COPYRIGHT

      HarperCollinsPublishers

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      First published by HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 2009

      Copyright © Katharine Kerr 2009

      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.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

      Source ISBN: 9780007287369

      Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2014 ISBN: 9780007301935

      Version: 2014-08-04

DEDICATION

       For Howard First, Last, and Always

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue: The Northlands Summer, 1160

Part I: The Northlands Autumn

Part II: The Northlands Summer, 1160

       Epilogue: The Westlands Autumn, 1160

       Keep Reading

       Author’s Note

       Glossary

       A Note on Dating

       Table of Incarnations

       About the Author

       Also by the Author

       About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

       The Northlands Summer, 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 am, my lady.’

      ‘There’s no need to call me lady,’ Dallandra said with a smile. ‘I wanted to tell you that your father’s flown off to scout the Northlands. He asked me to give you his love and to tell you he’ll be back again as soon as he can.’