The black-winged daemon halted in midair as though listening. 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.

"Does it sense us?" Jagu said. "Does it know we are near?"

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, Jagu and Celestine saw a shadow rise, dark as smoke, and speed away, low across the waves.

Andrei hit the water. The force of the impact knocked the breath from his body.

Blackness.

And then he was being lifted by many hands, strong hands, and let down onto the wooden boards of a ship.

He dragged himself to his knees, retching up a lungful of briny water. He was freezing, drenched to the skin, shivering till his teeth clacked together-but somehow still alive.

His rescuers returned, carrying someone else. They laid their burden down beside him. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, he saw Kuzko lying next to him, inert, limp, unbreathing.

"Kuzko!" Andrei prized the old man's mouth open and tried to blow his own warm breath into him. After a while, exhausted with the effort, he sat back on his heels and pressed on Kuzko's still rib cage in the hope of forcing it into some semblance of movement. The old sailor's head lolled back, mouth gaping.

"Come on, Kuzko!" Andrei laid his head against the damp chest, listening for a heartbeat. "Don't desert me now, old man!"

It was no use. Somewhere between the sea and the ship, Kuzko's spirit had fled its body. All his frantic efforts had been in vain.

Andrei laid Kuzko's body down on the deck and with clumsy, numbed fingers, closed his eyes.

One of the sailors came up and wrapped a blanket around Andrei's shoulders. Andrei's heart felt as though drenched with a cold and bleak despair. Kuzko had saved him from the sea. Why had he not been able to save him in return? And how could he break the news to Irina? First the sea had taken her son, and now her husband.

He crouched down beside Kuzko's still body and wept.

Shadow-wings, fast beating outside the Iron Tower . . .

"Who's . . . there?"

Eyes glimmered in Gavril's cell, blue as starlight. And something blacker than darkness itself reared up, towering above his bed.

"You called to me, Gavril Nagarian."

"Dra-khaoul?" So many times he had dreamed this, and now he was so weak he could hardly whisper the words he wanted to say. He tried to lift one hand to welcome his banished daemon, but the effort was too great and his hand flopped back uselessly onto the bed.

"What have they done to you?"

"I-don't know. So weak. So wrong wrong-"

"You could not live with me-and now you cannot live without me."

"Take me. Take me away from this terrible place."

The Drakhaoul enfolded him-close, closer-until he was drowning in an ecstasy of shadows.

"Now you are mine again, Gavril. Now we act, we think, as one."

His sight blurred, then cleared. He could see again.

"Where shall we go?"

"Home . . ." Gavril's heart burned with a sudden longing. "My home."

"To Azhkendir?"

"No . . . to Smarna."

Skar was crossing the inner courtyard on his way to check on his dying patient when he saw the skies darken. Stormclouds were blowing toward them across the Iron Sea. A sudden cold wind whined about the asylum walls. Then blue lightning shivered across the sky and struck the Iron Tower.

Skar felt the shock as if it had pierced his body. He dropped to one knee, gasping.

Director Baltzar ran out into the courtyard. He gripped Skar by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet. "What in God's name-" he shouted above the whine of the wind, pointing to the tower.

Skar looked up. Stormclouds, black and electric-blue, swirled about the top of the tower. Little crackles of energy lit the darkness. "A lightning ball?" he shouted back.

A sudden explosion rocked the tower. The iron bars burst asunder and stones rained down into the courtyard. Skar pushed the astonished Baltzar out of the way just as a huge block of masonry crashed down where they had been standing. Other warders hurried out into the yard, roused by the commotion.

Skar raised his eyes to gaze at the broken tower. For a moment he saw-or thought he saw-a great winged creature, darker than the rolling stormclouds, launch itself from the jagged top of the tower and go skimming off across the dark sea.

He blinked, rubbing his lightning-dazzled eyes.

The clouds were dispersing, blowing away as swiftly as they had come.

"The p-prisoner," stammered Director Baltzar. "Twenty-One. No one could have survived a direct lightning strike."

The tower stair was strewn with rubble. Twenty-One's door had been blown off its hinges. Through the doorway they could see daylight and feel the fresh breeze off the sea.

Skar gingerly entered the room and found himself staring at the open sky through a great gaping hole blasted in the tower wall. All the roof tiles had gone and only a few broken beams remained overhead. Scorch marks blackened the stones. Wind whistled through the gap.

"Where is he, Skar?" asked Director Baltzar, gripping hold of the doorframe. His face was pale as gruel. "Where is our prisoner?"

The imperial barque lay at anchor on the River Gate quay; Eugene could see the New Rossiyan standard fluttering from her topmast. All was ready for the voyage to Tielen. And yet he still lingered here in his study, reluctant to leave for no good reason that he could explain to himself.

If we don't sail soon, we'll be late for Kari's birthday celebrations. But sending her birthday greetings through the Vox Aethyria would prove a poor substitute. But sending her birthday greetings through the Vox Aethyria would prove a poor substitute. What kind of father am I? What kind of father am I?

If only there was some news from Smarna. If only he had been able to take command of the whole operation himself. It was not that he didn't trust Janssen; it was just that he preferred to be with his troops, in the heart of the action. And then there was this odd sense of foreboding that had troubled him all day. Premonition, or seasoned soldier's intuition? Whichever, it had never deceived him in the past.

"Highness."

Eugene did not even turn from the window; he recognized Gustave's voice.

"Yes, yes, they're waiting for me. I'm on my way."

"There's some new intelligence just arrived. From Arnskammar."

"Arnskammar?" Eugene spun abruptly around. "Let me see."

It was a letter, sealed with the official seal of the Asylum Director. Eugene cracked open the seal and hastily scanned Director Baltzar's neat handwriting: To his imperial highness, Eugene, Emperor of New Rossiya.It is with the utmost regret that I write to inform you of the demise of the prisoner known as Twenty-One. A terrible storm hit the coast and lightning made a direct strike on the Iron Tower in which the prisoner was confined.

Eugene lowered the paper slowly, not bothering to read the rest.

"Gavril Nagarian, dead?" he said softly. "Can this be true? Or is this some new piece of Azhkendi spirit-mischief, designed to deceive us?" He looked at Gustave, who stood patiently waiting for instructions.

"No one must know of this," he said, "not until I have had it verified by independent investigators. Send a letter to Baltzar informing him that no one in the prison is to breathe a word of this on pain of death."

Gustave bowed and hurried away.

But if what Baltzar writes is true, then I have lost the last surviving link to the Drakhaoul and its arcane origins. . . .

"I need verification," he said aloud. "Proof that Nagarian is truly dead. Proof, if need be, from the Ways Beyond."

CHAPTER 19.

Andrei stands on the observation deck of the Sirin, Sirin, telescope in hand, scanning the calm, moonsilvered sea for enemy warships. telescope in hand, scanning the calm, moonsilvered sea for enemy warships.

Out of nowhere, a wind comes spearing across the sea and smacks into the ship, setting the waves violently churning.

The night sky boils black with stormclouds.

"All hands on deck!" Andrei bellows, straining his voice to be heard above the roaring of the storm.

The warship bucks and rolls, caught in a maelstrom of wind and wild-whipped tide.

The deck fills with crewmen, hauling on ropes, shinning up masts, frantically trying to furl the sails.

Andrei fights his way toward the quartermaster at the wheel, pulling himself, hand over hand, up the tip-tilting deck.

"Hold her steady, man. Steady! Or we'll hit the rocks."

"It's no use, Commander-"

The prow smashes into the rocks.

Timbers splinter, metal buckles. Ice-cold spray and fragments of shattered timbers rain down on the terrified crew.

"Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

Scrambling across the deck toward the rail, Andrei is flung off balance. The ship heaves. Water gushes in.

"She's going down!"

He's sliding now, sliding helplessly down the slippery deck, down toward the icy sea.

"Must save my crew. Must make sure they're safe."

He makes a grab at the rail, clinging on with one hand.

"Commander! Jump! Jump!"

A groaning sound fills his ears, the groaning of the hull as it grinds against the rocks.

"She's going down, Commander! Save yourself!"

She's sinking fast, too fast for him to reach the boats.

The wind slams the sinking ship into the rocks again. Towering waves crash down, drenching him, cold and bitter with the taint of salt. Gasping at the chill of the water, he flings off his heavy uniform coat, sabre and belt, and pitches into the black vortex of water. . . .

"Andrei?"

"Drowning . . . I'm drowning!" He flailed wildly, fighting the deadly pull of the ravening sea.

A hand caught hold of his. "You're safe now." The calm voice penetrated the roar of the storm, the creaking of his shattered ship.

Andrei sat bolt upright and found he was staring into a pair of gold-lashed eyes. Soft daylight lit the little cabin and the simple bunk on which he had been sleeping.

"I-I'm so sorry. I was dreaming."

"It must have been quite some dream," his companion said, gently releasing his hand.

He nodded, still staring into her soft blue eyes. "I know you. You sang in Mirom last winter. Celestine-"

"De Joyeuse. I'm flattered you remember me."

"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."