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  What was I doing?

  I am a prince of the realm,

  not a beast in the night.

  Lynan laughed wryly at his own pride. Some prince of the realm: exiled to the Oceans of Grass, with a future only the greatest optimist would find any hope in, and now plagued by desires that were inhuman. Areava would not be surprised, of course, she always thought of him as almost less than human. He could remember vividly their last conversation on the palace’s south gallery only hours before Berayma was murdered; he had seen in her eyes then how she truly thought of him.

  With that memory came a very human anger, and the emotion threw out the last vestige of his unnatural hunger. This is how I control it, he thought with surprise. By never forgetting the first cause of my exile and transformation.

  His confidence renewed if not wholly restored, Lynan walked back past the sentry and into the camp. He reached his tent and looked east, back toward civilization, back toward his enemies. He imagined Areava in her throne room, thinking he was dead and celebrating the fact, Berayma’s murderers by her side.

  If only she knew what had truly become of him.

  The Keys of Power

  INHERITANCE

  FIRE AND SWORD

  SOVEREIGN*

  * coming soon from DAW

  Fire and Sword

  Book Two of Keys of Power

  SIMON BROWN

  DAW BOOKS, INC.

  DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, FOUNDER

  375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

  ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM

  SHEILA E. GILBERT

  PUBLISHERS

  http://www.dawbooks.com

  Copyright © 2001 Simon Brown

  All Rights Reserved.

  DAW Book Collectors No. 1287.

  Cover art by Romas.

  DAW Books are distributed by the Penguin Group (USA).

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this “stripped book.”

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  First Printing, March 2004

  123456789 10

  DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

  U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

  —MARCA REGISTRADA

  HECHO EN U.S.A. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  Contents

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 21 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

  For Guy Miklenda, Janet Delfosse,

  and Del Delfosse.

  Also family.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  All my thanks to my readers, Alison Tokley and Sean Williams, and to my editors, Julia Stiles, Stephanie Smith and Debra Euler. Thanks to them this is a better book than it would otherwise have been. Many thanks also to my agents, Garth Nix and Russell Galen, for all their wondrous efforts on my behalf.

  Hverr of kom Heráss á

  hí a land gotna?

  Fiskr ór fjanda vim svimandi,

  fogl a fjanda lith galandi.

  As whom came the god of war

  to the land of men?

  A fish from the torrent of enemies swimming,

  a bird against a troop of enemies screaming.

  —from the Eggjum gravestone, Sogn, Norway (based on translation by Peter Foote & David M. Wilson)

  Chapter 1

  In autumn, when the hot summer winds have passed and the fierce winter storms are yet to come, the Oceans of Grass is the most silent place on the continent of Theare. The occasional breeze will brush the yellow land but make no more sound than a lover’s whisper, a dying enemy’s curse. Even insects stop their chirruping and burrow deep underground, waiting for spring and fresh rain.

  On this day the sun, still with its summer strength, arced high over the plain, making the air above the ground shimmer like silk. The only water hole for leagues around was nothing more than a silted puddle, and the tracks of a hundred animals crisscrossed its muddy ring. A family of karaks drank from the hole, their long ears drooping with thirst. The heat had made them careless and they had not caught scent of the grass wolf carefully studying them from the fringe of growth not more than fifty paces away.

  The wolf had been following them for over two hours, always keeping behind, waiting for her chance to charge in and take one of the calves. She sensed the time had come. A sow had moved farther into the water hole and started to roll in it, leaving her calf behind. The wolf measured the distance, carefully noting how far the big boar had wandered from the main group, and tensed her muscles.

  And then came a sound so deep it was first felt by the wolf as a vibration in the ground. The karaks sensed something as well. Their ears pricked up, their nostrils flared. The boar grunted and the herd hurried to join him; younger males took up their positions on flank and rear.

  The sound swelled in the still air like the thunder of a distant storm. The wolf was puzzled. She had heard something like it many years ago, when she was not much older than a cub, but she could not remember what it meant.

  The karaks were getting skittish. The calf the wolf had set on squealed and broke from the group. Again the wolf tensed, ready to take advantage of the herd’s confusion.

  And then the terrible riders appeared. Their gray mounts kicked up sods of mud, screaming as bits were pulled deep into their mouths. The riders shouted. There was a flurry of javelins and arrows. A young male karak went down, and then another. A sow, trying to protect a calf, took a spear through the neck.

  The wolf watched in a daze. The calf she had selected was pierced by two arrows, and squealed for the last time. Her confusion gave way to a great and sudden anger. She leaped from the bushes, charging not toward the karaks, but toward the riders.

  The crookback Ager Parmer was flushed with excitement. A crazed laugh escaped from his lips. He wheeled his horse to the right of the group and retrieved his short spear from the flank of a still panting boar. He looked up and saw Lynan corner a karak and pierce it with a javelin. The prince caught Ager’s glance and grinned wildly. Ager laughed again, overjoyed to see the pale young man starting to enjoy life once more. Lynan was joined by his Chett friend and guardian Gudon, and the two of them went off in pursuit of more prey. Another rider cut behind them, and Ager turned to see Korigan, the Chett queen. He watched in admiration as she used only her knees to direct her mare, keeping her hands free to shoot with her recurve bow.

  Something at the edge of his vision caught Ager’s attention; he saw a young sow making a break for the tall grass and spurred his horse after it. The sow saw him and turned away. Ager cursed loudly. Now he would have to put the spear between the karak’s shoulder blades, a much more difficult shot, especially with his one eye. He waited until the mare was close enough to trip up the sow and thrust down with his weapon. The spear lodged in the hollow just above the sow’s neck. The karak grunted and its forelegs collapsed; it somersaulted into the dirt, jerking Ager’s spear out of his hand, and was still.

  Ager gave a triumphant cry. That’s my second! Won’t Kumul be sorry he didn’t come on the hunt!

  He checked to make sure there were no karaks nearby, quickly dismounted, and used his knife to finish off the sow. Then he heard a sound that came from no karak. He spun around and saw
something long and gray and half the size of a Chett mare leap from the grass into the clearing. It ran under one of the horses and flashed wide jaws, tearing at the horse’s belly. The mare screamed, bucked, and its rider fell heavily to the ground, the horse collapsing on top.

  My God! Ager thought. That’s a grass wolf!

  The beast had not waited to finish off its first victim, but raced on to get under another horse. The rider saw the wolf coming and tried to wheel away, but the wolf was too quick; it used its teeth to slash at the horse’s throat. There was a whip of blood and the horse went down, her rider still in the saddle. The wolf jumped over the mount and tore at the rider’s throat, then leaped away.

  Ager could not believe the speed of the creature. Most of the remaining horses clumped together, instinctively trying to get some protection from numbers, but their riders knew this was the worst thing they could do and desperately tried pulling them apart to give them some room to maneuver.

  Ager pulled his spear out of the sow and jumped onto the back of his own mare. He tried to get it to charge the wolf, but all she would do was roll her eyes and pull back. He saw the wolf cutting across the clump of horses, trying to find a way in. A javelin whizzed by its ear and then an arrow.

  One of the horses broke free of the group and Ager saw its rider was Korigan, her tall golden body leaning low over the horse’s neck. The wolf zigzagged away from her, heading for the grass, easily outpacing Korigan’s mare. Korigan loosed a short, white hunting arrow. It twanged into the ground only a step in front of the wolf’s muzzle and the beast veered back toward the water hole. Without hesitation, Korigan’s mare followed it and her Chetts shouted in admiration. And then they shouted in consternation as the wolf double backed, slashing at the horse’s fetlocks. The horse stumbled and Korigan flew over the mare’s head, landing on her shoulder. The queen pinned her bow to her chest and rolled. The wolf paid her no attention, driving into her horse and disemboweling it with two savage bites.

  By now Gudon had broken free from the mass of stamping horses. He threw his javelin wildly, hoping to divert the wolf’s attention from his queen. It worked. The wolf leaped, its jaw snapping only a finger’s breadth from Gudon’s face. The Chett drew his long sword,and tried desperately to turn his mount, but again the wolf was quicker almost than the eye could see and was already behind Gudon. His mare panicked, reared back, and Gudon fell heavily to the ground and was still. Korigan sprinted to his side, grabbing for his sword. The wolf howled, the sound almost gleeful, and charged toward the two humans.

  And then there was another howl, more terrifying, but it did not come from the wolf. A third horse split from the main group and Ager saw its rider was Lynan.

  “No!” Ager shouted. “Lynan, no!” He dug his spurs so hard into his mare’s flanks the horse actually started forward, but even so, he knew he would be too late to stop his prince.

  “He shouldn’t be out there!” Kumul declared, waving his hand vaguely toward the horizon. Some nearby Chetts instinctively moved back from the giant’s reach.

  Jenrosa, diminutive next to him, suppressed a smile. “And where exactly should Lynan be?”

  “Back here, of course, planning his next move. Instead, he’s out gallivanting with Ager and Gudon—both of whom should know better!”

  “It was Korigan’s idea. She is not someone to be ignored.”

  Kumul looked around him sourly and lowered his voice. “She may be queen of these Chetts we’ve landed with, but Lynan outranks her. Instead, he behaves as if she was heir to the throne of Grenda Lear.”

  “He is making friends.”

  “He has friends.”

  Jenrosa could not help the smile this time. “Really, Kumul. I know you are an impressive figure, and Ager is a great fighter, but if he’s to win back his birthright, he needs more than the three of us on his side.”

  Kumul harrumphed and returned to staring out over the horizon. “Be that as it may—”

  “Besides, Lynan needs to build up his confidence again. He hasn’t been on a horse since the battle with Rendle’s mercenaries. And he deserves some time free of worry.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “You could have gone on the hunt.”

  “I’ve got more important things to do.”

  “Like standing here complaining about Lynan having more important things to do?”

  The giant nodded. “Exactly.” He heard Jenrosa laugh, and refused to face her. Just the same, he could not help grinning through his salt-and-pepper beard.

  “I must sound like a fool sometimes,” he said quietly after a while.

  Jenrosa gently touched his arm. “No, never a fool.”

  Kumul turned to her. He wanted to take her hand and hold it close to him. He wanted to kiss her face. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I usually am. But about what in particular this time?”

  “Lynan. He needs a break from the camp. He’s been sick for so long the ride will probably do him good. I hope he’s all right.”

  Jenrosa saw in his eyes the great love he held for the prince. When Lynan was so badly wounded he was at death’s door, she had overheard Kumul speaking to him, and for the first time had truly understood that he looked on Lynan as his own son. It was also the first time she suspected she might feel more for Kumul than respect and grudging friendship.

  “I worry about him, that’s all,” Kumul added. “I worry about him all the time, especially since ...”

  “Since the change?”

  Kumul nodded. “I know you had no choice. If you hadn’t given him the wood vampire’s blood, he would have died from his wounds after his encounter with Rendle’s mercenaries. You saved his life, Jenrosa. But although we know it’s changed his skin and his reaction to light, we don’t know what’s happened to his mind.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Jenrosa said and heard the doubt in her own voice. This time she had to force a smile. “Anyway, what could go wrong when Ager and Gudon are with him?”

  * * *

  The wolf lunged at Korigan. She fended it off with a clumsily aimed blow from Gudon’s sword. The beast twisted aside and lunged again. Korigan fell back, tripped over Gudon’s body, and fell to the ground. The wolf tensed for a final assault, and Korigan knew she was going to die.

  The wolf leaped.

  And suddenly was hurled aside. At first Korigan did not know what had happened. There was a spray of dust and a wild melee, the wolf bending over itself to snap at whatever it was that had grappled it. Then she recognized the Kendran prince. His small white figure was attached to the wolf’s back. She gasped and stood up, ready to go to his rescue, then realized with shock he needed no rescuing. Somehow he was bearing the wolf down to the ground. She saw one of his arms curl under the wolf’s neck and pull up. There was a sickening crack and the beast went limp, its tongue lolling from its great jaws.

  A horse skidded to a halt and the crookback Ager was on the ground next to Lynan, pulling him away from the animal, his spear ready to strike.

  For a moment no one moved. Ager held his spear, Korigan her sword, and Lynan, not even panting, stood over the dead wolf.

  “How did you do that?” Korigan asked in amazement.

  Lynan said nothing, but stared at his hands.

  “Lynan?” Ager prompted. “That’s a grass wolf. It’s as strong as Kumul. How did you break its neck?”

  Lynan eased off the chin strap of his wide-brimmed Chett hat. His ivory-colored skin shone with sweat. He squinted in the bright light and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He met Ager’s anxious gaze, then Korigan’s mystified one. Then he saw Gudon.

  “Oh, no,” he moaned, and knelt down next to his friend. Korigan and Ager joined him. Ager felt the Chett’s thin throat, placed a hand gently on his chest.

  “He will be fine,” Ager said, and Lynan sighed with relief. “Bring me some water.”

  Lynan went to Ager’s mare and returned with a water bottle. Ager dampened a kerchief and used it to pat G
udon’s forehead, then poured some of the water over his lips. Gudon’s mouth moved, and Ager let him swallow some of the water.

  “Oh, all the gods hate me,” Gudon muttered. He blinked and looked straight into Ager’s face. “I am in hell.”

  Ager grunted. “Not yet.”

  “What happened?” he asked weakly as he tried to sit up. Ager placed an arm under his shoulders. Gudon saw the wolf. “You did that?”

  Ager shook his head, nodded to Lynan. “Our young prince did that.”

  Gudon smiled at Lynan. “Your aim was sure.”

  “He did it with his hands,” Ager said.

  Gudon’s eyes widened. “Three of our strongest warriors could not have subdued that creature.”

  Lynan stood up uneasily. He did not know what to do with his hands. “What has happened to me?”

  No one could answer him.

  Chapter 2

  Orkid Gravespear, Chancellor of Grenda Lear, found his queen standing on the south gallery of the palace. When he did not find Areava in her sitting room, he had known she would be here. It struck him as ironic that, like her hated brother Lynan had once done, she came to this place when she wanted to be alone. He paused at the wide double doors that led to the gallery, his bearlike frame almost filling the space, and studied her for a moment.

  Areava was a tall, blonde-haired woman whose back was as straight as a stone wall. She inherited her beauty from her mother, the late Queen Usharna, but her character was a strange amalgam of her mother’s wisdom and her father’s selfish willfulness. He had not yet hit upon a method to get his way with her as he had with Usharna.