Protector of the Flight Page 2

  Clang! An alarm shrilled. Everyone in the room tensed.

  Alexa cocked her head, her hands fisting. “We have no volarans,” her voice broke. “We can’t fly to battle.”

  Stranger and stranger. Calli shot glances around the room, wanted to run, didn’t think she could hobble fast enough to escape…what?

  “How good are you with horses?” Alexa demanded again, squeezing her arm.

  Calli knew she flushed but shot up her chin. “Excellent. I’m an excellent horse trainer and one of the top barrel racers—”

  People ran to the great door, flung it open, sending in bright summer-morning sunlight. A whir of wings rushed into the room.

  Cheers rose outside. A young man shouted something.

  “They came back,” Alexa whispered. Tears ran down her face. “The volarans have returned.” She looked up at Calli, sniffed. “I knew it was right to continue with the Summoning.”

  Hooves hit the stone courtyard. The next moment people were spreading out in the room, making way for…for a winged horse.

  Calli blinked. Blinked again. The pegasus didn’t vanish. In fact, more swept into the room. Ten. With dozens outside. Chestnuts, roans, piebalds, even a palomino or two. She caught her breath in sheer wonder and thought the top of her head would explode with this huge wave of horse-thoughts and horse-love radiating from them, inundating her.

  A gray clopped up, stretched his wings, forcing people aside.

  Her mind spun. Her mouth dropped open.

  The stallion’s large dark gaze fixed on her. We love you. You are the Volaran Exotique. She heard the words in her head.

  Then chimes clashed and she felt the sound storm through her, plucking at muscle and bone and nerve. She cried out, arching away from Alexa, escaping the woman’s grip. Reached for the winged horse, missed. Calli landed on the floor again on her butt and shrieked with the pain radiating through her pelvis.

  Only agony existed. Everything else around her dimmed—she couldn’t see. Again and again the chimes rippled, but they sounded muffled as she grimly fought through the pain and hung on to the edge of consciousness.

  Then someone struck the gong. Once. Twice.

  She only heard a part of the third beat. Sweet darkness descended.

  2

  “She’s hurt!” Alexa Fitzwalter, once of Denver, now a Swordmarshall of Lladrana, whirled to face the Marshalls and Chevaliers.

  Few were paying attention to her or the new Exotique. They were herding the newly arrived volarans out the door, the gray stallion grumbling, then taking off. People ran with unseemly haste to find their own winged companions.

  The defection of the flying horses ten days ago had devastated the Chevaliers and Marshalls. A black pall of despair had filled the Castle. Calls to battle had been blessedly few—only three—but fighting without the flying horses was nearly impossible. Lladrana would be lost to the invading monsters without volarans. Dread had circled the Castle like a vulture.

  They’d been desperate when they’d worked the ritual, praying the one they Summoned would somehow lure the volarans back.

  A medica strode forward and crouched by the woman on the floor. Alexa turned back to watch the examination. She didn’t even know the woman’s name yet, but Alexa feared for her. She and the Marshalls had Summoned this woman from Colorado, away from Earth to this world, so Alexa was responsible for her until she made her own place on Lladrana. Biting her lip, Alexa shifted from foot to foot, grateful when her husband, Bastien, joined her.

  He cocked his head, as if he listened to the mind-Song of a volaran—or many. His nostrils flared, then he grinned. He grabbed Alexa and spun her around and around, then placed her gently on her feet. Holding hands, they looked down where the medica sat next to the new Exotique, smoothing blond strands of hair away from a pale forehead.

  “The volarans came back,” Bastien said. “For their Exotique.”

  Alexa leaned against him in relief.

  The medica said, “The Lady’s pelvis has recently been broken in three places.”

  Alexa winced.

  Glancing up at them, the medica said, “I suggest we all join together to do a healing spell.”

  Alexa said, “I’ll call Marian, the Exotique Circlet Sorceress. She can help, too.” The community of Sorcerers had had Marian Summoned from Boulder, Colorado, just a few weeks ago.

  “Good idea.” The medica hummed a slow lilting spellsong that settled the woman deeper into a healthful sleep.

  Marrec watched as Lady Hallard closed the door of the healing room behind her, muting the continuous lilting of a healing Song. Hallard, the noble he swore loyalty to, ran her fingers through her hair.

  He pushed from the wall where he’d stood, guarding the corridor for the last hour. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Good,” Lady Hallard rasped. She rubbed her throat. “She might not be able to ride long hours horseback, but flying a volaran will be possible.”

  “She’s the right one?”

  Hallard shrugged. “Has to be, if you believe in the Song and the Marshalls’ Summoning.”

  Amusement unfurled inside him, mixing with deep gratitude that his volaran had returned. He’d never prayed so hard as he had the last ten days, wanting Dark Lance back. Marrec was a poor man with only the one treasure—his volaran—to his name.

  But he answered his liege-woman. “I don’t dare disbelieve in the Marshalls’ Power.”

  She grunted, pulled out the gloves tucked in her belt and put them on. “Think I’ll take a late-afternoon ride—if my lady volaran will deign to do as I say.” There was irritation in Hallard’s tone. Like all the rest of them, they’d thought of the flying horses as their property. They’d never been so shocked in their lives as when the volarans—even those born and bred in noble stables—had all deserted to the wild herds and the legendary Volaran Valley. It had never happened before.

  All the Chevaliers—and the Marshalls—would be uneasy for some time.

  Looking at him from under lowered brows, Hallard said, “You’re one of those who can hear and talk with the volarans mentally, right?”

  He kept an easy smile on his face, though all the muscles of his body had tensed. Now that their special gift was known, those like him could be either prized or destroyed by the rest of the Chevaliers, and everyone knew it. A delicate situation. A balancing act. He ducked his head. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Huh. Your volaran say anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “I asked Bastien, he says they aren’t talkin’ to him, either. Says they want to talk to the new Exotique first.”

  Marrec lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Bastien’s the best with the winged steeds.”

  Without another word, the Lady strode away. Marrec exhaled a sigh and rubbed his forehead. Lady Hallard was rich, had six volarans and fifty Chevaliers who’d sworn fealty to her.

  He had one volaran, Dark Lance, that he couldn’t even consider his anymore. He shuddered. He wasn’t getting any younger. Time to seriously think about making his fortune, taking risks on the battlefield for booty. He’d have to give the Lady thirty percent of what he earned, but somehow he must come up with a stake to buy a small parcel of land where he could retire and ranch. He didn’t want to spend his older days as a pensioner in Lady Hallard’s castle. If he lived that long.

  The Chevaliers were hoping that the new Exotique would participate in a Choosing and Bonding ritual for a mate. Marrec hoped, too, that she might choose him.

  Fast footsteps approached. Marrec moved to stand in front of the door, listening to the stride. A tall man, rich because he had good, hard leather for the heels and soles of his boots. Arrogant. Probably a nobleman.

  Even before the man turned the corner so Marrec could see him, Marrec sensed it was Faucon Creusse. A nobleman with many Chevaliers, wealthier than most Marshalls, and nearly of equal status. Attractive to the ladies.

  Faucon glanced at the door behind Marrec, probably didn’t even not
ice Marrec.

  Faucon would want the woman. Marrec had heard that Faucon was one of those men who was innately drawn to Exotiques. Something in their mental Song or their strangeness or even their otherworldly scent, drew Faucon like light drew moths. He’d sniffed around Alexa until Bastien, and Bastien’s brother, Luthan, had interfered.

  He’d met the Circlet Sorceress Marian and given her expensive gifts. Marrec had heard the nobleman had become close friends with the Lladranan-Who-Was-Now-Exotique, Marian’s brother, the Chevalier Koz who had a Lladranan body and Exotique mind.

  The new female Exotique behind the door had been expressly Summoned for the Chevaliers, would bond better with the knights than any other segment of Lladranan society. All the more exciting for Faucon. Yes, he’d want her.

  Any smart Chevalier would want a Powerful, rich, volaran-beloved woman.

  Marrec wanted her, too.

  Faucon’s expression was pleasant, but his body tense with need. His eyes burned. A smile formed on his lips, but he didn’t meet Marrec’s gaze. “Lady Hallard asked me to relieve you or join the healing circle.”

  Marrec knew which one Faucon preferred, but the man was being courteous to him, lesser Chevalier, giving Marrec the choice. He didn’t particularly want to take part in the healing, his Power was only fair, but he wanted Faucon near the Exotique even less. The nobleman already had too many advantages and would no doubt charm the lady out of her senses…when she came to them.

  “I’ll go in,” Marrec said. He opened the door and entered, shutting it behind him.

  He’d never been in the Marshalls’ Healing Room before and hesitated on the threshold. For a stone room inside a stone tower in a stone Keep, it looked unexpectedly…soft. The curved room was paneled with wainscoting along the lower wall. Plaster above it was painted warm tones of some pinky-yellow-peach colors that seemed to shift in the light from the fat pillar candles of dark green and the sunlight. A row of pointed windows showed a summer-blue sky. The healing dais was set on richly layered rugs with long gold fringe. Atop the dais was a thick mattress, from the looks of it, made of pure down. The injured woman lay on her stomach, still fully dressed.

  The rhythm of the chant did not break, though several gazes fixed on him. The circle was a mixture of Chevaliers and Marshalls—with two Circlets, mages of the highest degree—the Exotique Circlet Marian, who held the yellow-haired woman’s right hand, and her own husband, Jaquar.

  Alexa was on the opposite side of the prone woman and held the new Exotique’s left hand and was linked to Bastien. Marrec could see the strong aura of Power rippling the air from the magical and prayerful Singing. He stiffened his spine. He didn’t care for linking with others, but he was needed. “I’ve come to replace Lady Hallard,” he said.

  Two people raised their connected hands, indicating he should insert himself between them. Marrec sucked in a big breath. He’d be between the Circlet Sorcerer Jaquar and the leader of the Marshalls, Swordmarshall Thealia Germaine. The Power that cycled through the group was strong indeed. Flying out of his class. Too bad.

  Moving as smoothly as he could, he walked around the foot of the dais and the people there, then stood in front of a plush chair and slowly insinuated himself into the circle, disturbing the flow of magic as little as possible. The medica at the foot of the table handled the uneven stream as he joined the group.

  The force of Power rushed through him, the Singing whipping his blood, flooding his every cell, even as he passed most of it from Jaquar to Thealia, sending it around and on.

  His hands heated to unbearable tenderness. He held on. The Power threatened to rock his balance. He hunkered down. His chest constricted. He opened his mouth to breathe and when he could, he added his voice to the Song.

  It was an intricately layered Song, blended of voices from bass to soprano, harmonizing, hypnotic, healing. After a few minutes, Marrec became accustomed enough to the huge energy pouring through him to sink into the deep softness of the chair. He was aware of every nerve of his body, every pulse of his blood, every hair on his head—and some of those were turning silver with the Power he handled—making his own gift stronger, opening up rivers in his mind that had been trickles before.

  Wondrous.

  He wouldn’t walk away from this place the same man he’d been when he entered the door. The thought scared him, but he squeezed the fear into a tiny ball and hid it from the others.

  His throat cleared, and he sent strength to his voice, to his words, full of Power. Gazes flew to him. He inclined his head. He knew he had a good voice, clear and true, he just hadn’t been able to use it fully until now.

  A whispered murmur came to his mind. You add beauty and Power to our healing. Our thanks. Swordmarshall Thealia on his left dipped her head to him. The compliment surprised him, but he kept his Song steady.

  Now that he was linked, he could see the green energy web they spun, blanketing it over the lady, subtly shifting it into her, healing as it went.

  The lilting melody swept him along and now he felt the traces of the others—the steely bond between all the Marshalls at the table, forged time and time again as they linked during battle; the sizzling might of the Circlets, with hints of wind and wave and lightning—and an additional strange tang of other from Marian. Exotique.

  Another taste of spice and blood and alien from Swordmarshall Alexa. Exotique.

  And a fabulous, poignant sweetness that cycled several times before he realized where it originated. The lady on the mattress. Exotique.

  She would never go unnoticed in Lladrana, this woman Summoned for the Chevaliers. Her hair was filaments of light, a color he’d never seen, never imagined. As golden as freshly minted jent coins. For long moments he stared at her hair, wondering at its fineness, pondering the texture.

  Her face was turned toward him. Her skin was not as fair as Marian’s, slightly more tanned than Alexa’s. The woman worked outdoors, and for longer than Alexa had, but Alexa had come to Lladrana in the early spring and it was now late summer. Still, the new lady’s skin was not the color of a Lladranan’s and here and there he could see the interesting blueness of her veins.

  Her brows were golden, too, her lashes a shade darker.

  Her features were…not what he thought of noble. Surreptitiously, he studied Alexa and Marian. Of the three Exotiques, he’d have said that Marian looked the most “noble” with straight nose and comely eyes and lips, though her hair was that odd shade of dark red.

  The light flickering on the golden hair caught him again, brought him back to the woman. Her energy was stronger now, more mixed with theirs. A new pitch had been added to the Song through her, vibrant, potent—pure, raw Power.

  Marrec swallowed. All three of the ladies were Powerful, though their magic took different aspects, and the new one contained a greatness that matched the other two. She was for the Chevaliers, his portion of Lladranan society, the knights. He couldn’t see her in battle. He shook the thought away. Anticipating too much.

  She whimpered. Marrec flinched. Thealia squeezed his fingers, reminding him to keep the Power flow even.

  Their healing net had penetrated the woman’s body, was working on her broken bones. Marrec sensed this wasn’t the first time the procedure had been done in the hours since she’d arrived, but the fifth or sixth. Everyone had taken shifts of Singing except the Circlets and Alexa and Bastien, who had stayed the entire time. But then Bastien carried the wild magic of a black-and-white.

  Marrec wasn’t tired at all, in fact he was still a little jittery from joining the circle, but he could tell others were at the last of their strength.

  He glanced around, some looked worn and weary, gray-faced. Everyone here was of higher rank than he. It was not his place to tell them when to leave.

  Projecting his voice, he added more Power so some could relax.

  Eyes met his, and thanks were nodded.

  As the Song swept him away, he studied the woman they healed again. A redness had come to
her cheeks. He stared—of course Lladranans flushed, but it wasn’t nearly as noticeable as this. Her lips had parted and he saw even white teeth, but her mouth attracted his gaze. It was a deep pink. He’d never seen lips that color. A wash of heat slipped along his blood as he considered what the rest of her would look like.

  Her breasts were flattened on the mattress, but they looked round and full. He eyed her butt and legs, muscular, like a rider’s would be.

  He’d heard there were no volarans in the Exotique Land, but that there were horses. She had the tone of horsewoman.

  A frisson of awareness raised the hair on the nape of his neck. He lifted his gaze from the woman to find four beady eyes fixed on him. Marrec tilted his chin at the two beings who hunched on either side of the injured woman’s head, still staring at him.

  Then Marrec realized what they were—magical shape-shifting beings called fey-coo-cus. One had become Alexa’s companion after she arrived, the other had originally come from Exotique Terre with Marian. Today they appeared as foot-long rabbits, brown and white with dark patches over their eyes and noses as pink as the horsewoman’s lips.

  They should have looked harmless, fluffy. They looked dangerous and threatening.

  The door opened and several Chevaliers walked in, including Faucon and Lady Hallard.

  “This is a good time to switch singers,” the medica rasped. “We have lowered the web through our patient and it is below her. We can swap people, then raise it one final time through her body. That should be enough.”

  The rabbits turned their combined gazes to Faucon. He stopped under the weight of their scrutiny, then nodded. “Salutations, feycoocus.”

  The magical beings twitched their ears, radiating welcome. Even they wanted Faucon for the woman. What chance did Marrec have?

  3

  Calli woke to foreign singing. Muzzy-headed, she didn’t know where the sound came from, but it was a lot better than the chanting of her tinnitus. She felt good, except a little cramped, and her face was squashed into something so soft she had trouble breathing.