Guardian of Honor. Robin D. Owens

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      The next morning the Marshalls had no sooner taken their seats around the Council table than the door flew open with a jar of harpstrings and Reynardus, Lord Knight of the Marshalls, strode in.

      They all stood, Thealia slightly slower than the others. Though Reynardus marched to his chair at the head of the table and took it with a haughty look, pallor showed under his skin. He’d dipped in the jerir. Had probably swum back and forth the length of the pool, Thealia thought sourly. She narrowed her eyes. His expression hinted at controlled emotion.

      “Events have not progressed well in the hours I have been gone. Hopefully now that I am back and can direct them, they will proceed better. I want to know what has occurred. I see we are all here except the dead Defau and Albertus’s ailing wife,” he said, still standing, knowing they all must sit after he did.

      Thealia inclined her head. “I am sure you have been updated on all events.”

      “We lost Defau and nearly lost Veya. The Choosing Ceremony failed. If we spend hours on training the Exotique, give her jewels and land as is required, she might still disappear like this—” he snapped gloved fingers, but the sound was still loud.

      Thealia’s temper simmered.

      Reynardus continued. “Furthermore, I hear you opened the jerir pool not only to the Marshalls and select landowners and Chevaliers, but to all Chevaliers—no, let me amend—” He peeled the gloves from his hands and flung them on the table. “You invited anyone to immerse themselves in our precious jerir. The jerir that cost us great effort to move from a natural pool to the Temple pool. With the right care it could have been saved and used for a year—”

      “I thought we had agreed to drain the jerir,” Thealia said. “But you were the one in charge of that. Did you have plans that the rest of us didn’t know of?”

      A touch of red lined his cheekbones. “That is moot now. I cannot believe you will let any scum off the city street use the jerir. I heard a stable boy dipped last night, a stable boy!”

      Thealia looked at Mace.

      His face hardened. “Your son’s new squire,” he said.

      Reynardus’s brows rose. “Luthan has a new squire?”

      “Bastien,” said Mace.

      Someone turned a laugh into a cough.

      Reynardus’s nostrils flared. “I should have known he’d have such poor judgment as to take a nobody stable boy for a squire, but for the rest of you to issue a proclamation to all the Towns for use of our jerir—”

      “We are the guardians of the land,” Thealia said. “Lladrana needs all the staunch men and women available to fight the evil confronting us. One of the ways to recruit the people we need is to offer them use of the jerir.”

      “As I said yesterday, I will be honored to train anyone who dips in the jerir,” Mace said. “Both your sons availed themselves of the jerir, as did some of the most important guild-people of the Town. Every hour more Chevaliers arrive to take advantage of our offer. We are building an army.”

      “An army of shopkeepers!” Reynardus sneered.

      Protests ran the length of the table.

      “With our magical boundary fields failing, more land than ever is being invaded by the greater monsters. And even the Townspeople are affected by the frinks falling in the rain, burrowing into the soil and turning the weak-brained into inhuman mockers,” Thealia said, pursuing the point when the others didn’t. “We need strong defenders. Lord Knight Swordmarshall Reynardus, do you have any report of your Song Quest you wish recorded in the Marshalls’ Lorebook of Song Quests?”

      Reynardus paled. He sat abruptly. “No.” The moments it took for everyone to sit were enough for him to regain composure. He swept a piercing gaze around the table СКАЧАТЬ