Items related to Lady-Protector: The Eighth Book of the Corean Chronicles...
L. E. Modesitt, Jr., author of the bestselling Saga of Recluce fantasy series, opens the door into a marvelous new world.
Millennia ago, a magical disaster caused the fall of a great worldwide civilization, the end of a golden age. New civilizations have fought their way up from the ancient destruction and chaos, knowing little of the lost world that preceded them or the details of its fall. Corus today is a world of contending countries, of humans, but also of strange animals and supernatural creatures. It is a place of magical powers, and of a few people who are talented enough to use them.
Though a bloody coup has made Mykella ruler of Lanachrona, it has left her and her two sisters bereft of family and uncertain of their friends. Worse, an examination of the nation's accounts reveals that their country is almost destitute, all while there are rumblings of war along the borders.
The Corean Chronicles
Legacies
Darknesses
Scepters
Alector’s Choice
Cadmian’s Choice
Soarer’s Choice
The Lord-Protector’s Daughter
Lady-Protector
Other series by this author:
The Saga of Recluce
Imager Portfolio
The Spellsong Cycle
The Ghost Books
The Ecolitan Matter
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About the Author:
L. E. Modesitt, Jr., is the bestselling author of the fantasy series The Saga of Recluce, Corean Chronicles, and the Imager Portfolio. His science fiction includes Adiamante, the Ecolitan novels, the Forever Hero Trilogy, and Archform: Beauty. Besides a writer, Modesitt has been a U.S. Navy pilot, a director of research for a political campaign, legislative assistant and staff director for a U.S. Congressman, Director of Legislation and Congressional Relations for the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, a consultant on environmental, regulatory, and communications issues, and a college lecturer. He lives in Cedar City, Utah.
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1
... and that I will employ all Talent and skills necessary to do so, at all times, and in all places, so that peace and prosperity may govern this land and her people.
As the words of the ancient oath she had taken as Lady-Protector died away—making her the first Lady-Protector since Mykel the Great had created the office of “Protector of Lanachrona” hundreds of years earlier—Mykella stood for a moment looking out across the courtyard of the palace in Tempre. She had almost forgotten the remainder of the investiture ceremony. Almost. With only a slight hesitation, she walked down the steps past the bodies of her immediately deceased Uncle Joramyl and cousin Berenyt, their figures sprawled across the stone. Undercommander Areyst followed Mykella closely.
On the left side, at the bottom of the five low and wide stone steps leading up to the main entry of the palace entry, lay the body of Arms-Commander Nephryt who, less than a fraction of a glass before, had tried to cut her down with his saber. One of the Southern Guards had straightened his form and laid him out on his back, facing the palace. Beyond the body, a Southern Guard stood, holding the reins of the gray stallion that had been Joramyl’s.
Before she mounted the stallion, Mykella turned to Areyst. “Have the bodies prepared for a quiet family memorial. There will be no procession and no honors for any of them.” She almost added, Traitors do not deserve honors of any sort. She did not. That would have made her look weak before the still-assembled Southern Guards. “Have someone guide my sisters to the ... Lady-Protector’s study and provide a guard. I will see you there.”
Areyst nodded. “Yes, Lady-Protector.”
She could sense a certain amusement behind his words but also approval. She couldn’t help but wonder what she had forgotten. With her Talent shields still tight about her, she swept the black cloak back over her shoulders, revealing the brilliant blue vest of the heir and the black nightsilk shirt and trousers she almost always wore. Then she mounted, wishing that she were taller and that she didn’t have to jump to place her black boot in the stirrup. She wasn’t about to ask for a leg up. She never had before, and now that she was the ruler of Lanachrona, she wasn’t about to begin.
As she turned the stallion toward the east, before riding to the end of the palace, then north and out of sight to the rear courtyard, she used her Talent to extend her hearing, trying to pick up any words that might bode ill. Over the sound of hooves on the stone pavement that showed no sign of wear, even after thousands of years, she began to hear murmurs.
“... rides like a guard...”
“... never thought the daughter...”
“... the one Seltyr looked to fill his britches...”
Had that been Malaryk, the envoy from Southgate, or one of the local Seltyrs from Tempre? Either way, that suggested problems, not that there wouldn’t be scores of them in the days ahead.
Her eyes flicked to the massive oblong structure that was the palace. Not for the first time, she wondered what function it had served in the days of the vanished Alectors who had built it, because the interior was anything but designed for a ruler, even with all the additions, such as the kitchens, made over the years.
After she reached the rear courtyard, she turned the stallion toward the middle rear door to the palace. Two Southern Guards looked blankly from the stallion to her, clearly not expecting the daughter of the former Lord-Protector.
“A few things have changed,” she said as she reined up. “Lord Joramyl was executed for poisoning my father and plotting the death of my brother. So was his son. That left me as Lady-Protector, and the Seltyrs and the Southern Guards have affirmed my succession.”
The younger guard swallowed hard. The older and graying guard nodded slowly. “We have always served your family, Lady. We will continue to do so.”
Mykella could sense the honesty behind the words. “Thank you.” She dismounted gracefully, handed him the reins, stepped back, then turned toward the door.
“... she do that?” she heard the younger guard say as she opened the door.
“She was named after Mykel the Great ... for good reason, it appears...”
As she closed the palace door behind her, she certainly hoped so, but put that thought aside as she hurried along the wide interior corridor, following it west, then south, and finally east to reach the central stone staircase—wide as it was, the only staircase—to the upper level of the palace. At the base of the steps were two Southern Guards, both older rankers, rather than the interior palace guards she had known. That Areyst had made that change did not surprise her, but the speed with which he had acted did. It also pleased her.
The one on the left inclined his head. “Lady-Protector.”
Mykella returned the nod and hurried up the stairs. Neither guard spoke again even after she passed them. Another pair of Southern Guards were stationed at the top. She nodded to both and turned to her left. In moments, she had reached her destination. For just a moment, she hesitated. Was it still Sexdi? Her father’s memorial ceremony, just yesterday, seemed far longer than a day ago. She straightened and opened the door.
Chalmyr rose from behind the table-desk in the outer anteroom that guarded the entry to the study that had been her father’s. “Lady-Protector.”
Mykella almost smiled. “Who told you?”
“Undercommander Areyst sent a Southern Guard to inform me. He has also placed trusted guards in places in the palace.”
“I know.” She didn’t mention how she’d discovered that. “The commander is quite able and very loyal.” She paused and looked at Chalmyr. “How did you feel about my father’s death and Joramyl’s efforts to become Lord-Protector?”
“I was distressed, Lady. I cautioned your father about Lord Joramyl once. The second time I brought up the matter, he told me never to mention the subject again if I wanted to remain as his private scrivener.” The gray-haired functionary smiled sadly.
Mykella could sense the truth of the older man’s feelings. “Then you will serve me as loyally as you did him?”
“If you will have me, Lady-Protector.”
“I will ... but only if you remain honest and tell me of your misgivings about any action I may take or contemplate.”
Chalmyr bowed deeply. “That I will, Lady.” He straightened. “Your sister Salyna is already awaiting you in the study.”
“Do you know where Rachylana is?”
“She is in her chamber. A pair of Southern Guards are posted there to keep others from intruding. The undercommander said that she was not to leave the palace without your permission.”
“That is correct. Matters need to settle for a time.”
When Mykella stepped through the inner door, Salyna was standing to one side of the desk in the study that had always been that of the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona, a study that had become Mykella’s as the first Lady-Protector of the land.
Behind the outward poise of her tall, blond, and beautiful youngest sister, Mykella could sense confusion, apprehension ... and even some fear. Given Salyna’s expertise and training with weapons, that fear surprised Mykella.
“There’s no reason for you to worry now,” Mykella said.
“You can sense that, too, can’t you?”
“When people are close.”
“With what you did ... why couldn’t you save Father?” Salyna’s voice was not quite accusatory.
“I couldn’t learn what I learned fast enough.” Mykella shook her head. “The ... things ... I did ... today ... some of them ... today was the first time I did them.” At least in public. But some of them she’d only tried once before, and all of them—except seeing the soarer, using the Table in the depths of the palace’s lower levels, and beginning to sense what people felt—she had been forced to learn in order to survive after her father’s poisoning by Joramyl. “Until I did them today...” She shrugged, a gesture between resignation and helplessness. “You know I tried to caution Father ... and warn him.”
“Did you have to kill Berenyt?”
“Yes. He was weak, and Cheleyza would have manipulated him. She might even have married him. She’s that calculating.”
Before Mykella could say more, there was a rap on the study door. “Lady-Protector, Undercommander Areyst.”
“Have him come in.”
The broad-shouldered and blond Areyst stepped into the study and immediately bowed. “Lady-Protector.” As he straightened, his pale green eyes met those of Mykella. She could sense a firm resolve, as well as concern for her. That boded well, since she’d named him as both Arms-Commander of Lanachrona and her designated heir. She could also sense the thin strand of green amid the golden brown of his unseen life-thread, a thread that seemed more vital than that of Salyna’s and far more than that of Chalmyr, whose thread was almost yellowish brown, stretching invisibly out to the east.
Areyst extended his hand, palm up. In it was a ring, golden with a large square-cut emerald set in the middle of the seal of Lanachrona. “This was your father’s. The usurper wore it. It is yours now.”
Both seeing her father’s seal ring and hearing Areyst calling her uncle a usurper jolted Mykella, but she nodded as she t...
... and that I will employ all Talent and skills necessary to do so, at all times, and in all places, so that peace and prosperity may govern this land and her people.
As the words of the ancient oath she had taken as Lady-Protector died away—making her the first Lady-Protector since Mykel the Great had created the office of “Protector of Lanachrona” hundreds of years earlier—Mykella stood for a moment looking out across the courtyard of the palace in Tempre. She had almost forgotten the remainder of the investiture ceremony. Almost. With only a slight hesitation, she walked down the steps past the bodies of her immediately deceased Uncle Joramyl and cousin Berenyt, their figures sprawled across the stone. Undercommander Areyst followed Mykella closely.
On the left side, at the bottom of the five low and wide stone steps leading up to the main entry of the palace entry, lay the body of Arms-Commander Nephryt who, less than a fraction of a glass before, had tried to cut her down with his saber. One of the Southern Guards had straightened his form and laid him out on his back, facing the palace. Beyond the body, a Southern Guard stood, holding the reins of the gray stallion that had been Joramyl’s.
Before she mounted the stallion, Mykella turned to Areyst. “Have the bodies prepared for a quiet family memorial. There will be no procession and no honors for any of them.” She almost added, Traitors do not deserve honors of any sort. She did not. That would have made her look weak before the still-assembled Southern Guards. “Have someone guide my sisters to the ... Lady-Protector’s study and provide a guard. I will see you there.”
Areyst nodded. “Yes, Lady-Protector.”
She could sense a certain amusement behind his words but also approval. She couldn’t help but wonder what she had forgotten. With her Talent shields still tight about her, she swept the black cloak back over her shoulders, revealing the brilliant blue vest of the heir and the black nightsilk shirt and trousers she almost always wore. Then she mounted, wishing that she were taller and that she didn’t have to jump to place her black boot in the stirrup. She wasn’t about to ask for a leg up. She never had before, and now that she was the ruler of Lanachrona, she wasn’t about to begin.
As she turned the stallion toward the east, before riding to the end of the palace, then north and out of sight to the rear courtyard, she used her Talent to extend her hearing, trying to pick up any words that might bode ill. Over the sound of hooves on the stone pavement that showed no sign of wear, even after thousands of years, she began to hear murmurs.
“... rides like a guard...”
“... never thought the daughter...”
“... the one Seltyr looked to fill his britches...”
Had that been Malaryk, the envoy from Southgate, or one of the local Seltyrs from Tempre? Either way, that suggested problems, not that there wouldn’t be scores of them in the days ahead.
Her eyes flicked to the massive oblong structure that was the palace. Not for the first time, she wondered what function it had served in the days of the vanished Alectors who had built it, because the interior was anything but designed for a ruler, even with all the additions, such as the kitchens, made over the years.
After she reached the rear courtyard, she turned the stallion toward the middle rear door to the palace. Two Southern Guards looked blankly from the stallion to her, clearly not expecting the daughter of the former Lord-Protector.
“A few things have changed,” she said as she reined up. “Lord Joramyl was executed for poisoning my father and plotting the death of my brother. So was his son. That left me as Lady-Protector, and the Seltyrs and the Southern Guards have affirmed my succession.”
The younger guard swallowed hard. The older and graying guard nodded slowly. “We have always served your family, Lady. We will continue to do so.”
Mykella could sense the honesty behind the words. “Thank you.” She dismounted gracefully, handed him the reins, stepped back, then turned toward the door.
“... she do that?” she heard the younger guard say as she opened the door.
“She was named after Mykel the Great ... for good reason, it appears...”
As she closed the palace door behind her, she certainly hoped so, but put that thought aside as she hurried along the wide interior corridor, following it west, then south, and finally east to reach the central stone staircase—wide as it was, the only staircase—to the upper level of the palace. At the base of the steps were two Southern Guards, both older rankers, rather than the interior palace guards she had known. That Areyst had made that change did not surprise her, but the speed with which he had acted did. It also pleased her.
The one on the left inclined his head. “Lady-Protector.”
Mykella returned the nod and hurried up the stairs. Neither guard spoke again even after she passed them. Another pair of Southern Guards were stationed at the top. She nodded to both and turned to her left. In moments, she had reached her destination. For just a moment, she hesitated. Was it still Sexdi? Her father’s memorial ceremony, just yesterday, seemed far longer than a day ago. She straightened and opened the door.
Chalmyr rose from behind the table-desk in the outer anteroom that guarded the entry to the study that had been her father’s. “Lady-Protector.”
Mykella almost smiled. “Who told you?”
“Undercommander Areyst sent a Southern Guard to inform me. He has also placed trusted guards in places in the palace.”
“I know.” She didn’t mention how she’d discovered that. “The commander is quite able and very loyal.” She paused and looked at Chalmyr. “How did you feel about my father’s death and Joramyl’s efforts to become Lord-Protector?”
“I was distressed, Lady. I cautioned your father about Lord Joramyl once. The second time I brought up the matter, he told me never to mention the subject again if I wanted to remain as his private scrivener.” The gray-haired functionary smiled sadly.
Mykella could sense the truth of the older man’s feelings. “Then you will serve me as loyally as you did him?”
“If you will have me, Lady-Protector.”
“I will ... but only if you remain honest and tell me of your misgivings about any action I may take or contemplate.”
Chalmyr bowed deeply. “That I will, Lady.” He straightened. “Your sister Salyna is already awaiting you in the study.”
“Do you know where Rachylana is?”
“She is in her chamber. A pair of Southern Guards are posted there to keep others from intruding. The undercommander said that she was not to leave the palace without your permission.”
“That is correct. Matters need to settle for a time.”
When Mykella stepped through the inner door, Salyna was standing to one side of the desk in the study that had always been that of the Lord-Protector of Lanachrona, a study that had become Mykella’s as the first Lady-Protector of the land.
Behind the outward poise of her tall, blond, and beautiful youngest sister, Mykella could sense confusion, apprehension ... and even some fear. Given Salyna’s expertise and training with weapons, that fear surprised Mykella.
“There’s no reason for you to worry now,” Mykella said.
“You can sense that, too, can’t you?”
“When people are close.”
“With what you did ... why couldn’t you save Father?” Salyna’s voice was not quite accusatory.
“I couldn’t learn what I learned fast enough.” Mykella shook her head. “The ... things ... I did ... today ... some of them ... today was the first time I did them.” At least in public. But some of them she’d only tried once before, and all of them—except seeing the soarer, using the Table in the depths of the palace’s lower levels, and beginning to sense what people felt—she had been forced to learn in order to survive after her father’s poisoning by Joramyl. “Until I did them today...” She shrugged, a gesture between resignation and helplessness. “You know I tried to caution Father ... and warn him.”
“Did you have to kill Berenyt?”
“Yes. He was weak, and Cheleyza would have manipulated him. She might even have married him. She’s that calculating.”
Before Mykella could say more, there was a rap on the study door. “Lady-Protector, Undercommander Areyst.”
“Have him come in.”
The broad-shouldered and blond Areyst stepped into the study and immediately bowed. “Lady-Protector.” As he straightened, his pale green eyes met those of Mykella. She could sense a firm resolve, as well as concern for her. That boded well, since she’d named him as both Arms-Commander of Lanachrona and her designated heir. She could also sense the thin strand of green amid the golden brown of his unseen life-thread, a thread that seemed more vital than that of Salyna’s and far more than that of Chalmyr, whose thread was almost yellowish brown, stretching invisibly out to the east.
Areyst extended his hand, palm up. In it was a ring, golden with a large square-cut emerald set in the middle of the seal of Lanachrona. “This was your father’s. The usurper wore it. It is yours now.”
Both seeing her father’s seal ring and hearing Areyst calling her uncle a usurper jolted Mykella, but she nodded as she t...
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- PublisherTor Fantasy
- Publication date2012
- ISBN 10 0765366398
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