Marla Wolfblade of Hythria is determined to restore her family's great name, but conspirators surround her: the Sorcerers' Collective, the Patriots -- even members of her own family. She must make sure her son Damin lives to be old enough to restore the Wolfblade name to its former glory. Elezaar the Dwarf is a small man with big secrets -- but that doesn't matter to Marla Wolfblade. Her brother is the High Prince of Hythria, and, in this fiercely patriarchal society, her fate will be decided on his whim. She needs someone politically astute to guide her through the maze of court politics -- and Elezaar the Dwarf knows more than he lets on. As Elezaar teaches Marla the Rules of Gaining and Wielding Power, Marla starts on the road to becoming a tactician and a wily diplomat -- but will that be enough to keep her son alive? The greatest value of Marla Wolfblade, Hythria's beautiful, 15-year-old princess, lies in the political marriage her brother, High Prince Lernen, can make for her and the heirs to the throne she may produce. Unfortunately for the House of Wolfblade, Lernen, interested only in perverse pleasures, cares nothing about ruling. Kagan, Lernen's personal sorcerer, actually runs things and is doing his level best to keep Lernen from being murdered and thereby opening the throne to Bernardo, who may be even stupider than Lernen is disinterested. In Hythria, it's every man for himself, every family for itself, though even brothers are wise not to trust one another. It's a world, too, in which only men may have power. But with the help of a politically savvy dwarf, Marla navigates dangerous territory to keep the sons she does produce alive long enough to inherit the throne and restore the House of Wolfblade's honor. With enough backstabbing, high intrigue, plot twists, and timely visits from the gods to make it very hard to put down. Paula Luedtke Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "The fantasy genre has its baggage--Renaissance fairs, role-playing games, Christopher Lambert. So credit Fallon for exploring themes like dirty politics and religious tolerance for the launch of her Hythrun Chronicles series, a bestseller in her native Australia . . . an intriguing soap opera of espionage and family revelations."-- Entertainment Weekly on the Hythrun Chronicles “Jennifer Fallon structures her novels to capture the reader from the opening paragraph and you can only break from her grasp when you reach the final page.”—Altair on the Hythrun Chronicles “A gripping tale of warring ambitions, politics, and real people. The characters (and even the gods!) spring to vivid, believable life, making Medalon a great read. More, please!”—Ed Greenwood on Medalon “A well-executed fantasy with complex characters and entertaining style.”—Kirkus Reviews on Treason Keep "Fallon has a way with words that makes you want to keep reading... her plot draws you in." ( The Dark Spiral ) Jennifer Fallon is the author of the bestselling Hythrun Chronicles, which began with the Demon Child Trilogy ( Medalon, Treason Keep, Harshini ). The Wolfblade Trilogy is set before the events of the Demon Child Trilogy, and follows the adventures of Damin Wolfblade's mother, Her Highness Marla Wolfblade of Hythria. Jennifer Fallon was born in Australia, and has lived there all her life. Chapter One It was always messy, cleaning up after a murder. There was more than just blood to be washed off the tiles. There were all those awkward loose ends to be taken care of--alibis to be established, traitors to be paid off, witnesses to be silenced . . . And that, Elezaar knew, was the problem. He'd just witnessed a murder. A slight, humid breeze ruffled the curtain in the alcove where the dwarf was hiding, the tiled floors of the mansion echoing to the sound of booted feet. The faint, fishy smell of the harbour lingered on the wind, rank and uninviting. Or perhaps it wasn't the nearby bay Elezaar could smell. Maybe the decay he smelled was here. Maybe the swords of his master's killers had opened a vein somewhere and the stench came from the moral decay that seeped from the very walls of this house and permeated everything it touched. Still trembling at the narrowness of his escape, Elezaar moved the curtain a fraction and looked into the room. His master's corpse lay across the blood-soaked silken sheets, his head almost severed by the savage blow which had ended his life. On the floor at his feet lay another body. A slave. She was so new to the household Elezaar hadn't even had time to learn her name. She was only twelve or thirteen; her slender, broken body in the first bloom of womanhood. Or it had been. The master liked them like that--young, nubile and terrified. Elezaar had lost count of the number of girls like her he had seen led into this opulently decorated chamber of horrors. He'd listened to their screams, night after night, playing his lyre with desperate determination; he provid