Jacqueline Carey - The Sundering 02 - Godslayer

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GODSLAYER

Jacqueline Carey

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

TOR BOOKS BY JACQUELINE CAREY

Godslayer

Banewreaker

Kushiel's Avatar

Küshiel's Chosen

Kushiel's Dart

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are

used fictitiously.

GODSLAYER

Map by Ellisa Mitchell

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

175Fifth Avenue

New York,NY

www.tor.com

Tor ® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 0-765-31239-5

EAN 978-0-765-31239-6

First Edition: August 2005

Printed in theUnited States of America

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

SEVEN SHAPERS

Haomane, Lord-of-Thought

Arahila the Fair

Satoris the Sower

Neheris-of-the-Leaping-Waters

Meronin the Deep

Yrinna-of-the-Fruits

Oronin the Glad Hunter

DARKHAVEN'S FORCES

Tanaros Blacksword—General, one of the Three

Ushahin—Dreamspinner, one of the Three

Vorax—Glutton, one of the Three

Hyrgolf—Fjel field-marshal

Carfax—Staccian captain

Skragdal—Fjel squadron commander

Speros—Midlander, recent arrival

Meara—madling, attendant to Cerelinde

HAOMANE'S ALLIES

Malthus the Counselor—Haomane's emissary

Ingolin the Wise—Lord of the Rivenlost

Cerelinde—Lady of the Ellylon

Aracus Altorus—heir to Kingdom of the West

Blaise Caveros—Aracus' second-in-command, member of Malthus' Company

Fianna—the Archer of Arduan, member of Malthus' Company

Peldras—Ellyl, member of Malthus' Company

Lorenlasse of Valmaré—Leader of the Host of the Rivenlost

Dani—Yarru, the Bearer

Thulu—Yarru, Dani's uncle and guide

OTHERS

Lilias—Sorceress of the East

Calandor—dragon, one of the Eldest

Calanthrag—dragon, the Eldest

Grey Dam—ruler of the Were

Now conscience wakes despair

That slumber'd,—wakes the bitter memory

Of what he was, what is, and what must be

Worse.

John Milton,ParadiseLost

GODSLAYER

CHAPTER ONE

All things converge.

In the last Great Age of the Sundered World of Urulat, which was once called Uru-Alat after the World

God that gave birth to it, they began to converge upon Darkhaven.

It began with a red star rising in the west: Dergail's Soumanië, a polished stone that had once been a chip

of the Souma itself—that mighty gem that rested on the sundered isle of Torath, the Eye in the Brow of

Uru-Alat, source of the Shapers' power.

Satoris the Shaper took it for a warning, a message from a sister who had loved him, once upon a time;

Arahila the Fair, whose children were the race of Men. His enemies took it as a declaration of war.

Whatever the truth, war ensued.

Haomane, First-Born among Shapers, long ago uttered a Prophecy.

"When the unknown is made known, when the lost weapon is found, when the marrow-fire is quenched

and Godslayer is freed, when a daughter of Elterrion weds a son of Altorus, when the Spear of Light is

brought forth and the Helm of Shadows is broken, the Fjeltroll shall fall, the Were shall be defeated ere

they rise, and the Sunderer shall be no more, the Souma shall be restored and the Sundered World made

whole and Haomane's Children shall endure."

It began with the rising of Dergail's Soumanië. Cerelinde, the Lady of the Ellylon, a daughter of

Elterrion's line, plighted her troth to Aracus Altorus. It was the first step toward fulfilling Haomane's

Prophecy; Arahila's Children and Haomane's conjoined, their lines inextricably mingled. But in Lindanen

Dale, their nuptials were disrupted.

Bloodshed ensued.

It was a trap; a trap that went awry. It seemed at first that all the pieces fell into place. Driven by

vengeance, the Grey Dam of the Were spent her life in an attack, and the half-breed Ushahin

Dreamspinner unleashed madness and illusion, under its cover. Tanaros Blacksword abducted the Lady

Cerelinde and took her to Darkhaven.

Haomane's Allies were misled. Pursuing a rumor of dragons, under the command of Aracus Altorus,

they raised an army and launched an assault on Beshtanag and Lilias. Sorceress of the East. And there

the trap went awry. The Ways were closed, and the Army of Darkhaven was turned back, their

company's leadership scattered. In Beshtanag, Haomane's Allies took to the field.

There, they prevailed.

They were not supposed to do so.

They were coming; all of them.

They came on foot and on horseback and by sailing ship, for the Ways of the Marasoumië had been

destroyed. Lord Satoris had done this in his wrath. The Dragon of Beshtanag was no more, slain by the

Arrow of Fire; the lost weapon, found. Bereft of her Soumanië, the Sorceress of the East was nothing

more than an ordinary woman; Lilias, mortal and powerless. The Were had struck a bitter bargain with

Aracus Altorus, ceding to his terms; defeated ere they rose. Aracus was coming, his heart filled with

righteous fury, knowing he had been duped.

Malthus the Wise Counselor, trapped in the Ways, had vanished beyond the sight of even Godslayer

itself… but rumor whispered of a new figure. The Galäinridder, the Bright Rider, whose words bred fear

in the hearts of Men, inspiring them to betray their ancient oaths to Lord Satoris.

But Haomane's Allies had not won yet.

On the westernmost verge of theUnknownDesert , Tanaros Blacksword, Commander General of the

Army of Darkhaven, made camp alongside a creek. There he slaked the thirst of his long-parched flesh

and made ready to rally his surviving troops and set his face toward home. Immortal though he was, he

could have died in the desert, Thanks to a raven's gratitude, he lived.

When he dreamed, he dreamed of the Lady Cerelinde.

On the back of a blood-bay horse, Ushahin Dreamspinner rode the pathways between waking and

dreaming, plunging into theMidlands and leaving a trail of nightmares in his wake. A wedge or ravens

forged his path, and on either side, a riderless horse flanked him; one a spectral grey, the other as black

as coal.

If he had dreamed, which he did not, he would dream of the counsel of dragons.

Vorax the Glutton, muttering over his stores, awaited them in Darkhaven.

The immortal Three were soon to be reunited.

Haomane's Prophecy was yet to be fulfilled.

In the mighty fortress of Darkhaven, where the Lady Cerelinde endured imprisonment and fought against

a rising tide of doubt, the marrow-fire yet burned. Within it hung the dagger, Godslayer; ruby-red, a

Shard of the Souma. Once, it had wounded Satoris; the wound that would not heal. Godslayer alone

could end a Shaper's life; the life of Lord Satoris, the life of any of the Shapers. And while the

marrow-fire burned, no mortal hand could touch it. None but a Shaper would dare.

Only the Water of Life, drawn from the Well of the World, could extinguish the marrow-fire. The Water

had been drawn, but its Bearer was lost.

Thrust out of the Ways by Malthus the Counselor in a desperate gambit, abandoned and lost, Dani of

the Yarru wandered the cold lands of theNorthern Harrow , deep in Fjeltroll territory, with only his uncle

to guide him. Together, they sought to follow the rivers, the lifeblood of Urulat, to Darkhaven.

And they, too, were being hunted…

Led by Skragdal of the Tungskulder, the Fjel were on the hunt. Their loyalty to Lord Satoris was

beyond question. Haomane's Prophecy promised them nothing but death. No matter where it led them,

they would not abandon their quest. They would succeed or die trying.

All things converge.

Neherinach was a green bowl cradled in the mountains hands. Here and there, small boulders breached

its surface; elsewhere, a half dozen small hillocks arose, covered in flowering ivy. A small river,

spring-fed, wound through the center of it, meandering westward to sink belowground. Low mountains,

sloping upward with a deceptively gentle grade, surrounded it. Patches of gorse offered grazing to fallow

deer, shelter to hare that crouched in the shadow of small crags.

It was a peaceful place, and a terrible one.

On the verges, the Kaldjager scouts waited, glancing sidelong out of yellow eyes to watch the others'

straggling progress. Skragdal, leading them, knew what the Kaldjager felt. This was where it had begun.

They assembled in silence on the field of Neherinach. The green grass was soft beneath their feet. Water

sparkled under the bright sun. Birds stirred in the trees, insects took flight from grass stems.

"Come," Skragdal said quietly.

They crossed the field together, and the grass flattened beneath their approach, springing back once they

had passed. It smelled clean and sweet. Skragdal felt his talons breach the surface of the soil beneath,

rich and crumbling. It filled him with an ancient fury. There was old blood in that soil. Thousand upon

thousand of Fjel had died in this place, fighting without weapons against a vast army of Men and Ellylon,

attacked without quarter for the crime of giving shelter to the wounded Shaper who had taught them the

measure of their own worth. The ivy-covered hillocks that dotted the field marked thecairns of Fjel dead;

one for each of the six tribes.

In the end, they had won; by treachery and stealth, according to the songs of Haomane's Allies. It was

true, they had laid traps, but what was treachery to a people invaded without provocation? It had been a

bitter victory.

Near the riverbank, where the ground was soft enough to hold an impression, they found a trace of old

hoofprints. Skragdal frowned. Only Men and Ellylon rode horses, and he did not like the idea of either

despoiling Neherinach.

"A rider," Thorun said.

"Aye."

"The earl's Galäinridder?"

"Perhaps."

Led by the Kaldjager, they followed the tracks to their origin. At the northern tip of Neherinach, a

node-point of the Marasoumië had lain buried in a hollow place. Now, a great crater had been gouged

from the earth. Splintered rock thrust outward in every direction. Whatever had emerged had done so

with great force. The innermost surfaces of the granite were smooth and gleaming, as if the rock itself had

become molten. It had not happened all that long ago. There were fresh scratches on the rock, and the

remnants of hoofprints were still visible on the churned ground.

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GODSLAYERByJacquelineCareyContentsCHAPTERONECHAPTERTWOCHAPTERTHREECHAPTERFOURCHAPTERFIVECHAPTERSIXCHAPTERSEVENCHAPTEREIGHTCHAPTERNINECHAPTERTENCHAPTERELEVENCHAPTERTWELVECHAPTERTHIRTEENCHAPTERFOURTEENCHAPTERFIFTEENCHAPTERSIXTEENCHAPTERSEVENTEENCHAPTEREIGHTEENCHAPTERNINETEENCHAPTERTWENTYCHAPTERTWENTY-...

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