| Author: | Mercedes Lackey, Roberta Gellis | ISBN: | 9781618244222 |
| Publisher: | Baen Books | Publication: | February 1, 2004 |
| Imprint: | Baen Publishing Enterprises | Language: | English |
| Author: | Mercedes Lackey, Roberta Gellis |
| ISBN: | 9781618244222 |
| Publisher: | Baen Books |
| Publication: | February 1, 2004 |
| Imprint: | Baen Publishing Enterprises |
| Language: | English |
DENORIEL: WARRIOR OF KORONOS; RIDER IN THE WILD HUNT . . . NURSEMAID
Denoriel Siencyn Macreth Silverhair was a warrior in Koronos' band, a fierce rider in the Wild Hunt, but when he was summoned he came obediently to the valley of the FarSeers.
A glow of power lifted about the crystal lens. "Here is the nexus of our future," said the FarSeer in the dress of ancient Greece, and a mist seemed to pass over the surface of the lens. A moment later, the surface cleared, and within it, Denoriel saw the image of a human infant, red-haired and scowling, swaddled in fine, embroidered linen and lace . . . and glowing with power. The babe was being held by a figure that Denoriel recognized—the mortal king of England, Henry, eighth of that name.
The lens misted again, and scene after scene played out briefly before him—briefly, but enough to show him a future very bright for the mortals of England, a flowering of art, music, and letters, of great deeds, of exploration and bravery. Oh, there were problems——twice, if Denoriel read the signs aright Spain sent a great fleet against England, only to be repulsed at minimal cost. But the troubles were weathered, the difficulties overcome, and the result was nearly an age of gold.
"And this," said the lady of the ancient ways, "Is what will come to pass if that child does not reign."
Fires . . .
Black-robed priests, grim-faced and implacable, condemned scores, hundreds, to the Question, torturing their bodies until they would confess to anything, then burning what was left in front of silent onlookers. Others, whose intellects burned as brightly as the flames, did not need to be tortured; they confessed their sins of difference defiantly . . . and were also burned. In place of a flowering of art and science, came a blight. Darkness fell over the land, pressed there by the heavy, iron hand of Spain and the Inquisition.
"You are the key to all of this." The FarSeer's emerald eyes held his. "The red-haired child of Great Harry of England must live, and thrive, and grow up to rule. You must go to it in the mortal world, and become its protector."
"But I am a warrior, not a nursemaid—" he said, feebly.
At the publisher's request, this title is sold without DRM (Digital Rights Management).
Denoriel Siencyn Macreth Silverhair was a warrior in Koronos' band, a fierce rider in the Wild Hunt, but when he was summoned he came obediently to the valley of the FarSeers.
A glow of power lifted about the crystal lens. "Here is the nexus of our future," said the FarSeer in the dress of ancient Greece, and a mist seemed to pass over the surface of the lens. A moment later, the surface cleared, and within it, Denoriel saw the image of a human infant, red-haired and scowling, swaddled in fine, embroidered linen and lace . . . and glowing with power. The babe was being held by a figure that Denoriel recognized—the mortal king of England, Henry, eighth of that name.
The lens misted again, and scene after scene played out briefly before him—briefly, but enough to show him a future very bright for the mortals of England, a flowering of art, music, and letters, of great deeds, of exploration and bravery. Oh, there were problems——twice, if Denoriel read the signs aright Spain sent a great fleet against England, only to be repulsed at minimal cost. But the troubles were weathered, the difficulties overcome, and the result was nearly an age of gold.
"And this," said the lady of the ancient ways, "Is what will come to pass if that child does not reign."
Fires . . .
Black-robed priests, grim-faced and implacable, condemned scores, hundreds, to the Question, torturing their bodies until they would confess to anything, then burning what was left in front of silent onlookers. Others, whose intellects burned as brightly as the flames, did not need to be tortured; they confessed their sins of difference defiantly . . . and were also burned. In place of a flowering of art and science, came a blight. Darkness fell over the land, pressed there by the heavy, iron hand of Spain and the Inquisition.
"You are the key to all of this." The FarSeer's emerald eyes held his. "The red-haired child of Great Harry of England must live, and thrive, and grow up to rule. You must go to it in the mortal world, and become its protector."
"But I am a warrior, not a nursemaid—" he said, feebly.
At the publisher's request, this title is sold without DRM (Digital Rights Management).
DENORIEL: WARRIOR OF KORONOS; RIDER IN THE WILD HUNT . . . NURSEMAID
Denoriel Siencyn Macreth Silverhair was a warrior in Koronos' band, a fierce rider in the Wild Hunt, but when he was summoned he came obediently to the valley of the FarSeers.
A glow of power lifted about the crystal lens. "Here is the nexus of our future," said the FarSeer in the dress of ancient Greece, and a mist seemed to pass over the surface of the lens. A moment later, the surface cleared, and within it, Denoriel saw the image of a human infant, red-haired and scowling, swaddled in fine, embroidered linen and lace . . . and glowing with power. The babe was being held by a figure that Denoriel recognized—the mortal king of England, Henry, eighth of that name.
The lens misted again, and scene after scene played out briefly before him—briefly, but enough to show him a future very bright for the mortals of England, a flowering of art, music, and letters, of great deeds, of exploration and bravery. Oh, there were problems——twice, if Denoriel read the signs aright Spain sent a great fleet against England, only to be repulsed at minimal cost. But the troubles were weathered, the difficulties overcome, and the result was nearly an age of gold.
"And this," said the lady of the ancient ways, "Is what will come to pass if that child does not reign."
Fires . . .
Black-robed priests, grim-faced and implacable, condemned scores, hundreds, to the Question, torturing their bodies until they would confess to anything, then burning what was left in front of silent onlookers. Others, whose intellects burned as brightly as the flames, did not need to be tortured; they confessed their sins of difference defiantly . . . and were also burned. In place of a flowering of art and science, came a blight. Darkness fell over the land, pressed there by the heavy, iron hand of Spain and the Inquisition.
"You are the key to all of this." The FarSeer's emerald eyes held his. "The red-haired child of Great Harry of England must live, and thrive, and grow up to rule. You must go to it in the mortal world, and become its protector."
"But I am a warrior, not a nursemaid—" he said, feebly.
At the publisher's request, this title is sold without DRM (Digital Rights Management).
Denoriel Siencyn Macreth Silverhair was a warrior in Koronos' band, a fierce rider in the Wild Hunt, but when he was summoned he came obediently to the valley of the FarSeers.
A glow of power lifted about the crystal lens. "Here is the nexus of our future," said the FarSeer in the dress of ancient Greece, and a mist seemed to pass over the surface of the lens. A moment later, the surface cleared, and within it, Denoriel saw the image of a human infant, red-haired and scowling, swaddled in fine, embroidered linen and lace . . . and glowing with power. The babe was being held by a figure that Denoriel recognized—the mortal king of England, Henry, eighth of that name.
The lens misted again, and scene after scene played out briefly before him—briefly, but enough to show him a future very bright for the mortals of England, a flowering of art, music, and letters, of great deeds, of exploration and bravery. Oh, there were problems——twice, if Denoriel read the signs aright Spain sent a great fleet against England, only to be repulsed at minimal cost. But the troubles were weathered, the difficulties overcome, and the result was nearly an age of gold.
"And this," said the lady of the ancient ways, "Is what will come to pass if that child does not reign."
Fires . . .
Black-robed priests, grim-faced and implacable, condemned scores, hundreds, to the Question, torturing their bodies until they would confess to anything, then burning what was left in front of silent onlookers. Others, whose intellects burned as brightly as the flames, did not need to be tortured; they confessed their sins of difference defiantly . . . and were also burned. In place of a flowering of art and science, came a blight. Darkness fell over the land, pressed there by the heavy, iron hand of Spain and the Inquisition.
"You are the key to all of this." The FarSeer's emerald eyes held his. "The red-haired child of Great Harry of England must live, and thrive, and grow up to rule. You must go to it in the mortal world, and become its protector."
"But I am a warrior, not a nursemaid—" he said, feebly.
At the publisher's request, this title is sold without DRM (Digital Rights Management).
