The Black Raven
Book ten of the celebrated Deverry series, an epic fantasy rooted in Celtic mythology that intricately interweaves human and elven history over several hundred years.At the end of the Civil Wars, Prince Maryn stands on the brink of bringing peace at last to the torn kingdom, but powerful magics threaten his reign and his life. Only Nevyn’s young apprentice, Lilli, can see the horrifying power of the curse, her dead mother’s legacy of evil, that could bring disaster upon them all. But she has only untried magic for a weapon as she fights to save her beloved prince.Centuries later, the ancient evil rises again, threatening a raging tide of war that could destroy Deverry forever. Out in the lonely Northlands the savage Horsekin are gathering their armies to march west and conquer the kingdom promised them by their blood-maddened goddess, Alshandra, and her human priestess, Raena. Directly in their path lies the peaceful city of Cerr Cawnen, trembling in the fear of war.
Читать The Black Raven онлайн беплатно
KATHARINE KERR
THE BLACK RAVEN
Book Two of the Dragon Mage
It occurs to me that readers might find it helpful to know something about the overall structure of the Deverry series. From the beginning of this rather large enterprise, I have had an actual ending in mind, a set of events that should wrap up all the books in dramatic conclusion. It’s merely taken me much longer to get there than I ever thought it would.
If you think of Deverry as a stage play, the sets of books make up its acts. Act One consists of the Deverry books proper, that is, Daggerspell, Darkspell, Dawnspell, and Dragonspell. The ‘Westlands’ books, A Time of Exile, A Time of Omens, A Time of War, and A Time of Justice, make up Act Two, while Act Three will unfold in the current quintet, ‘The Dragon Mage,’ that is, The Red Wyvern, The Black Raven, the volume you now have in hand, and its ‘sister’, The Fire Dragon. The Gold Falcon and The Silver Wyrm will bring the sequence to its end at last.
As for the way that the series alternates between past and present lives, think of the structure of a line of Celtic interlace, some examples of which have decorated the various books in this set. Although each knot appears to be a separate figure, when you look closely you can see that they are actually formed from one continuous line. Similarly, this line weaves over and under itself to form the figures. A small section of line seems to run over or under another line to form a knot.
The past incarnations of the characters in this book and their present tense story really are one continuous line, but this line interweaves to form the individual volumes. Eventually – soon, I hope – the pattern will complete itself, and you will be able to see that the set of books forms a circle of knots.
Katharine Kerr
Always the sorcerer must prepare for hindrances and set-backs. Before any working of great length and import, he must spend long nights in study of the omens, for if the Macrocosm can find a way to defeat him, it will, preferring in its laziness the natural order over any change wrought by our arts, no matter how greatly that change will be to its benefit.
The Pseudo-Iamblichus Scroll
‘Marka, dearest?’ Keeta said. ‘I’m sorry. There’s something wrong with him.’
Marka tried to answer, but her throat filled with tears. Her youngest son, not yet two years old, sat on a red and blue carpet in a patch of sunlight that spilled through the tent door. He was frowning at the edge of the brightness; over and over again he would reach out a pale brown hand and touch the shadow next to it, then draw his hand back and frown the harder. Tight brown curls hung over his forehead; now and then he would bat at them as if they bothered him, only to forget them again in an instant.
‘He does know his name,’ Marka said. ‘He may not have any other words, but he does know his name.’
Keeta sighed and sat down next to the boy, who ignored her. They made an odd pair, Keeta so massive and dark, Zandro so slender and pale. Even though she had taken over the business end of managing their travelling show, Keeta still juggled, and her long arms sported muscles many a man had envied over the years. In her curly black hair, which she wore cropped close to her skull, grey sprouted at the temples.
‘I’ve been afraid for months,’ Marka said at last. ‘He still can’t use a spoon.’
‘Is it that he can’t use one?’ Keeta held out her hand to Zandro. ‘Or that he simply won’t?’
Zandro whipped his head around and bit her on the thumb. Calmly, without speaking, Keeta put her other hand under his chin, spread her fingers and thumb, and pressed on both points of his jaw. With a squeal he opened his mouth and let her go.
‘That’s better,’ Keeta said to him. ‘No biting.’
His head tilted to one side, he considered her. She pointed to the teeth marks on her thumb.
‘No! No biting!’
All at once he smiled and nodded.
‘Very good,’ Keeta said. ‘You understood me.’
This he ignored; with a yawn he returned to his study of the edge between light and shadow.
‘Ah ye gods!’ Marka said. ‘Just when I think it’s hopeless, he’ll do something like that. Understand a word, I mean, or even do something kind. When Kivva fell and cut herself yesterday? He came running and kissed her and tried to help.’
‘I saw that, yes. At times he’s really very sweet.’
Marka nodded. In the twenty years since her marriage, she’d borne nine pregnancies, not counting the miscarriages. Six of the children had lived past infancy – Kwinto, their first-born son; Tillya, the eldest daughter; Terrenz, born so soon after Tillya that they loved each other like twins; their sisters Kivva and Delya, named after Keeta’s long-time companion, who had died in the same fever that had killed another infant son. Zandro would, she hoped, be the last. She wondered how she was going to find the love and strength to deal with him, who would demand more of both than all the rest of them put together. Keeta must have been thinking along the same lines.
