The Silver Mage. Katharine Kerr
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THESILVER MAGE
BOOK SEVEN OF THEDRAGON MAGE
KATHARINE KERR
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 2009
Copyright © Katharine Kerr 2009
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover illustration by Andrew Davis
Katharine Kerr asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007287369
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2014 ISBN: 9780007301935
Version: 2020-03-02
For Howard First, Last, and Always
CONTENTS
Prologue: The Northlands Summer, 1160
Part II: The Northlands Summer, 1160
Epilogue: The Westlands Autumn, 1160
The serpent of Time winds itself about the cross of Matter. Some say it has seven heads, some only three, but the difference counts for little. It is the body of the serpent, not the head, that crushes its prey.
The Secret Book of Cadwallon the Druid
Death had turned Dougie’s hair white and his flesh translucent. In the darkness he glowed with a faint silvery light as he stood smiling at Berwynna.
‘Remember me, lass,’ he said in the language of Alban, ‘but live your life, too. I loved you enough to wish you every happiness. Find a new man.’
‘I don’t want to,’ Berwynna said. ‘The only thing I want is for you to come back to me.’
‘This is as far back as I can come, just up to this side of dying. Wynni, live your life!’
He vanished.
Berwynna screamed and sat up, scattering blankets. She found herself in a round tent so unfamiliar that for a moment she thought she still dreamt. The Ancients, she reminded herself. I’m safe among the Ancients, but Dougie’s dead. The first light of dawn fell like a grey pillar through the smoke hole in the centre of the roof. Across from her, on the far side of the tent, a bundle of blankets stirred and yawned. Uncle Mic sat up and peered at her through the uncertain light.
‘Are you all right?’ he said in Dwarvish. ‘Did you make some sort of a sound just now?’
‘I was dreaming,’ she said. ‘In the dream I saw Dougie, and when he disappeared, I screamed.’
‘Ai, my poor little niece!’ Mic paused to rub his face with both hands and yawn prodigiously. ‘It sounded like a moan, here in the waking world.’
‘That would fit, too.’
Mic let his hands fall into his lap. From outside came the noises of a camp stirring awake – dogs barking, people talking in an unfamiliar language, occasionally a child crying or calling out. Distantly a horse whinnied, and mules brayed in answer.
‘We might as well get up,’ Berwynna said.
‘Indeed, and I wouldn’t mind a bit of breakfast, either.’
They’d both slept dressed. Mic pulled on his boots, then got up and left the tent. Berwynna busied herself with rolling up their bedrolls.
‘Berwynna?’ Dallandra pulled back the tent flap and came in. ‘You’re awake, then?’
‘I