The Falconer's Daughter, Book 1

PROLOGUE

London, Britain 486 A.D.

On the battlefield, his left hand cradled against his chest, blood caked on his brow, Leir slowly lifted his head to the sky. Fine streaks of light-the sheerest yellow-began to shine through the clouds. Light.

With the emergence of the sun, it all came back to him, words he had heard but ignored, words that could have perhaps prevented this. Now, two daughters lay dead. The third-Cordaella-would she ever forgive him?

Light. Truth. Words disdained. And bleeding, Leir, who once was the greatest of the great Kings, remembered wisdom too late. How had it been? What had the sage said?

 The sage's eyes opened, the watery gray depths focusing on the shadow of the brooding king. "I know these things: the child not yet born is female. Your wife will bear no sons. Of your three daughters, two shall be against you. Watch your back. Watch your breast. Their immature love will poison your spirit, impossibly sweet kisses will bring blood."

Abruptly Leir stood, a large man of larger tension. "How shall I know the daughter that is true?"

 "You may ask, but can you hear?"

  Angrily Leir clenched his sword. "You answer me with a question? His wrist shifted as he stepped forward. Legions of men gestured for weapons. Leir knew a challenge. His heart thudded, an uneven tattoo within his chest, his breath heavy. Wait, he told himself, wait...

The sage's lids lowered, seeing the waters and skies of time unwinding, of rime bending, fulfilling prophecy. He knew what would come, ten years, fifteen years, forty years. Even his wisdom would not save Leir from himself.

Softly the sage intoned, "You are the greatest king in all the Island. Never has there been such a ruler, never will there be again. Your kingdom stretches endlessly beneath the soles of your feet, even now, your palm shapes legends, answers fate." A soft, warm breeze brushed the sage's beard, his words as if kisses on the wind. "You will live to be old, older than reason, but do not forget to mind the hearts of women."

The king's white-knuckled grip on the sword eased, long, even fingers resting more lightly on the hilt. Leir slowly turned to face the sage, his profile hard and clean against the expansive blue sky. He was determined, a conqueror to the end. "What am I to do?"

"Know your daughters."