Oranir laid the aludh down. "I-I've been watching over you for a long time." He turned suddenly to Rieuk. "Make me your apprentice. Please, Magister." His voice was low and urgent. "I'll do anything you want. Anything. I'll-"

"Stop. You don't want to get involved with me." Rieuk pushed Oranir away, holding him at arm's length. "I'm an a.s.sa.s.sin. I've blood on my hands."

"Do you think I'm not aware of that?" Oranir's eyes burned into his. "I'm not a child. Why don't you let me make up my own mind? Or do you think I'm not worthy?"

"I'm bad luck, Oranir." Rieuk forced a laugh. "I seem to bring misfortune on all those I care about. Why do you think I've worked alone for all these years?"

"It's him, isn't it? You're still in thrall to your dead master, Imri Boldiszar. He must have been a remarkable man for you still to be in love with him after so many years."

"Imri?" Rieuk's hands dropped to his sides. He tried to speak and found that the words were choked in his throat.

"I heard you calling his name when you were feverish."

"I was dreaming about him, that was all... Wait!" But Oranir got to his feet and pushed past him, hurrying away before Rieuk could stop him.

I've been watching over you for a long time. Had there been an unspoken confession in Oranir's words? There was no denying the fact that Rieuk felt attracted to the young magus. If he had not checked Oranir then, there was no telling where things might have led. Had there been an unspoken confession in Oranir's words? There was no denying the fact that Rieuk felt attracted to the young magus. If he had not checked Oranir then, there was no telling where things might have led.

Rieuk drew in a shuddering breath. So many years. So many years. Of course it seemed an eternity to Oranir; Imri had died before he was born. Rieuk gazed up at the blue brilliance of the stars overhead. Of course it seemed an eternity to Oranir; Imri had died before he was born. Rieuk gazed up at the blue brilliance of the stars overhead.

"I have to move on. And I can't move on unless I know that you're at peace, Imri," he said softly to the night. I've been alone too long. I've been alone too long.

"I've altered the lenses in your spectacles to improve the acuity of your remaining eye." Aqil leaned forward to adjust the fit and Rieuk tried his best not to shy away. He still could not bear anyone's touching his face. His instincts had become so sensitive since he was injured that even the slightest movement close by made him flinch.

"Is there nothing else you can do?" He had lain awake night after night, unable to sleep for the constant pain, obsessed with one thought: Surely the Magi of Ondhessar will be able to heal me. Surely the Magi of Ondhessar will be able to heal me. Yet not until now had he dared to ask the question. Perhaps he didn't want to know the answer. Perhaps he didn't want the dream that had first brought him to Ondhessar at seventeen to be shattered. Yet not until now had he dared to ask the question. Perhaps he didn't want to know the answer. Perhaps he didn't want the dream that had first brought him to Ondhessar at seventeen to be shattered.

"We did what we could. But by the time you reached us, it was too late," Aqil said bluntly. "The infection was so advanced that it was all I could do to save your life."

Rieuk gazed at his reflection. It was a face to frighten children. The spectacles did nothing to hide the scar. If anything they made it look more grotesque.

"What's the point?" he said aloud, tearing them off and hurling them to the floor. "Wearing a blank lens on the right side, when everyone can see that I'm disfigured?" He sat down on the bed and covered his face in his hands. He was shaking with rage. Why had he been so confident that Aqil could restore his sight?

He heard someone enter the room and raised his head to see Oranir picking up his discarded spectacles. He turned his face away, not wanting Oranir to know how volatile his feelings were. Oranir came closer, holding out the spectacles.

Rieuk pushed his hand away. "It won't make any difference. I'm disfigured. Damaged goods."

"Do you think you're the only one who's damaged?" Oranir's voice burned, low and furious. "What gives you the right to tell me me how it feels?" He tore open his loose shirt, baring his lean upper body. Beneath the dark, delicate-feathered tattoo of his Emissary, Zophas, Rieuk saw the seams of old scars marring the smooth sheen of his olive skin. how it feels?" He tore open his loose shirt, baring his lean upper body. Beneath the dark, delicate-feathered tattoo of his Emissary, Zophas, Rieuk saw the seams of old scars marring the smooth sheen of his olive skin.

"Turn around," Rieuk ordered.

Mutely, Oranir obeyed. More scars, like serrated stripes, were flayed into his back.

"Who did this to you?" The words caught at the back of Rieuk's throat.

Still Oranir said nothing. But his defiant stance, the stiffness of his shoulders, the shoulder blades, told Rieuk more than any explanation.

Before Rieuk was fully aware of what he was doing, he had reached out and drifted his fingertips down Oranir's back, parting the long locks of glossy black hair to trace the seamed skin. He half expected Oranir to flinch at his touch, to strike his hand away. But Oranir just stood there unmoving.

"The mage blood is a hard burden to be born with." Rieuk was still angry, but no longer just at his own disfigurement. He could not bear to think that Oranir had suffered so much pain and rejection when he was a child. Yet as his fingertips grazed Oranir's skin, he felt a slow, dark heat begin to burn within him.

What was he doing? His hand had come to a halt over the small of Oranir's back. What was this feeling? It was as fierce and intense as anger, and it had come to him as swiftly. But it was not anger. It was desire. And, unlike anger, he was not so sure that he could control it. Or even that he wanted to.

"Rieuk." Oranir turned to gaze at him, his face so much closer, a look at once vulnerable yet provocative smoldering in his eyes. So close that if Rieuk exerted the slightest pressure through the hand that rested on Oranir's back, their bodies would touch and their mouths would meet. Even as an ache of longing swept through him, Rieuk let his hand drop away and took a step back. This was all happening too quickly. His body had reacted before his mind had had time to a.s.sess the risks involved.

"Rieuk," said Oranir again, his voice low, urgent. "Rieuk... "Rieuk... " It was as if he were conjuring a spell of binding, saying his name hypnotically again and again, and Rieuk could feel his willpower weakening. " It was as if he were conjuring a spell of binding, saying his name hypnotically again and again, and Rieuk could feel his willpower weakening.

"No," he heard himself saying. Another step back. I can't do this to him. Or to myself. I can't afford to get involved with anyone again. Especially someone as vulnerable as Oranir... I can't do this to him. Or to myself. I can't afford to get involved with anyone again. Especially someone as vulnerable as Oranir... He could see the look of blank incomprehension in Oranir's eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Oranir. Forgive me." And he turned and fled. He could see the look of blank incomprehension in Oranir's eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Oranir. Forgive me." And he turned and fled.

CHAPTER 2.

"So you're up and about at last, Rieuk." Lord Estael nodded to him absently. He seemed preoccupied, scarcely glancing up from the ancient doc.u.ment he was studying. "You're stronger than you look; we feared at first that you might be past saving."

"But my right eye is gone. I'm half-blind." Rieuk leaned on Estael's desk. "Tell me the truth, my lord. Does this mean that I've lost half my powers as well?"

"The eyes are merely the outward manifestation of a magus's gifts." Estael gazed calmly back at him. "I have no way of telling if your innate powers have been affected as well. It seems, though, that you're well enough to resume your duties as the Arkhan's Emissary."

Rieuk drew back. That was not what he wanted to hear at all. "What use am I to the Arkhan in this condition?" The thought of having to carry out any more of Sardion's missions sickened him.

"He still has Imri's soul gla.s.s," said Estael bluntly. "How much do you care about saving Imri's immortal soul?"

Rieuk brought his fist crashing down on Estael's desk. "How can you let that madman take control of such a precious thing? Your own apprentice's soul? Don't you care about anything anymore, Lord Estael?"

Estael shrugged. "He is the Arkhan."

"Perhaps he's been Arkhan too long," said Rieuk darkly.

"Treasonable words, Rieuk." Estael's head was bent over the ma.n.u.script again. "It's lucky for you that only I heard them."

"I'd hoped for more from you, my lord." Rieuk could see that Estael was not prepared to give him even the slightest support. As he left Estael's study, he knew that he would have to act alone. "I'm coming to pay you a visit, Lord Arkhan," he said under his breath. "But not quite in the way that you're expecting."