Trudi Canavan - Age of the Five 1 - Priestess of the White

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IN A LAND ON THE BRINK OF PEACE — WATCHED
JEALOUSLY BY A RUTHLESS CULT FROM ACROSS
THE SEA AND BESET BY HIDDEN ENEMIES — FIVE
EXTRAORDINARY HUMANS MUST SERVE AS SWORD
AND SHIELD OF THE GODS.
AURAYA IS ONE.
Her heroism saved a village from destruction; now Auraya has
been named Priestess of the White. The limits of her unique
talents must be tested in order to prove her worthy of the honor
and grave responsibility awarded to her. But a perilous road lies
ahead, fraught with pitfalls that will challenge the newest servant
of the gods. An enduring friendship with a Dreamweaver — a
member of an ancient outcast sect of sorcerer-healers — could
destroy Auraya’s future. And her destiny has set her in conflict
with a powerful and mysterious, black-clad sorcerer with but a
single purpose: the total annihilation of the White. And he is not
alone…
PRIESTESS OF THE WHITE
Book One of a phenomenal new epic fantasy trilogy,
AGE OF THE FIVE,
by international bestselling author
TRUDI CANAVAN
A brutally powerful blast
battered her shield…
Auraya put all her concentration into drawing and channeling
magic. The Pentadrian watched her intently, showing no sign of
effort as his onslaught grew ever stronger. Then she found she
could no longer draw magic fast enough to counter his attack.
White light dazzled her as he broke down her defenses. She
knew a brief instant of pure agony. Staggering backwards, she
gasped for air and looked down at herself. She was alive and,
to her surprise, unhurt.
Flee! Juran’s communication was like a shout in her mind.
He is stronger. There is nothing more you can do.
The knowledge hit her like a physical blow. The Pentadrian
could kill her. She felt a wave of terror and hastily created
another shield. Looking up at the sorcerer she saw him smiling
broadly. So much for immortality, she found herself thinking.
People are going to remember me as the shortest-lived
immortal in history. They’ll make jokes about me… She took
a few steps toward the side door and encountered an invisible
force.
“No, no,” the Pentadrian said. “You are not leaving.”
Books by
Trudi Canavan
Age of the Five Trilogy
Priestess of the White
Forthcoming
Last of the Wilds
The Black Magician Trilogy
The High Lord
The Novice
The Magician’s Guild
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
Contents
Map
Prologue
PART ONE
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17
PART TWO
18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32
PART THREE
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48
Epilogue
Glossary
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be Construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
EOS
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
10 East 53rd Street
New York, New York 10022-5299
This book was originally published in Australia in 2005 by Voyager, an imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers.
Copyright © 2005 by Trudi Canavan
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-081570-7
ISBN-10: 0-06-081570-1
www.eosbooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For
information address Eos, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
First Eos paperback printing: January 2006
HarperCollins® and Eos® are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Printed in the U.S.A.
10 987654321
To Paul
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks:
Firstly to “The Two Pauls” and Fran Bryson who read the
roughest of the rough drafts. Also to Jennifer Fallon, Russell
Kirkpatrick, Glenda Larke, Fiona McLennan, Ella McCay,
Tessa Kum for their feedback. To all the readers, especially all
my friends on Voyager Online. And, finally, to Stephanie Smith
and the Voyager Team.
Prologue
Auraya stepped over a fallen log, taking care that no crinkle of crushed leaves or
snapping of twigs betrayed her presence. A tug at her throat warned her to look
back. The hem of her tawl had caught on a branch. She eased it free and carefully
chose her next step.
Her quarry moved and she froze.
He can’t have heard me, she told herself. I haven’t made a sound.
She held her breath as the man rose and looked up into the mossy branches of an
old garpa tree. His Dreamweaver vest was dappled with leafy shadows. After a
moment he crouched and resumed his examination of the underbrush.
Auraya took three careful steps closer.
“You’re early today, Auraya.”
Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Auraya stomped to his side. One day I’m
going to surprise him, she vowed. “Mother took a strong dose last night. She’ll
sleep late.”
Leiard picked up a piece of bark, then took a short knife from a vest pocket, slid
the point into a crack and twisted it to reveal tiny red seeds inside.
“What are they?” she asked, intrigued. Though Leiard had been teaching her
about the forest for years there was always something new to learn.
“The seed of the garpa tree.” Leiard tipped out the seeds and spread them in his
palm. “Garpa speeds the heart and prevents sleep. It is used by couriers so they can
ride long distances, and by soldiers and scholars to keep awake, and…”
Falling silent, he straightened and stared into the forest. Auraya heard a distant
snap of wood. She looked through the trees. Was it her father, come to fetch her
home? Or was it Priest Avorim? He had told her not to speak to Dreamweavers. She
liked to secretly defy the priest, but to be found in Leiard’s company was another
matter. She took a step away.
“Stay where you are.”
Auraya stilled, surprised at Leiard’s tone. Hearing the sound of footsteps, she
turned to see two men step into view. They were stocky and wore tough hide vests.
Both faces were covered in swirls and dashes of black.
Dunwayans, Auraya thought.
“Stay silent,” Leiard murmured. “I will deal with them.”
The Dunwayans saw her and Leiard. As they hurried forward she saw that each
carried an unsheathed sword. Leiard remained still. The Dunwayans stopped a few
steps away.
“Dreamweaver,” one said. “Are more people in the forest?”
“I do not know,” Leiard replied. “The forest is large and people seldom enter.”
The warrior gestured with his sword toward the village. “Come with us.”
Leiard did not argue or ask for an explanation.
“Aren’t you going to ask what’s going on?” Auraya whispered.
“No,” he replied. “We will find out soon enough.”
Oralyn was the largest village in northwestern Hania, but Auraya had heard visitors
grumble that it wasn’t particularly big. Built on the summit of a hill, it overlooked the
surrounding fields and forest. A stone Temple dominated the rest of the buildings
and an ancient wall encircled all. The old gates had been removed over half a century
ago, leaving misshapen stumps of rust where hinges had once been.
Dunwayan warriors paced the wall and the fields outside were empty of workers.
Auraya and Leiard were escorted along equally empty streets to the Temple, then
directed inside. Villagers crowded the large room. Some of the younger men wore
bandages. Hearing her name, Auraya saw her parents and hurried to their side.
“Thank the gods you’re alive,” her mother said, drawing Auraya into an embrace.
“What’s happening?”
Her mother sank to the floor again. “These foreigners made us come here,” she
said. “Even though your father told them I was sick.”
Auraya undid the ties of her tawl, folded it and sat down on it. “Did they say
why?”
“No,” her father replied. “I don’t think they intend to harm us. Some of the men
tried to fight the warriors after Priest Avorim failed, but none were killed.”
Auraya was not surprised that Avorim had been defeated. Though all priests were
Gifted, not all were powerful sorcerers. Auraya suspected there were farmers with
more magical ability than Avorim.
Leiard had stopped by one of the injured men. “Would you like me to look at
that?” he asked quietly.
The man opened his mouth to reply, but froze as a white-clad figure moved to
stand beside him. The injured man glanced up at Priest Avorim then shook his head.
Leiard straightened and looked at the priest. Though Avorim was not as tall as
Leiard, he had authority. Auraya felt her heartbeat quicken as the two men stared at
each other, then Leiard bowed his head and moved away.
Fools, she thought. He could stop the pain at the least. Does it matter that he
doesn’t worship the gods? He knows more about healing than anyone here.
Yet she understood the situation wasn’t that simple. Circlians and Dreamweavers
had always hated each other. Circlians hated Dreamweavers because Dreamweavers
didn’t worship the gods. Dreamweavers hated the gods because they had killed their
leader, Mirar. Or so Priest Avorim says, she thought I’ve never heard Leiard say so.
A metallic clunk echoed through the Temple. All heads turned toward the doors
as they swung open. Two Dunwayan warriors entered. One had lines tattooed across
his forehead, giving the impression of a permanent scowl.
Auraya’s heart skipped as she recognized the pattern. He is their leader. Leiard
described these tattoos to me once. Beside him was a man in dark blue clothing, his
face covered in radiating lines. And he is a sorcerer.
The pair looked around the room. “Who leads this village?” the Dunwayan leader
asked.
The village head, a fat merchant named Qurin, stepped forward nervously.
“I do.”
“What is your name and rank?”
“Qurin, Head of Oralyn.”
The Dunwayan leader looked the plump man up and down. “I am Bal, Talm of
Mirrim, Ka-Lem of the Leven-ark.”
Leiard’s lessons were coming back to Auraya. “Talm” was a title of land
ownership. “Ka-Lem” was a high position in the Dunwayan military. The latter ought
to be linked to the name of one of the twenty-one warrior clans, but she did not
recognize the name “Leven-ark.”
“This is Sen,” Bal continued, nodding to the sorcerer at his side. “Fire-warrior of
the Leven-ark. You have a priest with you.” He looked at Avorim. “Come here and
speak your name.”
Avorim glided forward to stand beside the village head. “I am Priest Avorim,” he
said, the wrinkles of his face set in an expression of disdain. “Why have you
attacked our village? Set us free at once!”
Auraya suppressed a groan. This was not the way to address a Dunwayan, and
definitely not the way to address a Dunwayan who had just taken a village hostage.
Bal ignored the priest’s demand. “Come with me.”
As Bal turned on his heel, Qurin looked desperately at Avorim, who put a hand
on his shoulder in reassurance. The pair followed Bal out of the Temple.
Once the door had closed the villagers began speculating. Despite the village’s
close proximity to Dunway, its people knew little about the neighboring land. They
didn’t need to. The mountains that separated the two countries were near
impassable, so trade was undertaken by sea or through the pass far to the south.
The thought of what Qurin and Avorim might say to upset Bal sent a shiver of
apprehension down Auraya’s spine. She doubted there was anyone in the village,
other man Leiard, with enough understanding of Dunwayans to negotiate a way out
of this situation. But Avorim would never allow a Dreamweaver to speak for them.
Auraya thought back to the day she had first met Leiard, nearly five years before.
Her family had moved to the village in the hope that her mother’s health would
improve in the clean quiet of the country. It hadn’t. Auraya had heard that
Dreamweavers were good healers, so she sought out Leiard and boldly asked him to
treat her mother.
Since then she had visited him every few days. She’d had a lot of questions about
the world that nobody could answer. Priest Avorim could only tell her about the
gods, and he was too weak to teach her many magical Gifts. She knew Leiard was
strong magically because he had never run out of Gifts to teach her.
Though she disliked Avorim she understood that she ought to learn Circlian ways
from a Circlian priest. She loved the rituals and sermons, the history and laws, and
counted herself lucky to be living in an age the gods had made peaceful and
prosperous.
If I was a priestess, I’d be much better than he is, she thought. But that’s never
going to happen. So long as mother is sick she’ll need me to stay here and look
after her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the Temple doors. Qurin and
Avorim hurried inside and the villagers moved close.
“It appears these men are trying to stop the proposed alliance between Dunway
and Hania,” Qurin told them.
Avorim nodded. “As you know, the White have been trying to form an alliance
with the Dunwayans for years. They’re having some success now that suspicious
old I-Orm has died and his sensible son, I-Portak, is ruler.”
“So why are they here?” someone asked.
“To prevent the alliance. They told me to contact the White to communicate their
demands. I did, and I… I spoke to Juran himself.”
Auraya heard a few indrawn breaths. It was rare for priests to speak telepathically
to one of the Gods’ Chosen, the four leaders of the Circlians known as the White.
Two spots of red had appeared on Avorim’s cheeks.
“What did he say?” the village baker asked.
Avorim hesitated. “He is concerned for us and will do what he can.”
“Which is what?”
“He didn’t say. He will probably speak to I-Portak first.”
Several questions followed. Avorim raised his voice. “The Dunwayans do not
want a war with Hania—they made that clear to us. After all, to defy the White is to
defy the gods themselves. I don’t know how long we will be here. We must be
prepared to wait for several days.”
As questions turned to matters of practicality, Auraya noticed that Leiard wore a
frown of worry and doubt. What is he afraid of? Does he doubt that the White can
save us?
Auraya dreamed. She was walking down a long corridor lined with scrolls and
tablets. Though they looked interesting, she ignored them; somehow she knew that
none of them contained what she needed. Something was urging her forward. She
arrived in a small circular room. On a dais in the center was a large scroll. It uncurled
and she looked down at the text.
Waking, she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. The Temple was quiet but for
the sounds of the villagers sleeping. Searching the room she found Leiard asleep in a
far corner.
Had he sent her the dream? If he had, he was breaking a law punishable by death.
Does that matter, if we’re all going to die anyway?
Auraya drew her tawl back up around herself and considered her dream and why
she was now so certain the village was doomed. On the scroll had been one
paragraph:
“Leven-ark” means “honor-leaver” in Dunwayan. It
describes a warrior who has cast aside all honor and
obligations in order to be able to fight for an idealistic or
moral cause.
It hadn’t made sense to Auraya that a Dunwayan warrior would dishonor his clan
by taking unarmed villagers hostage or killing defenseless people. Now she
understood. These Dunwayans no longer cared for honor. They could do anything,
including slaughter the villagers.
The White were powerfully Gifted and could easily defeat the Dunwayans in a
fight, but during that fight the Dunwayans might kill the villagers before the White
overcame them. However, if the White gave in to the Dunwayans’ demands others
might copy them. Many more Hanians could be imprisoned and threatened.
The White won’t give in, she thought. They’d rather some or all of us were killed
than encourage others to take villages hostage. Auraya shook her head. Why did
Leiard send me this dream? Surely he wouldn’t torment me with the truth if there
wasn’t anything I could do about it.
She considered the information in the scroll again. “Leven-ark.” “Cast aside all
honor.” How can we turn that to our advantage?
For the rest of the night she lay awake, thinking. It was only when the dawn light
began to filter softly into the room that the answer came to her.
摘要：

FontArial FontColorblack FontSize12    BackgroundColorwhite INALANDONTHEBRINKOFPEACE—WATCHEDJEALOUSLYBYARUTHLESSCULTFROMACROSSTHESEAANDBESETBYHIDDENENEMIES—FIVEEXTRAORDINARYHUMANSMUSTSERVEASSWORDANDSHIELDOFTHEGODS. AURAYAISONE. Herheroismsavedavillagefromdestruction;nowAurayahasbeennamedPriestessoft...

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