Guardian of Honor
Authors: Robin D. Owens
Guardian of
Honor
Robin D. Owens
www.LUNA-Books.com
To Deidre, Diane
and Mary-Theresa For encouraging me to breathe life into old dreams
In
Memoriam
Sonya
Roberts
Praise for
ROBIN
D. OWENS
"Owens
takes…elements that made Marion Zimmer Bradley's
Darkover
stories
popular…and turns out a romance that draws you in…."
—Locus
magazine
"Owens
has crafted a…successful science fantasy yarn with terrific world
building."
—
Booklist
on
Heart Thief
"Readers
of Owens' earlier Celta titles,
Heart Mate
and
Heart Thief,
will
enjoy revisiting this fantasy-like world filled with paranormal talents."
—
Booklist
on
Heart Duel
"A
new voice in romantic fantasy fiction has arrived and makes an outstanding
debut. The alien world that talented newcomer Robin D. Owens has created is
intricate, sensual and fascinating. I certainly would welcome future trips to
the Flair-driven planet of Celta."
—
Romantic
Times
The
Usual Suspects: Kay Bergstrom (Cassie Miles),
Janet
Lane, Sharon Mignerey (www.sharonmignerey.com),
Steven
Moores, Judy Stringer, Anne Tupler,
Leslee
Breene (www.lesleebreene.com),
Sue
Hornick, Alice Kober, Teresa Luthye,
Peggy
Waide (www.peggywaide.com), Giselle McKenzie.
My
Webmistress: Lisa Craig (www.lisacraig.com)
Excerpts
of all my work available at
www.robindowens.com
or www.robinowens.com.
Contents
Lladrana,
early spring
When
the Star Etalla glows bright and moves through the constellation Caen; when
mists envelop the stone circle high atop Archer's Mound; when the face of the
Moon is hidden—then the walls between worlds are thin, and you may Summon
saviors—or demons—from the Exotique Land. Send the Call. Choose well.
—Spring
Prophecy
T
he rush of rain
hit the stone pavement with hissing, tinny pings. Swordmarshall Thealia hurried
through the Castle's cloister walk, ignoring the silver fall outside the open,
pointed arches. The incessant damp weather made her aging joints ache even
under three layers of robes. She'd once loved to watch the rain. Once. Now she
avoided looking at it, listening to it, and wished she could avoid smelling the
miasma that rose from it.
She'd
been called the tough realist, harping on the harsh facts of Lladrana's
desperate situation, demanding action—but she couldn't face the rain anymore.
Dread
gripped her. She'd just stopped at the map room. She knew it was obsessive,
checking the status of the land every morning and evening, but she couldn't
help herself. She always hoped against hope that the tide of inhuman evil
wasn't creeping into her country. That morning especially she'd prayed
something had changed, so the Marshalls wouldn't have to risk the Summoning
tonight.
A
futile hope. She'd scanned the animated map of Lladrana, noting the breaks in
the magical boundary set by her ancestors against the Dark. She'd counted each
glowing white fence-pillar. Even as she had watched, two pillars had blackened
and vanished. The loss was escalating and the new gap in the northern defenses
stretched miles.
Fingers
of the first taint of evil, the small nasty poisonous creatures signified by
gray sludge, slogged to the border—and across. Stirrings of the more terrible
horrors—slayers, renders, soul-suckers massed, ready to advance to the new
breach. Chill fear had penetrated her bones.
Now
with fumbling fingers Thealia drew the heavy key through the slits of her robes
and stuck it into the iron keyhole of the thick wooden door made of grown tree
trunks—sacred oaks ritually harvested in bygone times. The door opened
smoothly, though she hadn't said the spell or pushed her shoulder against it.
The Knight Lord of the Marshalls must be inside. She wondered if he had brought
his brother—his Shield—too.
Her
lips thinned in irritation. She'd wanted a moment or two in the chamber to soak
in the sense of serenity that lived nowhere else in Lladrana.
He
couldn't appreciate the balm, even if he felt it.
Straightening
her spine and shoulders, she set her steps carefully to glide with grace into
the round stone Temple. The scent of rosemary and sage welcomed her.
Swordmarshall
Reynardus paced the sanctuary, tall, broad-shouldered, the silver streak of
hair at his right temple turned golden with age. Not even a small paunch
softened the man. Lines bracketed his mouth. They had deepened over the past
year as the Marshalls realized the ancient fence was failing and that they had
no idea how to recharge the shielding posts, make new ones or lace the magical
energy between them. Inhuman evil encroached upon Lladrana with sharp,
monstrous teeth.
But
didn't evil always encroach? It was Thealia's job to make sure the Marshalls
guarded and defended Lladrana—even when the steps might be drastic and deadly
to herself and others.
Reynardus
frowned and stopped near the eastern point of the pentacle, his robe settled
above the ankles of his metal boots.
"Tonight
is the time." His voice echoed through the stone room, sounding as sharp
as his footsteps.
"All
is ready." Her gesture encompassed the freshly incised pentacle, the altar
with the rainbow of glowing gemstone crystal chimes, the tools, the fruit and
wine, the enormous silver gong. She hoped her quilted overdress concealed the
shiver of apprehension that flowed along her spine like the touch of cold
steel.
Reynardus
scowled, thick black brows casting his dark eyes farther into shadow. "We
will be using a great deal of energy for such a chancy enterprise, perhaps too
much energy. Some of us may die."
Thealia
inclined her head and folded her hands at her waist. The peak of her coif made
her nearly as tall as he, and she was more than equal in Power. She had the
golden streaks of age and Power at both temples. "The Spring Song foretold
that only a Summoning has acceptable odds of success in beating back the
horrors and saving Lladrana. We must try despite personal danger," she
pointed out once again in their interminable discussion, wishing her more
patient husband were here for this final preritual check of the spelldesign and
equipment.
"I
don't like the idea of draining ourselves completely or setting our lives in
the hands of a stranger," Reynardus said.
Of
course he didn't. A Summoning would be conducted by all the Marshalls, and
guided by her husband and herself—out of Reynardus's control. The results too
would be out of his control.
Reynardus
tromped over to the white marble, blessing-carved fireplace that heated the
room. He held his hands to the warmth and shot her a glance. "We are
gifted with six opportunities to Summon Exotiques in the next two years. Why
not wait?" he grumbled.
Thealia
stiffened. Because they were desperate. Because it was their only hope. Because
something needed to be done
now!
She'd argued so time and again. Thealia
unclenched her teeth and managed a casual lift of her shoulders. "If you
insist we wait, the rest of us will expect you to pay the price of such a
gamble. We will want your Chevaliers dispersed to our lands to fight any
slayers and renders that infiltrate our estates while we wait for your
approval. Will you hazard your own domain until the next time for
Summoning?"
He
strode around the pentacle, his piercing gaze tracing the shining line of
quicksilver.
Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.
No,
he didn't like anything out of his control. Or anyone. His treatment of his
grown sons had demonstrated that to all of Lladrana. He'd tried to control them
with money and with Power, to form their lives as he pleased—and had driven
them both away.
He
might not be able to bend the Summoned Exotique to his will either. Exotiques
were notoriously strange and as unpredictable as they were powerful. Thealia
cheered a little.
"We
Summon an Exotique female, correct?" He rubbed his hands.
"So
the Spring Song advised." Thealia suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. He
obviously thought women were more easily intimidated than men. She pursed her
lips. He never should have married a spineless girl of the Chiladee family.
Thealia had said so at the time. "Yes, a
woman,"
she said.
"Hrrumph.
Hopefully
someone who won't want to return to their own world, like the last one did a
century ago. Wasted effort."
Thealia
tapped her foot under her gown, counting beats until she could reply calmly.
"Our chants and chimes and the gong will echo through her past to compel
her. The pattern has been approved by we who rule, the Marshalls of the
Castle."