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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

As the crew obeyed, the boat began to move away from the pier. The gangplank slid into the water like a bad omen. Fiamo stared in amazement as his boat picked up speed, cutting through the water despite the idle rowers and lack of wind.

Magic, he thought. He turned to find the stranger looking back to the shore. Following the man’s gaze, Fiamo saw a distant figure riding down the road to the village. A white figure on a galloping white mount.

Could it be…?

The newcomer pulled up at the end of the pier and leapt to the ground. The boat shuddered to a stop, knocking Fiamo and many of the vorns off their feet. Fiamo felt his heart lift as the craft began to move backward. He gazed at the white figure.

It is! It’s one of the White. We’re saved!

The stranger muttered something and the force pulling them backward lost its hold. Released, the boat drifted to a halt.

“Row,” the stranger growled. “Now.”

The men hesitated, glancing doubtfully at Fiamo.

Vorns growled.

Men grabbed oars and began to row. Fiamo climbed to his feet again. Slowly the boat moved away from the coastline. When the distant figure was a mere speck of white, the black sorcerer chuckled quietly. He turned his back on the coast and swept his gaze over the boat and its crew. When he met Fiamo’s eyes he smiled in a way that turned the captain’s blood to ice.

“Captain, do you have more oars?”

Fiamo looked around. Harro and Old Marro stood empty-handed. The boy whimpered as two of the vorns approached him.

“No,” Fiamo admitted. “But we—”

At some unspoken signal, the animals leapt up and seized the pair’s throats. As blood gushed forth, Fiamo felt all strength drain from his legs and he sank to the deck. There were no screams, but he could hear arms and legs flailing.

“Keep rowing,” the sorcerer barked. Fiamo heard him moving along the deck toward him. The sounds of the animals feasting was all too audible in the windless silence.

Old Marro. My neighbor’s boy. They’re dead. Dead.

The sorcerer loomed over him.

“Why?” Fiamo heard himself croak.

The man looked away. “They hungry.”

Then a rustle of cloth drew Fiamo’s eyes upward. The sails were billowing with air. The afternoon wind had arrived.

Where it would take them today, he did not like to guess.

The tower was taller than any she had seen. It was so high that clouds tore themselves upon it as they passed…

No. Not again.