Selected praise for Robin D. Owens
“Robin D. Owens…provides a wonderful, gripping mix of passion, exotic futuristic settings and edgy suspense.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz on Heart Duel
“Like a well-played symphony, Guardian of Honor resonates in the hearts of those fortunate enough to read it.”
—Huntress Reviews
“Fans will gobble up Guardian of Honor and still be hungry for more.”
—The Best Reviews
“Robin Owens blends medieval history, a richly layered magical world and fine characterizations to weave a spell-binding story in Guardian of Honor.”
—BookLoons
ROBIN D. OWENS
SORCERESS OF FAITH
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Usual Suspects: Kay Bergstrom (Cassie Miles), Liz Roadifer, Janet Lane, Sharon Mignerey (www.sharonmignerey.com), Steven Moores, Judy Stringer, Anne Tupler, Sue Hornick, Alice Kober, Teresa Luthye, Peggy Waide (www.peggywaide.com), Giselle McKenzie
To Kay
Who encouraged and supported me from the
beginning and continues to do so—
my stories would be so much less without you
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
1
Boulder, Colorado
Late spring, early morning
She was running, running, running. Marian wished the passages were narrower, twistier, because the thing that chased her was huge and deadly. With each breath putrid air seared her lungs. The cavern’s corridors oozed slime.
She stumbled, clutched the plastic ball holding her hamster close. Looking down at her cross-trainer shoes in horror, she saw the laces were untied. She always tied them in perfect double bows.
A vibration hit her back. The monster’s breath. Stitch cramping her side, she used terror for a burst of speed and reached narrow upward stairs. Fresher air, laden with blood instead of poisonous acid, fouled her nostrils. She climbed, thinking the thing behind her could flow up the stairs. It wanted her blood, her guts, her brains.
Bumping from side to side, scraping skin raw, protecting her pet, she jumped up the steps and burst out onto a wide ledge of rock. With agility she didn’t know she had, she pivoted, avoiding the edge, hit the cliff face. Leaned into it. Gulping night air, she felt the thing brush past her, and fall screaming.
She couldn’t stop herself from looking down. Saw something worse than the huge shattered body of the monster that had hunted her. Her younger brother Andrew was surrounded by chanting black-robed druids who looked like death personified. Some of the druids held scythes, some gongs, some chimes.
Prone Andrew was, more pale than he’d ever been in life. Shrieking, “Nooooo!” she put the ball between her feet, lifted her arms as if she could call thunder that would set his heart to thumping again, push his blood; lightning that would nail his soul into his body, fire the spark of life.
A wet chuckle came next to her, freezing her blood. Slowly she turned her head to see a cowled figure with gleaming red eyes, a face not quite human but which might have been a man’s, once. He opened his mouth wide, and it got larger and larger, ready to swallow her whole. She raised her hands, fingertips arcing blue fire—
Marian Harasta jolted from the dream, covered in clammy sweat. Morning light streamed through the high windows of her garden apartment and she gasped in relief.
Before she could exhale, the chimes sounded, rippling through her nerves and echoing in her mind. Then the gong reverberated, arching her body off the bed. Her vision blurred and distant chanting rushed in her ears. She was bowed for one long moment before she fell back onto the bed, panting.
First the nightmare. Now the sounds. For the past months, dreams and auditory hallucinations had peppered her life—sleeping and waking. She steadied herself with even breathing. She would figure out what was happening to her. She’d had a full physical the week before, and a psychological evaluation, too. And she was perfectly fine.
The strangeness had started with sounds, then the dreams, then an itchy feeling as if she were a butterfly escaping from a constrictive cocoon, ready to stretch her wings. The notion was more than a little scary because her academic career was on track and her life tidy and under control. Except for Andrew, her half brother with progressive-remitting Multiple Sclerosis.
Brrrrinnng. The telephone. She flung off her covers and stumbled from bed, staggering to the phone charger on the kitchen counter. She had to blink a couple of times to read the caller ID. Her mother, Candace. Hell. The relationship with her mother, too, was out of Marian’s control. She let voice mail answer.
Marian wiped her face on the sleeve of her flannel nightgown, pondering options to understand, then fix, her problems. She couldn’t discuss this with her academic professors of Comparative Religion and Philosophy, or her advisor sheparding her through her doctorate. Her university profs would not understand. She didn’t want any oddness attached to her spotless reputation as she planned on a professional career.
Since the problem wasn’t physical or psychological, she’d considered psychic phenomena. Since she’d been fascinated by alternative spiritualities for years, she thought she might find help there.
She’d examined all the notes from all the classes she’d taken outside the university—New Age classes that fed her thirst for knowledge—searching for answers. Somewhere there was a solution for what plagued her and she would find it.
As she padded to the bathroom, she checked on her hamster, Tuck, curled in his cage in the alcove. A half-chewed piece of carrot was within paw reach. All was well