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
With his staff he pointed to the rock-pile in the center of the Stone Grove. “Therein,” he said, “lies the Water of Life. It alone can quench the marrow-fire that wards the dagger Godslayer. And you alone can draw it, Dam of the Yarru. You alone can carry it. You are the vessel, a part of the Prophecy of Haomane, the Unknown made Known” The Counselor opened his arms. The Soumanië! gleamed red upon his breast, nestled amid his beard. “It is a grave matter,” he said. “To bear the Water of Life into the Vale of Gorgantum, inside the walls of Darkhaven itself, and extinguish the mamow-fire. We who stand here before you, the Company of Malthus, are pledged to aid you in every step of the way. Yet in the end, the fate of Urulat rests in your hands, Bearer. Choose.”
Such was the beginning.
Many others spoke, and among the Company of Malthus, only the Counselor understood the tongue of the Yarru; for many years had he studied it in his quest to unravel the Prophecy. And what he understood, he kept to himself over the days that followed.
When all was said, Dani the Bearer chose.
EIGHT
EIGHT
“YES?” LILIAS RECLINED ON SILK cushions, raising her brows at the page.
“My lady,” he said and gulped, glancing sidelong at pretty Sarika in her scanty attire, kneeling at her mistress’ side and wafting a fan against the unseasonal heat of a late Pelmaran spring. “My lady … there is an ambassador to see you. From the Were.”
“Well?” Lilias arched her carefully plucked eyebrows a fraction higher, watching the page stutter. “Are the Were not our allies? See him in!”
He left in a rush. Sarika ceased her fanning. “You should bind him to you, my lady,” she murmured, lowering her head to press her lips to the inside of Lilias’ wrist. “He would be quicker to serve.”
“I’ve no need of fools and imbeciles, dear one.” She stroked the girl’s hair. “Enough surround me without binding.”
Head bent, Sarika smiled.
Calandor?
Abide, little sister.
The Were ambassador, when he came, entered the room like grey smoke, flowing around corners, low to the ground. Only when he stood and bowed did his form become fixed in the mind’s eye. Sarika let out a squeak, huddling close to her mistress’ couch. “Sorceress of the East.” The Were dipped his muzzle in acknowledgment. “I am Phraotes. I bring you greetings from the Grey Dam of the Were.”
Lilias frowned. “Where is Kurush to whom I spoke a fortnight ago? Has he fallen out of favor with the Grey Dam Sorash?”
Phraotes grimaced, lips curling back to show his sharp teeth. “The Grey Dam is dead. The Grey Dam lives. Vashuka is the Grey Dam of the Were.”