"Lieutenant Vassian at your service, Magus. His imperial highness awaits you in the inner court. I am under orders to conduct you to him straightaway."

"Where are are we?" whispered Kiukiu as the lieutenant led them farther into the ruin. The daylight was dimming and she felt a sudden chill envelop her. "It feels like a tomb." She hugged her gusly tightly to her, as if it could ward off evil spirits. we?" whispered Kiukiu as the lieutenant led them farther into the ruin. The daylight was dimming and she felt a sudden chill envelop her. "It feels like a tomb." She hugged her gusly tightly to her, as if it could ward off evil spirits.

Lieutenant Vassian brought them into a vaulted inner chamber as high as the nave of the monastery church in Kerjhenezh. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the gloom. Torches had been lit and placed in links around the walls, and by their flickering light she caught glimpses of worn carvings and warlike friezes that depicted battles from long ago. Armed horsemen trampled the broken bodies of their enemies underfoot, hacking and stabbing in a frenzy of slaughter. Kiukiu averted her eyes. The place reeked of spilled blood and carnage.

"Magus Linnaius is here," announced the lieutenant, standing to attention so stiffly Kiukiu feared the shining buttons on his uniform would pop off.

A tall, broad-shouldered man walked toward them out of the shadows. The instant she glimpsed his burned face, she knew him.

"P-Prince Eugene?" she stammered.

"Emperor Eugene," prompted Linnaius, "and you must not speak unless spoken to. When you reply, you must call the Emperor 'your imperial highness.' "

So you're the one who's caused us so much heartache. She fumbled a curtsy. She fumbled a curtsy. You're the one who took Lord Gavril from us and made the You're the one who took Lord Gavril from us and made the druzhina druzhina your slaves your slaves. Yet when she looked into his eyes, she could not help but feel sorry for him. His features, once handsome, had been ruined by the extensive scarring where he had been seared by Drakhaon's Fire. And she glimpsed what he strove to hide from others, the shadow of the constant pain, darkening his clear, incisive gaze.

"So you're Kiukirilya, the Spirit Singer," the Emperor said.

Suddenly she realized she was standing before the Emperor of all New Rossiya with her hair mussed, wearing her old, creased washday dress. Embarrassment overwhelmed her. What must he think?

"I'd like you to help me find the answer to a question." He was still speaking to her and she was now in such a muddle she could hardly hear the words. Should she reply? What was it she was supposed to call him, 'your high imperialness?' No, no, that couldn't be right. . . .

"Well, Kiukirilya?" The Magus was prompting her again. "Can you do it?"

"Do what?" she said helplessly. She had spent her life in service, always doing as she was bidden and being beaten if she made a mistake. She was not yet used to being asked.

"Summon the spirit of the Emperor Artamon, to answer his highness's question."

She stared at the Magus, dumbstruck.

"We are standing in his mausoleum now. His sarcophagus lies in the chamber below."

Kiukiu felt her skin crawl. Had they any idea of the risks of such a venture? This was not just any spirit; it was powerful and ancient.

"Remember our arrangement," Linnaius said quietly. She hated him in that moment for reminding her. They held Gavril, and they knew she would do anything to see him again.

"Don't keep his imperial highness waiting," Linnaius whispered.

Had they no idea of the careful preparation required for such a summoning? Did they expect her just to wave her hands and conjure a spirit out of the air?

"I'll need something that belonged to the Emperor. A lock of hair, or nail parings would work even better."

Eugene glanced at the Magus. "What do we have, Linnaius?"

"Let's go down into the burial chamber."

Lieutenant Vassian clicked his fingers and two of the guardsmen took the torches from the wall to light their way.

The Emperor set off at a brisk pace, but Kiukiu hung back, reluctant to descend into the subterranean darkness of the burial chamber. Back home with Malusha, her spirit-summonings had been simple affairs: Piotr from the village inn wanting to ask his grandmother her secret ingredient when brewing kvass, kvass, or poor Yelena needing to say a second farewell to her littlest daughter, dead at only five years from the winter sickness. They had been affecting ceremonies, with many tears shed, but they were healing tears, and the relatives had gone away at peace with themselves afterward. And the spirits were gentle and benevolent, though more than a little confused at finding themselves in a cottage filled with roosting snow owls. or poor Yelena needing to say a second farewell to her littlest daughter, dead at only five years from the winter sickness. They had been affecting ceremonies, with many tears shed, but they were healing tears, and the relatives had gone away at peace with themselves afterward. And the spirits were gentle and benevolent, though more than a little confused at finding themselves in a cottage filled with roosting snow owls.

As she crept down the dusty stone stairs, she felt the air get colder and mustier. It smelled old, stale, and unwholesome.

In the center of the chamber stood a stone plinth; on the plinth was a massive stone sarcophagus, sculpted to represent the Emperor's body lying in state. At his feet lay curled a hound. Once, like the warrior guardians outside, the likeness had been covered in bright paint and gold leaf. Now only the faintest traces remained, outlining a stern carved face with long, curling stone locks and beard.

Kiukiu looked on the rigid face and shivered, feeling again that dark dread.

"Open the tomb," said Emperor Eugene.

The guardsmen took a crowbar and began to lever the heavy stone lid off the base. The yellow torchflames flickered in a sudden draft. One guardsman paused, glancing around uneasily.

Is there something else in here? A sentinel, set here by Artamon's magi to guard his body?

Kiukiu took out her gusly and began to tune it. The flames flickered again and almost went out. One of the guardsmen swore under his breath.

"Linnaius, we haven't come here to listen to a recital of folk music," she heard the Emperor say impatiently. "Are you sure this is the right girl?"

The guardsmen were grunting and sweating with their efforts. Then suddenly the sarcophagus lid slid open.

The torches went out as if someone had doused them with water. Kiukiu heard the guardsmen fumbling with tinders and cursing in the dark. She struck a first flurry of notes and the echoing sound of the gusly strings filled the burial chamber.

She could sense the sentinel now, close at hand. She struck another flurry of notes to force it to reveal itself.

She finally saw it, limned in pale ghoulfire, crouched at the foot of the sarcophagus like the faithful hound ready to spring. Malusha had told her of tomb sentinels, but this was the first she had ever seen. And now it knew she could see it, for it turned its face toward her, snarling.

"There you are!" she breathed. She had trapped it just in time. And she knew now exactly what it was. A bodyguard, slain in the Emperor's tomb to guard his master's body. His bones must lie somewhere in this vault: unburied, unmourned. The trapped spirit had forgotten all but its eternal mission: to protect the tomb. But the snarling skull of a face, the clutching, clawing fingers, still held the power to instill paralyzing fear-and maybe much worse.

Her fingers were shaking as she began to play the Sending Song, so much so that she missed a note, marring the perfection of the ancient ritual.

The sentinel snatched its chance. Freed from the gusly's hold, it let out a shriek and sprang straight toward the Emperor, hooked nails clawing, jaws opened wide to breathe a pestilential miasma in his face.

"Stop!" Kiukiu struck the holding chord again, with as much force as she could muster.

The sentinel froze in midleap.

This time she knew the others could see it. The Emperor stood his ground, staring with extraordinary sangfroid at the decayed ghoul-face so close to his own.

Her fingers found the deep, slow notes of the Sending Song and the taut form slowly relaxed.

"Go," she whispered. "Your task is done. You are free."

The sentinel's pale form shimmered, then swiftly began to fade until, like wisping candlesmoke, it drifted away.

Linnaius clicked his fingers and a little flame blossomed like a golden rose in the darkness. By its light, Kiukiu saw the guardsmen-white-faced and evidently shaken by what they had glimpsed.

"Man the entrance to the chamber," the Emperor ordered. "No one is to disturb us. Understood?"

They seemed only too glad to be given the excuse to leave, almost tripping over each other in their haste to reach the stairway.

"Now, Kiukirilya," the Emperor said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "Let's get this over with." He behaved so calmly, but now she could see he was as rattled as his men. And, in truth, if she dared to admit it to herself, she was too. But this had to be done.

She forced herself to approach the dais and climbed up beside the gaping stone tomb. She peered inside, half-fearing that a second sentinel-ghoul would come shrieking out and breathe its mephitic grave-stench in her face.

In the uncertain mage-light, she saw a mummified corpse, partially fallen to dust, the withered skin like parchment, with the bones protruding through. The grave clothes, once fine linens embroidered with purple and gold thread, had all but rotted away. She could smell a faint odor of old tomb-spices, bitter salts, and resins. And-oh horror-there was what she had foolishly asked for, the last long grey strands of dry hair clinging to the skull.

Closing her eyes and wincing with revulsion, she reached in and with shaking fingers pulled out a lock of the dead Emperor's hair.

"Forgive me," she said. Grave robbery was not her usual practice. Already she could hear Malusha scolding her for breaking the ages-old code of the Guslyars. She sat down at the foot of the sarcophagus, her gusly across her knees. She was trembling. She prayed the fragile strands of hair would not crumble to dust before she could call their owner back to the vault. she said. Grave robbery was not her usual practice. Already she could hear Malusha scolding her for breaking the ages-old code of the Guslyars. She sat down at the foot of the sarcophagus, her gusly across her knees. She was trembling. She prayed the fragile strands of hair would not crumble to dust before she could call their owner back to the vault.

Just this one summoning, she told herself, and then they will be satisfied.

"You must not look into the spirit's eyes," she said, staring directly at the Emperor. "Whatever the spirit may say, no matter how persuasive it may be, never look into its eyes."

"Why?" asked the Emperor bluntly.

Kiukiu answered, equally bluntly, "Spirits cannot resist the desire to become flesh again. It will try to possess you."

"How could we prevent such a thing, were it to try?" asked the Magus.

"You must burn the hair. The spirit will be forced to return to the Ways Beyond."

"I doubt such a precaution will be necessary," said Eugene. He sounded so confident. Had he no idea of the seductive power of summoned spirits? Or the weakness of mere mortals in the face of such persuasions?

She placed the lock of hair before her on the dusty flagstones and sat back to begin the Summoning Song.

Kiukiu closed her eyes as she played the long, slow notes, sending her consciousness far out from the burial vault into the burnished gold of the sunset. As she played, she made herself repeat aloud the names of the note patterns, a repetitive litany: "Twilight. Starlight. Midnight. Memory."

Each resonant pitch carried her farther onward, drifting from the pale light of dusk toward the starless darkness . . . and beyond.

And then she saw him. Tall, broad-shouldered as Eugene himself, he was gliding toward her through the eternal dusk as though pulled by an irresistible force. It had to be Artamon.

"Come with me, Lord Artamon," she said.

"Memory. Midnight. Starlight . . ." She must keep playing, each note in its right place or the pattern binding the spirit would fail and it would break free. She must keep playing, each note in its right place or the pattern binding the spirit would fail and it would break free.

She opened her eyes. Mist was rising from the ground of the vault.

A man appeared, half-hidden in the fog-a tall, hawk-nosed man with a thick mane of oak-brown hair. She caught a glimpse of dark, troubled eyes staring at her, but hastily averted her gaze.

"Necromancy," muttered Emperor Eugene. "Or some outrageous piece of fairground trickery. Whichever, it's damnably convincing."

"Why have you summoned me? You cannot hold me long against my will, Guslyar."

"Forgive me," Kiukiu whispered again. She could feel the strength of the spirit struggling to be free. She must hold it bound in the chains of her Summoning Song and not let it loose. But it would take all her strength and skill to do it.

"Speak to it, highness," urged Linnaius.

Eugene squared his shoulders. He addressed the apparition.

"Are you Artamon the Great?"

"That was my name when I was alive."

"You had a son, Prince Volkhar. He gave you a ruby."

"That ruby was cursed." Artamon's deep voice reverberated through the vault, heavy with grief and sorrow. Artamon's deep voice reverberated through the vault, heavy with grief and sorrow. "It was a daemon-stone. It brought strife and ruin to my empire. It was used to unleash terrible daemons into the world, daemon-warriors that possessed my beloved sons and turned them against one another." "It was a daemon-stone. It brought strife and ruin to my empire. It was used to unleash terrible daemons into the world, daemon-warriors that possessed my beloved sons and turned them against one another."

"A daemon-stone?" repeated Eugene.

"It contained powers, powers strong enough to open a gate between the worlds. When I held the gem in my hands, I could feel the power burning in its bloodred heart. It was the most beautiful jewel I had ever possessed." Artamon's strong voice began to falter. Artamon's strong voice began to falter. "But I vowed that it should never be used to cause such devastation again. And so I had my jewelers divide it. Three craftsmen died, burned by its fire, until my mages laid such strong wards upon it that the division was achieved." "But I vowed that it should never be used to cause such devastation again. And so I had my jewelers divide it. Three craftsmen died, burned by its fire, until my mages laid such strong wards upon it that the division was achieved."

"So you-not your sons-ordered the stone to be divided?"

"My sons?" Artamon's voice echoed. Artamon's voice echoed. "They were no longer my sons. They looked like daemon-lords; they fought like daemon-lords. In their madness, they were too powerful for me to control. Only Serzhei of Azhkendir had the courage to confront them. And he died, battling my youngest boy. So Volkhar was lost to me forever." "They were no longer my sons. They looked like daemon-lords; they fought like daemon-lords. In their madness, they were too powerful for me to control. Only Serzhei of Azhkendir had the courage to confront them. And he died, battling my youngest boy. So Volkhar was lost to me forever."

Kiukiu was concentrating hard on keeping Artamon bound by the droning notes of the Summoning Song, within the drifting mists where the world and that of the Ways Beyond mingled. She glanced up and saw Eugene move closer to the tomb and the tall spirit. Had he forgotten her warning?

"But how did it happen? How were your sons-all your sons-possessed by daemons?"

She could tell from the urgency of Eugene's voice that he burned to know the answer.

"And who are you that you dare ask me, Emperor of all Rossiya, such a question?"

Eugene smiled. "I am Eugene, Emperor of New Rossiya."

Artamon fell silent. His spirit-form wavered. The temperature was dropping fast and Kiukiu's fingertips ached with cold.

"We're losing him, Kiukirilya." Linnaius's voice muttered warningly.

"They took the ruby from me. Their intent was to unlock the ancient gateway to the realm of daemons and send the spirit that possessed Volkhar back. But the temptation to seek power of their own was too strong, and when the gate was opened, they too were possessed."

"And where is this gateway?" Eugene's voice trembled now with excitement.

"Far from here, on an island sacred to the Serpent God, Nagar. My boy, my Volkhar, forswore his faith in the One God and became one of the priests of Nagar. Such was the strength of his new faith that he even took the Serpent God's name, calling himself Nagarian."

Nagarian? Kiukiu forced herself to keep playing, though her arms and back were stiff from holding the heavy gusly. Did that mean Lord Gavril was descended from the Great Artamon?

"Come closer, Eugene. There are other secrets still I could impart. But they are not for the ears of common servants. Let me whisper them to you, alone."

The chill in the tomb had begun to numb Kiukiu's mind as well as her fingers. She heard the spirit's seductive offer but did not at once realize what it intended. She looked up and saw Eugene walking into the swirling mists, directly toward Artamon. She saw the spirit lean forward, arms opening as though to embrace him.

And she had warned him!

"No!" she cried, breaking off in midpattern. The broken notes hung as if frozen on the cold air, jagged as icicles. she cried, breaking off in midpattern. The broken notes hung as if frozen on the cold air, jagged as icicles.

The spirit froze too, arms raised to draw Eugene close.

"Don't look into his eyes!"