Princess of the Sword

Book 3: A Novel of the Nine Kingdoms

by Lynn Kurland

Genres: Epic Fantasy; Romantic Fantasy; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

As the mercenary daughter of Gair, the black mage of Ceangail, Morgan is the only one who can stop the terrible sorcery her father unleashed. To do so, she must race against time and find the spell that will allow her to close the well of evil he opened. But that quest will lead her to places she never dreamed existed and into a darkness she would give anything to avoid.

With the fate of Neroche intertwined with the closing of Gair's well, the archmage Miach must help Morgan find what she needs, not only because the safety of the Nine Kingdoms hangs in the balance, but because he will do anything to protect her. Now, as they search out the mysteries of Ceangail—and the dangers of Morgan's own bloodline—Morgan and Miach have only each other to trust, heart and soul...

Release date: January 6, 2009

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 352

Sample

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

 

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

 

Epilogue

Praise for the Novels of the Nine Kingdoms

The Mage’s Daughter

“Engaging characters—family, friends, and enemies—keep the story hopping along with readers relishing every word and hungering for the next installment. [A] perfect ten.” —Romance Reviews Today

 

“Lynn Kurland has become one of my favorite fantasy authors; I can hardly wait to see what happens next.” —Huntress Reviews

 

“The Mage’s Daughter, like its predecessor, Star of the Morning, is the best work Lynn Kurland has ever done. I can’t recommend this book highly enough.” —Fresh Fiction

 

“I couldn’t put the book down . . . The fantasy world, drawn so beautifully, is too wonderful to miss any of it. I highly recommend this book, the series, and all of Ms. Kurland’s other works. Brilliant!”

—Paranormal Romance Reviews

 

“This is a terrific romantic fantasy. Lynn Kurland provides a fabulous . . . tale that sets the stage for an incredible finish.”

—Midwest Book Review

 

 

Star of the Morning

“Kurland launches a stunning, rich, and poetic new trilogy. The quest is on!” —Romantic Times

 

“Terrific . . . Lynn Kurland provides fantasy readers with a delightful quest tale starring likable heroes . . . A magical beginning to what looks like will be a superb romantic fantasy trilogy.”

—Midwest Book Review

 

“Entertaining fantasy.” —Romance Reviews Today

 

“An enchanting writer.” —The Eternal Night

 

“A superbly crafted, sweetly romantic tale of adventure and magic.”

Booklist

 

continued . . .

“I dare you to read a Kurland story and not enjoy it!”

—Heartland Critiques

 

 

Dreams of Stardust

“Kurland weaves another fabulous read with just the right amounts of laughter, romance, and fantasy.” —Affaire de Coeur

 

“Kurland crafts some of the most ingenious time-travel romances readers can find . . . Wonderfully clever and completely enchanting.”

—Romantic Times

 

“A masterful storyteller . . . [a] mesmerizing novel.” —Romance Junkies

 

“One of our most beloved time-travel authors and deservedly so. Each new book is cause for celebration!” —Fresh Fiction

 

 

A Garden in the Rain

“Kurland laces her exquisitely romantic, utterly bewitching blend of contemporary romance and time travel with a delectable touch of tart wit, leaving readers savoring every word of this superbly written romance.” —Booklist

 

“Kurland . . . consistently delivers the kind of stories readers dream about. Don’t miss this one.” —The Oakland (MI) Press

 

 

From This Moment On

“A disarming blend of romance, suspense, and heartwarming humor, this book is romantic comedy at its best.” —Publishers Weekly

 

“A deftly plotted delight.” —Booklist

 

My Heart Stood Still

“The essence of pure romance. Sweet, poignant, and truly magical, this is a rare treat.” —Booklist

“Kurland out-writes romance fiction’s top authors by a mile.”

—Publishers Weekly

 

 

If I Had You

“Kurland brings history to life . . . in this tender medieval romance.”

—Booklist

 

 

The More I See You

“Blends history with spellbinding passion and impressive characterization, not to mention a magnificent plot.” —Rendezvous

 

Another Chance to Dream

“Kurland creates a special romance.” —Publishers Weekly

 

 

The Very Thought of You

“[A] masterpiece . . . This fabulous tale will enchant anyone who reads it.” —Painted Rock Reviews

 

 

This Is All I Ask

“An exceptional read.” —The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

 

“Both powerful and sensitive . . . A wonderfully rich and rewarding book.”—Susan Wiggs

 

“A medieval of stunning intensity. Sprinkled with adventure, fantasy, and heart.”—Christina Dodd

 

A Dance Through Time

“An irresistibly fast and funny romp across time.”—Stella Cameron

 

“Vastly entertaining time travel . . . a humorous novel of feisty fun and adventure.” —A Little Romance

Titles by Lynn Kurland

STARDUST OF YESTERDAY
A DANCE THROUGH TIME
THIS IS ALL I ASK
THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU
ANOTHER CHANCE TO DREAM
THE MORE I SEE YOU
IF I HAD YOU

MY HEART STOOD STILL
FROM THIS MOMENT ON
A GARDEN IN THE RAIN
DREAMS OF STARDUST
MUCH ADO IN THE MOONLIGHT
WHEN I FALL IN LOVE
WITH EVERY BREATH

 

 

The Novels of the Nine Kingdoms
STAR OF THE MORNING
THE MAGE’S DAUGHTER
PRINCESS OF THE SWORD

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anthologies

THE CHRISTMAS CAT
(with Julie Beard, Barbara Bretton, and Jo Beverley)
CHRISTMAS SPIRITS
(with Casey Claybourne, Elizabeth Bevarly, and Jenny Lykins)
VEILS OF TIME
(with Maggie Shayne, Angie Ray, and Ingrid Weaver)
OPPOSITES ATTRACT
(with Elizabeth Bevarly, Emily Carmichael, and Elda Minger)
LOVE CAME JUST IN TIME
A KNIGHT’S VOW
(with Patricia Potter, Deborah Simmons, and Glynnis Campbell)
TAPESTRY
(with Madeline Hunter, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Karen Marie Moning)
TO WEAVE A WEB OF MAGIC
(with Patricia A. McKillip, Sharon Shinn, and Claire Delacroix)
THE QUEEN IN WINTER
(with Sharon Shinn, Claire Delacroix, and Sarah Monette)

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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South Africa

 

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

Copyright © 2009 by Lynn Curland.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / January 2009

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Kurland, Lynn.
Princess of the sword / Lynn Kurland.—Berkley Sensation trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-01461-5

1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Princesses—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3561.U645P75 2009
813’.54—dc22 2008041861

 

 

One

A dank chill filled the air, slipping down the weathered sides of A crooked buildings to pool on glistening cobblestones. It hung in great tatters against the keep that sat perched atop a bluff like a great bird of prey. In the distance, a ship’s bell tolled. The sound was muffled by the night air, as if the mist didn’t particularly care to awaken anyone who might be sleeping inside that shadowy keep.

Morgan of Melksham understood that. She had no desire to wake anything in that keep either. In fact, she had no desire to get close enough to it for any unfortunate night-time interruptions to be a possibility. Only a madman would have approached those walls, shrouded as they were in spells and other unpleasant things of a wizardly nature.

Normally, she wouldn’t have found herself anywhere near such a place. She was a very practical woman with a straightforward way of conducting her life, which generally included a fondness for sharp swords and a habit of avoiding whenever possible any associations with mages.

Or at least that had been true until the fall. It was then that her life had become something so far from what she’d expected it would be, she scarce recognized it as hers any longer.

It had all begun with a simple request from a man she loved like a father, a request to take a blade from the Island of Melksham all the way to the king’s palace on the northern border of Neroche. She had agreed, reluctantly, but knowing that she couldn’t in good conscience refuse. She’d expected the journey to be difficult, dangerous, and possibly fatal to her person.

She’d sorely underestimated the potential for all three.

The knife had revealed itself to be rather more magical than she’d been told, her travels had led her to discover things about her past she wouldn’t have dreamt in her worst nightmares, and the companions she’d collected along the way—or one of them, rather—had turned out to be substantially more magical than she’d feared.

All of which had led, in a most roundabout fashion, to her standing uneasily under the eaves of an inn and feeling an unreasonable amount of trepidation at the thought of assaulting the fortress in front of her so she could steal something that was critical to another battle she intended to fight in a place she most certainly didn’t want to go.

It wasn’t the climbing over walls that bothered her. She had, during her long and illustrious career as a mercenary, ended more than one siege by slipping into a keep and convincing the recalcitrant lord there that it would be wise for him to just give up and give in rather than face what she could promise would be a very long and unpleasant war.

It wasn’t even the theft that troubled her. Spoils were spoils and, when fairly won, really couldn’t be considered plundered goods.

What bothered her was that the castle before her was so slathered in magic that even she could feel it from where she stood fifty paces away, and she was preparing to be about her nefarious business with a man who should have known better.

“This is a terrible idea,” she said, not for the first time.

Mochriadhemiach of Neroche stood next to her with his arms folded over his chest, staring thoughtfully at the fortress in front of them. “We’ll be in and out before anyone is the wiser,” he said, also not for the first time.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked unwillingly. “Here?”

“Aye,” he said, but offered no further details.

She supposed she didn’t want further details. She suspected he did this sort of thing on a regular basis to add to his already too-large collection of spells. At least he had the benefit of not being bothered by the magic. She wished she could say the same for herself.

But she wasn’t one to shy away from the difficult, so she turned her thoughts back to the matter at hand. The keep had to be assaulted, and she needed to know the particulars of the defenses so she wouldn’t make any mistakes in the taking of it.

“You said something about magic guarding the walls,” she said, suppressing the urge to shiver from a cold that came from more than just evening mist. “You should tell me of it again.” She looked up at Miach. “I wasn’t listening when you tried before.”

He smiled as he turned her to him and pulled her cloak up closer to her chin. “I imagine you weren’t, so here is the tale. Several centuries ago, the headmaster, whose job it is to see to these sorts of things, determined that it would serve the wizards of Buidseachd to know who walked in and out of their gates.”

“Or over their walls,” she added.

“Aye, that too, I daresay,” he agreed. “Master Ceannard crafted a spell that sets off an alarm in his chambers if any but he who has presented himself to the gatekeeper uses any sort of magic within the boundaries of the castle. Keeps the rabble out, I daresay.”

“I daresay,” she muttered.

He studied her for a moment or two before he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, I wouldn’t think any less of you if you stayed here.”

“I can scale a wall as proficiently as you, my lord.”

He smiled briefly. “You know that isn’t what I’m talking about.” He glanced at the keep, then looked back at her. “I fear, Morgan, that I will walk places tonight where you won’t want to go.”

She looked up at him, his face cast in deep shadows, and supposed she could have told him that what lay before them was the least of her worries, but she imagined he already knew that. She also could have reminded him that he was braving the place in front of them to fetch a spell for her use, not his, but she supposed he knew that already as well. This was merely another in a very long list of things he had done for her benefit alone. The least she could do was go with him and see that he didn’t find himself with a sword thrust into his back.

No matter where his path led.

“I don’t fear what’s inside those walls,” she said, wondering if saying it often enough would at some point lead her to believe the lie. “Just tell me how we’re going to avoid that alarm.”

He looked at her for another moment in silence, then sighed. “We’re not going to use any magic as we’re about our business.”

“And just who you are won’t set bells to ringing?”

“I’m going to hide who—and what—I am.” He paused. “You’ll need to do the same.”

She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised by how dry her mouth had suddenly become, but she was. She had faced countless men over blades and never once doubted her skill, yet there she was, terrified just the same.

Magic was, as her former swordmaster Scrymgeour Weger had said on more than one occasion, a very dodgy business indeed.

“I’m going to give you a Duriallian spell,” Miach continued. “I think it will do for our purposes tonight.”

“I didn’t think the dwarves had any spells.”

“They don’t have very many, and they are, as you might imagine, exceptionally reluctant to share the ones they do have.”

“Find yourself locked in some dwarvish solar without anything to do save poke about in books you shouldn’t have been reading?” she asked pointedly.

He smiled. “I might have.”

“Miach, someday you’re going to get caught.” Just please don’t let it be tonight.

“I always have a good excuse for being where I’m not supposed to be,” he assured her. “Now, the spell I’m going to give you is particularly useful when you want to hide something. A cache of gems, or perhaps piles of gold. Or yourself.” He paused. “Or, rather, merely a part of yourself. As in, just your magic.”

“But how can I use one of their spells?” she protested faintly. “I thought you could only use what magic you had in your blood.” Well, unless you happened to be the archmage of some realm or other and then she supposed anything was possible.

“Magic is generally responsive only to what the mage has in his veins,” he agreed, “but ’tis possible to use things you aren’t entitled to by birth if you have enough power.” He smiled faintly. “Are you truly curious, or merely stalling?”

“Stalling, if you can believe it.” She purposely avoided looking to her right. “And I never stall.”

He rubbed her arms briskly. “Then let’s be about this before we think on it any longer,” he said. “I’ll give you the spell, then tell you two ways to undo it. One takes a handful of words; the other a single word only. I wouldn’t use the second unless you’ve absolutely no other choice.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will release all your power at once, much like a dam bursting. Everyone for miles will feel the echo of it.”

She swallowed with difficulty. “And alarm bells will go off?”

“Probably in the throne room of Tor Neroche,” he said dryly. “So please, be ginger. Now, the spell is laid thus—”

“Aren’t you going to do it for me?” she asked in surprise.

He hesitated. “I could, but I don’t think you’d care for it. You have power enough to use the spell successfully on your own.”

“But if I make a mistake, we are lost.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “All right, I’ll see to it. But stop me if you find you can’t breathe, aye?”

She nodded, but she couldn’t help but think he was underestimating her ability to endure things that were difficult.

Or, at least she did until he started weaving his spell.

All her power, the power she’d spent weeks denying, then yet more time trying to accept—all that power didn’t so much leave her as it was drawn into itself, then dropped down into some fathomless well. She looked over the edge of that well, fearing she had lost what she had never wanted but had so recently come to appreciate, but there it all lay, shining there in the dark like a treasure that was so lovely and so desirable, it almost brought tears to her eyes.

She had to pull away mentally from the sight. She was appalled to find how accustomed she’d become to that sparkle of magic cascading through her veins. It was the same sort of magic that whispered through the trees and sang as it fell down onto the ground like sunlight in her grandfather’s garden at Seanagarra.

It was beautiful.

She looked up to find Miach watching her silently, his eyes full of what she’d seen.

“If your grandfather could see your face right now,” he said quietly, “he would weep.”

She took a deep breath. “I never intended . . . I didn’t realize . . .”

“Not all magic is evil, Morgan, is it?”

She shook her head, because she couldn’t speak. She could only go into his arms, hold him tightly for a moment or two, then step back before she gave into the urge to display some womanly emotion that wouldn’t serve either of them. She waved him on to his business without further comment. She would think about magic, and mages, and other things that unbalanced her later. For now, ’twas best to do what had to be done.

Miach gave her both ways to undo his spell, and she memorized each faithfully. She didn’t hear him say anything on his own behalf, but she felt his power disappear as surely as if he’d snuffed out a candle—or dropped all his magic into a well and then capped it.

She wasn’t too fond of that last image, truth be told.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She nodded, then turned to slip through the shadows with him, giving no more thought to what she was doing than she would have any other offensive. They would be over the walls, find what they needed, then be back outside the keep before any of the mutterers inside were the wiser.

The outer walls of Buidseachd were relatively easy to scale, though very high. Heights didn’t bother her, so she didn’t trouble herself over them. She dropped onto the parapet with Miach, hid in the shadows as a sleepy sentry shuffled by, then followed him as he wound his way through towers and passages and up and down stairs. She didn’t ask him where he was going, and he didn’t volunteer any information.

Bells weren’t ringing—save the one tolling the hour that almost sent her tripping into Miach’s back—and students weren’t pouring out of their bedchambers with spells of death on their lips. Perhaps they would manage their business after all.

They passed others, but those lads seemed to find nothing unusual about two cloaked and hooded figures wandering the halls in the middle of the night. Miach had told her that it was common to see both students and masters in the passageways at all hours, studying or thinking or working on some perplexing magical tangle of some sort or another. Morgan wondered how anyone bore the place. Despite her attempts to ignore it, the magic was almost stifling. She could feel it rising up from the ground like a foul mist. In time, she realized she was gasping.

Miach stopped suddenly and pulled her into an alcove with him. “We’ll rest for a moment.”

She leaned back against the wall instead of collapsing there, but doing so took almost more of her self-discipline than she had to spare. “Thank you.”

“You’re doing well.”

She didn’t think she was doing well at all. She never should have set foot inside the accursed place—never mind what she thought she owed Miach, never mind that she’d come over the walls fully expecting to not take a decent breath whilst she was there.

She had actually listened to Miach earlier when he’d said that Buidseachd was built on a spring of magic, and three thousand years of wizards puttering about inside it had added innumerable layers to what had already been there. She had stopped listening once Miach and her grandfather had begun discussing the wizardly mischief that had dredged up things under Buidseachd’s foundations that perhaps had been better left alone, things that had left Sìle and Eulasaid of Camanaë and Proìseil of Ainneamh very nervous centuries ago. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to what those things had been. If she had, she might have been less likely to trust her ability to endure things far beyond what another might be able to.

She touched Weger’s mark over her brow, the mark that had exacted an excruciating price in discipline to win, then forced herself to take a pair of deep, even breaths. She looked up at Miach. “None of this troubles you, does it?”

“I suppose that depends on where I find myself. There are places even here—” He took a deep breath, then shook his head. “Nay, it doesn’t, for the most part, but I’ve been here before. We’ll be swift.”

She nodded, pushed away from the wall, then put her head down and merely watched his feet as he walked without haste in front of her. She was almost grateful when she felt a chill blow across her face.

Until she realized where the chill was coming from.

Miach continued to walk, though, and she continued to follow him because she could do nothing else. If he was affected by what was rapidly turning into bone-numbing cold, he didn’t show it.

He finally stopped in front of a doorway that was so full of darkness, she could hardly make out where a doorknob might be located. It was enough to know that this was the source of the coldness. Miach was still for quite some time, as if he listened. Morgan wished he would hurry. The longer she stood there, the more she dreaded going inside. At one point, as he picked the lock with skill even her most crafty mercenary companions would have been impressed by, she almost suggested that they return back the way they’d come.

But he opened the door before she could open her mouth and whatever else she might have been, she was no coward. If Miach could go inside, then so could she.

Though it took far more of her strength of will to cross that threshold than it should have.

The chamber was less dark than she’d feared it might be. A fire burned in the fireplace that faced the door and a servant slept on its hearth. Morgan jumped a bit when she felt Miach’s hand on her arm, but he was only pointing toward a corner. She happily made her way there and stood in the absolute dark, grateful for its concealment. She could leap out at any moment and guard Miach’s back. And given where they found themselves, she wasn’t completely sure that wouldn’t be necessary.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her where she was, for she could feel the magic that lingered behind in the chamber like a vile odor.

Olc.

She could scarce believe this was where Miach intended to begin his search, but apparently he had a better idea of what sort of spell they needed than she did.

She forced herself to keep her focus part on Miach and part on the lad who lay snoring in front of the fire. The lad didn’t rouse, but Miach gave him no reason to. He was absolutely silent as he walked around the chamber, investigating nooks and crannies, running his finger over books on shelves.

She watched him stop in front of a desk layered with manuscripts. She wondered how he could even touch things that made her ill just by being in the same chamber with them. Olc was an evil magic. She’d seen it worked—and worked it herself a time or two, unfortunately—and that had been enough to convince her that she wanted nothing to do with it.

Mochriadhemiach of Neroche had, she had decided in the past month, a depth to him that she suspected she would never plumb. It was reassuring somehow to have an idea of what he could endure.

And how quickly he could move.

She realized he’d leapt across the chamber only because he was shoving her back into a wardrobe—and he was doing that because there were voices that had stopped outside the chamber door and a key was being fitted into the lock. The doorknob squeaked as it turned. Morgan found herself backed into a coat hook and had to put her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp of pain. She didn’t dare move after that.

Actually, remaining still wasn’t all that difficult. She was so terrified—she who had fought countless battles and never once puked in fear—that all she could do was stand there, hunched over and frozen, and pray she would live to see the other side of the next half hour without giving herself away by some untoward noise. At least Miach had managed to pull the door almost completely to so they wouldn’t be easily seen. Unfortunately, she could still e