Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace

by H. Jane Harrington

  “It's pretty swollen,” Dailan said. He pulled some stray rags from a pile beside him and wrapped the swollen ankle up good and firm. Emmi squirmed a little, but she didn't cry out. “I'd stay off it for a while, if'n I was you. This place is big enough to have a frostery, so you should ice it up.”

  Emmi shrugged. “Thanks again. You went beyond the call of thieves honor. Makes me feel bad that I lied.”

  “No starving siblings, then?” Dailan asked, having figured that out already. He got up and propped her foot on the crate where he had been sitting.

  “No. I mean, Gindsey and Jorrlah do live here, but they're courtalelihs. Children of the courtesans, that is. They're raised by everyone, so they've got lots of folks looking out for them. Gindsey had a bout of the gingerpox last year, and Jorrlah did break his leg once, I wasn't fibbing about that. But they're not exactly starving or sickly as I made out.”

  “I'da helped anyway, even without the sob story.”

  “I know. I also know your name isn't Dainn, but I won't go about asking what it really is.”

  “Now how would you know a thing like that?” Dailan asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  “I told you already. Feminine wiles.”

  Dailan backed away on antsy legs. A wench that could read that could probably read a lot more, and it was safer to be done with the deal and the likes of her.

  Emmi seemed to pick up on Dailan's change in mood. “Truth be told, I'm not just Emmi, either. I'm the First Officer of the S.S.S. Emerald Bounty.”

  “First officer? Not the Captain?” Dailan asked sarcastically. Considering the wenchlet's sing-song voice and penchant for storytelling, she would probably make a good bard. She had him on alert with her yarning, to the point that if she said the sky was blue, he'd be of a mind to doubt her.

  “I can't be. Not yet, anyway, because my father is the Captain.”

  “If you're the First Officer, what are you doing here?”

  “Shore leave.”

  “S.S.S.? That means Septaurian Service Ship. A Triple-S class ain't a Royal Navy ship, so he's either a transport, a merchant or a— ”

  “A pirate. I already told you that,” Emmi said. She looked as proud as Guardian Malacar with a heaping plate of vittles.

  “Enough yarn spinning. A real pirate wouldn't be flaunting such. It's one of the highest crimes, punishable by worse things than death. I been slipping wares for as long as I was able, but it's not something to be all braggin' and waggin' on.”

  “My father's the good kind,” Emmi corrected. “He only pinches from those that deserve it.”

  “Robbing nobles for the sake of the lowers, is it?”

  Emmi bobbed her head proudly.

  “That story is as old and worn as the moons,” Dailan scoffed.

  “I'm a romantic,” Emmi winked and flashed a sly grin.

  “So, if you're on shore leave, why are you living in a brothella?”

  “Actually, it's more like extended shore leave. The Emerald Bounty is evading the royal Navy, so my father's just waiting for the first safe chance to come back and get me. I live here at Chalice House because I'm technically a courtalelih, too. My mother was a courtesan here and she died birthing me. It's the obligation of a house to raise the children born of it. But it won't be much longer and I'll be with my father again. What about you? Do you have family?”

  “Yeah. A whole passel of 'em. I got adopted into a clan last year. It's not very big, but I got more older brothers and sisters than I can shake a stick at and...” Dailan realized his trap was moving more than was good for him. “Well, I gotta scoot. We gonna trade now or jawbone all day?”

  “You still want to trade? Even though I weaseled you?”

  “A deal's a deal. Like you said, that shortsword is worth more than my neck and I'm supposed to look after it. Fates hang in the balance, so I gotta have it back.”

  “You didn't steal it after all,” Emmi realized aloud. “It's your master's?”

  Dailan hesitated. “Something like that. It's my big sister's. She's got a flashfire temper and I'm afraid of which appendages I'd lose if I were to go home without it.”

  “Hand over the goods and I'll do my part,” Emmi promised quickly. “My word is the ultimate warranty.”

  “Yeah, I'll bet it is,” Dailan mumbled to himself. He tugged the pouch from his belt and tossed it to Emmi's lap. She unlaced the cords and dumped it out, only to find the bottom had been full of lead scraps. The lorans that had been bulging from the top were only for show. There weren't more than a handful to cover over the worthless fragments. It had been a full on ruse after all.

  “What did you do with the rest?” Emmi asked in shock. “Did you swap it out? You swindler!” She lurched awkwardly toward Dailan, lifting her arm like she was about to haul off a slap. The lead and lorans clattered across the floor. Dailan braced himself for another cheek sting, but Emmi's downswing was interrupted by a voice.

  “Emerald Bounty! What goes on here?”

  As Emmi stepped forward on the swollen ankle that wouldn't hold her weight, she toppled forward into Dailan's arms. He caught her from falling on her face, though a good part of him wanted to let her kiss the deck.

  A tall woman with the figure of a perfect hourglass appeared in the doorway, her silver gown sparkling like fireflowers. Her face was powdered and painted like the dolls in store windows. A mound of shiny black hair was sculpted around her head and fixed up with baubles and ornaments. Dailan had seen a lot of powdered and painted strutting peahens in his time in High Empyrea. This lady could have walked among the finest of them.

  Emmi let out a string of teeth-chattering ills at the pain in her ankle. Each one worked further under Dailan's skin until he could almost feel the hurt like it was his own. He figured those feminine wiles that Emmi was so fond of using must have been addling his inklings.

  Dailan eased the girl back onto the crate and took up the servie tone that he was so good at using in High Empyrea. “Lady Emmi hurt her ankle. She could kindly use a seeing to by a Master Healer, or at least a sack of ice, if you please.”

  The woman studied Dailan like there was a world of knowing in her brainworks, then she swept in to examine Emmi's injury. She glowed her hand over it with some manner of Healing assessment spell. “Oh dear, Senlih. This is rather bad. I'll send for Hessalin.”

  Dailan had heard the word Senlih a few times in past weeks. It was a Venlender's affectionate way of saying young miss, or something like that. Maybe it was closer to treasured young unmarried woman that has my affection. Every island had its own way of speaking, but it wasn't hard to go about the figuring.

  “Bressalin is gentler with her healing,” Emmi said under her breath.

  “Do not mumble when speaking, Emerald,” the woman scolded mildly. “It does no favor to our guest, whom you have failed to introduce.” She looked to Dailan with a fixed smile that wasn't all that inviting, but neither was it accusatory. Her eyes were calculators, and they were tallying him up and down.

  “This is Dainn, Bahnli,” Emmi said, calling her by the respectful but affectionate title for an adult woman. “He saved my life from a runaway airskiff that was plaguing the market row. You should have seen it! Chaos was everywhere and that skiff nearly plowed down a whole crowd of bystanders. There were horses running amok, trampling poor terrified souls. Wagons crashing into walls. Spells flying left and right. A load of rice barrels flipped over and spilled, burying me under hundreds of pounds. I couldn't even breathe! Thank sweet Serafin that Dainn was there to dig me out and whisk me from harm's way. I'd have been meeting the Collectors if he hadn't saved me. I hurt my ankle in the mishap, but he was kind enough to tote me home on his back.”

  “I see. How fortunate he was there,” the woman said, all smooth and smart. If she knew Emmi was lying, she didn't let on.

  Emmi continued with her introduction. “Dainn, this is Shiriah Kehlamani, the Magister of Chalice House.”

&
nbsp; Dailan issued the proper servie bow of respect at the introduction. Magister meant the woman was the headmistress. She was the teacher, leader and whatever else headmistresses were in charge of overseeing at a brothella.

  “Quite the dashing hero,” the Magister said pensively, still studying Dailan. Her eyes fell to the purloined pouch and its scattered contents on the floor. “It appears you dropped your purse, Senlih. I assume you were paying your savior for his services? You must not let such heroic valor go unrewarded.”

  Emmi looked down to the lorans and tried to bob her head. Through grit teeth, she said, “I was, Bahnli. I was overcome with joy and spilled his reward.”

  “Gracious, but is that all? Surely your life and transport is worth more than a few measly lorans and lead scraps, dear one. Invite your savior to our table. Let us remember our hospitality and issue tribute where it is justly due,” Magister Kehlamani said, then added to Dailan, “Assuming your master will not report your absence?”

  “No, Magister. My master is out of sorts. He won't even notice I'm gone.”

  The Magister chuckled to herself, still eyeing him in the creepy sort of way that Bertrand always did when he was healing someone. She swept in and placed a warm hand on Dailan's shoulder, like he didn't wear a collar, or like she didn't care that he did. Instantly, all the apprehension and creepiness evaporated like steam off a summer puddle. Magister Kehlamani seeped charm from her pores and Dailan grew an instant liking for the woman, despite his better sensibilities.

  “As you saved my ward from a crushing end in the square, you are a friend to Chalice House, and friends are granted familiar names here, Dainn. I insist you call me Shiriah. Collect your spilled lorans and come along. Join me for some tea and refreshment.”

  The Magister led Dailan through the inner doorway with flair, like he was one of her clients. It was practically unheard of, a collared slave being invited in for hobnobbing by the wealthy owner of a manor. He really couldn't bring himself to call the Magister by her givens, even with the permission she gave him. Dailan had never been in a brothella before, so maybe things were run different than in the rest of the known world, but it just seemed odd to be treated like something other than disposable property. In Saiya Kunnai and His Majesty's company, Dailan had known what uncollared felt like to walk with respect, but he had still been playing a role all that time in High Empyrea. Collared got no natural born respect in the eyes of most noble houses, and collared nippers got even less. Just because Saiya Kunnai and His Majesty respected him didn't mean everyone else in Empyrea had.

  “You're not leaving me here?!” Emmi called after them.

  “I'll send Hessalin down directly. You may join us when you are able,” the Magister replied.

  Emmi looked like she was about to pop kittens. “But, Bahnli...!”

  Dailan could still hear Emmi calling and cursing from down the hall as they made their way through the manor. It was a prime delight of an establishment, all gussied with trimmings and garnishes that were smart like Havenlen. The rooms were more primped and dressed than a Brenderia's Day suckling pig. Every hall had its own essence, smelling crisp and fresh like the paths through the Queen's Gardens in High Empyrea.

  “Please pardon my ward's poor manners. She has a will that is not easily influenced, even by my own. I'm afraid we rather spoil her here at Chalice House,” Magister Kehlamani cooed, like she was apologizing with half a mouth. Even though the words were spoken prim and proper-like, there was something about the way she said them that made Dailan think she was beaming inside.

  “Oh, she's a right gem of a lady,” Dailan lied.

  The Magister smiled tightly, then gestured into a parlor room that was chock full of powdered peaches laden with foofaraw. They were sitting around with books and wine glasses. A few hovered over a colorful board game Dailan didn't recognize. One peacock of a fop strummed and hammered on a long stringed instrument. Every one of the pretties looked comfortable, like they didn't have a care in the world. Dailan's feet anchored the floor. Even with the invite, it didn't feel fitting for a collared nipper to be in the same room with so many fineries, unless there was a chore or task to be done.

  “Courtesans and courtesors, we have a guest. Our precious Emerald found herself in mortal peril today, and this young man came to her dashing rescue. Let us shower him with gratitude,” the Magister announced.

  After some gushy-mushy oohing and ahhing from most of the room, Dailan was pulled into a private chamber where a steamy copper tub waited. He was scrubbed and rinsed without his even realizing it was happening, and he half-wondered if he had wandered into somebody else's dream. Nobody had ever fussed and waited on him in his whole entire life. A fresh tunic and trousers replaced the old hole-pocked ones, and his scraggly hair was trimmed and combed. When Dailan looked in the mirror, he had to admit it was a different kid that peered back. It was the first time he'd been so squeaky since Saiya Kunnai had insisted he scrub up for His Majesty's First Wedding in Cornia.

  Dailan was led to a private table under an ivy-woven trellised patio, surrounded by water gardens and flower gardens and hanging gardens and even hummingbird gardens! He tried to insist on being fed in the kitchens where collared were expected to eat, but the Magister commanded a sight of him. “No savior of our house will eat with the dogs,” she said.

  After the first four courses of a fine meal, Dailan's shrunken stomach was already bulging. It had been a while since he'd eaten so fully, and his belly didn't seem to remember how to take it in. Magister Kehlamani made polite conversation as he ate, but only enough to avoid interrupting him. She studied his every move with the eyes of a hawk, just like Avalir did when he was gauging something.

  Different courtesans carted the dishes away, each as soppy and eager to please as the next.

  “Is Lady Emmi's ankle okay?” Dailan asked finally, realizing he had not seen her in all the hubbub.

  “Oh, she will be just fine,” the Magister said. “Hessalin is tying her bandages as we speak. Our Emerald is resilient. A true gem, as you said. And now, what of you, Dainn? I don't believe you hail from Havenlen. What brings your master to White Tower? The university, perhaps?”

  Dailan had to tread lightly here. Too much talk could spill too much knowing. “Master Tosh is here on account of research. Looking to gain access to the university library, but he didn't figure on it being so hard to get an access card. Unless you're afflicted with the university, you can't get in.”

  “Affiliated, you mean to say?”

  Dailan bobbed his head. “I reckon. He's real down on his luck, my master is. Come all this way only to have his poor hopes dashed like yesterday's rubbish.”

  “Tosh. Marvelous how fate works,” Magister Kehlamani said, almost like she was thinking out loud. “It just so happens I know the very people that might help your Master Tosh gain access to his research. As you have probably determined by now, we are a house with means and connections. Our prime location allows us a special relationship with White Tower University and its many... benefactors. Perhaps I can lend aid. Might I ask to which department your master seeks inquiry?”

  “Archives and Annals,” Dailan answered, almost against his own will. He tried to stopper the words from flowing, but something urged them on, and made him the happier for having divulged it. He didn't figure it to be a grand secret, anyway.

  “I see. One of my favorites! You don't find many scholars outside of the priesthood to concern themselves with antiquated topics. Whom might your master be? I must meet this man of scholarly acumen.”

  “Tosh is just...Tosh,” Dailan said carefully. “It's just him and me and his simpleton brother, Rel. Like I said, he's fallen on hard times since we dropped anchor in White Tower. Been turning trade on Jolanock just to get by, but he lost every centinar to his name at the hands of a no-good mugger what rung his bell. We've been living on refuse since.”

  “Where have you been lodging?”

  “On the
streets. Not so bad this time of year, except when it rains...”

  The Magister was downright staggered. “This just won't do. White Tower must never make a name as a city of ill repute, especially to those of scholarly nature. What would the rest of Septauria think if we good Venlenders turn a blind eye to such a travesty? Lodging and meals are due your master in his time of need. I'll offer no less, as a concerned citizen of White Tower.”

  Dailan blinked a few times. He wiggled his finger in his ear to clear it out, figuring he hadn't heard right. “You want me to fetch 'em here?”

  “Absolutely, dear boy. Your service to our Emerald is worth more than a mere pouch of lorans. I insist. You lent your shoulders to one in need. Allow me to repay the debt.”

  It sounded too good to be true. Saiya Kunnai always said if it did that, you'd best skin out because trouble was sure to follow. Even though Dailan had helped their ward get home safe and all, there was something not adding up about the woman's interest and generosity. Did the Magister want Dailan for herself, to turn him into one of her courtesors? Or maybe she was running some kind of slave ring, selling unsuspecting clients to them that could pay. Dailan might have thought she wanted Shunatar for herself, for all that alluring magnetism that could charm even blind women, but she hadn't met him to want him yet.

  He was about to turn the offer down like Saiya Kunnai would have done, but he suddenly didn't want to leave. The prospect of a roof over His Majesty's head and the warm comforts of food on a welcoming gardeny table were impossible to pass up. It was just for a night or two, anyway. Once Shunatar had access to the library, he could find the answers they needed. Then, they could rope His Majesty back and Dailan would be the hero of the kingdom. Besides, he still needed Emmi to get Deynartrial back. There were too many reasons to take the Magister up on her swanky offer, and too few to turn her down.