“Then consider me the postman,” Galvatine said. From inside his cassock he produced a spiky, two-bladed lumanere weapon. “Can you get me close to the Prophecy complex?”
Dailan found the funnel-feed station on the wall of the cargo hold and called directions to Emmi. She turned the airship toward the middlings and found a decent place to hover, just low enough to allow Galvatine off.
The High Priest didn't even waste time in thanking anyone. He clomped off the loading platform and made for the building like a malcraven was on his tail. Dailan had never seen the gnarly old wencher move so fast.
“Emmi, take us back to the front line,” Dailan commanded. He handed Farraday the funnel-feed and plugged the end into the grandspeaker channel. “She's all yours General.”
When the boat was hovering over the remnants of the northgate, where the hub of the battle had been, Farraday filled the open cargo doors with his massive frame.
“Hails and salutes to the Army of Southern Havenlen and all White Tower citizens within earshot of my voice. I am Werther Farraday, High General of the Royal Forces of Septauria, here to assume command. Call off the attack. Cease your assault, silence your kaiyo, lay down your arms. This battle is over.
“I share with you now a difficult truth. The Chaos Bringer inhabits the body of our King Soventine, who succumbed on the moonless night some weeks past. I have been his prisoner since. He has quelled my authority, stifling my voice in fear that I would alert you to his nefarious schemes. With the help of your High Priest Galvatine, I have escaped my bonds and I tell you now. The Chaos Bringer's claims, that Crown Prince Vannisarian was abducted by Hilian warmongers, was completely fabricated. Hili was aiding the Prince in fleeing the Chaos Bringer's cabal. I have royal authority to assume command. We rally around His Majesty, Crown Prince Vannisarian and his bride, Her Affianced Highness, Princess Kiriana. They will guide us in the war against Chaos.
“You may doubt the veracity of my word. Look around you. Kaiyo tainting our ranks? Kaiyo terrorizing your streets? These monstrosities are agents of Chaos. Let us advance on Quinning, not in assault, but in defense. Defense of Order. Defense of the true sovereignty of our kingdom. We make a stand against the Chaos Bringer.”
Dailan looked over the bloody, ragged, battle-worn soldiers. Corpses of kaiyo and men and all their severed body parts lay strewn about the debris. Dailan would have been fascinated by the grisly scene, if the blood wasn't so many colors, and if it didn't smell so putrid and cough-smokey. The district burned behind them, but while Dailan was fixed in slack-jawed awe about the gore, everyone on the ground was fixed on the airship and the towering High General who seemed to own it.
As suddenly, as it had paused, the battle erupted again. This time, it was the death throes of kaiyo that pierced the air, as they fell under the blades and spells of the handlers who had commanded them.
Dailan chanced a glance to Farraday, who raised his square jaw. His boxy features got all squinchy and sure. He was a General again.
-55-
Race to Reunion
I see the impossible. And I know now my task is not. For has not the impossible already unfolded, as it barrels toward me from the airship of dreams? Nay, impossible? Never more will I acknowledge so pessimistic a limitation. Kir and Malacar qualify the concept. There is nothing inconceivable with them at my side.
- Toma Scilio, Guardian Betrayer
The dank air smelled of sweat, mingling with battle lust. Kir had inhaled it enough to recognize that fight-thirst had an odor of its own. She stood beside Malacar, Inagor and Farning in the dim cargo hold, staring at the backs of the warriors who filled it. The soldiers' swords were in their waiting hands, their eyes boring holes into the massive bay door that looked to form a part of the hull. Some were outfitted in the new royal colors of silver. Some were outfitted in only pantlings, their gleaming golden skin betraying their Kion immunity to the dim light of the hold. No matter the color of their backs, all of them were blades for Aquiline. Blades for Kir.
From the moment Kir had seen the lay of the temple, she recognized the gravity of the situation. The Chaos Bringer had found his vessel. This wasn't only a battle for Vann's soul. It was the third battle of the Chaos War.
Kir focused her will, washed in the strength of Kionara. Malacar and Inagor joined her in the moment, centered and ready. Malacar patted the front panel of his tabard, making sure the folded fabric he'd tucked inside was still in place. Farning had said little, nursing his anxieties at the prospect of entering a kaiyo arena.
With a bark of a cannon overhead, it began.
Kir could feel the airship ascend over the wall, then it settled itself.
Dailan's voice echoed loudly through the hold. “You're clear. Pop the cargo door.”
Someone complied and the mobile bulkhead door slid down its runners, forming a makeshift loading ramp from the deck to the dirt. The warriors screamed as they exploded from their containment. Kir ran after them, thrusting herself into the mid-morning sun that temporarily blinded her.
As the warriors made to join the people fighting at the gates, Kir scanned the grounds for Scilio. Malacar found him first, struggling over some Ruptor debris.
“There they are.” Malacar pointed as Kir's eyes finally adjusted.
Scilio looked battered, his tunic was ripped in several places and there was a small gash along his forehead. His shoulder-length tawny hair was disheveled and matted where the blood had congealed. Vann seemed fine, but with him draped across Scilio's back, it was hard to make a decent assessment. Grydon Lindt and Gavin Shelfern were with them, looking harried themselves. Trailing them was an elegant, black-haired woman who had all the bearing of a highborn lady, even though her hair sculpture hung around her face and her tailored travel wear was torn and dirty. She must have been Magister Kehlamani of Chalice House.
“Scilio!” Kir cried out, wishing her voice was deeper and heavier. She lit out for him, also wishing her legs were longer and faster.
Scilio slowed his step, dragging the tip of his Guardian sword as he studied Kir through daze-washed eyes.
“Highness, secure His Majesty! We'll hold them here,” Ulivall called over the courtyard.
His circular blades sliced the air toward a pair of puvlaquen that had taken to wing. As the blades spiraled back to his waiting hands, Ulivall launched a Wind Bolt to knock back the advancing line. Kir could see Tennras closer to the gate, obvious by his bright red pantling that stood out among the silver uniforms around him. Copellian and Lyndal were somewhere out there, too, alongside Consul Ferinar. Most of the Ithinar Steel boys were with Eshuen and the Second Ladies in the gungalley, operating the airship's cannons.
Kir spun to Scilio's flank and cast a Shield. Malacar and Inagor overlapped theirs to form a miniature phalanx. Scilio was still fumbling through his motions sluggishly, like he was trying to convince himself that they weren't some sort of dream.
“Keep those feet moving, Bardian,” Kir commanded, urging him to a trot. “Get Vann to the Prophecy complex. We'll cover your back.” A few of the Aquilinian troops were nearby, so Kir hailed them. “Shields on His Majesty! We're on the move.”
Scilio's feet slowed to a stop. He blinked a few times, staring back at the Emerald Bounty. “No. Not there. We're surrounded by an army of kaiyo. We have to sail Vann away from here.”
Obviously, the Bardian hadn't entertained Kir's plan for a victorious finale. Why did he think she had come flying to Havenlen, if it wasn't to go about Vann's soul saving? And Scilio claimed to be a decorated playwright. Kir almost scoffed. Instead, she plastered on a devilish grin to let him know she had a winning card up her sleeve.
“Wouldn't you rather we get him back first?”
Something lit in his eyes. An awareness that had been lacking before. But also, alarm. “Then let us be about it. The Chaos Bringer comes. We have to hurry!”
He set off at a lope toward the deeper grounds.
Kir figure
d Alokien knew where Vann was, on account of his sending a kaiyo reception committee. She didn't realize he was already closing in. That meant this whole set-up had been just that—a set-up. She wondered how Alokien had found Vann. It must have been in the works for days, at least.
Malacar cast a dark glance at the sun's position, then turned it to Kir. He didn't have to say a word. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Xavien had the soulblade. If he didn't show...
“He'll be here,” Kir assured him, trying to sound more confident than she really was. “Highsun hour is what we agreed on. It's early yet.”
Suddenly, Scilio tripped and skid along on a knee. He dropped his Guardian sword, struggling to keep Vann on his back as he fell. He withheld a grunt as Kir winced, springing forward to stop Vann from pitching headfirst into a rocky lotus pool.
Malacar knelt alongside, leaning in. “Easy, Scilio. You've brought him far enough. I'll take him the rest of the way.”
Kir and Inagor helped slide Vann onto Malacar's back, with Grydon and Gavin lending their hands to the task. Farning didn't seemed bothered to dirty his hands with aid of any kind. When Vann was secure, Malacar set off.
The back of Scilio's tunic was blood-soaked at the shoulder blade. It didn't look to be any of Vann's blood, thankfully, but it explained why Scilio was losing steam. Kir scooped up his sword and wrapped his arm around her own shoulder to aid him upright, keeping him steady as he limped after Malacar. The Magister slipped under his other arm.
They had only taken a few steps when a booming voice stilled the clanging. Kir recognized the chimey baritone from the moonless night, when it had filtered out of Scilio's mouth. The Chaos Bringer had just arrived to the party.
When Alokien was done spewing his threats and lies, everyone seemed suspended in time, fanning the fire of fear that didn't deserve bolstering.
“Don't let him jostle us,” Kir commanded. “Make for the chamber. Let's move!”
They hustled as fast as they were able toward the Prophecy complex, which was located in what looked to be the middle of the grounds. Kir knew it by the seal of Karanni that marked the frame overhead, matching the seal she wore around her neck. The Aquilinians stood fast to guard the doors.
Grydon threw them open and everyone thrust themselves into the dim Inferno-lit entrance hall. It was hauntingly quiet, especially in light of where they'd come from. The flooring was marble and the entire structure was a wonderment of artistic treasures, from the architecture to the mosaics to the sculptures. It was practically an art museum to itself. The air was crisp and fresh, at least ten degrees cooler than the yard had been. It reminded Kir of how a cave held its temperature even through a summer heatwave.
“Which way to the Prophecy room?” Malacar asked.
“It will be down the south hall, in the center of the complex,” Farning replied shortly, pointing. “That way.”
“Who goes there?” a new voice called cautiously.
“Peace, Mon-Priest Landhern,” Scilio returned. “We have the means to restore His Majesty.”
The Mon-Priest appeared from his makeshift hiding place behind a statue. “Guardian Scilio, merciful Eskanna! We feared the worst. Come with me.”
They trailed the priest through a labyrinth of halls until he stopped in a comfortable antechamber that seemed to function as a ready room. There were plush seats, a scroll table, refreshment trays, and even a mirrored vanity. Two tall dark green doors, both adorned with Karanni's seal, filled one wall.
“Through these doors is the Prophetic chamber keep. You must hurry. I believe the Chaos Bringer will be here soon,” the Mon-Priest said. “You know what to do, then?”
“I will supervise the procedure. Expertise is the nature of my presence,” Farning said, confident in his cassock.
“We're waiting on someone. He's got the nousectional device we need. Can you direct him here when he arrives? It should be within the quarter hour,” Kir said.
The Mon-Priest looked about as frazzled as a kitten in a kaiyo's claw, but he nodded and set back down the hallway. “I'll go meet him at the door.”
Kir sheathed Scilio's Guardian sword at his hip and released his full burden to the Magister, who began picking pebbles and sand from his shredded knee. As Malacar knelt, Kir moved to his side. Grydon and Gavin helped them ease Vann across a cushioned bench. Kir tenderly brushed strands of the choppy mahogany hair from his eyes, revealing the peaceful face that belonged to her Stick. Inagor mimicked the path her fingers took and his hand cupped Vann's cheek gently, like a father caressing his sleeping child. He retreated to the far wall, where he stood observing silently.
“Is he okay?” Kir asked, moving aside so Grydon could check Vann over. Malacar hovered anxiously through the assessment.
“He's fine,” Grydon assured her quickly. “None the worse for wear.”
Kir breathed a sigh and wrapped a thankful arm of greeting over Grydon's back. She clasped Gavin's bony fingers. “I'm so glad you both were here.”
They returned the warmth with trembling hands that hadn't calmed from their battle fright. Kir turned toward Scilio, who had abandoned concern over his bloody knee. He seemed to be rousing from his stupor. Kir clomped toward him and stood there for a minute, taking in the beautiful sight of her brother Guardian, who looked about as bedraggled as she'd ever seen him, and yet, as brilliant as he'd ever appeared.
“And you, refulgent paragon,” Kir said, trying to keep her eyes from mistifying and failing miserably. “Welcome back.”
“Propitious herald,” Scilio choked out. With the gamut he was running on his face, it was a wonder he had come up with anything at all, let alone a compliment. He pressed his hand over his eyes to cover the shame of his unbridled emotion.
Kir reached out, intent on burying her face in his tunic (and maybe even use it to wipe the blubberjuice from her cheeks). They clung to each other, spilling out all their mush that they punctuated with laughs and cries of greeting.
“You have no idea how much you were missed, Ponytail,” Kir said.
Malacar moved in, impatient for his own reunion. Kir left him to the rib-crushing embrace, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
“Please, Denian. I'm a wounded man,” Scilio coughed, jokingly playing up on the hurt like the thespian he was.
At that, Grydon moved in to tend the gash across his shoulder.
Malacar tugged Scilio's light blue tabard from the inner panel of his own and presented it over. “A Guardian is naked without a tabard. We all know how much you love to be naked, Bardian, but it's unseemly in public.”
Scilio's eyes glazed fresh and his jaw clenched as he accepted it. The Magister held Scilio's black Guardian sword while Malacar helped work the tabard over his head. He ignored Grydon's half-hearted protest at the hindrance.
“Welcome back, indeed, little brother,” Malacar said.
Scilio regained his composure as Malacar smoothed the front panel and Kir tied the belt around his waist. The Magister hung back silently, allowing Kir and Malacar to fuss on him. Now he looked more like a Guardian again.
“We have some new faces here,” Kir noted casually, trying to work in an introduction for the Magister and instigate a reunion for Inagor.
Scilio cleared the tremors from his voice. “Of course. Please let me introduce my personal savior of these past weeks. Shiriah Kehlamani, Magister of Chalice House and Director of the Underground.”
“We've heard a lot about you from Emmi,” Kir said. She interrupted the formal royal greeting that Shiriah began. “No need for any of that. From what Dailan has told me, I should be the one bowing to you, Magister.”
The Magister handed Kir the Guardian sword she had been keeping. “It's Shiriah, please. Had we known to expect them in White Tower, we would have offered sooner.”
“Shiriah is my personal confidant. Without her aid and harbor, we would not have ended well,” Scilio confessed as Kir slipped the black sword through his b
elt and adjusted the angle. He noticed the vamblade just then. His hands inspected it curiously. “What is this contraption? A new vambrace I see?”
“I traded up,” Kir gestured to Inagor. “Lost one vambrace, gained two.”
Scilio nodded a comprehension he hadn't grasped yet as he toggled between Kir's splint and the burgundy-tabarded man leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Inagor's eyes seemed to be laughing that he had gone unrecognized. “We have something in common, Scilio. You found a savior in Magister Kehlamani. I found the same thing in Kiriana.”
Scilio's double-take blinked his eyes and furrowed his brow. If not for Grydon being tucked at his side, he might have taken another tumble. Scilio rubbed his face with his free hand and shook the fuddles from his head before looking at Inagor again. His question to Kir died on his lips.
“I picked up a stalker around about the Arshenholm and decided to give him a job,” Kir quipped, gesturing to Inagor's vambrace.
Scilio shook his head again, this time with a rumbling laugh of understanding as Inagor moved in. They clasped wrists and arms and bodies, heedless of Grydon, who was trying his very best to go about healing Scilio's shoulder despite the interruptions.
“Inagor? You've been alive all this time?”
“A guest of our old friend Soreina,” Inagor confirmed. “I found my freedom and my new purpose, but it took Kiriana's sacrifice to make it happen.”
“Soreina... Wait, sacrifice?” Scilio looked to Kir in alarm. He picked up her splinted hand, seeming to recognize what the form had been. “You mean...?”
“It's not a debility. Thanks to Dailan and his mech-brain, I've just found a new way to use it, that's all,” Kir said, showing off the nifty blade-flick.
“Dailan? He made this apparatus? What else has that clever boy been up to these past few days?” Scilio mused.
“You'd never believe it,” Malacar said, impressed. “You'll have quite an epic tale to sing, Master Bard.”
“Yep. He and Emmi flew the airship all the way to Hili to fetch us here,” Kir said, figuring it had been pretty obvious but needed to be explained anyway. “And they kicked kaiyo tail up the Arshen River while they were at it.”
Bardian's Redemption: Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace (The Guardian Vambrace 4) Page 67
