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Shadow Gate (Crossroads Series #2)

Shadow Gate (Crossroads Series #2)

4.2 15
by Kate Elliott

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The captivating, bestselling Spirit Gate swept readers into the turbulent world of the Hundred, where the peace and order of life under the protection of the immortal Guardians has given way to chaos and violence. In the face of a vast horde of marauders led by a rogue Guardian, the bravery and resourcefulness of a lone eagle-reeve and others who risk their


The captivating, bestselling Spirit Gate swept readers into the turbulent world of the Hundred, where the peace and order of life under the protection of the immortal Guardians has given way to chaos and violence. In the face of a vast horde of marauders led by a rogue Guardian, the bravery and resourcefulness of a lone eagle-reeve and others who risk their lives for the common good have prevented death and destruction from overwhelming the Hundred.

In Shadow Gate, the enthralling sequel, the source of corruption of the Guardians is still a mystery to the mortals who fight to withstand the forces that have turned against them. And when three new Guardians emerge, a struggle begins among the immortals, with nothing less at stake than the future of the land and its gods.

With all the color, excitement, and narrative power that have made Kate Elliott an enormously popular writer, Shadow Gate weaves a powerful spell of action, romance, and magic that will entrance legions of readers.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Elliott's strengths as a writer are on display in this second Crossroads book. She brings her characters fully alive with stringent detail and attentive worldbuilding. Fans of Elliott and new readers alike will find this novel satisfying.” —Times Book Reviews

“A fabulous thriller that grips readers from the onset. . . . exhilarating.” —SF Revu

“Crossroads is shaping up to be Kate Elliott's best work and is highly recommended to both fans of the author and any readers who appreciate fantasy in the vein of Robin Hobb, Jacqueline Carey, and J.V. Jones…” —Fantasy Book Critic

“This promises to be a truly epic fantasy.” —Publishers Weekly on Spirit Gate

Spirit Gate has kept me up late at night for too many nights in a row, it made me burn dinner once, and it nearly caused a fender-bender when I was thinking about the characters while driving. It's a big, complex, absorbing book that interfered with my living my daily life while I was reading it, and I blame the author quite bitterly for that.” —Laura Resnick, award-winning author of In Fire Forged on Spirit Gate

“I love this book. Once again Kate Elliott has written a splendid, grand epic that sweeps the reader into this magical world and doesn't let go even after the very last word on the very last page. I can't wait for the sequel to see what happens next.” —Dennis L. McKiernan, author of Once Upon a Spring Morn on Spirit Gate

“A treasure for readers who enjoy the journey as much as, or more than, the destination.” —Sci Fi Weekly on Spirit Gate

award-winning author of In Fire Forged on Spirit G Laura Resnick
Spirit Gate has kept me up late at night for too many nights in a row, it made me burn dinner once, and it nearly caused a fender-bender when I was thinking about the characters while driving. It's a big, complex, absorbing book that interfered with my living my daily life while I was reading it, and I blame the author quite bitterly for that.
Publishers Weekly

In this many-layered second installment in the Crossroads fantasy series (after 2007's Spirit Gate), Marit, an eagle-riding reeve, awakens as a spirit three years after her death and slowly realizes she's become one of the nine Guardians, protectors of justice who wield god-given powers. Soon Marit discovers that some of her fellow Guardians lead forces plaguing the land, while others hide or resist. Meanwhile, among the living, war rewrites the social order, and those of different religions and homelands make common cause. Elliott follows Qin soldier Anji and his troubled, lonely wife, Mai; Marit's former lover, reeve marshal Joss; and Kirya, a tribal warrior who sells herself into slavery to protect her brother. Each must balance cultural imperatives with a broader view of justice, and survival with mercy. The cosmology and politics may confuse newcomers, but the human dilemmas grip the reader right through to the abrupt final cliffhanger. (Apr.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Library Journal

The world of the Hundred have relied on its eagle-borne reeves for protection since the departure of the once all-powerful Guardians. Now, however, a rogue Guardian has arisen to carve a path of bloodshed and cruelty throughout the realm. When Guardian-led marauders murder her eagle and leave her for dead, the young reeve Marit finds a winged horse to ride as she sets out to discover the secret behind the Guardians' corruption and to learn how she has mysteriously survived her own murder. In this follow-up to Spirit Gate, the author of the "Crown of Stars" series demonstrates once again her talent for large-scale storytelling, encompassing both the fate of nations and the destinies of individuals. A strong addition to most fantasy collections.

—Jackie Cassada

Product Details

Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date:
Crossroads Series , #2
Edition description:
First Edition
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
4.20(w) x 6.70(h) x 1.40(d)

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Read an Excerpt

Shadow Gate

Book Two of Crossroads

By Kate Elliott, James Frenkel

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 2008 Katrina Elliott
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-8914-5


Marit was pretty sure she had been murdered. She recalled vividly the assassin's dagger that had punctured her skin, thrust up under her ribs, and pierced her heart. Any reeve — and Marit was a reeve — could tell you that was a killing blow, a certain path to a swift death. In the moment when life must pass over into death and the spirit depart the body, the misty outlines of the Spirit Gate unfold. The passage between this world and the other world had opened within her dying vision. But her spirit had not made the journey.

She woke alone, sprawled naked on a Guardian altar with only a cloak for a covering. Her eagle was dead. She knew it in the same way you know an arm is missing without looking to see: Your balance is different. Her eagle was dead, so she must be dead, because no reeve survived the death of her eagle.

Yet that being so, how could she stand up, much less stagger to the edge of a drop-off so sheer she hadn't noticed it because she was disoriented? She stepped into thin air before she knew she'd mistaken her ground, and she was falling, falling, the wind whistling in her ears. The earth plunged up to meet her.

Then she woke, sprawled naked on a Guardian altar with only a cloak for covering, and realized she had been dreaming.

Sitting, she rubbed her eyes. The place in her dream had been a narrow ledge without even a wall to warn of the drop-off. This place was high and exposed, an expanse of glittering stone untouched by vegetation. She rose cautiously and ventured to the highest point on the bluff. She stood at the prow of a ridgeline. The vista was astonishing: In front lay a lowland sink dropping away to a wide cultivated plain that extended toward a distant suggestion of water; to her right spread a pulsing green riot of forest so broad she could not see the end of it; behind, ragged hills covered with trees formed a barrier formidable not because of their height but because they were wild. The wind streamed over the ridge, rumbling in her ears.

She knew right where she was: on the southernmost spur of the Liya Hills, an excellent spot for thermals that an eagle and her reeve could spiral on for hours with a view of the Haya Gap. The vast tangled forest known as the Wild lay to the south, and the lowland plain that bordered the arm of the ocean known as the Bay of Istria ran east.

She knew right where she was.

Aui! She was standing on a Guardian altar.

So far nothing had happened to her. But that didn't change the unalterable fact that she had broken the boundaries that forbade all people, even reeves, from entering the sacred refuges known as Guardian altars. She had broken the boundaries, and now she would be punished according to the law.

That being so, what had happened to her lover, Joss, who had after all been the one who had persuaded her to follow him up to an altar?

There was only one way to find out: walk to the main compound of Copper Hall, which lay about midway between the cities of Haya and Nessumara, and find out what was going on.

The altar wasn't so difficult to get down from after all. A stair carved into rock switchbacked down the stone face and into a sinkhole that twisted to become an ordinary musty cave with a narrow mouth hidden by vegetation. She ducked under the trailing vines of hangdog and pushed through a thicket of clawed beauty whose thorns slipped right off the tempting fabric of the cloak. Clusters of orange flowers bobbed around her, which struck her as odd because clawed beauty only bloomed in the early part of the year, during the season of the Flower Rains, and that was months away.

Except for the rest of the afternoon and the following days it rained in erratic bursts as she trudged through the woodland cover. The trails she followed became slick with puddles and damp leaves. She slopped alongside cultivated lands. Farmers, bent double in ankle-deep water, transplanted young rice plants. Women dragged hoes through flooded fields, skimming off the weeds and setting them aside for animal fodder. The sun set and rose in its familiar cycle. As she moved toward the coast and low-lying land, the dykes and edges had their own distinctive flora: pulses, soya, hemp, with ranks of mulberries on the margins. She kept her cloak wrapped tightly around her, but anyway people were too busy to notice her.

Soon enough paths joined cart tracks that joined wagon roads that met up with the broad North Shore Road. Although the original Copper Hall had been built on the delta, the main compound was now sited about forty mey south of Haya on one of a series of bluffs overlooking the Bay of Istria with a lovely vantage and good air currents swirling where land met sea.

It had been years since she had walked to the turning for Copper Hall. Once Flirt had chosen her, she had always flown. The paved roadbed was raised on a foundation and surfaced with cut stones fitted together as cunningly as a mosaic, flanked by margins of crushed stone. From an eagle, you didn't notice the remarkable skill and craftsman's work, or the stone benches set at intervals as a kindly afterthought. From an eagle, one's view of the roads turned from textured ramps of earth, gravel, and paving stone into the all-important solid lines linking cities and towns and temples.

She trudged past the triple-gated entrance to a temple dedicated to Ilu, the Herald. The gatekeeper slouched on a wooden bench under a thatched lean-to, staring disinterestedly at the road. His dog whined, ears flat, and slunk under the bench. She wrapped her cloak more tightly, but no one — not the gatekeeper and none of the folk walking along the road — paid the slightest attention to her. Salt spray nipped the air. Fish ponds lined the rocky shore. The bay gleamed gray-blue in late-afternoon light, waves kicking against the seawall.

On the seaward edge the land rose into a series of high bluffs while the road curved inland past rice fields lined with reeds and salt grass. As the sun set, she found an empty byre to shelter in against the night rains, its straw mildewed. She didn't really sleep; she lay with eyes closed and thoughts in a tangle, never quite coming into focus.

She woke at dawn and rose and walked, and at last saw the stout stone pillar carved with a hood and feather in relief and the huge wooden perch, freshly whitewashed, that marked the turning to Copper Hall. She was home.

Wiping tears from her eyes, she plodded up the long slope toward the high ground, feeling more and more winded, as if all the life and spirit were being drained out of her. As if she was afraid. How would she be greeted by her comrades at the reeve hall? She had broken the boundaries. She would have to accept punishment.

Aui! She had to find out what had happened to Joss, protect him if she could or back him up on his reckless decision to investigate the Guardian's altar in Liya Pass. Hadn't he been right? Wasn't it true that something was terribly wrong?

No person in the Hundred had stood before a Guardian at an assizes since her long-dead grandfather was a boy. Anyway, an old man's memory might be suspect. The meticulous records stored in Sapanasu's temples recording the proceedings of assizes courts where Guardians had presided might, in fact, be explained as a conventional form used by the clerks and hierophants of the Lantern to account for the decisions made by wandering judges who were otherwise perfectly human.

Many said the Guardians had abandoned the Hundred. Others said the Guardians had never existed, that they were only characters sung of in the Tales. Yet on the Guardian's altar up on the Liya Pass, she and Joss had discovered bones — the bones of a murdered Guardian, maybe, because a pelvis could have been splintered in that way only by a tremendous fall or a massive blow.

But all the tales agreed that Guardians couldn't die.

The reeve hall was a huge compound surrounded by fields and orchards and open ground where a pair of reeves — relatively new ones, by the look of their tentative maneuvers — were learning to harness up under the supervision of a patient fawkner. She didn't recognize the young reeves, but she was pretty sure the fawkner was her good friend Gadit, although she was holding her body at a canted angle, as if her right shoulder was stiff from injury.

High watchtowers stretched up as little more than scaffolding. She did not recognize the pair of very young men lounging on gate duty, but their bored faces and listless chatter irritated her. They did not bother to challenge her, and they ought to have; she was an unlikely sight, with her naked feet and calves and a cloak clutched tightly around her body, yet she walked through the gate unremarked. She would have words with Marshal Alard about their lackadaisical attitude.

It was difficult to remain annoyed in the familiar environs she loved: the wide-open land-side parade ground with its chalk-laced dusty earth; the low storehouses side by side in marching order; the barracks and eating hall sited where the high ground dipped, making a bit of a windbreak; the high lofts set back to either side, and beyond them the seaward parade ground that overlooked the cliff and the choppy bay.

Most reeves must be out on patrol, since she did not recognize the few faces she saw. Two very young fawkner's assistants scurried toward the lofts with harness draped awkwardly over their backs. A youth shuffled past holding a cook's ladle while sneezing and wiping his nose. A young woman seated on a bench was sniveling while Marit's dear friend and fellow reeve Kedi spoke in the tone of a man who has said the same cursed words a hundred times:

"It's done, Barda. When an eagle chooses you, you've got no choice in the matter."

"But I don't want this. I never wanted it." She wasn't a whiner. She was genuinely overwhelmed, her eyes rimmed red but hollow-dark beneath; her hands were trembling. "I was supposed to get married tomorrow. All the temples agreed it was an auspicious day for a wedding, Transcendent Ox, in the Month of the Deer, in the Year of the Blue Ox. Especially for a long and steady and calm alliance. That's all I ever wanted, and I like Rigard, only now his clan has called off the wedding. They've broken the contract, because now I'm a reeve. I was just walking to market and the bird dropped down out of the sky and I screamed I was so scared. Don't you see? My life is ruined!"

Kedi sighed in that weary way he had. His hair had been trimmed back tightly against the skull, almost shaven bare like a clerk of Sapanasu, and when he shifted to slap away a fly Marit realized he was leaning on a crutch. He wasn't putting any weight on his left leg.

"Heya! Kedi!" she called.

But he was too intent on the young woman. "I know it's not what you wanted. But let me tell you that every reeve in this hall envies you for the eagle who chose you."

"Trouble? It's a stupid name. She scares me."

"She's the most beautiful and best-tempered raptor in the Hundred."

Trouble! Marit wanted to ask what had happened to Trouble's reeve Sisha, a particularly good friend who besides could hold more ale than anyone, but Kedi had launched into an energetic description of Trouble that would make the hardest heart melt, so she walked down the alleyway between storehouse and fawkner's barracks that led to the marshal's garden.

Alard had loved flowers, the more resplendent, the better. So Marit was startled to see that his carefully nurtured beds of azaleas and peonies and heaven-full-of-stars had been replanted into ranks of practical herbs, as though the cook and the infirmarian had snuck in when the old man wasn't looking.

She climbed the steps to the roofed porch, where she paused, listening to the shush of a broom around the corner in a steady accompaniment to voices murmuring beyond the closed doors. Ladiya appeared butt-first, attention focused on lines of dirt forming ranks along the boards.

"Can I go in?" Marit asked.

The old woman still had her back to Marit and did not answer. She tilted her head to one side until it rested against the thin wall. Eavesdropping.

As the voices from inside were raised, it was impossible not to overhear.

"You've been marshal for one month. I'm surprised you waited so long to get rid of me!"

To hear his voice, healthy and strong and angry, hurt like a dagger to the heart, but it was the pain of unlooked-for joy that brought tears to her eyes. He was still alive.

"Joss, you have the makings of a good reeve — of an excellent reeve, perhaps — but you are out of control." The words were emphasized in a firm voice, entirely calm and utterly sincere. She knew that voice very well. It went on speaking, each word crisp as if with frustration hooded. "Still, with things the way they are, and the problems inHerelia, I can do nothing but send you to Clan Hall to get you out of my jesses. I will let the commander deal with you, thank the gods, so that I do not have to. I have enough to deal with here. If I could keep you belled I would, but I cannot. In the old days, so they say, a rogue and errant reeve was subject to execution for the kind of insubordination we have seen from you, the repeated breaking of the law, going time and again to Guardian altars despite knowing that it is absolutely out of bounds, despite knowing what happened the first time you did it. But we do not have the luxury now of punishing you in that way. The gods know we need you, and especially we need Scar. So I am sending you to Clan Hall and that is final. You leave today."

The last word rang. Afterward, there came a pause. Marit braced herself for the storm.

Instead of an answer, one of the doors was slammed open and Joss — as handsome as ever! — charged with all his loose-limbed passionate grace out of the chamber and past Marit without giving her a glance.

"Joss," she said. "Sweetheart."

He was already gone.

Ladiya turned around as a reeve whose short hair was laced with silver walked onto the porch in Joss's wake.

"Did you overhear all that?" he asked without a sliver of amusement, but he wasn't angry either. Masar was the most upright, bland, and humorless person Marit had ever known, and she had known him pretty well, having taken him as a lover for half a year when she was a lot younger. He'd been as humorless in bed as out of it, and he'd accepted her departure from the affair with a straight face and never in the years after showed the slightest sign that he resented her or, for that matter, pined after her. He was absolutely rock solid, a person who would back you up and risk his life to save yours and never ever cross the line past which proper behavior became improper.

Except that he was holding the marshal's staff with its jessed and hooded cap, the mark of authority in Copper Hall.

Ladiya said, "It's hard to resist a lad with good looks and the charm to back them up, but even I can see how he's gone wild since her death. Three years now, it's been. You would think he'd have devoured or drunk it off by now. You're going easy on him, Marshal."


Masar said, "I keep hoping he will settle down. I do not know what else to do. Nor do I need to. He is Clan Hall's problem now."

"Masar," Marit said. "Ladiya. What happened to Joss? Where is Marshal Alard?" She extended a hand, touched Masar's elbow. "How long have I been gone —?" Faltering, she gingerly patted Ladiya on the upper arm to get her attention.

They neither of them looked at her or appeared to hear her voice or feel her hand. She might as well not have been standing there, for all the notice they took.

At last it all made sense. As the thoughts lined up in their neat ranks, a weight — more of terror than pain — settled in her chest. All that long way she had walked from the Guardian's altar across the plain, for days and days she had walked and only now did it occur to her that she had not eaten or drunk or even truly slept. No one had spoken to her or acknowledged her.

No one had seen her.

And for that matter, her feet weren't dirty.

"Great Lady," she whispered, as Masar beckoned to Ladiya and they walked past her back into the marshal's cote and slid the door shut in her face. "Great Lady ..." Prayers failed.

That girl named Barda had stated that she had intended to marry tomorrow, an auspicious day made especially so because it was also the Year of the Blue Ox.

Marit was pretty sure she had been stabbed by an assassin's dagger in the Year of the Black Eagle. Three years before the Year of the Blue Ox.

The cloak fell open as she extended both arms and stared at the paler skin of her palms, like a ghost's hands against her brown complexion.

Joss had "gone wild since her death."

Three years it had been, according to Ladiya.

Three years.

Now she understood the punishment laid on her.

Marit walked out of Copper Hall, one clean foot set in front of the other clean foot and the first again and the second again, out to the turning, and there she stared one way along the North Shore Road and after that the other way. People were out and about, going on their business and their lives. They couldn't see her, because she was dead.


Excerpted from Shadow Gate by Kate Elliott, James Frenkel. Copyright © 2008 Katrina Elliott. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Kate Elliott is the author of more than a dozen epic novels. Her novel King's Dragon was a finalist for the Nebula Award and The Golden Key (co-written with Melanie Rawn and Jennifer Roberson) was a World Fantasy Award finalist. Born in Oregon, she lives in Hawaii.

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Shadow Gate (Crossroads Series #2) 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 14 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
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which2 More than 1 year ago
An excellent book by Kate Elliott. She has successfully created a couple of alternate social systems in this series that remind us all too painfully of some of the failed systems we have had here on Earth. The charactors are human, with amazing strengths and horrible failings, just like ourselves and everyone around us. She is a terrific storyteller.
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SWEET BOOK!!!!!!!!!
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I enjoyed Kate Elliot's lastest -- I read while commuting and her style makes it easy to sink into and ignore my fellow metro travelers. Can hardly wait for the next one!
harstan More than 1 year ago
The eagle riding Marit the reeve died three years ago (see SPIRIT GATE) while working alongside her lover reeve marshal Joss as they and others tried to save the mortals of the Hundred from an attack led by a rogue Guardian. Now Marit awakens lying naked on a Guardian alter. She is bewildered to be alive as she remembers being murdered and knows her soulmate eagle is dead. --- Marit begins to understand what has happened to her while wondering if Joss lives and if the war is over who won. As she concludes she somehow has become one of the Nine Guardians, she vows to be different than they were. She will directly help the Hundred instead of taking an apathetic position as the Guardians she served seemed to have taken until one of them turned rogue. Marit learns that the hostilities remain with the people struggling to survive against the horde led by hostile Guardians. --- SHADOW GATE, the second Crossroads epic fantasy, is a tremendous thriller that grips readers from the moment Marit wakes up on the altar and never slows down in spite of numerous complex subplots that highlight a world turned from justice and order to injustice and chaos. Although the climax occurs suddenly and leaves major threads for book three, fans will appreciate the deep look at a world in trouble, but recommend perusing the previous tale first (see SPIRIT GATE) to fully comprehend the complexities of the Elliot cosmos. --- Harriet Klausner