Flight into Darkness Read online

  “Can you see inside, Ormas?”

  The interior of the cabinet was dark as shadow, yet as the hawk's keen eye scanned the shelves, something glimmered dully in the gloom. A glass of aethyr crystal, fashioned in the shape of a lotus.

  A soul glass.

  And it was empty.

  Rieuk left the shade of the tamarind and strode swiftly to the palace gate. The guards, stirring from their late-afternoon torpor, barred his way with their spears.

  “Emissary Mordiern,” Rieuk said, showing them his signet ring; the Arkhan had given rings to all his Emissaries, granting them access to the palace. And then, when the guard hesitated, he pulled off his burnous, revealing his damaged face.

  The guard waved his hand and the sentries uncrossed their spears. Rieuk hurried through. The faster he moved, the less likely he was to be caught. Nevertheless he pulled out the little pouch he had concealed in his pocket, ready to disable anyone who tried to stop him. Granules of sleepdust lay inside—a potent and fast-working narcotic drug. And he would use them, even on the Arkhan himself if need be. In the somnolent heat of late afternoon, most of the courtiers and servants were resting, and those Rieuk passed moved listlessly about their tasks.

  Following Ormas's trail, he crossed the first of the inner courtyards, where only the refreshing trickle of the ornamental fountains could be heard. Entering the Arkhan's apartments, he made directly for the library. He pressed spine after spine along the book-lined wall, certain that one would prove to be the trigger to open the hidden door. The air in the library was hot and dustily dry, and his probing fingers were soon sticky with sweat. Any moment he could be discovered. At last he spotted the fake volumes and fumbled to find the catch; with a creak, the concealed door swung inward and Rieuk went in.

  Ormas fluttered down from his perch on the cabinet.

  Rieuk hesitated, then he forced the cabinet door open. His fingers closed around the lotus glass. He lifted it close to his left eye to examine it. Even in the shuttered darkness he could see that it was empty; a mortal soul would have given off a faint iridescent shimmer. “What are you doing in my private study, Emissary Mordiern?” The Arkhan stood in the doorway. “No one is allowed in here. Not even my secretary.”

  Rieuk didn't care. He only knew that the Arkhan had betrayed him.

  “Tell me, my lord, that Imri's soul is safe.” Rieuk heard his own voice, low, trembling, on the verge of breaking.

  “Guards! Help!”

  The guards came running at their master's call; Rieuk flung a fistful of sleepdust toward them and one by one they crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  “This is treason.” Sardion showed no sign of fear. “How dare you threaten your lord and master? You know what the punishment is for disobeying me? Your Emissary will be stripped from your body, one feather at a time, you will die screaming in agony—”

  Rieuk wasn't listening to Sardion's threats. He came close to the Arkhan, staring unafraid into his chill eyes. “I've been your loyal servant, my lord, for many years. I've taken lives because you ordered me to, and all to preserve Imri's soul. And now I find I've been played for a fool! How long has this deception been going on?”

  Sardion had stood his ground while Rieuk poured out his fury. He took a step back, only a small step, but Rieuk sensed that the Arkhan was genuinely alarmed. He came closer still, knowing that he risked death for such an offense, yet no longer caring as long as he could die knowing the truth. He drew in a slow, jagged breath. “I'm waiting to hear, my lord.”

  Sardion swallowed, almost imperceptibly, but Rieuk saw his throat muscles move. “Has it ever occurred to you that your quarrel might be with your fellow magi and not with me?”

  “Please don't forget, my lord, that I've already caused the death of one king.”

  “Are you threatening me?” A little smile twisted Sardion's lips.

  Rieuk had heard enough of the Arkhan's diversionary tactics. He held the empty soul glass up in front of Sardion's cold blue eyes. “Tell me that this glass is a fake and the real one is still kept safe elsewhere.”

  “Is that what you want to hear?”

  “When did it happen? Tell me!”

  “When the Rift began to fail, Lord Estael came to me. He begged me to release Imri's soul. You were far away in Francia at the time—”

  “No.” Rieuk's fingers closed around the empty glass, clutching it to his heart. “No…” The word escaped his lips, more a moan of pain than a gesture of denial. He had stolen souls. Was this his punishment—to undergo the same suffering he had inflicted upon Celestine de Joyeuse and Jagu de Rustéphan?

  The rage that he had long held suppressed began to surge up within him, a dark, bitter fury.

  You deceived me. He felt his whole body begin to tremble with the effort of controlling it. You used me. But it would not be controlled. It was a raw volcanic force. It spoke to the living earth deep below out of which rock and crystal were formed, it drew on ancient energies long buried and untapped since the making of the world.

  The marble floor of the palace began to shiver beneath his feet. From far beyond the cloud of anger that enveloped him, he heard shrieks and cries of fear as the ground shook. He saw the Arkhan grasp at his desk to keep himself upright.

  “Master, no!” Ormas's voice penetrated the turmoil in his brain. “Don't do this. Don't destroy any more lives.”

  As if from a great way off, Rieuk found himself looking down at Sardion, who had crawled beneath his desk to protect himself from the shaking of the earth. The powerful Arkhan cowered, his hands clasped over his head.

  Why have I been in awe of this man for so long? Why have I let him, control my life?

  “I should have you tortured for this,” cried Sardion, “but it seems to me that no excruciation my torturers could inflict on your body could touch you as deeply as the pain you are suffering now.”

  “Where is Imri?” Rieuk thrust the empty soul glass in Lord Estael's face. “This glass is empty. Where is he?”

  Lord Estael made a sudden move but Rieuk grabbed his wrist, yanking his arm up behind his back so that he could not perform a conjuration.

  “Almiras!” Estael cried to his Emissary. But Rieuk had been expecting this and clicked his fingers to summon Ormas. As Almiras emerged from Lord Estael's body, Ormas darted out, beating him back with an unstoppable fury.

  “Take me into the Rift,” Rieuk said into Lord Estael's ear. The shadow hawks dived and dodged in the air, Ormas deftly keeping Almiras at bay. “I want proof. No matter how painful, I want the truth.”

  Rieuk instantly sensed the change in the air of the Rift. It had always been so still and calm, a place of verdant stillness, except for the breeze stirring the boughs of the eternal trees. But now he could feel the gusting of an erratic, dust-dry wind, that seemed to blow from some desolate pit of hell. The faint vanilla-sweet scent emanating from the haoma trees had gone. The boughs overhead were ragged, as though the mean wind had torn through, shredding leaves and scattering green needles all around. Even the light from the emerald moon was so faint that when Rieuk raised his head, he saw that it was waning, veiled in tattered clouds. A sense of disquiet had replaced the soothing calm, fueled by the sinister gusting of the errant wind, as though a thunderstorm were brewing.

  “You've stolen souls, Rieuk. You know what becomes of the physical body once the two are separated for too long… or the soul glass is shattered. Did it never occur to you that even a mage's soul could not be preserved intact all this time?”

  “But we are magi. And we are bonded with our Emissaries. You told me—” Rieuk made an effort to control himself. Estael despised any display of weakness; he must not break down or he would lose his advantage. “You told me that we are different. You told me that Tabris was protecting Imri's soul. You lied.”

  “Yes, I lied.” Lord Estael's voice was dry, emotionless. “It happened when the Rift became unstable. Tabris began to weaken and fade. You were far away, in Francia. I did what I could
to restore Imri to his body. But it was too late, and I lost him.”

  “Lost him?” Rieuk repeated, saying the words aloud but not understanding them. “You lost Imri's soul?”

  “Tabris fled deep into the Ways Beyond, leaving Imri's soul unprotected. If the Rift had stayed stable, then maybe we could have brought Imri back.” In the lurid light Lord Estael's features suddenly looked old and drawn. “But the atmosphere in the Rift has become more and more unstable as time passes. Azilis was the only one who could keep the balance—”

  “Azilis. Always Azilis.” Rieuk could not bear to be reminded of her—or the damage she had done to him. “So it's my fault, for not being powerful enough to bring her back?” He came close to Lord Estael. “Aren't we straying from the point here? You used me. You played on my love for Imri. You manipulated me.”

  Estael did not even flinch. “Have you forgotten the vow you took on the day you became an Emissary?”

  “So when Imri's ghost came to me, it was not a trick of the Rift as you so callously told me.” The memory sent shivers through Rieuk. I'm cold, Rieuk, the revenant had said to him. Imri had been crying out to him for help, and he had believed Estael's lie. “Enough!” Rieuk's patience was burned out. He didn't care what became of his own life any longer, he only wanted to fulfill his debt to Imri. And he was prepared to risk anything, even if it meant traveling into the Ways Beyond to find him. “Where is Imri's tomb?” Rieuk turned around in the darkness, aware that he had lost his bearings.

  “In that glade.”

  Rieuk caught a crystalline glimmer in the turbulent air. Hurrying down the slope, leaving Lord Estael behind, he came to a sudden stop. The tomb, fashioned from aethyric crystal, looked as though it were encrusted with layers of ice. It was impossible to distinguish what lay within anymore… a mere suggestion, a shadow of a human form seen through hoarfrosted glass.

  Rieuk could hear Lord Estael following him down the slope, breathing hard as if the air was too thin. If he didn't act instantly, Estael would try to stop him.

  “Forgive me, Imri, but I have to know.” Rieuk focused all his power on the crystal casket. No one else can do this. I am the only crystal magus left in this world.

  “Rieuk, stop!”

  He channeled the power in one single, concentrated wave. The tomb lit up, radiating a light of dazzling purity that filled the darkness, pulsing ever brighter, until the crystal split apart in a rain of icy shards.

  “No!” cried Lord Estael, too late.

  Rieuk stared as the fine mist of aethyric crystal slowly dispersed. There lay Imri's body, perfectly preserved by the aethyric crystal.

  He couldn't help himself. Even though every instinct shrieked that he should hold back, he fell to his knees and reached into the open tomb. His fingers caressed the chill contours of the beloved face, the cold lips that had once awoken his nascent powers with a kiss. It was like touching a statue fashioned out of ice.

  And the instant his fingertips made contact, Imri's body began to disintegrate, vanishing so swiftly before his horrified gaze that even as he blinked away involuntary tears, there was nothing left but dust.

  A barren wind shivered through the trees.

  “What have you done, you fool? What hope is there to restore him, now that his body is destroyed!”

  “Hope?” Rieuk rounded on Estael. “How can there be any possibility of hope left when his soul is gone?” His voice burned with rage and despair. That one last glimpse had broken him. “From the moment Tabris vanished, Imri was lost to us.”

  “Have you never heard of the Spirit Singers of Azhkendir?” Estael spat back.

  Rieuk was beyond patience. “What new nonsense is this?” He was not sure if he was entirely sane any longer; he knelt amid the melting mist of dust and ice that had once been Imri Boldiszar, wondering.

  “Shamans who travel through their songs to the Ways Beyond.”

  Rieuk looked at him blankly.

  “They summon the souls of dead clan warriors to possess the living in battle, to give them supernatural strength. Guslyars, the Azhkendi call them.”

  “They summon the dead?” Was that what Lord Estael had been scheming? “And whose body were you planning on using for this spirit possession?” The possibilities filled him with a blaze of conflicting emotions; Imri restored, but in someone else's body?

  “It's a practice not so different from soul-stealing.”

  “Then why have I never heard of them till now?” Rieuk heard his own voice asking as if from a great distance away.

  “Because the Drakhaon, Lord Volkh, slaughtered them when he took his revenge on the Arkhel clan for killing his mother. Although I now have reason to believe that one may have escaped the Drakhaon's purge.”

  “How can I believe another thing you ever tell me, my lord?” Rieuk rose unsteadily to his feet. “You made me the Arkhan's tool. You groomed me to serve him. You spun me lie after lie.” He drew closer to him. “I'm leaving Ondhessar.”

  “Sardion won't let you go. You know too much. If you were to sell his secrets to his enemies—”

  “I really don't care anymore.” At that moment, it felt as if the fast-melting ice crystals of Imri's body had chilled all feeling in Rieuk's heart.

  “He may even send one of us to destroy you.”

  Rieuk shrugged. “I'll take my chances.”

  “I won't be able to protect you if you break your bond.” Lord Estael's face looked suddenly drawn and old; the fierce mage fire in his eyes had dimmed. “But then, what does it matter now, anyway?” he said. Rieuk heard a bone-deep weariness in the magus's voice. “It's all over for us. The longer she is absent from the Rift, the weaker we become. Our Emissaries will fade first… and once they're gone, our powers will diminish too. Our time is over, Rieuk.”

  “Magister! Emissary Mordiern! Wait!”

  Rieuk turned, shading his vision against the harsh sun. The crimson dunes still reflected the fierce heat, even in the late afternoon, making the desert air shimmer with a bloodied haze. A man was coming toward him over the sands, his head and face protected by a loosely wrapped burnous. Below him, the strange excrescences of earth-colored rock, the Towers of the Ghaouls, wavered in the dry heat.

  “Where are you going?” As the man came nearer, Rieuk recognized the dark eyes burning accusingly above the folds of the black burnous. Oranir.

  “I haven't decided yet.” He turned away, knowing that he was lying.

  “You and Lord Estael quarreled. Didn't you?” Oranir had almost caught up with him, walking with the loose, swift stride of those accustomed to desert life. On the ridge, Ondhessar loomed above them, the hated crimson flag of the Rosecoeurs fluttering from every watchtower, a constant reminder of the foreigners’ presence. “What happened?”

  “That's between me and Lord Estael.” Rieuk didn't want to pick over the bones of that painful encounter just yet.

  “You're leaving.” It was an accusation, not a question.

  Rieuk kept on walking.

  “Answer me! Don't I deserve an answer?”

  Rieuk stopped and turned to confront him. Oranir would not be satisfied with half-formed excuses. “Yes. I'm leaving. I can't stay here and you know why.”

  “Then take me with you.” He heard the breathless eagerness in Oranir's voice, and caught the echo of another passionate young man begging Imri Boldiszar to take him as his apprentice. He banished the memory from his mind; such strong emotions would only cloud his judgment.

  “If you come with me now, you throw away everything you've worked so hard for. You become an outcast. A wanted man.”

  “I want to go with you.” There was a stubborn note in Oranir's words that Rieuk had not heard before. “Besides, you're not fully healed yet. You need me.”

  Rieuk almost smiled. “So you have Lord Aqil's permission to accompany me?”

  Oranir shot him a sullen, defensive look.

  “And what of your vow to the Arkhan?” Oranir did not reply. Rieuk took a step closer to h
im. “You have such a promising career ahead of you, Oranir. Don't ruin your life for my sake.” He let his hand rest on Oranir's shoulder. “Forgive me. I should have told you I was leaving. You've taken such good care of me. Thank you.”

  Oranir struck his hand away. “I don't want thanks.” He backed away, feet slipping in the sand. “Why don't you understand? Why must you be so stubborn? Why can't you share your troubles?”

  Rieuk turned away with a regretful little shrug. “Too many years of working alone, I guess. Farewell, Oranir.” He slung his travel bag over his shoulder and set off again, climbing up the side of the ridge without once looking back.

  Rieuk had plenty of time to reflect on what Oranir had said as he took the merchant route to the Djihari port of Tyriana. He passed himself off as an itinerant jeweler, making use of his skill with crystals to hire himself out to merchants and traders along the way.

  He ended up working for Barjik, a diamond merchant from Serindher. From time to time, Barjik's wife, Serah, would shuffle into the stuffy back room of the shop, bringing little cups of bittersweet coffee, or date-and-almond cakes shaped like shells. From time to time, the heavy curtain separating the workroom from the shop would twitch, yet no one came in. He knew that he was being watched. And yet he did not mind. He was handling a precious commodity, after all, and no merchant could afford to be too trusting.

  As Rieuk concentrated on the rough stones before him, seeking to expose their hidden potential, he kept seeing the look of wounded incomprehension in Oranir's dark eyes.

  Why did I reject him again? I'm free now. Was I trying to protect him, or myself?

  He selected a diamond from the pile and examined it.

  At that time he had been in a daze, still trying to come to terms with the loss of Imri. Yet the moment when Imri's crystallized body had melted into a million glittering grains of ice, he had felt as if a shadow had lifted from his mind and his heart—and a heavy burden from his shoulders. He had been carrying the guilt of Imri's death for far too long.