“Most Septaurians still have no idea of the true kaiyo situation. We Arcadians have never had the luxury of viewing kaiyo through cages,” Inagor said. “My entire childhood was given to keeping them at bay. Arcadia's thick jungles and woodlands are rife with the wildlings. Towns are accustomed to attack. We felled so many second-classers back in my youth, I lost count. The rest of the islands were spared the constant threat of a struggle they had no idea was raging in their own kingdom, an infestation kept in check at the front line by Arcadian blood and tears. The citizens wear their brash confidence on their sleeves—certainly the reason Arcadians are often stereotyped as arrogant by the other islands. Anyway, kaiyo are just a way of life where I was raised. And, of course, there was Cerener...”
Cerener Valley. It was a topic that was not quick to the tongue of those who had lived through it. The horrors of that battle would long be the topic of bardsong, tragic novel and the midnight terrors of veteran nightmares.
“I made the mistake once, when Vann was a young teenager, of reliving bits for him,” Inagor continued darkly. “His history books taught of the Arcadian Rebellion. It taught of the rogue militia that took a handful of towns, using their captive kaiyo to terrorize and subjugate. When Soventine mobilized his forces against them, they fought back in several skirmishes, until it all culminated at the Cerener compounds. The militia mowed down our lines with their waves of kaiyo, unleashed in full force. It was a bloodbath. Thousands fell between the beaches and the valley before we overpowered them. That was the acceptable story, fit for public consumption.
“Vann asked, so I told him the truth. About our special unit, the Sanguinary Tide, and our role in razing the compounds. I should have stopped there. I should have left out the parts where the Sanguinary Tide slaughtered the unarmed. The shame of ripping infants from the arms of their pleading nursemaids, the Inferno Ruptors we cast to incinerate the nurseries. What went on behind those walls was as sickening as our destruction of it. The abhorrent breeding programs that mixed kaiyo with human blood. The laboratories... The cages... The bodies of feeder humans...” Inagor swallowed the memory down.
Kir let him master the past in silence. She gulped hard, finding her throat too dry to manage.
“Vann didn't—he couldn't—comprehend why. He had never seen kaienze. The kaiyo blood meant nothing—it was irrelevant. He couldn't fathom why we would kill babies in their innocence, when they had done nothing wrong. I suppose he saw himself in the creatures—he was hunted for a crime he had not yet committed, just like those infant kaienze. I don't think he ever forgave me my excuse that a warrior follows his orders without question. It didn't matter that our mission destroyed the early stage development of a hybrid army of unstoppable monstrosities, intended to invade the kingdom when it reached maturity. I was a murderer in Vann's eyes. He had every right to despise me. I only wish I had been more thorough a murderer. I obviously missed a few, as Soreina put it.”
“Vann understands now, Inagor. After the airferry, after Soreina. We talked about it in his mourning. He grasps the bigger picture of what that battle was about. For a gentle, naive, innocent soul like Vann who sees the good in everything, it's hard to imagine that murder can prevent murder. There were a lot of things he never got the chance to say to you. The kinds of regrets you only realize after someone is gone,” Kir said gently.
Inagor nodded, but he wasn't appeased. Not even Vann's pardon could absolve him from the horrors of the past.
“Vann will have some hard decisions of his own to make, over the same matters. From what little I picked up overhearing Soreina and Gensing behind their closed doors, Soventine took over the program and revitalized it after Cerener. He obviously realized the potential in training a kaiyo army, with kaienze commanders at the helm.”
“On Alokien's orders, no doubt,” Kir agreed. “Makes me wish you had been more thorough a murderer, too. The world could use one less Soreina and one less Gensing mucking it up.”
“That oversight will not go unrectified. And I will never lose a night's sleep over it this time,” Inagor affirmed.
Kir's feral grin matched Inagor's. The prospect of righting wrongs was eye-to-eye in their agendas. They were both starved for some retribution. Kir gripped the railing tightly, matching the strength in her determination. It rumbled, hungry in its own right. A chortle suddenly escaped Kir's lips before she could cork it. She coughed it back.
Inagor cocked his head and raised a curious eyebrow, taken aback by the uncharacteristic reaction after so dark a topic. “What is it?”
“Sorry 'bout that. I just realized most of my profound conversations tend to happen alongside railings. Why is that, I wonder?”
“Railings?” Inagor pondered, putting on his warrior-sage hat. “I suppose they overlook a broad view of the world. You can see the big picture from the distance. Perhaps they leave your mind open to new perspectives and revelations?”
“Is that why? Master Kozias probably would have said, Because the suicidal plunge always beckons to those who think too hard, or some such blather.” Kir tried to make her imitation Kozias sound as crotchety and surly as her voice box would allow. “He was so full of bloat, Kozias, trying to make himself seem wiser than he really was. Sometimes I think he was just toying with me, to see how much he could poke before he'd get a reaction. It always worked.”
“He sounds like a character,” Inagor laughed.
“Cantankerous, bigoted, misogynistic old windbag's more like it,” Kir corrected, trying not to smile. There were more recollections on her old master to share, but they were interrupted by pounding feet and shouts.
“Saiya Kunnai! I think I got it!” Dailan came bounding up the ladder with an odd-looking contraption in his hand. He raced to Kir's side, all aglow. “Let's give it a go.”
Malacar followed him up the ladder, keen on the prospect of whatever Dailan had in store.
“That was... fast.” Kir tried to sound encouraging, despite her doubt.
“That's 'cause it weren't no trouble. The rigging was already made by somebody else—I think it was a wrist and hand protector for working on the engine. I fixed it up with a spring and a mechanism. And an Arcadian toothpick, on account of your dagger being too wide. It was liable to cut your thumb on the release, so Guardian Malacar said I could have his.”
The device was a leather vambrace that fastened securely around Kir's forearm, where her lumanere Guardian symbol had once resided. A sheath-like mechanism was attached to the underbelly of the vambrace, housing the long dagger's blade that had been removed from its hilt. The leather extended all the way up Kir's palm, fashioning a makeshift splint, replacing the old one but serving the same purpose of keeping the fingers from curling under. Dailan slipped the old splint off and secured the vambrace's extension around her hand.
“Watch your thumb—keep it back. That's it. Now, you just gotta flick this doojigger here...” Dailan pressed a small lever near the base of the sheath and the blade popped into place in Kir's palm. “Give it a swish. See if it stays put.”
Kir gripped the hilt with as much strength as the three fingers could muster. She gestured to Inagor for his assistance. They didn't have wooden swords, but the scabbard of his Guardian sword served all the purpose they needed. He mock-lunged and Kir batted his advance down with the vambrace's blade. Not only did the contraption hold securely, the weapon stayed in her grip, actually repelling the attack. They shifted around the deck, each parry and lunge proving the vambrace's battle-worthiness with increasing confidence. It became a sort of stage production more than an actual spar.
The clanging attracted an audience from the lower deck. Gevriah and Lili filtered up the ladder, with Farning trailing dourly. The Master Prophet hadn't been thrilled to make the journey, though Kir had insisted he accompany them to the Prophecy chamber, against his better jollies. While Kir and Inagor tested out the new vambrace, Farning stood back, arms tucked in the massive sleeves of his cassock, looking all
the while like he would rather be sucking kappa claws.
For the benefit of the crowd and the demonstration of the device's worthiness, Inagor let Kir disarm him of the scabbard, which flew into the air. Kir whirled and snatched it deftly, whipping the vambrace blade around to Inagor's neck in a showy ending to the performance.
“It's a warrior's wonder, it is!” Kir laughed, ignoring the applause of the newcomers. “You really cut this together yourself, Dagnabber?”
Dailan thrust his hands into his pockets with a phony sheepishness that didn't match the pride in his eyes.
“I watched him whip the entire device together from various parts. He's a natural mechanologist,” Malacar confirmed. His stance was eased, certainly as relaxed as he had been in weeks. The pull of the Guardian magic was loosening its tension on him, now that he was heading toward his Guarded again.
Kir swished the blade around. The range of motion in her wrist was limited, but it gave her the stability needed in the grip, essentially making the blade an extension of her arm. Even if her grip faltered, the dagger would stay fixed in her palm. Despite the limited mobility, it was leaps and bounds better than the other hindrance of a splint.
“To retract the blade, just press the trigger thingy again.”
Kir did as Dailan instructed. The blade was sucked back to its resting place, safe inside the built-in scabbard.
“This is just a first-try. At the mechanology convention I picked a while back, they'd call it a prototype. The next one I make'll be more flexible in the wrist, and it'll have some reinforcement built into the vambrace wall. That way, you can use it to deflect weapons,” Dailan said. “I can make the palm more curvy, too, so if you're using a broadsword the pommel will glide through rather than catch. I was thinking of calling it a vamblade. You know... vambrace and blade squeezed together?”
“A vamblade. When'd you get so good with mechanisms and such?” Kir asked whimsically.
“Always been. Never had much call or resource until now. I only ever used it to pick locks before. White Tower's been a wealth of how-to's. Professor Westerfold left behind a lair of mechtech and lots of books he was writing. I brung a few with me. I've been learning from what he built.”
“You were so envious of Bertrand when you had your own brand of talents, all along,” Kir noted. “If you keep running up my debts, I'm gonna end up owing you my firstborn.”
“T'weren't nuthin. Anyhow, here's your steel back.” Dailan handed over the Arrelius dagger he had borrowed earlier. “I'm gonna scoot back to the bridge, make sure everything's shipshape. Emmi probably wants a breather from the helm.”
When he was gone, Kir turned back to the horizon. The range was starting to look more like craggy mountains than hungry teeth now. Beacon was gliding on the updraughts, taking in the full magnificence of the view. Everyone stood around, gawping and chattering. The rest of Ithinar Steel and a few of the Aquilinians were on the foredeck below, still awe-struck at their transport. Even from overhead, Kir could see the excitement bleeding from their very movements. They seemed to be betting on something as they pointed at the horizon.
Kir glanced back to Farning. He hadn't been keen on making the journey away from the cozy place where he was worshiped, but Kir needed him for more than just his lovable personality. “Master Prophet, since we've got a moment, let's talk about the ritual and the soulblade. We need to know the details before we go in, and now's as good a time as any.”
Farning nodded his agreement. “Very well, Highness.”
Kir slipped her flask from her hip pocket and passed it over to lighten his scan a bit. It worked within a single sip. She let him finish off the fine Beckett wine before accepting the empty flask back. “I'm going to save this jiggerrig. Someday, when you're famous, I'll be able to say that your lips touched it,” Kir said, hoping the puffery would loosen him even more.
“Famous?” The idea seemed to perk him from his misery.
“Of course! We couldn't do this without you. History may end up writing you as the savior of the kingdom. The walloper of Chaos. The Order Bringer. Famous,” Kir repeated.
Malacar's chest shook in silent laughter. Inagor cleared the funnies from his throat with a pretended coughing spell.
Farning's chest swelled with the prospect. “Well now, Highness, we'll verily see about that, won't we?”
“What can you tell us about the soulblade? And the Recollection spell? Malacar needs to know exactly what he's doing when he walks into that chamber,” Kir said.
“The nousectional, soulblade to you, is a conduit, which acts as a capacitor for the nousect during its transition. The sharp end requires a sacrifice of blood to activate the transition magic, and the blunt end will serve as the depositor, to channel the nousect back through the soulgate during transfer. The Recollection spell is simple, though it is one of Forbiddens. As the Karanni mark is restored, there will be a brief moment when the Guardian magic will reset itself as it reestablishes connection. Just a hiccup, but His Majesty's Kion will ignite the instant his nousect is restored. Therefore, a Guardian on hand to contain it is an absolute necessity. It must be a Guardian wielding the soulblade, as well.”
“Is that so the blade doesn't harm Vann's body?” Kir asked.
Farning's beady eyes blinked and his mouth twisted in annoyance, like Kir had just been spitting through her teeth. “Of course not. The soul has already been severed with the blade. The danger to the vessel would have occurred at that point. The transference does not require entry by fissure as the severing did. Since the soulgate remains exposed, the conduit merely needs to make superficial contact with the vessel for the transference to succeed.”
“Then, why does it have to be a Guardian? Couldn't I do it?” Kir asked.
“No. The Recollection must be performed through the Guardian Bonding. It's like activating a magnet. Only a Guardian can summon His Majesty through the power of the vambrace.”
“I didn't realize we could perform Forbiddens in the Bonding,” Malacar commented thoughtfully.
“Didn't you?” Farning scoffed incredulously. “That's what Guardian magic is, you lummox! It's all rooted in Forbiddens. It's Godly power. The Kionfire isn't activated when you use Guardian magic because of the suppression of the vambrace, but you are a walking trove of Forbidden magic.”
Kir and the Guardians shared their shock through their eye-talk.
“So, chamber. Blood on sharp end. Recollection spell in the Guardian Bonding. Blunt end passes across Vann's soulgate to shove him back inside. Sheathe the Kion. And that's it?” Kir summarized.
“In your own simplistic little way, I suppose it is,” Farning agreed.
“What you do think?” Kir asked Malacar. “Comfortable?”
“I'm pretty sure I can handle it. I've used the Bonding before to sense His Majesty. This spell takes it a step further. Instinct will guide me,” Malacar said.
“There's truth to that,” Farning agreed. “I can't really provide the methods of the spell, as it's not written. You'll have to feel your way through it.”
“We've done that before,” Kir said, thinking back to all the times they had let the Bonding guide them. She was confident Malacar would have no problem. Vann's soul was connected to them. It shouldn't take much to summon it back.
“Well then, as I have settled your mind, I'm off to settle my sensibilities. There's a full cask in the galley, and your sample only served to awaken my thirst. Good day, Highness.” Farning waved a hand in dismissal and clunked down the ladder to commence pickling his liver.
Ulivall came up, just as Farning was going down.
“Kir, the first shift is awake, so we're heading down to bunk for a few hours,” Ulivall reported. “You should do the same.”
“I will, as soon as I bring Beacon in.” She lodged a command to the hawk to return to his cadge on the deck. Kir rubbed the sting from her eyes as Emmi came bounding up beside her.
“Your Highness, why d
on't I show you my quarters? Dailan says you haven't slept in about a year, and my swingbed is pretty comfy. It's all yours. We still have a lot of sky ahead of us.”
Kir had to admit, she was ready to pack it in. She followed Emmi down the ladder, with Inagor, Malacar, Gevriah and Lili trailing.
The stateroom was vacant and as quiet as quiet got on a droning, rumble-belly airship.
“I know it's not as grand as you're accustomed to,” Emmi apologized as Kir took a glance around. She seemed antsy and uncomfortable, unsure of how to act.
“You'd be surprised.” Kir sat on the edge of the impressive triple-width mattress that was suspended on chains. “Looks about as homey and comfortable as any bedchamber I've ever wished for. In fact, I'm rather partial to it. I've always had a fondness for rustic and nautical styles.”
She slid over, motioning for Lili and Gevriah to join her. There was plenty enough room for the three of them, with some to spare. As they began pulling off their boots, Emmi hopped to work, laying them out in a neat row on the mud rack in the wardrobe. Gevriah unfastened Kir's vamblade and handed it to Inagor, who placed it on a lipped shelf built into the bulkhead.
“Dailan said you weren't one for pretension,” Emmi commented. She looked relived that Kir hadn't judged the cabin as unfit for royalty.
“Dailan'd be right about that,” Inagor agreed.
Emmi's widening eyes walked along the Guardian tabards that Inagor and Malacar wore, on to the biceps that bulged under their sleeves, and down to their Guardian swords. She gulped her intimidation down and tried on a forced smile. “Well, make yourselves to home.”
Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace Page 62