As the groups formed up, Scilio made for Gavin and Grydon. “You both should stay here. Barricade yourselves with the priests.”
“Belay that tongue, lad,” Gavin scolded. “Just because we've a few years on you doesn't make invalids of us.”
“It will be a long, desperate run. With all due respect, Gavin, I can't imagine your rickety legs will be up for a marathon.”
“Then he'll ride with me inside the skiff. Vann will need protection inside, as well as out. It's settled,” Grydon said.
There was no arguing, and Vann would be better protected for their presence. Scilio directed the groups into their positions and Vann's slabskiff was guided to the doors. As they opened, an ethereal calmness claimed the courtyard. No birds chirped and pecked the ground. No lizards scurried about the sandy stone cobbles. The world had stilled its rhythm to anticipation of the tempest.
Scilio's Panorama spell marked the locations of the waiting battalion and the kaiyo as Vann was ushered into the cabin of the hearseskiff and the groups assumed their positions. Among the Merishans, Yorhlingher gripped his weapon tightly, his pallid face as fearful as the ones around him, though his was also guilt-lined for his part.
Shiriah boarded last. She hung back on the step, her hands unable to hide their trembling. “Toma, I am so sorry.”
“You are not culpable for my lack of foresight,” Scilio countered. “Whatever failures entertained this day are entirely of my own making.”
“Then let them not be failures,” Shiriah offered, her ebony eyes glazing.
They wouldn't be. Scilio would make certain of that. If his last action in this world was to hold off an advancing kaiyo army while Shiriah made her escape through the underground with Vann, he would gladly trade up his life for the opportunity. Vann would be on that airship. Scilio would die to make that happen.
He kissed Shiriah's hand tenderly, wishing it was not the last time he would be so privileged to hold it again. “Please survive for me. Bear His Majesty forth on that airship of dreams and relay to Her Highness what happened here. Tell Dailan it's not his fault. And to you, Magister, I owe heartfelt gratitude for sustaining me these past weeks. You have made my final days less ithinary. Fair winds and Eskanna's blessings, dear Shiriah.”
Silent tears decorated Shiriah's cheeks as she pulled him forward and found his lips, pressing her answer against them. They lingered a dying breath, then nodded their final partings. Scilio flicked the toggle and the skiff door slid shut with a hiss.
“Guardian Scilio... I... I wish...” Landhern stumbled on his words.
“I know, Excellency. Take your priests and barricade yourselves. There's no need for you to be caught in the onslaught.”
“May the Gods be with you all,” the Mon-Priest said, raising his hands in prayer.
“I know one that soon will,” Scilio muttered to himself.
-53-
Confluence on Quinning
I am surrounded by the blades of scholars and poets, thinkers and
dreamers, untainted by the din of battle, yet their eyes are stained
with the memory of bygone blood. A year ago, they tasted the reality of their mortality as their fellows were slain around them. And now, they go into this, their last dance, knowing that the purge has finally found them. I pray their sacrifice will be satisfying to their souls. That it serves a larger purpose in ferrying their Crown Prince to his sanctuary. That they will forgive me for the pawns I make of them.
Do not speak too harshly of me to the Collectors, dear friends. For I will be right behind you. And they will hear it all from me, unbiased
and unassuming in the long confession of my sins.
- Toma Scilio, Guardian Betrayer
Scilio accepted Mehlnick's boost to the roof of the skiff and focused his mana on the strongest Inferno Ruptor he could manage without risking depletion. When the Ruptor had ripened to its full potential, he ordered Shields at the ready.
One of the priests unbarred the gates, which swung open to a collection of snarling kaiyo. The moment the priests were clear, Scilio launched his Ruptor at the center of the hoard. The white fury was blinding as the entire front of the north gate and temple wall exploded. Flying fragments pummeled the Dome Shield, barely erected in time. It crackled and flickered with every bit that assailed it.
Scilio had not accounted for the instant obstacle course designed by the detritus. He wished he could have updated Petalwalk with the detail. The Merishans were forced to climb over the jagged stones and splintered wood. The head start that the Ruptor had bought was now hindered by the rubble.
The hearseskiff had no such difficulty, gliding over the field with ease. Its advance was slow, to allow the Shield crafters to stay beside it in formation. As it cleared the courtyard, above the litter and the putrid kaiyo guts that painted the aftermath in every shade of horrible Scilio had ever imagined, the surviving kaiyo launched. Elementals flew, swords skittered across impermeable flesh, voices screamed. The din of battle washed over Scilio as he bore witness to the clash behind the periwinkle glow of his Shield. The Merishans were standing true to their promise, giving the skiff the opening to flee.
The skiff overcame a random chunk of the toppled wall, the last of the major obstacles obstructing their avenue to freedom, when a teakettle howling rattled Scilio's eardrums. He followed the shrill scream upward, to a quadruple-winged monstrosity flapping overhead. The bronze-back kaiyo, that looked more like a feathered lizard than a bird, was at least three men high and its wingspan equaled its length. It dove for the hearseskiff, unconcerned with the Shields. The kaiyo bounced off the protesting energy, the stunning flickers only serving to insult it. It dove again, using its momentum and a burst of Wind magic to scatter the phalanx. The gale slammed against Scilio at full force, ejecting him off the roof as easily as a gnat blown from a goblet rim. The Dome Shield fell as Scilio lost the concentration to hold it. A blinding shock assailed his senses as toothy daggers bit into his scapula and head. Scilio realized in the din of his shock that he had been thrown against the partially collapsed wall and its jagged cement.
The frantic urge to protect Vann overshadowed all pain and fear. Scilio pulled himself from the tangle of rubble, dragging the Guardian sword that his grip had not released in the fall. He stumbled a few steps before regaining his bearings.
The Defensive members of Group Four picked themselves off the ground, the first line against the wave of kaiyo that pounced. There was a flurry of battle, clanging and screams, not all of them human.
Scilio could not lend his Guardian sword to their aid. The winged kaiyo struck again at the side of the skiff. Metal screeched piercingly on stone as the skiff was pressed along the ground. Scilio sprang backward as it upended and crashed onto its side. With a Wind Wisp, he launched over it, surprising the kaiyo with a forward assault that relieved it of a wing. The kaiyo stumbled back, stunned and spilling thick green blood across the avenue. It took to the sky on its three remaining wings, lopsided as it retreated.
“Aerial units, hold!” an officer shouted to his troops from somewhere. “The skiff is disabled. Stand fast. Hold your assets.”
Scilio tore at the skiff's toggle frantically. When it refused to hiss open, he smashed the glass with the hilt of his Guardian sword, shattering the panes. He crawled through the bent metal, shouting for its occupants, begging for reassurances that they were unharmed.
Grydon answered for them as he crawled toward the door. “We're in one piece, Toma. His Majesty's fine. But we've lost our transport. Can we carry him the distance? Merciful Serafin, you're injured.”
“I'll wade him through the boggy mud of the lower Hells if I have to,” Scilio muttered, ignoring Grydon's notice of the blood soaking his shoulder. He could feel nothing of the pain and appreciated no reminders. Instead, he reached to grasp Vann's arms and work him out of the disabled skiff.
Grydon and Gavin eased Vann forward. Shiriah trailed them, silent in her shock. Th
ere were moments lost in the rescue effort, due to concussion or to urgency, Scilio wasn't sure.
When next Scilio roused to awareness, Vann was piggyback, arms flopping limply over Scilio's shoulders, and a unit of kaiyo, seven rows thick, stood in the street blocking their route, waiting for orders to strike. Gavin and Grydon were beside him, weary and wary. Both brandished blades, though it was clear by their amateur stances that they were not swordsmen. Shiriah stood before them, holding a Shield casting of an intense strength.
“Target acquired. Groundling unit two, herding route,” an officer commanded.
Their legs moved them instinctively backward, away from the kaiyo as the creatures pressed on, herding them on command. Guiding them back into Quinning. Back to where Alokien would claim his vessel. Completing Scilio's failure.
The rest of the Merishans who were upright, upon seeing Scilio and Vann in defeat, shuffled backward, too. Their swords were up, but their spirits sagged. They understood that their effort had failed spectacularly.
“Toma?” Shiriah almost whimpered.
“Fall back. There's nowhere to go. Retreat into the temple.”
“And then?”
“And then, when the Chaos Bringer arrives, I'll kill him myself,” Scilio spat.
Toma Scilio. Nobleman. Bardian. Shunatar. Guardian Betrayer. And now Godslayer. Just another label to add to the growing list.
A shrill whistle screamed through the air, and at first, Scilio thought the winged bronze-back kaiyo had returned. The sound ended in an explosion beyond the visible gate, modest compared to the earlier Ruptor, but large enough to send a splay of kaiyo and parts spiraling through the air.
“That wasn't an Elemental casting,” Shiriah noted, the tinge of hope on her breath for the first time.
“And it wasn't one of ours,” Gavin said, gesturing to the Merishans. “We're all here. That was outside the eastern gate.”
“Who could have launched an attack like that?” Mehlnick asked, jogging to his father's side. “It threw those groundlings yards above the wall, and that wall is a good eight feet high!”
The sputtery drone of a million angry, hiccuping hornets buzzed under Scilio's skin, growing closer with every passing second. Suddenly, the back-curved masts of a ship rose over the rooftop of the nearest avenue, like a sunrise of white sails. Westerfold's airship burst into view overhead. It belched a screaming whistle that subsequently exploded on impact near the western gate, scattering tentacles like tossed ragdolls. The airship zoomed over the temple wall and came to hover in the courtyard.
“It's Emerald and Dailan!” Shiriah reasoned, waving frantically.
The massive airship sent distraction through the greenie ranks and the kaiyo seemed to notice. With their handlers out of sorts, a few of them began to fight their neighbors, and one aerial beast took to the skies in escape.
The airship eased downward as six legs descended from their contraptions. They shimmied slightly as they sank into the soft landscaping sand. The hull opened up and a roaring battle cry split the air. Men and swords came pouring forth. Some wore silver uniforms, others were bare chested like Hilians. They bolted into battle against the kaiyo the moment their feet hit the ground.
“When did Dailan and Emmi conscript their own army?” Grydon asked.
Scilio's mind raced. If it wasn't Westerfold's airship, where did it come from? They were obviously friendly, or at least, they were anti-kaiyo. There was only one way to establish the ship's identity and request asylum.
Scilio stumbled over the remainder of the gate wall, making way for the airship as fast as his legs were able. Grydon's question was answered as several familiar faces launched from the cargo bay's loading platform.
“Scilio!”
Befuddlement and elation flooded Scilio's veins. It wasn't possible that Kir was there, racing toward him, calling his name. She was in Hili, surrounded by Barriers and friends. His surname had never chimed as beautifully from the lips of any woman Scilio had ever the pleasure to know. That particular Cornian drawl was the most welcome sound he had entertained in months. He could do little more than choke out his sister's name. The rest of what he tried to say clogged up his wheezy throat.
Malacar and another bulking man in a deep red wine tabard were hot on Kir's trail, coming right for them, and then there were others. Ulivall, voices shouting, swords clashing, kaiyo screaming. Scilio's fuzzy mind still hadn't processed the sum of it all.
Kir circled him and cast a powerful Shield. Malacar and the rest of the entourage joined her with their own Defensives.
“Keep those feet moving, Bardian,” Kir commanded. “Get Vann to the Prophecy chamber. We'll cover your back.” She called orders to some of the soldiers, commanding them to follow behind with Shields.
Prophecy chamber. That made no sense. The safety of the airship should be their destination. Scilio stuttered to a halt. “No. Not there. We're surrounded by an army of kaiyo. We have to sail Vann away from here.”
“Wouldn't you rather we get him back first?” Kir smirked confidently.
Farning was with her. It could truly happen now.
“Then let us be about it. The Chaos Bringer comes. We have to hurry!” Scilio reported. His jellied legs changed course and he started for the chamber keep.
Kir balked and threw a defensive glance to Malacar. “He'll be here,” she told him. “Highsun hour is what we agreed on. It's early yet.”
Scilio was about to ask whom they were supposed to be meeting, when his foot stubbed an unnoticed chunk of gate wood. He went down hard on a knee to prevent Vann's plummet into the garden pool.
“Easy, Scilio. You've brought him far enough. I'll take him the rest of the way.” Malacar moved in and shifted Vann's deadweight to his own back with the help of Grydon and several friendly hands that Scilio hadn't registered were nearby.
Kir hauled Scilio up and aided him as he hop-jogged after Malacar. He ignored the stones that were still lodged under the broken skin of his knee. Shiriah wrapped Scilio's other arm around her shoulder, lending her strength to his own as he hobbled.
Scilio was about to examine the burgundy-tabarded man's face for recognition when a voice projected over the roar of the battle. It was the lilting, familiar baritone that Scilio had once hungered to hear. Now, it sent shivers of revulsion down his spine. It was the voice of his own father, Alokien.
“Attention, to all those who have aided in the kidnapping of the defenseless Crown Prince. You are surrounded. There is no escape. If you launch the airship, we will Ruptor it from the sky. We have a brigade of kaiyo on standby outside the temple, five thousand strong. Your King bids you surrender. Hand over my son and accept your pardon. Any other action leads to the Collectors. You have ten minutes to comply.”
Everyone froze momentarily.
“Don't let him jostle us,” Kir barked, breaking the tension. “Make for the chamber. Let's move!”
-54-
Cannonade on Chaos
Every generation scoffs at the younger, claiming it is louder, lazier, cruder. They forget that their elders scoffed the same of them, and so on, for eons beyond memory. When I am touched with elder years, I will not speak harshly of youth. I will not generalize a generation under derision from my lofty pedestal. For they are the products of our own crafting, the heirs of our own creations. We hand them our broken messes and curse them for not repairing them to expectation. We force on them our opinions and curse them for forming their own. We give them chains and curse them for breaking free. No, when I am touched with elder years, I will not speak harshly of youth, but I will beg their forgiveness for the ugly world I leave them to beautify in my wake.
- Excerpt from the transitory journal of Toma Scilio, Guardian Betrayer
“At this rate you're gonna wear a hole right down to the bilge, Saiya Kunnai,” Dailan tutted. “I don't wanna have to replace the deck boards on account of your fretting.”
Saiya Kunnai had been pacing th
e Emerald Bounty's decks like a restless wildcat since sunup, going back and forth between eager excitement and fidgety vexation. “I just can't simmer down, Dagnabber,” she admitted, coming to stand at the railing. “We're only two hours away from White Tower, from getting Vann back. Hard to settle my brain.”
“Well, Kionara or something,” Dailan suggested. “This boat won't fly any faster with the speed of your feet.”
Guardian Malacar heard that last bit as he came up the ladder. He pressed right up against Saiya Kunnai's back, folding around her shoulders and wrapping her up like he could calm her fires with the pressure of his arms. He whispered something in her ear. If Dailan didn't know them, he'd have thought they were a couple. Malacar shared a long bloody history with Saiya Kunnai, and Dailan knew they were bonded on a different level, with a kind of friendship that was deep and abiding. It wasn't the lover kind of feelings they had, but more the reliant kind, the way the ocean depends on the shore to keep its bits from seeping away.
Whatever Malacar had said in her ear must have worked, because the focus returned to her face in an instant. They stood there for a few minutes, taking in the sun-sparkled River Kellinspor that snaked below them, a north-bound trail that would lead them over Lake Selkerchain and on to White Tower.
Guardian Arrelius and Ulivall clomped up the ladder after a spell, walking their inspection over the farscape. The edge of the lake was running up into view. Malacar let Saiya Kunnai go, since she didn't seem to need him hugging on her anymore, especially with other folk about the deck.
“Getting close now,” Arrelius commented.
“I bet Shunatar's gonna shockplop when he sees you, Guardian Arrelius,” Dailan cackled. “He's gonna be scrubbing his underdrawers out for a week!”
Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4) Page 65
