Former Marine Elizabeth Moon is the author of many novels, including Echoes of Betrayal, Kings of the North, Oath of Fealty, the Deed of Paksenarrion trilogy, Victory Conditions, Command Decision, Engaging the Enemy, Marque and Reprisal, Trading in Danger, the Nebula Award winner The Speed of Dark and Remnant Population, a Hugo Award finalist. After earning a degree in history from Rice University, Moon went on to obtain a degree in biology from the University of Texas, Austin. She lives in Florence, Texas. You can visit her website at www.elizabethmoon.com

if you enjoyed
LIMITS OF POWER

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FEAST OF SOULS

Book One of the Magister Trilogy

by

Celia Friedman

CHAPTER 1

THE MARKET in Royal Square was always busy, but this day in particular the crowds were so dense that it was hard to get from one end to the other without being jostled nearly to death. Some said it was because the weather was perfect, a fine spring day flourishing beneath a nearly cloudless sky, inviting one and all to leave behind their winter solemnity and come squeeze fruit and prod chickens while dreaming of the best of summer feasts. Some said it was because the harvest had been good last year, which meant there were many things to sell, and many farmer’s wives with money in hand ready to buy foreign delicacies.

Some said it was something else entirely.

The stranger stood at the edge of the crowd and watched the people for a long moment with a practiced eye. He was taller than most of the locals, and thin, with jet-black hair that hung down to his shoulders and eyes to match. His features were aquiline, cast in an exotic olive tone that spoke of foreign shores and mixed origins. More than one woman turned to watch him as he stepped forward into the crowd, which was only to be expected. Tall, lean, graceful in his movements, he had always attracted women.

He was dressed in a simple black shirt and breeches, and might have been judged a peasant in his Sunday best, or else a nobleman who had tired of all the extra layers which the display of rank required. A quick look at his fingernails—fastidiously clean—removed the peasant interpretation from consideration. Seamstresses might notice the shirt was of unusually fine cloth, but it took a practiced eye to determine that, and the cut of his garments was not so expensive as to attract undue attention.

Sometimes even peasants wore black.

There were some who said that the crowds in the Royal Square gathered today not for gossip, not for trade, or for anything so mundane as market business, but simply to be there. For it was whispered that today a Magister from Anshasa would arrive at the palace with full retinue, and this was the closest that the common populace could get to the main gates to watch him arrive.