Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace

by H. Jane Harrington

  A gentle suspire and a rustling of the silken shrouds alerted Scilio that he was not alone on his carriage. It was a tender, feminine utterance, the stirring of one just rousing from contented slumber. Toma Scilio knew that sound all too well. It had pleasured his ears almost every morning for many a splendid year. She smelled faintly of ithinar and zendrian bluebells, mingled with a hint of orange zest and honey. He had never expected his journey to the great beyonds would be so gainfully shared by a treat of the feminine order.

  “Hey there. Degenerate laggard.”

  Scilio's heart contracted at the sound of Kir's voice. The words were meant as a jest, but they seemed to smile sadly, laden with a bittersweet acceptance of fate. So, she had succumbed to depletion in the end.

  “Oh Kir, no. Not you, too,” he managed, feeling a wetness across his cheeks that baffled him. Souls did not have cheeks.

  He could feel Kir lean in to press her head against his bicep, and some thin contraption felt leathery against the back of his left hand as she laced three fingers weakly over his. More bodily appendages that souls did not have.

  “Not me, what?” Kir asked sleepily.

  Scilio found his tongue bound in bewilderment. “Are we not... that is to say... Where are we?”

  “The Camellia suite. Fancy place, this. You have good taste in brothellas, big brother. And courtesans. Shiriah is a special one. I like her.”

  “Chalice House?” Scilio heaved a choking, panting gasp. “We're not... I'm not...”

  “Oh, no Toma!” Kir exclaimed, suddenly rousing to comprehension. “You're gonna be just fine. No tea parties with the Soul Collectors on the royal agenda for the foreseeable future, I promise you.”

  “Then... why is everything... whitewashed?” Scilio stuttered, attempting to steady his emotion-laden, ragged breathing.

  He could feel the mattress give slightly as Kir slid from her chair to sit on the edge beside him. Tender hands slipped below his shoulders and urged him forward. She propped him upright with an array of pillows, then pulled his hands into her own, a tangible anchor. The bladed vambrace splint seemed to have been replaced with a small one, probably meant for casual round-the-house use.

  “Is that what you see? Nothing else?”

  “Only shadows. Gray and soft. Nothing of substance.”

  Kir's sigh shuddered her chest. “It was supposed to kill you, Toma. That Forbidden spell of Soreina's. Any other person in the isles would have died, even Vann. She meant it for him, but you took it into yourself. You saved him. You have to remember that, no matter what. No matter how hard this is. Even though you can't see, you're alive. And that's more than anyone hit by that kind of spell has the right to expect.”

  “What are you saying, Kir? Am I blind?”

  Kir gripped his hands tightly in answer, unable to allow herself a verbal affirmation.

  “Is it permanent?”

  “Yeah. Grydon and Bertrand were barely able to save you as it was. There was never any hope for... The concentration of energy was just too extreme. It killed the nerves beyond regeneration. Bertrand said you'd be light-sensitive. That you can tell light from dark.”

  Scilio pressed the pads of his fingers to his eye sockets, feeling the orbs in their places. “They're still there, then. Are they...”

  “They're still purple, the shade's just lighter. A kind of milky lavender,” Kir said. “Don't worry. You'll still drive the ladies wild with their exotic beauty.”

  “How did I survive? If anyone else would have been killed, how did I live?”

  “Galvatine says it's because you're a Shunatar. You were able to contain it because your well has no bottom.”

  “My well?”

  “He was being figurative. He said everyone has a kind of well that acts like a capacitor to hold mana. It fills up from the earth around it, and drains as we use it. Everyone's well holds a different volume and fills up at a different rate. Yours doesn't have a limit. Your well was able to contain that staggering amount of energy, but the spell's assignation had already made it mobile and it had to be released through an outlet. Basically, you were able to redirect the energy out one focused pathway, rather than the millions throughout your body.”

  “How can I have no limit? I deplete, just like everyone else,” Scilio countered.

  “But you don't, though. You may feel depleted when you've drained your capacitor, but you'll never completely exhaust it. Because there is no bottom to your well, there will always be some mana in reserve that you draw from the earth around you, even if it's not sitting in your reservoir. That's why Xavien can shadow-hop as much as he wants, and why you were always the first of us to rebound when we've all been drained.”

  “Have I been?”

  “Sure. More than that. Remember way back in Mercaria, when we were fleeing Farraday's men near Arjo? I think the reason we were able to call up that Terra spell in the Guardian Bonding, even when we were all drained dry, was because we were tapping into your bottomless well of mana. You felt the exhaustion of depletion, but the spring was always there to draw from, even if you didn't realize it. You were the first of us to rouse in the boat to Aquiline and you walked to Sandbridge to restock our supplies because you had the most energy of us all. At the Arshenholm Spring Manor, when I was hurt and Vann and Malacar were depleted from the battles and my healing, you were the one to keep everything moving, to bury the dead, to sit guard watch, even though you were just as exhausted as they were. I mean, you had just Ruptored the lobby. But you still had the power to keep on.”

  “I never realized the truth of my own nature,” Scilio whispered. “I believed the Shunatar to be a divine right, not an earthly asset.”

  “Your Shunatar nature has saved us countless times. It's a blessing, Toma. Just like you've always claimed it was through that big head of yours,” Kir teased gently. “I'm thankful for the Shunatar. It saved Vann. And it saved you.”

  “I only wish it could serve me now. A wasted asset to an invalid body,” Scilio sighed, gripping the reality of what his blindness would mean. He was a Guardian without the means to wield a blade.

  “Invalid body? Just what makes you an invalid? Grydon and Bertrand did a bang up job healing you. They've been at it for all of a week now, and they figured it was safe to bring you out of the soporifics. You're going to be right as rain. They decided not to leave you the battle scars, since you're too particular to favor them as a prize like most warriors. You're practically whole again.”

  “Whole... Did you forget the little detail about my being blind?”

  “Bertrand doesn't use his eyes much, unless he's healing. He says there are other ways to see,” Kir tried, grasping for hope that Scilio could not find.

  “But he still has it when he needs it. It may suffice for Bertrand. But for a Guardian? What good am I to a tabard now?” It was difficult to keep the grief from saturating his voice.

  Kir forced a defiant buoyancy to keep his spirits up. He could almost see the look of determination that would be tightening her eyelids and the creases at her mouth. “When you were helping Vann and Gavin write the Dimishuan Reformations, did you need your eyeballs?”

  Scilio sniffed. “That hardly counts. Guardians aren't normally statesmen.”

  Kir was silent for a while as she considered. “One time when I was in training, I was feeling sorry for myself. I had failed a test and thought I would never master the sword because being small and thin was a debility for a warrior. Master Kozias knocked me upside the head and said I didn't know anything about debility. He was right, of course. He told me a story, sitting around the fire that night with the other trainees. He said back during the Ridaterian Crisis, he was a young warrior, just promoted. The battle had not gone well, and he came over a ridge to see an archer, the lone survivor of his Ruptored unit, perched on a hilltop overlooking the advancing enemy. He realized the archer had been blinded. That soldier fired off arrow after arrow in rapid succession, squarely hitt
ing every target. He felled over a hundred men before they took him down. Kozias said there's no such thing as debility. The word is only an excuse to justify weakness. He said every warrior has different strengths, and if you don't excel in one, you just have to find the way you do. I hated that ornery old geezer. But sometimes the reason I hated him so much was because I didn't like the fact that he was right.”

  “I'm not a blind archer on a hillside, making his last glorious stand,” Scilio said. “If I wear Vann's tabard, I cannot pretend my duty. I must be able to protect him.”

  “I seem to recall that playing bodyguard isn't the Guardian's primary objective. It doesn't take the power of sight to sheathe a dragon. It just takes the power of friendship. And a shiny vambrace,” Kir replied warmly.

  “Speaking of sheathing dragons, how is Vann?”

  “Worried sick about you, but otherwise he's just fine. Could stand a little meat on his bones, though. He's a stick again,” Kir chuckled distractedly. There was something underlying in her tone that Scilio couldn't translate. Some hint of insecurity or doubt that her tenor betrayed.

  He had no opportunity to press further. The bedchamber door hinge groaned and a cheery voice, split with a prepubescent squeak, exclaimed, “Spit and spillage, Tosh! Sure do love laying about in beds, doncha?”

  Scilio's heart filled at the sound of Dailan's voice.

  “Ribs and roughage, Dainn! Sure do love skinning out on highwind adventures, doncha?” Scilio mimicked back in jest.

  Dailan jumped on the mattress, practically spilling into Scilio's arms. “You'll never believe what we done! Me and Emmi. Well, it was mostly me. But damnation, you're a sight for sore eyes, Shunatar!” Dailan jerked, apparently taken aback by his own phraseology. “Sorry... I didn't mean...”

  Scilio laughed a deep, honest, cleansing rumble. “No worries, Dailan. I have it on good authority that this is not a debility. It was a trade. One I was honored to make. No need to tiptoe around truth with me.”

  Dailan blew out a breath. “Good. 'Cause we both know I ain't no good at doing that.”

  “His Majesty will be in shortly, I presume?” Scilio asked.

  “He's in a meeting with the surviving members of the Underground right now,” Dailan said. “He's been pretty busy lately, with all the army stuff and organizing and royal doings and what not. Since Saiya Kunnai's been laid up all week to get her strength back, His Majesty took over the running of things. Keeps him hopping, but I think he likes it. He said he'd stop in to see you when he gets back.”

  “Surviving members...” Scilio started. The battle. The aftermath. “How many? What happened in the battle? And after? That kaiyo army...”

  “Whoa, take in your sails there,” Kir laughed. “We'll tell you all about it. Vann will want to brief you about every detail.”

  “The Underground? There were survivors?” Scilio pressed urgently.

  “They made out pretty well, all things considered,” Kir said. “They only lost four of their number—three of the older professors and a patent clerk. Pretty wenchin amazing when you consider the odds they faced.”

  “Yeah, they were clawed up something fierce, but they're mostly patched now. Good thing the Magister and the Chalice courtesans are healers, 'cause Bertrand and Big G have had their hands full in here,” Dailan said.

  The tension in Scilio's shoulders eased slightly at the knowledge that the Merishans had fared well.

  “The Mon-Priest and Farning are healed, too. Soreina didn't kill them—apparently Alokien had plans, so she only incapacitated them,” Kir supplied.

  “Yeah, and it's been a hoot watching Farning and Galvatine go at it,” Dailan added merrily. “They really despise each other. Maybe we'll get to see a Prophet's Duel!”

  “Let's see... what else?” Kir pondered aloud. “The royal party has taken up temporary residence here at Chalice, just until we head back to High Empyrea in a few weeks. The fresh camellias you smell are a gift from Lili—she wanted you to wake up to something nice. She's been tending the gardens in her spare time, since the courtesans have been occupied healing and seeing to all their new guests. Gavin and Ferinar are helping Vann work up a Declaration of Liberation for all Dimishuans in Septauria. He figures to deliver it at the Ascension.”

  “Yeah, and me and Emmi are gonna fly y'all to the ceremony in the Emerald Bounty!” Dailan put in proudly.

  Kir sniffed amusement and continued the lengthy update. “The Professor Yorhlingher is being held at the garrison for interrogation. They should be releasing him soon. The Quinning district took some heavy fire damage, but it was contained and they're already rebuilding. The kaiyo battalions scattered when their handlers started exterminating them, so there's an ongoing campaign to deal with that problem. Draback, Sterrick and Grent have sworn fealty to Vann—I'm sure we'll be seeing more of them. Duke Hanntell rallied the Havenlen noble houses to pledge their support and Farraday's got command over Havenlen's royal forces now. Adding that to Aquiline, it's starting to look like we may have numbers enough to fight this Chaos War.”

  “His Majesty says even though Alokien's not a King anymore, he still got Cornia and Arcadia in his hooks and there's bunches of supporters in his corner. If we can get Mercaria and Draback Flatte on our side, we can make an honest run of it,” Dailan noted.

  “Alokien...? But... I thought...”

  Scilio could sense Kir grimace. “Ahhh... I forgot, you didn't know. Soreina took off with the soulblade. The one that had Alokien in it. She got hit with some of her own spell, but you took the brunt, so it didn't kill her. She grabbed that doohickey—Inagor called it a riftjump cufflet—and she fled. Galvatine ordered all the Prophecy chambers in the kingdom on lockdown with heavy guard, but he figures she'll find a way to deposit Alokien into some new vessel, anyway. He probably won't be content with it—he'll still want Vann. But with Soventine dead, Alokien's lost the royal power and he no longer has the element of surprise. He didn't get Vann here, and that's what counts.”

  “Well, that's quite a summary,” Scilio breathed, overwhelmed with the amount of information. “I'll be doing well to wrap my head around it all.”

  “And the other update,” Dailan added, “is that the Bardian is back.”

  “Back, is he?” Scilio fingered his vambrace, wishing he could see the winking lumanere sheen that he had so longed for. He knew it was there, but he would only ever know it now in his mind's eye. To mask his grief for cherished things gone forever, Scilio adorned himself in his old familiar role. “I believe you're right, Dailan. The heroic Bardian shall make his glorious return to the ranks, resuming his place at the side of his Crown Prince. Or, I suppose now it will be his King?” The uprise in his tone suggested the question that Kir seemed to understand.

  “It will be. Very soon. Galvatine suggested the Ascension be held immediately after the Second Wedding.”

  “Galvatine...” Scilio said thoughtfully. “I did not realize we could place so much trust in the man. He endeavored so stridently to bring about Vann's assassination for fifteen years. He certainly came through for us at the temple. Without the soulblade and aid...”

  “Right. If we had known on the moonless, he could have helped us. It was simply too risky to contact him, not knowing where he stood. For all we knew, he was on Alokien's side. Turns out, he really was out for order after all. Once the Chaos Bringer was born, Vann was no longer on his target list. Now, the High Priest is a full ally. He wants to spank Chaos back to oblivion, same as us.”

  “He will perform the Ascension and the Second Wedding ceremony, I take it?”

  “Yeah. They'll set the date as soon as Bertrand and Grydon clear you to be back on your feet. Shouldn't be long now, I think.”

  “You'll never guess where they're holding it.” Dailan squirmed in youthful energy at the revelation. “On Jolanock Square. Funny, huh?”

  “My Second Ladies and the local landholders are getting it all gussied and fussied,” Kir explained
. “Gavin says he knows the square pretty well. Spent his youth on the library steps, sermonizing to the crowds about what good monarchies are supposed to look like. I think he sees it as a symbolic thing in his mind—a vindication, I suppose—to hold the Second Wedding and the Ascension there, where he spent so much of his time preaching about all the things that Vann represents.”

  “Soventine called Gavin the Willaforr Orator once,” Scilio thought aloud. “I never connected it.”

  A barely audible rap on the door interrupted the conversation. “Kiriana?”

  The delectable ribbons of that creamy voice soothed Scilio's heart with their very chiming. How could the woman so utterly enchant him without casting a single spell?

  “Come in, Shiriah. He's awake,” Kir called with a smile in the words.

  Shiriah's breath shuddered audibly as she entered. Scilio reached a hand out to the white nothingness, waiting to feel her porcelain fingers enveloped in his grasp. There was a brief clattering nearby, a tea tray being set on the bedside table. Then, Shiriah's slender hand slipped into his. As she pressed his head against the cleavage of her breasts and folded him into her embrace, he inhaled the crispness of her scent, suddenly thankful for the gift of his nose.

  “I've spent the past week fantasizing about what to say when you awoke,” Shiriah confessed. “But now that we are here, I'm at a loss.”

  “Is there anything more you have to confess that your arms have not already? For I am feeling their every sentiment with crystal clarity.”

  “I'm so very glad for that, because it would take two lifetimes to put it all to words,” Shiriah sighed into his hair. She suddenly seemed to shift her attention. “Oh, Kiriana? Where are you sneaking off to?”

  “We just thought you two could use a private moment,” Kir said sheepishly from somewhere near the bedchamber door.

  “There will be time in abundance for our reunion. I came to deliver tea and potions to you both, and I promised Bertrand I would oversee the administration while he is resting. He said you are sometimes prone to skipping out on your treatments,” Shiriah said, hiding a silent laugh under the surface of the clinical statement.