Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4) Read online

  The tavern's standard fare of meat stew and rice was warm and salty, made heartier by crusty bread that was blessedly free of mold. Although he could not distinguish the classification of animal flesh that claimed the vague and questionable description of meat, Scilio devoured the meal without finesse. He allowed himself to inhale it in the same manner the bottomless Malacar always did. A second helping would have been welcome, if only their funds were not so limited and Scilio's stomach not already bulging. When Dailan was finished with his own bowl and they had forced as much crushed potato as possible down Vann's throat without choking him, they retired upstairs to their rented room. The noise and clattering tankards in the tavern below, accented by the strum of a mediocre bard's lumachord, were the familiar echoes of a cherished past life. As Dailan situated Vann on one of the two beds, Scilio lit the fireplace. He ripped the week's worth of pages from the journal and fed his dreary musings the hungry flames, then took up guard post next to the window.

  “Ain't you gonna grab some shut-eye, Tosh? You didn't get much on the boat,” Dailan noted.

  “With Vann's life in my hands, I do not believe slumber to be a luxury I can longer afford,” Scilio sighed.

  Dailan's hands fell to his hips and his brow fell to his nose. “Now look here. I done put up with this bellyaching for long enough. Can the world-on-your-shoulders martyr act. Alokien may have kicked your shiny neeyah up the stage, but it's past and done, and I'm sick'a this. I can guard, same as you, just like I done at the Arshenholm Manor. If you drive yourself mad or to ailing, what good will you be to him? I already got plenty of winks this morning on the boat, so you should stretch out and catch a few.”

  Scilio regarded the street-smart boy. He suddenly seemed much older than his twelve years. Likewise, Scilio was suddenly much more fatigued than his twenty-two; his joints ached like those of an elder. “Very well. I will rely on you, Dainn. Please alert me as to any and all suspicions, even should they appear inconsequential.”

  Dailan muttered a stream of Dimishuan that held the promise of blasphemy inlaid into its intonation. “You gotta start talking like you ain't highborn.”

  Be the people, Kir always said, and perhaps Dailan was correct. An act was only as credible as the entire package. Upon erstwhile stage, Scilio had played the character of a savage woodsman, a role that he rather enjoyed for its wild edge. He could adopt the vernacular of the woodsman for Tosh. He stretched upon the mattress that was too firm but felt very much like a cloud after the discomforts of the boat. “Sure's tha-thing'n. Nightin'-goods, Dainn.”

  Dailan rolled his eyes like Kir and cursed some more. “Wenchin actors.”

  * * *

  After a four-day ferry-ride upriver, three nights in a standard inn, and twenty-one meals between the three of them, their lorans were pretty much gone. Dailan had resorted to picking pockets, a trade he had come up learning from when he was knee-high to a tanuki. If they'd been in Empyrea, or parts of Draback Flatte, or almost anywhere in Aquiline, they'd have been living it up. Dailan had tons of stashes hid where nobody would find them. Between his treasure at the Arshenholm Spring Manor and the swag he'd collected in High Empyrea, he was probably the richest kid under a collar in the whole of the kingdom. Problem was, that was there, and Dailan was here. He'd never been to Havenlen, so he'd never had a chance to build his haul nest on this island. With mouths to feed, it wouldn't be easy to put anything back, either. He did think about hitting up a large estate, but the bigger the meal, the bigger the risk the dogs would smell it and come a'biting. Dailan couldn't risk getting caught here, so he'd have to stick to the smaller marks.

  His Majesty was the same as he'd been for the past few weeks. He just stared dumb, like there wasn't a brain in his head. He could move and eat mushy stuff if he was told but it took a lot of shoving and coaxing to keep him moving and eating. He wouldn't even make a head call without Dailan telling him to, and he would trip on rubbish in the street cause he didn't know to step over it. Just in case there was something still inside that could understand, Dailan kept talking to him. He told stories about his coming up, about how he escaped from his last owner, some fancy things he'd seen in Empyrea and stuff like that. Nothing. Even though he didn't get no answers, just the sound of jawboning made Dailan feel better. It was too wenchin quiet with His Majesty staring off into space and Shunatar joining him in Pixie-nixie land. It was a damn good thing Dailan was along, cause between the two of them, they were damn good helpless.

  Shunatar had finally given up the crazy talk he claimed was from some play he'd acted in. Sounded like a bunch of nonsense. Real folk didn't talk like that. It took a round of funning from some fishermen on the ferry before Shunatar finally decided to drop the talk and take up something more normal-sounding. Dailan had to help a bit, but he was already a pretty good tutor, having spent so much time teaching Saiya Kunnai how to go-round and gutter-talk in Dimishuan.

  Their main reason for being in White Tower, other than hiding from Alokien and the world, was for Shunatar to access the library stacks at the university. Saiya Kunnai was heading to Master Prophet Farning to learn what she could about fishing His Majesty's lost soul back, but since Farning wasn't real high up the chain as priests go, there was a good probability that he wouldn't know squat. They needed a backup plan, and Shunatar's research was pretty much it. The library was chockablock of learning, so there was bound to be some useful information about souls astray in the Prophetic Archives.

  They barely made it to the library gate before they were turned away. Shunatar tried to convince them, using his prettiest wordings, that he was an educated man just fallen on hard times, but the guards wouldn't even let them get near the gate. They said the libraries were for scholars and students, and they said a lot of other insulting things, too. Dailan gave hard consideration to slipping over the wall, but it wouldn't do much good even if he did get in. He didn't have the first idea of what to look for, and the place was like a city of its own. Reading and researching was Shunatar's know-how. They gave up on the libraries after two separate tries at opposite gates, figuring to come up with a plan later. They needed funding first, so the learning would have to be secondary to surviving.

  Dailan tried to teach Shunatar to pick. Those pretty hands were quick and he wasn't too shabby overall, but the first attempt had nearly gone wrong. If he got nabbed by law-arms, his Guardian vambrace would alert the somebodies and His Majesty would get caught, too. It was safer to let Dailan do the picking. He wasn't apt to get nabbed, and even if he did, nobody would pay mind to a collared gutter-rat.

  “We gotta figure a trade for you,” Dailan said to Shunatar, watching him count out the last few lorans on his string. “We're gonna get booted in another day 'less we come up with some good funding. I can pick pockets, but in this neck, there ain't many good ones to pick. I need to move on uptown to the university to get the prime sort.”

  “I cannot take up a lumachord as a bard,” Shunatar said thoughtful. “Alokien may have ears in taverns. What else can I do?”

  “Saiya Kunnai always says a rock is a spade is a plate is a bludgeon to bash that bastard's head in.”

  “I'm familiar with it. One of the infamous Master Kozias lines she loves to quote so much. In other words, use what you got,” Shunatar summarized.

  “So, what do you got?”

  Shunatar thought real hard for a while. “I'm good at reading people.”

  “Reading? Like, figuring out what they're thinking and stuff?”

  “Of a sorts. I may not be gifted in Psychonics, but I've always been good at reading subtle clues to determine how people feel and when they're lying.” Shunatar seemed to get caught up on that. His face fell like he'd just lost his love. “Oh, dash it. Never mind about that. It was a fanciful belief that has recently been disproved.”

  Alokien and Soventine had played Shunatar for a fool. They roped him into betraying His Majesty, and it was all because Shunatar thought he had Soventine pegged as on t
he up-and-up. And on account of that, Alokien had been planted into Soventine. Shunatar had really saved the day in the end, but he never seemed to remember that part, where he severed Alokien from his own self and kept the kadda from claiming His Majesty's body. He was so fixed on his bad that he forgot his good.

  “Just 'cause it didn't work on Soventine don't mean nothing. He fooled everyone—even me. And I was tailing him and looking all through his stuff, too, and I was suspecting him where you wasn't. Soventine ain't the normal man and he knew it's a lot easier to con them that wants to be conned. Anyhow, I got an idea. Down on Jolanock Square there's a bunch of folks what set up stations all around the park fencing. Potions dealers, centinar portrait sketchers, even bards. I seen a few fortune tellers, too. If you can read so good, why don't you tell fortunes and such?”

  “Without advanced gifts in Prophetics and Psychonics? I'd be a quack. Such a dishonest occupation,” Shunatar said. He wrinkled his face like he'd just been eating dirt and flies. “I don't fancy myself a vulture that prays upon the superstitious and vulnerable.”

  “You do want to feed His Majesty, don't ya?” Dailan realized he had forgotten to call him Rel, the name they had settled on for him. “If Rel starves cause you're too noble and honor-bound to use what you got to feed him, I think Saiya Kunnai will have words and blades for both of us, and a'fore I let her cut my Aquilinian jewels off, I'll tell her Rel shriveled and wasted away 'cause you was only thinking of the good of them poor dumb bastards what come to them places on the Square and that your despise of quackery is more important than the fate of Septauria.”

  Shunatar seemed to pick up on the funnies in what Dailan had said, even though he had said it real serious. Shunatar's mouth turned up like he was proud of himself, like he was the one who thunk it up. “As I have no other options, and as I shudder to think of Kir cutting off my anything, I will try my hand at this fortune telling.”

  And so he did. Dailan helped him set up a station, which was not much more than a cushion for the patron to sit on and a kneeling table borrowed from their rented room. They swiped some red ink and used it to paint characters on a bed sheet to tell passersby of Tosh the Marvel. It hung behind Shunatar on the fence. Dailan had to swipe Shunatar a new tunic, on account of the ugly orange one not being all that inviting to patrons, so he found a decent one that was easier on the eyes and had fewer built-in breeze holes. His Majesty sat off the library steps across from Shunatar every day, staring at nothing, while Dailan went about town collecting up what little he could rummage.

  It wasn't much. It wasn't enough, in fact, and even with Shunatar's little bit, they ended up getting throwed to the streets in just over three weeks.

  -5-

  Bitter Tensions Awakening, On Appendage of Chaos and Tongue of Fraternity

  Mother and Sterigen allowed me to join them on their pilgrimage to Northport for the annual Meeting of Mercarian Lordships. It took longer than I had planned, but I was able to make my escape from the dreadful, overbearing nursie that shadowed my every step and snatched me away from the bridge railings when I leaned too far over the side. I'm certain she will be disciplined for her failure of duty, but I will play on my boyish charms and plead for a reduction in punishment.

  I hate it for her, but whatever she takes was worth the outcome, for I got to see the whole of the city, and it was splendid! There was a place near the docks called the Kaiyocadia, packed with cages. There were kaiyo of every shape and size on display! Some of them had snarling fangs, but others were so darling, with their big eyes and furry snouts. I dare say, I do so desire one!

  Perhaps I can plead with Sterigen to procure me one of the delightful varieties before we head for home. Maybe even a baku, which was the funniest manner of creature I've ever seen!

  These kaiyo do not seem as terrible as the bards sing. But then, as my tutors often note,

  I understand the power of exaggeration to an apt and eager audience.

  - Excerpt from the journal of Toma Scilio, age eleven

  “Ramming us? Kaiyo?” Kir muttered sluggishly, trying to get her bearings and weigh the fiction against the reality. As Malacar hustled her up and tugged a bobber vest over her head, Kir realized the Alokien dream had been much more fiction, even though she had thought herself half-awake.

  Disorientation muddled her thoughts. It took a moment for Kir to work through the happenings of the last so-long. She remembered laying down to catch a nap, which had turned out to be a fitful one, plagued with anxieties that had manifested as nightmares. She was thankful she couldn't recall the details.

  They were only a day or two from making Kestih port, which lay on the western coast of southern Aquiline. They could not sail directly to the Hili wetlands. The North Arcadian Sea had become too dangerous for the ocean kaiyo that infested the waters. It made for a de facto barrier, adding one more layer of protection for Hili from the outside world, yet one more obstruction to the quick and easy path Kir would have preferred.

  Kaiyo were not exactly natural animals. They were something worse than the monsters of every child's nightmare. Some unknown hand had been breeding them in the wilds of Arcadia for generations. It was recently discovered that Alokien had something to do with the kaiyo manifestation. There were many different breeds of kaiyo, but they all laid claim to their own brand of dangerous. It was hard enough to face one on land. In open waters, it was suicide. Most sailors steered clear of northern Arcadia and southern Aquiline to avoid encounters.

  The royal navy always patrolled the Mercarian Straight to keep kaiyo in check. It was one reason Vann's party had made landfall near Sandbridge and hiked across southern Aquiline on their first journey to Hili, rather than make port in Kestih —there was too much risk of running into naval patrols that were probably placed on alert after their flight from Farraday's troops. The risk was the same now, but Ulivall's galleon could face off with a royal clipper much easier than a rinky dinky little rented boat could have.

  Kir had not anticipated kaiyo here. Either this one had slipped through the naval patrols, or it had destroyed them. If the monsters had moved this far north into the straight, it would cut off a major travel route.

  “To the hold,” Malacar commanded.

  Kir did not entertain the whim to argue. The libertines needed her to help them find a handle on their calm, even if she didn't quite have a grip on her own.

  Their feet pounded the decks as Malacar guided Kir down the passageway. Just as they reached the proper hatch, the ship listed, tossing them against the bulkhead. As it stabilized, the topside hatch flew open. A forceful hand shoved Eshuen, Ulivall's recently promoted General Second in Ithinar Steel, through then dogged it down. Eshuen slammed a fist and string of Dimishuan curses against the hatch. He sank to the top rung, panting as he leaned his frame against the rail.

  Malacar had been about to guide Kir down to the hold, but he turned back at Eshuen's state. Kir bolted for her clan-brother at the same time. She fought Malacar for room, squeezing her way to the top of the ladder.

  Eshuen braced himself against Malacar's arm, a firmer hold than the slippery rail. He struggled to breathe, left arm clutched tightly to his side.

  “Report,” Malacar commanded, probing his fingers along Eshuen's ribs.

  “It's a nessertaum... juvenile... An adult would have smashed... hole in hull by now,” Eshuen panted, his Hilian accent thick. He grunted as Malacar's fingers found a tender spot. He coughed and wheezed, speaking through foamy bitterness. “All warriors are on deck to battle... Ulivall thinks this minor injury... too limiting... Commanded me to... cargo hold with civilians.”

  “And he's right,” Malacar said, hauling Eshuen up. “Your ribs are broken and you've punctured a lung. You won't do the men any good as a liability under their feet.”

  Eshuen was obviously more distraught by the battle he was missing than he was at the prospect of his lungs caving. Kir backed down the ladder, offering an arm that wasn't really needed, as Mala
car eased Eshuen forward. It was clunky going, the ladder rails being little wider than one average body, and the two bulky men were more on the scale of five. They made way toward the cargo hold, Eshuen supported under Malacar's arm. Kir couldn't help staring up at the topside hatch, imagining the beckoning weather deck where the battle raged. It was one Kir should be fighting. Hers was another blade. With Eshuen out, Ulivall would need all the hands he could get.

  Kir waited until the men had disappeared through the hatch before she tugged off her bobber vest and tossed it aside. She bolted up the ladder and thrust herself into the sunlight, drawing Guardian Arrelius' dagger that was strapped to her leg. Against the towering nessertaum's neck that rose from the waters off the starboard bow, the dagger looked more like a thumbtack than a fearsome weapon.

  “That's a juvenile?” she voiced incredulously.

  The nessertaum was a long-necked lizardy fishy thing, but on a scale only Gods and bards would find funny. Its body was half the length of the ship, and its neck was stretched like it had been caught in a taffy-pull.