Chapters (39)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- TOR BOOKS BY JACQUELINE CAREY
- PRAISE FOR JACQUELINE CAREY
- GODSLAYER
- Copyright Page
She nodded in silent answer, knowing the dragon understood. Beneath her cheek, the bare skin of Pietre’s chest was warm and resilient. Such a heady elixir, youth! Lilias felt her thousand years of age. It came at a price, cheating death. If her flesh did not show it, still, she felt it in her bones, now as never before. Had she invoked Haomane’s name in her agony? Yes, and there was something fearful in it. Pietre murmured endearments under his breath, walking as though he held something precious in his arms. I should let him go, Lilias thought. I should let them all go, before danger comes. But I am old, and I am afraid of being alone.
Calandor?
I am here, Lilias.
It was enough. It had to be enough. It was the bargain she had made, a thousand years ago. And it had always, always endured. As long as it did, nothing else mattered. The thing was done, the die cast. Why, then, this foreboding?
Calandor?
Lilias, you must rest.
Calandor, where are Lord Satoris’ men?
“RIGHT.” CARFAX SURVEYED HIS MEN with a sharp eye. “Vilbar, scrub your face again. Use marsh-root if you have to. You’re still spatch-cocked with dye.”
“That river water stinks, Lieutenant!”
“I don’t care,” he said ruthlessly. “Scrub it! Turin, Mantuas, Hunric—you understand your mission?” There was silence in answer. Mantuas, holding his mount’s reins, kicked stubbornly at a clump of sedge grass. “You understand?”
“Don’t worry, sir.” Hunric leaned on his pommel. “I’ll see ’em through the Delta and on to Beshtanag.”
“Good. With luck, we’ll be no more than a day behind you. But whatever happens here, you need to report what we’ve seen to the Sorceress of the East. Nowt,”—Carfax drew a deep breath—“are the rest of you ready?”
They shouted a resounding yes. With the last remnants of dye washed from their skin, and beards beginning to grow, they looked more like Staccians, members of the boldest nation on earth; Fjel-friends, frost-warriors, allies of the Banewreaker himself. Had they not slain scores of the enemy at Lindanen Dale? And if they could do this thing, if they could capture Malthus’ Company and prevent the Prophecy from being fulfilled …
A grin stretched Carfax’s face. Lord Satoris would be pleased, mightily pleased. Mayhap pleased enough to consider making the Three into Four. Immortality would be a fine thing, indeed.
He drew his sword. “For the honor of Darkhaven!”
TWELVE
TWELVE
THE GARRISON HAD TURNED OUT for their return, rank upon rank of Fjel flanking the approach to Darkhaven, holding formation with military discipline, issuing crisp salutes.
It was an imposing sight. It was meant to be.