Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

heirs…gone.
    Both Damerien and the Guardian had known that their victory
in the so-called Battle of the Liberation was far from final and that Syon was
by no means free.  Cragen would not give up Syon, the beautiful jewel he’d
stolen from the Dhanani, so readily.  But they had kept their peace, letting
the people celebrate their newfound independence, thinking that they had time
yet while Cragen licked his wounds and rebuilt what he had lost.  Plenty of
time to secure Syon against him.
    Then again, upon word from Byrandia, Damerien had mobilized
his own army at once, taking great pains to hide their numbers, and for what?
To protect mages from mage hunters—mages who were already under the protection
of a Guardian?  Mages who were nearly to Pyran already?  At the time, the
Guardian had been nothing but grateful for the help, as devastated as he was by
the news of the betrayal and murder of those he left behind, but now, having
seen the army arrayed against him, he could not help but wonder if Damerien had
known more than he’d let on.
    Cragen is not the only one who can buy spies.
    “Oh, my friend, my friend,” he sighed.  “Did your spies sell
you cheap, or are you yet out there with another gambit left to play?”
    “Guardian!”  The sentry called from the tower.  “A small
party, a vanguard of perhaps fifty riders ahead of the main force.  I cannot
yet make out their markings.”
    He dared not to hope.  “Let me help,” he said, and threw a
low spray of light across the valley that disappeared almost as quickly as it
appeared, lest it mark them for those who followed.  Most of the riders
hesitated at the edge of the light and skirted it, but one entered boldly and
rode straight through the brief light without slowing at all, as if hoping to
be recognized.
    “The gold and green of Damerien, my Lord Guardian,” the
sentry shouted, a tingle of relief and joy in his voice.  “But even as they
ride like men possessed, they won’t reach Pyran ere the army can take position
to attack them.”
    “Keep your bow trained on those behind them, son,” frowned
the mage.  “Guard the duke as you would guard your own kin.  Without him, all
is lost.”
    “Aye, no need to tell me so, sir,” the sentry replied, an
arrow already nocked in his bow.
    The mage looked around him at the bundles of arrows, the
pitch, but no archers yet to use them.  “And where’s the rest of your damned
militia?  Where’s your army?”
    “Militia’s here, sir.  Mostly infantry, a few archers.”  The
sentry shrugged over his shoulder, not taking his eye from the scene below. 
“But the armies are disbanded, sent home.”
    “What?  Sent home?”  The Guardian looked out over the
battlements in horror.
    “Aye, sir.  Back to their homelands.  What with the end of
the war––”
    He spat angrily.  “Only a fool would believe that this war
is over!”
    “Aye,” chuckled the sentry darkly, “that fool would be our
Lord Mayor.”
    “Was he asleep during the Battle of the Liberation?  Does he
not grasp that Pyran is the key to all Syon!”
    No army.  The Guardian shook his head in disbelief.  Just
the town militia and a handful of elderly, pregnant and infirm mages to defend
the city.  The rest of his charges, the strongest, the best able to help
defend, he’d ported to a field far to the south that was flat and as clear of
trees and rubbish as he could hope and where they at least stood a chance of
surviving the port, but in so doing, he’d all but assured they would not reach
Pyran before the army.  He hoped they had the good sense not to try.  His
purpose was in seeing them safely to Syon and out of Cragen’s reach, and here
they were.  If Pyran should fall, at the very least, they would not fall with
it.
    Not right away, at any rate.
    The army massed along their eastern border.  Whatever they
were doing would take time, but likely not long enough to matter.  Perhaps
Damerien would reach Pyran,