“Kir. That's what they call me. Well, that, and so many other nicknames I can't keep track anymore. But Kir is what I answer to in the private company of friends.” She offered a wrist out, which Gevriah accepted warmly.
“Mine call me Gev,” Gevriah returned. “Or, they would if I had any.”
“I dare say, you do now,” Lili put in slyly, passing over the ambrosia tin.
It was overcast and humid early the next morning, with rain hinted on the air. It wasn't full-blown drencher season yet, but they could expect the rains to become more frequent. They had been lucky in the journey so far, with only occasional showers to dampen their cloaks. Maybe they would be lucky again.
The light was too dim to be considered dawn when Kir, Lili and Malacar set out on their mounts. The outcome of Ithinar Steel's pranks had not yet been realized, since Avalir and Tennras had not emerged from their tent. It was no wonder they were still asleep. Most of the encampment was. The celebration had lasted late into the night, and the newlyweds had been granted no manner of nocturnal peace from their clan brothers.
Malacar found an adequate wooded area that was clear of snaggy underbrush and offered several low-hanging limbs. It was a perfect area for their morning routine, which consisted of stretching, jogging, strength repetitions and fighting forms. They were almost through their maneuvers in the dawning crispness when the clip-clop of hooves alerted them to a newcomer.
It turned out to be Gevriah. She was without an escort.
“I hope it's alright that I followed you,” Gevriah told Kir from the saddle. “I thought to catch you alone.”
“Is something wrong, Lady Sehlovah?” Malacar asked.
“Not at all. I was hoping to speak to Her Highness—to Kir—without an audience. At least, without curious eyes. But if I'm interrupting your exercises...”
“We were wrapping up anyway. Pull up a rock and come join us,” Kir said, unhooking her water bladder from the saddlehorn.
Lili hobbled Gevriah's mount with Sorrha, then sat beside Malacar on a fallen log. Kir and Gevriah rolled another nearby log over to form a haphazard seating area.
“I hope this isn't too forward a request,” Gevriah started carefully. “I was thinking, after watching the dancers last night around the fire. The style of combat looks suitable for those of smaller stature. A mastery of agility and motion, relying on quick strikes and deceptive angles.”
“To have figured that must mean you have an eye for combat techniques,” Kir commented.
“Not really. I never made it far under my father's tutelage with the sword, but I have been a competitive equestrian archer since the age of ten. I am accustomed to the discipline of training.”
“Well, your observation skills are pretty impressive, Gev. My Master Kozias refused to train me. He didn't figure the scruffy little wretch he saw capable of measuring up to the brute strength of his warrior class pupils. Being a lifetime dancer, I was quick and agile. Out of desperation and pure cussedness, I put one of his star trainees in the dust. That's when he realized there was something to my movements that could be honed. All those years of dancing with the Karmine servies around their fires stuck in my bones, so Kozias used that.”
Gevriah looked impressed. “It seems like the perfect style for a woman. Perhaps a woman not built to hold a heavy broadsword...?”
“You want to train in the Saiya Kunnai forms?”
“I don't know... yes? I was hoping I could try. Privately at first, if that's acceptable. Having never danced in such a style, I may have no aptitude and embarrass myself utterly. Would you consider training me secretly for a while, just until we know, one way or the other? If I am terrible, as I was with the broadsword, I will pursue it no further. But if I advance, perhaps I can muster the courage to continue with the others around their circle. Assuming they would have me.”
“Wenchin furies, Gev,” Kir laughed. “Can you get any more likable?”
Gevriah tucked her chin, not sure if the comment was sarcasm, jest or straight up honest.
“I'd be honored to train you. Come with us every morning on our routine. If anyone asks, we'll say you're attending me.”
“Are you certain this isn't too much? I know you have so many responsibilities already. I don't want to be a burden,” Gevriah added.
“Nope. I need the diversion. And let me tell you this. I don't entertain the possibility of failure. Not at all, in any aspect of my life. A failed student is the reflection of a failed guide, so if you start training with me, you best be prepared to join that fire circle. I'll get you comfortable with the fundamentals, then you can learn the rest as the Hilians are learning it, in practice. Being petitioned, you've been trained in several forms of dancing. You've already got a foundation to start from.”
“When shall we begin?” The enthusiasm lit Gevriah's face.
“Eshuen says every day is one closer to the last. Let's rope and brand this moment as our own.”
Gevriah took to the forms like a butterfly to the breeze. Her dance training had honed grace and movement and her equestrian archery had honed attention to detail. After an hour of Kir and Lili instructing, they were confident that Gevriah was already on her way to fire circle practice, even if Gevriah wasn't convinced yet.
They plopped back on the log beside Malacar to catch their breath. The humidity collected on their skin, even sitting still.
“Perhaps you would consider another of my fancies, Kir,” Gevriah said as they wiped the sweat from their necks. “I was reading a novel recently. One of the characters was a mad King. His paranoia drove him to create a secret protection force that masqueraded as his concubines and staff. They performed both duties, and most of them were women. The book never detailed what kind of arts they were trained in, but you have the makings of just such a force all around you. Something to consider, if you think it applicable to real life. It was just a book, I know. But perhaps there is an advantage to such an idea? An enemy would not expect a servie, perhaps a quiet housemaid or attendant, to be as deadly as the armored guard at the door. There is a security in keeping hidden the actualities of a hand.”
Kir shot a glance to Lili, who smiled tightly. Such a covert role was already being filled at Kir's side, and Gevriah had pegged a fundamental truth to the theories of war. Spies and secrets were more deadly than arrows and spears.
“I like it. A stealthy squad of unlikely warriors, camouflaged by their tea trays and dust rags. And I know just the style they could train in,” Kir said, elbowing Lili. “We'll have to come up with something like that. For someone with modest sensibilities, Gev, you have the mind of a war strategist.”
“I just like to read,” Gevriah chuckled. Pride glowed in her face. She seemed accustomed to being mocked or ridiculed for her ideas, even though she didn't have to say such. Kir knew the noble court all too well. Women with ideas were not generally applauded in that arena, unless the ideas were all about the style trends of the next season.
“Out of curiosity, what happened to the mad King?” Lili asked as they returned to the horses.
Gevriah's face contorted apologetically and comically. “Never mind. You probably don't want to know.”
It struck Kir on the spur and she acted on impulse. “I've been thinking, Gev, that I'm in a spot and I just realized you might be able to help me.”
“I am at your service, of course,” Gevriah promised.
“They tell me royals need a passel of courtiers. I've got an opening for a Second Lady. Hili is well represented in my entourage, but I need a respectable Alakuwai lady to round us out and give our party relevance in the Septaurian court. You fit the bill. It won't be a luxurious ride. It'll probably end up getting you muddied up, maybe even killed in the end, but something tells me you're not opposed to a little adventuring. I can't promise you much of a shining, pampered future if you stay by my side. All I can promise is that you'll be free to use your equestrian archery openly, and none of your ideas will
ever go unappreciated to my ears.”
“Deal,” Gevriah said, without batting an eye. “I don't even have to think about it.”
“I kinda figured that,” Kir laughed, clasping wrists with her new retainer.
As Kir reached for Sorrha's reins, the fluttering of motion caught her attention over Gevriah's shoulder. Beacon was perched on the low branch a few yards away where Kir had been doing her chin lift exercises earlier. His eyes were alert, piercing.
“Isn't that...?” Lili asked.
“Beacon.”
-33-
Of Capture and of Release
As our little boat limps on toward the shores of Havenlen, my thoughts fly wildly. I worry for Kir and her passion that is too big to be contained. It drives her to reckless action. I worry for Malacar and the darkness he harbors. It drives him to solitude, even in company.
I worry for them both, that they will be too much a burden for the other, and yet, not enough of a burden for the other. I can only hope they find the common strength that will simmer antsy fires and kindle beacons of hope. They are the Kionara for each other, if only they allow the permission to be.
- Excerpt from the transitory journal of Toma Scilio, Guardian Betrayer
Kir wasn't quite sure what drove her to it, but without thinking, she crafted an instant Binding spell and cast it at Beacon. His talons gripped the branch, unable to move, and his wings were rigid against his body.
Holding the Binding firm, Kir strode toward the hawk, lost to her own will. She called up her Naturals and Psychonics, acting more on instinct than on training, and thrust herself into the inner recesses of the hawk's mind. She could feel Virnard Karmine's essence around her, woven into the framework of Beacon's awareness like a nerve network.
Hawking was a man's world. Kir did not know if women were seen as too docile to control a predator, or if men wanted to keep the thrill of dominance to themselves. Either way, she had never been welcomed onto the field until Vann's Guardianship allowed her a view from the distance. What little she knew came from watching Vann train and work Beacon.
Why she had snared the magnificent creature in her spell, Kir did not know. It had been impulsive, without design. She was as lost in her own movements as she was when gripped in the depth of her dances, so Kir let intuition guide her.
There were no words in the depths. Nothing that would guide the hawk's mind in any human way of thinking. There was an alien sensation that Kir could only describe as urge—the need for sustenance and the need to seek it. She wondered if the brains of infants operated in the same primitive drive.
Her father's essence and awareness enveloped Kir's own, controlling Beacon's mind in the Bonding, where Kir controlled his body in the Binding. The tendrils of Virnard Karmine's conscience that were webbed through Beacon's will could not be unmelded in their multitudes. They all seemed to converge at a fixed point, which must have been the spiritual representation of Karmine's Bonding. There was only one way to liberate a snake from its fangs, so Kir decided to strike true for the source. With only the mute stream of spirit that connected them, Kir sent a message to her father. It was a bittersweet love letter of regret, pity and valediction. It was the cutting of the soul line.
Kir severed the Duke's control at the stem, cleaving his connection with Beacon's mind in a single, urgent blow. Without the comfort of the familiar master woven into his psyche, Beacon began to panic, his mind fighting to expel the invader. Kir wasn't sure what to do—she was not a natural Psychonic with humans, let alone with animals. She tried to calm Beacon with her essence, assuring him that she was not a predator. Words and human inklings didn't work; she had to think like a hawk.
Drawing images of comfort, like a gory hunk of tasty organ meats, and her imagined view of an aerial soar, Kir tried to appeal to his hawk nature. It worked slightly, and his mind eased from the panic mode. She wasn't confident in her own knowledge of what it meant to think like a buzzard. The images Kir conveyed to Beacon were only as good as her own belief in them. She had never found organ meat tasty, herself. She had never soared above the clouds. It was all a supposition that represented what Kir guessed Beacon's reality to be. If she were to connect with him, she would have to find something they had in common.
There was only one familiarity that they both shared. One essence that had remained rooted in the woven core of both their minds. It was Vann. With Karmine's essence gone, Kir could feel the remnants of Vann's soulprint that had entwined with Beacon's. Palinora had once told Kir that souls leave echos when they touch another. Vann's echo was still in Beacon. Kir used it as her guide. She filled herself with every ounce of Vann's talisman that she had. Their minds and souls had entwined in Bondings of their own, and his aura was easy to fountain. Beacon immediately responded to the familiar presence as if Vann was there.
Kir solidified her connection with Beacon through Vann, then established her own. She worked her deeper essence into the furrows that Karmine's evaporated self had left behind, and she mastered the hawk. They were securely Bonded. Beacon was fully hers.
As Kir slid from the recesses of Beacon's mind, she shuffled back a step into Malacar's chest. She had forgotten that anyone else had been there. Malacar supported Kir's arm, but she didn't need him for long. Once she got her bearings, Kir took a breath and pushed off from Malacar, stepping forward again boldly.
She raised her left arm, issuing a command for Beacon to join her. When he didn't respond, Kir berated herself. The Binding spell was still held firm. She dropped it and allowed Beacon to flap his wings in stretch, then she tried again. He came this time, landing solidly on her bare arm. His sharp talons bit into her flesh. Kir ignored it. She had mastered the hawk, and she was not going to let a few scratches dissolve her concentration.
Without pausing to admire, flaunt or risk losing the hold on Beacon that was still not rigid in her confidence, Kir mounted Sorrha. As she did, she took a nose of his breast feathers, which almost made her sneeze. Beacon fluttered his wings and dipped his tail for balance, but he stayed on perch. His talons dug in piercingly as he gripped.
They rode for camp, Kir stiff and fixed in concentration, and when they arrived, the onlookers parted. There were gasps and whoops, a few Dimishuan expletives of amazement. Kir reined up in the middle of the largest crowd of soldiers.
“Whomever takes umbrage to the command of a woman, have it be known. Weakness and women may begin with the same sounds, but the commonality there ends,” she announced firmly.
Astride Sorrha, Kir walked him through the lines, allowing the awed troops to take in the sight of the mastered buzzard on her arm, where her vambrace used to be. She ignored the daggers in her flesh and focused on the victory they were. When Kir was satisfied with the impression, she dismounted. Melia took Sorrha's reins and led him away.
“We need a hood and a cadge,” Gevriah ordered urgently to the men. Avalir came running and when it was set, Kir commanded Beacon to the frame. He obliged, and Gevriah passed over a handful of gut meats from Avalir's pouch. Kir fed Beacon from her bare hand, ignoring the danger of his sharp beak. Austringers and hawk masters always wore gloves. Kir hadn't the luxury of mastering Beacon, or gaining the respect of the troops, with instruments of safety.
There were a lot of eyes parked on them. Kir projected her pride in the victory, knowing that she had made a lasting statement. It was more than just a hawking partner she had won this morning.
When Beacon was secure and treated, Kir turned and parted the crowd again. She returned to her partially collapsed tent that was being readied for the transport wagon. Malacar hustled alongside, wrapping Kir's blood-streaked forearm in a cloth. It wasn't all that bad, but a few of the scratches were deep enough to cause drips. The breaking down of the tent was commanded to halt. Kir made use of the remaining bedchamber that was still intact.
Lili directed Bertrand inside, followed by Gevriah. As Bertrand mended the scratches, Lili treated the scarlet drops that had spl
otched Kir's pantskirt.
“Well done, Kir,” Malacar said. “You've closed the enemy's eyes.”
“I faced off with my father,” Kir announced. “He was in firm control, and I wrested it back. It took a lot longer than I thought it would.” The adrenaline was flowing and Kir was fidgety. Bertrand fixed her arm in his lap gruffly, an unspoken message to remain still.
“It didn't take as long as you think. You were engaged for only a few minutes,” Lili said. She applied the final drops of cleaner potion to the stains and removed them with one last scrub.
“Felt like a day-long battle in my mind. Don't know how I managed it. That world in there is foreign to anything I've known. It was like swimming through the wet paint on a canvas, looking for the patterns of reality. I didn't really know what I was doing. I just did it. ”
“You spent plenty of time with Vann on his hawking expeditions. It's no surprise that some of it stuck,” Malacar said.
“I only observed from a distance. This is a new world for me. I have no idea where to go from here. Just because I seized control of Beacon doesn't mean I can actually command him.”
“He's already been manned. The Bonding is the hardest part after that, and you've achieved it,” Gevriah supplied. “Now that you have the control, you won't lose it. I can help you work him, if you'd like my assistance.”
“You know hawking?” Lili asked, her voice echoing Kir's own surprise.
Gevriah bit her lip self-consciously and tucked her chin. It was her little display of insecurity. “Not officially. It's forbidden, even in Aquiline. For a woman, you know...”
“But your father had no boys,” Kir finished with a grin.
Gevriah nodded, chin still tucked. She whispered conspiratorially, “Father's been dressing me up, taking me out in secret since I was seven. I mastered my Lyric when I was nine.”
Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace Page 39
