Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4)

by H. Jane Harrington

  There was a long bit of quiet that stretched before Malacar killed it with a single sentence. “I had a son.”

  It took Kir much longer to process Malacar's statement than it should have.

  Had. Malacar had a son.

  Every bitty piece of Kir wanted to ask. To dig. To coax. All this time with Denian Malacar, shoulder to shoulder, vambraces linked, and not once had he given any indication. She, Scilio and Vann were his family, but they hadn't been his first. It wasn't Kir's place to question further. The comfortable silent agreement they'd always shared left no prying into past hurts. If Malacar wanted to offer more into that story, he would when he was good and ready.

  Anything Kir could say on the topic would sound either like poking into what wasn't her business or shallow sympathy. Instead, Kir laced her fingers over his and said, “What a lucky nipper he must have been. To've had a father like you.”

  “You asked before, how I came to be in the Army of Southern Cornia. Rayner is the answer.”

  “Rayner? Your son?”

  Malacar's nod was deep and long, like he was hoping his chin could dig his heart from the pit where it had been buried. Kir knew it was weighted with the burden of whatever heartaches were carefully guarded in that broad chest.

  “I was brought up in the discipline and honor of the warrior class. Taught to embrace strength and stoicism. To Kionara, if you will. For all that lifetime of training, I was bested in the end, defeated by the memory of a three-year-old little boy. It was the one adversary I could not vanquish. I requested transfer from my homeland because I could no longer look around without seeing Rayner everywhere. In the fields where he had played. In stray rocks he liked to collect in his pockets. Even in the chickens he would chase. I could not bear to live in Rayner's world without him. That is the stuff of my weakness. I requested transfer and ended up in the Fifty-Fourth in Cornia. That's how I came to be at Balinor.”

  It wasn't just the loss of his child that weighed on Malacar's mind. Kir knew the look of eyes tainted with guilt—she had stared at them in the mirror every day for years. Malacar's eyes may have been brown, but they were the perfect shade of culpability that matched Kir's. Whatever had befallen Rayner, Malacar bore the weight of failure in his parental role. That duty of guardian was sacred, and somehow, he had not been able to prevent the tragedy. It was the same weight that had pressed Kir's own fortitude into the dust. She had no idea that she shared the commonality with her brother. Mirhana and Palinora had been in her charge, and Kir had carried the responsibility of their deaths across islands. It was a wound that had healed, but the raw scar would remain ever tender.

  “I once thought I could jettison all the agonizing memories of the past. They represented weakness to me, too,” Kir admitted. “A little Psychonic named Jessia offered me the chance once to yield to a nepenthe bloom, and I came damn close to accepting it. Can you imagine? To be free from the drag of those anchors?

  “I used to think that memories were a punishment. Then, I believed they were an atonement. But what they really are is a gift, Denian. I know now that I'm a better person because I didn't let them go. As painful as they are, those memories make the whole of us. They're a part that makes us stronger, not weaker, if we're only open to learn from them. I always learn more from the mistakes I've made than from what I did right—and believe you me, I've made a lot more of the mistakes. My life is better because I have those pains. Not because of the pain itself, but because of the temper. I came out stronger on the other side, and the fact is, those lives I couldn't save have meaning, even after they're gone, because they are always with me. They strengthen me with their love and their lesson, and they make sure I never make the same mistakes again. You don't have to run from Rayner's memory. If you embrace it, even the bad, it honors the good.”

  Malacar nodded again, this time punctuating it with a sliver of a grin. He almost looked proud. “How far you've come since the Arjo rain.”

  “I got a highfalutin title now. Gotta pretend I got the wisdom to match it,” Kir quipped lightly, softening the profound mood.

  “Pretend being the operative word there?” Malacar suggested with mirth.

  Kir chuckled and leaned her head against Malacar's bicep, wrapping herself in the warmth of the bond that they had reaffirmed in their confessions.

  As the evening was drawing to a close and the camp began to pack it in for the night, Kir was about to suggest they get some shut-eye themselves. The suggestion caught up on her throat. It was just too comfortable to move. The evening breeze that rolled off the mountain had no humidity to weigh it down, and the refreshment on the spirit had done Malacar a world of good. Lili, finished with her Saiya Kunnai practice, was parked on his other side. She didn't seem anxious to retire, either. They watched as the activity around them dulled to a simmer. Corban and Bertrand turned in, Melia and Copellian slipped away, and many evening partings were issued by passing Karmines and Hilians. Eventually, the only stirring bodies were theirs and the sentries posted on guard.

  After Ulivall issued his nightly report and good-evenings, he slipped into his lean-to, so Kir decided that it was finally time to do the same. Just as she was about to voice her readiness, a flash of motion caught her eye. Lyndal rolled out from under the canvas edge of a nearby tent. He went stone still and glanced around, obviously hoping to avoid drawing attention. His gaze flashed across Kir's, then he scrunched up his nose, realizing he had been caught. He tiptoed toward Kir comically, helped himself to the unclaimed edge of the blanket and plopped his rump down like he was sloshed. Kir couldn't smell a lick of wine on him. He must have been drunk on someone's charms.

  “Whose daughter have you been bending?” Kir snickered.

  “Smithy Maradain's,” Lyndal answered honestly. “Don't tell him. He'd pummel my pantling if he found out.”

  Maradain's daughter Lumaneria was the same age as Lyndal. She had an impressionable innocence about her that made her seem younger than her years. She would be an easy target for a street-wise cad.

  “He would do more than that,” Lili warned. “Being a smithy, he can fabricate the most wicked devices. He has done just so to keep stray mongrels from Lumaneria's doorstep. You are lucky to have escaped intact.” She threw a mischievous glance Kir's way, and she didn't even have to flutter her eye for Kir to see the wink. “Or so I've heard...”

  Lyndal's brow fell. “What have you heard?”

  “I dare not spread idle gossip. All I will say is that andory leeches and beshinta vines are the least of your worries, should you ever be uncovered as the gleam in Lumaneria's eye.” Lili motioned for Lyndal to lean in. Her voice dipped conspiratorially. “The last fellow to have made her acquaintance was a minor austringer of Taliaford Manor. He disappeared into thin air, but I have it on good authority that he was conscripted by the C.L.E.”

  “The C.L.E.?” Lyndal swallowed hard.

  “The Cornian League of Eunuchs.”

  The set of Lyndal's jaw and brow were course. “Maradain is a mean old wencher, but he doesn't strike me as maniacal.”

  “The true ones never do,” Malacar put in.

  “I best steer clear of her, then,” Lyndal concluded. He amended quickly, to save warrior's face. “Not that I'm afraid of Maradain. But Eshuen will have my hide if I make any trouble with the Karmines.”

  “Good idea,” Kir agreed lowly so her voice wouldn't carry. “You shouldn't be thinking with your south brain anyway. If Alokien has eyes on us, all it takes is one slip-up for your decoy to be realized. Try being a little more Vann and a little less Lyndal. Just until we get to Hili.”

  Lyndal saluted seriously, but Kir could see the disappointed crease in his eyes. “On Nomah's honor. I'll keep my eyes firmly fixed on my duty to you, Highness.” Those creases turned into mischief as he realized the meaning in that. “Since I am His Majesty for the time begin, I'm an affianced man, after all. I don't need Lumaneria, when you can provide me all the comforts due to my ran
k and role. Well then, my love? Shall we retire to the fine comforts of our bedroll for the evening?”

  Kir rolled her eyes at the pervy joke that reminded her so much of what Scilio might suggest. She clocked him on the back of the head, then allowed Malacar to mimic the scolding. “I obviously haven't put the fear of Valoria in you yet, Brassybins,” Kir warned mildly.

  “I'll loan you my Guardian sword if you need a weapon for the job,” Malacar suggested. His mouth wasn't smiling, but the words were.

  Lyndal cackled at his own mischief and crab-walked backward through the tent flap. He called, “Waiting for your lessons on fear and humility, my Affianced Wonder.”

  Lili and Kir exchanged a dance of shaking heads and soundless chuckles.

  “Well done,” Kir mouthed to Lili, in understood reference to averting Lyndal's attentions from the smithy's daughter. They tapped their wrists in silent camaraderie, then started packing up the blanket and sundries scattered around their area.

  Lili and Malacar made way through the flap of their tent with loaded arms. Kir scooped up the last cushion and squeezed it against her chest. She hung back and turned her gaze afar, trying to imagine Havenlen. She had taken to sending out her goodnight wishes to Vann every evening, hoping they would fly on the winds and somehow find him in that big land to the north. She knew he wasn't really there. He was very probably lost to awareness, akin to being adrift in a dream. It was silly, but sending wishes on a whisper provided something of a comfort. It was the only thing she could do for his lonely soul, and that was better than doing nothing at all. Kir wondered how Vann was faring, if he was getting enough to eat, if he was healthy, and if he could somehow feel Kir's love across the span. Reaching out with her Psychonics, she focused on the soulwhisper on her finger. Kir inserted all her being and intent into the steady sky blue stone, kissing him with the warmth of her spirit.

  “One more night gone is one more day closer, Stick,” Kir whispered. “I swear I will bring you back to me.”

  Her gut twinged with that old familiar agony. She shoved it deep into the recesses, mastering the moment. When she was ready, Kir turned to duck through the flap, but something stayed her feet. It was an awareness of attention, an alertness that someone, or something was watching her. In a full camp of people, especially with guards posted, it wasn't unusual to be watched. Kir was something of a celebrity now, though she much preferred going unseen and unnoticed. Those days of blending into a crowd were long behind her. Eyes were everywhere in the camp, and those eyes were usually adoring, protecting, awing, nostalgic or just generally gawking. But this felt different. This felt almost sinister.

  Kir casually turned, feigning a stretch so as not to alert the watcher to her knowings. She scanned the sleepy camp, over the tents of varying sizes and the few bodies who chose to slumber under the cover of moonlight rather than the cover of canvas. Some thirty yards away, in an open area beyond the fire circle, was a large body. He was bare-chested and chiseled, obviously cut from the warrior's cloth. Kir might have thought it was Malacar by his size, but the man's skin was lighter and his features were not as thick. Flame danced in his hazel eyes. Kir knew him, as surely as she knew her own name.

  It was Inagor Arrelius, and he was staring at her sharply, harshly, with intent.

  -19-

  Romp of Bounty

  The proverbial patter down the halls domestic lends little appeal. Heirs abound in the Scilio line, many thanks to my eleven prolific siblings, and so I am relieved of reproductive obligation. Mayhap a handsome young lad in some unknown corner of Septauria bears the charm, wit and tenor that my seed has gifted. I would not grieve such news and would lavish him with the treasures due, but the desire for proximal parenthood is not a luxury I can afford him.

  Certainly, I have given the best of me in my blood. What good am I, a father, when I find myself so wretched an influence? He will grow a better man for my absence, and I wish him to become a better man than I.

  - Excerpt from the transitory journal of Toma Scilio, Guardian Betrayer

  Dailan awoke to Bressalin and the smell of a breakfast tray that she put on a small table. He was curled up at the end of His Majesty's bed where he had fallen asleep. Funny, he couldn't remember having traded out watch shifts with Shunatar. He couldn't really remember drifting off, either. Shunatar's seat was empty, so he must have traded out at some point. Dailan had been so tired, he probably was only half-awake at the time.

  “Where's Master Tosh?” Dailan asked Bressalin.

  She glanced to the empty seat and smiled. “He was up early, keeping watch over Master Rel. The Magister has him occupied in conversation now. He asked if I would see to your morning needs.”

  Dailan was surprised that Shunatar would leave His Majesty's side for chatterboxing, but he probably figured jawing was best done where it wouldn't wake up the sleepers.

  The breakfast tray was pretty tasty as they went. There were a lot of meats and cheeses and fruits and pastries. Dailan wolfed down as much as he could fit in his guts while Bressalin fed His Majesty. She was real careful and patient with him, even when he would dribble the tea down his chin or not chew good enough. It took forever, but she finally finished stuffing his face.

  “I'll be back with the lunch tray. Ring if you need anything before that.”

  Dailan waved with a nod and waited until the door latch clicked before popping off the end of the bed. There wasn't anything to do in the room, except watch the birds out the window. Dailan wasn't a bird watching type. His Majesty had already fallen back asleep and he wasn't in any danger. Obviously Shunatar wasn't worried to leave him alone, since he'd left Dailan asleep with nobody on watch. Must have meant he figured the house to be safe.

  Poking his head out the door, Dailan found the hallway quiet. His curious nature made him a prime explorer and there was a whole manor that beckoned. He slipped out of the suite and crept through the servieways, the passages inside the walls running alongside the regular hallways. They made for easy routes for the servies to slip in and out of rooms on their tasks without bothering the patrons. Dailan noted the hidden crevices and hidey holes along the route. There were nooks at special points near each bedchamber where a body could fit, probably to listen in and spy. Dailan loved those kind of cubbies. They were designed for kids just like him, the snoopers and sneakers. They gave eyes and ears to the walls. Information was even more valuable than lumanere trinkets.

  Dailan slid sideways into one of the nooks. It didn't take long to find the tiny eye hole in the planking. He had to stand on tiptoes to see through. The view allowed a good angle on the bedchamber, where an older looking fellow with white hair was cozy under the down comforter of his bed. A courtesan was tucked into his arm and he was whispering morning gushy mush into her cheek and ear. Normally, it'd be too hard to hear from that distance, but the nook must have amplified sound because the whispers were plain as day to Dailan's ear. The walls were angled to funnel the voices right to the pervy listener. The soppy mush was not something Dailan wanted ruining his ears, so he backed out of the nook and moved on.

  Back in Hilihar, Dailan had been pretty good at gathering information. Being small, he could worm his way into places that most people couldn't dream of fitting, which made him the perfect spy. He was good at looking busy around folk, finding hidey holes when nobody was paying him mind. Stray kids didn't attract much attention so he could move around anywhere he wanted and be ignored. Ferinar had used Dailan a lot to collect up stuff for his private knowing. He paid pretty good, too. Dailan's success in Ferinar's service had earned him the job of keeping tabs on the royal party when they had gone to Empyrea. That, and the fact that he'd hit it off with Saiya Kunnai. She was his kind of people. In High Empyrea, Dailan had ended up being just as much her spy as he was Ferinar's. She called him a rat, but she never said it in honest meanness. It was more like a teasing observation that she wasn't wrong about. He liked the rat comparison a lot more than the cockroach he sometim
es got called. Rats weren't nasty and horrible like most folks thought. They were smart, nimble and agile, and could get out of any scrape, just like him.

  After about twenty minutes of snooping, Dailan had a pretty good feel for the servieways and layout of the floor so he decided to head back and check in. He would need to keep His Majesty's whistle wet. He wasn't all that learned up on healing, but he'd picked up some stuff here and there from Bertrand. Fluids fight funk, so Bertrand had basically said in words a lot more stuffy and clinical than that. Dailan had tried to help him loosen up his bedside manner. They hadn't made much headway. Bertrand spoke the way he liked, honest and matter-of-fact, if not gentle. He could be confounding at times, but Dailan sure did miss his best friend.

  As he came to the last corner, Dailan peeked around it. The path was all clear so he slipped forward. Just as he was coming up to his own room, a bit of movement caught his eye. It was a foot poking into the servieway a bit, sticking out from the cranny in the wall where the peep hole for His Majesty's bedchamber would be. Somebody was checking up on them.

  Dailan crept forward real quiet like. When he got close, he could see a familiar flash of wild red hair that belonged to the owner of the foot. He stopped in front of the nook, hands on his hips. “Are you a pirate or a bug?”

  Emmi almost jumped out of her skin. It was the kind of startled jump-dance that folks did when they got caught red-handed doing something they knew better about. She clocked her head on the low-hanging ceiling of the nook. “Dainn? You scared the wind from my sails!” Emmi rubbed her forehead where it had been clunked. She looked all guilty and annoyed.