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Children of the Serpent Gate (Tears of Artamon Series #3)
     

Children of the Serpent Gate (Tears of Artamon Series #3)

4.2 13
by Sarah Ash
 

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In this third novel in her acclaimed Tears of Artamon saga, Sarah Ash once again transports readers to a realm where sorcery collides with political intrigue...and where one man haunted by a dark legacy is locked in a fierce struggle between the forces of good and evil battling for supremacy within him....

Gavril Nagarian is believed dead–perished in the

Overview

In this third novel in her acclaimed Tears of Artamon saga, Sarah Ash once again transports readers to a realm where sorcery collides with political intrigue...and where one man haunted by a dark legacy is locked in a fierce struggle between the forces of good and evil battling for supremacy within him....

Gavril Nagarian is believed dead–perished in the heat of battle. But the Lord Drakhaon of Azhkendir lives on. Now he is entrusted with a sacred mission: to rescue the aged Magus, who has been kidnapped and in whose possession are the five priceless rubies that compose the fabled Tears of Artamon. Ancient law decrees that whoever possesses the coveted stones has the power to impose his rule over the five princedoms in the Empire of New Rossiya.

But the task exacts a cost. The Drakhaoul that destroyed his forebears has penetrated Gavril’s psyche and is gaining power over his soul. With the dark forces inside him seeking immortality, Gavril must feed on the blood of innocents–or die.

Toppled by the loss of the Tears of Artamon, Emperor Eugene of Tielen is tormented by his own daemon. Now he must defend his lands against King Enguerrand of Francia, who claims ownership of the Tears. But both men share a common goal: to destroy Gavril Nagarian and the Drakhaoul that lives within him once and for all.

Ingenious and unforgettable, Children of the Serpent Gate delivers a thrilling conclusion to the epic trials of a man of honor in a world run amok–a calamity that can be laid to rest only by an Emperor’s Tears.


From the Hardcover edition.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
At the start of the rousing conclusion to Ash's fantasy trilogy (after 2004's Prisoner of the Iron Tower), King Enguerrand of Francia has the five Tears of Artamon, the magical jewels that give their possessor claim to Novaya Rossiya. This means a crisis for Novaya Rossiya's Emperor Eugene, particularly since the Francians have kidnapped his chief magus, Kaspar Linnaius, and are going to burn him at the stake. Eugene makes an alliance of convenience with Gavril Nagarian, Lord Drakhaon of Azhkendir, who goes to Kaspar's rescue. Meanwhile, Gavril's prematurely aged lover, Kiukiu, must travel just as far in the opposite direction to find a cure; Eugene's pregnant empress, Astasia, runs away to Francia; and Eugene's daughter, Karila, has to go into hiding from would-be usurpers. The large cast may be hard to follow for new readers, but is uniformly well-developed and convincing, as is the whole world of the trilogy, with its vivid 18th-century European flavor and fallen angels who evoke Paradise Lost. Lovers of big, complex fantasy sagas (think Robert Jordan or George R.R. Martin) will be well pleased. Agent, Merrilee Heifetz at Writers House. (Sept. 27) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
From the Publisher
"Rousing.... with its vivid 18th-century European flavor and fallen angels who evoke Paradise Lost. Lovers of big, complex fantasy sagas (think Robert Jordan or George R.R. Martin) will be well pleased."—Publishers Weekly, starred review

"Themes of redemptive transformation, a labyrinthine plot, and the spectacular Drakhaoul memorably conclude the Tears of Artamon trilogy."—Booklist

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780553901979
Publisher:
Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
09/27/2005
Series:
Tears of Artamon Series , #3
Sold by:
Random House
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
528
Sales rank:
623,803
File size:
898 KB

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

"I'm old." Kiukiu stared in disbelief at her reflection. "I'm an old woman." Her fingertips moved over her lined face, lifting her wild, dry locks of greying hair, searching in vain for a thread of gold. She was so shocked she could only stare at the aging stranger in the mirror glass. "How long was I gone?"

"Many days, my dear." Malusha had never called her "my dear" before. That in itself made Kiukiu fearful. "Too many days."

"There's a remedy, isn't there, Grandma?" She turned to Malusha. "Tell me what to do, I'll do it. No matter what it is."

Malusha sat a moment, thinking. "I'll go put the kettle on," she said, easing herself up from Kiukiu's side. Making tea was Malusha's remedy for all ills, great and small.

"Grandma, what do you know?" Kiukiu persisted.

"I know that you wouldn't be still in this world if Lord Gavril hadn't flown to Swanholm to rescue you."

"Lord Gavril?" The glass dropped from her fingers. She looked up and found herself staring into the deep blue of Gavril's eyes. "You're alive?" She forgot her own distress and just gazed up at him. "But they said you were dead. They showed me the tower, they showed me where the lightning struck—"

And then she realized that he must be able to see every wrinkle, each strand of dull grey hair. She covered her face with her hands, turning away from him, not wanting him to see her like this.

"Kiukiu?" he said. He said her name so gently—and yet she could detect the bewilderment in his tone.

"Don't look at me. Please." This was the reunion she had dreamed of for so long. But in her dreams, she had been unchanged by the Ways Beyond. She had run to greet him, her arms outstretched, her golden hair loose about her shoulders. "That evil old man," she muttered. "He lied to me. He made me think you were dead, and all to trick me into his trap."

"What old man?"

"Kaspar Linnaius. He sent me into the Ways Beyond to look for you. And then, when I couldn't find you, he spun me some foolish story. And I believed him! Why didn't I trust my own instincts?" She was so angry with herself that she began to shake. "Why did I let him use me?"

"So you got lost in the Ways Beyond, searching for me?"

She nodded. Though even as she did so, she was aware that this was not the whole tale. There was more, much more, and she could not remember what it was, only that it made her shudder even more to think of it.

"Don't cry, Kiukiu." He put his arms around her and held her close, stroking her hair.

"I'm not crying!" How could he bear to hold her, to touch those dry, faded locks? Tears spurted, hot against her fingers. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and feel safe, comforted and cherished. But all she could think of was the haggard, faded creature she had seen reflected in the mirror.

"It wasn't lightning that struck the Iron Tower, Kiukiu. It was the Drakhaoul."

Her sobs subsided a little. So he also had something to confess.

"I was dying. And it rescued me." His lips hardly moved against her hair, as if he were whispering to prevent the Drakhaoul hearing what he said.

"Dying? So the story was in part true?" She felt another shiver run through her. He had suffered, she could sense it now, and he was not entirely healed. And there was something different, disturbing, about him, almost as if the Drakhaoul had begun to leach its darkness into his soul.

"In part."

"Oh, Gavril," she whispered. One hand, wet with her own tears, crept out to touch his face. What cruel things had they done to him in that asylum? What damage had they inflicted?

"Tea's ready," announced Malusha, bringing over three brimming mugs. "You get this hot drink down you, my girl."

Kiukiu tried to take a sip of the fragrant liquid but her hands were shaking so much that she could hardly raise the mug to her lips. She managed a little but then the sides of her mouth begin to sag as the sense of loss welled up from deep within her again. Old. I'm old before I've lived my life. She sobbed helplessly into her tea, unable to stop herself, even though she knew that Gavril and her grandmother were watching her.

"Drink your tea." Even though Malusha spoke quietly, Kiukiu heard a note of brisk command in her voice. She shakily lifted the mug again, slopping tea over the top. She still couldn't stop the tears and now she no longer knew who she was crying for: for Gavril, damaged by the asylum; for herself; for their uncertain future . . . The tea tasted salty—though even the taint of her tears could not disguise another richer flavor. There was a potency in the dark, sweet liquid that spread heat throughout her whole body, right to the tips of her fingers.

"What's in this?" she asked suspiciously.

"Something to restore you," said Malusha. "You're all skin and bone. There's moorland honey from my bees, for one."

"Honey, Grandma?" Kiukiu said muzzily. "It tastes like mead to me."

Malusha shrugged. "Mead's made from honey."

The warmth of the heather mead spread into Kiukiu's mind, seeping through the bitter thoughts, numbing the pain. She yawned and tried to force her lids to stay open. She mustn't drift back into sleep. If she fell asleep, she could find herself back wandering those vast halls among the wan, confused spirits of the Newly Dead—or, worse still, gusted far from those she loved by the whirlwinds into that nightmare realm of dust and shadows.

"That's right," Malusha whispered, gently prising the mug from her fingers. "Just lie back. You're safe here."

"How can I be sure?" Kiukiu murmured.

"Be sure of what?" Drakhaoul-blue eyes gazed piercingly into hers.

"That this isn't a dream?"

She felt his hand close around hers, his grip firm and warm. "Does this feel like a dream, Kiukiu?"

"No . . ." The orange glow of the firelight was receding as her eyelids drooped but still she could see the intense blue of his eyes burning into hers through the gathering mists of sleep.


Kiukiu's eyes closed at last and her breathing came slowly, regularly. Gavril let go of her hand and rose to his feet.

"She should sleep soundly now," Malusha said. She shook her head as she watched over her granddaughter, her wild locks wispy as an old man's beard against the glow of firelight.

A burning shiver of nausea speared through Gavril's whole body. He tried to conceal it, turning away from Malusha so that she should not see it in his face. He had overspent himself. He had used up the last of his strength in his desperation to save Kiukiu, and now the terrible cravings had begun in earnest. He crouched by the fireside, hugging the hunger in, hoping he could try to stave off the worst of the pangs for a little longer.

"It's never been done. Not without cost." Malusha seemed to be talking to herself, shaking her head and twisting a tassel of her brightly colored shawl between her fingers.

Gavril glanced over at Kiukiu—at the faded, shrunken shadow of the girl he loved so much—and another tremor of anger throbbed through him. He was not used to feeling so helpless.

"Malusha." He took hold of the old woman by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his face. "Tell me all you know."

"Is that you or your daemon talking?"

"Does it matter?"

"First you will let go of me, Drakhaon," Malusha said in an icy voice.

His hands fell away. "Forgive me."

"Yes," she said, staring searchingly into his face. "It is growing stronger. I am not sure that I could cast it out now as I did before. It has meshed itself far deeper into you, and it is drawing strength from some distant source of power. I sense others of its kin at large in our world."

He could hide nothing from those disapproving dark eyes. "Eugene and the Magus set them free. There are five—and now that the Serpent Gate has been breached, more could follow."

" 'Only the Emperor's Tears will unlock the Gate,' that's what the Blessed Serzhei said," Malusha muttered. "Kaspar Linnaius." She swore and spat onto the flagstone floor. "Do you know how old he is?"

Gavril shrugged. "He looks about eighty . . . maybe eighty-five."

"Guess again."

"Ninety?"

"Kaspar Linnaius was born one hundred and sixty years ago."

Was Malusha playing games with him? He had never heard of anyone living beyond a hundred years, let alone a hundred and sixty. "But how—?"

"An alchymical elixir. A little dose of that could do my poor Kiukiu a world of good right now."

"Then I'll go back to Swanholm and find Linnaius and his elixir."

Malusha tapped his arm. "You've already flown far. A journey to Tielen and back will use up the last of your resources. How long before you need to feed again, Drakhaon?"

Another shiver of nausea burned through his body. He bit back a groan, hoping she had not noticed.

"Is there any alternative?" The words came out in a snarl. "Would you prefer to fly there yourself?"

"The alternatives?" She ignored his gibe. "I've heard tales of shamans in Khitari, north over the mountains. It's just as far, if not farther."

"Khitari?" The name made him think of the exotic, dusty scent of black and green tea in the kitchen at the Villa Andara, and the black-and-gold lacquer boxes his mother kept her precious teas in, decorated with pictures of dragons and lion dogs. "What's so unique about these Khitari shamans?"

"They're said to live very long lives. There's a legend of a secret healing spring."

Gavril shook his head impatiently. "I haven't time to search all Khitari for some legendary spring." His throat and mouth were so dry it was becoming hard to speak, in spite of the tea he had drunk. And the cravings had begun to affect his mind. The coolness of pure water, miraculous healing water, rushed through his fevered thoughts, promising a cure for the waves of nausea. As a stronger pang wracked his body, he dropped to his knees, hugging his burning stomach, trying not to cry out.

Malusha just stood there, looking down at him.

"You're no use to her like this," she said.

"Why—is there—no other—way?" Each word came out on a gasp of pain.

"Because mortal men are too weak to bear such a powerful daemon for long," she said dispassionately. "It's killing you, Gavril Nagarian, just as it killed your forebears."

"It—told me—I could set it free by sending it home through the Serpent Gate. But it lied," he whispered, between pangs. "It used me." Now he remembered—and the bitterness of remembering enhanced the sense of betrayal that had haunted him since Ty Nagar.

"And how long can you last in this condition? Before you attack some defenseless child?"

He shook his head, no longer able to speak. He had expended too much of his power in the duel with the Emperor.

"There's fresh water in the well outside," said Malusha.

Outside, the eerie twilight of the long summer evenings had crept over the moors. In the courtyard, he began to wind the bucket down into the well, only to double up again with the griping pain. He let go of the handle and slid down, his back against the mossy stones of the well wall. The bucket splashed into the water far below with a hollow clank. Next moment, he was retching and a dark slime came up. He lay back when the first spasm was over, feeling the heave and ache of his tortured rib cage. He had used up the last of his strength bringing Kiukiu from Swanholm.

"There is nothing to restore you here." The Drakhaoul Khezef spoke through the receding waves of nausea. "You must hunt while you still have the strength."

Gavril heard the Drakhaoul's words as if through drifting smoke. "Don't make me," he begged, his voice hoarse with retching.

"The summer nights are short in Azhkendir. And you are far from the nearest village."

Gavril closed his eyes, seeing little flickers like firesparks fizzing across the darkness. "No," he said.

"What use will you be to Kiukiu if you die?"

Gavril felt a wry, mirthless smile curling his lips. The Drakhaoul always knew how to compel him to do what it wished, at the same time making him believe he was acting in his own interests.

"And you will die, Gavril, if you don't feed soon. Listen to the beat of your heart. Feel how it strains and judders."

"At least let me take a drink of water." Gavril set about drawing up the bucket. He plunged his head into the cold, peaty, moorland water, as if he could drown out the daemon-voice in his head. Then he gulped down as much liquid as he could before the vomiting began again.

A soft flutter of wings startled him. On the crooked tiles of the roof perched a row of Arkhel's Owls, white as ghosts against the dusky sky. Fierce golden eyes stared curiously at him. Malusha's lords and ladies were preparing to flit off across the darkening banks of heather to hunt for their prey.

"I'm not so different from you now, am I, my lords and ladies?" he whispered. "A predator of the night . . ."

Scarlet fire scored his mind. A wordless cry of fury and frustration shivered across the moors, and the sky turned black as smoke.

The cry pierced Gavril's mind like a spear of flame. He dropped to his knees, clutching his temples, as the old wound from Baltzar's botched surgery throbbed and burned.

"What—was—that?" he gasped as the flames died down.

"Sahariel," Khezef cried, ignoring Gavril. "Sahariel, wait!"

"Who is Sahariel? Another Drakhaoul? Where was it going?"

"He is searching. Searching for one of the Blood. Artamon's blood."


"I must find Kaspar Linnaius." Gavril stubbornly repeated the words under his breath as he forced himself back toward the coast and the Saltyk Sea. But with each labored wingstroke he felt himself grow weaker. It seemed that he had been flying over rugged moorland for hours without number—and still there was no sign of the sea. And the pounding blood in his ears and temples was like the thud of an ominous drum.

"What use will you be to Kiukirilya if you die?"

What angered him the most was that he knew that Khezef was right. He was pushing his body to the limit of its capabilities.

And then he saw the spires and bell towers of a great cathedral dark against the grey dawn sky.

"This isn't Narvazh. This is Azhgorod!" In his exhaustion, he had flown directly south, not west to the coast and was approaching the capital. "How could I have been so stupid . . . ?" And then he lost control, spiraling raggedly down, helplessly trying to right himself before he hit the ground.

From the Hardcover edition.

Meet the Author

SARAH ASH is the author of five fantasy novels: Lord of Snow and Shadows, Prisoner of the Iron Tower, Moths to a Flame, Songspinners, and The Lost Child. She also runs the library in a local primary school. Ash has two grown-up sons and lives in Beckenham, Kent, with her husband and their mad cat, Molly.


From the Hardcover edition.

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Children of the Serpent Gate (Tears of Artamon Series #3) 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 13 reviews.
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Avid_Fantasy_Reader More than 1 year ago
The plot was promising and the story line had strong points, but the characters one and all were very weak and unrealistic. One moment the main characters are mortal enemies the next they are working together and all past aggressions are forgotten. It insults my intelligence to believe that this is how people act, react, and interact with one another. The smartest characters in the books were "the Bad Guys", while "The Good Guys" were gullible and most of the time down right stupid! Very aggravating to read, as "The Good Guys" make the same mistakes over and over again. Grey matter is refreshing in fantasy books (a good example is the Forelands series)"; as opposed to black and white good and evil, but to have main characters do horrible deeds and in the next moment the author expect us to feel sorry for them is absurd. The guy who kills and tricks innocent people again and again for his own ambitions just doesn't get my pity, I'm sorry. The only reason I finished the series is because I had bought the book all at once and I always finish my books choosing to give the author the benefit of the doubt. Big waste of time! If you are an older avid fantasy reader don't wast your time like I did. Save this one for the younger more gullible to the ways of the world readers!
KMO88 More than 1 year ago
I always struggle to find a new series that I am going to like. I am a big fantasy reader and I love certain authors. It is very hard to break into a new author, but Sarah Ash does it in this great book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
This was a stunning conclusion to the trilogy. It was this book that finally made me like Eugene as a character, and made me love Gavril and even his daemon. It's fast-paced, but not so much that you begin to read too fast and miss things. The court politics are intriguing, and the fantasy element is phenomenal. I loved the ending, and I cried when Khezef left. Highly recommend.
harstan More than 1 year ago
The Emperor Eugene is Drakhaoul (daemon) possessed a situation he wanted to happen so that he would have all the power of his most bitter enemy Gavril Nagarian who is also possessed by a daemon. He tries to keep the daemon in check for when it is in control someone dies because it needs to drink human blood. Now that the King Enguerrand of Francia has the five Tears of Artamon, he lays claim to the entire Rossiyan Empire, but Eugene is not about to give up his throne without a fight. --- He offers Gavril and his men pardons if they recover the most powerful magus in the world Kaspar Linnaius from a Francian jail. Gavril rescues the mage in his dragon form and take him to the home of his lover Kirkiu, However the magus behaves like a senile old man. Kirkiu is now an old woman after traveling too long in the Realm of Shadows. She and Kaspar must bathe in the Jade River to recover her youth and his mind providing that the Guardian grants them these gifts. Eugene must battle Enguerrand¿s forces if he wants to keep his throne and then he must join forces with Gavril to make sure the serpent gate doesn¿t open and let the most powerful daemon of all out. If they fail, hell will come to the mortal plane. --- Book Three of the Tears of Artamon series ties up all the loose ends, explains the origins of the daemons and gives the reader a chance to see two mortal enemies work together for the good of the realm. Sword and Sorcery fans, high fantasy enthusiasts and readers who want to be enthralled in the tradition of Mercedes Lackey and Robin Hobb will find CHILDREN OF THE SERPENT GATE a memorable reading experience. --- Harriet Klausner