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  PRAISE FOR THE SHOLAN ALLIANCE SERIES:

  “Series fans will have a field day (or two) reading this delightful but complex tale with multiple subplots.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Full of fast-paced adventure and has more alien species than the Star Wars cantina! Fans of Lisanne Norman’s Sholan Alliance series will love this newest installment. Science fiction catnip.”

  —B&N Explorations

  “Norman expands the exciting concepts of her first book into an extraordinary look into an alien culture, developing a rich variety of subplots that will leave you desperate to find out what happens next.”

  —RT Reviews

  “Norman is a masterful storyteller, and this is a gripping story.”

  —Kliatt

  “Lisanne Norman handles her material superbly—knowing just when to ease up on drama and go for humor.”

  —Starlog

  “This is a big, sprawling, convoluted novel sure to appeal to fans of C.J. Cherryh and others who have made space adventure their territory.”

  SF Chronicle

  DAW Books is proud to present

  LISANNE NORMAN’S SHOLAN ALLIANCE Novels:

  TURNING POINT (#1)

  FORTUNE’S WHEEL (#2)

  FIRE MARGINS (#3)

  RAZOR’S EDGE (#4)

  DARK NADIR (#5)

  STRONGHOLD RISING (#6)

  BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT (#7)

  SHADES OF GRAY (#8)

  CIRCLE’S END (#9)

  Copyright © 2017 by Lisanne Norman.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Chris Moore.

  Cover design by G-Force Design.

  Map by Michael Gilbert.

  Interior art by Philip Eggerding.

  Map by Brook West.

  DAW Book Collectors No. 1768.

  Published by DAW Books, Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780756413330

  DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

  U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

  —MARCA REGISTRADA

  HECHO EN U.S.A.

  Version_1

  This dedication is to two people:

  To Rick Michelson, a professor at the college I went to, and a personal friend now for a good few years. He has kept me sane, and bounced ideas around with me when this book was in its early stages. A heartfelt thank you, Rick!

  And also to my son, for just being the man he is now. Love you, Kai. You look out for me and I love that about you

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank Philip Eggerding for the lovely black and white illustrations he has done for this book, and those he has done and sent me over the years. It’s always a joy to see how he interprets happenings and people in my books.

  I’d also like to thank Philip and John Phillips for being my sounding board when I needed to try out plot items on someone else and for them being very early Beta readers of scenes I was unsure about. Couldn’t have done it without you guys!

  CONTENTS

  Praise for the Sholan Alliance Series

  Lisanne Norman’s Sholan Alliance Novels

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Map of the Sholan Alliance and Valtegan Empire

  Contents

  THE LEGEND OF THE ZSADHI

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  EPILOGUE

  THE LEGEND OF THE ZSADHI

  “IN the dawn of our people,” began J’korrash, “there was a time that stood out in our turbulent history for its peace and prosperity. Trade agreements were sealed, and marriages arranged. The lands of the Queen knew only plenty and prosperity, as did their neighbors. Down the river, trade boats sailed, bringing ambassadors with spices and exotic foods from afar, each wanting to be part of the new age of peace. The Queen’s name was Ishardia, and her husband—for she broke with tradition and not only made him King to rule with her, but listened to his counsel—was Zsadhi. But the seeds of trouble were sprouting in her own garden. Her sister, Tashraka, was jealous of her standing among the tribes, and her sister’s husband. She had no patience for this time of peace, believing they were stronger than the other tribes and should take what they wanted.”

  “Was this story set where the capital is now?” asked Kaid.

  “Indeed, it was. Their lands contained the Holy Pool from which all life started. Because of that, they were considered First among the tribes. Tashraka approached Zsadhi, offering him not only herself, but goods and possessions no male had ever owned if only he would help her overthrow her sister. Zsadhi made the mistake of laughing at her before refusing her offer because of his love for Ishardia. Mortally offended, Tashraka vowed vengeance on him and her sister. When told, Ishardia refused to take her sister’s threat seriously, making excuses for her behavior, unable to believe her beloved sister could wish them ill.” She sipped at her bowl of water.

  “Tashraka took Nezaabe, the head of the Queen’s guards, as her lover, and together they plotted. He knew of a powerful sorceress in the town who would help them—for a terrible price. Together, one night, they stole through the silent streets to the hovel where the sorceress lived. In return for their newly born egg, Tashraka obtained a spell that changed her into the likeness of her sister and the guard Nezaabe into the likeness of Zsadhi. Wrapped in cloaks to conceal their new shapes, they returned to the Palace. There they revealed themselves to the guards, claiming that they were the real Ishardia and Zsadhi, and that her sister Tashraka, and the chief guard, had trafficked with a sorceress for shape-changing spells and were even now impersonating them.”

  “Magic?” murmured Banner skeptically.

  J’korrash glanced at him. “Who knows? The guards burst in on the royal couple in their bedchamber and dragged them out into the Throne Room where the false Ishardia and her lover sat on the thrones. They were sentenced to death, Ishardia to be burned at the stake, and Zsadhi, who was only a male after all, was to be taken deep into the desert and left there without food or water, after he had witnessed his wife’s execution.”

  “Some sister,” muttered T’Chebbi.

  “Almost destroyed by grief, Zsadhi was dragged to the desert and left, and for ten years, nothing was heard of him. It was assumed he’d perished. For ten years, the country groaned under the cruel hand of Tashraka, still in the shape of Ishardia. She’d raised an army, sending it out to kill all th
e females and children in the neighboring tribes. The males became her slaves, toiling for her or tortured for her amusement, so that none dared stand against her. Meanwhile, she studied magic with the sorceress, who demanded a place at her Court.” She stopped to look round her circle of listeners, smiling slightly at the looks of rapt attention on their faces.

  “Then the rumors started. At first it was whispers of a desert holy person, a follower of the Goddess La’shol, who preached against Queen Ishardia, calling her a false Queen, one who trafficked with a sorceress of evil. Tashraka ignored them as beneath her notice. But one by one, as her best female Officers were picked off in their villas, the whispers of this desert prophet became louder until the wailing of the males and children left bereft could be heard outside her Palace.” She stopped, raising her cup to her lips. Over the rim, she regarded them, her eyes flicking round the circle of her listeners.

  “It was said the avenger was a giant of a male,” she continued, lowering her cup to the ground again. “His skin burned almost black from the heat of the desert, dressed in only a loincloth and weapon belt, he carried a great sword of precious steel that cleaved through the guilty as if cutting a water-rich melon. On his chest was blazoned the sword of the Goddess, with two edges, one to destroy, the other to heal. The innocent and worthy had nothing to fear from him, it was only those who cleaved to the false Queen who need fear his and La’shol’s wrath.”

  Kusac shifted uneasily until Carrie took hold of his hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

  “La’shol is like our Ghyakulla, isn’t she? A nature Entity, not like our L’Shoh who’s the Entity of the underworld.”

  “Judger of souls,” said Kusac quietly, leaning against his Human mate.

  “Yes,” nodded J’korrash. “She’s our nature Goddess. Tashraka was no coward. She dressed in full regal attire, wearing the headdress of the Queen, and stood, surrounded by her guards, on the Palace steps. ‘Let this desert lunatic come before me with his claims that I am a false Queen,’ she said to her people. ‘I will prove that he is false by challenging him in mortal combat! The Goddess knows I am the true Queen!’”

  Stopping briefly for effect, she waited a moment or two before continuing.

  “As she spoke, one of the moons began to slide across the face of the sun, blotting out its light. When its disk reached the center, fire blazed forth across the sky, turning everything as red as fresh-spilled blood. The wailing crowds parted in terror to let a lone male walk through them to stand in front of the false Queen. All who looked on his face saw that of the chief guard who had disappeared when Ishardia and Zsadhi had been executed.

  “‘I, the true Zsadhi, challenge you, in the name of the Goddess,’ he said, drawing his sword and holding it aloft. As he did, the moon passed away from the face of the sun, and the fire in the sky shot like a lightning bolt to his raised sword, bathing him in flames. When they died, light returned to the land and Zsadhi had resumed his true form, and the people saw that there were two of him.”

  “So the Entities took a hand,” murmured Kusac. “Just as they do on Shola.”

  “Maybe they are the same, just in different forms,” said Carrie.

  “Maybe they are,” agreed the Prime female. “Tashraka cast off her crown and her robes. Beneath them, she wore armor made of glittering links of bronze that glowed like a banked fire. Drawing her own sword, she stepped forth to meet Zsadhi in combat,” said J’korrash. “The fight was terrible, for Tashraka was no mean warrior. Anger and fear fueled her, for she knew the Goddess had kept her sister’s husband alive, and hidden his true form in that of her lover. She flung her evil magics at him, but each time, Zsadhi countered it with one of his own, one learned from the Goddess. Till dusk they fought, each taking grievous wounds, until at last, Zsadhi’s sword pierced Tashraka’s evil heart, killing her. As she died, her own shape returned, and all could see she was indeed Tashraka and not Ishardia. At the same moment, her lover once more became the guard Nezaabe, and with a cry of rage, he flung himself at Zsadhi. Before he had taken three steps, the royal guards turned on him and cut him down.”

  “What of Zsadhi?” asked Kaid.

  “Zsadhi was wounded to death,” J’korrash said. “He fell to his knees, his crimson blood spilling over the sand, but before he could die, the Goddess herself appeared, a bowl of water in her hands. She bade him drink, and miraculously he was healed. She told the people that he was their King, and he would rule over them justly until the time there was one worthy to take his place. For the first time ever, a male ruled alone in our land. His first acts were to condemn the sorceress to death by fire, and expose all of Tashraka’s supporters and give them to the people to toil on their behalf in improving the lives they had ruined. He ruled for many years, fathering daughters to succeed him, though never marrying again. It was said he could see into the hearts and minds of people just by looking at them, but he was a good and just ruler. The tomb he built to honor his murdered Queen stands to this day by the Summer Palace. On it is inscribed this story.”

  PROLOGUE

  M’zull, Zhal-Zhalwae 9th 1553 (month of the sun—May)

  THE continuous pounding on the door had Shazzuk leaping from his bed, barely awake, reaching for the ancient shotgun he kept propped by the night table. His first thought was that Nayash’s soldiers were finally attacking the village.

  “It’s Rhassa, from the chapel,” his wife said calmly, not even bothering to sit up. “Go open the door before she wakes the children.”

  Muttering under his breath, the Valtegan slipped an outer robe over his night clothes and clutching his shotgun, hurried out of their bedroom into the large family room beyond as the banging on the door increased in volume. He heard the first sleepy call of distress from the other bedroom and began to swear anew.

  Fumbling with the latch, he hauled the simple door open, hissing in anger at the small group that had gathered on his doorstep.

  “What do you want?” he demanded. “Burn it, it’s the middle of the night! What could be so damned important that it couldn’t wait till morning?” He glared at the priestess and the two main night guards.

  “The Zsadhi’s sword has gone from the chapel,” said Rhassa, torchlight glowing on her hairless green face and head.

  Shazzuk took a step backward in surprise. “What?”

  “The sword . . .”

  “. . . has gone from the chapel,” finished Roymar, head of the night watch, waving a fist.

  “The Zsadhi’s returned and taken it, as was foretold,” said Rhassa.

  “Don’t talk rubbish,” Shazzuk said automatically. “That’s only a legend. Someone in the village has obviously moved it.”

  “It’s gone,” said Maalash, nodding his head energetically. “I looked.”

  “Then someone took it home to clean it,” he said lamely.

  “Which of us would do that?” snorted Rhassa derisively. “Besides, it was fused to the wall after being sat in that niche for so long.”

  “But the Zsadhi didn’t even live here!” he protested. “He lived on K’oish’ik, not M’zull!”

  “He did,” agreed the elderly priestess, pulling her woolen outer robe closer round her against the cold night air. “But you know we were taught that the sword was here, during the Fall, on display in the Governor’s Palace. Your ancestor.”

  “That sword’s still there, though it’s in the Emperor’s Palace now,” he retorted. “Besides, it’s all of it only a legend.”

  “You know as well as I do that the Governor, your ancestor, had the sword copied during the Fall of the old Empire, and secretly hidden here, in this village,” Rhassa snapped. “That sword in the Palace is a fake! The real one was here—till tonight!”

  “It’s only a legend,” repeated Shazzuk, but even he could hear the doubt creeping into his voice. “What if it is the Zsadhi’s real sword? Why would anyone here steal it?” />
  “They didn’t,” said Rhassa, folding her arms across her chest, her mouth widening in a satisfied smile. “Legend tells that when He returns, the Zsadhi will reclaim His sword.”

  “What are you saying, Rhassa?” Shazzuk said, using anger to hide his unease.

  “I’m saying the Zsadhi’s returned.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Now would be a good time for Him to return,” said Roymar, “before this new Emperor destroys us all with his ambition to reform the old Empire.”

  “Be realistic, all of you,” said Shazzuk, trying to keep his tone reasonable. “If any strangers had been in the village, we’d all have seen them. How could the Zsadhi have taken the sword? It’s the work of the youngsters, playing a trick on us.”

  “Have you ever tried to take hold of the sword, Shazzuk? Tried to lift it from its place, hidden in plain sight on the wall of the chapel?” demanded Rhassa.

  “No, but . . .”

  “Because you can’t! It’s as if it was welded into the wall!”

  “She’s right,” said Maalash, the other guard, giving the priestess a sideways glance. “I tried to pull it out when I was a lot younger, and it wouldn’t even move.”

  “I’m going to look for myself,” he said, stepping over the doorsill and pulling the door shut behind him before pushing his way past the old priestess.

  The chapel was an ancient building at the rear of the village, set into the face of the mountain itself. Two life-sized statues of the long dead Emperor Q’emgo’h flanked the doorway from which a pool of golden light spilled onto the dirt roadway.

  Shazzuk strode inside and instantly the four acolytes searching under seats and behind the altar froze and looked guiltily at each other.

  “We’ve looked everywhere, Leader!” said one, standing up. “It’s just vanished. It has to be the Zsadhi.”

  Hissing his anger, he threaded his way between the semicircle of seats to the altar to check the bas-relief carving of the Zsadhi for himself. The space where the sword had been was indeed empty. Disbelievingly, he reached out to touch the imprint of where the weapon should have been. What was it his father had said about it? He wished he’d paid more attention to the oldster and his tales of heroes, divine trust, and being descended from the last Planetary Governor of M’zull. Now it was too late to ask him: he’d died three winters ago, taking with him his bitter anger that the rulers of M’zull had supplanted his family, and leaving behind a son utterly disinterested in the faded glories of the past.