Table of Contents
NOVELS BY MERCEDES LACKEY available from DAW Books:
THE NOVELS OF VALDEMAR:
THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR
ARROWS OF THE QUEEN
ARROWS FLIGHT
ARROWS FALL
THE LAST HERALD-MAGE
MAGICS PAWN
MAGICS PROMISE
MAGICS PRICE
THE MAGE WINDS
WINDS OF FATE
WINDS OF CHANGE
WINDS OF FURY
THE MAGE STORMS
STORM WARNING
STORM RISING
STORM BREAKING
VOWS AND HONOR
THE OATHBOUND
OATHBREAKERS
OATHBLOOD
THE COLLEGIUM CHRONICLES FOUNDATION
BY THE SWORD
BRIGHTLY BURNING
TAKE A THIEF
EXILES HONOR
EXILES VALOR
VALDEMAR ANTHOLOGIES:
SWORD OF ICE
SUN IN GLORY
CROSSROADS
MOVING TARGETS
CHANGING THE WORLD
Written with LARRY DIXON:
THE MAGE WARS
THE BLACK GRYPHON
THE WHITE GRYPHON
THE SILVER GRYPHON
DARIANS TALE
OWLFLIGHT
OWLSIGHT
OWLKNIGHT
OTHER NOVELS:
GWENHWYFAR
THE BLACK SWAN
THE DRAGON JOUSTERS
JOUST
ALTA
SANCTUARY
AERIE
THE ELEMENTAL MASTERS
THE SERPENTS SHADOW
THE GATES OF SLEEP
PHOENIX AND ASHES
THE WIZARD OF LONDON
RESERVED FOR THE CAT
And dont miss:
THE VALDEMAR COMPANION
Edited by John Helfers and Denise Little
Dedicated to Russell Galen, without whom none of this would be possible.
PART ONE
PRINCESS
Chapter One
The talk at the hearth of the high hall of her fathers castle was all of magic that wild evening. Harvest-time had come and gone, and Samhain not far off; the old men and women were muttering about a hard winter ahead. Truly, it had turned bitter very quickly, and the harvest, while not scant, was also not bountiful. All that little Gwen knew, though, was that tonight it sounded as if everything cold and evil in the world was trying to get in. She was glad that Castell y Cnwclas was all of stone. Nothing mortal could get past those thick walls and nothing uncanny past the women gathered at the hearth, especially tonight.
Outside, the wind whined around the stone walls, and made the seats farthest from the hearth almost as cold as if the poor fellows relegated to them were sitting out on the walls. They were making up for the cold by drinking plenty of ale and mead. Inside, the drafts made flames of the torches on the walls flatten and dance, and even the huge open fire on the hearth in the center of the hall flickered this way and that, sending streamers of smoke into peoples faces unpredictably. Gwen was glad she was sitting on the stone floor, a bit of old sheepskin between her and the flags, where she was below the smoke. She hugged her knees to her chest and listened to the women of her mothers circle with the wide eyes of a young owl. Firelight illuminated familiar faces and made them strange with shifting shadows and hectic light.
The Hall was the biggest room in the castle, and served many purposes. By day it was in turn her fathers audience chamber, the place where meals were served, and the scene of most domestic work that wasnt done in the kitchen. By night, her fathers men and servants slept there. The walls were as thick as Gwens arm was long, broken only by narrow windows too small for anyone but a child to climb through. Right now, heavy wooden shutters closed off the worst of the winds. The hearth-fire in the center gave most of the heat and light, supplemented by the torches on the walls. The stone floor was covered with rushesnewly changed just two days ago, so the herbs strewn among them were still sweet and the floor beneath still clean. The ceiling was lost in darkness and further obscured by the smoke rising to the louvered hole above the hearth.
It smelled of dampness, of spilled ale, of herbs and cooked meat, of sweaty bodies and wet wool. Faintly, because it had only been two days since it had been swept clean, there was a taint of urine from the dogs and cats that ran free in here. But above all it smelled of smoke.
The women had claimed the hearth itself, sitting about the fire on benches and stools or, like Gwen and her sisters, on the floor, and the men did not challenge them. No sane man challenged a Wise Woman, much less a gaggle of them. Behind them, on the mead-benches, were the men of her fathers following. He was Lleudd Ogrfan Gawr, called The Giant, and unchallenged king of these parts. There were no more Romans to contest his rule. The Romans had come and now gone from here; they mined their tin, lead, and gold no more, and the amphitheater they had built for their so-called games now echoed only to the wail of wild cats at night. And good riddance, said her mother. Her fathers words were more pithy and profane.
The good-natured growling and grumbling of the men sounded like a muttering chorus of sleepy bears on the edge of hibernation, fat with autumn berries and nuts, and thinking mostly about sleep. Partly, that was the mead and ale of her mother Eleris brewing. She put herbs in itshe said to flavor it, but the women all knew it was to make the men calm and sleepy, and that was a secret that would never be breathed to the men, not even to the king her husband. There was little argument on Ogrfan Gawrs mead benches, and no hot-tempered quarrels that could break into blood feud. Eleri the Queen was a Wise Woman in the sense of knowing the ways of herbs as well as of magic, and she reckoned it worth the effort to keep the men from making more grief than there already was in the world. Bronywn, who served as her right hand and the childrens nurse, was the keeper of her secrets.
Hunting and fighting and tall tales were the order of business on the mead-benches tonight. With the harvest over, it was hunting that would help keep the men busy until spring, and hunting would be needed to keep the hall fed if the winter was a harsh one. Magic was the subject on the hearthstone; it was the provenance of womenand a very few, very select group of men. The Druids. The bards. The occasional hermit-healer. Eleri had told Gwen that this was because men spent too much time around Cold Iron; wearing it in the form of weapons, crafting it, cherishing it. Magic shuns Cold Iron, she had said, with a decided nod. Men might have the Gift, but while they cling to Cold Iron, theyll never have the Power.
Gwen most especially watched her mother, listened to her words, for the Queen was also the chief sorceress here and high in the Councils of the Wise. Eleri had the Power and had it in abundance. Gwen had watched her, by full moon and waning, by Midsummer sun and Midwinter dark, weaving her Power into the spells that were the weapons she wielded to defend, protect, and nurture their people. There were two thrones in Lleudd Ogrfan Gawrs High Hall: the one at the mead benches and the one at the hearth. And both were equal. The king guarded the people with his sword. The queen did so with Power.
There were those that said the queen was Fae-touched. Certainly, despite having given birth to Gwen and all her sisters, she often seemed as young as any of the maids at her hearth. There were those that said the two youngest of the brood, Gwen and her younger sister, took after her. But those that said it did so with a touch of pride, not fear; if they were Fae-touched, then, that would be a good thing.
