The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1)
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Authors: Elizabetta Holcomb
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The Guardian
Chronicles of Dover’s Amalgam
Elizabetta Holcomb
The Guardian
Copyright c 2016 Elizabetta Holcomb
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted an any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editor:
Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing
www.facebook.com/writegirlediting
Interior Design and Formatting:
Perfectly Publishable
Cover Design:
Daniela Conde Padron, DCP Designs
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
FOR MY DAD
who taught me to never give up. I finally did it!
For my children and husband who have encouraged and dreamed with me all these years. I could not have done this without you.
For Bessie and Tanya. I do not need to say why. You know.
For Alaina who tells me when my plots are stupid. Yes, Harry Styles is the character sketch for Benjamin. After all of your hounding, I can’t see him as anyone else—thanks.
For Thomasina. My first fan. A girl could not ask for a better childhood friend. Thanks for reading all of my stuff even when it sucked. A big thank you for naming your first born a kicking Cajun name. Your little girl, Beau Angelle, is the character sketch for her namesake in this series. It’s my way to honor our lifelong friendship and take you with me in this new journey. You always said I could do it!
For Brenda and Jaimee who patiently led me through the publishing process. I made it to the other side and you guys are still my friends . . . yay me!
For my beta and proofreaders: Jillian Malloy, Bessie Whipp, Carole Smith Turner, Tanya DuBois, and Alaina Hebert.
Dedication
To my mom who gave me the genes of creativity and introduced me to the library at an early age. We spent our summers lost in the worlds books opened up to us. I wish Heaven had an email address so I could forward you a copy of my book. I will love and miss you forever.
Chapter 1
White Cliffs of Dover, Year 1316 of King Edward II reign
JARETH TREMAINE, THE
first Duke of Dover, was bleeding to death. Not only had death found him, but it asserted a lingering alliance of pain and torture rather than steal his life and depart.
No one desired to claim credit for this war—neither Hun nor Englishman. Although the Hun Empire was extinct, somehow they managed to return and lay siege on the English Channel. Confusion abounded among the duke’s men as they fought valiantly, yet it was nasty and bloody. Death was everywhere. It hid behind craggy rocks used by the archers for protection. It was under the apple tree in the manor’s orchard. The Huns, known for their archery skills, were taking no prisoners. They wanted lives, and they took them in droves.
This war brought senseless death—in many cases, accidentally. A knight, overtaken by a swarm of warriors, turned quickly only to fall and perish upon his own sword. An archer ready with bow poised to fly his lethal arrow was taken out from behind by a single shot to the head. His stance did not change as he fell to the ground dead, still drawing back the bow, the arrow lame beside his body.
The smell of decaying flesh hung in the darkness. Gabriel squatted on his heels beside the Bastard Duke and surveyed the battlefield. Cannon fire from the east rang out, and simultaneously a shower of fire flakes rained down around them.
Minh, his fellow guardian, yanked on the duke’s tunic. “Bizarre,” he commented. “Cannons? Really?” Once a general in the Ming Dynasty, the Asian warrior had been in charge of the Ministry of War. Gabriel crinkled his brow as he patted out the embers burning holes in the hose on the duke’s thighs.
“Yep,” Gabriel growled without as much a glance at his cohort. He ducked down as he worked, and didn’t bother to assess what was going on around him. The noise was loud enough for his vivid imagination to flourish. He set his face into a grim mask as he tore open the duke’s gambeson. “Twenty-first century shrapnel.” He inspected the large piece of metal protruding from the duke’s chest, and then pulled it out. It was buried shallow enough not to cause alarm, but somewhere lay a bigger problem.
Minh turned away. “I say cannon fire in thirteenth century England and you say yep. That is unacceptable to me.” He reached into the quiver slung over his back and pulled out a fresh arrow. “I’m so bloody confused.
Huns?
How did those devils come back from the grave?”
“They’re exterminators,” Gabriel retorted, and leaned back on his haunches. “Someone, somewhere has breached time.” He frowned at the piece of cannon shrapnel he held, and turned it in his hand for better inspection. “Quite frankly, we’ve been robbed.” He tossed the offending metal to the side. The vile thing stuck in the sludge as he rubbed a bloodied hand over his sweaty brow. “We need to get Jareth to a safe place.”
A loud boom sounded and shook the ground under them.
“Let’s take him straight to the duchess. Screw the rules. I don’t see why we should wait like idiots,” Minh said. “History decrees it will be her anyway. What are we waiting for? A religious sign or something?”
“She’ll be scared,” Gabriel said. His brow wrinkled as he contemplated Minh’s suggestion. It was tempting. He shook his wrist and counted the time bands there. Five—as it should be. “Besides, I’ve been instructed not to involve her.” He bent forward again and lifted the chain mail away from the wound. There was another gash above Jareth’s navel that traveled left across his abdomen.
“She’ll be terrified,” he rectified. He let the mail fall back and looked up with a scowl. “I say we take him to Harrow. That would be another way of flipping off the rules. That should make you happy.” Blood seeped onto the ground from the wound he’d irritated. “I didn’t expect to see him blasted to shreds like this.”
“
That should make you happy
,” Minh mimicked under his breath. He shook his head and looked away, his ear cocked to the sounds of battle caging them. “What would make me happy is knowing how all of this pans out. Look at him, Gabriel.” He motioned unseeingly to the duke as his eyes scanned the nearby copse. “He’ll die if we don’t break the bloody rules. Better sooner than later, I say. That’s my vote.”
Gabriel felt a pang of sentiment as he looked down at the duke who was still a boy, newly twenty. There were some who wanted a piece of credit for this day. This eve the duke was miraculously saved from death. Dr. Harrow Mills would be no different. That was why this mission was important and secretive. The more people involved, the more likely things could go wrong. Saving Jareth was not a popularity contest; it was essential to the future of the Amalgam.
His sentiment died when an arrow whizzed past his ear. He bowed his body over the duke’s prone form and glared at Minh. Jareth was not safe as of yet. He still lay dying, and his fellow guardians were all that stood between his death and a place of refuge. Things were progressing and he had little time to think. His mind raced with probabilities and scenarios that would, in all likelihood, never happen. The arrow was a stray. They were far enough from the thick of things. He was sure his anger toward Minh held no ground. One had to watch or die taking care of business.
And Minh was vigilant. He had to give him that.
The noise level, the dying man before him, the saving of the world was all coming to a head. Gabriel wanted nothing more than to march off this battlefield and into his home where his wife and family awaited his return. It was Christmastime there and they would have eggnog. They always had eggnog on cold December nights. He wanted family time, not the growing burden of babysitting a trouble-prone duke.
Minh wouldn’t agree. To him, families were for other people—those whose lives did not involve killing and jumping through time portals as though they were the New York City transit. This was where they were different. Gabriel was devoted to his wife—Minh’s sister—and the brood who resembled a combination of his long-limbed body and fair features and her dark, petite form. Minh did not have a family, nor did he want one.
“The dilemma is how we gonna get him to the castle without leaving a trail of blood? They’ll find us. They’re like animals. Fierce trackers. It’s obvious this is a blood mission. They’ve been sent to terminate Jareth.” Gabriel was thinking out loud. “If we get him to the castle, I’m sure she’ll be there. It’s what Jareth remembers. We just have to get him there.”
“I say we take him back with us—through the portal. Take care of him ourselves.” Minh glanced in the direction the arrow had come. “It should have been us. We owe him our lives, so let’s save his.”
Gabriel let his impatience show and folded his arms over his chest. “You say the duchess and now this? He left specific instructions. We can’t, under any circumstance, take him back for treatment. Time is a privilege we cannot waste.”
“He didn’t mention we’d be facing
this
.” Minh took a moment to indicate the wound. “You suggested Harrow,” he pointed out. “Grab his feet.”
Minh took hold of Jareth’s arms and crossed them over his chest. “Hurry, we must act now before the battle shifts. We’re not prepared for gunfire of this caliber.”
“We’re not prepared for gunfire in any form,” Gabriel rejoined. “This is medieval England, after all.”
Doubling through the chain mail, Minh immobilized Jareth’s arms so they would not drag. “We haven’t got all day. I’m not planning to sit here like two pansies. Let’s move. Maybe fate will intervene.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed because he did not believe in fate, but providence. Knowing Minh though, he understood that the comment was made to fill space, not to be taken literally. They were both edgy and confused by the turn of events. Gunfire in the thirteenth century, the severity of the wound the duke sustained . . . and just where in the heck was the duchess? They were groping in the dark. Besides, he knew the fate Minh spoke of. It was the knowing that kept him calm while things went crazy. He had five captured wormholes around his wrist that he could use if he had cause to doubt, but they had been instructed not to mess with the sands of time unless commanded.
He took note of Minh’s swift, cautious movements. He was a superb archer with the heart of a lion, yet his gentle care indicated the fondness they both shared for this fallen man, and that alone softened Gabriel. It took the bitter sting out of being shot at and being sent out on a mission no one could guarantee. But still, he said nothing. Words spoken too soon had a way of coming back to haunt, the same way jumping time could come back and bite. Fate needed to show up now, preferably before Jareth bled to death.
They worked quietly together to carry Jareth’s body across the moor along the outskirts of the battlefield, stopping only once to kill six Huns. Gabriel was a bit sluggish, still pining over an arrow that missed its mark. He flat out told Minh he was slow and gave no excuse for him. Just like that, they were at it again.
“Bastard!” Minh said as he stomped over to the fallen body of a Hun. Roughly, he seized hold of the arrow protruding from his chest, used his heel against the carcass to stabilize it, and yanked. “Sometimes I question Jareth’s judgment.” He pointed—using the bloody arrow—to Gabriel’s chest. “It’s not my fault you were shot at. It’s called war, man. Deal with your issues on your own time—not here. Not now. I’m moving as fast as I can whilst carrying our commander in chief basically on my back.”