Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4) Page 13

  “Well, I guess we can stay a day or so. If it's not too much trouble.”

  “Trouble? Nonsense. Hospitality is our business. It is our pleasure to make yours, I assure you.” Magister Kehlamani bowed her head like he was royalty, and Dailan felt her ropes wind around his want-to.

  The urge was comfortable, inviting, and inescapable. Dailan knew without really knowing that the Magister's hooks were fixed in him. Somehow, he didn't even care.

  -12-

  Welcome Call into the Embrace of Aquiline's Arms

  A lone eve has passed since I tasted my first true sample of the bitter realities of warfare. My bow has known many battles upon black cloaks, but I do not now believe they lent me their unfiltered insight, as this mighty clashing has done. The large scope and scale of a true battle, as that we witnessed upon these bloody Gander's Vale grasses, has allowed me a window into the world of the warrior that I never wish to appreciate again. It is a different manner of death, that witnessed from afar. It was in agonizing proximity that we experienced the grim horrors of the aftermath here, and gripped firmly in sympathetic hands. Vann took it the hardest of all, knowing that these deaths were in place of his own. The Army of Northern Aquiline lay at his feet, bleeding last upon their verdant chestplates. Not a tear was shed in vain, for every one was well spent, well mournful and well received. Every agonized soul under the care of His Majesty's soothing hands was sung to his passing with the tender baritone of a grieving sovereign. He could do

  nothing but ease their burdened journey with soft serenade and promises of honored glory. Vann now understands the value of his own life, and the duty he will forever owe to those that paid the cost in full, and in his stead. The Hilians and Aquilinians alike have warmed their hearts on his laments, seeing in Vann the compassionate ruler that they have long wished for.

  The deaths of these soldiers, and in turn, the tears of their Prince, have bought Vann much more than his life. They have bought him the loyalty of an island.

  - Excerpt from the journal of Guardian Toma Scilio

  As luck would have it, the royal caravan was arriving in Talon Hook at the perfect time, smack in the middle of the monthly market festival. Merchants and travelers from leagues around had come to trade their wares and imbibe their profits away. Since lorans were on hand with plenty of interested buyers, Ulivall's galleon brought a good price, even with the damaged rigging, and Kir's frilly bobs added to the wealth.

  They used the funds to employ supply wagons and mounts to ease the burden of the oldest and youngest legs in the caravan. They found particularly fine coursers for Malacar and the warriors, a grand destrier for Lyndal, and adequate rounceys for about two thirds of the caravan. The rest of the funds stocked their provisions. Some funds were kept in reserve for the road ahead, so they didn't supply the entire party with mounts. The Karmines were content to trade out riders with walkers every few hours.

  Their first night on dry land, they made camp just east of town. Kir took Sorrha out to work loose the cramped muscles and spirit. Even with the battery of warriors that made a horseshoe around them, the bracing ride was refreshing. If she'd had her druthers, Kir would have opened Sorrha up to the winds and left the boys far behind. The sky was hinting at dusk and storm cloud. The drencher season was rolling into Aquiline, which meant frog-choking downpours would be more common in weeks to come. Kir didn't fancy a soaking in black rain. She turned Sorrha's nose back toward their caravan.

  By the time they returned, the camp was set like a tent city. The canvas tents ranged in size, but Kir's was obvious by its scope that dwarfed them all. It took no head scratching to figure where to rein up. As Melia took charge of Sorrha for the turning down, Kir slipped through the flap. Lyndal was already inside.

  “Damnation! I thought this was a manor from the distance. I think it's even bigger on the inside!”

  Lyndal bobbed his head in agreement.

  Ulivall appeared from one of the adjacent chambers. “I've finished inspection, Kir. The tent is satisfactory, ready for your occupancy. Did your Sorrha take well to the run?”

  “The boys wouldn't let me really stretch his legs,” Kir complained. “We were polite and didn't leave 'em in the dust.”

  “Safety issues,” Ulivall reminded her.

  “Whose? Theirs or mine?” Kir sniffed.

  Ulivall ignored her cheek. “I'll be bedding down in a lean-to just outside. If you need me, no matter the hour, don't hesitate to summon me.”

  “A lean-to? Why don't you bunk in here? Looks to be plenty of room.” Kir motioned to the adjacent chamber where Lyndal was laying out his bedroll. “Lunchbox and Brassybins won't mind you bunking with them.”

  “It is easier to guard from open-sided walls and a visual distance,” Ulivall explained.

  “You don't think all the sentries are enough?”

  “When it comes to your safety, I don't assume anything,” Ulivall said.

  “Keh! You're as bad as Malacar,” Kir huffed. “Appreciated, but no less annoying.”

  “Collars come in many forms.”

  Kir unconsciously rubbed fingers over the scrollwork that painted her neck in shimmery swirlies. It was a new kind of collar for her, one that would take some getting used to. For someone who claimed no gift for fancy thinking, Ulivall sure had a way of finding the poetical irony in some situations.

  “We should hold an orientation council this evening, to get our bearings and issue orders,” Ulivall said.

  “I was thinking the same thing. I'll have Lili send out the summons.”

  An hour later, a circle of cross-legged bodies had ringed the edges of the big inner chamber. Lyndal sat on Kir's one side, Malacar on the other. The rest of the circle included Consul Ferinar, Ulivall, Ithinar Steel, Vittie, Corban, Bertrand, Melia and Lili, Nehkial, each of the Karmine clan heads and a few others with leadership roles.

  Kir opened the council with warm greetings and congratulations on surviving the rough seas. “I'll thank you all to help me practice my Dimishuan, but respecting Guardian Malacar's lacking, we'll conduct this meeting in Standard Alakuwai. Since I'll be talking Dimishuan as much as possible, let me apologize in advance for the rough edges of my vernacular. If you know Dailan, and I tell you he's my language tutor, you'll understand why I sound more like a street rat than a Hilian Princess.”

  Everyone seemed to find the humor she had intended in that statement, so Kir assumed that everyone, even the Karmines, knew Dailan pretty well. To honor the occasion of arrival in Aquiline, Kir decided to issue a message to the Karmines, with instruction to pass it on.

  “I know something of what your clans are facing, and what it means to stand here on Aquilinian soil. Walking away from an established life is not easy. Cornia was your home and the entirety of your world. I appreciate how intimidating it is, to leave everything you know behind. Moments are just fleeting breaths, and we have to let them go before we can inhale again. Change may seem like chaos at first, but without Chaos we can't recognize Order. You've been holding your breath in stagnant air for a long time. Breathe freely now. It is with open arms that Aquiline welcomes you.”

  The sentiment was immediately answered with a bark of nearby thunder, and a round of nervous laughter at Aquiline's timely dispute.

  “Though she can be back-talky sometimes,” Kir chuckled. When the room had calmed, she continued. “I think you'll like Hili when we get there, but it's not like the Westlewin plains in any way, shape or form. When I first came, Dailan taught me a few gems of import that I'll pass on to you now. 'Throw some cucumbers to the kappas once in a while to keep them satisfied. Don't step in a crocodile's mouth. Learn how to leg-row a kanowt—that's the Hilian longboat. Don't leave your favorite pantlings in the care and keeping of your milk goat. And lastly, don't ever wake up too late that you miss the Hili sunrise. That flash bursts out on the lake like fireflowers on a canvas of hungry midnight. It's never once the same display and if you miss even a single morning of i
t, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what magnificence it was that slipped away. Remember all that and you'll do just fine.' That's what Dailan said to me, and I think he nailed the whole of Hili flush in a whack. This island is our new home, and we should all do our best to represent her well.”

  The applause made its rounds before Kir waved it away. “Moving on, then. I'm turning this session over to Ithinar Steel's lead scout, our Master Orienteer for this trip, Rendack.”

  Rendack laid out the detailed maps of northern Aquiline in the middle of the circle. “The straightest, most direct route between Talon Hook and Gander's Vale takes us along Naybaryn Road. About a two to three week journey, since we'll have so many on foot. It's a heavily traveled merchant route with plenty of ideal campsites for large caravans and a number of small communities to restock supplies along the way. We can trade some of the wagons for boats in Naybaryn. It's right on the Arshen River so the civilians can smooth-sail directly south to Hili, while the warriors ride alongside to provide protection. That part of the trip should be faster for the longboats.”

  Several of the Ithinar Steel warriors exchanged half-moon grins at the mention of Naybaryn. They had been to the rivertown once before, just after the Battle of Gander's Vale, where they had ridden against an army of Keepers of Magic to the rescue of General Farraday's Army of Northern Aquiline. Kir could almost read the nostalgia and victory in their eyes at the memory. It had been a welcome place, thanks to their aid, and certainly a few of them had made some wild and woolly memories with wind-flapping sheets there.

  Ulivall laid out the duty assignments then briefed the council on how to organize their clans in certain events of trouble. Vittie gave her rundown of the chores and tasks, illustrating the various details of her management. Bertrand reported only two minor illnesses, both of whom were treated and well enough for travel. Corban talked about the supply list and loaded chow wagons, and he mentioned (to Kir's salivating) that he had lemongrass pork stew simmering in the pots for the evening meal. The circle continued with their reporting until Kir was familiar with every single happening in the camp.

  When it was Consul Ferinar's turn, he cleared his throat. “I received an eagle from Hili not five minutes before our orientation began, Highness. Elder Trenen and the Circle are with you, as expected. Master Prophet Farning believes he may be able to help with His Majesty's condition. He is researching his methods and will rendezvous with us at Fort Ellesainia.”

  Relief made Kir wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She hadn't been positive that Farning could help, but the doubt was melting away, now that the Master Prophet himself had granted assurance.

  Ferinar didn't wait for the jubilation that spread around the circle to subside. He continued, his arrogant demeanor soaking through his posture and tone. “Of course, Hili is not aware of our location, as yet. They believed we would be arriving in Kestih, as per the original message I sent from Balibay. I have sent another eagle to advise them of our updated status, the menace of the nessertaum, and so forth. As for the Tree Viper volunteer militia, we will muster in joint effort with Grand Master Ulivall's army. We are thirsty for blood, Highness.” Ferinar produced a scroll and began ticking off statistics. He listed off the numbers of warriors in the Viper units, including archers, heavy infantry, cavalry, and healers.

  Kir's relief nosedived in Ferinar's bloodlust. Before he could report the Vipers' assets, she interrupted. “You are premature, Consul. This is an orientation, not yet a War Council.”

  “Yet,” Ferinar stated with haughty air. “We must be ready, as it is upon us.”

  He was right, and Kir sorely knew that he was. There was a war looming and she needed to know exactly where they stood when it came. The Viper squads Ferinar had been listing were not with them now, except for the handful of men and women that had volunteered as Vann's servie staff. While in Hili, Kir had been helping to train the Vipers in her forms. All through those lessons, Ferinar had stood aside, observing from his comfortable seat. He had never planned to wield the blades of his passions. Far easier for him to let other men die on his whim, while he reaped the benefits of their sacrifice.

  The fact that Ferinar was so eager to fan the warflames reminded Kir just how anxious he was for the chaos that was sure to come. Something in his blustery demeanor irked Kir's ire, and the necessity of preparedness fell short in her reason. She suddenly wanted to dish out some humble pie. If she couldn't do it with blades, her newfangled title and authority were the kinds of utensils that could.

  “You are very generous with other mens' lives,” Kir whispered pensively.

  “I'm sorry? I didn't catch—”

  “You must be ecstatic,” she said boldly, matching the ferocity in his gaze. “You're about to get what you've always wanted.”

  “I wouldn't exactly say that,” Ferinar sniffed uneasily, betraying himself with the hard motion of his throat bobber as he swallowed. Scilio had taught Kir a thing or two about reading people, but even without his tricks of analyzing body language, Kir could have seen through Ferinar blindfolded. He did not have much variety in his deck.

  “I would. It doesn't take a Psychonic to read you, Consul. I have it on good authority that you have been conniving and plotting for a war.”

  Ferinar had tricked Kir before, using a forged seal to convince her of Soventine's treachery. He had even fooled Ulivall, Corban and the Circle with the documents. His deception had been uncovered by Scilio. Ferinar had outright admitted his intent to ignite hostilities, but he would never remember the confession that he offered a few months past, under influence of sepsikan potion. Vann had shared the information only with Ulivall in the strictest of confidence. He had insisted that Ferinar's plot not be revealed. Scilio had implanted a glamour that would entice Ferinar to share any more schemes, so Vann decided that it was better to keep the Consul from knowing he had been discovered. One could capture more kappas with cucumbers than with fire. They would stay wary and alert with the Consul, they would keep him close, and they would never trust him again.

  At first, Kir had been furious to learn of Ferinar's deception. It had cost her and Vann a lot of misunderstanding and pain between them. Vann had asked Kir to keep her fires contained. Now that time had calmed them, she was no longer aching for confrontation on the matter. There were other means of retribution that would be sweeter than a temper-invoked sword-spanking.

  “Sometimes aggressions are the only means to achieving one's goals. Hili will never take her deserved place in the kingdom without hard realities and passionate strife. Now that things have been set in motion beyond our control, it only makes sense to ready ourselves for the coming chaos. That's not something I was involved in instigating, Highness. But Hili will take the world in combat and prove that we are worthy to rise. We will welcome the glorious death to birth the glorious future!” Ferinar nodded curtly, satisfied with his stance. To sweeten the pot, he threw in, “With a Warrior Queen at our helm, of course.”

  He had opened an opportunity that Kir had been toying with. She pounced on it like a wildcat on a mouse. “Have you ever seen a man laid open, Consul?”

  “I cannot say that I have.”

  “Do you know what the clink of steel on bone feels like?”

  “Thankfully, no,” Ferinar replied, squirming in his seat.

  “A glorious death, you said. This Warrior Queen has sent many a soul to the Collectors, but has never once witnessed glory in death,” Kir said tightly, trying to keep the emotion from her voice and failing miserably. She could not deny her battlelust or thirst for the dance of blades, but the prospect of outright war was much deeper than her personal battles. It meant that many innocents would fall. The hands of the kingdom would be tainted with the sticky color of bloat and putrefaction. Ferinar had to understand what was at stake.

  “There are a million ways to die on a battlefield, none of them shining in lumanere luster. At the Battle of Gander's Vale, many Northern Aquiline soldie
rs met their end through disembowelment, dismemberment, disfigurement, and probably a lot of other dis'es that I don't even know the names for. His High Majesty sang those poor souls to the Collectors through his tears, but it took a long stretch of brutal horror before they found their peace. War is never silent. It is accompanied by screams and moaning, the likes of which you have only known in your nightmares. When you know the cries of men who beg for their mothers, their canteens and their Gods, then you will know war. They are not numbers on a scroll you will send forth to your supposed glory. They are Lyndal. They are Eshuen. Tennras and Borloh. They are the child who sits outside this tent, tooting his little shell horn. You've been wanting for a war, Consul. Well, you're going to get it. The question is, how will you fight it when it comes?”

  Kir stared at Ferinar with targeted eyes, calculating the moment to strike. It was like a good old fashioned showdown, and she had him dead to rights. Everyone knew the answer, and it was plastered so obviously across his face that Kir hadn't really needed to ask. The question on the table was answered in a flickering of his eyelid as he began to fold under her confidence. The crease at his cheek twitched and Kir knew she had him cornered.

  He finally spoke, but with markedly less audacity than before. “As every one of us around this circle will enjoy, comfortable protection is the privilege afforded to administration, and justly deserved are we—”

  “A Counselor who would sit comfortably behind his fire, sipping his tea while sending numbers on a scroll to die at his whim is not worthy to lead,” Kir asserted firmly. “Your hue pendant means for you to be the people, so you're going to learn to live that standard. As commanders, we will not ask our warriors to do anything that we would not do ourselves, and we must know our tools to appreciate their uses. Therefore, Consul Ferinar, my orders to you are as follows. Tomorrow morning at eredawn hour you will report to the training field alongside Eshuen's warriors for indoctrination into the ways of delivering death. I will have no one on my War Council that does not know the sounds, the feel, and the color of war. If you wish the command of warriors, you will command with the heart of one, and with an arm that understands the weight of a blade. You will come to know the value of a human life that is not your own.”