It took a moment before the swirly earth straightened itself. Her lungs burned, her back screamed, her ribs groaned. Shaky legs thought twice about supporting her, so Kir forced the matter and muttered a good strong Kionara for fortitude. She had to cork the pain if she meant to survive.
Inagor allowed no time for recovery. He jumped through the window, hellbent for her blood. Kir hadn't gotten her breath yet, so so did the only thing she could think of to buy some time. She wrapped herself in a weak Wind Wisp and launched the Saiya Mishina.
The move did Kir's body no favors. It drained her significantly and sucked more of the air from her lungs. The pressure of the gyration that had circled her forced the glass deeper into her flesh. On the other hand, it didn't do Inagor any favors, either. Even though the spell had been paltry in the haste of its casting, it was powerful enough to sweep him over the hedge. His back slammed catastrophically against the stone wall of the manor. Inagor rose slowly. The razor-thin ribbons that had sliced across his chest and arms from the wind blades wept crimson tears. He shook out the sting of impact, paying no mind to the wounds. As Kir eased backward, Inagor retrieved his sword from where it had lodged in the hedge.
He was relentless. Kir had just regained her stability and breath when Inagor launched again. He attacked with frontal assaults and masterful deception strikes. If not for their spars, Kir might not have known to expect some of the moves. Familiarity was the only thing keeping her ahead of a devastating blow.
Dodging and twisting was almost impossible now. A garden of pain had bloomed into white fireflowers along Kir's lower back. Every move speared it fresh. Kir had to force herself to compensate for the limited mobility. The pain would have been blinding, if not for the vorsnarm augmenting her mulish determination to ignore it.
The battle raged into the untended garden. Several overgrown bushes were hedged by their weapons in the fray. Kir and Inagor worked along the paths, into the beds at times, on the stony and mulched trail at others, never heeding the beauty of the forgotten flowers. Deeper into the garden, the path opened into a circular area that seemed familiar but there was no time to reminiscence.
Kir cut a thorny stem from a bush of yellow roses to shove in his face. Inagor seemed unfazed by the prickly assault. The whip limply slapped away the obstruction. Kir expected Inagor to snap it to hard sword-form again, but instead, he whirled behind her and snapped the loose whip around her right arm. The flesh sizzled and Kir couldn't maintain hold of the sword. It clattered to the stony path. She struggled in the grip of the Blazer, like a sardine in the stinging tentacle of a sea nettle. The white hot burns encircled Kir's arm, and she allowed a cry of determination from her lips. Rather than pulling away, Kir drove herself into Inagor full force.
He had not expected such an unrefined move. They went crashing backward into the grass. Still laying across Inagor's chest, Kir's hand found the dagger strapped at her hip and she fumbled for the hilt. It came reluctantly. The blade skittered across Inagor's ribs, gashing them enough for injury but not deep enough to bisect his liver. The whip's tension slacked and Kir shook her arm out of the burn. She rolled away to a crouch, knowing her energy was depleting quickly. The dagger was sheathed as she dragged herself toward her fallen sword.
Inagor thrust his palm against the seeping wound and slid apeak. In an unexpected strike, he brought the Blazer whip up and caught Kir around the ankle, pulling her off balance. If she had been able to twist, she might have avoided it. The fatigue creeping into her entire body left little reserve and she landed hard on her shoulder.
Inagor pounced, pinning her to the ground as Kir struggled and thrashed. He straddled her, holding her down by the throat with his bloody left hand. Her small frame, no matter how feisty, was no match for the pure muscle in his arms. Shards of glass teeth from the window sank deeper into Kir's lower back, forcing a cry that she couldn't withhold.
Inagor snapped the Blazer whip, just as Kir freed her left arm from the pin of his leg. She caught the whip in her hand, grasping it boldly. She allowed the Blazer to zap and hum its white fury in her palm, but she dared not let go. Inagor hesitated only briefly at her unflinching grit. It was not much of an opening, but she seized it, pressing the sizzling length against his vambrace of scars. Inagor recoiled and grunted. Kir's free hand snatched at his neck and missed. Instead, she came up with a handful of leather cording that she clutched tightly as he pulled away. The necklace and pouch snapped.
Inagor held the whip's hilt and Kir held the opposite, electrified end, crackling in her grip. She wasn't sure why she was savoring the pain so much. With a flash of irony, Kir remembered Erahnie seeking out, even relishing the torment of Malacar's tickling. The searing agony of the whip was a precious brutality, a hurt that was real enough, and yet, teetered on a threshold of strange tingling enjoyment. They rose to their shaky, weakening legs and faced each other, connected by opposing ends of the weapon and their wills.
Kir held up the necklace of grisly trophies and cast it away. “You don't need proof of your warriorhood. Not in any such barbaric form as that.”
“My Lady Soreina said otherwise,” Inagor panted. “Your heart as the pendant would have completed the piece.”
“Your Lady Soreina has you all fouled and brainwashed, Inagor. I know what that's like. To have some sick mind twisting and tainting yours, like it's their demented playground. Find the truth that you know, not the one she implanted. You know me. You know Vann. Cast out that witch from your mind. She is the one that killed Palinora. Or, her henchman, at least.”
“No...” he fumed.
The Blazerfied end of the whip crackled in Kir's hand.
“You were at Cerener Valley. Do you honestly think it would have been so vital to raze that place if kaienze were not borne of chaos and evil? Soreina is an assassin, an enchantress. She is the instrument of your fury, your anguish.” Kir held the pouch aloft. “That's what this is. Soreina's been using this to control you. It heightens the fear of your enemies, but it also heightens your own anger.” Kir tossed the pouch to the stones and threw a small Inferno to ignite it. “The vorsnarm won't go right away, but when it's out of your system, you'll see.”
“How dare you! That was a precious gift from My Lady!”
Kir's hand was starting to numb, which was probably not a good thing. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep hold. If she let go of the whip, he would have control of his weapon. It would be days before the vorsnarm was purged from his system, and there was no way to get through to him in the irrational state.
There was only one thing she could do. Kir's newly enhanced Psychonics were still something of an untapped mystery to her, but she had mastered Beacon with them, so it was worth a try. While it hurt Kir to the core to inflict it, torture was the means of prying open solid mental defenses. Tarnavarian had trained her well in the implementation.
Kir gripped firmly on the whip, ignoring the lack of sensation that was overtaking the sear. She spun her wrist inward in three repetitions, wrapping the length around and around to the elbow. The vambrace bandage that Erahnie had decorated wilted and fell away. Inagor, unwilling to let go but dumbfounded at her preposterous move, stood there like a lummox. In a blinding move of speed that represented the last of her strength, Kir spun around Inagor's back, just as he had done to her earlier. She released the length of Blazer as she spun, and it caught him directly across his naked back. He screamed. Kir slammed herself into him fully, driving him to his knees, then to his chest. A quick Binding spell held him firmly against the ground. The crackling whip sang with fresh flesh. Inagor cried out in chorus. His grip slackened and he dropped the hilt. Kir snatched it up with her right hand. She straddled Inagor's back and pressed him down against the grass with the whip.
The agony in his cries sprang tears to Kir's eyes. She dared not release him, no matter how cruel. When she was satisfied with the one long pinkish-white mark across his sculpted shoulders, she started a new one, enticing h
im to groan and howl into the grass at his face. It took too long, but finally, his defenses began to weaken and Kir could feel him slipping to her will. She forced her Psychonic probe against his mental barrier. The instant she sensed a breech, she thrust forward.
There was a jumble of confusion, of hallucination that mingled with the fringes of reality inside Inagor's mind. Kir found Soreina's essence, much in the same way she had found her father's in Beacon. The network of the kaienze's presence was much stronger than Karmine's had been in the bird, and Inagor's human mind was much more complex and layered than Beacon's was.
Kir had no idea how to severe Soreina's influence without thoroughly damaging Inagor's psyche. Healing magics were dangerous tools. In the hands of an untrained wielder, they could be devastating.
Forcing herself calm, she spoke through his mind. Inagor, if you can hear me, I'm here to help.
There was a pinprick of consciousness that seemed to understand. It sparked in awareness and Kir focused on that, Inagor's deeper self. It was familiar and warm, like the man she had known. Using it as a basis, Kir tried to pry the dark tendrils from his self. They were too many and too complex a web to distinguish where he ended and Soreina's influence began.
“Kill me,” Inagor's lips managed to toad croak.
“You don't get off that easy,” Kir retorted, pulling from the recesses of his mind.
“The Blazer pain...” Inagor grunted. “It's the only thing... allowing me lucidity... to hold her back...”
“Soreina?”
Inagor's forehead pressed against the grass. “You have to kill me. That's the only way. Can't stop her. It's her design. The moment you release me, she will make me kill you, Kiriana. Do it now!”
“I can't kill you, Inagor!” Kir cried. “Not even remotely an option.”
“She is rooted too deep. My life has been a living hell. Please. Release me from her cage of nightmares. I beg you!”
Kir had lived in just such a hell, and she would have welcomed a ready end to it. But there had been an other-side, and she had found it. Inagor could find his, too, if they could figure out a way to shrivel Soreina's hold on him.
“Inagor, I don't know how to wither her tendrils in your mind. But what if there's another way?”
Inagor groaned, but he did not answer. His consciousness was slipping.
“Arrelius! Wake up, soldier! What if there's another way?”
He trembled in the anguish. “How?”
Kir thought frantically. She couldn't hold the Blazer for much longer—there was no more feeling left in her hand. If she let the whip go, she risked losing Inagor to Soreina's control again. No matter how injured or exhausted he was, Soreina's spell would compel him to keep coming until one of them was dead.
Until Soreina could be fully purged by a masterful Psychonic like Bertrand, Kir needed a way to mute his drive to kill. What would Vann do? He was always so resourceful and brilliant with his strategies. The answer, as clear as moonbeams, came to her suddenly. Vann had already given her the answer once before, under the menace of a malcraven.
“Inagor, I've got it! Swear to protect me!”
“You're crazy, Kiriana,” Inagor almost laughed. “This taint in me means to kill you.”
“I know! That's why you have to swear the oath. The Guardian magic. Won't it counter that? Won't it prevent you from bringing me harm?”
Inagor tried to lift his head. “The Guardian magic...”
“You have to try. Bertrand can fix this, if we both can just live long enough to get you to him. If you want to protect me, you have to swear you will.”
“I'm not worthy of the Guardian magic—”
“Says that wily witch? Who are you going to believe, her or me? Which of us will you serve? Make your choice, Inagor Arrelius. Choose to be my Guardian!”
There was a renewed vigor in Inagor's breathing. When Kir released the Binding spell, Inagor raised himself to his hands and knees. The whip dropped from his flesh as he rose, Kir's left hand having no more strength to hold it.
“I, Inagor Arrelius...” His will faltered and he shook his head to regain composure. “I do hereby swear...” Inagor's piercing cry split the air, as though Kir had just cut his flesh anew with the whip. “Soreina...”
“No!” Kir commanded. She hauled him to his feet, holding him upright with her arms. “Finish it. Kionara, Arrelius. Hold her back and finish it!”
“I do swear to protect Kiriana...” His eyes fluttered. He was fighting Soreina's influence for control and he was losing.
“Hurry!”
“I swear I will protect you. As your Guardian,” Inagor forced ineloquently, cutting off most of the oath. Kir knew the words didn't matter. It was the intent that cast the body of a true spell.
A brilliant light chased every shadow from the garden. Kir could almost hear a sound like crystal glass raining down droplets in her ears. She squinted against the blinding radiance. Although she couldn't explain it in words, there was a flash of something that twinged her awareness before it faded, like a fulfillment. Like something missing had been found, or like an illness had yielded to vitality. Like a royal had found a Guardian for the first time. Kir made a mental note to ask Vann someday if he had experienced the same sensation when she had been conscripted.
As the divine luminescence faded away, Inagor began to slip. Kir couldn't hold him up anymore. Her own legs gave out and they deposited their knees in the grass. They laughed and cried, gripping each other as though their lives depended on it. Kir's left hand hung, numb and limp. She was thankful she couldn't feel the pain of the burn that was probably pretty bad.
“Soreina's gone,” Inagor managed feebly. “I think the Guardian magic purged her. I can't feel even a hint of her essence remaining.”
“You didn't belong to her,” Kir said. “You've only ever been Palinora's.”
“Yet again, the Guardian Bonding has saved me,” Inagor whispered, almost to himself.
“The Guardian Bonding,” Kir mused through huffs and pants. She admired the lumanere-hilted broadsword in his hand. The length of the scabbard was decorated with the body of a long serpentine Kion. The dragon's head, adorning the hilt of the sword, connected seamlessly with the body.
Kir slid her gaze down further, to the vambrace on his forearm. She raised it with her working hand and ran fingers over the Kion, marveling at its grand embossing. The armguard had covered over the hideous dragon scar that blemished Inagor's skin. This vambrace was the one that belonged.
Beside them, a yellow pinpetal bush poking through thick weeds caught Kir's attention. Although overgrown, specks of yellow petals winked through the greenery that encompassed the entire ringed area. The specific garden where they had finalized their battle was none other than Palinora's temporary resting place. The Queen's white stone mound was gone, as though it had never existed.
It struck Kir in a gasp that threatened to implode her chest. “I really did steal everything that was hers, didn't I? Now, I even have her Guardian...”
“Palinora would be proud for me to serve you, Kiriana,” Inagor said, wiping streaks and blood spatter from her cheeks. “She thought of you as a daughter, long before you were ever aware. Whatever you have inherited is rightful. I always suspected I didn't die on that airferry, or later in Soreina's clutches, because I had unfinished business. I believed Palinora was looking after me somehow. Maybe she was saving me for you. Maybe she wanted me to be right here, in this moment, serving as your Guardian.”
The driving excitement of the battle was fading, leaving behind an imposing weakness that began to settle in. Inagor thrust the tip of his scabbard into the soil for stability. His legs would not support him as he tried to rise. He gave up on the notion quickly. Kir leaned against him, fighting a wave of exhaustion and dizziness. She was almost afraid to look at her hand. When she rounded up the courage, she hid the wince to keep Inagor for fretting at the sight of it. She unclipped the sash from
her shoulder and wrapped it quickly around the burn before Inagor could notice the severity. At least it didn't hurt.
Inagor held her close, probably as much for his own security as for hers. His hand pressed a sharp, bladed spot along her lower back. Kir gasped and arched before she could stop herself.
“You've got glass in your back,” Inagor said, peeling her bloody tunic away from the stretch where the window shards had impaled. “It's still bleeding a bit.”
Kir had been so engrossed in the battle that she had shut out the sensation. Now, it speared and throbbed anew at the reminder.
“Well you've got a big canyon in your front,” Kir returned, examining the ugly wounds she had dealt him. The pressure of the gashes against the ground had stopped the bleeding, but they were soiled with pebbles and flecks of grass. Kir tried to clear what she could from the edges. It didn't really work. She abandoned the task as Inagor probed her back.
“I should dig these shards out before they work further in.”
Kir pulled the Arrelius dagger from its scabbard and slipped it into his hand. He didn't seem to recognize it. She stretched out flat on her stomach, pressing her forehead into the soft grass. Inagor leaned forward on his knees.
“Hold fast, Kiriana. I'll be as quick as I can.”
Kir nodded and steadied herself, but even being ready, she couldn't help but gasp as the dagger tip pierced her skin. Expecting it to hurt probably made it that much worse. If she wasn't so tired, and under the vorsnarm's effects, it might have been easier to bear. “Kionara,” she grunted.
“What is this Kionara?” Inagor asked as he worked.
“A bit of Guardian legacy,” Kir managed, gripping wads of grass and soil in her good hand. She was glad she was laying down. A whirling sensation told her she would capsize if she tried to stand. The dagger dug deep and Kir tensed, unable to keep from crying out.
Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace Page 44
