Shadowed By Wings

Praise for
Touched by Venom,
One of
Library Journal
’s Five Best SF & Fantasy Books of 2005

“
Touched by Venom,
the first volume in Janine Cross’s Dragon Temple Saga, is a compelling and harrowing journey, set in a vividly rendered world alive with detail.”

—Jacqueline Carey, bestselling author of the Kushiel’s Legacy Trilogy

“Cross’s bold debut introduces headstrong nine-year-old Zarq Darquel… . Turning the fantasy cliché of the underdog girl who dreams of dragon mastery into a grim but fascinating coming-of-age tale, Cross scratches only the surface of this richly detailed, well-imagined world.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Headstrong and independent in a society where women are silent breeders of sons and where both men and women are ruled by the whims of the dragonmasters of the Dragon Temple, Zarq Darquel angers the authorities and brings disaster upon her clan and her family. With her now insane mother, she embarks on a dangerous journey to find and rescue her sister, sold into slavery, and in doing so plants her feet on the road to revolution. Set in a jungle world reminiscent of tribal Africa and South America, Canadian author Cross’s debut novel tells a fascinating story of love and vengeance. Offering a different approach to dragons and dragon lore, the author combines skillful storytelling with sensually evocative details. With particular appeal to fans of the works of Jacqueline Carey and Terry Goodkind, this opening volume of a planned trilogy is highly recommended for most libraries.”

—Library Journal (starred review)

“[A] terrific coming-of-age tale … should lead to profound, fascinating future adventures.”

—Midwest Book Review

ROC

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Published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a Roc trade paperback edition.

First Roc Mass Market Printing, April 2007

Copyright © Janine Cross, 2006

Excerpt from
Forged by Fire
copyright © Janine Cross, 2006

All rights reserved

eISBN : 978-1-429-56735-0

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

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To mothers and children everywhere.

ONE

T
he massive carrion bird plummeted groundward, casting a cool shadow that rapidly engulfed the entire Lashing Lane.

The spectators who had intended on stoning me moments before paused a half moment as the reality of what they were seeing sank in: A legendary creature with a fifty-foot wingspan was descending upon them, its razor-lined beak gaping, its scimitar claws grasping, its elliptical body shimmering with blue light.

They were staring at a Skykeeper, a creature who, as a guardian of the Celestial Realm, held dominion over life and death for mortal humans and divine dragons alike.

A creature who was, unbeknownst to them, my mother’s haunt.

She would not allow them to stone me to death for the crime of daring to join the dragonmaster’s apprenticeship. No. The haunt wanted me alive, to serve its own mad purpose.

The Skykeeper screeched, rattling hearts within rib cages and the timbers of the nearby stables with its reverberating skirl. As one, the spectators broke for cover, screaming.

I was seated upon a dragon on the lane, held there by Waikar Re Kratt, First Son of the warrior-lord of Clutch Re. For reasons as yet unknown to me, Kratt had galloped into my stoning and hoisted me atop his destrier. As the Skykeeper screeched, the dragon we rode reared, trumpeting; I was unsaddled and landed heavily on the ground. The dragon’s wicked talons slashed the air above me. I scrambled away, back, the rocks that littered the ground biting into my bare buttocks and legs.

The Skykeeper rushed earthward with terrifying speed. Twenty feet above ground, it pulled up sharply and skimmed over the lane, dust and the stench of carrion whirling in its wake, the air preternaturally chill.

The dragons harnessed to the parade of satin-and-silver-decked carriages that lined the lane trumpeted and tried to bolt. Talons the color of newly minted steel and dewlaps glittering with milky opalescence flashed in the sunlight as dragons reared and bucked against their harnesses. Carriages overturned or became entangled with one another, spilling screaming bayen women and children onto the dusty lane.

Great wingspan shuddering, the luminous Skykeeper banked away from the lane and rose into the sky. It skirled again—a harrowing, earsplitting shriek—and flapped ponderously toward the lone cloud high in the hard blue sky.

My mother was leaving me yet again.

Grief overwhelmed me as I watched the Skykeeper shrink into a zircon marble and disappear into the cloud far above.

The dragon I’d been seated upon bucked and clawed the ground, snorting, eyes rolling, foam falling in venom-scented clouds from her muzzle. Waikar Re Kratt fought to rein her in, struggling to stay in his saddle. His blue satin cape flashed behind him like the wings of a giant, livid raven.

I scrambled farther back from his panicked beast and looked about me, disbelieving.

The crowd was gone. Dragonmaster apprentices, monks, spectators, and attending eminent Holy Wardens alike had all run for cover. Mother—the Skykeeper—had saved my life.

“Get up, girl.”

My eyes jerked toward the flushed face of the dragonmaster of Clutch Re. Unlike everyone else, he had not run for cover from the Skykeeper. No. He’d remained on the lane. And as he walked toward me, his green-whorled brown skin gleaming in the sunlight and the glass bead at the end of his chin braid swinging to and fro, he grinned dementedly, as if the appearance of the creature had pleased him immensely. He glanced at Waikar Re Kratt, still struggling with his beast, then looked back at me.