The Fifth Sorceress Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Praise

  Prologue: The Sea of Whispers

  PART I

  The Kingdom of Eutracia, 327 Years Later

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  PART II

  The Nation of Parthalon

  Chapter Five

  PART III

  Tammerland

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  PART IV

  Journey to Shadowood

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  PART V

  The Recluse

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  PART VI

  The Ghetto of the Shunned

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Epilogue: The Recluse

  About the Author

  Copyright

  For Joyce, mon raison d’être.

  Because she understands.

  Praise for The Fifth Sorceress:

  ‘Robert Newcomb is a writer who has precisely what it takes to deliver a complex and sweepingly conceived adventure that painstakingly avoids all the wearisome clichés of the genre …Newcomb’s impressive narrative skill is such that the pages turn very quickly indeed …The world created here is fastidiously realised, with much astonishing detail, and Newcomb is a name to watch’ Good Book Guide

  ‘An undoubtedly impressive début … it has a dark magnificence in many of its set pieces of slaughter and magic …Newcomb has a real gift for describing violent action and intense emotional states; he puts his hero through a series of ordeals as upsetting as they are thrilling. Tristan wins, as we always expect him to, and then Newcomb gives us a slingshot ending that implies fascinating sequels of ever escalating wonder and terror’ Roz Kaveney, amazon.co.uk

  ‘What a fantastic read. Fantasy novels can be hit and miss but this one is a definite hit. Robert Newcomb writes with a boldness and originality rarely seen in first novels. Reminiscent of authors such as Goodkind and Jordan, Newcomb introduces us to a world where magic and wonder coexist with darkness, treachery and sex. He isn’t afraid to make his characters suffer, and believe me they do, as he fearlessly pushes the boundaries of imagination …What I loved most about this novel was the uncertainty, you are never really sure how it will all end, and, when you think you do know, you are proved completely wrong’ Outland

  ‘These personifications of light and dark are beautifully and vividly drawn … impressive …sweeps you through a noble landscape full of detail’ SFX

  ‘In the school of Terry Goodkind, this is American fantasy in all its glory … driven along at breakneck speed’ Guardian

  ‘Well written, captivating … Robert Newcomb is likely to be fantasy’s next big author’ Enigma

  ‘In the tradition of Terry Goodkind and Robin Hobb, a thrilling début fantasy novel and the first book in a sweeping, epic trilogy full of magic, adventure and wonder’ Publishing News

  ‘An intelligent début … headed for bestsellerdom’ Kirkus Reviews

  ‘Newcomb may be a newcomer to fantasy writing but it doesn’t show in this surprisingly original doorstopper … leaves you wanting more’ Publishers Weekly

  ‘Well-written and compelling’ Library Journal

  ‘Newcomb’s The Fifth Sorceress – boldly touted by its publishers as “The Epic Fantasy of the Year” – may be just that. Strictly for adults, it is an impressive, extremely brutal and engrossing high-fantasy tome in which no character – no matter how seemingly critical to the story line – is invincible. It has all the ingredients of both a stand-alone blockbuster and the solid foundation for an important new fantasy series’ www.barnesandnoble.com

  www.booksattransworld.co.uk

  Prologue:

  The Sea of Whispers

  …and a great war shall come to pass, in which many shall die before the easing of its flames. The dark side of the conflict, those of the Pentangle, shall come to defeat before finding their Fifth, and only after the discovery of the Stone and the Tome by their enemies. The banishment of those of the Pentangle shall occur upon the sea from which few have returned . . .

  —PAGE 2,037, CHAPTER ONE OF THE PROPHECIES OF THE TOME

  The once-proud war galleon was named the Resolve, and she listed drunkenly in the nighttime sea, her seams slowly failing while she tried to hold back the brackish ocean that pressed relentlessly against her sides. Her ship’s wheel tied off on each side and her sails belayed, she rolled awkwardly at the mercy of the elements. The crew had tried to keep the ship’s lanterns lit, but the squalls of rain kept extinguishing them, finally forcing a surrender to larger torches both fore and aft. The firelight cast oddly shifting shadows upon her gently rolling hulk, revealing areas of scorched and destroyed deck and railing.

  The old wizard in the rain-soaked gray robe was named Wigg, and he looked with tired eyes down the length of the galleon from his stand in the stern as lightning occasionally scratched across the cloudy, starless sky. Three of the galleon’s masts lay broken at impossible angles upon the rain-soaked deck, intertwined with frayed, seared rigging that snaked randomly about in the wind as if it had a life of its own. He watched with sadness as even the saltwater spray coming over the gunwales had no effect upon the blood that had dried there.

  The war has been hard on this ship, he reflected. At least the bodies were taken ashore before we were ordered to sail. The urgency of their orders had left no time to make repairs. Strangely, once at sea, those same repairs hadn’t seemed so important.

  He turned, the wet, braided wizard’s tail of gray hair falling forward over his shoulder, and glanced toward the restless ocean and to the lines from the galleon, which held in tow a much smaller vessel. The second boat followed behind in jerky, hesitant intervals, like a petulantly dallying child not really wanting to catch up to a scolding parent. Gray, froth-tipped waves occasionally licked up and over the sides of the fragile craft. For the hundredth time he wondered if it would be seaworthy. And for the hundredth time he reminded himself that it probably didn’t matter.

  There were thirty-one of them on board, not counting the prisoners in the hold below, and none of them had spoken since the tattered sails had been dropped from the lone remaining mast and the ship’s wheel tied off, leaving them adrift in the stormy sea. The remainder of the ship’s company was evenly divided between seamen and military officers. They now stood before him in two neat lines awaiting their orders, anxious to relieve themselves of their burden.

  He beckoned to the captain of the guard, painfully remembering once again that the man had no right arm, another casualty of the war. The old one knew this man to be a loyal officer, but tonight the look in the captain’s eyes told the wizard that this officer, no matter how true, was hesitant to discharge his duties. The same disconcerting look was on the face of each man that stood with him. The old wizard watched as the cap
tain approached slowly, his black cape wet and sticking to the collar of his breastplate.

  ‘Bring them up,’ Wigg said simply.

  The captain blinked his eyes in the rain. Despite the loss of an arm there was neither man nor blade that he feared, but this was different. All night he had been trying to summon the courage to ask the question. And all night he had been reminding himself that second-guessing the orders of any of those in the gray robes was never wise. Cautiously, he began to put words to his fears. ‘Forgive me, Lord, but are you sure they have been sufficiently weakened?’ he asked. They had been sailing due east for fifteen days, and during that time they had severely limited the prisoners’ rations as per the wizard’s orders. He searched the old man’s eyes with his own, even himself unsure of what he wanted to hear.

  ‘We have no choice,’ Wigg said gently. He understood only too well the other man’s apprehension, for it was in his own mind, also. The wizard glanced anxiously upward as another crooked tree branch of lightning tore across the sky, followed by the inevitable rumbling of thunder.

  ‘I have my orders from the Directorate. Besides, you know as well as I that fifteen days into the Sea of Whispers is the farthest we can go. Even if we were to pause here and wait, we could easily drift past the point of safety. This far out, the sea is bottomless. No anchor ever made could hold us here.’

  He looked past the captain’s armless shoulder and into the frightened eyes of the seamen and officers. He was not pleased to see that fear was now turning into restlessness. ‘If we were to go farther into these waters the crew would mutiny,’ he added, raising an eyebrow for emphasis as he turned his gaze back to the officer standing nervously before him. ‘And perhaps rightly so. No, we must finish this now, whatever the outcome.’

  The captain bowed shortly and commanded a small company of officers to follow him below. The wizard looked back out to sea, not anxious to face the ones they were to bring up on deck. There had already been so much death and suffering.

  May the task I am about to perform produce no more, he thought.

  He closed his eyes and ran one hand down his creased, rain-soaked face, deeply inhaling the heavy, salt-laden air, remembering the past that he would much rather forget. The four prisoners belowdecks had been the leaders and the most difficult to capture, their followers protecting them to the very end at the cost of their lives. They had ruthlessly conducted a scorched-earth policy from which it would take generations to recover. Thankfully, as far as he and the recently formed Directorate knew, all the rest of their confederates had perished in the insurrection.

  The flat, iron-braced door to the hold suddenly lurched up and over, falling backward noisily onto the shattered, rain-slick deck. One by one, four women emerged, their bare feet shackled in irons, their hands manacled in front of them. Even as powerful as he knew himself to be, he felt a chill go up his spine as the soldiers prodded the prisoners into line before him. Each in turn raised her face. He could feel the hate in their eyes bore its way into his brain, reminding him once again of who and what they were.

  Sorceresses of the Coven.

  The blond, the redhead, and the two brunettes stood unsteadily but defiantly before him on the slippery, rolling deck. Their once-luxurious gowns were torn and scorched, and their hair was disheveled, matted against shoulders and breasts. He tried not to notice the Pentangle that appeared upon each dress in faded gold embroidery.

  The rationing of food and water over the last fifteen days had produced the desired effect. He had hated having to give the order to restrict their nourishment, but it was the only remotely humane way to maintain control over them. They looked thinner and weakened. Weakened, he hoped, to the point that they were now powerless. At the very least, enough so that he could overcome their combined efforts if need be. For unlike his Brothers, the females of endowed blood had found a way to join their power, making them far more dangerous when together. He had petitioned the Directorate for hours to have at least one more wizard accompany him in this madness, but they had declined. Too many from their ranks had already died, they said. Therefore, as he was the most powerful of them, the task had fallen to him alone. He took a deep breath, looking into their malevolent eyes, taking stock of what he saw in them.

  Weakened, yes. Humbled, never.

  He chose then to glance at the thirty men lined up behind the women, wondering if he would see lust in their eyes, hoping he would not have to waste any of his power trying to control them, too. But the only emotion he saw on their faces was fear. Fear bordering on terror.

  He turned his attention to the woman at the end of the line to the right. Tall and still shapely, despite the effects of near starvation, she was exquisitely beautiful. The streaks of premature gray in her black hair only gave her a more dominating demeanor. It had been a decade since he had last seen her, but it seemed she hadn’t aged a single day. Rather nervously, he now noticed that it appeared as if none of the others had, either. This one was the most powerful of the Coven, he knew. The leader of the leaders. He stepped before her, carefully searching her face. When she brought her hazel eyes up to his, they seemed to glow in the dim light of the torches. He had always been drawn to those eyes, no matter how many times he looked at this woman. Hers was a countenance born to give orders, a fact the wizard was all too familiar with.

  She bluntly spat into his face. ‘Wizard bastard,’ she hissed. ‘I shall live to see you dead.’

  Without emotion, he wiped the spittle from his face. It was mixed with blood.

  Exhausted, she bent over unsteadily upon the rain-slickened deck, coughing up more blood with the simple exertion of having spoken even so few words. Despite her crimes, part of the old wizard’s heart wanted to go out to her, but he pulled back his emotions. He had his orders, and he knew that it was imperative that he complete his task now, while he still could.

  The woman to the leader’s right was also dazzling, despite her current physical condition. The jet-black hair that fell, knotted and filthy, to her waist could have been made of strands of silk, and the almond-shaped eyes dominated the exotic, delicate face. She smirked at him as she seductively raised her manacled hands upward, coyly brushing her breasts, only to throw her hair over one shoulder. He tried not to watch as the wind swayed it enticingly back and forth behind her.

  He increasingly wondered how many of the supposedly unbelievable legends about them were actually true. How far had their version of the craft progressed? he asked himself. Sadly, such thoughts only increased his concern for the now-vulnerable men standing behind them.

  The exotic one turned toward her leader to help her to stand upright. But the leader roughly pushed her Sister’s help away, preferring to rise on her own. The wizard knew she would refuse to show weakness in any way. Once again holding herself upright, albeit with obvious difficulty, she raised her hazel eyes to his.

  The rusty manacles came up between them as she held a broken and dirty fingernail before his face.

  ‘Your Brothers all think you have won,’ she breathed hoarsely. She tilted her head ominously as a crooked smile spread across her parched, cracked lips. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Tell me, Wizard, are you yourself so sure?’

  Wigg struggled to remain emotionless. He slowly took two paces back and a step to the left to once again face the center of the row of women. He remained outwardly calm but was left with the hollow, stabbing feeling that she had somehow knowingly tapped into his greatest fear. Had he not known her for almost his entire life, her words would not have affected him so. She never made idle threats; she wouldn’t waste the time.

  The lightning was more frequent now and the rain came harder, occasionally flying sideways and stinging his face, the salt of the sea air invading his nostrils and lungs. He must complete his orders now, before the weather worsened and made the galleon’s return impossible. Raising his voice against the wind, he addressed the four manacled women who stood before him, the mangled ship rocking heavily back and forth beneath them
.

  ‘You have been collectively tried and found guilty of crimes against humanity,’ he began, looking sternly into all four pairs of eyes in turn. ‘The charges include inciting civil war, revolution, murder, the rape and torture of both sexes, and systematic pogroms of military and civilian citizens alike.’ He paused, tears running down his face, the water from his eyes tumbling to join the water from the sky already there. ‘The physical and psychological damage you have done will take generations to repair. We can see no end to the calamities you have caused.’ Each pair of eyes remained defiant and unrepentant.

  He paused. So be it.

  ‘Despite the overwhelming demands from the populace that we separate each of you from your heads, the Directorate has chosen to be compassionate.’ He steeled his resolve, still not believing what he was about to say. ‘Therefore, it is the order of the Directorate that you be exiled for the remainder of your lives. Be forewarned that should you ever return, the Directorate claims the right to kill you on sight. Nonetheless, may the Afterlife have mercy on your souls.’ The words made him teeter on the edge of being physically ill. Not because the punishment was so severe, but because it was so forgiving.

  A cry of protest immediately arose from the ranks of crewmen and officers, and after a gesture from the wizard, the captain had to stand fast to silence them. As the shouting subsided, they stood together in shocked disbelief, their lines now ragged and disorganized. The restlessness in their eyes was beginning to turn to blatant anger.

  He glanced toward the Coven’s leader for her reaction. A brief look of shock had passed across her face like a summer storm, only to be replaced a split second later by narrowed eyes, a slight nodding of her head, and a faint smile of understanding.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, taking triumphantly dead aim at him with her words. ‘Your oath. We’re weakened. You must obey your ridiculous vows.’ The menacing smile widened. ‘That oath will one day be your undoing.’ Her gaze darted overboard to the tossing waves. ‘So it is to be done here, in the Sea of Whispers.’ She again lowered her head as she shook it back and forth knowingly. ‘A clever solution, Wizard. Hypocritical, but clever. I commend you.’