The charnel prince free download

Greg Keyes The Charnel Prince (Book Two of The Kingdoms of Thorn and Bone) ABOUT THE AUTHOR Greg Keyes was born in Meridian, Mississippi, to a large, diverse, storytelling family He received degrees in anthropology from Mississippi State and the University of Georgia before becoming a full-time writer He is the author of The Briar King and the Age of Unreason tetralogy, as well as The Waterborn, The Blackgod, and the Star Wars® New Jedi Order novels: Edge of Victory I: Conquest, Edge of Victory II: Rebirth, and The Final Prophecy He lives in Savannah, Georgia PROLOGUE Had laybyd hw loygwn eyl Nhag Heybeywr, ayg nhoygwr niwoyd The Forest speaks with many tongues Listen well but never answer —Nhuwd nhy Whad proverb, given as a warning to young children “I HEAR A noise,” Martyn murmured, reining in his dappled gray stallion “It is an unnatural sound.” The monk’s predatory blue eyes strained, as if trying to burn through the huge-girthed ironoaks and rocky slopes of the King’s Forest Ehawk could see by the set of the man’s shoulders beneath his blood-red robe that every muscle in his body was tensed “No doubt,” Sir Oneu replied jovially “This forest chatters like a woman who is half-mad with love.” But despite his tone, Sir Oneu’s black eyes were serious when he turned to speak to Ehawk As always, Ehawk was surprised by the older man’s face —soft and tapered it was, the corners of his eyes crinkled by fifty years of laughter The knight hardly seemed to fit his reputation as a fierce warrior “What you say, m’ lad?” Oneu asked “From what I’ve seen,” Ehawk began, “Brother Martyn can hear a snake breathe over the next hill I haven’t such ears, and at this moment hear little But sir, that’s strange of itself There ought to be more birds singing.” “Saint Rooster’s balls,” Oneu scoffed, “what y’mean? There’s one warbling right now, so loud I can scarce hear myself.” “Yes, sir,” Ehawk replied “But that ‘un is an etechakichuk, and they—” “In the king’s tongue, boy, or in Almannish,” snapped a dour, sallow- faced man He wore robes of the same color as Martyn’s “Don’t gabble at us in your heathen language.” That was Gavrel, another of the five monks traveling with the party His face looked as if it had been cut into an apple and left to dry Ehawk didn’t like Gavrel much “Mind your own tongue, Brother Gavrel,” Sir Oneu said mildly “I’m the one speaking to our young guide, not you.” Gavrel glared at the reprimand, but he did not challenge the knight “You were saying, m’ lad Ehawk?” “I believe you call ‘em crow-woodpeckers,” Ehawk replied “Nothing frightens them.” “Ah.” Oneu frowned “Then let’s have quiet, while Brother Martyn listens more closely.” Ehawk did as he was told, straining his own ears to the limits, feeling an unaccustomed chill as the hush of the forest sank in It was strange But these were strange days Only a fortnight before, the crescent moon had risen purple, a dire portent indeed, and a weird horn had sounded on the wind, heard not just in Ehawk’s village but everywhere The old oraclewomen muttered prophecies of doom, and tales of awful beasts roaming and slaying in the King’s Forest grew more common each day And then these men had come from the west, a knight of the Church, resplendent in his lord’s plate, and five monks of the order of Saint Mamres —warriors all They’d arrived in Ehawk’s village four days ago and bargained for a native guide The elders had appointed him, for though Ehawk was scarcely beyond his seventeenth summer, there was no man more keenly gifted at hunting and tracking He’d been excited to go, for strangers were uncommon here near the Mountains of the Hare, and he’d hoped to learn something of foreign lands He hadn’t been disappointed Sir Oneu de Loingvele loved to talk of his adventures, and he seemed to have been everywhere The monks were quieter and somewhat frightening—except Gavrel, who was outspoken and frightening—and Martyn, who was kind in his own brusque way If he spoke laconically of his training and his life, what he did have to say was usually interesting But one thing Ehawk had not learned—what these men were searching for Sometimes he thought they themselves did not know Sir Oneu doffed his conical helm and rested it under one arm A stray beam of sunlight glinted from his steel breastplate as he patted the neck of his warhorse to calm it He shifted his gaze back to Martyn “Well, Brother?” he asked “What are the saints whispering to you?” “No saints, I think,” Martyn said “A rustling, many men moving over the leaves, but they pant like dogs They make other strange sounds.” He turned to Ehawk “What people live in these parts?” Ehawk considered “The villages of the Duth ag Pae are scattered through these hills The nearest is Aghdon, just up the valley.” “Are they warriors?” Martyn asked “Not usually Farmers and hunters, same as my people.” “Are these sounds drawing nearer?” Sir Oneu asked “No,” Martyn replied “Very well Then we’ll go on to this village and see what the local people have to say.” ———«»——————«»——————«»——— “Not much to look at,” Sir Oneu observed half a bell later, when they reached Aghdon To Ehawk’s eyes, Aghdon wasn’t that different from his own village—a collection of small wooden houses around a common square and a highbeamed longhouse where the chieftain lived The greatest difference was that his own village bustled with people, chickens, and pigs Aghdon was empty as a Sefry’s promise “Where is everyone?” Sir Oneu asked “Hallo? Anyone there?” But there was no reply, and not a soul stirred “Look here,” Martyn said “They were trying to build a stockade.” Sure enough, Ehawk saw that a number of fresh-cut timbers had been erected Other logs had been cut, but never set up “On your guard, fellows,” Sir Oneu said softly “Let’s ride in there and see what happened to these folk.” But there was nothing to be found There were no bodies, no signs of violence Ehawk found a copper kettle with its bottom scorched out It had been left on the cookfire, untended, until its contents had boiled away “I think they all left suddenly,” he told Martyn “Yah,” the monk replied “They were in a hurry for certain They didn’t take anything.” “But they were afraid of something,” Ehawk said “Those wreaths of mistletoe above their doors—that’s to ward against evil.” “Yes, and the stockade they began,” Sir Oneu said “The praifec was right Something is happening here First the Sefry abandon the forest, now the tribesmen.” He shook his head “Mount up We’ll continue I fear our mission is more urgent than ever.” They left Aghdon and struck off across the uplands, leaving the largest of the ironoaks behind them and entering a forest of hickory, liquidambar, and witaec Still they rode in eerie silence, and the horses seemed nervous Brother Martyn wore a slight but perpetual frown “Ride up with me, lad,” Sir Oneu called back Obediently, Ehawk trotted his own dun mare until he was abreast of the knight “Sir Oneu?” “Yes Now would you like to hear the rest of that story?” “Yes, sir Indeed I would.” “Well, you’ll recall that I was on a ship?” “Yes, sir On the Woebringer.” “That’s right We’d just broken the siege at Reysquele, and what was left of the Joquien pirates were scattering to the sea winds The Woebringer was badly damaged, but so were a lot of ships, and no dearth of them ahead of us for repairs at Reysquele The weather was calm, so we reckoned we could make Copenwis, where fewer ships go for dry-dock.” He shook his head “We didn’t make it to Copenwis, though A squall came up, and only the favor of Saint Lier brought us to a small island none of us knew, somewhere near the Sorrows We made land in a longboat and gave offering to Saint Lier and Saint Vriente, then sent out parties to search for habitants.” “Did you find any?” “In a manner of speaking Half the pirate fleet was camped on the leeward side of the island.” “Oh That must have been trouble.” “Indeed Our ship was too badly damaged for us to leave, and too big to hide It was a matter of little time before we were discovered.” “What did you do?” “I marched over to the pirate camp and challenged their leader to a duel of honor.” “He accepted?” “He had to Pirate chieftains must appear to be strong, or their men will not follow them If he had refused me, the next day he would have had to fight ten of his own lieutenants As it was, I relieved him of that worry by killing him.” “And then what?” “I challenged the second-in-command And then the next, and so on.” Ehawk grinned “Did you kill them all?” “No While I fought, my men took possession of one of their ships and sailed away.” “Without you?” “Yes I’d ordered them to.” “And so what happened?” “When the pirates discovered what had happened, they took me prisoner, of course, and the dueling stopped But I convinced them the Church would pay my ransom, and so they treated me pretty well.” “Did the Church pay?” “They might have—I didn’t wait to see I had a chance for escape, later, and took it.” “Tell me about that,” Ehawk pleaded The knight nodded “In time, lad But you tell me now—you grew up in these parts The elders at your village told many strange tales of greffyns, manticores—fabulous monsters, never seen for a thousand years, now suddenly everywhere What you make of that, Ehawk, m’ lad? Do you credit such talk?” Ehawk considered his words carefully “I’ve seen strange tracks and smelled weird spore My cousin Owel says he saw a beast like a lion, but scaled, and with the head of an eagle Owel don’t lie, and he’s not like to scare or see things wrong.” “So you believe these tales?” “Yah.” “Where these monsters come from?” “They’ve been’t sleep, they say—like how a bear sleeps the winter, or the cicada sleeps in the ground for seventeen years before comin’ out.” “And why you think they wake now?” Ehawk hesitated again “Come, m‘ lad,” the knight said softly “Your elders were tight-lipped, I know, I suspect for fear of being labeled heretics If that’s your fear, you’ve no worry about me The mysteries of the saints are all around us, and without the Church to guide, folk think odd things But you live here, lad—you know things I don’t Stories The ancient songs.” “Yah,” Ehawk said unhappily He glanced at Gavrel, wondering if he, too, had keener hearing than a normal man Sir Oneu caught the look “This expedition is my charge,” he said, softly still “I give you my word as a knight, no harm will come to you for what you tell Now—what the old women say? Why unholy things stalk the weald, when never they did before?” Ehawk bit his lip “They say ‘tis Etthoroam, the Mosslord They say he woke when the moon was purple, as was foretold in ancient prophecy The creatures are his servants.” “Tell me about him, this Mosslord.” “Ah it’s only old stories, Sir Oneu.” “Tell me nevertheless Please.” “In shape, they say he is a man, but made of the stuff of the forest Antlers grow from his head, as on an elk.” Ehawk looked frankly at the knight “They say he was here before the saints, before anything, when there was only the forest, and it covered all the world.” Sir Oneu nodded as if he already knew that “And why does he wake?” he asked “What does prophecy say he will do?” “It’s his forest,” Ehawk said “He’ll what he wants But it’s said when he wakes, the forest will rise against those who have done it harm.” He cut his eyes away “It’s why the Sefry left They fear he will kill us all.” “And you fear that?” “I don’t know I only know ” He broke off, uncertain how to put it “Go on.” “I had an uncle A sickness came to him There was little to see—no sores nor open wounds, no marks of fever—but he grew more tired as the months passed, and his eyes dulled His skin paled He died very slowly, and it was only near the end that we could smell the death in him.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” Ehawk shrugged “The forest—I think it’s dying like that.” “How you know?” “I can smell it.” “Ah.” The knight seemed to mull that over for a few minutes, and so they rode in silence “This Mosslord,” Sir Oneu said at last “Have you ever heard him called the Briar King?” “That’s what the Oostish call him, Sir Oneu.” Sir Oneu sighed, and looked older “I thought as much.” “Is that what you’re looking for in the forest, sir? The Briar King?” “Yes.” “Then—” But Martyn cut him off suddenly “Sir Oneu?” the monk’s face was set in hard lines “Yes, Brother?” “I hear them again.” “Where?” “Everywhere In all directions now Coming closer.” “What is it, Martyn? Can you tell me what we face? Minions of the Briar King?” “I don’t know, Sir Oneu I only know we are surrounded.” When comes again the light of day, My love, I will have flown away Her voice was tears made sound, but now Muriele heard it, the triumph embedded in the despair, the hope that could die only when belief in hope died It was the melody from that day, the one that had decided her to commission the piece Lihta’s solo voice was joined by a single flute and then a reed, and then the croths with their sweeping glissando elegance It no longer mattered what words she sang, really—it was only the fear, and the grief—and as the vithuls and the bass vithuls joined her voice, the desperate courage and determination Tears poured down Muriele’s face as Remismund reappeared, unheralded by any music, but swaggering into hers Lihta was standing by the window, wringing her veil in her hands as he took hold of her, and for an instant it seemed as if the music faltered, as if Lihta’s resolve had failed But suddenly her voice rose, climbing ever higher while below her the music arranged itself in a mountain, like the very foundations of the world and there, there it was, the perfect chord that brought rushing everything that had come before, the beginning meeting its end, its completion Its triumph Lihta leaned up as she sang, as if to kiss him, slipped the veil around his neck, and hurled herself out the window Surprised, his hands occupied with her, Remismund had no time to react Both plummeted to the street And though Muriele remembered that the stage was not really very high, and that she suspected some sort of mattress lay disguised beneath the window, it did not seem so now It seemed as if they fell, and fell, and died on cobbles far below And still the harmony there, Lihta’s voice taken up by the instruments as if to show that even death could not silence that song A march began behind it, as the townsfolk rushed upon Remismund’s men, who, disheartened by his death, fled or died And when silence finally settled, it lasted for a long time, until someone shouted—no one important, just a person high in the gallery But it was a ragged, glorious, triumphant shout, and then someone joined him, and then all the Candle Grove came to its feet roaring Everyone, that is, save Robert and Hespero ———«»——————«»——————«»——— Leoff gazed at the dumbstruck audience, then turned his regard to the praifec, whose glare was the match for any basil-nix Leoff bowed stiffly, and heard a single loud cheer Then the crowd seemed to explode He knew that this was the greatest moment of his life—the like of which he would never know again—and felt not so much pride as the most profound contentment imaginable He still felt it half a bell later, when—as he was congratulating his musicians and blushing from a kiss Areana had impulsively given him—the guards came ———«»——————«»——————«»——— Robert’s guard dragged Muriele and Alis unceremoniously through the crowd and pushed them into the carriage that was to carry them back to their prison But all the way back to the castle, she could hear them—the people— singing the Hymn of Sabrina She couldn’t stop crying, and when the gag was finally removed, she sang with them That night, she could still hear them through her windows, and she knew that once again, the world she knew had changed profoundly—but this time for the better It felt—for the first time in a very long time—like victory That night she slept, and dreamed, and the dreams brought not terror— but joy CHAPTER SIX Yule ASPAR WINCED AS THE leic pulled the needle through his cheek a final time and tied off the gut “That’s done,” the old man said “You were lucky in both wounds The shoulder should heal well.” “I’m not sure any wound is lucky,” Aspar said, relieved to find that the wind no longer whistled through his cheek when he talked “It is when another fingerbreadth could have brought your death,” the leic replied cheerfully “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve more of you to tend to.” “What about her?” Aspar said, pointing with his chin to where Leshya lay, bundled up in wools, her unconscious face pale even for her The leic shrugged “I don’t know much about Sefry,” he said “The wound was pretty bad, and I did what I know to She’s in the hands of the saints now.” He patted Aspar’s unwounded shoulder “You had better rest, especially if you’re really so foolish as to try to ride tomorrow.” Aspar nodded, still regarding the Sefry The ride to the castle was a memory seen through a fog of pain and blood loss Winna had stayed with him, though, keeping him in his saddle She’d left only a few moments ago, answering a call from the princess He understood that Sir Neil and the Vitellians were pretty banged up, but Leshya had the worst of it by far They’d found her pinned to a tree by an arrow He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, went over to stand by her in the candlelight His shadow fell across her face, and she stirred “What—?” she gasped, eyes fluttering open “Be still,” Aspar said “You’ve been hurt Do you remember?” She nodded “I’m cold.” Aspar glanced over at the fireplace He was sweating, himself “I thought you’d taken off,” he said “Yes,” she murmured, closing her eyes “Couldn’t that, could I?” “I don’t see why not.” “Don’t you? But—doesn’t matter I didn’t.” “Werlic Thank you.” She nodded, and her eyes opened again They shone like violet lamps “I have to go with them tomorrow,” he said, “to Eslen.” “Sure,” she said “I know that.” “Well, the thing is, I need you not to die while I’m gone,” he explained “ Don’t take your orders, holter,” she said “But stay here with me until you leave, yes?” Aspar nodded “Yah.” He settled on the floor next to the bed, and soon fell asleep When he woke again, it was morning, and Winna was gently shaking him awake “It’s time to go,” she said “Yah,” Aspar said He looked over at Leshya She was still breathing, and her color looked better “Yah.” ———«»——————«»——————«»——— Cazio dribbled a bit of water onto z’Acatto’s lips In his sleep, the old swordmaster grimaced and tried to spit it out “Well,” Cazio said, “that’s a good sign.” “He has to drink,” the healer said “He’s lost a lot of blood, and blood is made from water.” The Hornish healer spoke Vitellian with a funny accent, as if he were singing “Blood is made of wine,” z’Acatto contradicted, cracking one eye halfopen “The original wine, the wine of Saint Fufiono, that’s what flows in our veins Water is what they drown babies in.” The healer smiled “A little watered wine wouldn’t hurt,” he said “I’ll find some.” “Wait,” z’Acatto wheezed “What country are we in?” “You’re in Hornladh and the Empire of Crotheny.” Z’Acatto winced and let his hand drop “Cazio,” he said, “do you know that no drinkable wine has ever been produced north of Tero Galle?” “We don’t find our wines difficult to drink,” the healer said “Please,” z’Acatto went on, “I have no wish to insult, but that only means you have no sense of taste, at least not a cultivated one How did I come to this hellish place? A man’s last drink should remind him of all that was good in life, not send him to Lord Ontro weeping.” “First of all,” the healer said, “you aren’t dying, not that I can tell.” “No?” z’Acatto’s brows lifted in surprise “No You’ll be long in bed, and longer recovering your strength, but I’ve stopped your bleeding, and none of your wounds seem likely to go septic.” “You’re mostly bone and gristle, in other words,” Cazio put in “If I didn’t know better,” the healer said, “I would say whoever shot you was intentionally trying to wound, not kill Since no one is that good a shot, I’d say you have the saints to thank.” “I’ll thank Saint Fufiono if there’s some Vitellian wine around here,” z’Acatto said, “and much thank the man who brings it.” “I believe there is some Gallean Barnice et Tarve in the cellar,” the healer replied “That will have to do.” “Eh,” the swordmaster said “That could work out until I can come across something better.” The healer left, and z’Acatto grumbled a little under his breath, then fixed his eyes on Cazio “We’re both still alive, I’ve noticed.” “Indeed,” Cazio said “Although it’s unclear to me exactly how.” “You’re hardly scratched.” Cazio glanced down at the copious bandages and dressings that covered his body “It’s true,” he replied, “All thanks to that practice we had.” He then explained, as best he could, the events of the night before “Well,” the old swordsman said, when Cazio had finished, “these are matters that ” He trailed off, and for a moment seemed to fall asleep, but then he perked back up “When are we going home?” “I thought you were the one who said I ought to get out and see the world.” “Well, we’ve seen plenty of it,” z’Acatto replied “Now it’s time to lie in the sun and drink something from a good year for a while, don’t you think? It might even be safe to go back to Avella by now, but if it isn’t, I’m sure the countess would take us in again.” His eyes narrowed at the expression that must have crept across Cazio’s face “What?” “Well,” Cazio said, “as it turns out, Anne is Princess of Crotheny.” “You don’t say?” z’Acatto snorted “Don’t you remember when the news came about William’s death, how those girls got so upset?” “Well, yes, but I thought they were just upset because their emperor had died I didn’t know it was her father.” He remembered how when he’d first met Anne, he had held back his own minor title to impress her at the most opportune time Now he felt silly about that, as about so many things “You might have told me,” Cazio said “If I don’t make you use your own brain, it will turn into meal-mush,” z’Acatto retorted “Anyway,” Cazio pressed on, “her kingdom has been usurped and her mother taken prisoner She’s asked me to come along and help reclaim the one and free the other.” “Not your country,” z’Acatto said, suddenly serious “Not your business.” “I feel as if it is,” Cazio said “I’ve come this far—I think I’ll finish it.” “There is no ‘finishing it,’ boy What you’re riding into is war, and that’s something you don’t want any experience with, I promise you.” “I’m not afraid of war,” Cazio told him “Then you’re a fool,” the swordmaster spat “Remember how I told you fighting a knight was nothing like one of your noontime duels?” “I remember,” Cazio said “You were right, and thanks to your advice I’ve survived.” “Then listen to me one more time, even if it’s the last time,” z’Acatto said “Whatever you imagine war is, you’re wrong It’s terrible, and being brave doesn’t help It’s not dying in a war that’s the worst thing, it’s living through one.” Cazio held his gaze firmly “I believe you,” he said “And I believe you speak from experience, though you won’t talk about it But I feel this has become my duty, z’Acatto I think I belong in this fight, and I think I should have earned enough respect from you that you wouldn’t imagine I still make decisions like a boy I may not know exactly what I’m walking into, but my eyes are open.” Z’Acatto sighed and nodded “You’ve traveled farther than your leagues, Cazio,” he said at last “And you have learned some judgment I finally see the character I knew you had in you starting to come through But take my council on this Go home with me.” “You can’t travel now,” Cazio said, “but when we’ve set things right in Eslen, you can join us there.” “No,” the old man said “As soon as I can travel, I’m returning to Vitellia If you go north to this mess, you’ll go without me.” Cazio drew his damaged blade and raised it to attention “I salute you, old man,” he said “What you did last night was beyond belief I will never forget it as long as I live.” “You’re going,” z’Acatto said flatly “I am.” “Then go No more pretty words Go Azdei.” “Azdei, mestro,” Cazio replied He was suddenly terribly afraid that he was going to cry ———«»——————«»——————«»——— Neil knelt before Anne and tried to hold himself steady on one knee, but his body, racked by pain and exhaustion, betrayed him, and he fell He caught himself with his hands “Ease yourself, Sir Neil,” Princess Anne said “Sit, please.” He hesitated, then stood and slumped onto the bench Bright and dark spots danced before his eyes “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he mumbled “I’m just out of breath.” The princess nodded “You’ve been through much, Sir Neil,” she observed, “and some of it has been because of me I did not trust you in z’Espino.” “That is clear to me, Your Highness.” She tucked her hands behind her back and regarded him with a solid gaze “I wronged you,” she said “And you almost died But I had my reasons Do you doubt me?” Neil found that he didn’t “No, Your Majesty,” he said “I understand what your position was I should have made more of an effort to convince you.” “I am not queen, Sir Neil,” the princess said softly “You should not address me as ‘Majesty.’” “I understand, Your Highness,” Neil replied She lay a hand on his shoulder “I’m glad you survived, Sir Neil I am most glad.” Neil heard the apology there—an apology without weakness A very regal sort of apology that sent a little thrill through him I serve someone worthy, he caught himself thinking He hadn’t known Anne before, not really But he did know she hadn’t been like this Something basic in her had changed; she had been a girl Now she was something much stronger “Ah, Cazio,” he heard Anne say Neil glanced up to see the Vitellian had joined them “Mi Regatura,” Cazio said, a bit cockily But then, as if the gesture pained him, he dropped to one knee Anne regarded him for a moment, then nodded and said something to Cazio in Vitellian “I must see someone else, now,” she told Neil Neil made the sign of blessing, and Cazio made a similar sign, then they both rose As Anne left, the Vitellian looked at Neil “I speak not well your tongue,” he managed in an incredibly thick accent “But I listen, no? You brave man You brother.” He held out his hand Neil clasped it “It was an honor to fight beside you,” he said “She—” the Vitellian pointed after Anne, struggling for words “Not the same,” he finally managed “No,” Neil breathed “She is a queen now.” ———«»——————«»——————«»——— Anne gazed down at Roderick’s corpse Vespresern had already washed him and laid him in a winding-sheet Now she stood weeping as Anne and Austra looked on “He died bravely,” Anne ventured Vespresern turned hard eyes on her “He died for you,” she said “I can’t imagine you’re worth it He loved you He was mad with love for you.” Anne nodded, but she didn’t have anything to say After a moment, she left, with Austra following her The two women went up to the battlements, so Anne could feel the wind The threat of rain was long gone, and stars blazed in the night sky “I thought I loved him,” Anne said, “and then I thought I hated him Now I don’t feel much of anything but pity.” “Why?” Austra said “Anne, his father must have told him to court you They planned to kill you all along, and Roderick was an instrument of that plan.” “I know And if I hadn’t cursed him with love, he would have killed me himself, I’m sure But I did curse him, and cursed him again He died for something he didn’t even understand Like that horse, remember? Duke Orien’s horse? It broke its leg, and we were hiding in the hayloft and saw them kill it? You could see in its eyes, it didn’t understand what was happening to it.” “I suppose.” “And if I had never been so foolish as to write him, still none of this would have happened His love was first counterfeit, then shinecraft Mine was neither—it was just a foolish girl’s game So whose shoulders should this all fall on?” “You can’t take it all on yourself.” “Oh, but I can,” Anne said “I must I went there again, Austra I saw the fourth Faith, and she told me that my mother has been imprisoned and my father’s throne usurped That’s why we’re leaving here tomorrow.” “That can’t be true,” Austra said “I believe it,” Anne replied “First they kill half of us and then they take our throne That seems like a pretty logical course of events But they missed me, and they’re going to regret that.” Austra regarded her for a long moment “I believe they will,” she said She started to say something else, but seemed to struggle for a moment “I’m sorry I disobeyed you,” she said finally Anne looked frankly at her “Austra, you are truly the only person I can claim to love I know that now I can’t even say that about my mother or Charles, not honestly You are the only one I love.” “I love you, too,” Austra said “But you can’t disobey me again,” Anne said, taking her hand “Ever I might be right, and I might be wrong, and you may try to convince me when you think I’m wrong, but once my word is spoken, it is your word, too.” “Because you’re the princess and I’m a servant?” Austra murmured “Yes,” Anne replied They set out the next morning—Anne, Austra, Winna, Aspar, Neil, Cazio, and twenty horsemen from Dunmrogh The clouds were back, and a midday snow began to fall, the first snow of winter It was Yule; from now on, the days would only get longer EPILOGUE Resacaratum LEOFF GLANCED UP AS the praifec entered the little room that had been his home for the past two days There wasn’t much to it, the room—a table, a few candles, and no window at all Of course, there wouldn’t be, this deep underground “You’re a very clever man,” the praifec said after a moment “And far more political than I would have imagined.” “I told you it would be magnificent,” Leoff said, trying to sound brave “Oh, yes, and so it was,” Hespero agreed “Even I was moved by it— moved as if by shinecraft, in fact.” “It was music, not shinecraft,” Leoff insisted “All music is magical You can’t artificially separate—” “Oh, I most certainly can,” the praifec replied “And I’m afraid the council of praifecs agrees with me Leovigild Ackenzal, you are here convicted of shinecraft and high treason.” He stepped closer and rested a hand on Leoff’s shoulder The touch made the composer’s skin crawl “No, my friend,” the praifec said in his most avuncular tones, “enjoy your small triumph It will have to last you the rest of your life.” Leoff held his chin high “I’m not afraid to die,” he said The praifec shrugged “I’m not going to kill you,” he said “But in a moment, I will leave this room, and so will you, and you will be taken to a place.” He put his hands behind his back “Fralet Ackenzal, you know the meaning of Resacaratum?” “It means a reconsecration—to make holy again.” “Indeed The world has become an unholy place, Fralet Ackenzal, I think you will agree War threatens everywhere; terrible monsters wander about—why you’ve met one yourself, yes?” “Yes,” Leoff said “Yes The world is in need of purification, and when that need arises, the Church is at hand It’s beginning now, in every country, every village, every house The Resacaratum has begun And you have the honor of being one of its first—examples.” “What you mean?” Leoff asked, the hair on the back of his neck pricking up “You will be lustrated, Fralet—made pure I fear the process may be painful, but redemption rarely comes without cost.” He gave Leoff’s shoulder a friendly squeeze and left And as he promised, someone came and took Leoff to a place He tried to be brave, but Leoff was not made for pain, and after a time he screamed, and cried, and begged for an end to it But it did not end ACKNOWLEDGMENTS A special thanks to Terry Brooks for his support and encouragement Thanks also to Elizabeth Haydon, Melanie Rawn, Katherine Kurtz, Robin Hobb, John Maddox Roberts, and Charles de Lint for their kind words about The Briar King Thanks to my readers: T Karen Anderson, Nancy Baker, Kris Boldis, Marshal Hibnes, Chris Hodgkins, Lanelle Keyes, Eugenia Mansfield, Charlie Sheffer, and Nancy Vega Thanks to Jack Simmons, Ph.D., for his help with matters nautical Any mistakes in such matters don’t originate with him As always, thanks to my editor, Steve Saffel; editor in chief, Betsy Mitchell; and managing editor, Nancy Delia Thanks to Eliani Torres for wading through my misspellings and other mistakes Thanks also to editorial assistant Keith Clayton for tons of hard work Thanks to Kirk Caldwell for more beautiful maps, Stephen Youll for the cover art, and Dave Stevenson for putting it all together Thanks to Colleen Lindsay and Christine Cabello for putting me out there, in three dimensions and in cyberspace Sorry I ruined a perfectly good assistant, Colleen, even if only for a day or two Thanks to Mark Maguire for managing production Across the pond, many thanks to Stefanie Bierworth and Peter Lavery, not only for publishing this book in Britain, but for their hospitality—especially Peter, who put up with me as a houseguest Thanks to Dave Gross for his perpetual support and for being best man at my most recent wedding Belated thanks to Jacques Chambon, who edited my first books published in French The world is a lesser place without you, Jacques Book Rangers - PleX Lectio Facit Liber Table of Contents The Charnel Prince ABOUT THE AUTHOR PROLOGUE PART I CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO, z’Espino CHAPTER THREE, The Composer CHAPTER FOUR, The Praifec CHAPTER FIVE, The Sarnwood Witch CHAPTER SIX, The Eyes of Ash CHAPTER SEVEN, Discovered CHAPTER EIGHT, The Basil-nix CHAPTER NINE, Proposals CHAPTER TEN, Ospero PART II CHAPTER ONE, A Joust CHAPTER TWO, Return to the Forest CHAPTER THREE, Mery CHAPTER FOUR, Guest of the Countess CHAPTER FIVE, The Utin CHAPTER SIX, The Hounds of Artumo CHAPTER SEVEN, Ambria CHAPTER EIGHT, Trust CHAPTER NINE, Life or Death CHAPTER TEN, Betrayal PART III CHAPTER ONE, Assassin CHAPTER TWO, A Game of Fiedchese CHAPTER THREE, Leshya CHAPTER FOUR, The Third Faith CHAPTER FIVE, Alis Berrye CHAPTER SIX, Observations on Diverse Things Such as Being Dead By Stephen Darige CHAPTER SEVEN, At the Ball CHAPTER EIGHT, Swanmay CHAPTER NINE, The Wind and the Sea CHAPTER TEN, Canals PART IV CHAPTER ONE, Friendships CHAPTER TWO, The Blind, the Deaf, and the Darkness CHAPTER THREE, Swordsman, Priest, and Crown CHAPTER FOUR, Borderlands CHAPTER FIVE, The Port of Paldh CHAPTER SIX, The Return CHAPTER SEVEN, A Change of Patrons CHAPTER EIGHT, The Nicwer CHAPTER NINE, Sorority CHAPTER TEN, Overtures CHAPTER ELEVEN, Roderick PART V CHAPTER ONE, The Song in the Hills CHAPTER TWO, Confluence CHAPTER THREE, Ceremony CHAPTER FOUR, Khrwbh Khrwkh CHAPTER FIVE, The Candle Grove CHAPTER SIX, Yule EPILOGUE, Resacaratum ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ... another word They moved under the wrought-iron pastato of a large house of red marble, where they tethered the horses, and with the turn of an iron key left the freezing rain outside Within the. .. that the others in the party should the same He lifted his heavy ashe spear Ahead, on the trail, Ehawk saw that someone was awaiting them His heart was a cricket in his breast as they drew near There... lance level to the party on the trail Like their brethren in the woods, they were unarmed, and the sight of a fully armored knight ought to have shaken them, but instead, one of the women sprang