Ширли Мерфи - The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

FROM THE REVIEWS

Of The Castle of Hape

“The many episodes involving the race of winged horses are magnificently imagined.” --School Library Journal

Of Caves of Fire and Ice

“Moves into the past, the present, and the future . . . a mind-boggling time sequence.” --Alan Review

“Plenty of action here and a colorful, skillfully-depicted cast of characters.” — School Library Journal

“The well-delineated characters add life with the same effect that detail adds to a painting.” — ALA Booklist

Of The Joining of the Stone

“The dramatic climax in a series of five fantasies . . . Shirley Murphy satisfactorily draws together the strands (and her incredible images) of good and evil.” — Atlanta Journal and Constitution

“The portrayal of the evil forces, stark and frightening, is well balanced with Murphy’s theme about life being ‘flawed [but] . . . no less magnificent.’” — ALA Booklist

The Runestone of Eresu

by

Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 1980, 1981 by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

All rights reserved. For information contact webmaster@joegrey.com. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be resold, given away, or altered.

This is the second of two volumes containing the books originally published as the Children of Ynell series. It includes The Castle of Hape, Caves of Fire and Ice , and The Joining of the Stone , and can be read independently of the first volume, The Shattered Stone.

Atheneum edition of The Castle of Hape (hardcover) published in 1980

Avon edition (paperback) published in 1981

Atheneum edition of Caves of Fire and Ice (hardcover) published in 1980

Avon edition (paperback) published in 1982

Atheneum edition of The Joining of the Stone (hardcover) published in 1981

Avon edition (paperback) published in 1983

Ad Stellae Books edition, 2011

Author website: www.joegrey.com

Cover art © by Corey Ford / 123RF

CONTENTS

The Castle of Hape

Part One: The Dark

Part Two: The Gods

Part Three: Telien

Caves of Fire and Ice

Part One: The Lake of Fire

Part Two: The Black Lake

Part Three: The Lake of Caves

The Joining of the Stone

Part One: Ramad’s Heir

Part Two: Heritage of the Dark

Part Three: The Joining

About the Author

The Castle of Hape

Part One: The Dark

The ages of Time rise and move onward as neatly as the waves of the sea move. Or do they? What is Time? Who is to say that each age moves forward in perfect symmetry and never is disturbed? Who is to say that Time cannot, as does the sea, tumble suddenly in a whirling rage so all is thrown asunder? So a time without end or beginning is formed spinning into itself, swallowing the unfortunate wanderer or displacing him.

To the countries of Ere, the ages are marked by rivers of fire belching from the dark mountains, fire that sends men to flee in terror then recedes to lie dormant once more, perhaps for generations.

Yes, in the beginning cities grew close to the sea away from the fiery mountains, and those few people who would venture inland were driven back by fire, or by maverick, blood-lusting raiders. No one would think to make a city or claim a nation at the foot of the Ring of Fire. Not until the man Venniver so ventured, laying out a town he called Burgdeeth at the foot of the willful mountains. He meant to build a city ruled by false religion, and he began with the labor of slaves: Seers, enslaved to work like animals. And when those Seers escaped Venniver’s shackles, they took themselves to the far coast, and they conceived a different kind of nation.

But the powers of dark fought that nation, fought its rise and its strengthening.

Was it that warring, between evil and light, that disturbed the warp of Time? Who can say? No man of Ere can say; and those snatched up into the spinning of Time do not speak to us now.

ONE

The mare’s wings slashed and turned the wind. Ram clung to her back with effort, his fingers twisted in he mane to keep from falling, his blood spilling down across her shoulder. She lifted higher and the wind hammered at him; her wings tore light from the sun so it fractured around him, confusing him. He was hardly aware of the land below, blurred into a tapestry of green by her speed; was unaware of the river Urobb just beneath them and of the sea ahead. The bay and islands lay sun-washed, the towering stone ruins, but he did not heed them or the newly tilled farms, the herds of fat cattle and horses, did not see the carts going along the newly made roads toward the ruins to trade, was conscious only of pain, of sickness, of the raw agony of the sword wound in his side.

The bleeding increased. He loosed one hand from the mare’s mane to explore the wound, then bent again dizzy, hugging her neck to keep from falling. Only her mane, torn by wind to slash across his face, jerked him from unconsciousness. He pressed his arm tight to his side to staunch the blood.

The mare’s wings spanned more than twenty feet, her dark eyes swept the sky and land constantly. Her golden coat caught the high, clear brilliance of the sun, her ears sharp forward and alert. She was no tame creature to come to a man’s bidding, she had leaped from the sky of her own free will to lift Ram from the midst of battle, a dozen winged horses beside her sweeping down to lift the battered warriors from a fight that had turned to slaughter, so outnumbered were they; a battle they might have won had their Seer’s powers not been crippled so the attack caught them unaware, the Herebian hordes surging through dense woods a hundred strong against their puny band.

The mare lifted higher now. Light filled her wings like a golden cloak surrounding Ram, light ever moving as she soared then angled down. The fields rolled beneath him sickeningly; he went dizzy again, and she warned him awake with cool equine concern; then she dropped suddenly and sharply to meet the cold sea wind, dove through the wind in swift flight supporting Ram with the strength of her will—then folded her wings in one liquid motion and stood poised and still on the rim of a stone balcony high up the sheer side of the temple of the gods.

Ram slipped down to the stone, his mind plunging toward blackness, and felt hands catch him. He saw a flash of gold as the mare leaped aloft; then he went limp.

He woke swearing and flailing, thinking he was in battle, imagined men dying, could smell their blood. He was drenched in blood and sweat. He came fully awake at last, thrashing among the sweaty bedclothes. The wound in his side was a screaming pain. His bandage was soaked with blood. He felt hands lift his shoulders, saw white fingers around a cup. He swallowed the bitter draught gratefully, stared into Skeelie’s thin face for an instant, then dropped into sleep again like a stone, spinning down in deep water.

Skeelie stood over him scowling, shaken to see him hurt like this, grateful that he did not lie dead on some bloody battlefield. How many times had she stood so, wretched within herself at Ram’s hurt? Ever since they were children so long ago in Burgdeeth, ever since that first time when he had been found unconscious from some strange attack, the great bruise on his head, the wolf tracks all around him and he left untouched by wolves. And the dead Pellian Seer lying near. She had nursed him like a baby then, a big boy of eight, near as big as she. And she had loved him then on that first day; but with a child’s love, not as she loved him now. For all the good it did.