conjured powerful daemon-spirits to do their bidding—until Nagar himself, furious at such sacrilege, caused fire to reign down upon the temple—
Gavril turned the damaged page with great care.
—and its priests, slaying them all.
Here, for the first time, he spotted words scribbled in the margin of the text. Excitedly he raised the open book to the lanternlight, moving it first left, and then right, trying to decipher the lurching scrawl.
The burden has grown too heavy for me. The cravings are too strong to bear. I must go away and try to put an end to things, once and for all.
The burden. Gavril felt his heart beat faster as he recognized what the writer described but dared not name.
Beneath the books lay the crumpled star chart. Gavril smoothed it out and studied it. Now he saw it was not, as he had originally thought, a map of the skies over Azhkendir. Unfamiliar constellations were pricked out in silver and white on the ultramarine wash of sky. And someone had scribbled figures in the margin. Readings from an astrolabe, perhaps?
“Lord Zakhar?” Gavril muttered. Was it the Drakhaoul that had driven his grandfather to sail off on that perilous journey, never to return? A journey beyond charted territory to seek out a lost island known only in ancient legends? What had they hoped to find? Expiation? Or a final division?
“I am the last of my kind.”
Was the Drakhaoul trying to find a way home?
The third volume,
Through Uncharted Seas,
which lay open close by, was full of tiny slivers of broken glass, lethally sharp. As he shook the book to dislodge them, he felt one prick his finger.
“Ow!” A drop of blood dripped onto the yellowed page—mortal red, as if to remind him he was free.
The kastel bell suddenly began to clang again.
“What now?” Annoyed at the interruption, Gavril let the book drop and went to the door.
“My lord!” Semyon shouted from the stairwell. “The Tielens. We’re under attack!”
“It can’t be.” Gavril stared down from the tower roof at the Tielen regiments surrounding the broken walls, a blur of blue and grey uniforms.
Had time turned back on itself? Had he only dreamed the destruction of Eugene’s army? Or was this some ghostly force come to haunt him? They looked real enough from the top of the Kalika Tower.
In the courtyard below, Askold had mustered the pitifully small number of those
druzhina
fit enough to fight. Crossbows were loaded, aimed at the Tielens.
This time it looked hopeless. There were too many. All the Tielen soldiers bore firearms: muskets, carbines, and hand mortars. Now that he had rid himself of the Drakhaoul, the crossbows and sabres of his bodyguard would prove little use against the firepower of Eugene’s elite troops. Even as he watched, shivering in the morning damp, he saw a group of officers detach themselves from the ranks and ride forward under a white flag of truce toward the archway that led into the courtyard. One dismounted and entered beneath the archway.
“Hold your fire!” Gavril cried.
Askold went to meet the newcomer.
“What do they want, Askold?” Gavril called down.
“You, my lord. They want to speak with you.”
To speak with him. The words were so ordinary—yet he knew that he was in mortal danger. He looked down at his finger and the red blood oozing from the little cut.
They know. God knows how, but they know I am no longer a threat to them. Why else would they have taken the risk?
Wild plans of escape whirled through his mind. If he made for the secret tunnels under the East Wing, he could slip away unnoticed into the forest. But that would certainly lead to brutal reprisals—and executions. What kind of man would save his own skin and leave his household to face the consequences?
He had little choice but to see what it was the Tielens had to say to him.
As Gavril went out into the courtyard, Elysia came hurrying up to him. “Don’t go,” she said, catching hold of his
Gavril turned the damaged page with great care.
—and its priests, slaying them all.
Here, for the first time, he spotted words scribbled in the margin of the text. Excitedly he raised the open book to the lanternlight, moving it first left, and then right, trying to decipher the lurching scrawl.
The burden has grown too heavy for me. The cravings are too strong to bear. I must go away and try to put an end to things, once and for all.
The burden. Gavril felt his heart beat faster as he recognized what the writer described but dared not name.
Beneath the books lay the crumpled star chart. Gavril smoothed it out and studied it. Now he saw it was not, as he had originally thought, a map of the skies over Azhkendir. Unfamiliar constellations were pricked out in silver and white on the ultramarine wash of sky. And someone had scribbled figures in the margin. Readings from an astrolabe, perhaps?
“Lord Zakhar?” Gavril muttered. Was it the Drakhaoul that had driven his grandfather to sail off on that perilous journey, never to return? A journey beyond charted territory to seek out a lost island known only in ancient legends? What had they hoped to find? Expiation? Or a final division?
“I am the last of my kind.”
Was the Drakhaoul trying to find a way home?
The third volume,
Through Uncharted Seas,
which lay open close by, was full of tiny slivers of broken glass, lethally sharp. As he shook the book to dislodge them, he felt one prick his finger.
“Ow!” A drop of blood dripped onto the yellowed page—mortal red, as if to remind him he was free.
The kastel bell suddenly began to clang again.
“What now?” Annoyed at the interruption, Gavril let the book drop and went to the door.
“My lord!” Semyon shouted from the stairwell. “The Tielens. We’re under attack!”
“It can’t be.” Gavril stared down from the tower roof at the Tielen regiments surrounding the broken walls, a blur of blue and grey uniforms.
Had time turned back on itself? Had he only dreamed the destruction of Eugene’s army? Or was this some ghostly force come to haunt him? They looked real enough from the top of the Kalika Tower.
In the courtyard below, Askold had mustered the pitifully small number of those
druzhina
fit enough to fight. Crossbows were loaded, aimed at the Tielens.
This time it looked hopeless. There were too many. All the Tielen soldiers bore firearms: muskets, carbines, and hand mortars. Now that he had rid himself of the Drakhaoul, the crossbows and sabres of his bodyguard would prove little use against the firepower of Eugene’s elite troops. Even as he watched, shivering in the morning damp, he saw a group of officers detach themselves from the ranks and ride forward under a white flag of truce toward the archway that led into the courtyard. One dismounted and entered beneath the archway.
“Hold your fire!” Gavril cried.
Askold went to meet the newcomer.
“What do they want, Askold?” Gavril called down.
“You, my lord. They want to speak with you.”
To speak with him. The words were so ordinary—yet he knew that he was in mortal danger. He looked down at his finger and the red blood oozing from the little cut.
They know. God knows how, but they know I am no longer a threat to them. Why else would they have taken the risk?
Wild plans of escape whirled through his mind. If he made for the secret tunnels under the East Wing, he could slip away unnoticed into the forest. But that would certainly lead to brutal reprisals—and executions. What kind of man would save his own skin and leave his household to face the consequences?
He had little choice but to see what it was the Tielens had to say to him.
As Gavril went out into the courtyard, Elysia came hurrying up to him. “Don’t go,” she said, catching hold of his
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