Restoration

Table of Contents

 

 

“Vivid characters and intricate magic combined with a fascinating world and the sure touch of a Real Writer—luscious work!”—Melanie Rawn

 

 

“A spectacular new voice.... Superbly textured, splendidly characterized, this spellbinding tale provides myriad delights.” —
Romantic Times

 

“This well-written fantasy grabs the reader by the throat on page one and doesn't let go.... Wonderful.”
—Starburst

 

“Both a traditional fantasy and an intriguing character piece.... Superbly entertaining.”
—InterzoneMagazine

 

“The prince's redemption, his transformation, and the flowering of mutual esteem between master and slave are at the story's heart. This is handled superbly.” —
Time Out
(London)

 

“Vivid characters, a tangible atmosphere of doom, and some gallows humor.”—
SFX Magazine

 

“Wonderful.... Carol Berg hooks the reader with vividly drawn characters.... Her heroes come alive on the page ... and the magic is fresh and full of purpose.” —Lynn Flewelling, author of
The Bone Doll's Twin

Also by Carol Berg

ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, August 2002

Copyright @ Carol Berg, 2002

All rights reserved

REGISTERED TRADEMARK-MARCA REGISTRADA

 

 

 

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eISBN : 978-1-101-15381-9

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To all true heroes and heroines

I was living in the land of demons when I first came to believe that the god-stories of the Ezzarians were true. Being Ezzarian myself, I had heard tales of Verdonne and her son Valdis from the time I was cradled, my faith in their relevance waxing and waning as I progressed along the journey of my life. But by the time I had survived sixteen years of slavery and reclaimed my life. I had discovered undeniable evidence of the gods. I had seen the feadnach—the light of destiny—emblazoned on the soul of an arrogant Derzhi prince, which told me that the heir to the most brutal of empires was destined to transform the world. Beside such a wonder, how could I doubt my growing suspicion that I had some part to play in the story of the Nameless God?

 

“You know planting,” said the woman from behind my shoulder. “You've a deft hand with seedlings.”

Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of a dirty hand, I shifted myself and the basket of rista shoots down the newly tilled row. Though the early spring air was still cool, the morning sun on my back was broiling. “My father worked the fields of Ezzaria,” I said. “He took me with him every day until I started my schooling. It comes back.”

I picked off the lower leaves of the plant, then scooped out a hole, inserted the tender shoot, and repacked the cool black soil snugly about the feathery roots and stem, winding about them the simple enchantments of steady growth and resistance to disease. Rista seedlings were fragile, but with a little nurturing and a nudge of sorcery, they would provide a harvest far more bounteous and reliable than wheat.

I was a guest of the woman and her husband, repaying a night's stay in their quiet green valley by helping with spring planting. For most of my life I had been caught up in the death and violence of a war that could not end. Now that I had done what I could to change the course of that conflict, a quiet morning and a little dirt under my fingernails felt very close to happiness.

The woman came around to the other side of the double row, set down her own basket, and went to work. Her shining black braid draped gracefully over her shoulder, and her long fingers made quick work of setting the plants. Elinor had a lively intelligence and a wide knowledge of the world, despite the isolation of her current home. But she knew very little of Ezzarians. “So your father was not a warrior as you were, a ... what is it called?”

“A Warden? No. He had no melydda, thus he had no choice in his profession. Ezzarians without true power must do whatever work is required of them.” Those of us found to have power for sorcery were nurtured and trained and allowed to choose our own way to fight the demon war. Until one learned new truths and betrayed it all.

She glanced up at me without pausing her quick fingers. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to bring up painful matters.”

I sat up to ease the cramp in my right side—one too many knife cuts in those muscles, the last injury deep and unskillfully repaired. After eight months I feared the painful tightness was caused by internal scarring and might never leave me. An unwelcome reality for a warrior—even one who has no intent to raise a sword ever again. “There's no pain in remembering my father, Mistress Elinor. He was as fine a man as ever lived. Though farming was not the life he would have chosen, he was well content. I learned more of true value from him than from any of my more scholarly mentors.”

The tall woman sat back on her heels and assessed me as boldly as any queen. Reddened hands and a coarse, worn tunic could not hide her mature beauty. Dark, slightly angled eyes, along with lustrous red-gold skin, were the telltale of her own Ezzarian heritage, though she had grown up far from our rainswept hills and forests. “It's just that you speak so little of Ezzaria, Seyonne, and I know the love Ezzarians bear for their homeland. I thought perhaps it was uncomfortable for anyone to bring it up now that you're reviled there.” Elinor was nothing if not direct. Ordinarily I liked that in my friends.

Of course, to call Elinor a friend was presumptuous. We had spent some hours in one another's company, talked of the weather and her brother Blaise's retired outlaw band. But, in truth, we knew nothing of each other save a few superficial facts. She had once been an outlaw herself, a rebel against the Derzhi Empire, but was now settled in this lovely valley, where she and her husband fostered a two-year-old child. I was a sorcerer, a retired warrior of thirty-eight years who had a demon living in my soul.

“If I were to avoid everything uncomfortable about my situation, I would have very little to talk about,” I said. I moved down the row again and set another plant. Though I enjoyed Elinor's company a great deal, at that moment I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in sweat and dirt and unthinking labor. Duties were awaiting me, truths to face, some of them terrible and dangerous, some of them more personally painful; but every day I could put them off and absorb such peace as this green valley could provide gave me time to be ready.

“My brother says you'll be executed if you return to Ezzaria.”

“It is no matter. There's nothing for me there anymore.” I wished she would leave it.

“But—”

I smiled at her, trying to apologize for my poor company. “A man cannot become something his people have abhorred and feared for a thousand years and expect them to be swayed instantly into acceptance by his charm and good manners.” Especially when he was having the devil of a time accepting it himself. I dragged the basket closer and carefully pulled apart a tangled clump of roots and moist soil. Abomination, my people called me.