Protector of the Flight (3 page)

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.

M
arrec 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 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.