Selected Praise for Caitlin Brennanâs White Magic series
âDefinitely a donât-put-this-down page-turner!â
âNew York Times bestselling author Mercedes Lackey on The Mountainâs Call
âAnimal lovers and romantic fantasy aficionados alike will appreciate thisâ¦coming-of-age story and an exhilarating romantic adventure.â
âRomantic Times BOOKclub on The Mountainâs Call
âA riveting plot, complex characters, beautiful descriptions, and heaps of magic.â
âRomance Reviews Today on The Mountainâs Call
âCaitlin Brennan has created a masterpiece of legend and lore with her first novel. Hauntingly beautiful and extremely powerfulâ¦. Take Tolkien and Lackey and mix them together and you get this new magic that is Caitlinâs own. You will stay enthralled with each page turned.â
âThe Best Reviews on The Mountainâs Call
âThis is the second book in this magnificent romantic fantasy seriesâ¦is full of more action, romance and drama than its prequelâ¦. The battle scenes are magnificent, the characters are realistic and the storyline is pure magic; readers will eagerly await the next book in this tantalizing series.â
âThe Best Reviews on Song of Unmaking
The ninth challenger was the strongest. He came out of the setting sun, bulking as broad as the flank of Dun Mor that loomed behind the killing ground. The potent animal reek of him washed over Euan Rohe, sharp as a bearâs den in the spring.
Euan swallowed bile. For three long days he had been fighting, at sunrise, noon and sunset. Eight warrior princes of the people lay dead at his hand.
Now this ninth and last came to contest Euanâs claim to the high kingship. He was the champion of the Mordantes, blessed by the One God with a madness of battle. Fear never touched him. Pain never slowed him.
Euanâs many bruises and countless small wounds ached and stung. His arm was bound and throbbing where the third challengerâs blade had slashed it open. He looked into those too-wide, too-eager eyes and saw death.
His lips drew back from his teeth. He laughed, though his throat was raw. The seventh challenger had come close to throttling him.
One more battle and he was high kingâor dead. He shifted his feet, gliding out of the direct glare of the sun. The Mordante hunched his heavy shoulders and rocked from foot to foot. His hands clenched and unclenched.
One of those hands could have torn Euanâs head from his shoulders. Euan was not a small man, but he was built long and rangy, like a wolf of the steppe. This challenger was a bear with a manâs eyes.
There were stories, tales told on dark nights of men who walked in beast form and supped on human blood. Time was when Euan would have called them childrenâs tales. Then he had walked on the other side of the river and seen what imperial mages could do.
His mind was wandering dangerously close to the edge. He wrenched it back into focus.
The Mordante was still rocking, growling softly. The crowd of tribesmen blurred behind him, a wide circle of faces, winter-gaunt and hungry, thirsting for blood.
Euanâs adversary had no weapon but his massive body. Euan had a knife and a hunting spear and his roving wits. He lifted the spear in his hand, weighing it, aiming for the heart beneath the bearskin.
The Mordante lunged, blindingly fast. Euanâs spearpoint glanced off the heavy pelt. The haft twisted out of his hand.
A grip like a vise closed on his wrist, pulling him up against that hot and reeking body. He groped for his knife, but it was caught between them. The hilt dug into his belly, a small but vivid pain.
He went limp as if in surrender. The Mordante grunted laughter and locked arms around him, crushing the breath out of him.
Euan let his knees buckle and his body go boneless. He began to slide down. The Mordante clutched at him. His free hand snapped upward.
Blood sprayed from the broken noseâbut Euan had not struck high or fast enough. It had not pierced through to the brain.
Still, it was a bitter blow. The Mordante dropped, blind and choking.