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Back Priestess of the White
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. TRUDI CANAVAN
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. PART TWO
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. PART THREE
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. EPILOGUE
  58. GLOSSARY
  59. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  60. About the Author
  61. Other Books by Trudi Canavan
  62. About the Publisher

The Dreamweaver robes Emerahl had stolen were a bit big for her, but they had kept her sufficiently safe from priestly notice while she tended the sick. She had kept to the Pentadrian side of the battleground, which reduced the number of Circlians she treated. There had been no sign of the White for hours. They were probably discussing the battle among their allies.

She had no bag of medicines, but managed well enough with magic. It was satisfying work. She hadn’t been free to use her Gifts in this way for…a long time. Just before dawn she had decided it was time to leave, but at the edge of the battlefield she had discovered a Siyee still clinging to life and stopped to help him.

By the time she had finished, the sun had risen. Delicate light filled the valley. She had wanted to leave the field when it was still dark, but it shouldn’t matter if anyone saw her go. The Dreamweavers might wonder why one of their kind was abandoning the field, but they were probably too involved in their work to notice. No one else would know enough about Dreamweavers to wonder why she was leaving.

She glanced around. Only one Dreamweaver stood nearby, his back to her. He was looking up at the sky. She frowned. There was something familiar about him. Perhaps he was one of the Dreamweavers from the group she had run into.

A voice reached her, low and strained. She moved closer and felt a shiver run down her back.

I know that voice.

But it could not belong to the man she had known. What was he saying, anyway? She stepped over a corpse and crept closer.

“—must go. No. She can help. No. She will only make it worse. I can’t—”

The voice changed from high to low, weak to forceful, stranger to familiar. He was ranting at himself like a madman. As he cast about he turned to face her and she gasped.

“Mirar!”

It was impossible. He was dead. But as she said his name his gaze cleared and she saw recognition in his eyes.

“Emerahl?”

“You’re…you’re…”

“Alive? In a way.” He shrugged, then his gaze became keen. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled crookedly. “Long story.”

“Will you…can you help me?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I need you to take me away from here. No matter who I turn into. No matter how I protest. Using all your magic, if you need to.”

She stared at him. “Why would I have to do that?”

He grimaced. “Long story.”