Always in this part of the dream she was lifted up in the air in the claw of a great copper dragon that appeared through the blackening clouds to rescue her.
But now there was nothing above her but the unbroken firmament of rolling black clouds and showers of flaming sparks ripping through the sooty air.
The pounding clamor was louder now. Rhapsody turned back.
The horseman was upon her.
A broken sword, dripping with gore and black flame, was in his hand. He raised it above his head.
With the speed born of her training by Oelendra, the Lirin champion, Rhapsody drew Daystar Clarion, the sword of elemental fire and ethereal light that she wielded as the Iliachenva’ar. It was in her hands as she inhaled; with the release of her breath she slashed the gleaming blade across the warrior’s chest, unbalancing him from the warhorse. Blood that smoked like acid splashed her forehead, searing her eyes.
Shakily the warrior rose, steadying his dripping weapon. Time slowed as he hovered over her, striding at her with a great gaping wound bisecting his chest. Within his eye sockets was darkness, and nothing more.
Rhapsody inhaled and willed herself calm again. She calculated the trajectory of his attack, and as it came, with excruciating slowness, she dodged heavily out of his way. Her limbs felt as if they were made of marble. With tremendous effort she raised her arms and brought Daystar Clarion down on the back of the sightless man’s neck, aiming her strike at the seam of his cuirass. The flash of light as intense as a star exploding signaled her connection.
A geyser of steaming blood shot skyward, spattering her again and burning hideously. The warrior’s neck dangled awkwardly, then his head rolled forward, separated from the broken flesh of his shoulders, before thudding to the ground at her feet. The sightless eyes stared up at her; within them she could see tiny flames of dark fire fizzle, then burn out.
Rhapsody stood, hunched over and panting, her hands resting on her knees. In the light of Daystar Clarion’s flames she watched the headless body list to one side, preparing to topple.
Then, as she watched, it righted itself.
The headless corpse turned toward her again, sword in hand, and began to walk toward her once more. As it lifted its sword purposefully, she heard Achmed’s voice far away, as though calling from the other side of Time.
Rhapsody.
She turned to see him standing behind her, watching her from inside the observatory tower, then quickly glanced over her shoulder again.
The headless soldier was gone. Nothing remained of the vision.
She exhaled deeply and put a hand to her forehead. A moment later the Firbolg king was beside her.
“What did you see?”
“I’m fine, thank you, really I am,” she muttered distantly, too spent to muster much sarcasm.
Achmed took her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “Tell me, by the gods,” he hissed. “What did you see?”
Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed to emerald slits. “You did this intentionally, didn’t you? You brought me up here, into this place heavy with magic and ancient memories, intending to spark a vision, didn’t you? That’s what you meant when you said I might see something I couldn’t from the Heath or Grivven Tower. You unspeakable bastard.”
“I need to know what you saw,” he said impatiently. “This is the highest vista in the Teeth, the best possible place to see an attack coming. And one is coming, Rhapsody; I know it, and you know it. I need to know where it’s coming from.” His unnaturally strong hands tightened their grip ever-so-slightly.
She slapped them away and wrested free from his grasp. “I am not your personal vizier. Ask first next time. You have no idea what these visions cost me.”
“I know that ultimately without them the cost may be your life, at the very least,” Achmed snarled. “That, of course, is if you are lucky. The alternatives are far more likely, and far worse. And far more widespread. Now stop acting the petulant brat and tell me what I need to know. Where is the attack coming from?”
Rhapsody looked back out the window at the glistening plain, the mountains coming to rosy life in the light of dawn. She stood silently for a moment, breathing the frosty air and listening to the silence broken only by the occasional whine of a bitter wind turning ever colder.
“Everywhere,” she said. “I think it’s coming from everywhere.”
High off, from his vantage point in the Future, hanging between the threads of Time in his glass globe observatory, Meridion stared in dismay at the people he had changed history to bring to this place in the hope that they would avert the fiery death that was now consuming what was left of the Earth.
He put his head down on the instrument panel of the Time Editor and wept.
Light was breaking over the whole of the Krevensfield plain as Achmed and Rhapsody departed, cloaked, gloved and hooded, riding the mounts Grunthor had provisioned for them through the light snow that had come on the morning wind.
The path that led down from the foothills to the steppes was a rocky one, and necessitated a slow passage. Rhapsody scanned the sky thoughtfully, her thoughts darker that the hour before dawn. It was impossible not to notice that she had grown quiet and pensive, and finally Achmed broke the silence.
“What’s troubling you?”
Rhapsody turned her emerald gaze on him; her walk through the pure Fire at the Earth’s core had caused her to absorb the element, making her hypnotically attractive, like the element itself. When she was excited, she was breathtaking, with an undercurrent of worry in her features she was absolutely captivating. Achmed exhaled. The time was coming when his theories about the power of her beauty would be put to the test.
“Do you think the Earthchild will be all right while we’re gone?” she asked finally.
Achmed looked into her anxious face, considering the question solemnly.
“Yes,” he said, after a moment. “The tunnel to the Loritorium is finished and all the other entrances sealed. Grunthor is moving out of the barracks while I’m away and sleeping in my chambers to guard the entranceway.”
“Good,” Rhapsody said. She had stood at the tunnel entrance in the darkness of early morning and sung to the Sleeping Child, the rare and beautiful creature formed from Living Stone that slumbered perpetually in the vault miles below Achmed’s chambers. It had been hard to keep her voice steady, knowing that the F’dor they were seeking was in turn seeking the Child.
Let that which sleeps within the Earth rest undisturbed, the Dhracian sage had said. Its awakening heralds eternal night. Of all the things she had learned in the time they had been in this new world, one that frightened her the most was that such prophecies often had more than one meaning.
Yarim, she thought miserably, why did the first demon-spawn have to be in Yarim? The province lay to the northwest, on the leeward hollow of the arid plain that abutted the northern Teeth. She had been to the rotting, desolate city once before, with Ashe, looking for answers in the crumbling temple of Manwyn, the Seer of the Future. Those answers had led them to the journey they were now undertaking. Rhapsody shook her head to clear her memory of the madwoman’s maniacal laugh.
“Are you ready?” Achmed’s voice shattered her thoughts.
Rhapsody looked around; they had reached the steppes, the rocky footlands at the base of the mountains. She clucked to her horse.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s finish this.”
Together they eased their horses into a steady canter. They didn’t look back as the multicolored peaks of their mountainous home faded into the distance behind them like a memory.
In the shadows of Grivven, one of the highest peaks of the Teeth and the westernmost military outpost, four sets of Bolg eyes, night eyes of a race of men who had risen up from the caves, followed the horses until they had crested the steppes and had disappeared into the vastness of the Orlandan Plateau.
When the Bolg king could no longer be seen, one turned to the others and nodded slowly. Four men exchanged
a final glance, then disappeared into the mountains, traveling in four different directions.
Author Bio
A harpist and singer, Haydon feels a deep connection with music, a theme carried throughout the trilogy. “A rhapsody is a piece of music that has many different colors together in a changeable pattern. So it’s a reflection of the story; there are light moments and there are darker ones. There are positive and negative characteristics to all the characters and overall they’re struggling to make themselves better.”
From Romantic Times Magazine, September 1999
In addition to traveling the world, Elizabeth Haydon enjoys music, anthropology, folklore, and herbalism. She lives with her family on the East Coast where she works as an editor in educational publishing.
Visit her website: www.elizabethhaydon.com
The Rhapsody Trilogy
RHAPSODY: Child of Blood
PROPHECY: Child of Earth
DESTINY: Child of the Sky
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With affectionate thanks to the best editor in the entire known world, Jim Minz, as well as Jynne Dilling and all the wonderful people at Tor. Special thanks to Tom Doherty, a man with a fine ear for music.
With appreciation to my family and friends, for not stuffing me in a crate and sending me over Niagara Falls through this process, and for your endless love and support.
With humble recognition to Anu Garg, a Singer possessing a great personal lexicon, who seeks to share his love of language through his wonderful Web site, www.wordsmith.org for the perfect words he has provided by serendipity.
With gratitude to Richard Curtis and Amy Meo, for allowing me to watch while you shape the future.
And to the late Mario Puzo.
Tor Books by Elizabeth Haydon
THE SYMPHONY OF AGES
Rhapsody: Child of Blood
Prophecy: Child of Earth
Destiny: Child of the Sky
Requiem for the Sun
Elegy for a Lost Star
The Assassin King
THE LOST JOURNALS OF VEN POLYPHEME
The Floating Island
The Thief Queen’s Daughter
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
PROPHECY
Copyright © 2000 by Elizabeth Haydon
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Edited by James Minz
Maps by Ed Gazzi
Gruntor’s Marching Song on page 392 by Paul L. Gittelson.
Used with permission.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-2302-0
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-02836
Elizabeth Haydon, Prophecy
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