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eBook Category: Fantasy
eBook Description: Wynne had fought the gigantic demonic land-crabs her entire life, wielding the legendary Silverblade as her mother had before her, but not until victory was within her grasp did she realize the terrible human cost of heroism.

eBook Publisher: Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust, Published: Sword, 1995
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2009

1 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [35 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [39 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [17 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [187 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [17 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [67 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [89 KB] , hiebook (KML) [71 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [51 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [14 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [18 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [51 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [28 KB]
Words: 5090
Reading time: 14-20 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Silhouetted against the twin-mooned amber sky, a woman in trail-stained leathers reached the last dusty ridge, moving quickly despite the sword strapped across her back. As she stood panting at the edge of the cliff, she shook lank, ginger-colored hair back from her face and shaded her eyes with one hand, scanning the valley from the strip of harbor to the abandoned farms to the inland hills behind her. Below, tantalizingly close, sat the Western Keep which she had been summoned to fortify. The ancient stone walls looked sound enough, invulnerable to assault. Any human assault, that is. The Dark Ones inching their way up the valley were another matter.

People called them dragons or devil-spawn or simply monsters, but no one knew what the Dark Ones truly were. Taller than a haystack, blacker than pitch, relentless, untiring, armored with impenetrable carapaces and capable of spitting fiery acid, they seemed more insect than reptile. Some said that Barzon, Duke of the Eastern Marches, had bargained with a necromancer for their aid, that they had swallowed him up and seized his lands for their own. Whatever the truth, the western kingdom of Creston-var now also lay waste and Wynne's Queen in exile.

Wynne cursed under her breath as she hurried back down the trail. These days it seemed she'd spent her whole life fighting the Dark Ones, although she'd never faced more than a single one before.

She found her team resting in a dry riverbed beside a clump of thorn trees, a dozen men and women armed with rough-forged bronze or iron swords. Their single remaining pack animal bent its scrawny neck to nibble the yellowed grass. Aldair, Wynne's second, heaved himself to his feet.

"How close?" he asked.

"An hour away, maybe less. There's no way we can reach the Keep before they do. Not with enough time to bar the gates after us. They'd be fools to let us in."

"They'll take the Keep at the last," he said. "You know that, Silverblade."

Silverblade, he called her, calling her not by her own name, but by her sword.

Wynne felt his aged eyes on her, measuring her as they had not done since she was a skinny, arrogant teenager, demanding sword lessons from her mother's old teacher. What did he see when he looked at her now--Wynne herself, or only his memories of her mother, who carried Silverblade before her? Did he see anything at all beyond the sword?