Sorceress of Faith. Robin D. Owens

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      “We’re all concerned with the defense of Lladrana and now finding the master who directs the monsters to invade,” Chalmon said.

      Smiling coldly, Jaquar said, “If anyone wants to challenge me for leadership, I’m available.”

      Venetria dipped her head. “So noted.”

      Chalmon shrugged, turned the subject. “No Sorcerer or Sorceress could pass. No Lladranan with Power could breech the shield. That means we use someone from the Exotique land. Someone for the Tower community. Our Exotique.”

      “We could ask the Exotique Alyeka,” Venetria said.

      “She’s one of the Marshalls. We can’t be indebted to them. We’d lose our independence,” Chalmon snapped.

      “Summoning our Exotique is already planned,” Jaquar said.

      “The master said, ‘No Lladranan can harm the nest,’ as if just the presence of one who is not Lladranan can hurt the Dark.”

      “A natural weapon,” Chalmon breathed.

      “Think what she’ll be like when she’s trained!” Venetria said.

      Jaquar said, “The Summoning Song will bring to Lladrana a person who will work well with us.”

      Venetria sucked in a breath. “Yes, but she must be strong if we are going to send her to the nest.”

      Jaquar said, “Any Exotique the Marshalls can contact will naturally be strong. As eldest and most powerful of the Tower, I believe Bossgond sent the Marshalls a list of the proper qualities.” Jaquar felt his mouth twist. “Bossgond didn’t notify me, but I received an acknowledgment from the Marshalls.”

      Frowning, Chalmon said, “Bossgond didn’t tell me, either. It is time he breaks this hermit existence.”

      “I’m sure he’d be glad to hear you tell him so,” Venetria said sweetly.

      Chalmon continued. “The Exotique must be well-trained before we send him or her to this master you discovered, Jaquar. He or she must at least be trained enough to report what is found in the nest.”

      “We may not have that luxury,” Jaquar said. “Not if the maw spews out more sangviles, as well as the other horrors—the slayers and soul-suckers and renders.”

      “And dreeths.” Venetria shivered. She’d barely survived a battle with one of the winged lizards.

      Chalmon scowled. “Yes, we must be prepared to sacrifice the Exotique, for the good of Lladrana, for the planet Amee herself. Knowledge is more important than one life. If worse comes to worst, we could attach a reporting orb to her and send her with a destruction spell—perhaps she’d be able to untie that weapon knot you have.”

      “I would go myself, if I could,” Jaquar said.

      Venetria looked at him sharply. “You are the best plane-walker. You already tried. Do you think the shield applies to all planes?”

      Again Jaquar’s laughter was bitter. “It applied to as many as I could reach within the limits of the spell—twenty or so. I’m not sure exactly where or what the physical location is, but it’s big.”

      Making a note, Chalmon said, “Other things to research—the shield, whether it is only magical or is physical also. Where the nest could be. When the Exotique comes, I’ll train him or her.”

      “No! If she’s female, like the last one, she will want a woman as teacher!” Venetria said.

      “The new Exotique is mine,” Jaquar insisted.

      Now Chalmon barked laughter. “All of us will want to work with someone so Powerful. This is exactly why we need the Marshalls to Summon her. We don’t work well together.” He shot a glance at his lady. “Sometimes not even those who are intimate with each other.”

      Jaquar’s heart tore. His father and mother had been an excellent team, stronger together than apart. Perhaps that’s what had drawn the sangvile to them.

      Chalmon and Venetria sniped at each other, then Chalmon faced him.

      “We’ll call a Gathering for tomorrow at the Parteger Island amphitheater to discuss all this,” Chalmon said. “I’ll move the process along.”

      Venetria sent him a fulminating glance, then looked back to Jaquar. “What is the Marshalls’ price for the Summoning?”

      Jaquar said, “I promised them objects, not favors. Some books, most of which are duplicates in all our libraries. Whatever magical weapons we have. Old battlespells.”

      “A price easy to meet,” Chalmon said.

      Venetria nodded. “Yes. I think I only have two weapons in my Tower—what of you?”

      “One,” Jaquar said, but it was an incredible one, something that perhaps only an Exotique could handle.

      “I have four,” Chalmon said.

      “Of course you must pretend you’re the best,” Venetria said. And then they were arguing again.

      “I’ll coordinate with the Marshalls as necessary in the days to come,” Jaquar said. He wouldn’t lie to the Marshalls, but he wouldn’t welcome them unless he had a use for them.

      With thumb and forefinger, Jaquar tapped the crystal and Chalmon and Venetria disappeared. An hour later he had sent the contract and books as first payment to the Marshalls for the Summoning.

      Then he crossed to his armchair and sat again, letting the soft, old leather settle around his body. He wondered if the other Circlets had forgotten one very important thing, and if they had, whether he could take advantage of it.

      The Singer, the Oracle of Lladrana, had prophesied that the next Exotique would be best suited for the community of the Tower. The Singer had also told them of the time of the next Summoning—when the Dimensional Gates between Lladrana and the Exotique land aligned. The Marshalls knew this. It was tomorrow night.

      In all the history of the Tower, the Sorcerers and Circlets had never come to an agreement in a day. Chalmon was too optimistic. He wouldn’t be able to forge a plan amongst all the individual personalities of the Tower.

      Jaquar sank back into his chair to sleep. It would be a long time before he could face his bedroom adorned with the quilt his mother had made and the landscapes his father had painted.

      He would not argue with the rest of the Sorcerers and Sorceresses at Parteger Island, had no intention of compromising. The Exotique was his. For knowledge. For vengeance.

      Colorado

      The next evening

      Power hung in the air like a fine mist ready to condense into dewdrops. It shimmered with every ripple of chimes, every strike of the gong—the music only Marian could hear, had heard for the past month. Now the sounds reverberated in a pattern that set her nerves humming as she finished taping a ten-foot red pentagram on her living room carpet.

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