Inagor and Malacar exchanged amused glances.
“Are we there?” Bertrand's voice called from an adjacent room.
Emmi used the opportunity to scoot away from the towering Guardians. She pushed the hatch ajar and peeked in. Bertrand was laying on a mattress under a table that was bolted to the bulkhead.
“Still have almost two days of sky ahead,” Emmi apologized.
“Oh. I hoped I slept through them,” Bertrand said. He curled into a ball and buried his head under a pillow.
“That's Dailan's quarters,” Emmi explained. She tapped her foot on the deck. “It was the wardroom, but Dailan likes it as his little hole, so...”
“You must have the patience of Serafin to put up with the likes of that gutter rat,” Kir teased, trying to smother the girl's insecurity. “My little brother is the walking definition of trouble.”
Emmi allowed a giggle. The ice was broken. “I know. Can you believe he tried to swipe my loran pouch when we first met? Then he toppled me, shoved my face, grabbed me in lady places, and I ended up with a sprained ankle after all of that! He's lucky I forgave him, otherwise he and His Majesty would still be living on the streets, picking from back alley refuse barrels.”
“That sticky-fingered shrimp-nugget.” Kir tutted, shaking her head in mock disapproval of Dailan's escapades. “Take a whack at him with a paper fan next time. Works for me.”
Emmi raised her eyebrows at the prospect, and the permission.
Kir slid back to cozy up next to Lili. She patted the empty mattress edge. “Come tell me about His Majesty and Guardian Scilio, how they're doing. Then, tell me about yourself and your family. And White Tower—describe it for me. Just keep talking until I fall asleep, if you don't mind.”
Emmi's cheeks matched her hair, but she plopped down next to Kir with youthful exuberance. “I don't mind. I'm good at talking.”
Malacar settled himself on the floor, back against the wardrobe, so Kir tossed him a stray pillow to ease the burden on his neck. Inagor kicked back in the cushy captain's chair, propping his feet on the desk. They weren't inclined to rest until she did, though they would have followed her until they dropped.
Kir pressed her cheek against the pillow, feeling the warm comfort of Lili's arm cradling hers. She closed her eyes, listening to Emmi's narrative. As the girl described the airship's maiden voyage, soaring over the sleepy streets of White Tower, Kir could feel herself gliding along with the swaying of the swingbed. Her mind drifted apart from the anchor of her body, soaring like an airship, or like a hawk, into the vast overworld of her dreams. She was flying, flying back to Vann. Only the clouds and the wind divided them now.
-51-
So Snaps the Trap
It was the summer of the locust-call, and Sterigen insisted I come along on a hunting excursion with four of my brothers. Although fifteen and mature enough for a hawk of my own, I showed little interest in the sport. My winsome violet eyes had sparked with another manner of obsession. The fine Mercarian rug merchant on Plum Orchard Walk had two rosy-cheeked daughters, and both twinkled at my daily passing by their window. My hunt was of another sort; I sought to lay my traps to their delightful capture. Reluctantly, and only to appease Sterigen, I accompanied my brothers on their journey to the rolling Mercarian hills and wooded byways, while those dulcet beauties still parked themselves in my unyielding attentions. I strolled along the huntways, engaged merrily in my head, when I stepped into the trap of a badger hunter that had been laid out plain before me, unseen to my absent eyes. As my brothers freed my injured leg, Sterigen scolded me harshly. “Toma, it was not the hunter's trap that hurt you, but the traps you
set for yourself.” My wounded pride did not take well the admonishment, but I now see
Sterigen was correct. I was then, and I am ever still, the instrument of my own falls.
- Excerpt from the transitory journal of Toma Scilio, Guardian Betrayer
Werther Farraday strode onto the royal airferry's bridge confidently. His throat cleared purposefully as he straightened his sleeve and collar, to be sure attention was properly drawn to the insignia that decorated them. High General of the Royal Forces was the highest military rank in the kingdom, and a superior responsibility. All Generals of the islandic Royal Armies and the Admirals of the the King's Navy reported to him, and they relied on his governance and direction. The Captain saluted smartly, taking in the expansive display of medals that embellished the breast of Farraday's uniform.
“High General. Everything is in order. We have another twenty-seven hours before docking in White Tower. Is there anything you need?” the Captain asked.
“I'm here for routine inspection. Carry on,” Farraday commanded, standing back observantly against the bulkhead.
The last two months since the moonless night had been exceedingly difficult for Farraday, not because of his duties, but because of the constant eyes. The Chaos Bringer suspected his treason. The bargains Farraday had made with the Crown Princess had been carefully guarded and only a brief moment of risky action had allowed him to contact a subordinate General, Jorrhen of the Army of Northern Aquiline, through the Chaos Bringer's speculorb. Jorrhen had been one of Farraday's supporters in his brief assignment at Fort Krigdall. Her supplanting of General Irrill, who proved not to be so supportive, was a boon, but she could only do so much from her confinement in Aquiline. The Chaos Bringer was monitoring the scrollboard network and messages by other means were unreliable, if they could be trusted at all.
So far, Farraday had been unable to extend any more surreptitious orders and covert dealings. The Crown Princess had expected much more from him, not realizing that his hands would be completely tied in the Chaos Bringer's presence. He hadn't outwardly failed her, but his influence had not gone beyond his private quarters. Farraday's every word was closely monitored and analyzed by the King's swirling violet eyes and his Arcadian retainers. Why Farraday had not already been relieved and collared him in the clink was a question. The answer could probably be found in the way the Chaos Bringer thirsted for intrigue. He was practically daring Farraday to make a move under his nose; he hungered for the day he could pounce. Farraday understood that drive. He was a man of the hunt, himself.
The cat and mouse game had continued for weeks. It was obvious that Soventine was not manning his own helm, but Farraday had only been able to grasp minor hints at the inhabitant's identity. He had determined that the being was ancient, charming, well-spoken, theatrical and exceedingly intelligent. For all Farraday knew, the Chaos Bringer might even be a god.
Jorrhen's army had been successful in eliminating the kaiyo forces in northern Aquiline, but Gensing had reported in before they could stop him. The Chaos Bringer was on alert that the island had opposed his orders and had rallied around Vannisarian. The invasion of Aquiline had not yet commenced, as it would take time to mobilize the trans-islandic forces. The blockade ships were already en route, but the Chaos Bringer had wanted to keep it quiet, to avoid rumor of uprising. He commanded it be recorded as a training exercise. Unrest and internal war was the last thing he needed in such a precarious, unstable time. There was already a mountain of rumors to be quelling. The Chaos Bringer had decided to allow his kaienze minions, Gensing and Soreina, first crack at securing the royal party. If they failed, he planned travel to Hili to collect them himself, but he dared not risk the journey now. Stepping off an Aquilinian airferry might put him into the hands of hostile troops. He planned to wait until the island was reclaimed and secure in his control before risking it.
Then three days ago, everything changed. The King had been hailed by means of the speculorb. The White Tower garrison reported Vannisarian's whereabouts. He was apparently not in Aquiline at all. Traveling to Aquiline might have been too risky, but Havenlen was a different story.
The Princess had not divulged the secret of a decoy to Farraday during their negotiations. She had led him to believe that she was escorting Vannisarian to Hili. Not that he c
ould blame her. He would have been insulted, were he not so impressed. It was better that he hadn't known. One less secret to keep from ever-present eyes.
Now that they were on the move, Farraday could wait no longer. His hand was forced and he must act. This was his first unhindered moment aboard the airferry. The Chaos Bringer was occupied in an intensive healing session to keep his frail body from collapse, and none of the assigned “attendant” spies were attached to Farraday's hip. It was now or never.
When the Captain's back was turned, Farraday seized a scrollboard from its tray and slipped it under his breastplate.
“Excuse me, Captain. Head call,” Farraday said, dismissing himself.
He retreated to the solitude of the head and closed himself into a private stall. As fast as he could manage, he scripted a message to Her Affianced Highness, in care of General Beyhue, whom Farraday assumed would be overseeing the royal party's escort by now. It was coded in an obsolete form that Beyhue, or one of the older veterans, would be familiar with. The message noted the Chaos Bringer's location, destination and purpose. Her Highness would be able to warn Guardian Scilio with this information, hopefully. If not, Farraday would be forced to act. He wasn't positive that he could count on the King's Guardians and his Havenlen Generals to back him in the event that he was forced to capture the Chaos Bringer. There had been no time to explain his motives, and the subjugation of a royal was a serious offense. It was a desperate plan that he prayed he did not have to enact.
When the message was sent, Farraday returned to the bridge and nodded his silent approval to the Captain, who barely took notice of his presence. He slipped the scrollboard back into place and glanced over the controls.
“I'm off to the King's side,” Farraday said curtly when he was satisfied with the act. He made way to the royal quarters, hoping his absence had not been noted.
Guardian Sterrick was on post outside the hatch. He saluted tersely as Farraday approached. Their eyes met, speaking volumes that they were unable to vocalize. The Guardians were quite aware of the Chaos Bringer. By the nature of their vambraces, they were unable to act upon it, and by the nature of the controlled environment, they were unable to even speak on it.
“I inspected the bridge. All systems functioning nominally,” Farraday reported to the Chaos Bringer, who was sitting in a posh chair, feet propped on a cushion. The healer had just finished and was already on his way out the stateroom.
The Chaos Bringer looked even more frail than Soventine had somehow. Although it was long since healed, the blade wound had certainly taken its toll. There was more salt in the sides of his pepper hair than weeks past, as though the stress of breathing had aged him further. Those eyes, a godly color (or perhaps ungodly, depending on how one approached the concept), pierced Farraday as though they could read every guilty thought in his mind.
With a cock of his head, the Chaos Bringer King smiled. “Splendid, General. I really must applaud you. You've finally taken the reins. I'm surprised it took you so long.”
“I don't know what you mean, Majesty,” Farraday said carefully.
The thing that once had been Soventine raised his hand. One of the retainers that never left Farraday's side, even in his sleep, offered over a scrollboard. The King scanned it through a victorious grin.
“I took a lesson from Kiriana and brought a decoy along. This scrollboard only connects to its partner on the bridge. Neither are linked to the real network.” The scrollboard tilted toward Farraday, revealing the coded message he had just sent. “I am headed toward victory, so it was time to remove potential wild cards from the game. I had to give you the opening to show your cards. I knew you would take it.”
“Majesty—I...” Farraday caught his tongue before it betrayed him further.
“I don't suppose it would matter, even if she knew, would it? Kiriana is in Hili. There's no way she could reach Vannisarian in time, with us only a day away. I honestly thought you were more clever than this, High General. Oh well. Just another discordant note in my symphony.” The King waved a dismissive hand in the air.
At that, a platoon stormed into the cabin. Farraday's wrists were clasped in Inhibitor cuffs and he was led away without another word. The airferry had its own version of a clink, miniature in its size compared to Empyrea. Its Barriers were none the weaker for it.
As the fuchsia Barrier flickered to life, Farraday grunted his defeat. He had long been a man of the hunt. He never fathomed that he would be the one caught.
* * *
The cloaked, hooded figure almost looked like any other Keeper from behind, but Galvatine knew better. There was something in his stance, an arrogance built into his posture that was more than cloak-worthy. This Keeper was Sandavall Xavien.
Xavien was standing before the Nousectional display in the deep recesses of the Relic room. The six soulblades housed on their Blazer-lit, glassy pedestals looked something like heavenly teeth, grinning at fate. One of the pedestals was vacant. That conduit was in its owner's hands, locked away in an ornamented box, on airferry route to some secret destination. Alokien had used it twice before, once to sever his soul from his body during the razing and once to sever His High Majesty's soul on the moonless night. If only Galvatine had been there in that chamber, the prophecy would never have come to pass.
He couldn't have made the trip to Westlewin for the First Wedding, even if he had planned to. His health had been poor, for starters. Ever since the Guardians had unleashed their Reflection spell upon him the year before, Galvatine knew his days were numbered. It had withered his body and sapped most of his vitality away. Secondly, Soventine hadn't wanted him there. He hadn't understood why until he had received word of what had transpired.
All these years, Galvatine had believed the Chaos Bringer prophecy would unfold in the Citadel's chamber keep. He had no idea that there had been a younger chamber in the lumanere mountains of Westlewin, or that his own God would go to such lengths to deceive him. If he had known, he would have put a stop to it. He would have seen through his younger brother's falsehood. He would have prevented a catastrophe. At least, he believed so. It was the only way to sleep at night. He had been playing games with the King for decades, but he had never lost so catastrophically before.
Galvatine's life had ultimately amounted to nothing. He had been born to a royal family but not to a throne. He had risen to High Priesthood but not to enlightenment. His legacy would be one of complete failure.
Galvatine waited for Xavien to reach for a soulblade before speaking. “Are you in the business of saving souls now?”
Xavien spun on his heel. Recognition was instant to his face, and he stepped forward smoothly. “Ah, Your Eminence. Fancy seeing you here. I didn't realize I had set off the Wards.”
“You didn't. I've been expecting a visitor to the Nousectional. I didn't anticipate it would be you.”
“I'm here on behalf of Her Affianced Highness. Perhaps you were expecting her?”
“Perhaps. Since when did you become an agent of the Crown?”
“Since the Princess conscripted me in dealings of mutual benefit. As you were expectant, I assume you know what we are about?” Xavien chanced.
“She plans to use a soulblade to return His Majesty's nousect to his body, of course,” Galvatine confirmed. “She has conferred with Farning, I'm sure. I know Hili was her destination, and Farning is in Hili, so it stands to reason that he is advising her.”
“I don't know the details. I'm simply the errand boy,” Xavien shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “I am to meet her in White Tower at Quinning Temple. Assuming she makes it before the Chaos Bringer's airferry, that is.”
“Is that where he is bound?”
“So a little birdie just told me. And, what do you plan to do with such naughty information?” Xavien pressed deliciously.
“What can a feeble old man like me do with anything naughty?” Galvatine sighed despondently.
“Oh, Galvatine. I hate
to see you end this way,” Xavien pouted. “Naughtiness is the spice of life! Don't waste what's left of yours.”
“I'll endeavor not to.” Galvatine didn't expend energy on putting conviction behind the statement.
Xavien glanced back to the Nousectional display. “Might you be so kind as to instruct me in the procedure? Farning's a mere collar smithy. Her Highness is not confident in the caliber of his advice. How does one go about using this soulblade?”
“When His Majesty is in the Holy chamber keep, a Guardian must access the Bonding to issue summons. A Recollection should call forth the Guarded's stray nousect to be collected in the capacitor of the blade. There must be an offering of sacrificial blood from the bladed end to awaken the channel. Then, with the blunt depositor end, the nousect can be directed back into the vessel through the soulgate. There is no name or directive for the spells, as they don't exist on paper. The Guardian Bonding will be the guide,” Galvatine explained.
“I thank you for your expert insight, Your Eminence. As always, working with you is exceedingly fruitful to my education. I am ever in your debt.” Xavien bowed in formal tribute.
He turned toward the display and slipped his hand right through the multiple layers of Defensive magic that guarded the device, as though there were no Barriers in place at all. Xavien plucked Serafin's soulblade from its place of honor, then turned once more toward Galvatine. “I am off to reclaim a treasured Prince. Until fate collides us again, Your Eminence.”
The black cloak folded into its vortex and in a breath, Xavien was gone.
Galvatine inhaled thoughtfully as he stood before the five remaining soulblades. Time slipped by his awareness as he fell into his own mind. Although he could not help His Majesty in person, at least he had been able to direct Xavien in the blade's use. If only there was some way to lend additional aid from the confines of the Citadel.
Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4) Page 63
