Song of the Beast

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.”

—
Interzone Magazine

 

“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

 

“Powerfully entertaining.”

—
Locus

 

“An exotic, dangerous, and beautifully crafted world.”

—Lynn Flewelling, author of
Traitor's Moon

 

“Berg's characters are completely believable, her world interesting and complex, and her story riveting.”

—
Kliatt

 

“Berg greatly expands her world with surprising insights.”

—
The Denver Post

 

“Epic fantasy on a gigantic scale.... Carol Berg lights up the sky with a wondrous world.”

—
Midwest Book Review

 

“Ms. Berg's finely drawn characters combine with a remarkable imagination to create a profound and fascinating novel.”

—
Talebones

 

“Carol Berg is a brilliant writer who has built her characters carefully and completely. The magic is subtle and vivid, and the writing is compelling.”

—BookBrowser

 

“A much-needed boost of new blood into the fantasy pool.”

—
Dreamwatch Magazine

OTHER TITLES BY CAROL BERG

TRANSFORMATION
REVELATION
RESTORATION

ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand,
London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road,
Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,
Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads,
Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand

 

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

eISBN : 978-1-101-50031-6

 

First Printing, May 2003

Copyright © Carol Berg, 2003

All rights reserved

 

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTERDA

 

 

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN GROUP (USA) INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.

 

 

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

Chapter 1

The light had almost undone me. I had not been prepared for any of it, dead man that I was, but never could I have been ready for the shattering explosion of sunlight after so many years in the dark. They had threatened so often to burn out my eyes, the thought crossed my mind that it had finally come to pass. Perhaps my memory of being dragged from my cell through the bowels of Mazadine and kicked through the iron door that would take me back to the world was only another cruel nightmare.

Wrapping my arms about my head, I sank to the ground, huddling to the faceless prison wall like a pup to its dam, and there I remained until the sun slipped below the rim of the world. Only when blessed darkness eased the agony—never had I thought to bless the dark again—could I consider other pressing matters, such as getting as far away as possible before someone decided to put me back behind that wall.

Rocks and gravel cut into my bare feet as I stumbled down the rutted road and found a crossroads shrine, a mossy spring dedicated to Keldar. Just off the road sat a well-stuffed wool cart, while from the nearby shrubbery came the unmistakable sounds of a drover who had drunk too many tankards of ale at supper. I fell to my knees beside the spring, but no sooner had I taken a first desperate sip than five Royal Horse Guards, torches blazing in the night, raced past at full gallop, turning up the road to Mazadine as if the cruelest of the world's monsters were at their backs. Breathing a prayer of heartfelt thanksgiving, I scrambled into the wagon and buried myself in the wool.

Eyeless Keldar had never been my god. The cold lord of wisdom had never appealed to one born into the service of his brother Roelan, the joyous, hunchbacked god of music. But Roelan had abandoned me in the darkness. The loving voice that had guided me through my growing had fallen silent. The hand that embraced me at my dedication when I was fourteen, accepted my service for seven years of glory, and sustained me through the first years of my captivity had been withdrawn. So, as the beggar who refuses no penny dropped in his cup, I accepted Keldar's gift and pledged him service as I rode through the night, cradled in a wagonload of wool.

 

Hunger quickly became my encompassing reality. Though half out of my head, I dared not risk a charge of thieving or any other crime that might fix a guardsman's eye on me, so I roamed the pigsties and refuse heaps of Lepan, the market town where the drover left off his wool and his passenger. Too weak and sick to fight the other beggars for the best scraps, I would take whatever was left and find a dark hole in which to hide, trying to block out the noise and the light that drove me to madness.

I took my first step back toward life on the night of a monstrous storm. Thunder echoed from the distant peaks like giant's laughter, and if lightning was, as old wives said, the fire of dying heroes' hearts, then there were a great many heroes dying that night. A merciless rain drove me to shelter in a stable. I huddled in a corner, drenched to the soul, shivering with the chill of death and the late spring wind. Somewhere amid murky cravings and failing senses passed a fleeting sorrow that my brief freedom had had no more value than my captivity. A final victory for those who had sent me to Mazadine, never bothering to tell me why.

While I was thus occupied with dying and regrets, the stable door crashed open to a heavy boot, followed quickly by the grunts and whimpers of a backstreet mating. The smell of wine and vomit and lust soon overpowered the aura of unclean stable and even my own filth. Only when the woman began to struggle did I realize that the coupling was not voluntary.

I did not—could not—move. I had no strength left to right the ills of the world. But then I heard crackling sparks and frantic pleading. “Have mercy! You wear the Ridemark. I'll die from your pleasuring! Oh, sir, I'm just sixteen!”

A Dragon Rider! From the ashes of my life flared one last ember, fanned by brutish laughter and wine-sotted grunting ... and the memory of a red dragon scribed on the wrist of the faceless judge who stole my life. If I was going to die, then I would take at least one Dragon Rider with me. Hopeless fool. I could not even think how I would be able to do it.