Protector of the Flight

“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 notice 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.

She stretched, long and slow. Her mind caught up with her body. No pain! She rolled over to her back, eyes wide open…

And saw a bunch of strangely dressed people standing around her whispering, and not in English. Her insides clutched and she was suddenly afraid to move. These folks were armed. Those who wore richly colored poncho-like robes had chain mail underneath and a sheath on each hip. The people in leathers had swords at their sides.

She gulped, realizing they looked a lot like the people she’d glimpsed in the crystal on the hill for years. Riding flying horses—like those winged horses who’d come to look at her, speak to her in her mind.

She remembered falling through the face of the hillside—how could she do that?—and…and…being greeted by someone.

Glancing around, she saw that same someone, a small woman with silver hair, smiling at her from the right side of her bed.

“Hi, welcome to Lladrana.” Her face clouded. “It would have been better if you’d told us you were hurt as soon as you came.”

“Urgh,” was all Calli could manage.

A woman’s laugh came. “Give her a break, Alexa. Don’t you remember how it was?”

Calli struggled to sit up, strong hands grasped her shoulders from behind and lifted her easily. She heard a tinkling song. She eyed the people around her. They were all tall and beautiful, with golden skin and dark hair and eyes, not quite Asian looking. Other.

“You’re not in Kansas—well, Colorado—anymore,” the other woman said.

Alexa chuckled and patted Calli’s hand. “You’re not in Oz, either. This is Lladrana, another dimension and I’m Alexa Fitzwalter.” She beamed.

Calli must be dreaming.

A tall, auburn-haired woman, plump and pretty, came to stand next to Alexa, the second woman who’d spoken in English. “Hi, I’m Marian Dumont, late of Boulder, now a Circlet of Lladrana.” She touched a golden band she wore around her forehead. The hammered design showed clouds and lightning.

Sticking out a hand, Alexa said, “I came from Denver in the spring. Pleased to meet you, Ms.—”

Letting her gaze roam, Calli figured out that the rest of the folks were watching intently and not talking because they didn’t understand English. She wondered what language they spoke. She looked at Alexa’s hand, put her own in it and received a surge of warmth that flooded her and left her fingers tingling. She licked her lips and tried her voice. “I’m Callista Torcher. Calli.”

The redhead jostled Alexa aside in a teasing manner and held out her hand. There was something about the gesture, maybe the way Alexa and Marian stood, that warned Calli that she was being tested somehow. Besides the incredible little surge of…something…she’d felt from Alexa, the smaller woman’s grip had been firm and strong, her hand callused.

Calli shivered and slid her fingers against Marian’s. This time she felt a heady zip that made her head buzz. She shook her head to clear it. Marian released her fingers and chuckled, a richer sound than Alexa’s.

Large hands squeezed her shoulders, making her aware of them once more. Man’s hands. Thumbs brushed her shoulder blades, then the hands vanished as a man to her left circled the bed she was on. He wore leathers the color of butterscotch that were obviously expensive. He made a flourishing bow to her. “Faucon Creusse,” he said, and she decided that was his name.

Never in her life had a guy bowed to Calli. She nodded at him, but too-handsome men made her a little wary. They usually had great expectations of a woman and didn’t return much. At least the rodeo cowboys she’d known tended to be that way.

“So, how much French do you know?” Alexa asked briskly, drawing Calli’s attention back to her right.

“Uh, none,” Calli said.

Marian nodded. “How good are you at languages?”

Calli shrugged. “Pretty fair. I have quite a bit of Spanish.”

Alexa made a face. “I’m terrible. I’ll have a bad accent for the rest of my life. I chose to stay here on Lladrana.”

Calli froze. She wasn’t ready to accept she was in a different place—who would? And if, by some impossible chance, she was somewhere else, she wasn’t ready to cope with that, either. The hurt of her father’s rejection still shadowed her heart, echoed in her mind.

An older lady spoke, and the language was French sounding, for sure. This woman wore tough, dark brown leathers. She walked up the right side of the bed to stand next to Alexa and did a half bow. “Nuaj Hallard,” the woman said.

Again Calli nodded. Who knew what they did as greeting here? From the long robe with no armor that Marian wore, they might even curtsey. Like bowing, curtseying had never been an item in Calli’s life.

“Lady Hallard’s right,” Alexa said. “Callista doesn’t need to know Lladranan to get a tour of the Castle.”

Lady? Castle? Uh-oh. Sure didn’t sound like Colorado.

With glee in her eyes, Alexa smiled at Calli, and Calli braced herself for a zinger. “How would you like to see the winged horses again?”

The flying steeds couldn’t be real, could they? She just stared at the grinning Alexa, the smiling Marian and the serious Lady Hallard. After a minute, Calli said, “Say again?”

“Winged horses,” Alexa said.

“Flying horses,” Marian said.

The words rang in Calli’s ears, but she could almost see a big question mark hovering above her head with the word duh?

“It’s true,” Alexa assured. “We have flying horses here, called volarans.”

“From the French word fly,” Marian said.

“Uh,” Calli said. She did want to see them again.

“So,” Alexa said, “do you want to humor our madness?”

Once more, Calli scanned the room full of men and women—some in robes and armor, some in leathers that looked to be for fighting. Caution, deep and strong, swept her. Weapons. Armor. These people were at war. If they were being nice to her, it was because they wanted something.

If they were really here at all and she wasn’t crumpled on the ledge of the hillside from cracking her head hard—having a dream more imaginative than ever before.

A man said something and Lady Hallard withdrew and Alexa and Marian stepped aside. Another guy, this one not as tall but more solid and with a gleam of devil-may-care that Calli knew all too well from her rodeo days, bowed in front of her and offered his arm. Alexa circled his other biceps with her fingers. “My husband, Bastien Vauxveau.”

He was married. Good. But to Alexa? She’d married a guy here? Then Calli noticed a strange thing. They both had a golden color pulsing around them, merging where they touched, sparkling with glitter. Wow. And they looked really good together. Happy.

A bolt of yearning for such love struck Calli so hard she nearly doubled over. She’d thought she and her dad were partners. She’d loved him, ignoring some of the offers for sex and a serious relationship with rodeo men. She’d had her plans to build up the Rocking Bar T to a fine horse-training ranch with Dad and when she was successful look around for a man.

All gone.

Bastien quirked a brow at her, wiggled his elbow. Alexa grinned. Yep, a happy couple. Partners. Calli turned wide eyes to Marian.

“Yes, I’m married, too. To a sexy Sorcerer. A Circlet like myself.” Marian answered Calli’s unspoken question.

Oh, wow. The back of her neck tingled. Slowly she turned her head to see Faucon Creusse smiling at her.

“He’s unmarried and available,” Alexa provided. “But we need to talk a little.”

“We need to talk a lot.” If she weren’t dreaming. From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman bobbing her head.

“She’s available and unpaired, too,” Marian said. “This culture has no bias against homosexuality. There are different levels of commitment, here, too.”

“I’m straight,” Calli said absently, doing another scan of the people in the room—different colored and worn leathers—some people wore bands around their arms. Did that mean anything? From the gazes she met, she thought about a third in the room were “available.”

“Marian’s right,” Alexa said. “She and her husband were married in a formal, long, magical ceremony that bound them together, hearts, minds and souls.”

“Not to mention bodies,” Marian murmured.

“Bastien and I haven’t done that yet. But we’re Paired. The guy, here—” Alexa poked him gently in the chest “—is commitment shy.” Bastien winced as if he got the gist of Alexa’s words. Calli didn’t doubt the statement.

“I see,” she lied, turning back to the women and Bastien. She looked at Marian, dressed in a long linen dress of beige with a deep over-robe of dark blue, remembering her words. “You’re a Circlet, a Sorceress?”

“Yes,” Marian said. “I’m only visiting the Marshalls’ Castle, to help in the healing spell and to aid you in adjusting to Lladrana. Alexa called me by crystal ball,” she ended blandly.

Calli let that one go. She stared at Alexa, who wore a blue-green robe over chain mail, had a sword at one hip and a short, cylindrical sheath at the other—and a nasty scar on her face. “You’re a…” Calli didn’t know what.

Alexa dipped her head. “I’m a Marshall.” She tapped the short sheath. “This is my Marshall’s baton.”

Calli vaguely remembered the words from long-ago history lessons, but the concept still eluded her. “And that means?”

“She’s the crème de la crème of magical warriors in this society,” Marian said.

So Alexa had landed on her feet. Calli wasn’t surprised. The woman had an air of complete competence about her. Calli gestured to Lady Hallard. “She doesn’t wear the same sort of clothes, so she’s a…”

“Very observant,” Marian said.

Calli didn’t think so. It was just natural curiosity.

“She’s a Chevalier,” Alexa said.

Now, that word Calli knew. “French for horseman.”

“Right,” Marian said. “In this instance it translates to ‘Knight,’ and in this culture, it means those who ride volarans or, if no volarans are around, horses. Lady Hallard is the leader of the Chevaliers, with men and women under her.” Marian gestured to a tall, lean man who wore the same yellow and green as the Lady. At Marian’s wave, he nodded, unsmiling, to them.

Again a tinge of wariness slithered up Calli’s spine. Warriors. Knights. She sensed there was a lot no one was telling her, even these seemingly welcoming women who said they were from Colorado. What was going on?

Bastien joggled his still-extended elbow. “Ven?”

“What could a tour hurt?” asked Alexa.

“You will certainly confirm that you aren’t in Colorado anymore. And once you see the volarans—”

“You’ll know you aren’t even on Earth,” Alexa said cheerfully.

Calli shuddered.

Marian touched her shoulder. “It takes some getting used to.”

Ignoring the banter, Calli swung her legs around, pushed off from the high bed and jarred to her feet. Bastien caught her hand in his and placed it on his arm, steadying her balance. There was a faint spurt of warmth from his touch but it felt unlike the women’s.

She should have shrieked in pain at the combination of movements. Instead, she felt almost as good as new. There was still a tenseness about her muscles, a sense of the fragility of her mended pelvis, something she didn’t think would ever go away, but she moved as if the fall had been a year ago, not months. That, more than anything, scared her into believing she was “somewhere else.” She didn’t want to think about that, though. She cleared her throat. “What did you do to me?”

“We healed you,” Alexa said.

Marian said, “We have magic. All of us have magic, and you do, too. It’s called Power here, and the culture is an aural one—more based on sound than vision. They call the Supreme Being ‘the Song,’ and use singing to channel their magic.”

Yeah. Right. Calli narrowed her eyes. Marian looked like a woman who would call the Supreme Being “Goddess.” Calli hadn’t often run into that religion, except the time when a pagan group held some sort of retreat on a campground near town.

She licked her lips.

“Want some water?” Marian asked. She went to an elegantly carved wooden corner table topped with marble and poured water from a pitcher into a heavy glass goblet, then brought it to Calli.