by Sharon Shinn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
“Sharon Shinn’s books have been on my comfort shelf
ever since Archangel came out.”
—Anne McCaffrey, award-winning author of the Pern series
“Once again Shinn expertly mixes romance with traditional fantasy for a satisfying read.” —Publishers Weekly
“A worthy read.” —SFRevu
“Intrigue-filled.” —Mania
“The universe is fascinating, the characters are appealing.”
—The Green Man Review
“Shinn brings an array of fascinating characters to life and imbues them with purpose.” —Romantic Times
“[An] exciting and highly romantic series.” —BookLoons
THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE
“Outstanding . . . A lyrical grace and deep appreciation of camaraderie reminiscent of Diane Duane at her best . . . [A] superior fantasy series.” —Publishers Weekly
“Lyrical and entertaining fantasy . . . Peopled by well-drawn characters that readers can really bond with . . . Abounds with subtle romance and high-spirited adventure. Ideal for readers who like a little romance with their fantasy.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Shinn’s second trip to Gillengaria delights . . . Shinn seems to have an endless ability to create plausible worlds for her stories. With a blend of adventure and romance, they almost seem based on the history of a remote time rather than a place invented in her imagination. Shinn . . . always manages to surprise me, without making me feel cheated that my expectations have been thwarted. The ability to maintain that balance between familiarity and freshness should keep her readership growing.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“A compelling tale.” —Locus
“Set in a world of noble houses, shapeshifting mystics, and dexterous swordsmen, the sequel to Mystic and Rider further develops Shinn’s new series characters and introduces new plot elements. Shinn provides a wealth of action and a balanced cast of genuinely heroic and admirable characters.”
—Library Journal
“Shinn is a strong literary writer [and] especially good at writing realistic characters. Readers who enjoy romance and strong characterization will enjoy this book and the Twelve Houses series.” —SFRevu
MYSTIC AND RIDER
“Engaging . . . An enjoyable yarn with characters who leave you wanting more.” —Locus
“Shinn’s novels are always surprising . . . [She] breathes life into the old tropes and spins off in new directions . . . Shinn is an engaging storyteller who moves believable characters through a fascinating landscape and interesting adventures [and] manages to do it with deep insights that make us reach into our own souls and wonder: If we were placed in the world of these characters, what would we do, and what would we believe in?” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“Mystic and Rider . . . is that rarity, the opening book of a series that stands solidly as a read-alone novel. The resolution is strong enough that the reader is satisfied, and yet the potential for more will leave me looking forward to the next volume. Well-developed and engaging characters, an intriguing plot, plenty of action, and unforeseen twists make Mystic and Rider a great book.” —Robin Hobb, author of Fool’s Fate
“Strong, charismatic male and female protagonists make this an excellent choice for most fantasy collections.”
—Library Journal
“Clean, elegant prose . . . Shinn gives us an easy, absorbing, high-quality read.” —Booklist
“Tailor-made for the growing audience of fantasy fans who like good juicy romance . . . Spellbinding characterizations . . . A rich beginning.” —Publishers Weekly
“Shinn’s most successful book.” —SFRevu
“Definitely fun.” —Contra Costa Times
More praise for Sharon Shinn and her novels
“The most promising and original writer of fantasy to come along since Robin McKinley.”
—Peter S. Beagle, award-winning author of The Last Unicorn
“Taut, inventive, often mesmerizing.” —Kirkus Reviews
“It doesn’t get much better than [this]—interesting characters, an intriguing mystery, a believable love story, and a satisfying ending.” —Starlog.com
“Smoothly written. Shinn has a talent for creating vivid, sympathetic characters. Nuanced and intelligent. A thoroughly entertaining reading experience.” —SF Site
“A delightful world to escape into.” —Locus
“A solid read.” —Booklist
“Rich with texture and diversity, and genuine characters.”
—Anne McCaffrey, award-winning author of the Pern series
“Romantic . . . delightful. I’m eagerly awaiting her next novel.” —The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
“Warm and triumphant.” —Publishers Weekly
“Inventive and compelling.” —Library Journal
Other Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
MYSTIC AND RIDER
THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE
DARK MOON DEFENDER
ARCHANGEL
JOVAH’S ANGEL
THE ALLELUIA FILES
ANGELICA
ANGEL-SEEKER
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE
HEART OF GOLD
SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN
JENNA STARBORN
Viking / Firebird Books by Sharon Shinn
THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET
THE TRUTH-TELLER’S TALE
THE DREAM-MAKER’S MAGIC
GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
DARK MOON DEFENDER
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace hardcover edition / October 2006
Ace mass-market edition / October 2007
Copyright © 2006 by Sharon Shinn.
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ISBN: 978-1-436-25362-8
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For Joe
Because you, too, have had to fight so hard,
and because you love the books
GILLENGARIA
CHAPTER 1
THE woman lay facedown on the floor of the hut, her long brown hair spread in bloody tangles across the dirt. She had stopped moving, so it was possible she was dead. She had never cried out, never begged for mercy—never said a single word, not for the entire two hours they had had her. Kelti had found that almost as unnerving as the torture, the fact that she did not answer, did not speak.
This was his first time to go hunting mystics, and he was afraid he would disgrace himself by being sick.
Rostiff toed the lifeless woman with one hard boot. “Is she still breathing? Someone feel for a pulse.” None of the other three men moved, so Rostiff jerked his head in Kelti’s direction. “You do it.”
Kelti knelt beside the battered body and gingerly pushed through the dark hair to find the back of her neck, then slid his fingers around the bruised column of her throat. There— a steady, sluggish rhythm that seemed more obstinate than anything. I am harder to kill than you think. Kelti shivered a little. For her sake, he wished the woman had chosen to be a little less stubborn. The sooner she died, the sooner she would be out of her misery. There was no chance she would be spared.
“She’s alive, Captain,” he said, and pushed himself to his feet.
“Then let’s wake her up again,” Rostiff said.
From over in the corner came the sound of a strangled sob. Everyone else ignored it, but Kelti glanced over. Huddled on the ground, wrapped in a tight a ball of misery, was the woman who had led them to the mystic. Poor woman living on a small plot of land, didn’t appear to have a husband or son or any kinfolk to help her manage, and it was clear she was barely able to scrape together enough food to sustain her body. Always a reward for turning a mystic over to the Lestra’s men, so she’d eagerly made arrangements with them yesterday morning when she spotted them in the village. But, like Kelti, she had probably had very little experience with inquisitions. She had not expected the interrogation to be so brutal or last so long.
One of the other men came forward with a bucket of water and dumped it on the mystic’s head. She stirred and coughed, then lay still again. But Kelti, watching closely, could see the movement of her ribs. Still breathing.
The stupid fool.
Rostiff sank to a crouch beside her and rolled her over. Even by candlelight, it was easy to see that her face was a mesh of cuts and bruises and that blood stained the entire front of her plain gown. Her hands were tied before her with a thin silver chain set with moonstones. It wasn’t a binding that would hold an ordinary person—the chain was so delicate that even a woman could snap it in two—but the moonstones burned the skin of mystics and muted their power. Made them helpless. Stole their magic.
Stole their lives.
“Let’s try this again,” Rostiff said, putting his face down next to the young woman’s. He was a big man and hard in every way. His face was severe and bony, his bunched muscles were tough, and his personality was absolutely unyielding. Until this evening, Kelti had viewed him with an awe so great it bordered on worship. Had wanted to earn his respect. Now he was ashamed of himself for being so horrified at Rostiff’s actions. Wasn’t this the job of the men who served the Pale Mother? Hadn’t they been chosen by the Lestra to seek out and destroy mystics wherever they might be found? Was this not a holy calling, blessed by the moon goddess herself?
Then why did it feel so terrible to watch this young woman being slowly murdered?
“All I want from you is two names,” Rostiff said in a reasonable voice. He had pulled his dagger out again and held it just under the mystic’s left eye. With no effort at all, he could open the flesh on her cheek—or blind her on one side. Tell him what he wants to know, Kelti thought miserably. “Two names of two of your sorcerous friends, and where they might be found. That’s it. Two names, two locations. Then I’ll let you go.”
The mystic had had her eyes closed, but now she opened them. They were a muddy green, unremarkable in color, and pain had dulled whatever brilliance they might normally possess. At the moment, she didn’t even seem to be able to focus, for she did not look at Rostiff, looming over her so menacingly. Instead, her gaze wandered to the others in the room— to the two veteran soldiers standing behind Rostiff, looking impassive and even bored with the whole evening. To a younger soldier standing to the right of Kelti, his face eager, his body tense, a man excited by his first taste of blood. To Kelti. He held his breath as she held his gaze. Almost he thought she might say something—whisper a message to him, beg him to intercede on her behalf. He came a step closer. She blinked and looked away.
Rostiff leaned closer. “One name,” he said in an intense whisper. “One name, one location, and your death will be quick.”
At that exact moment, the door to the hut blew open and a rush of darkness swirled in. Astonished, Kelti fell back. He sensed the other men in his party drawing their blades and dropping into fighting stances.
Two men had burst inside and now crouched just inside the doorway, armed for battle.
“I’m Cammon, and I’m right here,” said one, shaking back his ragged hair. “That’s one mystic’s name. Good enough?”
With a shout, Rostiff lunged across the room, driving his sword straight for the intruder’s heart. Kelti was frozen in place, but the other three soldiers launched themselves right behind Rostiff, blades winking in the insufficient candlelight. Two more bodies to lie on the floor this night, Kelti thought, and watched to see how quickly the mystic was cut down.
But the man who called himself Cammon danced away from Rostiff’s sword. And danced away again as Rostiff sliced and hewed the air. Kelti stared, amazed. No one could outlast Rostiff for more than a few rounds, even the fiercest soldiers in the Lestra’s brigade. But this young man—almost a boy, Kelti’s age, perhaps, and slim as a g
irl—parried and ducked away and evaded every single blow Rostiff tried to land.