Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
BOOK I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
BOOK II
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
BOOK III
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
BOOK IV
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
BOOK V
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
EPILOGUE
“Attack!”
Light flashed from the main gates below. Even through the vibration of the bell, Taniquel felt the stones beneath her feet shudder. Though the clapper continued in its momentum, she paused to look down.
Yellow tongues of fire laced the thick gray smoke, obscuring the entrance to the castle. A few soldiers and house servants darted here and there. One horseman was down, his mount knocked from its feet. It struggled up, flailing wildly and rolling over his lower body. One of the servants, a woman, dropped the yoked buckets she had been carrying and rushed to him.
The aircar turned to swoop down again, like a dragon from an ancient ballad returning to its prey. Its outer surface, like a curved mirror, reflected sky and stone, but for an instant, Taniquel caught sight of a figure in the cockpit, bent intently over its mechanism. As the aircar passed, a rain of arrows burst from the castle wall, but if any hit the mark, there was no sign. The smooth side of the aircar parted and out fell a handful of small glittering spheres, each no bigger than a child’s ball. They scattered as they fell, as if guided by an unseen hand. Where each one touched earth or castle wall, it exploded in a ball of light and clap of sound.
Clingfire? By all the gods, did Damian Deslucido, who had menaced their northwest borders for the last two or three years, did he have clingfire at his command?
A Reader’s Guide to DARKOVER
THE FOUNDING
A “lost ship” of Terran origin, in the pre-Empire colonizing days, lands on a planet with a dim red star, later to be called Darkover.
DARKOVER LANDFALL
THE AGES OF CHAOS
1,000 years after the original landfall settlement, society has returned to the feudal level. The Darkovans, their Terran technology renounced or forgotten, have turned instead to free-wheeling, out-of-control matrix technology, psi powers and terrible psi weapons. The populace lives under the domination of the Towers and a tyrannical breeding program to staff the Towers with unnaturally powerful, inbred gifts of laran.
STORMQUEEN!
HAWKMISTRESS!
THE HUNDRED KINGDOMS
An age of war and strife retaining many of the decimating and disastrous effects of the Ages of Chaos. The lands which are later to become the Seven Domains are divided by continuous border conflicts into a multitude of small, belligerent kingdoms, named for convenience “The Hundred Kingdoms.” The close of this era is heralded by the adoption of the Compact, instituted by Varzil the Good. A landmark and turning point in the history of Darkover, the Compact bans all distance weapons, making it a matter of honor that one who seeks to kill must himself face equal risk of death.
TWO TO CONQUER
THE HEIRS OF HAMMERFELL
THE FALL OF NESKAYA
THE RENUNCIATES
During the Ages of Chaos and the time of the Hundred Kingdoms, there were two orders of women who set themselves apart from the patriarchal nature of Darkovan feudal society: the priestesses of Avarra, and the warriors of the Sisterhood of the Sword. Eventually these two independent groups merged to form the powerful and legally chartered Order of Renunciates or Free Amazons, a guild of women bound only by oath as a sisterhood of mutual responsibility. Their primary allegiance is to each other rather than to family, clan, caste or any man save a temporary employer. Alone among Darkovan women, they are exempt from the usual legal restrictions and protections. Their reason for existence is to provide the women of Darkover an alternative to their socially restrictive lives.
THE SHATTERED CHAIN
THENDARA HOUSE
CITY OF SORCERY
AGAINST THE TERRANS —THE FIRST AGE (Recontact)
After the Hastur Wars, the Hundred Kingdoms are consolidated into the Seven Domains, and ruled by a hereditary aristocracy of seven families, called the Comyn, allegedly descended from the legendary Hastur, Lord of Light. It is during this era that the Terran Empire, really a form of confederacy, rediscovers Darkover, which they know as the fourth planet of the Cottman star system. The fact that Darkover is a lost colony of the Empire is not easily or readily acknowledged by Darkovans and their Comyn overlords.
REDISCOVERY (with Mercedes Lackey)
THE SPELL SWORD
THE FORBIDDEN TOWER
STAR OF DANGER
WINDS OF DARKOVER
AGAINST THE TERRANS —THE SECOND AGE (After the Comyn)
With the initial shock of recontact beginning to wear off, and the Terran spaceport a permanent establishment on the outskirts of the city of Thendara, the younger and less traditional elements of Darkovan society begin the first real exchange of knowledge with the Terrans—learning Terran science and technology and teaching Darkovan matrix technology in turn. Eventually Regis Hastur, the young Comyn lord most active in these exchanges, becomes Regent in a provisional government allied to the Terrans. Darkover is once again reunited with its founding Empire.
THE BLOODY SUN
HERITAGE OF HASTUR
THE PLANET SAVERS
SHARRA’S EXILE
WORLD WRECKERS
EXILE’S SONG
THE SHADOW MATRIX
TRAITOR’S SUN
THE DARKOVER ANTHOLOGIES
These volumes of stories, edited by Marion Zimmer Bradley, strive to “fill in the blanks” of Darkovan history and elaborate on the eras, tales and characters which have captured readers’ imaginations.
THE KEEPER’S PRICE
SWORD OF CHAOS
FREE AMAZONS OF DARKOVER
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MIRROR
RED SUN OF DARKOVER
FOUR MOONS OF DARKOVER
DOMAINS OF DARKOVER
RENUNCIATES OF DARKOVER
LERONI OF DARKOVER
TOWERS OF DARKOVER
MARION ZIMMER BRADLEY’S DARKOVER
SNOWS OF DARKOVER
Copyright © 2001 by The Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust
All Rights Reserved.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1189.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Putnam Inc.
All characters in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
eISBN : 978-1-101-11899-3
First paperback printing, July 2002
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Rose, this one’s for you!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Heartfelt thanks to the usual list of suspects: Betsy Wollheim, Ann Sharp, Elisabeth Waters, Susan Wolven and especially Dave Trowbridge, for mcguffins, military insight, and so much more.
DISCLAIMER
The observant reader may note discrepancies in some details from more contemporary tales. This is undoubtedly due to the fragmentary histories which survive to the present day. Many records were lost during the years following the Ages of Chaos and Hundred Kingdoms, and others were distorted by oral tradition.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Immensely generous with “her special world” of Darkover, Marion Zimmer Bradley loved encouraging new writers. We were already friends when she began editing the DARKOVER and SWORD & SORCERESS anthologies. The match between my natural literary “voice” and what she was looking for was extraordinary. She loved to read what I loved to write, and she often cited “The Death of Brendan Ensolare” (FOUR MOONS OF DARKOVER, DAW, 1988) as one of her favorites.
As Marion’s health declined, I was invited to work with her on one or more Darkover novels. We decided that rather than extend the story of “modern” Darkover, we would return to the Ages of Chaos. Marion envisioned a trilogy beginning with the Hastur Rebellion and the fall of Neskaya, the enduring friendship between Varzil the Good and Carolin Hastur, and extending to the fire-bombing of Hali and the signing of the Compact. While I scribbled notes as fast as I could, she would sit back, eyes alight, and begin a story with, “Now, the Hasturs tried to control the worst excesses of laran weapons, but there were always others under development . . .” or “Of course, Varzil and Carolin had been brought up on tales of star-crossed lovers who perished in the destruction of Neskaya . . .”
Here is that tale.
Deborah J. Ross
March 2001
BOOK I
1
Coryn Leynier woke from a dream of fire sweeping down from the heights. The dream had begun peacefully enough, but with an unusual vividness, as were so many of his dreams since his body had begun changing with adolescence. At first, his glider hovered beneath Darkover’s great Bloody Sun, its silken sails spread wide over fragile wooden struts. Last summer, his eldest brother, Eddard, who was heir to the mountainous Verdanta lands, had shown him how to ride the air currents for short distances. In his dream, Coryn soared freely. He felt no fear of the height, only pleasure in the limitless heavens.
Summer lightning flashed in the distance, across the Hellers. The air crackled with energy. Smoke curled skyward from a grove of resin-trees. Coryn tensed. Since he could remember, he and his brothers had kept watch for forest fires, sometimes competing to be the first to sound the alarm.
In his dream, Coryn struggled to turn the glider, to head back to Verdanta Castle with the news. But the wood and leather apparatus would not respond. It fought him like a living thing, twisting and turning in his grasp.
Coryn noticed the starstone, a chip of brilliance, lashed to the crossbeams. It looked just like any other starstone, bestowed on each child according to family tradition on the Midwinter Festival following their twelfth birthdays, but this one he knew was his own. As he gazed at it, blue light flared within, as if in recognition. He’d heard that with such a stone, a trained laranzu could send a glider wherever he wished, not just where the uncertain winds took it. The idea stirred something in him, a wordless longing.
To go where he chose, not where chance carried him. . . .
Coryn gazed into the starstone and pictured the glider turning back toward home at his command. Blue fire flickered in its depths. His nerves prickled and his stomach clenched, as rebellious as the glider. Still, he kept his eyes fixed on the starstone, trying to go deeper, ever deeper.
The fire shifted, pouring down the hillsides, leaping over the firebreaks which were strangely overgrown with neglect. In a matter of moments, it enveloped brush and copse, sweeping over everything in its path. Grass went up in puffs of smoke. Resin-trees blazed. As the pockets of flammable sap ignited, the trees exploded, one by one, showering live cinders in every direction. Smoke, dense and acrid, billowed from the forest.
Far in the distance, alarm bells sounded, over and over again as every holding in the Hellers, from Aldaran to the Kadarin River, was roused.
In the next heartbeat, he was sitting up in his own bed in Verdanta Castle, shivering as if it were deep snow season and not the height of summer, with alarm bells ringing in his ears.
Coryn scrambled into his boots and bolted headlong down the stairway. Tessa, his oldest sister, hurried along the corridor with a tray of cold meat buns. She wore an old gray dress, several inches too short and patched with scraps of even older garments. She’d tied a white kerchief over her hair, so that she looked more like a scullery maid than her usual demure self, the lord’s eldest daughter. Coryn grabbed a bun and stuffed it in his mouth while he pulled on his shirt. For once, she did not object.
In the courtyard outside, dawn cast muted shadows across the bare-raked earth. A fitful breeze carried the hint of the day’s heat to come.
The yard seethed with movement. Everyone old enough to walk was here, all hurrying in different directions, carrying shovels and pitchforks, rakes and sacks and buckets, folded blankets and threadbare linens for bandages. Yardfowl squawked and fluttered, raising more dust. One of the castle dogs scampered by, barking. Men struggled to lash shovels and rakes to the saddles of pack chervines. Padraic, the castle coridom, stood on the rim of the largest watering trough, shouting orders.
Coryn paused on the threshold, heart pounding. For an awful moment, the yard seemed to slip sideways. He gulped, tasting bile, and swayed on his feet.
Not again! he stormed inwardly. He could not, would not be sick. Not now, when every able-bodied male over the age of ten, be he family or servant or guest, was needed on the fire-lines.
“You’re with me on the firebreaks, lad.” Eddard stepped into the yard, gesturing for Coryn to follow. “Get the horses ready!” Eddard was dressed for riding in supple leather pants and boots, and he carried two message rolls wrapped in oiled silk. “Petro!”
Coryn’s next older brother, Petro, had already mounted the sleek Armida-bred black which was the fastest horse in the stables. His face was flushed and his black hair, so unlike Coryn’s bright copper, jutted in all directions, giving him the aspect of both fear and excitement.
Eddard thrust one of the message rolls into Petro’s outstretched hand. “This one is for Lord Lanil Storn, a direct request for his help.”
“Help?” Petro asked, incredulous. “From Storn? Are we that desperate?”
“We’ve asked under fire-truce. This one looks to be the worst within memory,” Eddard said, clearly uneasy. “Only a fool would let his neighbor’s house burn and think his own safe.”
Fire-truce, Coryn repeated silently. But would it hold? Verdanta and Kinnally had been raiding each other’s lands for so many years that few recalled the original squabble. He believed it had had something to do with the ownership of a nut-tree grove which had long since died of root blight dusted accidentally over the hills by aircars from Isoldir.
“Father also asks for your passage to the Tower at Tramontana. If Lord Storn grants you leave,” Eddard said with a twist of the mouth that indicated how unlikely he thought it, “you are to give this second roll to the Keeper, Kieran. Also give him a kinsman’s greeting, for he is Aillard, related to Grandmama’s family.”
Petro tucked the rolls into his belt, his eyes stormy. “If Dom Lanil believes he can gain some advantage over us by waiting while we spend our strength on this fire or by blocking Tramontana’s aid, then no mere scroll of parchment will change his mind.”
“Mind you bide your tongue,” Eddard said with a trace of sharpness, “
and repeat only what you have been given and not one of your everlasting speeches. Your mission is to ask the man for help, not to lecture him on the evils of modern society.”
Petro subsided. “I will do my best. After all, Father says that if you treat a man as honorable, he is more likely to behave that way.”
“Good speed, then, lad, and may Aldones bless your tongue as well as your horse’s heels.”
Petro nodded and spurred his horse through the gates at breakneck speed, scattering yardfowl.
Eddard gestured to a man halfway across the yard, struggling with the harness on a chervine. “No! Not like that!”
Lord Leynier’s bay stallion, massive enough to carry even a legendary giant, whinnied and danced sideways, ramming one shoulder into the scullery lad clinging to its bridle. The boy sprawled in the dust as the horse reared, pawing the air.
Coryn grabbed the reins before the beast could trample the boy. White ringed the horse’s eye and its body reeked with the smell of fright. He put one hand over its nose, pulling its head down. “Easy, easy,” he murmured. The horse snorted, eyes less wild.
“Here, now.” Lord Beltran Leynier, tall and grizzled, yet still powerful across the shoulders, took the reins from Coryn and swung up into the saddle. “First party, with me!” He galloped for the road, mounted men and pack animals close behind.
Stepping back, Coryn stumbled into the kitchen boy. The boy’s cap went flying, to reveal pale red hair, twisted into clumsy braids and wound into a crown. Aldones! It was his baby sister, Kristlin, dressed in some servant’s castoffs. She was only eight, too young to be assigned to anything more interesting than rolling bandages or chopping onions. From the look she gave him, he’d find spiders in his bed if he said a word to anyone.