In the Forests of Serre by Patricia A. McKillip

By Patricia A. McKillip

Strolling back from warfare, Prince Ronan of Serre by chance tramples a white chicken within the road— and earns a witch’s curse. Her phrases are meaningless to a guy mourning his lifeless spouse and baby, yet they arrive to go all of the comparable; Ronan has now not been domestic an afternoon earlier than his father insists on an prepared marriage. As he gazes into the wooded area, determined for the way out, Ronan glimpses a superb firebird perched on a close-by department. He follows the place it leads him—into a sideways global the place his father’s palace not exists. yet his meant, the attractive Princess Sidonie, is on her approach to the palace. And her destiny will depend on Ronan desirous to locate his manner domestic. . . .

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Her name was Lirazel. She was a princess of the magic line. The gods had sent their shadows to her christening, and the fairies too would have gone, but that they were frightened to see on their dewy fields the long dark moving shadows of the gods, so they stayed hidden in crowds of pale pink anemones, and thence blessed Lirazel. "My people demand a magic lord to rule over them. They have chosen foolishly," the old lord said, "and only the Dark Ones that show not their faces know all that this will bring: but we, who see not, follow the ancient custom and do what our people in their parliament say.

Alveric looked at their armour, which seemed to be brighter than any metal of ours, as though it came from one of those buttresses near, which are only told of in song; then he went towards them drawing his father's sword, for he thought to drive its slender point through some joint of the armour. The other he put into his left hand. As the first knight struck, Alveric parried, and stopped the blow, but there came a shock like lightning into his arm and the sword flew from his hand, and he knew that no earthly sword could meet the weapons of Elfland, and took the magical sword in his right hand.

She would go at the hour when hawk-moths first pass from bell to bell. And of those few that had seen her was this son of the Lord of Erl. —she spared him whom her arts might well have destroyed and, changing instantly in that garden there, showed him the rightful form of a deadly witch. And even then his eyes did not at once forsake her, and in the moments that his glance still lingered upon that withered shape that haunted the hollyhocks he had her gratitude that may not be bought, nor won by any charms that Christians, know.

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