Selected praise for Caitlin Brennanâs
White Magic series
The Mountainâs Call
Song of Unmaking
Shattered Dance
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
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
âThisâ¦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 Mountain floated over the long roll of field and forest. Even in summer its peak was white with snow. In early spring, when the grass had begun to grow green in the valleys, its summit was locked in winter.
There was a fire of magic in its heart, welling up from the deep roots of the earth. It bubbled like a spring from the white fang of the peak, and rippled in waves through the vault of heaven. The tides of time began to swirl and shift.
In the citadel on the Mountainâs knees, the master of the Schools of Peace and War woke from a stranger dream than most. He stumbled from bed, flung open the shutters and peered up at the glow of dawn on the snowbound slopes.
Every spring the power rose; every spring the Mountainâs Call went out, summoning young men to the testing. Every spring and summer they came, straggling in from the far reaches of Aureliaâs empire, coming to claim the magic that they hoped was theirs. White magic, stallion magic. Magic of time and the gods.
This yearâs Call was different. How it was different, or what it portended, the master could not tell. The gods in their pastures, cropping the new green grass, would not answer when he asked. The Ladies in the high valleys, greater than gods, chose not to acknowledge him at all.
This was a mystery, that silence said. Even the master of the school must wait and see, and hope that when the answer came, it would be one that he could accept.
Valeria had been walking in a fog for days. Sometimes she wondered if she was ill. Other times, she was sure that she was losing her mind.
There was a voice in her head. It called to her with the sound of wind through pines. It whispered in the hollows of her skull. Come. Come to me.
She staggered on the path to the widow Rufoâs house. Her motherâs hand gripped her wrist and wrenched her upright.
The pain helped Valeria to focus. It was harder every day. Sometimes now she could barely see. She had to struggle to hear what people said to her. She thought she might be losing her mind altogether, except that there was a deep sense of rightness to it. She was meant to hear this call. She was meant to goâ
âValeria!â Her motherâs voice cut through the fog of confusion. She blinked half-wittedly. She was standing in the widow Rufoâs cottage. Her head just missed brushing the roofbeam.
âValeria,â Morag said. âStart brewing the tea.â
Valeriaâs hands knew what to do even when her wits were drifting away toward gods knew where. She dipped water from the barrel by the door and poured it into the kettle, then set it to boil on the hearth. The fire had burned too low. She whispered a Word. The banked logs burst into flame.
The widow Rufoâs breath rattled. Morag spread a paste of pungent herbs over the bony chest and covered it with soft cloths. Herbs just as pungent steeped in the boiling water, brewing into tea. When it was strong enough, Morag coaxed it into her sip by sip.