Guardian of Honor

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

GUARDIAN OF HONOR

ROBIN D. OWENS

To Deidre, Diane and Mary-Theresa

For encouraging me to breathe life into old dreams

In Memoriam

Sonya Roberts

Acknowledgments:

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

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

1

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

The 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.”

She paused for emphasis. “All the other communities in our society have agreed with this course—the Sorcerers and Sorceresses of the Tower, the City-and Townmasters, the Knights and Chevaliers of the Field, the Seamasters. Even the Cloister—the Friends of the Singer and the Song who guide us spiritually—advise this action.

“A fighting woman of the greatest magical power will answer our Call and be Summoned to Lladrana to take her place as a Marshall. She will stay and help us triumph against the Dark.”

“And not a female demon. There will be Testing?”

Thealia smiled coldly. “You made that a prerequisite of your cooperation, didn’t you?” And won that point. Her loss still stung. She would have much preferred to have communicated their needs and the rewards honestly to the Exotique. “Yes, Reynardus, she will be Tested thrice as soon as she appears. The pool is ready.” Thealia gestured to a large, square ritual bathing pool on the other side of the round chamber, beneath the lower points of the pentacle. “The next day she will undergo the Choosing ritual. Once she is Paired with a Lladranan by a blood-bond, we are sure she will stay.”

She watched as he spun on his heel and a spur scored the stone wall. He examined the chamber with one comprehensive glance. He’d seen and evaluated every detail of their preparations in that brief scan—part of his Power.

“Everything seems in order. I’ll take my place in the ritual tonight.” Without another word he exited the Temple.

She’d thought so all along, but she was glad to see him go.

The tinkling of time-chimes reminded her of the hour. She let her shoulders slump. The moment had come to prepare herself for the great ritual of Summoning, and the Testing afterward. She gazed wistfully at the blue velvet pads atop the low stone bench that half-circled the room, the pillows and rugs on the floor. She wanted to sit and close her eyes and steep her soul in the comforting, powerfully magical atmosphere. But the Marshalls would need every particle of that calm magic to Summon the one who would help them save Lladrana from the Dark.

Thealia closed, locked and bespelled the door behind her. She walked to a pointed arch of the cloister window that opened into the wet-slicked pavement and verdant grass courtyard, and forced herself to look at the pummeling rain.

As each drop clinked against the stone, a tiny scaled worm wriggled from it. Most of the worms sizzled to death in a puff of greasy stench when they reached lush grass. The few remaining burrowed into the earth, purpose and effect still unknown.

Thealia shuddered. She hated rain.

Colorado mountains, early spring

Alexa Fitzwalter slogged through the knee-deep snow, every step difficult. She’d thought she had survived the worst of her grief over the death of her best friend, a friend who was more like a sister, but here she was, doing something completely crazy. Following a dream, a song that compelled her to trek through the mountains at night. Dangerous and mad. She couldn’t explain her actions rationally, so it must be another aspect of mourning.

Yet she trudged on, knowing that although she couldn’t escape the hurt inside her, she could leave Denver and all her problems behind for the moment.

Such sad thoughts on such a cold, perfect night. The soft feathery snowflakes were as heartbreaking as the sharp, pristine air she drew into her lungs. A night that spoke of mystery and life and challenge, if you dared to take it, shape it, live it.

Just that easily the image of her friend Sophie was back in Alexa’s thoughts—Sophie who had been the sister and only family Alexa had ever had. Sophie laughing and dancing through the snow-crystal laden air, whisking sparkles of ice around her in a shimmering aura.

Sophie had been bold and vibrant; Alexa deep and brooding. But they’d both been risk-takers. Who else would be crazy enough to start up a law firm right out of school, trusting themselves and each other to make it work; knowing that they were both alone in the world with no family and no family money to cushion the start of a business? They had only themselves and their friendship to depend upon. But it had been enough.

Then Sophie died in a car accident.

Alexa’s face chilled as tears froze on her skin. No use wiping them away since others would follow.

She stopped and adjusted her fanny pack, panting through her mouth, sending puffs of white vapor into the air. The cold made the inside of her nose crackle. She squinted up the hill—no sign of a track, but she’d hiked this area often enough to know where she was going. Odd that she was drawn to this point, never a favorite.

It was just one more crazy thing, part and parcel of the dreams and the auditory hallucinations. Alexa had been hearing things that weren’t there, that no one else heard. Not instructions from God—she was no Joan of Arc—but a stream of rising and falling vocal music. Ripples of a chime that brought rainbow colors to her mind. And the gong. The gong haunted her.

It had sounded first, then the chime, then the chants. They had alternated and mixed. First the gong had been muffled as if echoing from a great distance. Then the sound had sharpened, become insistent, reverberating in her dreams until she woke. Awake, the memory of it would ring through her, shattering her thoughts all day.

Finally the sound in her mind had forced her into her car and led her here.

Obviously she wasn’t coping as well as she’d thought with Sophie’s death.

Sophie would have expected Alexa to handle the situation better, to be more flexible. Vital, ebullient Sophie would want her to live, not simply exist in a world temporarily bleak. She would expect Alexa to adapt again as she had so often when her life ruptured. Instead, Alexa followed a song.

The sky was so black as to be eternal, with sparks of light pinpointing lost dreams. The gauzy veil of the Milky Way draped across the bowl of night was so beautiful as to make her soul ache with longing—to be a star, to be the sky, to be a night goddess.

By the time Alexa reached the summit the snowflakes had stopped. Brilliant white peaks encircled her, as if all the starshine in the universe coated them. She lifted her gaze to the stars again and pinpricks of light dazzled her eyes through the tears.

When she blinked them away, she saw the silver net descending, coalescing into a solid silver arch before her. She couldn’t move a muscle. Her in-caught breath was so quick and big that she doubled over, coughing.

The gong sounded, the chimes tinkled a scale. The arch settled.

Her heart thudded fast and she heard her own gasps. She wanted to run, but before she could lift her feet, the beauty of the arch and the stream of music coming from it soothed the ragged edges of her mourning. The sheer relief at having her hurt gone made Alexa stay.

Reality or illusion? If she waited would it fade like all dreams?

Hunched, Alexa saw the shiver of rippling silver in the arch. Silver flowing like mercury, then parted to send a stream of voices lifted in music to her, along with a sparkling rainbow.

Now there were words, heard more in her head and her heart than with her ears, affecting her, feeling real, especially since the chants weren’t songs of exaltation but pleas. “Help us. Come to us. We need you here as no one there ever will.”

Alexa straightened and her throat tightened at the truth. No one needed her here.

The music enveloped, the gong enchanted, the words invited. She could only stand and stare, bemused. It went on and on until she couldn’t feel her feet, and her fingers hooked around the straps of her pack, numbed.

“Come to us.” Warmth and light and sound tugged at her.

She brushed a hand down the silver arch. It was warm to her touch. Planting a hand against it, she pushed. It was solid.

“Come to us.”

The delicate scent of spring blossoms and renewal drew her to the rainbow. Most appealing of all was the small bud of hope that unfurled within her, the hope that she could help. She could find a place of her own where she was valued, where she fit.

At her back was the cold, friendless night.

Alexa stepped through the arch. Rainbow crystals bathed her and sunk into her skin to shimmer like glitter all along her nerves. Her loose hat fell off. Her fine hair lifted straight out from her head. She’d look like a brown dandelion. She threw back her head and laughed at the joyful effervescence. Hope and excitement flowed through her. She flung out her arms and twirled into a dance.

The monster attacked.

Big, twice as big as she. Black hairy bristles all over its body. Long fangs. Claws sliced, shredding her down coat, releasing a flurry of feathers into whistling winds.

Fear jolted her. She screamed but heard no sound. A paw-hand sporting foot-long gleaming claws slashed at her head. She ducked, but its hair brushed her face raw.

Move! How? She had no weight.

She rammed her own arms up against the beast. They stung with shock, but the blow propelled her and the monster apart.

Another clawed swipe. Her pack loosened and vanished. Her gloves whipped off in the wind. Better her stuff than her.

Alexa saw an opening. Escape!

It was a bright hole with rainbow traces. Panting in terror, she kicked with all her might, connected with the monster, ducked, rolled, spun, struggled to the hole and plunged into it feet-first. The last thing she saw was a huge red mouth and teeth dripping yellow spit. She didn’t know if the beast growled in fury or tried to bite her head off. Or both.

The hole sucked her through.

And into a maelstrom of sound. A full orchestra rose in triumphant crescendo.

A flash swept across her vision—a pentacle? She landed hard in the center, on a pavement of multicolored stones. The groan rattling from her teeth echoed.

Solid. Real. The music faded to a background murmur.

She looked up. People in rich robes stared at her. She was among humans. She closed her eyes in gratitude.

When she opened them she was circled by swords.

“This is our savior? The one we risked our lives for? It’s puny. And ugly,” Reynardus said.

Thealia stared in shock at the small being in the pentagram’s center. It was partially feathered, something she’d never seen before. Never anticipated. A female avian.

The chanting, gong and Summoning had gone well up to a point. Thealia had been sure they’d lured their Exotique fighter, caught her—the spirit and Power of her had sung through the connection. They’d lost her in the doorway, but only for a few seconds.

Looking at the entity, so different from the woman she’d anticipated, Thealia felt her blood drain from her face until her lips felt cold and stiff. There must be some way to save the situation.

Reynardus sneered down his nose at her. “This is the ‘fighting woman of the greatest magical Power’ you promised, Swordmarshall Thealia. Those were your words, were they not?”

If he said so, they were. His Power included a perfect memory.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Just as I thought. Wasted effort. The Power we used to bring this thing here will keep us all drained for days. This is a disaster.” He dropped his sword and turned.

“Stop!” ordered the Medica. She was a healer, not a Marshall, but they listened. “You’ve already broken the link between us, but don’t break the circle. And do you, Knight Lord Swordmarshall Reynardus, think small is weak? What of this?” She opened her hand and blew away a protective sphere. The glowing starlike atomball floated free. She flicked it to Reynardus.

Reflexively his ivory baton appeared in his hand and tipped the ball away, sent it spinning across the circle.

Thealia’s wasn’t the only gasp. A loose atomball, and the whole circle of Marshalls depleted from the Summoning! She froze with horror as it sped to her husband, Partis. He didn’t have the Power to hold it even at full strength. His round face showed only minor strain as he caught the ball on the tip of his staff.

“I believe this is the first Test for the Exotique,” Partis said, “to measure her Power.” He tossed the ball directly to the small female rising to her feet.

Alexa wanted to believe she dreamed, but the physical sensations were all too real for her to ignore. She wondered—

Shit! The little star the strangers played keep-away with came straight at her! She ducked, held out her right hand, and the ball smacked into her palm with stinging force. It burned and sent rivulets of heat pouring through her veins, up her arm. And here she’d followed a song to help. Look where it got her. Somewhere else.

She gritted her teeth and bore the pain from the searing star.

Pretty nice tricks these people had. She had no intention of being “monkey in the middle”—and she knew by the tone of his words that the big guy with broad shoulders considered her something like a monkey. He swaggered with arrogance even standing still.

Holding the light made her dizzy, but when it finally cooled she loosened her fingers and dropped it. A golden walnut clattered to the floor and rolled away with a clatter.

The circle of people stared at her, some with their mouths open. She tried to suppress her shuddering, wishing it was from the lingering cold of the Colorado night, but she knew it was from adrenaline pumping through her. She fought to gather her wits, sure the fantastic events would continue to move at the speed of light—or magic. She must be ready and think on her feet, as she had so often done during her childhood in foster homes.

Alexa had concluded that they’d brought her here—the big silver gong shining within the circle was sufficient evidence of that. With the pentacle she was in, their circle, and another on the floor that they stood within, magic seemed to be the method they’d used.

Inhaling deeply, Alexa studied them. They were all taller than she. She lifted a shoulder. Nothing new. Everyone was taller than she.

They looked suntanned—a light golden brown—and all had black hair, though the tints and highlights weren’t the same, nor was the thickness. Even the man with the most lines on his face had a full head of hair. No male-pattern baldness here. In fact, they all had streaks in their hair—silver or gold, over their left or right temple, or both. That was the oddest thing about them and she sensed it was significant.