Daughter of Prophecy Read Free

wife took the crying babe from the young monk. “Do something!”
    The man gaped at the fight in the middle of the room. “This can’t be happening. The Covenant prevents . . . ”
    â€œYou’ve read all those parchments! Help Lord Tellan!”
    The man swallowed hard. Coming to his full height, he flung out an arm with a long finger pointing at the crazed monk and bellowed, “In the name of the Eternal, I bind you!”
    Still grapping with Tellan, the monk spat, “You lack the power!” He jerked a hand free and dealt Tellan a blow that dropped the new father to his knees. The monk kicked him aside and, leaving a trail of blood on the hardwood floor, came again for the babe.
    The young monk stepped in front. “I bind you and any power you draw from the Mighty Ones!”
    The other’s tread faltered as he spat, “Weakling! You understand nothing.”
    The other two monks joined the fray. “We bind you! In the Eternal’s name and the Covenant, you are bound!”
    The wounded monk shuddered—and slowed.
    The three continued the verbal fight. “We bind you! In the Eternal’s name and the Covenant, you are bound!”
    Tellan struggled to his feet. Dagger in hand, he reengaged, striking repeatedly. The monk seemed weaker, his intensity gone. After more blows, he sank to his knees. A low keening issued from his mouth, and a foul odor permeated the room. Then he crumbled prostate and lay still.
    Tellan wavered, breathing hard. Then he sheathed his dagger and ran to the broken bed. “Midwife!” he bellowed in an agonized voice.
    Drysi hurried over with a sinking feeling in her heart. Lady Eyslk lay crumpled half on the bed, half on the floor, the lower part of her gown soaked in blood.
    â€œHe was so strong,” one of the other monks said, “we couldn’t help falling on her.”
    Tellan cradled his wife’s limp body in his arms. “Eyslk? Eyslk!” He stroked her face. “Don’t leave me!”
    Drysi took her one remaining moss pad—but it was too late. She looked at Eyslk’s stilled face and glazed eyes and suddenly felt old beyond her years.
    â€œI’m sorry, m’lord. She is gone.”

Chapter One
    R HIANNON
    H ER HOME WAS a ruin.
    Rainwater collected in cracks where the stone floor had buckled from intense heat. Faint tentacles of smoke rose from fallen roof beams, charred and blackened, the flames quenched by the heavy drizzle.
    Rising above the acrid smell of wet soot was the odor of death. It wafted up through the early morning mist, clinging inside Rhiannon’s nostrils and making her filly skittish. The horse gave a low snort and pranced sideways, reluctant to approach any closer. Rhiannon urged the filly forward, applying pressure with her left calf while pulling on the right rein. Her two younger half-brothers were having similar difficulty with their mounts.
    Her father and his escort of three clan warriors reined in their horses at the waist-high stone fence that surrounded the structure. They sat silently, contemplating the destruction with grim faces.
    Rhiannon eased up by the men and looked, stunned and uncomprehending, at what was left of the Rogoth hlaford, the dwelling of the kinsmen lord. She had been born here and lived all of her almost sixteen years here. Even with the sight and smell right before her, the fact of it was hard to grasp. The hlaford would be rebuilt, of course, but that did not dim the numbness of the loss. Losing irreplaceable keepsakes collected throughout her childhood hurt more than she would have thought.
    For nobility the structure was modest, even for a clan as poor as the Dinari. Nestled on a knoll rising from the valley floor, it was a simple two-story structure sixty cubits in length and thirty wide. The ground floor was constructed of stone; timber beams and rough hand-hewn planks comprised the second story. And, to her stepmother’s great pride,