The Silver Mage
The fifteenth and final novel in the celebrated Deverry series, an epic fantasy rooted in Celtic mythology that intricately interweaves human and elven history over several hundred years.Spurred on by the priestesses of the false goddess Alshandra, the Horsekin hordes are massing on the northern border of Prince Dar's holdings. Their leaders believe that the rich grasslands of the prince's domain belong to them by divine right, no matter whom they must destroy to claim them.But Dar has powerful allies on his side, including the dragon Arzosah, who has hated the Horsekin for hundreds of years. She will vow to take a revenge worse than anything the Horsekin and their priestesses could possibly foresee.The prince’s most powerful ally, however, is the one the Horsekin refuse to understand: the deep magic of the dweomer, as wielded by the band of sorcerers sworn to protect him, and especially by the elven master of magic, Dallandra, the silver mage.
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THESILVER MAGE
BOOK SEVEN OF THEDRAGON MAGE
KATHARINE KERR
HarperCollinsPublishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
First published by HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 2009
Copyright © Katharine Kerr 2009
Katharine Kerr asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007287369
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2014 ISBN: 9780007301935
Version: 2014-08-04
For Howard First, Last, and Always
CONTENTS
Prologue: The Northlands Summer, 1160
Part II: The Northlands Summer, 1160
The serpent of Time winds itself about the cross of Matter. Some say it has seven heads, some only three, but the difference counts for little. It is the body of the serpent, not the head, that crushes its prey.
The Secret Book of Cadwallon the Druid
Death had turned Dougie’s hair white and his flesh translucent. In the darkness he glowed with a faint silvery light as he stood smiling at Berwynna.
‘Remember me, lass,’ he said in the language of Alban, ‘but live your life, too. I loved you enough to wish you every happiness. Find a new man.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Berwynna said. ‘The only thing I want is for you to come back to me.’
‘This is as far back as I can come, just up to this side of dying. Wynni, live your life!’
He vanished.
Berwynna screamed and sat up, scattering blankets. She found herself in a round tent so unfamiliar that for a moment she thought she still dreamt. The Ancients, she reminded herself. I’m safe among the Ancients, but Dougie’s dead. The first light of dawn fell like a grey pillar through the smoke hole in the centre of the roof. Across from her, on the far side of the tent, a bundle of blankets stirred and yawned. Uncle Mic sat up and peered at her through the uncertain light.
‘Are you all right?’ he said in Dwarvish. ‘Did you make some sort of a sound just now?’
‘I was dreaming,’ she said. ‘In the dream I saw Dougie, and when he disappeared, I screamed.’
‘Ai, my poor little niece!’ Mic paused to rub his face with both hands and yawn prodigiously. ‘It sounded like a moan, here in the waking world.’
‘That would fit, too.’
Mic let his hands fall into his lap. From outside came the noises of a camp stirring awake – dogs barking, people talking in an unfamiliar language, occasionally a child crying or calling out. Distantly a horse whinnied, and mules brayed in answer.
‘We might as well get up,’ Berwynna said.
‘Indeed, and I wouldn’t mind a bit of breakfast, either.’
They’d both slept dressed. Mic pulled on his boots, then got up and left the tent. Berwynna busied herself with rolling up their bedrolls.
‘Berwynna?’ Dallandra pulled back the tent flap and came in. ‘You’re awake, then?’
‘I am, my lady.’
‘There’s no need to call me lady,’ Dallandra said with a smile. ‘I wanted to tell you that your father’s flown off to scout the Northlands. He asked me to give you his love and to tell you he’ll be back again as soon as he can.’
‘My thanks.’ Berwynna bit her lip in disappointment. ‘I’d wanted to say farewell.’
‘Dragons come and go as they please, not as we want, I’m afraid. He also told me about the lost dragon book.’
Berwynna winced. Dallandra sat down opposite her. In the pale light from the rising dawn, she seemed made of silver, with her ash blonde hair, steel grey eyes, and her pale skin, so unexpected in a person who lived most of her life out of doors. Silver or mayhap steel, Berwynna thought, like the pictures on the doors of Lin Serr.
‘In a moment I’ll have to go tend the wounded men,’ Dallandra said. ‘But I wanted to ask you about the book. You’ve seen it, I take it.’
‘I have,’ Berwynna said. ‘Not that I were able to read a word of it, mind. Laz, he did say that it be written in the language of the Ancients, your language, that be.’
