Judith Tarr - The Hounds of God

caret Can caret THE-EVERY caret Very was VOLUME

THDEE OF-. 1

THE HOUNDNTHE FALCON TU-NR caret Very

THE HOME OF THE KINDRED Rhiyana: where

the Fair Folk live in peace with mortals. Where

the White Chancellor, Alt of St. Ruan'seaand

his beautiful witch-mate, Thea Damaskena, have

ended their long exile, to raise their twin babies.

Suddenly a mad sorcerer, striking from across a

continent, murders the Elvenking'sson and kidnaps

Thea and her infants, trapping them in the bodies of

beasts-while a fanatic army besieges

Rhiyana, slaughtering the Fair Ones. Alfred,

the Elven priest, must find his mate, battle a

renegade enchanter's dark powers-and face the final

horror of the Hounds of God. Because the wondrous

Fair Folk have been marked for death by an

adversary more vast and awesome than all the world's

magic... The Church. "Tarr provides loving

detail to each characterization, subplot, image and

interaction-her craft is exceptional."

comFantasy Review

caret A Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

Book

"37145"00350" "Only regard yourself," said

Cardinal Torrino. "You have youth, beauty, great

magic. Anything mere men can do, you can do better.

And you never age or die." He sighed. "By your very

existence you make the world waver. There is no place

for you in our philosophy." "Envy is a deadly

sin," Alf said. "Deadly," the Legate said,

"yes." "No harm befalls Christian souls in

Rhiyana, that their King is the Elvenking." Alf

gripped Tomno's shoulder. "We are not of

mortal kind; we are true and potent witches; but

we do not traffic with Hell." Torrino looked at

him with great and growing sadness. "By your own words are you

betrayed." "Will you call your Hounds upon us, then?"

Alf's smile was gentle, and as terrible as the fire

in his eyes. "Our King will not atone for what is to us

no sin." "Not even for his kingdom's sake?"

"That," said Alf, "is why we will fight."

THE HOUND-LSLTHE FALCON TRILOGY

Look for these Tor books by Judith Tarr

The Hound and the Falcon THE ISLE OF

GLASS THE GOLDEN HORN THE HOUNDS

OF GOD

A vary an Rising THE HALL OF THE

MOUNTAIN KING (hardcover) THE LADY OF

HAN-GILEN (forthcoming hardcover) A FALL

OF PRINCES (forthcoming hardcover) THE

HOUNDNTHE FALCON TRILOGY

JUDITH TADG

TDR ATOM DOHERTYASSO-FLATPS

ROOK This is a work disof fiction. All the characters and

events portrayed in this book are fictional, and

any resemblance to real people or incidents is

purely coincidental. THE HOUNDS OF GOD

Copyright c 1986 by Judith Tan- All rights

reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or

portions thereof in any form. Reprinted by arrangement

with Bluejay Books First Tor printing: May

1987 A TOR Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates,

Inc. 49 West 24 Street New York,

N.y. 10010

Cover art by Kevin Eugene Johnson

ISBN: 0812556054 C. ED.:

Printed in the United States of America

For Wilie and Bonnie For Brett

And for Jonika

He knew distinction in three abstractions of

sound, the women's cry under the thong of Lupercal, the

Pope's voice singing the Glory on Lateran, the

howl of a wolf in the coast of Broceliande.

comCharles Williams, Taliessin Througfi

Logres The fire had gone out some rime since.

For all its warmth of carpets and hangings and its

che/l of books, the room was cold; icy. Its

occupant seemed not to notice. He sat in his

plain dark robe that could have been anything, lord's

cotte, scholar's gown, monk's habit, intent

upon a closely written page. His only light was

a stub of candle, the day having died somewhat before the

fire, darkening one of the greater treasures of the

Royal Chancery: the tall glass window that looked

upon the sea. A second treasure lay on the

desk near his hand, the heavy chain and the jeweled seal

of the King's Chancellor, silver and sapphire,

ashimmer in the unsteady light. He shifted

slightly on his tall scribe's stool. The

candle, flaring, turned his hair to silver fire.

He heeded the changing light no more than he had the

cold. Or the one who watched him, silent in the

doorway, almost smiling. As he stirred, she

stirred likewise. Her feet were soundless on the

eastern carpet, her movements fluid, 2 Judith

Tarr graceful. Her eyes glinted golden

bronze. In a moment, perhaps, she would burst

into laughter. Directly behind the Chancellor, she

paused. He did not move. She slid her arms

about him and set her chin upon his shoulder. He neither

started nor recoiled. "Look at this," he said, as

if she had been there reading with him for the past hour and

more. "Every year for the past fifty, the Lord of St.

Dol has taken a half-tariff from every boatload

of fish brought into his demesne; taken it and sold

it and turned a handsome profit. But here you see-the

fishermen are wise. They take care to pause in

certain havens and folds in the coast, and to dispose of

goodly portions of their catches before submitting (he

rest to the lord's inspection, thus turning handsome

profits on their own. So extortion requites

extortion, and everyone knows and no one says a word,

and each party grows gratifyingly rich."

"Very gratifyingly," she said, amused. It was not

easy, shaped as she was now, to stand for long as she

stood; she moved to his side. His arm settled itself

round her swollen middle. She leaned comfortably

against him. "And what will my lord Chancellor do to right this

twofold wrong?"

Her mockery made him smile. "Wrong, Thea?

The wrong is only this, that the King has no share in

it. I'll give the lord His Majesty's justice:

a half-tariff on his half-tariff. To increase

accordingly if he tries to extort more from his people in order

to keep up his profits." She laughed. "That's

royal justice! And the fishermen?" "What of the

fishermen? They pay their lord duly and properly.

Their share is included in his."

She shook her head. "You'll spoil them,

Alf. They'll begin to think they can wriggle out of their

taxes else where."

"They won't," he said, "unless it pleases them

to have their less . . . public transactions

recorded and taxed as well."

the hounds OF god 3

Her eyes went wide, mock-astounded. "Why,

Alfred, my saintly love, you're devious!"

"It comes with the office." His free hand

brushed the chain; paused; gathered it up. It was

heavy. World-heavy. She knew; she had set it on

his shoulders often enough.

He let it fall again with a cold clashing of

silver. "I didn't want it," he said. "I

didn't want anything except quiet and a book

or two, and you. But Gwydion will never be denied."

"Maddening, isn't it? There's one man in the world

who's more obstinate than you are. And being King, he can

do proper battle against you."

"I'm not sure if I'd call it proper. He

knighted me-that was bearable; I earned my spurs

well enough, if not entirely gladly. But the

spurs had titles attached. Lands;

lordship. I had it all before I even knew it."

"Baron of the High Council of the Kingdom

ofRhiyana," she said, savoring it. "Warden of the

Wood of Broceliande. Kinsman of the King." "And

what of your own titles, my lady of Careol?"

"They're lovely. But not as lovely as your face

the day Gwydion gave you yonder chain." Her

eyes danced upon it. "What a splendid

spectacle that was! Here was old Bishop

Ogyourselfan, raised up to join Saint Peter's

Chancery, alleluia-where no doubt his

talents would be in great demand. But who would take his

place here below? Some elderly prelate, surely,

as dry as his own ledgers, with an abacus for a brain.

There were one or two very likely candidates. And

Gwydion stood up in court and handed the chain to his

dear kinsman beside him, and said, 'Labor well for

me, my lord Chancellor.""

"And his kinsman," said Alfred, "stood gawping

like a villein at a fair."

"Actually," she said, "he looked like a monk

whose abbot has ordered him to embrace a woman.

Shocked;

indignant; and-buried deep beneath the rest-

deliehted." 4 Judith Tarr

"That last, I certainly was not. I was appalled.

Everyone knows what I am: a very reluctant

nobleman, and in spite of all your teaching, still one of the

world's innocents. Do you remember how shocked I was

in Constanrinopolis to learn that men are paid to be

healers?" "I remember. I also remember how you

took what Gwydion gave you. Admit it now; you

weren't taken completely by surprise. You'd wander

into the Chancery, maybe to look up a record,

maybe to argue law and Scripture with old

Ogyourselfan, and there'd be some small tangle

somewhere. You'd look, lift that famous eyebrow of

yours, andwitha word or two you'd have it all

unraveled."

"It was never that simple."

"Wasn't it?" Thea asked. His hand, forsaking the

chain, had come to rest upon the generous swell of her

belly. Her own settled over it. "You have a

talent' for ordering kingdoms. As for so much else."

Beneath their hands life woke, rolling and kicking, a

prominence that might have been a heel, a tight coil

of body. The sudden light in Alts face made

Thea's breath catch. Her laughter showed it, light,

not entirely steady. "He wears armor, that son of

yours. And spurs." Alf's arms linked behind her;

he smiled his swift brilliant smile. "You

don't mind."

"Not much, I don't. Once he's born,

I'll give as good as I get." He laughed

softly and laid his cheek where his hand had been. She

looked down upon the top of his head with its thick,

fine, white-fair hair; the pale lashes upon the

pale cheeks, and the lingering curve of his smile. If

she looked very closely in the candle's flicker, she

could discern the thickening of down that might, in time,

become a beard.

She shook her head wryly. She had never met

a man less vain, or with more reason to be; but

sometimes she caught him dis"her mirror, frowning at

his reflection. It was always the same.

Piercing-fair, luminous-pale, and very young. But the

eyes as he stared into the polished silver, those were not a

boy's at all. the hounds OF god 5

Nor was his voice, that had the purity of a tenor

bell. "Marry me, Thea," he said.

That ritual was years old. She completed it as

she always had. "What! and ruin my reputation?"

"I'm thinking of our children." Which was the new

litany, nearly ten months old.

"So am I," she said. "They'll be beautiful

little bas tards." He stiffened a little at the word,

relaxing with an effort. "They should not have to be-was

"It's somewhat too late for that. And what priest

would marry us? I'm a Greek, a schismatic.

1 won't convert to Rome even for you, my love."

"Jehan wouldn't care. He should be here tomorrow- even

today. He'd be more than glad to make us respect

able."

"Jehan would go to Hell for you if you asked him.

But you won't, nor will you ask him this. I won't

agree to it."

He raised his head. He was neither hurt nor

angry, only puzzled. "Why?"

"I love to be a scandal."

"In this place," he said, "that's not easy."

"Of course not. There's Prince Aidan-he

wanted a full court wedding. And his bride a

wild Saracen, an honest-to- Heaven Assassin.

It took ten years and five Popes and all his

mighty powers of persuasion, but he had his way. Then

the Archbishop wouldn't say the words, and began a new

battle royal. I have to work to keep up with that."

He sighed; rose and stretched. He was tall; he

could seem frail, with his long limbs and his

moonflower skin. Now and then a stranger would think

him fair prey, a lovely boy as meek as a

girl; would prick him and find the hunting leopard.

It was not for his scholarship, or even for his feats in

Chancery, that the King had dubbed him knight. "I

wish you would see reason," he said.

She smilffi her mn'ir wipkpri smile "T

cm[*macr] ir nnw Vnii 6 Judith Tarr

want to keep me to yourself. Fie for shame, sir!

I'm a free woman; I can do as I please."

His gaze rested upon her, clear as sunlit water

and utterly undismayed. "There are two

edges to that sword, my lady. Fidelity I

gladly meet with fidelity. But if you, being free,

decide to stray ..."

"You wouldn't."

He smiled sweetly. "Gwydion's court is

the fairest in the world. No lady in it surpasses

you, but one or two could be your equal." Her teeth

bared; her eyes went narrow and vicious, cat-

wild. "I'll claw her eyes out!"

Even in his amusement, he reached for her,

afraid, for she shifted and blurred. For an instant

the woman's form wavered behind that of a golden lioness

tensed to spring. But the vision faded. Thea stood in

her own form, glowing in amber silk, crackling with

temper. His hand retreated. He remembered to breathe

again. Her glare seared him. "And well you might

tremble for provoking me so! Or do you want your

son to be born a lion cub?" He met her

fierce witch-eyes. His own were milder but no more

human; he smiled. "I want that for my. son no

more than you want it for your daughter."

"She might profit from it."

"Then so might he." Alt took her hands and

kissed them. "My sweet lady, you have no rival

and you know it. And it's only a little longer that

you need suffer confine ment to this single shape. When our

children are born, when you're strong again, we'll run

away for a while. An hour; a day. We'll run

wolf-gray through Broceliande; we'll fly on

falcon-wings. We'll be like young lovers again."

Her temper was cooling, but it smoldered still. "H

caret , Alf? Are you going to forget your fears at

last and venture the change?" Slowly he nodded.

"I'm ready," he said. "At long last. I

think, with you to share it, I could let go."

the hounds OF god 7

"I'll hold you to that, Alfred."

His smile neither wavered nor weakened, although his

fingers were cold. "I mean you to."

"Good, because you've left yourself no choice at

all." She tilted her head slightly, looking up

at him, making no secret of the pleasure she took

in it. His hands were warming again to their wonted

fire-heat, that made him impervious to winter's

cold. He had willed his tension away, the old

fear, the deep dread that struck in the midst of the

change, when no part of his body was solid or stable

and all his being threatened to scatter into the wind. But for

all of that fear, he was a very great enchanter, equal

to any of their people; save only, perhaps, the

King.

"And you," he said softly, caught in her mind as

she was caught in his.

"In some of the arts," she admitted, "maybe.

In others you pass us all." Her laughter had come

back all at once to ripple over him. "Then,

sir prophet, how is it that you cannot see? Jehan

is here. Has been here this past hour and more."

"You never--" He broke off. He knew her.

Too well. "Witch! And you've let us dally

here."

"He's had plenty to do. Gwydion gave him

formal greeting first and a proper welcome after; all

the Folk took it up. The last I saw, he had

Anna on his knee and Nikki leaning on his

shoulder, and he was telling tales to the whole court."

He took it from her mind, whole and wonderful; with

mirth at the vision of Anna Chrysolora, woman

grown and much upon her dignity, enthroned in the lap

other beloved Father Jehan.

Bishop Jehan it was now, though that was not immediately

obvious. He wore as always the coarse brown

habit of a monk of Saint Jerome; he seemed

larger than ever, a great Norman tower of a man,

with a strong-boned, broken- nosed.

unabashedly homelv face8 Judith Tarr As it

turned to Alf, it was suddenly, miraculously

beautiful. "Alf!" Jehan laughed for sheer

pleasure as he held his friend at arm's length,

taking him in. "Alfred, you rogue, why didn't

you tell me about Thea?"

They had all drawn back, the court, the King,

even Thea, watching, smiling. Alf was hardly aware

of them. "I knew you were coming for Christmas Court,"

he answered, "and that was more than time enough. You'll do

the christening, of course."

"You'd be hard pressed to keep me from it."

Jehan's grin kept escaping, stripping years from

his face, bringing back the bright-eyed boy who had

learned philosophy from a white elf-monk. But

there was a ring on his finger, gold set with a great

amethyst. Alf bent and kissed it.

"My homage to the Bishop of Sarum," he said.

Jehan bowed in return. "And mine to the Chancellor

of Rhiyana. We've been busy lately, you and

I, rising in the world."

"Every man receives his just deserts," said Alf. The

young Bishop looked at him-something in any case that

he could never get enough of-and smiled. Alf looked

splendid. Quiet; content. As if he were

home and at ease, and completely at peace with himself

and his world. No troubles, no torments. No yearning

for the cloister he had forsaken.

"I can hardly go back to it now," he said, reading

Jehan's thoughts with the ease of long friendship.

Jehan laughed and glanced at Thea. "Hardly

indeed! She'd never allow it."

"Nor would I. We're having twins, you know.

A son for me, she says. A daughter for herself.

It will only be the second birth among the Kindred

in Rhiyana, the second time two of us together have

made a child." Alf smiled. "Prince Alun is

more excited than I am. At last, while he's still

young enough to enjoy it, he'll have cousins like himself."

"He's what-eleven?"

the hounds OF god 9

"Twelve this past All Hallows. We all

spoil him shame fully, but somehow he manages

to come out unscathed. That bodes well," Alf added,

"for the two who are coming."

"Love never spoiled anyone," Jehan said with

pontifical surety. He returned to the seat he

had left, a bench set against the tapestried wall.

The court eddied beyond, returned to its own concerns, the

King on his throne with his Queen beside him, the

high ones movingin the ancient pattern of courts,

fixed and formal as a dance. Music had begun

to play softly beneath the murmur of voices. Alt

settled beside Jehan. His eyes, changeful as

water, had warmed to pale gold; he rested his arm

upon the wide shoulders. They had sat just so at their

last meeting-was it five years ago already? And

again, three before that; and three more. The same bench that

first time, the same rich hanging portraying David

with his harp and Jonathan at his feet, tall

white-skinned black-headed youths, each with the same

eagle-proud face. Not that Jehan had noticed

them that time, or troubled to find the models in the King

and his princely brother-his nose had been

new-broken then in celebration of his emergence from two

years' cloistered retreat, and though almost healed, it

ached unbearably when the wind blew cold. Until

Alf touched him with that wondrous healer's touch and

took the pain away, and would have worked full healing if

Jehan had allowed it. "Let be," he had said,

proud young priest- knight on the Pope's errand.

"It's not as if I had any beauty to lose; and I

earned the stroke. Entering a tournament with two

months' practice behind me and two years' softening

in a library, and letting myself be matched with the

best man on the field. It's a wonder he left

my head on my shoulders." Alf had smiled and

let be. But Jehan knew he knew. Helmless,

reeling, half strangling in his own blood, with God

and fate and the champion's arrogance to aid him,

Jehan had struck his adversary to the ground. The

tale had run ahead of him, embroidered already into a

legend. 10 Judith Tarr

Ladies sighed over him, whose face was all one

hideous bruise from chin to forehead, as if he had

been as beautiful as the man beside him.

The bruise was long gone, the face neither harmed

nor helped by its broken arch. Soldier's weathering

was proving stronger than the scholar's pallor, the

lines setting firm, the hair beginning to retreat

toward the tonsure. But he still had all his teeth, and

good strong white ones they were; his strength had never

been greater. He drew a lungful of clean

Rhiyanan air overlaid with woodsmoke and fresh

rushes and a hint-a hint only-of humanity. The

last of which, he knew certainly, did not come from his

companion. Alfon shipboard, unbathed for a month

save in sea water and toiling at the oars like any

sailor, had no more scent than a child or a clean

animal. His eyes looked pastjehan,

resting like a caress upon his lady, who held court

near the fire. Lamplight and firelight leached

all the humanity from his stare, turning the great

irises to silvery gold, narrowing the pupils

to slits. So even in the chrysalid child could one mark

his kind, the people called by many names: changelings,

elf-brood, Fair Folk;

children of the Devil, of the old dead gods, ofthejann;

but in Rhiyana, the Kindred of the King. Though that was

not a kinship the law or the Church would recognize,

of blood and of family, save for the two who were

brothers, twinborn, king and royal prince:

David and Jonathan of the tapestry, Gwydion the

King and Aidan his brother. The rest had come as

Alf had from far countries, brought to this kingdom by the

presence of its King.

There were perhaps a score of them. They ran tall,

although there were knights of the court who overtopped the

tallest; they were paler of skin than most, although some

were ivory. Man and woman, or rather youth and maid,

for the eldest looked hardly to have passed his twentieth

year, each with the same cast of feature, narrow,

high-cheeked, great-eyed. And the same beauty-a

beauty to launch fleets of ships, to whistle

kingdoms down the the hounds OF god

wind, fierce and keen and splendid as the light upon

a sword. And as changeable, and as changeless. Just so

had Alf been, monk and master scholar of an abbey

in the west of Anglia, ordained priest long years

before Coeur-de-Lion was born. Just so had he

been in the debacle that was the Crusade against

Byzantium, when the Great City fell and a

Prankish emperor ruled over the ruins. Just so was

he now with king and emperor long in their graves, and so

would he always be. Blade or bolt might end his

life. Age and sickness could not. It should have been

unbearable, Jehan supposed. He found it comforting.

A deep, warm, pagan comfort that his priest's

conscience chose not to acknowledge nor to con demn.

Like the old Pope with his grimoires, who sang

Mass with true devotion and called up his demons

after, the scholar's mind knew its divisions. In

one. God and the Church and all the Canons. In the

other, Alfred and his kin and his high white magic, and

his perfect constancy. Whatever became of the world, he

remained. Would always remain, a bright strong presence

on the edge of Jehan's awareness.

His physical presence was a rare and precious

thing, to be savored slowly, in silence. But this time the

pleasure could not last. Memory flooded,

cold and deadly. Jehan's muscles knotted.

Alf's grip tightened, though gentle still, a mere

shadow of his strength. He did not speak. A warmth

crept from his arm and hand, soothing, loosening, healing.

Jehan set his teeth against it. "You're

perilous, you know," he said, trying to be light, "like

lotus flowers, or poppy. Won't you let me

suffer a bit? It's good for my soul."

"Is it?" Alf asked. "Not that I would know, who

have none." His glance was bright, full of mockery, but

like Jehan's own it had a bitter core. Jehan

flashed out against it. "You know that's not true! You of

all people in the world, who wrote the book for all our

theologians to build on."

12 Judith Tarr

"They build on Aristotle now," Alf said,

"and on the Lombard's Sentences. Not on my

Gloria Dei. Which may be almost as great as its

flatterers make it, but it remains in its essence a

testimony to one man's pride. If man you may

call him-and when he wrote it, a beardless

brilliant boy of thirty-three, he knew that he

was not." "You were scrupulous. You defined the soul according

to Plato, Aristotle, Boethius, Martianus.

You quoted Scripture and the Fathers and every

recorded authority all the way to the Lombard

himself. You corrected the philosophers' errors; you

reconciled the canonists' contradictions. But

nowhere," said Jehan, "did you exclude the

possibility that you yourself, in your immortal body,

might not possess an immortal soul."

"I still had hopes then of my own mortality.

Hopes only, but they were tenacious. They dissolved

long before my vows." Alt smiled with no appearance

of strain. "It rather amuses me now. Arrogant

innocent that I was, embodying all theology in a

single book and sending my first copy direct to the

Pope. As if all the vexed and vexing questions,

answered, could encompass the reality of God-or

even of a woman's smile."

"God and woman are disgreat mysteries. But there's

some comfort in answered questions, and more in your book, however

you shrug it away." "Not for me. And not for the busy

scribblers in the schools or in the Papal

Curia. They have no love for simple solutions,

nor for my lamentable touch of mysticism. They'll

lock all the world into their Categories; any who

fails to fit them must be anathema." Jehan shuddered

deep and painfully. "You're prophesy ing. Do you

disknow that?"

"For once," Alf answered, "yes. Tell me

what you have to tell." "What need of that? You know

already."

"Tell me."

But Jehan, whose ready tongue was famous, could not

bring himself to begin. "The King-does he-was

the hounds OF god 13

"He hears."

He was on his throne in a circle of nobles,

deep in converse with a portly prelate, the

Archbishop of Caer Gwent. He was the Elvenking.

He could hear what no mere man could. Jehan

drew a slow breath. Foolish, he upbraided

himself. It's nothing so terrible. Tell it and have done!

His voice went at it cornerwise. "It's been

a bitter year, this past one. John Lackland of

Anglia dead and buried, and a child crowned in

Winchester; though it's a strong regency we'll have,

and I'll see my own country again. Pray God

I can stay in it for more than a month at a time. I

haven't done that since Coeur-de-Lion died,

close on twenty years now. But I'm going back

in fine fettle, with a bishopric to hammer into shape

and a good number of friends at court and in the Church.

I'll do well enough. I could only wish

..."

"You wish," Alf said for him when he could not, "that

Pope Innocent had not died hard upon the Anglian

King, as if their long struggle for control of the See

of Canterbury, once ended, left nothing for either

to live for. And you wish that Innocent's death hadn't

slipped the muzzles from his Hounds."

"The Hounds of God." It was a sour taste on

Jehan's tongue. "The Order of Saint Paul

of the Damascus Road. Hunters of the Church's

enemies. Richard threw them out of Anglia for your

sake; John at least had the sense to keep them out,

and the Regents will see that they stay there. They're not

faring so splendidly well elsewhere, either. When the

Cathari in Languedoc murdered the Pope's

legate. Innocent preached a Crusade against all

heretics, and the Paulines swarmed in like Hies to a

carcass. But someone else had got there first: that

Spanish madman, Domingo, and his Preachers. That

was Innocent's doing, who'd never had much use for his

Hounds; he found them intractable. "Now Innocent

is dead and Honorius is Pope, and 14

Judith Tarr

Domingo's irregulars have been signed, sealed,

and char tered: the Ordo Praedicatorum,

with a particular mission to preach the Gospel to the lost

sheep of Rome. But Honorius is no fool.

He knows he doesn't have Innocent's power, or the

sheer gall, to kennel God's Hounds; and they're

yapping in his ear day and night. Languedoc?

What's Languedoc? A few villages full of

Cathars, and a priest or two with a harem. There's a

better target in the north. Small but fabulously

Judith Tarr - The Hounds of God

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: