The savage war between two mighty families has ravaged the kingdom both wish to rule—spawning treachery within the ranks of the Renné and Wills, drawing the brave, the innocent, and the malevolent alike into the bloody conflict. But a far more terrible consequence has arisen from the carnage—for Death himself has been roused from his dread domain . . . and is preparing to walk the world again.

The Shadow Roads

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Chapter One

The disk of light stretched and wavered, flowing left then right.

The moon, he thought. That is the moon ... But who am I?

Dust mote stars spun slowly in the black. Light began to grow,and he slipped down into the cool, dark depths. He could feel theothers here, their numbers beyond counting. Slowly they madetheir way toward the breathing sea, some so weak they were barelythere, others ... Others were as strong and clear as the risen sun.

But what are their names? Have none of them names?

Once he had been a traveler. Of that he was almost certain. Atraveler whose journeys had become legend.

Once he had gone into a great swamp and battled Death himself.

The bright light faded, and he rose again, floating up towardthe waning moon, the faint stars. Something swam by, pale andflowing.

A fish, he thought. But it was not. It was a man, blue-pale, like the belly of a fish, eyes like moon shells. For a moment it pausedand gazed at him, sadly.

Who are you? he tried to say, but no words would form.

And then he was alone. He felt himself rising again, the waveringmoon growing -- so close. His face broke the surface, moonlightclinging to him, running out of his hair, his eyes. He took a breath.And then another.

"But who am I?" he whispered.

"Sainth?"

He looked around, but saw nothing.

"Sainth?" The voice came from a shadow on the water, black asa starless sky.

"Sainth ... ?" he said. "Is that who I am?"

"It is who you were," the voice said.

"And who are you?"

"I am the past. Perhaps not even that, but only a shadow of thepast."

"I think you are a dream. This is all a dream."

"You are on the River Wyrr, where things are not as theyshould be."

A shard of memory knifed into his thoughts. "Death ... Deathpursued me!"

"His servants, perhaps. Death does not venture beyond thegates of his dark kingdom ... yet."

"But why were his servants abroad in forms that could beseen?"

This brought a moment of silence, and he felt a breeze touch hisface and sigh through the trees along the shore.

"They have not yet appeared so in the land between the mountains,but only in the hidden lands, as they are called: the kingdomof Aillyn, of old. Tusival's great spell fails, and the wall that surroundsDeath's kingdom is falling. His servants clamber throughthe breach. They are preparing the way for their master to follow... as was foreseen long ago."

"But how can this be? Death cannot leave his kingdom."

"Aillyn ... Aillyn meddled with his father's spell. He used it tosunder his lands from his brother's. Fear and jealousy and madnesshave led to this."

The man who had been Sainth felt himself sinking again, sinkingbeneath the weight of these words. He laid his head back in thewaters, blinking at the stars. Each breath he drew sounded loud inhis ears. The waters were neither warm nor cool. A soft currentspun him slowly.

"Sainth," he whispered, listening for resonance.

Yes, he had memories of one called Sainth. But there were othermemories, as well.

Death's servants had stalked him through a drowned forest. Death'sservants!

For a moment, he closed his eyes, blotting out the slowly spinningstars. A man, almost hidden in a cloud of screeching crows,surfaced from memory.

Crowheart!

"Sainth?" came the oddly hissing voice again.

"I am not he."

"Then who are you?"

A light flickered behind closed eyes. "Alaan ... I am Alaan!"

"Perhaps," the voice said, almost sadly. "Perhaps you are -- in part.But you were Sainth once, and you have Sainth's duties to perform. Donot forget. You cannot shirk them."

The man who believed he was Alaan opened his eyes. "What?What are you saying? What duties?"

But in answer he heard only the soft murmuring of the river.

He floated on, the currents of memories filling him, spinning himthis way, then that. How dreamlike some of them seemed, shroudedin mist, or washed out in the brightest light. Some were lost in darkness.Rabal Crowheart he remembered, and Orlem Slighthand. Butsurely these memories were confused, for Slighthand had servedthe sorcerer named Sainth, whereas Crowheart was a memory ofthis life -- of Alaan's.

But the currents all seemed to flow together, like two rivers joiningto form a new waterway. New, but made up of the tributaries.

Perhaps I should have a new name, the man thought -- neitherAlaan nor Sainth. But no, Alaan would do. Alaan would do for thislife, however long it proved to be.

Waving arms and legs, he turned himself so that his head liftedclear of the water, and he searched the darkness. The Wynnd wasbroad here, but he could make out a line of trees, poplars, swayinggently in a soft breeze, moonlight shimmering off their leaves.

He set out for the shore, his strength seeming to grow with eachstroke. A light, appeared among the trees. It was unlike the coldlight of the stars, for this was orange-yellow and warm. Fire.

The man who had once been Sainth slowed his pace as heneared the shore. He could see other fires now. It was an encampment,he thought. And then a strand of music wafted out over thewater and wove itself into the night sounds.

Fáel. He had found an encampment of black wanderers.

For a moment he hovered out of sight, silent in the slowly movingwaters. On the embankment some Fáel men were wateringhorses in the dark. They must have just returned from somewhere ...

Excerpted from The Shadow Roadsby Sean Russell Copyright © 2005 by Sean Russell. Excerpted by permission.
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