The Lone Protector

By I K Spencer

Isaencarl’s secret King’s Guard has been protecting the realm for eons. Guardsmen are cherished and revered throughout the realm, more so by many than even the beloved king and royal family. Chosen as young boys for their outstanding intelligence and sensitivity, only the purest of heart can make it through the rigorous training and selection process.

Now a full-fledged Guardsman, Anthen returns from the Dolonarian war with a troubled soul, which only worsens when he learns that an old comrade has gone missing. He journeys to Arnedon to search but his missing friend is just the tip of the iceberg. Anthen becomes ensnared in a deadly struggle against an evil sorcerer cult for the life a small child, with the fate of the entire world hanging in the balance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: I K Spencer
• Release date: Jun 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311447593

I K Spencer

I. K. Spencer lives in New Hampshire with his wife and family pets. He is currently working on several projects, including the next book in the Guardsman series. When I. K. is not writing, he works as a software engineer.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The first thing Anthen noticed was the smell, perhaps due to the fact that he could see little after stepping into the dim chamber directly from the blinding brightness of the midday summer sun. The distinctive odor—a blend of incense, oil, candles, and other smells he couldn't identify—seemed common to all temples in his experience, regardless of ideology. The sudden drop in temperature came in a close second to noting the telltale aroma. The heat had been suffocating moments ago but now he felt chilled to the bone, the sweat-soaked tunic clammy against his torso. He reached back to pull his cloak up over his shoulders but his fingers touched only the damp tunic. He frowned at the oversight; the special garment and its contents were seldom beyond his reach.

As the guardsman's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he took in his surroundings. Two torches framed an altar opposite the heavy door through which he had just stepped. A large, golden table served as the sole piece of furniture on the platform and a basket sat atop its lustrous surface. The wall behind the altar was bare, polished stone. The only light besides the pair of torches came from a row of stained-glass windows located far above the altar. His gaze drifted up to the colored glass, resulting in another frown. Something about the windows unsettled him. The midday sun should have been streaming in, illuminating the temple in a rainbow of colors, but that was not the case. The colored panes glowed but no light passed through them and the guardsman noted with unease that the light pulsed faintly in a slow but regular rhythm.

He focused his gaze on the patterns formed by the colored panes and the images were far from comforting as well. One showed a strange beast devouring a woman and the next portrayed a menacing figure hurling a fireball down at the chamber's occupants. Though unpleasant, the scenes bothered him far less than the odd pulsing of the many-colored panes. Disturbing imagery seemed to be a characteristic common to most religions, fear and guilt proven tools for motivating the flock.

Anthen saw little else clearly besides the altar and the windows, which made the cold chamber feel cavernous. The dim light penetrated just a few feet to his left and right. Beyond that was only blackness so the walls might be just beyond his field of vision or a league away. Turning back toward the lit altar, he could make out benches filling the intervening space on either side of a narrow aisle, which looked to be marble. He spied a darker, door-sized rectangle to the right of the altar.

A faint murmur drew his attention away from conjecturing about what lay beyond the doorway. He froze and held his breath, waiting to see if the noise would be repeated. The sound was reminiscent of a lamb bleating yet different somehow and unsettling. He instinctively reached for his sword and scowled at his apparent incompetence, finding the scabbard empty. Had he been fool enough to walk into an unfamiliar building unarmed?

The silence outlasted Anthen's wind and he took a long, slow breath. The air felt icy cold and he wouldn't have been surprised to see his breath, had there been enough light. His eyes slowly scanned the dark perimeter as he strained to listen, hoping to identify the source of the sound. The soft sound came again, this time more like a sigh, and the guardsman's head whipped forward toward the altar, identifying the direction from which the noise emanated. He held his breath a second time while he stared ahead. As before, the silence outlived his breath. He thought of calling out—he had no reason to suspect danger—but something within him warned against it.

His boots making no sound on the marble, the experienced warrior slowly moved up the aisle toward the altar. His gaze remained forward, relying on his ears to warn of any movement to the sides or rear. About halfway to the altar a faint gurgling noise from somewhere ahead confirmed he was on the right track. He reached the last row of seats and paused, not eager to step onto the lit platform where he would present a clear target to anyone watching from the shadows. He scanned the altar area for the source of the strange sounds but saw nothing. The raised surface of the platform, also marble, was bare and swept clean.

Anthen's gaze rose to the golden tabletop and came to rest on the basket. If the noise were coming from the altar, then the innocuous container seemed the only possible source. He studied the woven basket, perhaps a foot tall and at most three feet long. After a moment the side moved and, curiosity overcoming his fear of being seen, he stepped onto the altar to the table and peered inside.

The guardsman's grim, battle-ready expression dissolved instantly as he stared at the container's contents—a tiny baby, clad in a fine gown of white and gold. The child, apparently discerning his presence, turned toward the warrior and Anthen saw an angelic face with blue eyes and rosy cheeks. The infant smiled up at him and flailed its arms and legs in excitement, cooing happily.

Greetings, little one, Anthen whispered. What brings you to be in such a somber place on your own?

The baby, bald except for a few wisps of flaxen hair, replied with a gurgle and redoubled its animated movements. Anthen chuckled at the infant's glee; moved to see such vibrant new life after nearly four years of war, in which he had seen more than his share of wounded and dead children. He started to reach for one of the tiny hands but stopped halfway, noting that his hand was filthy and in no fit state to touch the child or its bedclothes, both sparklingly clean.

The tall guardsman glanced down at his bedraggled appearance and grimaced. His soiled traveling clothes, leather tunic and breeches, reeked after several days on the trail. He caught sight of his blue-eyed reflection in the surface of the golden table and his assessment worsened. His fair hair was a greasy, tangled mess and grime covered his face where it was not hidden by the shabby beard that had taken root since his last shave. For once he probably looked his age or older still; shorn, shaved, and washed he looked less than a score when he was actually just shy of the quarter-century mark.

A tiny hand gripping his index finger cut short the self-scrutiny. Apparently unconcerned by the newcomer's unsightly state, the baby sighed with contentment and popped its free thumb into its mouth as it gazed placidly up at him.

Are you chilled, precious one? the warrior queried softly, noting that the child's tiny fingers felt icy around his finger.

Anthen scrubbed his free hand on his tunic as best he could and caught one of the babe's chubby legs. It felt cold as well and he saw why; the child had kicked its blankets away. An awkward struggle ensued as he attempted to cover the infant's legs while handling the immaculate, white bedding as little as possible with his dirty hand. The child seemed to think it a game and added to the challenge by kicking with even more enthusiasm. The contest lasted a few minutes until the baby tired and submitted to the bedclothes, its large, blue eyes blinking sleepily.

As Anthen finished arranging the blankets, he heard a low, distant noise. He listened to the low tone grow louder as he watched the baby drift off to sleep and he eventually identified the sound as voices, praying or chanting in unison. He looked up toward the doorway to the right of the altar, some twenty feet away. Though still distant, the voices were coming from somewhere beyond that entrance.

He looked down and sighed—the child looked even more angelic in slumber. Though its grip on his finger remained firm, the infant seemed fast asleep, leisurely sucking its thumb. Anthen knew little of such matters but he guessed the babe to be no more than a half-year old. What was it doing here alone? Perhaps he'd stumbled upon a birth or naming ceremony of some sort, more than likely involving the approaching chanters.

Well, young one. It is time for us to part. It would not do for your dear mother to come upon a filthy stranger hovering over her treasure. Anthen leaned down and kissed the smooth forehead gently, breathing in the babe's sweet-smelling fragrance. May you have a happy, healthy childhood, and a long and bountiful life.

Though loathe to move away from the baby's comforting presence, the guardsman stood and tenderly pried the tiny hand from his finger before placing it beneath the blanket. The voices became clearer and light illuminated the doorway, signaling that the party had reached the adjacent chamber. With one last look at the slumbering, saintly face, he backed away from the altar and was swallowed by the temple's darkness once again.

He moved noiselessly back down the aisle to the entrance and paused there to watch, ready to slip away if any of the ceremony attendees noticed him. The doorway beyond the alter grew brighter and brighter until a robed and hooded form stepped through, carrying a large candle as long as a broadsword. A train of identically-clad figures followed the first, some carrying the tall candles and one carrying a large book. Their robes appeared white or gray in the gathering light but when enough candle-bearers had entered the chamber, the garments turned a bright yellow. And though the robes fit loosely, he could still tell that a good many of the newcomers were women. The last two figures through the doorway carried a large, shiny vessel, born atop a pair of stout poles. Anthen was surprised to see everyone in robes and not just the clerics but the ceremony must call for the practice. He wondered which two were the proud parents of the beautiful babe.

The column turned and followed an aisle toward the altar, the hooded figures continuing to chant. Each spoke softly but in perfect unison, collectively forming a single voice that was clear and resonant in the cavernous space. Exposed to many languages at the academy, Anthen found it surprising that he could not decipher a single word.

The vessel bearers set the container down on the table beside the basket, then backed away. Two of the hooded figures, one carrying the large book, stood behind the table while the others formed a loose circle around the pair. Their movements were slow but deliberate, as though practiced countless times. Anthen heard the infant begin to fuss and felt a stab of doubt when none of the figures made an effort to comfort it.

He also felt no relief when the book bearer pulled back her hood, revealing an attractive older woman. Though grandmotherly in age, her dark eyes and stern expression seemed devoid of any warmth or compassion. Her gray hair was pulled taut and pinned up, adding to the severe image. She opened the large book, the pages darkened and worn with age, and began to read. Her voice was loud and shrill and the child's protestations became more insistent as she recited in the unfamiliar tongue.

Beginning to doubt the nature of the ceremony, Anthen moved away from the door to a position partway up the aisle. Crouching, he felt for the dagger always kept inside his boot and nearly cursed aloud when he found the hidden pocket empty. How could have made such a blunder? He hadn't been caught weaponless since his first days at the guardsman academy; it was one of the first rules introduced to new recruits and repeated so many times that the practice soon became instinctive.

Adhering to another guardsman principle now second nature, he immediately put the mistake out of his mind and focused on deciding what strategy to employ should action become necessary. He reached over and lifted the end of the bench next to him. He tilted the bench up to determine its length, which he guessed to be about six feet, just shy of his own height. He could wield it like battle hammer, though far less effectively than Garrick, his mentor and a master with the actual weapon. He lifted the stout bench and moved a few steps closer to the altar, the piercing voice of the reader and baby's cries easily covering any noise that he might have made.

He didn't take his eyes from the proceedings and tensed when the second hooded figure behind the table approached the basket, now visibly shaking with its shrieking occupant's efforts to gain attention. The figure reached up and pulled the cowl back and Anthen almost dropped the oaken bench in shock. He stared in disbelief at the familiar face, his mind working frantically to explain her presence. The robed woman could have been Teya's twin!

At first Anthen thought the woman just bore a remarkable resemblance to his former comrade and lover. With Teya several hundred leagues away in Arnedon, that had to be the answer. The explanation made sense, for the golden, healthy face he beheld was the exact image he remembered, unchanged by the passage of five years. This woman's wavy brown tresses fell to her shoulders in an identical fashion and every feature of her warm, friendly face was exactly as he remembered Teya.

The guardsman's explanation, however, proved short-lived. When the familiar blue-gray eyes looked up and gazed directly at him, he knew in his heart it could only be her. She nodded and her lips curved to form that warm, inviting smile that had once been reserved for him alone. The slight nod of her head left no doubt that she recognized him as well and he felt a rush of strong feelings, his stomach knotted with excitement.

Feeling foolish with the bench held in his arms like a weapon, Anthen slowly lowered it to the floor and seated himself. He had a thousand questions but Teya would explain everything after the ceremony finished. She rolled up the sleeves to her robe and the smooth, strong arms were just as he recalled. Smiling broadly, he watched as she reached for the baby.

A welcome contrast to the older woman, Teya smiled adoringly at the wailing infant as she gently lifted it to her shoulder. She kissed the babe and whispered reassurances and its cries soon subsided. Anthen felt a pang of fear as he watched Teya expertly soothe the child. Was she the mother? It seemed likely and if so, just as probable that another among the hooded figures must be the father, and her husband. The thought caused his stomach to tighten even more but he forced the sudden fear away. He already knew that Teya had married another and he would greet his old friend and her husband with no less enthusiasm.

Teya had finished quieting the baby and now carried the child to the vessel. Shifting her burden to one hand, the Arnedonian woman dipped a white cloth into the kettle. She shook the excess liquid, presumably water, from the rag and tenderly dabbed the baby's bald head. The little one tolerated the bath without complaint, sucking its thumb and nestling against Teya's warm neck.

While Teya bathed the child, she and the other hooded figures joined the reader, repeating each phrase in perfect unison. Anthen's former comrade continued to bathe the baby, her expression joyful as she uttered the strange words. She washed the babe's hands and feet, then placed the cloth on the golden tabletop. Teya hugged and kissed the baby, then lifted it high above her head as the chanting grew louder. The infant squirmed, uncomfortable in the precarious position.

Anthen jerked with surprise as Teya brought the baby down quickly. He lost sight of it as she placed it in the large cauldron. The guardsman chuckled to himself as Teya was splashed in the face; the babe no doubt had little interest in sitting in the water, probably cool by now after the slow procession to the altar. Teya beamed and chanted in perfect unison with the others, her arm muscles taut as she held the struggling infant in its bath.

Anthen's smile abruptly dissolved as a thought occurred to him. Why wasn't the infant wailing? He stood to check but still couldn't see the child inside the deep vessel. He took a few steps forward and felt sick as he heard the unmistakable sound of the baby gasping for breath, then watched in horror as Teya quickly shifted her hand to push the struggling figure down.

NO! Anthen screamed and lurched forward, racing toward the altar. Something moved across the aisle and he tripped, tumbling to the hard, cold marble.

TEYA! STOP! He bellowed, scrambling to his feet.

The guardsman raced forward but out of nowhere, a wall of yellow, hooded forms appeared in front of him. He caught a last glimpse of Teya, smiling at him as she chanted with the others, then the faceless figures closed on him. He yelled to her as he fought, his voice growing hoarse. He battled desperately to break free and for a few moments, feeling bones snap under his expertly placed punches and kicks, he thought this time he would prevail. Their number seemed endless, however, and soon he was knocked from his feet under an endless rain of blows. The world turned yellow then, mercifully, the empty blackness came and drowned out the terrible sound of Teya's chanting voice.

Chapter 2

Blinding light greeted Anthen when he opened his eyes but he ignored the pain as he frantically searched to identify his surroundings. He sat bolt upright and shielded his eyes, his lean, muscular chest heaving and bathed in sweat. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the early morning sun streaming in the window and he recognized the plain furniture belonging to the lodging he had secured for the night.

Having determined he was in no real danger, the guardsman closed his eyes again to escape the glare. The small room felt stifling in the midsummer heat and he kicked free of the blankets, swinging his long legs to the floor. He had drifted off to sleep uncovered but sometime during the night, probably during the nightmare, he had pulled the blankets over him.

Leaning on his knees and cradling his throbbing head, he forced himself to relive the painful dream to see if he could glean any new information. This had become his morning ritual since the terrible nightmare started haunting him a few weeks earlier. Over the weeks the vision varied in minor ways but none of the new details had seemed noteworthy. Only the ending differed substantially; sometimes he was spared the final, horrible vision of Teya smiling at him and other times she would perform even worse horrors. Sometimes he saw her holding the lifeless infant over her head before the darkness came. That version usually caused him to wake screaming and the image of the Teya holding the dripping corpse would stay with him forever.

He had given up trying to explain the nightmare's purpose. None if it made a bit of sense and his only hope now was that Teya might have an answer. Actually, he expected that just seeing his old friend in person could somehow end the terrible visions, though he had also hoped that just his decision to travel to Arnedon a fortnight ago would have had some affect and that hope had proved futile.

His painful task finished, Anthen rose and moved to the lone window. He had reached Carael after dark and was eager to see the area during daylight. His gaze was immediately drawn to the wall across the street that continued on in both directions as far as the vantage point permitted. The wall enclosed the guardsman academy, the place he had called home for most of his life. Above the wall he saw only trees and a few rooftops, glinting in the morning sun, but in his mind he could see the bow range where he had spent countless hours perfecting his skill.

He still hadn't decided if he wanted to pay a visit to the institution. Though it had been his home for fifteen years, his cadet period now seemed like another lifetime, almost a dream. Besides, after five years, any of the cadets near to his age had graduated by now. He could look for a few of his old teachers but what did he have to say to them? He certainly wasn't interested in talking about his field experiences; most of those he would pay dearly to forget. Still, part of him wanted to at least see what, if anything, had changed.

The warrior saw little change in the wall itself or the adjacent street, already awake despite the early hour. One thing he did notice was the smell—the odor of too many people and animals in a confined space. He didn't remember the stench being so pronounced, even in the height of summer. Of course he had spent most of his time within the academy walls, with its green and open spaces. He couldn't imagine enduring the rank fumes in this part of the city day after day.

A knock at the door drew his eyes and nose away from the morning traffic on the street below. Unlike his dream counterpart, the elite warrior always had a weapon handy and he instinctively reached for his sword before approaching the door.

Who's there? Anthen asked cheerily, the handy weapon merely a standard precaution.

Your breakfast and hot water, sir, answered a high, timid voice.

A moment.

He wrapped a blanket around his waist and unlocked the door. The serving girl, barely in her teens, cast a nervous look in his direction before entering. She carried a tray to the small table beside the window, stealing quick glances at the tall stranger every few moments.

It feels like we are in for a blistering day, Anthen commented as he reached for his purse.

Aye and not a drop of rain, the freckled, skinny girl answered and smiled, eyeing the shiny piece in his hand. Makes me long for winter and I hate the cold. You're a smart one to get up with the sun before it gets too hot. The girl took the proffered coin with a curtsy and skipped out through the open door. Just ask for Posy, should you want anything at all, she added quickly as he closed the door.

Anthen gazed eagerly at the tray, especially the coffee, but shook his head with a sigh; he still had exercises to do. The serving girl was right about beating the sun but the hour already seemed late to the guardsman, who rose before dawn as a rule. It was a testament to the strength of the visions that he now often slept through the sunrise.

He dropped the blanket and commenced his morning ritual, starting with sit-ups. He would spend the next half-hour in constant motion, moving from exercise to exercise in a sequence followed for so long, since he was an adolescent cadet, that he executed it without conscious thought. In the already-stifling heat, his loincloth quickly became drenched from the rivulets of sweat running down his naked torso.

While Anthen pushed his body to its limits, his mind turned to the day ahead. Later that morning he would pay a visit to his commander and supreme leader of the King's Guard, and his stomach knotted in anticipation at just the thought of the meeting. He was eager to see the beloved older guardsman, an old and trusted friend, but he did not look forward to discussing his nightmares or his proposed solution. He knew Garrick would grant him leave to travel to Arnedon, but he still felt self-conscious about voicing the request. Embarrassing or not, though, he had learned to always be open five years ago, working with Garrick on his first assignment. They had prevailed against the traitor Cidrl in the end, but the cost might have been far less had he not kept details from his older comrade.

The disciplined warrior ended the strenuous workout, a mix of stretching and strength exercises, by doing push-ups while balancing on his hands. His upper body muscles rippled with the effort and his face contorted with pain as he pushed himself toward the failure point. When he could lift no more, he rolled smoothly down to his back and lay there, enjoying the satisfying and restful feeling that always followed his rigorous routine. He rose after giving his body a few moments to rest, the alluring smell of strong coffee drawing him toward the breakfast tray. He took a long swallow of the still-steaming black liquid and nodded; the cook knew how to brew coffee. He took a jug of hot water from the tray and filled the basin before proceeding to scrub his body from head to toe, taking breaks regularly to sip from his cup.

After drying himself and pouring a second cup, Anthen moved to the looking glass to shave, grimacing at the image that greeted him. He hadn't shaved since leaving Gates and the resulting beard was uneven and multi-colored, ranging from fair to dark brown. Though now at least clean, his unkempt fair hair nearly reached his shoulders. No wonder the skinny serving girl had initially appeared fearful of him. His gaze traveled down his naked form, considering the change in his body since he left the academy. He had added at least a stone, all muscle and added mostly in the last year. He had always stayed fit through exercise but had been pleasantly surprised to learn that the years of regular training seemed to have a cumulative effect as well.

He must admit, though, that his body displayed a more notable difference from the time he left the academy. He could count at least a score of sizable scars, earned from only five years in the field. Garrick had once called them medals but he felt fortunate not to have been maimed, lucky even to be alive for that matter. Fate didn't deserve all the credit though; preparation and skill were major factors in his survival. He had tried to communicate that to the men under his command during the three-year war against Dolonar but mostly the words fell upon deaf ears until too late. The fools thought courage alone would save them but he saw the awareness come to their faces once the fighting commenced and they realized they were fodder and about to die. That agonizing expression, more than anything else, haunted his memory of the war.

He fingered a particular ugly scar along his left wrist; that had been one of the first and always brought Teya to mind. Before a few weeks ago, the scar conjured a pleasant memory but now he saw the robed Teya when reminded of her, drowning the babe before his eyes. He forced the painful image from his mind and turned away from the unkempt figure in the glass, thankful he'd time to pay a visit to the barber on his way to Garrick's residence.

The guardsman quickly ate the breakfast of eggs, mush, and fatty pork before it had much chance to cool even further, swabbing up the runny yolks with chunks of fresh bread. He enjoyed the food and watching traffic on the street below, but the growing heat and poor air spoiled what could have been an agreeable meal. He donned his best suit and left the room, not bothering to look in the glass again. The worn gray tunic and breeches remained wrinkled from the trip but he possessed nothing better. He made a mental note to visit a tailor; the suit was good enough for the rough border town he'd left but far from adequate for Carael or Arnheart, the capital of Arnedon.

Though still early, a blast of moist heat assaulted him as he stepped from the inn. He felt foolish with the heavy cloak draped over his arm but the garment, with the weapons it concealed, accompanied him whenever possible. Squinting in the bright sunshine, he spied a cab down the street and hailed the driver. He would find a barber in Garrick's neighborhood, a nicer and hopefully better smelling part of the city.

Anthen gave the address to the driver sitting atop the roof of the small cart, then stepped inside. The pudgy coachmen looked at the guardsman warily and said nothing. Though officially represented as a school for upper-class boys, everyone in the area knew what actually lay behind the vine-covered walls—the training grounds for Isaencarl's elite warriors and spies. As a result, strangers in the area were not trifled with as a rule, for any might turn out to be a guardsman.

The driver's silence suited Anthen fine; he wanted to take in the sights during the ten-mile ride to the city center. The cabbie had lashed the coach doors open to keep the small space from becoming an oven but the guardsman began to sweat almost immediately. He sat on the edge of the seat and leaned out the left side, trying to find relief. The cart picked up a little speed once away from the densely populated area near the academy and the resulting breeze, though still hot, felt almost pleasant.

As the cab glided along the flat, paved road, Anthen kept an eye out for recognizable landmarks. He saw a few but most of the shops and houses induced no recollection whatsoever. For a short time the buildings receded and he could see fields of corn and wheat but then the closely clustered buildings returned. Minutes later they reached the outer wall, which would be of little use as a barricade if Carael came under siege. He had heard there were large gaps in the timber fortification and places where a section of the ten-foot wall formed part of an inn or stable. Time had rendered it impossible to defend but the lack of any gate or guard post still surprised the guardsman, since the Dolonarian war had just ended.

He breathed through his mouth as the driver fought for passage through the most-crowded sections of the capital. Traffic choked the narrow cobbled streets and the noise was deafening. The oppressive heat did not seem to dampen the bustling activity, though every vendor and pedestrian looked flushed and unhappy. The beggars and urchins looked hardest hit, moving listlessly through the dense traffic. The driver raised his whip to hurry along one waif who ventured too close, but the guardsman's icy stare warned the coachman to stay his hand. Anthen wished he could toss the lad a coin but that would only cause a riot, or result in the youth being beaten for the piece.

Carael's inner wall outdated the outer rampart by a century but had fared much better, in part because it was stone and also because it still had a purpose—separating the classes. Aside from live-in servants, only the gentry possessed the considerable coin and connections required to reside within. As the cart passed, the gatekeepers eyed the old coach with disdain but did not stop the driver; traffic flowed freely during the day but a large contingent of constables maintained the King's peace. After dark, however, anyone without papers or a hefty sum of gold would have little chance to pass within.

Beyond the inner wall the contrast seemed substantial. Though the city center covered just a few square miles it felt larger, with wide, tree-lined streets and manicured parks and gardens a common sight. The cab dropped Anthen at a busy square and he was amazed at how much cooler it felt compared to the area where he lodged. He could immediately identify the visitors to the area from the residents from the vastly different looks on their faces alone. The resident nobles looked flushed and angry while visitors, having experienced far worse conditions beyond the inner walls, wore an expression of serene pleasure, as though strolling through a pastoral meadow.

A fat, red-faced lady dragging a little dog interrupted Anthen's musing, cursing at him for loitering as she neared. He merely bowed and stepped aside, taking no offense. This angered her further and she threatened to summon the constable as she hurried past. The little white dog looked up at him forlornly as it struggled to keep up, no doubt embarrassed by the ridiculous coiffure it bore as much as the rough treatment. The guardsman knew a stroll through the sweltering slums beyond the wall would do wonders for her disposition but thought better of voicing the recommendation.

Anthen turned to survey the nearest row of shops and spied what looked to be a barbering establishment of some sort. Stepping inside the open door, he requested a shave and haircut before the finely-dressed proprietor could finish informing him that deliveries were made at the back entrance. The man's eyebrows arched in surprise and he looked at the guardsman more closely as he stated an outrageous price for the services, required in advance. Anthen handed over the lofty sum and followed the man to a chair. The barber, a small, thin man with slick black hair, did not bother to speak with Anthen as he worked. The guardsman ignored the affront. A confrontation served no purpose and anyone in his profession avoided attention if at all possible, though he did find the little man's impolite behavior telling. Back in the border town of Gates, such rudeness would likely result in the offended party cutting the barber's throat with his own razor. Here in the heart of the sheltered capital, this man felt no threat whatsoever from an armed stranger. Anthen wanted these people to feel safe but wondered if such extreme naiveté was entirely without fault; sheep were vulnerable after all.

Anthen looked far different when he stepped back into the street a quarter-hour later. Shorn and shaved he drew fewer haughty glares, though his shabby clothes dispelled any misconceptions that he lived in the area. On the other hand, he drew more furtive glances from the finely-dressed women he passed as he moved along the sidewalk in search of the guardsman leader's quarters. Though not classically handsome, his height, strong build, and fair hair often warranted a second look from women. He avoided meeting their gaze, however, having learned that his expressive, piercing-blue eyes often attracted even more interest from the opposite sex. He was not above using the gift but in his profession, one sought to steer clear of attention as a rule.

It was still shy of midmorning when he stopped in front of the stone building that housed the guardsman chief. The quiet side street had changed little in the five years since his first visit. His mind returned briefly to that night, which had ended his youthful innocence forever. On that night he had met Garrick for the first time, and first learned of the treachery festering in his beloved Guard. That night began the terrible journey that led him into Dolonar, to the top of Baenkeep, and to other, much darker places he would rather forget. For a heartbeat he wondered how the last five years would have been different if Garrick had not sought him out, but then forced the thought away. He knew neither purpose nor comfort came from such reflections.

Anthen mounted the steps and knocked. The door opened, not to the stout form of the old guardsman but to a woman with auburn curls framing a wide, friendly face, shiny from the heat.

Good morning, sir, she said brightly, drying her hands on an apron.

Good morning to you, madam. I seek Master Garrick. Is this his residence?

Aye. What is your name, dear? I'll tell him you're here.

Anthen.

A grand name. Come inside, dear, out of that awful sun. I'll fetch him.

She stood back to let him enter, smiling warmly up at him. She closed the door, then hurried down the dark hall. She was short and somewhat plump, though still shapely for a mature woman. Anthen wondered if he could tease Garrick about taking on a servant but the dress she wore beneath the apron seemed too fine for a maid or cook to wear.

Anthen? a familiar voice queried from another room. Splendid! Fetch some tea and cake eh? Oh, and coffee; the lad loves his coffee.

Anthen heard the heavy tread of the thickset warrior approaching before his bulky frame filled the width of the doorway at the opposite end of the hall.

Anthen! What a day!

His old friend hurried forward and the two men embraced, Garrick's massive arms wrapping the younger man in a bear hug. Having endured much together and gained the utmost mutual fondness and respect, the two warriors held the embrace without embarrassment. When they stepped back, Anthen felt the sting of tears and noted that Garrick's eyes looked moist as well.

Come, lad. Step into the parlor where I can see. 'Tis dark as night in here.

Anthen followed Garrick back down the hall and into the parlor. It had changed little in five years; the sparse furniture and rolls of parchment marked the room as place for work rather than socializing. The same two chairs were positioned in front of the unlit fireplace and Garrick waved the younger man toward one while he settled his considerable bulk in the other.

You are a sight for these failing eyes. You've filled out some, though still haven't learned to carry any reserve I see. Garrick teased, patting his round stomach.

Anthen laughed. And you've added more. Enough to carry you 'til harvest I should think.

Aye, and which of us will be thankful should there be famine.

Garrick had added to his already-considerable girth but Anthen was happy to see that his old friend, almost three score in age, still looked as strong as an ox and easily capable of swinging his mighty battle hammer. The younger man counted more wrinkles around the gray eyes and less blonde in the gray-blonde mane and beard but Garrick's tree-trunk arms, bared to the shoulder in the summer heat, still looked as strong as ever.

This room looks the same, Anthen commented as his gaze moved to the cluttered desk.

Garrick shrugged. It serves its purpose and it isn't really home to me so I have no need to change anything.

Anthen nodded, knowing that the quarters came with Garrick's position. Like Anthen, he was country-born and would never be completely at ease in the crowded city, even in the relatively quiet and genteel district protected by the inner wall.

"Well, Orneson lived alone so you've seen fit to change some things ..." Anthen's eyebrows arched to frame the unspoken question.

Garrick smiled. Helsbeth? She does a lot around here and is a ... friend. A good friend, the older man added sheepishly.

Anthen was happy for his old friend. The old warrior, a hero of three different wars, deserved as much good fortune as anyone. That didn't mean he was not above teasing his older comrade, however. I don't know about this. You know well that guardsmen should not form such liaisons. It's too risky. Garrick had once counseled him, correctly on that occasion, that guardsmen and women, with the exception of whores, formed a bad combination.

Oh, that rule is for field agents, Garrick quickly countered, turning red. I am too old and worthless for such precautions.

Though Anthen didn't entirely agree with the older man's response, he just laughed, letting the matter drop. As official leader of the King's Guard, Garrick was more important than any field agent since he alone knew the whereabouts of every active guardsman and decided most assignments. Garrick's predecessor, Orneson, had been a key, though unwitting, participant in the traitorous plot barely foiled by the two friends. Cidrl's spell had left Orneson insane and the tortured wretch had taken his own life in the end. Anthen had no desire to spoil the mood so did not raise the argument.

And how are you adjusting to your new role? the younger man queried.

Well, I think, considering everything. Garrick's broad face turned serious. I feel trapped at times in this city and I miss some aspects of the field but, for the most part, I am content. I enjoy seeing the king and his wonderful family regularly without suffering the social intricacies of court ... which I fear more than a legion of Dolonary regulars, truth be told, he added with a chuckle.

It pleased Anthen to see that Garrick had formed a strong bond with King Jamen. Guardsmen led solitary lives in general and being the leader added a significant responsibility and burden, which in the past was borne solely by the position holder. Garrick could tell no one, including Helsbeth, about the details of his work and during the tenures of Garrick's predecessors dating back many centuries, the guardsman leader conferred with the king once a year, at most. Thankfully, that practice had changed. The traitor Cidrl's manipulation of Orneson, undetected for years, had clearly demonstrated the weakness of a system where a man so important received so little scrutiny. The answer had been clear; the king must become more involved. Rumors within the elite corps held that Garrick and Jamen convened weekly, renewing a bond they had shared as children when then-cadet Garrick had tutored young Prince Jamen.

A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. Both men rose as Helsbeth stepped inside, carrying a tray. She beamed at Anthen and set the tray down on the small table between the two chairs.

Here we are. Sit. Sit, admonished the woman as she poured Anthen's coffee. How do you take your coffee, dear?

Black, please. Thank you, Madam Helsbeth, Anthen replied formally, taking the cup and saucer.

Just Helsbeth will do. I belong on this fancy street no more than this big oaf. She smiled and patted Garrick's knee. Here take some sweets, she added, handing Anthen a plate heaped with slices of cake. She poured tea for Garrick and handed him a plate with noticeably less cake. Give a call if you need anything else.

Visit with us for a bit Hel, Garrick offered, rising to fetch the chair from behind the desk.

No, no. I know you menfolk have important matters to discuss.

That can wait, although not too long, for once our business is done, I'll want much stronger than tea. Anthen is an old and dear friend. Sit.

Please, Anthen added when she looked to him for confirmation.

Helsbeth poured herself some tea and Anthen smiled as she took more cake than she had served Garrick, almost as much cake as she had heaped on his plate. She sat in the desk chair, which had been placed beside Garrick's, and set the plate on her lap. The old guardsman eyed the cake and scowled and she stuck her tongue out at him.

Touch anything but my knee and you'll be sorry. I need my strength to take care of the likes of you and you should skip the sweets altogether. She turned to Anthen before Garrick could argue. Where are you lodging, dear?

Er, outside the city. Anthen was caught off guard, enjoying their playful banter. To the south.

Really? So far? There are several fine lodgings around here. The ride up must have been awful!

Aye, it was at that. No offense, but I'll take that over lodging in the city, though it certainly smells better around here.

Doesn't offend me. I know what you mean. This place has a different stink to it. Helsbeth's brown eyes momentarily flashed with anger.

Aye, the stench of insincerity, Garrick added, sighing.

Their noses are up so high 'tis a wonder they can walk at all, Helsbeth said, and all three roared with laughter.

I take it you are not from the area, Anthen commented when the chuckles subsided.

No, and I didn't meet this devil in a church either, Helsbeth answered with a conspiratorial wink. From where did you journey? she added, adeptly changing the subject.

From the border plains, Anthen answered.

Gates, Garrick added, surprising his young comrade with such specific information; guardsman locations were kept secret. Anthen fought in the war.

Oh my, Helsbeth replied with obvious concern. I hope you were not wounded.

Nothing serious, ma'am. Garrick took it worse than I.

Bah, Garrick argued. Once we turned back the siege at Dolonhold, I had forever to heal. Anthen spent over three years driving the Dolonaries back across the border.

Gates has recovered nicely, Anthen interjected, not wishing to go over his war experiences.

Helsbeth nodded. That is good news. Those poor souls paid a dear price. We heard it was burnt to the ground.

That is true, Anthen replied. When we retook the plains, little remained standing. The king has been very generous, though. Everything is being rebuilt, and Gates is now protected by a stout wall.

That is wonderful. Now those good folk will be safe.

Anthen and Garrick exchanged knowing glances but said nothing. No wall could have stopped the massive invasion that had initiated the most recent war against the unfriendly neighbor. Dolonhold, the greatest of all fortresses, had barely held and that was in major part due to its location, on high ground at the center of a mountain pass. No wall would have stopped the Dolonarian offensive on the open flatlands.

Well, I'll leave you to your business, Helsbeth said as she rose.

Both men jumped to their feet, towering over the short woman, though Garrick, undersized in height for a guardsman, was almost a head shorter than Anthen.

I'll leave your lunch in the kitchen, dear Helsbeth said, turning to Garrick. I have errands and tea but should be back by mid-afternoon. My, Garrick's comrades are all so tall, she added as she turned to Anthen, lifting her gaze to meet his. I am privileged to meet you, Anthen. Please stay for dinner if you can. You take care, if I don't see you again.

Thank you, ma'am, the young guardsman replied, taking her hand. You as well. Take care in the heat.

Helsbeth gave Garrick a quick kiss and smiled at Anthen as she left, closing the door behind her.

She seems a fine woman, Anthen commented.

Aye. A good find. Having a woman around is quite an adjustment, though. I think I'll never get used to it.

Anthen nodded. It was probably how most men would feel but especially true for someone like Garrick, who had spent the vast majority of his life alone.

Well. Shall we move on to less pleasant matters? Garrick settled his considerable bulk back in his chair. How was your journey? You arrived sooner than I expected.

Anthen stared at the older man. Did the guardsman leader have someone watching him in Gates? You knew I was coming? He wondered if his old friend now had agents keep an eye on one another, another result of Cidrl's treachery.

Garrick's bewildered expression matched that of his comrade. Well, I asked you to come.

You summoned me?

Aye. Barely a month ago. That is why I am surprised to see you so soon.

Oh, Anthen said, seeing the confusion. I never received your dispatch. Like as not it arrived after I left.

The older man remained serious. You came on your own volition? Is there trouble?

No. Anthen raised his palms, trying to quell Garrick's obvious alarm. Well, not on the border anyway. I ... It is a personal matter.

Garrick's frown remained. Are you seeking leave? Are you ill, son?

Yes, to the first question. I believe not, to the second. I ... Anthen paused to collect himself. I wish to go to Arnedon. I am worried about Teya.

She has contacted you?

No. Well, I don't think so.

Well, which is it? Garrick asked in an exasperated tone, looking more alarmed than ever.

Anthen could understand his concern. Here was Garrick's good friend, not to mention one of his top field agents, acting very strangely. Also, he knew that the older man had a soft spot for the Arnedonian woman.

Let me explain. Anthen began, and told the guardsman leader about the disturbing, recurring vision, focusing on the facts and avoiding his powerful resulting emotions. Garrick grimaced when Anthen described Teya's final, terrible act; the older guardsman no doubt unable to resolve that shocking image with the charming warrior-woman he remembered. Garrick questioned Anthen on a few details, then both men sat for a time in silence, pondering the situation.

Do you suspect this event actually happened or is meant as a warning? Garrick asked, breaking the silence.

I don't know, the younger guardsman answered, shaking his head. He was relieved that his old friend did not question his sanity, though a dubious response would have been more surprising considering that both men had felt the effects of powerful sorcery first-hand. Anthen had his private doubts, though; in his short career he had already endured enough pain and torture to drive anyone mad.

Strange, Garrick commented absently. And I have news that might have some relation to your tale, or is just a bizarre coincidence.

Anthen's head shot up expectantly, desperate for an explanation for his dilemma.

I recalled you to send you to Arnedon. There is a situation of growing concern there and your relationship with Teya may be of use. Our—

Is Teya in some danger? Anthen interrupted, alarmed.

No, the older man replied quickly. Not that I'm aware of anyway. I have no information regarding Teya whatsoever. It is our man there that I am worried about. I have not heard from him in over six months.

You have sent a courier? Anthen prompted, his habitual stoic expression in place once again. He assumed that Garrick would not have waited six months to do something.

Aye. Three months ago but the man was detained shortly after crossing into Arnedon and not permitted to journey to the capital.

No papers? the younger man queried and Garrick nodded. Following standard procedure, the second agent had traveled without any official papers. Guardsmen carried no papers identifying them as members of the elite force but most carried normal military papers bearing an officer's rank. The courier, though, had not carried his military credentials into Arnedon, where they would only arouse suspicion. Is this an isolated incident?

No, Garrick replied. In the past year, we've seen a growing number of complaints regarding poor treatment of Isaencarl visitors to Arnedon. Our man related some of these in his last few reports. Nothing serious—no one has been harmed—but the rude treatment of our people is part of the concern. Relations have deteriorated in the last few years. It seems officials there have become less and less interested in maintaining good relations with us. Our agent complained that government officials increasingly refused to see him.

Did he recount any of their reasons?

Yes. Essentially they saw no point to it.

No point? Anthen repeated, not sure he understood.

Aye. They told him that an ongoing dialog with Isaencarl was not needed, since the two dominions shared no boundaries and no common interests.

Truly? the younger guardsman asked in surprise.

Garrick nodded.

Has this policy been otherwise confirmed. Formalized?

Yes, to the former anyway. King Jamen proposed a royal visit a year ago and was rebuffed. They sent a vague written response but the emissary echoed similar reasons to those given to our man.

Anthen's eyes widened in shock. If the Arnedonians had rejected a royal visit from Jamen, there was certainly cause for great concern. Isaencarl and Arnedon, governed by a ruling council since the last royal family died out, had been friendly allies for centuries.

Is there no explanation?

We have ideas, though cannot be sure. A certain religion has grown in favor, becoming especially prominent in the last few years.

Anthen's thoughts turned immediately to the robed figures of his vision. A mere coincidence? He looked up and guessed the older man was wondering the same.

The religious order itself doesn't seem to be the issue. From our man's reports and other accounts, they have done much good for Arnedon, especially for the peasant class. The problem appears to be the fervor in which the populace practices the faith. A side effect of their passion is an intolerance of people, and sovereigns, who do not share their beliefs.

And how do they express this prejudice?

They believe they are our betters, Garrick explained. Our man and others have heard our citizenry referred to as 'heathens' and 'heretics', and even 'barbarians'.

So there is no point to maintaining good relations with a country of infidels, Anthen concluded.

Exactly.

"And the church does not encourage this bias?" the younger guardsman asked, suspecting the opposite.

Garrick shook his head and sighed. By all accounts no. Our agent reported that he has attended numerous ceremonies and never heard anything to incite such feelings.

Both men remained quiet for a time, pondering the situation. Anthen's thoughts turned to Teya. Did she now have such opinions? She was never shy about complaining of the limited role of women within the realm of Isaencarl, but he never detected any other negative beliefs regarding his countrymen.

And your plan is for me to journey to Arnedon bearing diplomatic papers? the younger man asked. Anything less and he would likely fare no better than the courier.

I see no other way. The title of ambassador will get you to Arnheart and access to the proper channels if necessary.

And also mark me as a spy, Anthen mused, not complaining but simply stating a fact. You think our agent there is in trouble?

I fear it is so. The guardsman leader's pained expression showed his concern. "There are too many ways for him to have sent word if he remains a free man. Regarding the papers, do not use them if you think your chances are better without the title. I know you can avoid their border patrols and reach the capital without much difficulty, but if you choose that path, then discard the official title. It would be too suspicious for an ambassador to just appear in Arnheart."

Garrick knew first-hand that Anthen could move through Arnedon undetected. The young man was special, even among guardsmen. The gods had bestowed him with a magical sense that warned him of any approaching pursuit, and that special gift had saved their skin countless times against Cidrl and his minions. That extraordinary trait coupled with his guardsman training gave Anthen a considerable edge in avoiding discovery whenever he needed to.

You think the risk associated with using the credentials outweighs their value? Anthen asked.

Aye, for you. Garrick smiled like a proud father. Your abilities lessen the risk and I believe, without the papers, you will learn very little. However, the choice is yours. Other factors may play a part. The older man paused, seeming to struggle with how to broach a subject.

Teya? guessed Anthen, to which Garrick nodded, smiling guiltily. The younger man shrugged. I am not sure how helpful she will prove. She is married now and I have had no contact with her for at least two years. I do not even know how to find her.

The papers could help you there I imagine, the guardsman leader said quietly.

Anthen nodded. Official credentials might help him locate Teya. For his purposes he needed to see her but he held little hope that she would offer much help locating their missing guardsman. Knowing his true identity, she was the one Arnedonian who would see through the diplomatic ruse in a heartbeat and likely brand him as a spy as well. The thought made him uneasy. Beyond the fact that they were once lovers and he still possessed strong feelings for her, she could be a very dangerous foe, with capture and exposure the least of his worries.

Well, we need not discuss this area further, Anthen said, eager to leave the precarious matter behind. I will take the papers and make the decision once I reach Arnedon. Tell me of our missing comrade.

You may know of him, Garrick answered, rising from the chair with a groan. He is but a few years your junior so you might recall him from the academy. The stout guardsman moved to his desk and shuffled through the papers. Let me see ... Yes. He graduated two years after you. The man's name is Dunsten.

The name hit Anthen like a blow to the midsection. Dunsten? he cried, his head jerking around in surprise.

Aye, Garrick answered warily. You know him?

Yes. Anthen's calm exterior returned, though the sick feeling remained. I tutored him with the bow ... He was a close friend back then. He pictured the stocky sixteen-year-old with fiery red hair and freckles, which matched his personality. The exuberant young man had been only a passable archer but an eternal optimist nonetheless. Wait. Dunsten is three years my junior. He must be barely beyond apprenticeship; how did he secure such an important assignment? He looked to his comrade for an explanation.

Garrick sighed. Our numbers had fallen so low after Cidrl ... and with the war on ... some were graduated prematurely.

Anthen nodded. Though it put those guardsmen at risk, he did not doubt that the move had been necessary.

I tried to keep the premature graduates from too much danger and Arnedon seemed safe and a good fit for his charm.

Anthen smiled at the last bit. Dunsten's tongue seldom stopped wagging and his broad, toothy grin was infectious. And he stayed on there?

Not at first. He had an abbreviated apprenticeship there, for a half-year, and then joined the war. After a year on the front I needed a new man in Arnedon and his predecessor recommended Dunsten.

Anthen nodded, silently taking in the details. He hadn't thought much about the difficult situation facing the young guardsmen who joined the ranks after him. Cidrl's treachery had ended the lives of well over a score of guardsmen, and with the elite warriors sorely needed in the ensuing war against Dolonar, numerous cadets had been forced to graduate early and forego the usual yearlong apprenticeship. The move was not fair but neither had it been fair to thrust him against the powerful traitor, fresh from the academy with no field experience whatsoever. Anthen thought of how many lives Cidrl's treason had touched and felt his old anger rising.

Here, Garrick said gently, interrupting Anthen's thoughts. Dunsten's reports.

As Anthen took the sheaf of papers he noted the older man's pained expression. The guardsman leader nodded, as though he knew what Anthen had been thinking.

Garrick excused himself to fetch their lunch while Anthen read the reports, after arranging them in chronological order. Dunsten's written words echoed Garrick's explanation. Even the early reports reflected a hint of concern over the treatment he received. At first he admitted that it might just be his perception but then cited several examples of a growing lack of respect. In one dispatch, Dunsten reported an unfair eviction and that the landlord's disdain for him had been obvious. The next few reports echoed Dunsten's mounting frustration as he sought an explanation until finally a rude drunk in a tavern provided the answer. Upon learning that Dunsten hailed from the realm of Isaencarl, the stranger had

Reviews for The Lone Protector

[Letitia Sivowicz · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Nice follow-up to Lone Apprentice. It's a good read if you like quest fantasies. The same principals are back along with some new and interesting characters. Great imagery and I loved the ending.

[Hilly Pomeranz · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Lone Protector is a fantasy adventure about a special warrior who goes searching for a missing friend and ends up going on a long quest to save the life of a child hunted by a group of powerful sorcerers. I found it fast paced and easy to read, with lots of interesting characters. It's also a good love story.