Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace

by H. Jane Harrington

  Blackhood had been collecting intelligence from Yorhlingher for more than a year, even before the Keepers had fallen. The professor's cashnettar addiction had opened the perfect weakness, easily exploited. Yorhlingher had no idea he had provided the list of Underground members. He had betrayed his own. The commands Blackhood gave him under the sepsikan potion had wiped the memories from the professor's mind so completely that the Magister had not even detected so much as a guilty conscience when she had probed him.

  The mages had culled the list quite specifically the year before. Some members, like Yorhlingher, were to be monitored for their further information. Chalice House was left untouched because the Magister and her bunch were still useful. Westerfold had not returned; if he received word of Chalice's demise, he would have disappeared into the shadows without ever coming back. Until the recent evidence of his death that Yorhlingher had reported, Blackhood had wondered if Westerfold had heard news of the Underground's cull and was still alive somewhere, fearing another purge. They couldn't have him disappearing. They needed access to his lair, which was only possible with the elusive key he carried. According to Yorhlingher, there was rumor of something hidden in that lair, beyond the regular mechtech devices Westerfold was inventing. He had uncovered something bigger and more powerful than all the Ruptors an army could muster. Westerfold was hiding something devastating, so secret not even the core Underground members knew what it was, and the Keepers wanted it.

  The decision to leave Chalice House alone had turned out to be a fruitful one. The Magister, the new leader by default, was protecting the prince. The Underground had been looking to recruit the Chaos Bringer for ages, to invite him into their wickedness. Now they had him. And so did Blackhood. This was an opportunity he could not pass up.

  His swift hands ripped one of the many reward posters from where they had been plastered on the side of a retaining wall near the Chesserley fountain. He studied the image of the youthful prince and his affianced bride; the artist had made them look very innocent beneath the robes, like victims. Blackhood grit his teeth. The Crown liked to control how the people viewed things. The notice made clear that the prince and his affianced were to be unharmed, with severe penalties to the persons and families of those who presented them otherwise. There must have been a way to banish the Chaos Bringer back to oblivion, which would explain why they didn't want the princeling dead outright.

  The instructions on the bill were clear. Information was to be delivered to the local garrison. Blackhood didn't care about lorans. The reward he demanded was worth much more than coin. The commander of an army garrison had no authority to deal. He needed to speak to the King himself.

  After discarding his Keeper mask in the crackling hearthfire, Blackhood packed away the few items in his rented quarters. His life was at critical junction. He was about to pass the point of no return. Blackhood closed out the contract on his room, lodged his lorans in his treasury vault and set off for the garrison.

  “I come to make a bargain with the King,” he said as he strode up to the clerk's desk in front room.

  The clerk glanced over the rim of his reading spectacles nonchalantly. He scratched his ear, then leaned back in the seat until the front chair legs tipped off the floor. His hand fished a small scroll from a bin on the shelf behind him. The legs clapped back to the deck when he sat forward.

  “Requests to the Crown are to be submitted by courier scroll. Be detailed in the contact information, brief in the requests—they tend to come back faster that way. Processing fee is twenty-five lorans, forty if you want it expedited by eagle. Expect a return scroll in ten to twelve weeks, delivered to your place of residence.”

  “I don't think he'll be wanting this in scroll form,” Blackhood said.

  The clerk rolled his head around the pivot of his neck to make it pop and crackle, unconcerned with the gravity of Blackhood's information. “That's the procedure. Take it or leave it.”

  Blackhood slammed the reward poster on the desk with the flat of his palm. “I guarantee the King will be cracking your neck with his own two hands if you send this matter down procedural channels.”

  The clerk startled and studied the paper upside down. “Crown Prince Vannisarian? You should have said so from the beginning. Wait here.” He hurried into an adjacent room and within a few minutes, a Lieutenant strode through the door. He didn't seem rushed.

  “Informants are hereby notified that the reward rate is subject to approval, depending on value and depth of content. When the information has been verified, it will be submitted through proper channels. Compensation, if any, will take up to six weeks to be processed,” the monotone Lieutenant said flatly. They obviously had been entertaining a number of rumormongers and false leads.

  “I'm not interested in a loran string. My information will be heard by the ears of the King, or not at all.”

  The Lieutenant chuckled. “I'm afraid that's not how this works.”

  “Oh, I'm afraid it is. You will get on the scrollboard and send message to His Majesty. Tell him I have the exact location of the Crown Prince and his Guardian. They are not in Aquiline, as he believes them to be. I will reveal no more unless the ears of the King are the ones listening.”

  The Lieutenant did not seem to take him seriously. His grin was lopsided and casual. “Look, fellow. You have no idea how many hopefuls we've had come through those doors since the posters went up. We even had a nutter convince us he was housing the prince in his grand estate. His manor turned out to be an alleyway lean-to, and the prince was his mangy dog. Without some sort of proof, I can't send this any higher than the top of my desk.”

  “Perhaps I am privy to information no one else would know.”

  “Tell me and we'll see about that.”

  “The Guardian hides a vambrace below his sleeve, but it's not lumanere. It's tainted as black as his sword. And the prince is out of his mind, in some sort of coma, brought about by the Chaos Bringer. I doubt very much that the Crown let those little tidbits filter among the lowers.”

  The Lieutenant took a moment to process the information. “Look, I can't promise anything, but it sounds pretty specific. Let me run it by my superiors. Wait here.”

  He didn't have to wait long. A Captain and two majors ushered Blackhood into a private debriefing room. In moments, a General bustled in, lunch napkin still hanging from his collar.

  “We are prepared to hear you,” the General said. He ripped the napkin away from his chest and crumpled it smartly.

  “I told your man everything you're apt to hear. I'll next be speaking to the King.”

  The General grew deadly serious. “You will reveal the prince's location, or I will force it from your lips by methods you dare not wish.”

  Blackhood slid the hem of his plum cloak aside to reveal the black mage cloak peeking from beneath. “You will not lay a hand on me. If you try, you will never see me again, and the prince will slip through your grasp like sand on a tide.”

  “A Keeper,” the Lieutenant spat.

  “Ever still. But rather than dispatch the prince, I walked right into the hands of those looking to stretch my neck. I choose to bargain with the King for his trade, at great risk to myself. Lock me in your clinker, if you will, but commune with him and see if he is so quick to cast me aside. If I even suspect betrayal, I will shadow hop faster than you can swat a fly and you'll lose Vannisarian forever.”

  The General's brow fell heavy over his eyes as he started for the door. He commanded Blackhood to remain in the room, well-guarded by officers who were no longer at ease. He returned with urgency.

  “Come with me, quickly.”

  The General's private office was set back, deep in the garrison. On the desk was a swirling purple orb contained in the keeping of an open-sided chalice.

  “You will converse with the King through this speculorb,” the General ordered. “Respect him, or lose your jewels.”

  “Speculorb? I've long had
my finger on the pulse of the King's armies, and I've never heard of such a thing,” Blackhood scoffed. “Communes always happen through the scrollboard network.”

  “The speculorb was a recent acquisition. It is the King's private commune channel, and that is all you need know,” the General said. He turned to the object and spoke into it. “Majesty, this is the Shadow Mage.”

  “What is your name, Keeper?” The orb's swirls pulsed and shifted with every syllable. The voice sounded light and airy, more like a dancer than a hunter.

  “Blackhood, Majesty.”

  “Keeper Blackhood. An audience with me, especially in such dire times, is a coveted thing. Make use of your moment wisely. What urgency brings you to my confidence?”

  “I wish to bargain with Your Majesty. A trade, straight up. The Crown Prince and his Guardian, in exchange for a full pardon for all Keepers of Magic.”

  “My fleet closes in on the royal party and their Hilian kidnappers as we speak. I had planned very soon to have the Prince in my protective custody, yet you come along and challenge that. All other reports have indicated that my son is advancing toward Hili at this very moment. What makes you believe otherwise?”

  “On Keeper orders, I have been engaged undercover for over a year, Majesty. The Underground was decimated on the information my source provided. The same source, and my very own eyes, place the Guardian here in White Tower. The Prince is being harbored by the Underground.”

  “My own personal sources have witnessed His High Majesty in Aquiline with his affianced, in the custody of their Hilian captors. I tend to trust them over you.”

  “If there be kidnappers, they are not Hilian. The Princess travels to Hili with a decoy to draw your eye, while the real Prince Vannisarian is here.”

  “You devise a good story. Guardian Malacar hails from Havenlen, so it would stand to reason he would retreat to his homeland to hide. Perhaps you were an acquaintance in youth and know of his current rank? Tell a tall tale, earn a few lorans and have me chasing shadows? Make no mistake, Keeper Blackhood. Those who seek to deceive me do not end well.”

  “I know of no Malacar, Majesty. The Guardian I have seen is named Scilio, and he bears a black vambrace and purple eyes. He scours the prophetic archives for information at this very moment. He seeks to cure Vannisarian of some manner of coma, brought about by the Chaos Bringer on the moonless night.”

  There was a moment of pause. Blackhood was almost tempted to shadow hop, expecting the king to order his seizure at any moment.

  “Purple ey...? Toma. Why, you keen little tanuki,” Soventine's voice smiled through the words. He seemed to take delight in something. “How perfect. I should have expected nothing less. Yes, yes, I can see it all now. Very well, Blackhood. Your bargain's terms are acceptable, but dependent upon our successful retrieval of both Prince Vannisarian and Guardian Scilio.”

  “The Prince is heavily guarded in a well-defensed location, Majesty. But I think I can remedy that. My source is a professor of Prophetics. He is easily influenced by my sepsikan. He will convince the Guardian that he has discovered the cure they seek. They will bring the prince to a location of your choosing for the remedy.”

  “Splendid! Tell the dear professor to have Vannisarian ready in the Quinning Temple's Prophetic chamber keep at midday, four hence. I will come to retrieve him personally.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Blackhood, I've been actively seeking someone of your resources to work at my side. It is a very lucrative position. You will want it. If you pull this off, you will have it, and more. The Keepers will bloom again under my watering hand, and you will lead them.”

  “Consider it done.”

  -45-

  The Dash to Sanctuary or Suicide by Kaiyo

  My nocturnal engagement with the kaienze assassin brought me twisted pleasures to last a night.

  It brought me twisted guilt to last a lifetime.

  - Excerpt from the journal of Guardian Toma Scilio

  Fort Ellesainia was positioned on the Hili border at the junction where the Arshen and Kestih rivers met. A stampeding pack of drandie cows could not have thundered the ground with more force than the royal convoy did. They made hard gallop for the fort, hoping to beat the kaiyo army before they were cut off from the gates. Beyhue had explained that the fort's Defensive Barriers would hold invading forces out, but they had to be dropped for the convoy to enter. It would create a window when the kaiyo would be able to surge inside. To make it before the kaiyo lines blocked the road, it was imperative that the convoy fly on Eskanna's wings.

  They did not have to tell Ithinar Steel to hustle. Ulivall and the warriors had been residing at the fort during its construction for the last months. The Hili army had blended together with Beyhue's troops, creating a working alliance between the two. When Beyhue had moved the Army of Southern Aquiline headquarters there, the Generals assumed equal command over the fort, sharing in the responsibilities in an unprecedented collaboration. The Hilian warriors were not forced to wear the colors of Soventine's reign, but they still answered to Beyhue. Despite some cultural clashes, the joint operation had been working so far. For Ithinar Steel, racing for the fort was like going home. Kir could tell they were excited to get back to their friends, routine posts and familiar surroundings.

  Sorrha's hooves pounded on the cobbled road, kicking up muck. Kir had trouble reining him back. He wanted a full gallop as much as she did, but she couldn't open him up. He would have left the convoy behind. Most of the Karmine libertines sailed down the Arshen river in longboats, with troops at the oars. The river had been lined like a canal and the road was more like a series of long bridges all strung together. There were probably plenty of booby traps and hidden units conveniently posted along the route. The rest of the convoy, along with Beyhue and Shanwehl's men, were mounted, beating the south road on either side of the Arshen to provide protection to the civilians.

  Avalir spotted the aerial kaiyo swarms first. He called alert and the soldiers prepared for ranged assault. Fort Ellesainia was rising beyond the road, but there was still some distance before they'd make it to the outer gates.

  Kir couldn't help but gawk. The structure was the biggest and strangest looking fort she'd ever seen, built both on water and land. The outer perimeter looked to be a pentagon, the walls built of white Arshenholm stone. The four southernmost points were towers the size of manors, connected between by the stone walls that served as bridges over the Kestih River. Two of the four looked to be half-finished. The canals were built between the gates and made their way south toward the delta that fed Hili Lake. The center of the fort sat between the canals on high ground, taller than anything in the Arshenholm valley. It looked to give a grand view of everywhere.

  The northernmost point of the pentagon was the Arshen river gate, twice the width of the other towers. The sluice gate was massive, tall enough to take in a ship. It looked like a giant's mouth that swallowed up the mighty Arshen. There were geared structures, four men tall, that seemed to operate the sluice and control the water level, as well as the Barrier. It was a grand feat of architecture.

  The scream of an ushwan pulled Kir's attention back. The beast dove sharply for her head. Kir batted at it with the blade of her broadsword, which did little more than stun it. The kaiyo landed with a thud under the trampling hooves of the coursers behind.

  Kir's borrowed broadsword was cumbersome and the pommel caught annoyingly in the palm splint. She used the weak hand to manage and guide the motion, which wasn't ideal, but it was borderline manageable.

  An arrow whizzed by, knocking a hajitain out of the air to Kir's left. It came crashing into the mud, dizzy and stumbling. Kir glanced back to see Gevriah notching another bolt. It was fired it off expertly, but this one did little more than infuriate the target as it bounced off a basan's armored feathers. When the basan swooped toward Gevriah in answer, Kir reined up and met it with a Wind Wisp to knock it off course. It landed in the wat
er and flapped its four wings frantically, fit to be drowned. Gevriah nodded appreciation; Kir answered back with a salute.

  The broadsword in Kir's hands was singing for a fight. Saddle skirmish had always been like a game to Kir. If there wasn't so much at stake, she might have thrilled a bit more at this fight. She hacked at the few ground kaiyo that came in range, clipping several and felling two. They were drawing so close to the fort Kir could see that the road was solid all the way through the boggy lands, leading right up to the gate. Troops, both Hilian and Aquilinian, were pouring out of the fort to give aid to the convoy. If they could keep the incoming swarm at bay, the boats could sail right through the massive water gate without fear of casualties.

  “Lines assemble!” Beyhue called. The colorful barker birds that perched on the officers' saddle horns repeated the order down the line for the benefit of those further away. “Funnel formation! Defend the civilians!”

  The greenie troops and the Hilian warriors came together on the order, forming ranks. Shanwehl's cavalry was on the eastern banks of the river. Beyhue's units, along with Ithinar Steel, formed up on the western side. In united front, they met the waves of groundling kaiyo with a thundering jolt. Cannon blast from the fort made holes in the kaiyo waves that filled almost instantly. Some of the hardier beasts were not harmed by the explosions, but certain varieties susceptible to physical attack were shredded.

  Kir let her sword dance and Elementals sing. Gevriah, astride her magnificent Korlahnie blue charger, loosed so many arrows, Kir had wondered if they were regenerating in her quiver. Inagor was on the right, Malacar on Sorrha's left flank, Ulivall leading the charge. To be surrounded by swordmasters of their caliber would have been considered an honor for any warrior. To have them as family made Kir feel invincible. Inagor christened his glistening new Guardian sword on the guts of a hajitain. His eyes twinkled. It had been months since he had wielded his magnificent, Gods-kissed blade and it must have felt at home in his hands. Kir loved watching Inagor's first-rate swordsmanship. Knowing that his sword now rang for her was more honor than she probably had any right to.