The Ruby Guardian soa-2

by Thomas M. Reid

  "Vambran," he said, catching up one last time. "My name is Vambran."

  It was a long time later, well into the afternoon. They lay on a carpet of soft moss, most of their clothes spread out upon the ground beneath them. Vambran was on his back, staring at the bright sky partially visible through the trees, and Shinthala was sitting up, hugging her knees, her back to him. He had not realized how tense he had been until afterward. For the moment, at least, he was allowing himself to relax.

  Shinthala's words were sudden, unexpected, like everything she did. "You say that we do not work at cross purposes, but I do not see it. What is your goal, if it is not to fight, as all the other mercenaries battle, further despoiling the woods?"

  Vambran glanced at the woman beside him. She was staring off at some distant point again, a sign that she was thinking. "My only ambition, and that of those who serve under me, is the rescue of our companions," the lieutenant answered. "It is not my intention nor my desire to tarry in the Nunwood for longer than necessary."

  "Because you did not intend to be here in the first place," Shinthala said, repeating what Vambran had told her earlier. "But you also told me that you are, in fact, embroiled in these vicious displays of brutality in some way."

  "Yes," Vambran admitted, "but only indirectly. It is a long tale, suitable for telling at another time, but-"

  "We are in no hurry," Shinthala said, looking back at him languidly over her shoulder. Vambran cocked his head to one side, puzzled by her interest in the affairs of House Matrell. He wanted to tell her that he was actually in a hurry, but he doubted very seriously that she would share his sense of urgency just then.

  So be it, he decided at last. He would tell the sordid truth in all its glory.

  Vambran told Shinthala the story in its entirety. The woman stopped him and asked questions of him at several different points, to clarify events or to reveal some bit of information that he had glossed over. It took Vambran the better part of an hour to recount the whole events of the murdered kitchen maid and his family's involvement in the business alliance that had been the architect of the dreadful crime. He finished with the revelation of his sister's communication, and her struggles with events back in Arrabar. Telling that part of it made him feel restless.

  I should not be here, he thought. I should be at home, helping my family.

  Shinthala was quiet again for a long time. After the silence stretched on for several moments, she returned to her original query. "The soldiers are fighting differently. There has always been war in this region, but it is a pale imitation of true war. The soldiers march about, chasing one another, but they rarely attack. Instead, they negotiate an outcome, determined by sacks of coin and old debts repaid. Then they march away, ready to play this game again another day. It is foolish, but it is not so bloody.

  "Now, they kill with abandon."

  Vambran saw her shoulders sag, sensed her sorrow. He understood that, though she had little tolerance for the world beyond her woods at large, she still suffered to see relentless killing. And though he knew he personally had little to do with the bloodshed and violence visited upon the people of the woods, he felt a sense of guilt wash over him, guilt at his chosen life, that of a professional soldier. "My uncle and brother and their partners sought to profit from the fighting," he reminded her. "Perhaps they foresaw greater profit through protracted, total war."

  "Perhaps, but I think there is more to this tale," Shinthala replied. "The men who kill with abandon fight on behalf of the city of Reth. They make a point of claiming so, to all who survive the carnage. It is as though the leaders of that city wish it to be known that they push against us, and against all other armies serving all other patrons."

  "Yes," Vambran said, his sense of sorrow and guilt growing at the woman's descriptions. "Perhaps they wish to have an insulating layer of anonymity between themselves and the actual armies. They will profit from the increased control of the woods and the logging that goes on there after they have secured the field, but they do not want the populace to make the connection between the coin they spent slaughtering all opposition and the coin they gained cutting down trees."

  "Perhaps," Shinthala repeated, but she sounded doubtful. "But don't you think it odd that these 'businessmen'"-and she spoke that word with great distaste, reminding Vambran just how vast was the gulf between their lives-"would choose to back the government of Reth, formerly a part of your own country, against soldiers serving Chondath? Is not Hlath still under the rule of Lord Wianar?"

  Vambran considered the woman's words, trying to make some sense of why Grozier Talricci and Grand Trabbar Lavant would choose to fund an army to go against Chondath, especially in such a conspicuous manner. It was as though they were trying to draw attention to themselves, trying to see what Hlath would do in response.

  "They are trying to draw out the army of Hlath," he said, sitting up. "They are trying to goad Chondath into a reaction."

  "And what would that reaction be?" Shinthala asked, as though she already knew the answer.

  "Wianar would see an opportunity to retaliate," he said. "He might even see a chance to crush Reth's resistance once and for all," he added, realization dawning, "and restake his claim to that city as being part of Chondath. The alliance is working for Lord Wianar in secret!"

  "Yes," Shinthala said, turning and looking at him, her emerald eyes sparkling dangerously. "And why, do you suppose, would this alliance you know of go out of its way to involve the Enclave? Why suffer the wrath of two enemies instead of just one unnecessarily?"

  "Because," Vambran said slowly, thinking the issue through to its logical conclusion, "if Reth and the druids tear at one another, it weakens both of them, and the armies of Chondath will march into the aftermath and win an easy victory. Wianar reclaims Reth and grievously wounds the Emerald Enclave, long a thorn in his side, all at once."

  "You are wise for one so young," Shinthala said, running her delicate fingers along his cheek. "But there is one part of this matter that you have not considered."

  "What is that?"

  "That you and your soldiers are from Chondath. Further, you serve the same temple that is a part of this alliance, a part of this conspiracy to raise war and retake lost territories. It would be natural to expect Lord Wianar to draw on every 'resource'"-and she gave Vambran a knowing look at the use of that word-"at his disposal to win his land back. That would include a very cooperative Temple of Waukeen, would it not? That would include the armies of the Order of the Sapphire Crescent, true?"

  Vambran did not speak. The evidence was damning, and he had no rebuttal other than what he had already claimed.

  "We cannot hope to win a two-front war," Shinthala said, drawing her shirt about herself. "And if we allow ourselves to be drawn into this conflict, that is precisely what will occur." Vambran nodded in understanding, beginning to pull on his own clothes. "But if we do not fight," she continued, "then we allow the people of the cities to control the woods, and we have failed in our course. So we are at a difficult crossroads."

  At that point, Shinthala turned and looked at Vambran directly. "You have offered your help to us, Vambran," she said. "What do you propose to do to stop this plan?"

  The lieutenant paused, considering what he was willing to do. He had offered to help, and he intended to prevent the war, but his methods of doing so might not make sense to Shinthala, who seemed to approach all things in a direct manner. "I will aid you as I can," he offered, rising to his feet, "but I must also look to my own soldiers. They follow me loyally, and I must do what I can to save them. Let me free them from the army camped in the clearing, and I will find a way to diffuse this impending cloud of war that hangs over the Nunwood."

  "And what of your family, back in Arrabar? What of your sister?"

  "I don't know," Vambran answered, frustration and helplessness rising. "I should go to her, too, but my duty to my soldiers… I am torn. And every moment I spend here, as pleasant as it is," he said meaningfully
, wanting her to know he did not regret their day together, "keeps me from either one."

  Shinthala considered Vambran's words. "I believe your sincerity," she said at last. "And I wish for you to succeed, on both fronts."

  Vambran reached down and helped her to stand. "Then let me and my soldiers free," he said. "We can stop the killing."

  Shinthala stared at him intently, those brilliant green eyes glowing warmly, then pulled him close in an embrace. "I actually believe you can," she said against his shoulder.

  Emriana was sitting in the formal room of House Darowdryn. The first to arrive in the parlor was Ariskrit Darowdryn, the woman Emriana remembered from many occasions in her youth, most recently her birthday party. The woman took one look at the girl and came right over and gave her a warm embrace. Just seeing the elderly matriarch nearly made the girl cry, for though she was able to speak with her own grandmother, the magnitude of Hetta's disembodied condition still overwhelmed her.

  "It's going to be all right, Em," Ariskrit said. "You were right to come to us."

  Tharlgarl entered shortly thereafter. Thankfully, he was not dressed in his immense suit of armor any longer, but was instead wearing a comfortable-looking riding outfit. More members of the Darowdryn family soon followed, none of whom Emriana knew.

  Once more than half a dozen of them had gathered in the parlor, Ariskrit said, "Now, Miss Emriana, tell us what, exactly, has happened to my dear friend Hetta, and do not leave anything out."

  Emriana nodded and began to reveal her tale, including the fact that Hetta's spirit was somehow implanted in the ring she wore. Several times while listening to the girl explain her reasons for being there, Ariskrit's eyes sparkled in anger. When she was finished, the matriarch nodded.

  "Hetta has been my friend and confidante for many years," she said, "and though I don't know if she can hear me or not, you assure her that we are going to help you set things right. That whelp Talricci will not get away with this, I promise you."

  Emriana smiled. "Thank you so much," she said. "I cannot tell you how much it means to me."

  "Well, there is a lot we must do, but before we formulate any plans, my grandson Pilos here needs to add a little to your story." The young man sitting just to Ariskrit's right smiled and sat forward in his seat. Emriana had noticed before that he was dressed as an Abreeant priest of the Temple of Waukeen, and she had glanced at him more than once during her explanations of the family's suspicions about Lavant. In the back of her mind, Emriana had worried that she would offend the young man, but each time she mentioned Lavant by name, she saw him grimace, and the girl realized that he found the obese priest as repugnant as she did.

  "As everyone is already well aware," Pilos began, "Mikolo Midelli has passed from Abeir-Toril, and Lavant has ascended to become Grand Syndar of the temple here in Arrabar." He glanced over at Emriana and smiled. "What everyone except Grandmother Ariskrit doesn't know is that Mikolo Midelli's spirit visited me in my chambers at the temple a short while ago."

  There was a unified gasp of surprise from the group gathered in the room, followed by everyone talking at once. Though Emriana was just as shocked as the rest of the folk, her thoughts went to the spirit of Hetta. She knew already that her grandmother's consciousness could hear everything around her, but it still startled her when a surge of comforting emotions radiated through her body.

  "Enough!" Ariskrit said, clapping her hands to silence the room. "Let him continue."

  When order was restored, Pilos went on. "Mikolo told me that he needed me to stop Lavant from leading Chondath into war. He told me that I would find my path by returning here, to my family." Again, he looked over at Emriana, and for the first time, the girl realized he seemed shyly attracted to her. "I think I know what I am here to do, now."

  Emriana smiled back, though she had no idea what a minor priest of the temple was going to be able to accomplish that the rest of his family could not already do. Still, she was grateful for every bit of support she was receiving.

  "Well, I don't know what to do," she admitted after a moment, when she realized everyone was staring at her again. "Vambran is alive, but far away and embroiled in his own problems, Hetta is-" and she had to stop, to swallow back her emotions for a moment, "-is spiritually bound into this ring I wear. And Aunt Xaphira is missing. Marga and Grozier seem to be in control of my family fortune at the moment. I have nothing to offer this effort."

  "Nonsense," Ariskrit said. "You are a very resourceful girl, or you wouldn't be Hetta's granddaughter. You've come this far pretty much on your own, so don't sell yourself short. Now," she said, considering, "we must know what is transpiring in your home. You've already told us that Hetta believes something strange and unnatural has a hold of Marga. Grozier may be manipulating her with magic of some sort. We already know that pesky wizard of his is no good and will do anything to curry favor with the man.

  "Tharlgarl," the woman said, turning to the bear of a man sitting off to one side, "you go speak with our own House wizards and see what we can do about finding out the truth-and about establishing a more useful contact with Vambran Matrell. We need to know exactly what's going on where he is and let him know that we have events well in hand on our end." Tharlgarl nodded and rose from his seat to do as Ariskrit had instructed.

  "And as for you," Ariskrit said, turning back to Emriana, "I want you to try using that pendant of yours again. See if you can find your aunt."

  Emriana nodded and took hold of the opal hanging from its chain around her neck. Almost fearfully, she began to envision Xaphira, praying that the magic would work and that she would get some sort of response. "Aunt Xaphira," she called out. "It's Em. Please answer me. Tell me where you are, so I can help you if you need it. Are you there?"

  There was a disorienting sound, something like a groan, and Emriana heard, Em. Help me… soldier's uniform... I'm in… Generon. And that was it. The girl knew that the magic of the necklace had ended, and she sat there for a long moment, willing herself to repeat what she had heard.

  When she was able to relay Xaphira's pleas, Ariskrit Darowdryn's eyes narrowed. "So," she said, "our own Lord Wianar may have something to do with this. We play a very dangerous game, here."

  The members of the Darowdryn family began discussing the ramifications of the revelation, but Emriana wasn't listening. All she could think about was her aunt's voice, the pain and disorientation in Xaphira's words. She knew what she had to do.

  "I'm going to the Generon," she said, standing. "I have to rescue her."

  All the conversation stopped, and every pair of eyes turned toward her. Emriana expected them all to argue with her, to tell her that she was foolish, that one young girl could not hope to go up against the might of the Lord of all of Chondath. But they didn't.

  Instead, Ariskrit nodded. "Of course you are, my dear," she said. "We all are. We'll visit tonight, for Sammardach."

  Emriana couldn't contain her grateful smile.

  CHAPTER 16

  Kovrim would have liked nothing better than to reach out and wrap the chains connecting his wrists together around Junce Roundface's neck, but the two guards flanking him never would have allowed it. The pair practically carried him as they walked, for he could not keep up, moving on his own, the way his feet were also restrained. Still, the old priest enjoyed the thought of strangling the hated assassin strolling along in front of him.

  When Kovrim had realized who was watching him through the barred window set in the door of the cell, his first thought was that Junce had come on his own, secretly, to dispatch the priest and be done with him. But he soon realized that Roundface was not alone. The door had been unlocked, and guards had moved toward where Kovrim lay, grabbing him and hauling him bodily out of the cell.

  The priest and his two escorts followed Junce down the corridor and out into the main chamber of the prison area. From there, they followed a new passage, different from the route by which all of the Crescents had arrived earlier. The corridor Junce sel
ected led deeper into the bowels of the keep, through a doorway and down a set of narrow, spiraling steps that went on for several turns. When they emerged from the staircase, Kovrim saw that they had brought him to some sort of ill-lit torture chamber, replete with hideous devices. His heart skipped a beat at the prospect of what his captors intended, and he dug in his heels, albeit ineffectually.

  "Lock him in there," Junce said, pointing toward a barred alcove set in one wall. "He can watch."

  The two guards hauled Kovrim to the tiny cell, shoved him inside, and shut the door behind him. The priest could hear the heavy latch click shut, and he turned just as one of the guards threaded a large padlock through the latch and snapped it closed. He stood there watching as the pair of guards strode off, heading back the way they had come.

  Junce paced for a few moments, a half smile on his face. Then he turned to where Kovrim was imprisoned. "It's unfortunate I don't have both you and your nephew," he said, "because it would be so thoroughly enjoyable letting you watch him. But since I don't have the luxury of killing him before your eyes, your other companions will have to do."

  Kovrim furrowed his brow, angry at how helpless he felt. He wanted to utter a few obscenities in the assassin's direction, but the wedge of leather and iron in his mouth prevented it. Instead, he just turned away, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of seeing his distress. That's when he noticed the small window on the back side of the little alcove. Like the main opening, it was warded with bars, but it was of a height that he could look through it without haying to stand too high.

  In fact, the window afforded a view into a larger chamber beyond. The ceiling of that room was the same height as that of the torture chamber, but the floor was well below that under his feet, so the priest was looking down from a second floor. It was square and empty. On one wall of that chamber, on the opposite side of Kovrim's position, he could see a portcullis, down at the moment, blocking a darkened tunnel. On the wall to the priest's left, there was a solid door, also apparently raised and lowered from some remote source. Along the right wall, well off the floor of the room and at the same level as his own window, a balcony looked down into the chamber, or the pit, as Kovrim was coming to think of it. The illumination for the pit came from torches set into sconces along that balcony.