The Crown of Dalemark
The final book in the epic fantasy-adventure series from ‘the Godmother of Fantasy’, Diana Wynne Jones. Now back in print!‘Mitt arrived at the top of the steps, panting, and pushed open the door. “Oh, there you are,” said the Countess. “We want you to kill someone.”’Since his arrival in the North of Dalemark Mitt has become disillusioned. The North seems no more free than the Holand he fled, a fugitive accused of attempted murder. And now he is trapped by the order to kill someone he doesn’t know or else risk the lives of his friends. Forced once more to flee, Mitt is joined by Moril, the quietly powerful musician, and Maewen – out of her time, but mysteriously fated to play a part in their quest. For the evil powers of the mage Kankredin are re-assembling, and only the Adon’s gifts – the ring, sword and cup – can once more unit Dalemark.
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First published in Great Britain by Mandarin in 1993
This edition published by HarperCollins Childrenâs Books in 2017
HarperCollins Childrenâs Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
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Copyright © Diana Wynne Jones 1993
Map illustration © Sally Taylor 2017
Cover artwork © Manuel Šumberac
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Diana Wynne Jones asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
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Source ISBN: 9780008170714
Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008170721
Version: 2016-11-25
For Rachel
Contents
THE EARL OF HANNART arrived in Aberath two days before Midsummer. He was bringing the Countess of Aberath a portrait of the Adon to put in her collection. As this was a state visit, he brought his son as well and a string of his hearthmen, and his arrival caused a rare bustle.
A tall man dressed like a shepherd watched it all from high in the hills where the green roads ran. He had an excellent view from there, not only into the seething courts of the mansion but of the whole town, the cliffs, the bay and the boatsheds. The Earl was easy to pick out among the hurrying figures, because he was with a servant carrying the picture. The man watched them go straight to the library, where he knew the Countess was waiting to receive the Earl. Almost immediately the servant was sent away to fetch someone else. The watcher could see him pushing his way, first to the stables, then to the dining hall, and finally to the hearthmenâs quarters, where he fetched out a large gangly person and pointed to the library. The gangly one set off there at a run, on long, gawky legs.
The watcher turned away. âSo they did send for this Mitt,â he said as if this had confirmed his worst suspicions. Then he looked up and round and over his shoulder, clearly thinking that someone else was standing nearby, watching too. But the green road was empty. The man shrugged and set off walking swiftly inland.
About the same time as this man left, Mitt arrived at the top of the library steps, trying not to pant, and pushed open the creaky door.
âOh, there you are,â said the Countess. âWe want you to kill someone.â
She was never one to beat about the bush. It was almost the only thing Mitt liked about her. All the same, he wondered if he had heard her right. He stared at her long, bony face, which was set slightly crooked on her high shoulders, and then looked at Earl Keril of Hannart to make sure. Mitt had been ten months now in Aberath, but the North Dalemark accent there still sometimes made him hear things wrong. Earl Keril was dark, with a long nose. Everyone said what a likeable man he was, but he was looking at Mitt as grimly as the Countess.
âDidnât you hear?â Earl Keril asked. âWe want someone dead.â
âYes. Is this a joke of some kind?â Mitt said. But he could tell from their faces that it was not. He felt cold and disgusted, and his knees shook. âI gave up killing â I told you!â he said to the Countess.
âNonsense,â she said. âWhy else do you think I had you trained as my hearthman?â
âYou would have it that way, not me!â Mitt said. âAnd I never kidded myself you made me learn all that out of love for me!â
Earl Keril looked questioningly at the Countess.
âI warned you he was rude,â she said. She leant towards him, and they murmured together.
Mitt was too disgusted to try to overhear. He looked beyond their two implacable faces at the painting of the Adon propped on an easel behind them. The light was across the canvas from where Mitt stood, in a bluish haze, but the painted eyes caught his, like dark holes in the haze. They looked ill and haunted. The famous Adon had been far from handsome, sickly-looking, with lank hair and crooked shoulders.
