Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace

by H. Jane Harrington

  Ferinar's eyes gleamed as much as Gevriah's. The war he had always wanted was a nod away.

  “My father must return to the Sehlovah estate to make preparations, but we've agreed that I will accompany Your Highness in his stead,” Gevriah said.

  “Are you sure that's wise?” Kir wrinkled her nose. Hilihar was probably not the most suitable place for highborn ladies to be sashaying in their frilly skirts. “If Hili ends up under siege, it won't be safe.”

  “No place in Aquiline will be safe now. Hili is known for its extraordinary Defensives. Behind those borders will be more secure than anything my own estate can provide,” Sehlovah explained. “Gevriah has my full confidence. She is capable. As my heir and proxy, I trust her word to represent mine in your counsel.”

  “Alrighty then. Welcome to the confidence of my court, Lady Sehlovah. Ragtag and rumble-tumble though it may be.” Kir threw a crescent grin at Jorrhen who sniffed her amusement tightly.

  Gevriah smiled in good nature, but it was not the crafted tool of the noble arena. It was warm and genuine, rife with naivete. Kir doubted Gevriah had any inkling of what she was getting herself into. The Hili pavilion was a far cry from the Empyrean ballroom. Someone accustomed to frippery and luxury wouldn't last a comfortable day in Hilihar.

  Ferinar cleared his throat for attention. His chin rose such that it practically bumped the ceiling. Those hungry crimson eyes might well have been flames. “The Dekshar has spoken. Aquiline stands united with Hili. It is high time, Highness. Two Council Advisers sit before you in emergency session, enough for a war-time motion to be ratified under your signature. Declare war upon the Chaos Bringer now, and dissolve the collar that binds the Dimishuan neck.”

  Kir knew this had been coming. If her mark and blood on a scroll could shake the foundation of the kingdom, she was ready to put her fingers to work to induce a little rumbling. But, this was supposed to be Vann's job. Kir already had Hili's approval. Vann had desperately needed this proclamation to secure their faith in him. If Kir issued it, the political gain would be hers alone.

  Vann had been stalling on emancipation for more than just political reasons, but she couldn't say that aloud. The revelations that High Priest Galvatine had divulged to Vann were not Kir's secrets to spill. The Dimishuans were immune to the Kionfire, and the collar prevented them from casting Forbiddens unchecked. That was Galvatine's problem. Right now, Kir wasn't concerned with what a rogue Dimishuan caster may or may not do with obscure magics that had been forgotten to time. She needed to move forward, not look back. Still, Vann had the experience with the Council that Kir lacked, and he was the policy drafter. Even though it had long been anticipated, making an epic command in Vann's place, one that he had been aching to issue himself, felt like undercutting his authority before he'd even Ascended.

  “I don't know that this is the time for such a momentous statement...” Kir began hesitantly. “I mean, we're all still perfumed in kaiyo funk.”

  Ferinar's eyes darkened and his voice dipped to a dangerous level. “Vannisarian danced around the issue of emancipation for months. His time was never right either. After all the benefits you've reaped from your Hilian association, will your privilege out you in the end?”

  The fact that he was right blew an ill-wind in Kir's sails. To avoid an eruption, she pushed the flare of defensive anger to the pit of her gut. It was Ferinar. He lived for confrontation. Kir had to figure a way to be diplomatic, against her better nature.

  “Consul, please. That was different. His Majesty had every intention of popping collars, but you know full well how the Council works and why he had to delay. Emancipation was the first thing he planned to address when Soventine kicked it.”

  “And it's the first thing you should have addressed on the moonless,” Ferinar argued.

  “You're right,” Kir admitted weakly, fingering her neck. “His Majesty promised you something that's not been delivered yet. Hili has taken me in, backed me, supported me in every way. We both owe you for more than just this Karanni scrollwork. I just... I wanted Vann to be the one. It was his promise to keep. I feel like I'm taking something away from him if I do it in his place.”

  “Your voice is the one that matters now,” Ferinar said firmly. “Who knows if and when Vannisarian's will chime again? You must not wait for the tide to turn when you hold the oars.”

  The tent was silent for a long moment.

  This arena was not Kir's forte. She preferred her battlefields to be clanging with busy swords, not sparring tongues. Having never knelt in a Council session before, Kir wasn't really sure how it all worked. If only Vann or Scilio were here. She would have to rely on Sehlovah and, unfortunately, Ferinar for guidance.

  “Is it really legal? To issue it here and now?” Kir asked Sehlovah.

  “Under emergency session in time of war, only two Advisers need sponsor a writ for legality, as long as you approve it,” he confirmed.

  Kir turned to Jorrhen. “If we openly declare war against the Chaos Bringer, we've got to mean it. How do Aquiline's numbers look?”

  “As they stand today, not good enough. With your command and a war declaration, General Beyhue and I can issue a call to arms, mustering all reserve troops from the warrior class and conscripting all cross-class able bodies to service. Aquiline is not a populous island compared to Draback Flatte or Arcadia. I cannot estimate how many will answer the call, unless it is mandatory.”

  “With Aquilinian Dimishuans free of the collar, you'll have your numbers,” Ferinar pressed. “Most of them will be thirsty for action.”

  “They will be welcome,” Jorrhen said. “We will take every blade we can train.”

  “But I want the Dimishuans to have a choice,” Kir cautioned, throwing a glance to Ulivall. The last thing she wanted to do was undermine Hili's potential, especially since its independence relied upon its strength. Ulivall needed the numbers as much as Jorrhen and Beyhue did. “They can decide whether to train under Aquiline or Hili banners.”

  “Understood,” Jorrhen said.

  “About the nobles,” Kir addressed Sehlovah. “Dissolving slavery in Aquiline is going to weaken men in power. It will rile the upper classes. You know them. Should we expect them to retaliate?”

  “Not at all,” Sehlovah assured her. “Not in Aquiline, at least. We rival Havenlen as the most progressive island in the kingdom. There are a few ruffled feathers, but not among the estates that matter. This subject has been sitting at our table talks here for many years, and Vannisarian has been working on this matter for months. With tax incentives and recompense from the royal coffers, which is what he was planning to promise, they are willing to accept the change. Even Possenar. A few of us already pay our servies fair wage. I, myself, have been doing so for years. As I said before, we stand with you. You have Aquiline.”

  “That's a relief. We can't fight a war without the financial backing of the large houses, and I sure don't want them backing my enemies in retaliation. I'm trusting your word, Dekshar Sehlovah. And, I'm officially calling it. War and all,” Kir nodded firmly, not sure how to word it regal-like. “We're gonna spank Chaos back to oblivion. Write up the war declarations and muster conscripts. I'll approve them.”

  Ferinar's lip twitched in triumph. Despite herself, Kir couldn't help but feel a surge of power course through her. The power of command. She had been hesitant to take Vann's reins, but now that she had, the direction was hers to control. Kir could issue the orders for Aquiline. As soon as Vann was back, he could do the same for the rest of Septauria.

  A tense pause of anticipation hung on the air. Kir glanced around, finding assurance in their confident grins of approval. She had permission, she had legality, and she had Karanni.

  “Now, let it be known,” Kir began, feeling all tingly in her gut at the thrill of what she was about to do. “All Dimishuan slavery is hereby abolished in Aquiline. Make it official, make it flashy, and let me sign that beautiful masterpiece.”

&nbs
p; Sehlovah and Ferinar clasped wrists and shook their hands forcefully in congratulations, as though the Chaos war had already been fought and won. The tent erupted into cheers. Kir was still riding on the wave of power that had tickled her tipsy.

  “Ferinar and I will script the command scrolls for you tonight, Highness. You can sign them in the morning,” Sehlovah promised. “His Majesty would be proud. He has been anxious for this moment since he came to Empyrea.”

  “Well he'd better hustle himself back to his own body,” Kir quipped, still shaky from the surge of adrenaline, “'cause I may get used to all this ordering around and start to like it.”

  “I will have the proclamations distributed throughout the island forthwith,” Jorrhen stated as she rose and made for the tent flap. “If you'll excuse me, I have orders to issue.”

  Ferinar and Sehlovah retreated to a quiet corner to start their drafting. Kir left them to it. She had no doubt that they would do a dandy job. They'd probably been wording it in their dreams every night for months.

  The tent adjourned for the evening, but nobody seemed anxious to leave. They all hung around, mingling and talking of lighter things. There was little talk of war and chaos, but mostly reminiscences and reconnections. It was a social solidifying of their new pact. After an hour, the officers began trickling out to oversee their troops. Malacar departed to establish security rounds and touch base with the commanders, so Kir bid her partings and made for her tent.

  Eshuen was already waiting outside the flap. He stood at attention with a jaw clenched tight and a fist clenched tighter. “Requesting permission to enter, Highness. I am here to deliver my apprentice's punishment, and to accept yours.”

  “None necessary on your part, Eshuen. I'll not fault you for Lyndal's stupidity in exuberance. He's not my student and I would never step on your authority in his training, but I do have a suggestion for the form of his discipline, if you'll consider it. Punishments should fit the form of the offense.”

  “Of course. What did you have in mind?”

  Kir and Eshuen sat before Lyndal with severe looks of disappointment across their stern faces. Lyndal's chin touched his chest in repentance and acceptance of his fate. They sat there, coldly and calmly, utilizing every long minute of the uncomfortable silence for its benefit.

  “My lash is thirsty for your penance,” Eshuen finally began. “It might have tasted it within an inch of your life for the magnitude of your failure. Lyndal of Ithinar Steel, raise your head and prepare to be judged.”

  Lyndal obeyed and his chin rose obediently. He stared past them, fixed on a point on the tent canvas.

  “A six-year-old child performed your mission better than you did, and but for that child, all might have been lost. She maintained her bearing while General Jorrhen issued tribute. She maintained her bearing while the army organized around her. She maintained her bearing while Guardian Malacar led her to this tent. She maintained. Where you did not,” Eshuen said steadily. As Lyndal's master, the dishonor of his student's failure was on him, and the defeat was obvious in his voice.

  “I had believed you worthy to undertake this assignment. I had believed you ready for the honor of being named Master Warrior upon its completion. And yet, a child succeeded where you failed.”

  Eshuen allowed that to sink in, and Kir dared not say a word. She knew, with bitter memory, what the relationship between a master and warrior trainee entailed. In all the mistakes Kir had made under Kozias' training, she had never had the fate of a kingdom resting on her shoulders. Not in the same way, at least. Kir could see in Lyndal's face that Eshuen's utter disappointment was worth a million of his lashes.

  “Though I do not find myself worthy of her clemency, Her Highness has forgiven my dishonor as your master. For your failure of duty, there is no mercy due. I am here to deliver your punishment. May it be just.”

  Lyndal moved to his knees and bowed his head in formal submission, ready for whatever would come.

  “The Army of Northern Aquiline has come to our aid and escort. A brigade will accompany our caravan for the duration of the journey to Hili. As His High Majesty's decoy, you will remain. Henceforth, you will not remove yourself from this tent unless it be in your role as His Majesty. No one outside the Hilian and Karmine caravan is to know of our decoy, or that His Majesty is not with us. Not even the Aquilinian troops marching at your side. You will wear the robes of Vannisarian, and you will do so in the confines of his condition. Lyndal no longer exists outside this tent. Are we clear?”

  Lyndal allowed his head to bob lower in acknowledgment. Eshuen rose gracefully, in full warrior mode, and Kir followed him outside. His shoulders did not ease from their ready posture, even when removed from Lyndal's sight.

  “That was the most difficult punishment I've ever dealt,” Eshuen said solidly. “Thrashing his back is much easier than smothering his spirit.”

  “Because you let off your own frustrations on his hide, and the release is cathartic. If the thrashings really worked, he wouldn't continue to screw up. Kozias used to beat me something fierce. It didn't make me less apt to make mistakes. Just made me sneakier at hiding them. This was the best form of discipline for him, trust me. He won't be able to enjoy the attention he craves, and it will force him to wrangle that overabundant energy. The solitude and reflection will do him good,” Kir said.

  Eshuen nodded smartly. “I suppose it is a form of exile. As for myself, I have an overabundance of thrashing that wants for release. I'll make myself useful on the training ground. A round of spar will sate me.”

  “This late?”

  “You are welcome to join me,” Eshuen offered. “I can see there is some pent up energy in you yet.”

  “You're a man after my own heart.” Kir slapped his shoulder. “I can never sleep after a battle, even when my legs are about to fall off. Let me throw on some fresh sparring gear. I'll meet you over there.”

  When Kir slipped inside, she found Lyndal still staring at the wall. He pulled his eyes to meet hers. They were loaded with remorse. Kir didn't have to say a word. She sent her forgiveness in a nod, then hustled past into her chamber to change. When she was done, she fished a poetry book from her dunnage and returned to the central chamber.

  “I've learned my lesson, Saiya Kunnai. It will not happen again,” Lyndal stated resolutely.

  “I know it won't. And you'll be learning your lesson every day for the next few weeks.”

  “I wish he'd pounded me. Easier to take his discipline and be done with it,” Lyndal lamented. “This is the lash that keeps on whipping.”

  “Yup. Take it in good health. You're bound to get lonely all cooped up in here in the evenings. This will help. It's Vann's, so don't spill your coffee on it.” Kir tossed the poetry book over. She didn't wait for Lyndal's reply. The tent flap clapped shut behind her.

  Kir's feet started out for the training ring on the edge of the caravan. Before she took three steps, a towering shadow coasted across the tent, drowning out the light from the dancing fire at the circle. It hovered on her for a moment, as though sizing her up. Kir squinted as her eyes adjusted. The shadow passed by and evaporated before she could focus on the caster. There were many bustling bodies in the camp, even at this hour. There was an energy that had been lacking before, as though everyone had a second wind. Maybe they had cracked open a keg for fresh celebration.

  Kir stepped off again and the shadow returned, closer now. She found the disruption in the form of a large soldier. He was bare-chested like the Hilian warriors. Kir might have thought it was Ulivall or Eshuen. Maybe Malacar by his build. But it wasn't.

  Kir knew. She knew with every ounce of her guilt that it was Inagor, and he had come to admonish her. Kir's heart was celebrating a battle won, an island claimed, emancipation issued, and the safety of their caravan for another fortnight. She was rejoicing in a security she had no right to. Not when Palinora couldn't share it. Not when Vann couldn't, either. Kir held no more claim to ha
ppiness or moments of ease. Inagor's penetrating stare, in its severe recrimination, said as much. He was her walking conscience.

  The relief she had felt in the wake of Aquiline's support, the joy in the orders she had issued, was not hers to savor. Ferinar's darker reality, of blood and death, was the one she should be embracing. Kir scolded herself back to earth and accepted the grim reminders that Aquiline may have been standing with her, but there was little hope of it standing at all. Not for very long.

  Kir's hand found a tent pole to steady herself in the weight of the renewed burden that threatened to press her into the trampled grass. When she glanced up again, Inagor was gone.

  “Kir? What's wrong?” It was Malacar's voice. He was rounding a corner and happened upon her before she could grip her composure. Kir cursed his knack of bad timing.

  “Nothing,” Kir assured him. “I'm completely fine. Just feeling the gravity of what's happening around us.”

  “You are completely wiped out,” Malacar countered. “That gravity is tugging your exhausted legs to give out on you.”

  “No, that's not it, Lunchbox. The opposite—I'm raring for a fight. Got a second wind. Need to spank away the remnants of this adrenaline, that's all.”

  “Then why is your face blanched?”

  Kir patted his forearm. “Just the ghosts of Aquiline, big brother. They will never leave me be.”

  “It's Inagor,” Malacar said darkly. “You've seen him again.”

  “Maybe. He casts a tall shadow, that ghost.”

  Malacar studied her and Kir knew that look. He wasn't going to let it drop. “C'mon,” Kir coaxed, taking his vambrace and tugging him forward. “Eshuen is waiting for me at the training circle. Figured we'd take the sparring swords at each other and spank out all this anxiety. Since you didn't get to play much earlier, you can take your whacks out with us.”