The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [0]
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
About the Author
PART 1 - THE WESTLANDS SPRING, 1160
PART II - THE NORTHLANDS SPRING, 1160
PART III - THE NORTHLANDS SUMMER, 1160
GLOSSARY
Katharine Kerr’s Novels of Deverry, The Silver Wyrm Cycle
Now available from DAW Books:
THE GOLD FALCON (#1) THE SPIRIT STONE (#2) THE SHADOW ISLE (#3)
Forthcoming from DAW:
THE SILVER MAGE (#4)
Copyright © 2008 by Katharine Kerr.
All Rights Reserved.
DAW Books Collectors No. 1439
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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First Printing, May
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For Elizabeth Pomada
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Despite what you may have heard or read elsewhere, THE SHADOW ISLE is not the last book in the Deverry sequence. It is, however, the beginning of the end, Part I of the last Deverry book, as it were. The true end will be published soon as THE SILVER MAGE, also from DAW Books.
PROLOGUE IN A FAR COUNTRY
You say that the three Mothers of All Roads run tangled beyond your power to map them. Why then would you ask to travel the seven Rivers of Time? Their braiding lies beyond even the understanding of the Great Ones, so be ye warned and stay safely upon their banks.
—The Secret Book of Cadwallon the Druid
LAZ WOKE TO DARKNESS and noise. Gongs clanged, men shouted. Not one word made sense to him, and no more did the sound of water lapping and splashing. He could smell nothing but water. Pain—his hands burned, but the rest of him felt cold, soaked through, he realized suddenly, sopping wet. How his hands could burn when he was sopping wet lay beyond him. The gongs came closer, louder. Waves lifted him and splashed him back down. Floating, he thought. I’m floating on water.
The shouting came from right over his head. Hands suddenly grabbed him, hauled, lifted him into the air while the shouting and the gongs clamored all around. Hands laid him down again on something hard that rocked from side to side. The shouting stopped, but the gongs clanged on and on. Through the sound of gongs he heard a dark voice speaking. Not one word of it!
The voice tried yet another incomprehensible language, then a third. “Here, lad, speak you this tongue?”
Lijik Ganda, he thought. Just my luck. “I do,” Laz said aloud. “A bit, anyway.”
“Splendid! Who are you?”
“I don’t know.” Laz put panic into his voice. “I don’t remember. Where are we? Why is it so dark?”
“It’s not dark, lad. There’s a lantern shining right into your face.”
“I’m blind? I don’t remember being blind.”
Voices murmured in one of the languages he couldn’t understand. Someone patted his shoulder as if trying to comfort him. The rocking continued, the splashing, and the gongs.
“Here!” Laz said. “Are we on a boat?”
“We are, and heading for the island. Just rest, lad. The ladies of the isle know a fair bit about healing. It may be that they can do somewhat about your eyes, I don’t know. I’d wager high that they can heal your hands at the very least.”
“They do pain me.”
“No doubt! Black as pitch, they are. You just rest. We’re coming up to the pier.”
“My thanks. Did you save my life?”
“Most likely.” The voice broke into a wry laugh. “The beasts of the lake nearly got a meal out of you.”
Beasts. Lake. Blind. None of it made sense. He fainted.
When Laz woke next it was to light, only a faint, fuzzy reddish glow, but light nonetheless. Most of him felt dry and warm, but his burning hands lay in water, and water dripped over his