Crusader. Novel by Sara Douglass

“Well, my lady,” DragonStar muttered through ice-hardened lips, “DragonStar doesn’t have a

hope of besting Qeteb if the

Demon harvests both the power of the Mother and the power of the Enemy!”

He lifted his head slightly and stared into the white oblivion before him. “Urbeth!” he screamed.

“Urbeth! Where are you!”

Nothing but the shrieking of the wind and the groaning of the ice.

“Urbeth, you hairy cow, answer me now!”

Nothing. DragonStar struggled to keep his footing. Everything was coated with a slick of

ice: not only the ground, but his boots, his cloak, and even his hands glistened under a thin layer of the

loathsome stuff.

“Urbeth!” he yelled, his voice thinner now. “Urbeth!”

Nothing.

DragonStar groaned and sank to his haunches, trying to tug his cloak even more tightly about him.

He couldn’t stay here … he must leave … Urbeth was gone …

His head sank downwards. He was so tired. Perhaps if he just closed his eyes a minute, rested a bit

before he returned to Sanctuary. Some rest would be good.

His head dropped lower.

“Urbeth,” he whispered, and slumped forward onto the ice.

He woke to the frightful smell of rotten fish. He jerked awake, his head pounding so badly he thought it

might explode.

He opened his eyes.

He was in an ice cave, the floor of which was covered in decomposing fish.

DragonStar gagged, and struggled to his knees. He was covered in bits of rotting fish.

“Look to what this land has been brought,” a voice said behind him, and DragonStar struggled to

turn about amid the fish. He slipped over twice before he managed to turn completely around and gain

his feet.

Three women stood there. All were tall and willowy, all dressed in pale grey robes, and each of

them was standing with arms crossed so that her hands rested on her shoulders. Two had raven-black

hair that cascaded down their backs and over their breasts, the other, the middle one, had iron-grey hair

with streaks of silver through it.

“Urbeth,” DragonStar said. “Your housekeeping skills have slipped.”

She snarled, but DragonStar did not flinch. “I need your help.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. None of the three had stepped forward, nor relaxed their hands from

their shoulders.

“Qeteb will win through to the power of the Enemy,” he said. “Sanctuary will fall.”

For the first time Urbeth’s face registered shock.

“Worse,” DragonStar continued, “Qeteb has access to the Sacred Groves. If you have any love, or

even a single regard, for the Mother, Urbeth, then aid her now.”

And then, with hands still shaking from the cold, DragonStar drew the lily sword and created the

doorway of light. Before Urbeth or either of her daughters could say anything, he was gone.

Chapter 24

Zenith

Zenith checked Leagh before she retired herself. The woman was sleeping quietly, her skin

slightly flushed but cool, her breathing calm and deep. Zenith nodded to Zared, sitting silent in a

corner under the pool of light cast by a lamp, and then left the room, sighing as she closed the door.

Zenith was feeling excluded and forgotten — and feeling guilty that she felt that way in the first

instance. Her brother DragonStar, her best friend Leagh, and even her parents (who had spent the

greater portion of her life being distant and uninterested), were caught up in events of such great

magnitude that all existence depended on the outcome. There were hurried comings and goings, hastily

convened councils, newly-discovered magics and dark treacheries happening everywhere … but they

were happening behind closed doors for all Zenith felt involved. She played no part in them — she might

as well not exist for all the influence she could bring to bear on the current crisis.

Zenith was not a proud woman, nor one to seek attention or lust after her own role in whatever

power play consumed the nation, but she was a SunSoar, a princess of the House of Stars, and she was

not used to being brushed aside as if she was of no import at all.

“And yet what have I accomplished?” she asked herself as she walked the halls of Sanctuary

towards her own apartment. “I played a small part in enabling DragonStar to escape death at

Gaelum’s hands, and then … nothing. I was forcibly seduced, then as forcibly excluded from my

own body. I have ever reacted, not acted.”

And then Zenith smiled at her own foolishness. What was she doing, thinking dark thoughts

about being excluded from whatever secret councils were being held this night? What was she doing

lusting after some dark and dangerous furtive role in bringing about Qeteb’s downfall? All she

wanted, if truth be told, was a quiet life away from the intricacies of high politics and enchantment:

perhaps with a husband to love and care for her, and children to love.

Now Zenith hesitated again, pausing and resting a hand on one of the corridor walls.

She could have all that if she really wanted it, couldn’t she? StarDrifter was never far away. He never

demanded, he never even mentioned the fact that what he wanted most of all in life was to have her as his

wife, but Zenith could almost feel the intensity of his thoughts: StarDrifter’s hunger kept her

awake at nights.

Guilt, guilt, guilt — that’s what kept her awake at nights. There was no reason why she couldn’t

respond to StarDrifter save her own inhibitions and prudery. She loved him — Zenith had no problems

admitting that to herself, nor even to StarDrifter — but whenever she thought of bedding with him, then

the strength of her physical repulsion made her stomach turn over.

Would time ease her repulsion? Erode her prudery?

But how much time, and how long was StarDrifter prepared to give her?

Zenith lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders and walked forwards. Why did she always feel so

guilty? What fault was within her that made her —

A birdwoman hurrying along the corridor interrupted Zenith’s flow of thoughts, and she

studied the woman, grateful for the interruption and the opportunity to think about something other than

her own inadequacies.

The birdwoman, an Icarii Healer by the name of StarWalker, was carrying a bowl of soiled

cloths. The pungent aroma of ginnet — a herb used to stifle infection — rose from the cloths.

“Someone is ill?” Zenith asked, laying a hand on StarWalker’s arm to halt her.

“Yes,” StarWalker said, watching Zenith carefully. The healer licked her lips, and her eyes slid away

from Zenith’s.

Zenith’s eyes narrowed. “Who is ill?” she asked. “And why the ginnet? Is she — he? — so badly

injured they need its strength?”

“The man is badly injured,” StarWalker said. “Crippling wounds … inflicted by the Demons, I

believe.”

Zenith’s interest was piqued. Who had been so badly hurt? And why was StarWalker being so

reticent? The birdwoman’s eyes were now sliding this way and that so desperately she looked as though

she were about to have a seizure.

Dammit! Zenith thought. Is everyone resolved to keep me in the dark about every trifling detail?

“I really must go,” StarWalker said. “If you will excuse me…”

Zenith’s hand tightened on StarWalker’s arm. “Where is the sick room?”

“Oh, it’s too far for you to be troubling yourself —”

“I don’t think so, StarWalker. Where is the sick room? I might as well make myself useful.”

“Zenith,” StarWalker said, finally looking her in the eye, “you do not want to go there.”

“Why? Is the patient so infectious? And if so, then what are you doing wandering the corridors with

a bowl full of infection in your hands?”

“Zenith,” StarWalker was now leaning close, her eyes wide and full of an emotion that Zenith could

not quite read. “Zenith … DragonStar found WolfStar within the wasteland. He brought him back —

frightfully injured by the Demons. I … I did not want to tell you.”

Zenith was so shocked she could not say anything for a moment. WolfStar … here? In

Sanctuary? She had hardly thought of him since she’d come down to Sanctuary herself; somehow her

mind had come to the unconscious conclusion that he’d been killed by the Demons and she

need never worry about him again. But now …

“WolfStar?” she whispered.

“There is no need for you to be concerned,” StarWalker said, laying the bowl on the ground and

taking both of Zenith’s hands in hers. “He is kept under close guard. He can’t be a danger to you now.”

Gods, Zenith thought weakly, does everyone know about his rape of me? Has everyone else been

told that WolfStar is here, and is everyone wandering about thinking, Poor Zenith, we must keep this

from her in case she shatters?

“Where is he?” Zenith said, looking StarWalker in the eye.

“I don’t think I should —”

“Where is he?”

StarWalker hesitated, then spoke. “He’s being kept in the underground chambers in the complex