Return of the Guardian-King
Honors for the first books of
L
EGENDS OF THE
G
UARDIAN
-K
ING
The Light of Eidon
Booklist—
Top 10 Christian Novels 2004
ForeWord Magazine—
2003 Book of the Year—Silver
Science Fiction
Christian Fiction Review—
Best of 2003
Christy Award—2004
Fantasy
The Shadow Within
Borders—
Best of 2004
Religion and Spirituality
Romantic Times—
Best of 2004 Finalist
Inspirational
Christian Fiction Review—
Best of 2004
Christy Award—2005
Visionary
Shadow Over Kiriath
Christian Fiction Review—
Best of 2005
Christy Award—2006
Visionary
Books by Karen Hancock
Arena
L
EGENDS OF THE
G
UARDIAN
-K
ING
The Light of Eidon
The Shadow Within
Shadow Over Kiriath
Return of the Guardian-King
Return of the Guardian-King
Copyright © 2007
Karen Hancock
Cover illustration by Bill Graf
Cover design by Lookout Design, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-2797-4
ISBN-10: 0-7642-2797-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hancock, Karen.
Return of the guardian-king / Karen Hancock.
p. cm. — (Legends of the guardian-king ; 4)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-2797-4 (pbk.)
ISBN-10: 0-7642-2797-1 (pbk.)
1. Kings and rulers—Fiction. 2. Coronations—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.A698R48 2007
813'.6—dc22 2006038410
KAREN HANCOCK has won Christy Awards for each of her first four novels—
Arena
and the first three books in this series,
The Light of Eidon
,
The
Shadow Within
, and
Shadow Over Kiriath
. She graduated from the University of Arizona with bachelor’s degrees in biology and wildlife biology. Along with writing, she is a semi-professional watercolorist and has exhibited her work in a number of national juried shows. She and her family reside in Arizona.
For discussion and further information, Karen invites you to visit her Web site at
www.kmhancock.com
.
“You are my servant. I have chosen you and I will strengthen you to do what I have commanded you. I will provide you with all you need to carry out my plans. And all who come against you will be shamed; they will be as if they never were.”
—From the
First Word of Revelation
Scroll of the Seven Wars
Table of Content
“I dream of the meadows, green-gold ’neath the sun, sweet with the dew of the
morn . . .”
The bell-toned voice drew Abramm Kalladorne into the sunlight of the open meadow, a yellow butterfly zigzagging ahead of him above a patch of purple lupine. He pressed through the bloom-laden stalks into rippling grass, following the plucked notes of a lirret and a voice as familiar as his own. She must be just beyond that primrose at the meadow’s far edge.
Children’s laughter echoed in counterpoint to her sweet voice, and his pace quickened. Ian would be over two by now, walking well, maybe even talking in phrases and sentences, while Simon would have left all his toddlerhood behind, a real little boy at last. Then there was Maddie. Abramm ached for her so badly sometimes he could hardly bear it. Now finally, that was behind him. All the worrying about threading the high passes before winter closed them had been for naught. In a moment he would step around that bush and there she’d be, her gray-blue eyes widening with surprise at the sight of him an instant before she’d cast her lirret aside and fling herself into his—
His foot slipped, and he lurched to regain his balance, gripping his walking staff hard as he drove it into the snow. The misstep jolted his entire body as the vision winked out and the dark, icy reality of the blizzard-swept heights filled his senses again. She wasn’t here. His boys weren’t here. There was no meadow. The passes were not behind him, and winter was very definitely closing in. . . .
Realization slammed him so hard he reeled to a stop, struggling to breathe as he felt again the cold and the exhaustion and the misery. Wind screamed around him, pelting his heavy woolen cloak with slivers of snow and flapping its snow-caked hem about his legs. For a moment the desire to give up was so strong he nearly collapsed.
But he couldn’t. Maddie was waiting for him. His boys needed him. And so he drew a deep breath and reached up to dash away the ice that continually froze onto his beard and mustache. Chunks of it clung also to the long hair dangling beside his face, some of them rasping against the inside edge of his cowl, others frozen to his beard. He no longer felt his feet, and his fingers, numb beneath a double layer of glove and mitten, could hardly grip his walking staff.
He squinted down the rocky hill to where a shin-deep trough of footprints angled across the slope through the rapidly accumulating snow. At the end of his pocket of visibility, the last of his companions were starting down the next switchback, obscured by the shifting veils of snow. Shuddering, he started after them, placing steps and stick carefully to avoid any more almostfalls.
Neither he nor anyone else in his party had any real idea where they were going, only that having come through the Kolki Pass they must descend the barren slopes beyond to an ancient Terstan monastery just below the tree line.
“The way will be obvious,”
the men back at Highmount Holding had assured them. Maybe it would be if clouds hadn’t swallowed the world and driving snow hadn’t made it hard to open one’s eyes and the rock cairns that were supposed to be their guides weren’t fast disappearing beneath the drifting snow.
It was typical, though, of the bad luck that had plagued them since leaving Kiriath, transforming what should have been a three-week journey through the pass into a six-week trial of endurance. They’d run out of food two days ago and burned the last of their dung-pats in last night’s fire. Water had been in short supply for over a week, and they had an old man, a pregnant woman, and a number of children with them. Thinking they’d be in Caerna’tha tonight, they’d left much of their bedding and tents with the wagon when it had irreparably broken down in the pass that morning. Now, with the day three-quarters gone, and the tree line still who knew how far below them, their situation was growing desperate.
For not the first time he sent up a prayer for guidance and protection.
Thus, when the trail rounded a rocky slope to emerge onto a promontory overlooked by a small trailside hut, he should have been elated. His traveling companions certainly were. Many were already picking their way up the steep, narrow stair to the doorway where two men worked to string up a blanket.
At the base of the stair in the slope’s lee, the big, blond former blacksmith, Rolland Kemp, lifted the pack frame off their one remaining horse. “Ah, Alaric!” he said as Abramm drew up beside him. “I thought maybe we’d lost ye.” The wind was lessened there in the slope’s lee, but it still made conversation difficult. Rolland tossed the frame onto the ground, then bent to dig through one of the discarded saddlebags. He pulled out a near-empty grain bag and offered the remainder of its contents to the horse. Snow mounded on his shoulders and clung in balls to the fur-lined rim of his hood.