Free Flight Into Darkness by Sarah Ash Page A

that if he had once suspected how much you mean to me, he would have had you put to death in the most cruel and perverted way he could devise.
    But now he feared that the plan had worked far too well and Rieuk had gone off into the Rift, never to return.
    “ I can't sense Ormas” —Zophas swooped down, borne on a gust of wind, to perch on Oranir's shoulder— “or any of my brothers. The hawks have gone. ”
    Lord Estael appeared below, tramping up the hill from the endless forest, leaning heavily on his staff.
    Oranir went running down the spiral stairs to meet him, but the instant he saw the grim expression in Estael's eyes, he knew that the news was not good.
    “There's no trace of him,” Estael said. “It's as if the Rift has swallowed him up completely. Or worse still, he's lost his way and wandered into the Realm of Shadows.”
    “Let me go.” Oranir tried to push past him.
    “I forbid it!” Estael's hand shot out, grasping him by the arm. “With Rieuk lost, there's only the four of us left.” Then his tone softened. “Don't throw your life away needlessly. It's not what Rieuk would have wanted.”
    “How can you possibly know what Rieuk would have wanted?” Oranir wrenched his arm from Estael's grasp. Was Lord Estael deliberately trying to make him feel guilty? He felt wretched enough already. He had learned far too young that to survive in a harsh world you had to deceive—or be trodden underfoot.
    “I wonder how you can still sleep at night,” Estael said, walking on past him with slow, weary steps. Oranir scowled down at the ground. He had his own reasons for betraying Rieuk, but he wasn't going to explain himself to Lord Estael. He had never imagined the matters would turn out so badly, with Rieuk disappearing into the Rift. And as for sleeping… the nights had never seemed so long or so empty without the steady sound of Rieuk's breathing beside him in the darkness.
    Lord Estael let out a sigh. “I fear we are the very last of the magi,” Oranir heard him say, his voice echoing back to him in the void, “and it will be our sadness to live on as our powers slowly fade away.”

Part II

CHAPTER 1

    Burning braziers warmed the shadows in the crypt of Saint Meriadec's, yet Celestine de Joyeuse could not repress a shiver as she followed Jagu de Rustéphan down the worn steps. Although perhaps that was as much due to the sleety snow falling outside as the eerie chill of the ancient crypt. The dusty tombs of long-dead exorcist priests lay in the alcoves below, surmounted by stone effigies, the features eroded by the passing of time and the reverent caresses of their grateful parishioners, a reminder, she knew all too well, of the brevity of life.
    “Jagu!” Kilian was warming his hands at a brazier, beside their fellow officer, the taciturn Philippe Viaud. “And Celestine too? Well, this is quite the reunion of the old team. Any idea why the Maistre has summoned us here?”
    “I have no idea what this is about,” Jagu said, stamping the snow from his boots.
    Ruaud de Lanvaux, Grand Maistre of the Commanderie, came down the stairs, brushing the sleet from his cloak; at his side, a slim, dark young man in priest's robes removed his spectacles to wipe the condensation from the lenses.
    “His majesty,” Celestine hissed, hastily curtsying. The men bowed, Jagu murmuring in her ear as he did so, “This must be important for the king to attend in person.”
    “Thank you all for coming so promptly,” King Enguerrand said, peering shortsightedly at the assembled members of Ruaud's elite squad of exorcists. “Some disturbing news has reached us fromAzhkendir.” He replaced his spectacles. “The Drakhaoul has reawakened.”
    Celestine had learned the legend of their patron saint, Sergius, the Drakhaoul-Slayer, as a child at Saint Azilia's Convent. She glanced questioningly at the other Guerriers, and saw that they looked as bemused as she.
    “For years we've heard nothing about the Drakhaoul of