It is the year 1537. The great winged Lion stares over a Venice where magic thrives. The rich Venetian Republic is a bastion of independence and tolerance. Perhaps for that reason, it is also corrupt, and rotten with intrigue.
But for the young brothers Marco and Benito Valdosta, vagabond and thief, Venice is simply home. They have no idea that they stand at the center of the city's coming struggle for its very life. They know nothing of the powerful forces moving in the background. They have barely heard of Chernobog, demonlord of the North, who is shifting his pawns to attack Venice in order to cut into the underbelly of the Holy Roman Empire. All Marco and Benito know is that they're hungry and in dangerous company: Katerina the smuggler, Caesare the sell-sword, Montagnard assassins, church inquisitors, militant Knights of the Holy Trinity, Dottore Marina the Strega mage ...and Maria. Maria might be an honest canaler, but she had the hottest temper a boy could find.
Yet among the dark waters of the canals lurk far worse dangers than a hot-tempered girl. Chernobog has set a monster loose to wreak havoc on the city. Magic, murder and evil are all at work to pull Venice down. Fanatical monks seek to root out true witchcraft with fire and sword. Steel-clad Teutonic knights, wealth traders, church dignitaries and great Princes fight and plot for control of the jewel of the Mediterranean.
And somehow all of these, from thieves to mages to princes, must gather around Marco and his brother Benito, under the shadow of the great winged lion of Venice.
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The Shadow of the Lion
By Mercedes Lackey
Baen BooksCopyright © 2003 Mercedes Lackey
All right reserved.
Chapter OneThe silhouette of the Basilica of St. Mark was black against the paling predawn sky. The pillar and the winged lion in the Piazza San Marco could just be made out.
In the bow of the gondola Benito shifted uneasily, looking at it. "Figlio di una puttana, woman," he said, trying to sound older than fourteen. "Can't you get a move on? It'll be sunup before I'm home." He wished his voice would stop cracking like that. Marco said it was just part of growing up. He wished that that would stop too. Being bigger was no advantage for climbing or running. And if he stopped growing, he might stop being so hungry all of the time.
Up on the stern the hooded oarsman ignored him, moving slowly and steadily.
"You want me to row this thing for you?" he demanded.
"Shut up," she hissed. "You want to attract attention? At this time of the morning, only people in trouble are rushing."
Benito had to acknowledge that it was true enough. Even now there were three other vessels moving on the Grand Canal. All of them slowly. He sighed. "I just need to get back home. I'm supposed to see my brother."
She snorted. "If you hadn't held us up, we'd be the other side of Campo San Polo by now. And you can't be in any more of a hurry to get back to whatever rat-hole you sleep in, than I am to see the back of you. I should never have agreed to take you."
Benito huddled down in the bow. This woman's tongue was even sharper-edged than Maria Garavelli's. The wind between the ornately facaded buildings was cold. He was cold and, as usual, he was hungry. It had been a fruitless night. Mercutio had let him down. Again.
He liked working jobs with Mercutio. His ideas were exciting, daring and, well, crazy. You always knew with any job he organized it was going to be nip-and-tuck. Skin of your teeth stuff and needing lots of luck. But somehow Mercutio always seemed to have that luck.
Benito sighed. Mercutio also had the habit of not turning up for a job. Benito had sat waiting for four cold hours for him tonight, and not a copper's profit to show for it. He could have used some more coin. All he had in the attic was a half crock of elderly fagioli stufata. It was definitely past its best. The beans were producing gas before they even hit his stomach.
His eye was caught by the body. It bobbed in the dark water under the pilings as the tiny fish plucked at it. That was a fine cloak.... A few knife slashes could be dealt with. His jaw dropped. The rich soft swollen white hand still had rings on it.
He turned to speak.
"Don't even look," she hissed between clenched teeth.
"But ..." he started to point.
She hit his hand with the oar. "Shut it!" There was such intensity in that quiet command that Benito didn't even dare to glance at the corpse again.
They poled on in silence, the bow of the shabby gondola cutting the oily, still water, here where it was sheltered from the predawn breeze. Most of Venice was still sleeping.
When she spoke, they were a good hundred yards past the corpse. "Despini." Her voice shook slightly. She was plainly shocked.
Benito looked warily at her. "What?" A stray strand of long, wavy, copper-colored hair had found its way out from under her hooded cloak. She pushed it back. Whatever this girl moved must be valuable. That was a well-fed wrist.
"Gino Despini. He was one of my customers. He had a booth down on the Calle Farnese. Sold love philters, charms and amulets of protection against the French Pox."
Benito nodded sagely. That was the sort of cargo she moved. The frauds, hedge magicians, tricksters and petty Strega around the Campo Ghetto didn't always want to declare their imports to the state or the church. Dangerous, tricky cargoes. But valuable. "So why didn't you want to stop? Get those rings, or take him to his family ..."
She raised her eyes to heaven. "You're a fool. Whoever killed him could have sunk him if they just wanted him dead. They didn't even rob him. What does that mean?" she demanded.
Benito knew he was out of his league here. He was a good enough sneak thief. But this ... "He was wounded but escaped, died and fell in the canal," he ventured warily.
She shook her head. "You don't know anything, do you, boy? If they left his body to float, they're not scared of the Schiopettieri."
Benito swallowed hard. The Schiopettieri were professional soldiers under the official command of Venice's Signori di Notte ... The Lords of the Nightwatch, answerable to the Senate of the Great Republic. In effect, they were the city's police force. You didn't mess with them.
"That spells someone with influence and power," she continued. "Whoever killed him obviously doesn't need money." She pursed her lips. "There was a rumor about that he was more than what he seemed. A Strega Mage proper, not a charlatan. He was left to float either as message, or more likely, as bait."
Bait. "Who did it?" he asked, huskily. This was deep, dark water.
The woman shrugged. "Maybe the Servants of the Holy Trinity. They've been pretty active lately. So have the agents of the Council of Ten. Maybe other Strega. But I don't think so. They favor magic or poison. He'd been stabbed."
"They'll take whoever comes to go on with their questioning. If it's the Servants, you know how they question people. With knives. And fire. And prayers for your soul." She raised an eyebrow and said sardonically, "You were thinking of sneaking back there, weren't you?"
"I didn't understand." The boy answered humbly. "But Katerina ..."
"Who told you my name?" she demanded fiercely.
"Captain Della Tomasso ... Look!"
While they'd been talking, a flotilla of rowing boats had appeared and were coming along the Grand Canal. Rowing steadily in measured strokes. The leading ones were definitely Schiopettieri oarships.
"Merda!" Katerina spat. "It must be a sweep. We've got to get out of here." She began to scull frantically, pushing the gondola towards the mouth of a narrow canal.
Benito got up hastily. He was getting off the unfamiliar water and onto the buildings. Quickly. "They'll have blocked off the side canals, Kat."
"Right." She pushed the boat into a group of tied up gondolas and small craft moored to poles at the water-door of the marble-faced mansion. She dropped a loop over the bollard. "Lie down ... little brother. We're poor boatkids who've lost our parents and have to sleep on the water."
Benito looked askance at her. But he lay down on the gondola ribs next to her. She pulled a grubby piece of sailcloth over them. She also tied a piece of cord to a knobbly yellow oilcloth parcel from the bow. She dropped the parcel gently over the side, down into the still water. Hastily she tied it off.
Benito wondered what the hell cadging a ride across from Guidecca had gotten him into. He liked a bit of excitement, but messing with people who knew people who were being killed by the Servants was too much.
It was too much, thought Katerina, lying on the ribs of the gondola. Here she was with a cargo that could get her burned at the stake. Even if they never picked it up ... well, if it came to hard questioning they might get her name. Under that sort of questioning, especially if they used magic, they could find out everything. Unless, like Despini, you had defenses that would kill first. Holy Mother. She must not be caught. The dishonor to the family if she were! It would kill the old man. Every time she'd gone out she'd known it was a risk. But they could simply not afford to lose another cargo. And who else could they trust? Somehow the Casa Montescue, secure for all these years, had been infiltrated. There was no other explanation.
She looked up. They were tied up beside the Imperial embassy. Across the canal was the pretentious Casa Brunelli. Pah. Nouveau riche. Curti. They had glass windows instead of the varnished silk that real Longi Case Vecchie used. The kind of neighborhood that the Schiopettieri would not take kindly to finding loiterers in, even if they didn't pick up the parcel dangling from the bow.
She looked across, not without a certain envy, at the ornate marble-faced building. She was startled to realize there was someone on the third floor balcony of the Casa Brunelli.
"Lie still," Kat said between clenched teeth to the wrigglesome urchin next to her. "There is someone on the balcony up there."
To give him credit, the boy didn't peer. He froze. "Who?"
"How would I know? You ... you canal-brat. It's hard to make out anything in this light. A man, by the way he stands."
"He must have seen us come in," whispered the boy. Kat could feel him tense next to her. Getting ready to run.
"Stay still!" She hissed.
Benito's dark eyes flickered nervously. Then she felt him tense again. "They're stopping. They're coming here!"
Kat reached for the slipknot on the cord. "How do you know?"
The boy's eyes darted. "You can see the reflection in the window," he mumbled.
It was true enough. The two Schiopettieri oarships were slowing. Backing water. The vessels behind them ... weren't Venice-built. She'd swear to that. Whoever made them needed lessons in shipbuilding. Tubs. But tubs bright with steel. So much so that it was a miracle they didn't tip over. That would've emptied all the armored men, in bright triple-cross-enameled breastplates and their gilt-trimmed helmets, into the canal.
Benito and Katerina gaped, forgetting the watcher on the balcony. The Teutonic Knights of the Holy Trinity. The fabled Arm Militant of the Pauline Orders. The soldiers of God who beat back the Huns, the Norse and the various Slavic and Magyar pagans and heretics on the northern and eastern frontiers of Christendom. The borders of Emperor Charles Fredrik's Holy Roman Empire rested squarely on their steel shoulders. Those breastplates were unmistakable, a legend across the Christian world. And they were half feared, as well as admired and respected, by the southern and Mediterranean folk who generally followed the Petrine currents in the Church.
"What the hell are they doing here?" Benito got it out seconds before Kat. His voice had more admiration in it than Katerina Montescue would have voiced.
"Going to the Imperial embassy, by the looks of it," said Katerina with relief.
Benito too sounded more relaxed. "I always wanted to be a Knight."
Katerina shook her head. "Fighting trolls and hellspawn in the frozen northlands? Dealing with pagan Russian and Tatar princes and their demons? And-even worse-the heretic Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Kingdom of Hungary and their sorcerers and shamans? Ha! It's dark half the year up there. And they look silly in that armor. It's no good anyway. One of the new pistols from Spain will put a ball right through it. Besides, they take the sons of the nobility of the empire, not canal-brats."
The boy looked militant. "I'm more than just a 'canal-brat.' My father..."
"Was the Holy Grand Metropolitan of Rome himself," snapped Katerina. "And your mother was the Duchess of Milan, and just a canal-side puttana in her spare time. Now shut up. They still wouldn't be pleased to find us here. The Schiopettieri would run us in and beat us up just for being in this part of town."
The boy bit his lip. His dark eyes fumed at her. But he lay still. Katerina turned her attention back to the pageant reflected in the windows of the Casa Brunelli. With shock she recognized the file of gray cassocked and hooded men filing out of the embassy onto the stone-faced landing. Even in the poor light there was no mistaking the white triple crosses on the backs of those cassocks. The monastic Servants of the Holy Trinity did not inspire the same awe as their sibling Paulines, the Knights, did. They simply inspired fear and distrust. Especially for Katerina Montescue. And they weren't an unfamiliar sight in Venice. Their war on the Jews and the Strega was not officially sanctioned by the doge. On the other hand, Doge Giorgio Foscari was turning a very blind eye. Well, at his age your thoughts started turning more to Heaven than earth anyway. And the Servants claimed to be the custodians of the keys to Heaven. Kat suppressed a chuckle. That had gotten Metropolitan Michael very steamed up in the pulpit last Mass. Rome and the Holy Grand Metropolitan did not approve of the strident claims of the Paulines.
A querulous, elderly whiny voice sounded across the canal. It rose above the soft sonorous sound of the plainsong that the Servants of the Holy Trinity were beginning to chant. "My best cassock. I wanted to wear it for this occasion..." Someone hastily hushed the old monk as the boatloads of Knights drew up to the quay.
A trumpet sounded, sharp and bright. Steel-clad figures disembarked from the boat and came up the steps. They were in military array, formed up around a palanquinlike structure which was borne by several of the hefty knights. It was plainly heavy, but too small to hold a person.
"What are they carrying?" whispered Benito.
"How in the names of all the Saints do you expect me to know?" Katerina hissed savagely. "Do you want me to go over and ask them?"
Benito sniffed. "There's no need to bite my head off. It's just that it looked like a chest. There were big locks. Maybe it is treasure."
There was a thoughtfulness in that young voice that made Katerina catch her breath and shake her head. This boy was going to die young. "Are you crazy? Don't even think of stealing from them. Don't even think of it."
Two figures now left the tail of the procession. One was a gray-cassocked and stooped monk. The other was a woman. True, she wore a nun's habit. But she walked like a duchess. Her head held up with an arrogant tilt that revealed a silhouetted prow of an aristocratic nose.
"Sister Humility," whispered the incorrigible canal-brat next to her.
Katerina had to bite back a snort of laughter. Then, when she realized what the reflected-in-glass figures were doing, it made her forget all about laughing. They were getting into a small gondola with a single arquebus-armed Schiopettieri. A knight carried a small brazier over to the vessel. Another brought a box from their ship. Katerina knew enough of magical practice to guess that they were about to conduct a rite of enclosure. They could hardly fail to pass her gondola. Heaven alone knew what was inside the parcel from Ascalon that she was supposed to deliver. But having it inside a magical circle of enclosure was not a good idea. She pulled the cord, and the slipknotted parcel went down to the mud.
Benito had plainly also seen what was happening. "Over the side. Quick!"
Katerina shook her head. "I can't swim."
"You don't have to," Benito snapped impatiently. "You can hold onto the boat. Come on. Be quick and quiet about it. They'll be here any minute."
Excerpted from The Shadow of the Lion by Mercedes Lackey Copyright © 2003 by Mercedes Lackey. Excerpted by permission.
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.
Table of Contents
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
It’s been a while since I’ve read a hefty fantasy book, and I loved getting back to the genre that made me fall in love with reading in the first place. While I was thoroughly confused as to what exactly was happening for the first 50-75 pages of this book, it all eventually came together beautifully and I ended up really enjoying the slow way I was able to get to know the characters and fall in love with them. The worldbuilding in this story is incredible; it really made me feel as though I was in 16th century Venice, and the added bonus of religious magic being a real thing is such a great twist. The plot is pitted as a good vs. evil kind of story, and I liked how each religious sect had its baddies and good guys. This book has complex situations that make it feel so genuine and really just helped me to immerse myself in the plot. The characters were what sold it for me, though. I absolutely loved every single one of them, and I really enjoyed being able to get the story through each of their eyes. It made me feel really connected to everything that was going on, and added to that wonderful dramatic irony that these authors are so good at building. The mix of personalities is so fun and different that I feel like any reader would be able to latch onto at least one character as a favorite. I am very much looking forward to the sequels and hope that they continue to be this immersive!
This is my second attempt at this book, I only managed a chapter or two the first time.It is not especially good. There are many characters introduced quickly at the beginning, and many of them are never developed beyond their stereotypes. The oft mentioned 'complex intrigue' was rather simple, once I managed to remember the names of the players.I'm about to start the sequel, because I am intrigued by the concept of the Order of Hypatia.
My father worked for the government. He would sometimes refer to a given project as a "camel." When I asked him what he meant, he explained, "A camel is a horse designed by a committee." The Shadow of the Lion is fun to read. The setting is unbeatable, and the alternative timeline is reasonably plausible as fantasy alternative timelines go. However, it feels uneven. I could feel three different minds pulling the style and characterizations in different directions, and I wanted it to read more seamlessly. One thing this book did for me as a writer was to make me determined NOT to fall back on the "alternative timeline" excuse for a lack of actual historical knowledge. I also wasn't wild about the direction in which they took the Lion as a character and icon, but that may be because I'm fond of the real St. Mark. All that being said, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't enjoyed reading it. As long as you're not expecting to learn much about the real Venice, it's a fun read.
I'm a big fan of both Mercedes Lackey and Eric Flit, but it really bothered me once I figured our why the plot seemed so familiar. Give how exactly a number of the characters match that earlier series, I'd have been more comfortable if there had a been a note or something referring back to it. However, I did think the writing was well done and it was certainly more detailed and the character motivations more plausible.
I usually love Lackey's books but this one is not what you would expect, at all. It is hard to follow and full of politics. I was very, very disappointed in it. The only reason it got 2 stars istead of 1 is that the last 2 chapters actually picked up speed and made sense out of nonsense.
I, too, picked up this book on the strength of the authors and found that I had to get through about 2/3 of it to start feeling like I had some idea of what was going on! There should be a flow chart at the beginning and a map to help a reader determine where things are and what families and branches of knights are related! It read like there will be a sequel, and I hope the sequel will be written better - although now that I have an idea of the characters, maybe the next book will 'flow' better. At least I can say that it took more that a couple of days to read it, so it saved me some weight in my suitcase while I was on vacation - I didn't have to bring any other books!!
As a fellow author I can tell how the intracate weavings of politics and religon could be confusing to write. However, the romance of the book left readers unfulfilled. If a second book were to be published, which I'm pretty sure will happen what with the way it was ended, I can see the book as a much betterone.
On the strength of the authors alone, I purchased this book. By the time I hit the second chapter I was scratching my head and wondering where I had read it before. Then it hit me. C. J. Cherryh's 'Merovingen Nights' published in the 1980s. I pulled out my copies and with very little effort located the portions written by Mercedes Lackey. All she did was change names. In most cases, she pulled her short stories directly out of the 'Nights' anthologies, changed the names and put them in 'Lion' without even bothering the change a single word. What a disappointment. I could predict exactly what was going to happen next. Oh, it takes place in Venice instead of an unknown planet, but it was identical in all respects to the books published 20 years ago. My respect for Lackey as a writer just took a serious nose dive.
I picked up this book on the strength of one of its authors, Mercedes Lackey. It was the most convoluted book I have ever read. I actually had to look to see if it was a sequel to another book because it just jumped into the story, adding character after character without giving you a clue how they all fit together. Characters, locations, plots...I eventually finished the book, just trying to find out how it all hung together, but all in all, I have to say it was disappointing. There were too many characters and none of them had the depth that I have come to expect from Mercedes Lackey. Perhaps too many people were collaborating on this one?
Mercedes Lackey is one of those rare writers who can make you care about her characters. Her earlier books were better in regards to this; I assume because of the pressure to write more books; I know I wouldn't mind a new book a month! This book is good. There are characters you care about, the only problem is finding them. There are a lot of characters in this book, some good, some bad and some just window dressing....it took about 300 pages before I was comfortable defining who was who, and I still had to backflip to find a reference to this person or that one. It has a convoluted alternate history story base, which didn't effect me at all, since I don't know the real history. But there is a lot of information to process and a lot of characters to keep track of. I would buy the next book in the series, if this is a series, but it wouldn't be something I'd be obsessed about.
I love all of Mercedes Lackey's work, but when I first bought this book it took me awhile to pick it up. It just looked so huge. I could kick myself for waiting so long. This book is truly awesome. From the start you are pulled into Marco, Benito, and Kat's world. There are twists and turns from the start and the ending is just great. [I just wish Maria would have had a happy ending.] I finished this book in 3 days. I just could not put it down. I lost alot of sleep with this book.
This was a GREAT read!! I'm somewhat new to Alternate History, but I've really enjoyed Mercedes Lackey's books, so I gave it a try. Don't let the 825pp indimidate you. You really get to know the characters, and the plot is as twisted as Venice Politics in the 16th century. The Shadow of the Lion is a wonderful experience for all your senses.