Ruby Guardian (10 page)

Reaching into his shirt, Vambran pulled his holy coin, which he wore on a chain around his neck, free. He sighed in relief that it was still there and not lying at the bottom of the Reach. Then he offered a quick prayer to Waukeen and cast a spell. Instantly he felt the surge of speed he had prayed for, and he shot forward. Sprinting in strides easily twice as large as would normally be possible, Vambran rushed away from the devastation of Lady’s Favor, lamenting the loss of every man in the ambush, but knowing he had been given no other choice.

As he ran, he considered what had just happened. Such an attack was more than just mindless cruelty and brutality, the lieutenant realized. Nine ships was a number for sinking, not boarding and pillaging. And the appearance of a kraken could not have been coincidence. It was all a well-measured attempt to kill every man on board that ship. Someone had wanted them all to die. He had a pretty good idea who that might be.

D

Blast that lucky son of a bullywug!” Grozier growled, standing behind Bartimus and staring into the image displayed in

the large mirror. The two men, along with Junce Roundface and Falagh Mestel, were gathered in the wizard’s chambers, observing the results of the sea ambush Falagh had arranged through some of his contacts.

“You should have told me how much magic they had at their disposal,” Falagh muttered, standing behind Bartimus and to his left. “They are more stoutly equipped with it than the typical company. If I had known, I could have warned my associates.”

“Did you see how fast he ran?” Junce said, laughing. “He shot across the water like a bolt out of a crossbow!” The assassin had strolled away from the mirror and was

in the process of removing a stack of loose papers from a corner of a bench. “Isn’t there any place to sit in here?” he complained as he just slid the last of the parchment sheaves unceremoniously onto the floor.

Bartimus peered around at the fellow, more than a little anxious about his things being disturbed. “Please don’t do that!” he said crossly, half rising from his own chair to go and rescue the materials. They were either the last few pages of a treatise on the mating habits of the cockatrice, or else they were diagrams for crafting a new type of siege engine. The wizard couldn’t remember which stack he had set there.

“Never mind that,” Grozier snapped, slamming his hand down on Bartimus’s shoulder. “Where did Matrell run off to?”

Sighing, Bartimus sank back down and focused his attention back on the mirror. The image in the frame rotated to the right, in the direction they had last seen Vambran as he ran. He was already a mere speck on the seascape by that point, and Bartimus had to shift the frame of reference rapidly in order to bring the mercenary into full view again.

Vambran was just stumbling onto the sandy shore of the coastline when Bartimus’s magical scrying re-centered on him.

“Where is that?” Grozier muttered. Bartimus wasn’t sure whether his employer meant that to be answered or not, but he peered at the stretch of coastline closely to see if he could determine the location more precisely. All that he could make out was a long strip of sandy beach backed by an endless stretch of trees.

“That’s the Nunwood, near Hlath,” Falagh said, pointing at the trees. “That’s where my associates were instructed to attack. It’s not a terribly welcoming

stretch of coast, something of a no-man’s-land between Reth and Hlath. All the endless skirmishing that goes on between all the mercenary companies earning their coin, you know. There’s little there but a few villages and lone cottages, most of them long abandoned. Oh, and lots of beasts feeding on the dead. We picked that spot because it was unlikely that anyone else would see the attack.” The man shifted to look over Bartimus’s head more directly at Grozier. “No witnesses that way.”

“Ah,” Grozier said as he began to count the number of figures in the image on the shore. “Well, there are certainly plenty of folks there now who saw the whole thing,” he said sardonically. “So I guess we have some witnesses after all.”

“Now, look,” Falagh said, squaring himself and folding his arms across his chest. “You asked me to set up an ambush, to sink a ship. Based on what you and that pregnant priest told me, nine ships and a summoned kraken should have been more than enough. But since you never revealed that Matrell and his men would be so well prepared for such an eventuality, it wasn’t, and that’s just coin wasted. I do not like wasting coin.”

“They’re mercenaries! What did you expect?” Grozier answered, shifting around to stare back at his guest. “I would have thought someone as clever as yourself, with all of your experience controlling trade on the high seas, might have considered such a possibility. But I suppose that was too much to hope for.”

Bartimus wanted very desperately right then to scoot his chair back from between the verbally sparring men and get out of their way, but he saw no easy method of extracting himself without drawing even more attention down upon his own head. Grozier was just as likely to demand that he summon

a spell and send it at Falagh as to allow the wizard to excuse himself.

Why can’t they go argue somewhere else? he wondered. He glanced over at where Junce still sat, his booted feet stretched out in front of him, one heel balanced atop the other toe, and nervously eyed the sheets scattered about the man’s legs.

I’d like to finish that treatise before it gets ruined.

“Gentlemen, please,” Junce said, rising to his feet once more. “The deed is done, and there’s nothing for it but to move forward.” He stepped over so he was between the two men, right behind Bartimus’s chair, and clapped each of them on the shoulder. “The important thing is that neither Vambran Matrell nor Kovrim Lazelle is in a position to interfere with your business operations for a while. With them both out of the way, you can move forward with your schemes unhindered. And Lavant shall not be pestered with any more ridiculous meddling within the temple.”

The assassin’s words seemed to placate the two men, for they both turned back toward the mirror and stopped glaring at one another.

“I suppose we could arrange for further trouble for them,” Grozier offered as he continued to watch the scene before him. “If they are on the edge of the Nunwood, they aren’t too far from part of our own army. Why don’t we send a greeting party to intercept them? Since the region is as forsaken as you say, their deaths inland would seem just as circumstantial as if at sea.”

“Now you’re thinking!” Junce said jovially. “That’s a splendid idea.”

As the three men began to discuss the logistics of maneuvering a contingent of mercenaries toward the stranded remnants of the Sapphire Crescent troops, Bartimus took the opportunity to scramble

out of his chair and rush over to the scattered pages. He began to gather them up, shuffling them into a neat stack.

Oh, he thought as he tightened the stack, it’s neither the treatise nor the diagrams. These are those notes on that new spell! I had almost forgotten about that. Now, where did I put the rest of that stack?

The wizard began to rummage through several other loose piles on a table near the bench, hoping to find the remaining notes for the new conjuring magic he had been contemplating. When he found the collection of parchment, he placed the stray pages with it. He was just beginning to reread the opening notes when Grozier interrupted him.

“Bartimus! Get over here and show me where they went!”

The wizard started, and nearly dropped the pages he was holding then took a couple of steps toward the mirror again before he realized that the glass had gone dark and was merely reflecting the dim room.

“I’m terribly sorry, but it would appear that the magic has exhausted itself and is no longer functioning. The properties of any such scrying spell are limited not only by their subject, but also by a time factor, which cannot exceed—”

“Bartimus!” Grozier muttered through clenched teeth, making the mage actually drop his papers that time. “I don’t care about the theories. Can you show Vambran Matrell to me again or not?”

Bartimus cringed, trying desperately to decide whether to gather up the mess of notes or to look Grozier in the eye. He chose the middle ground, staring at the floor between them. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Though I could begin preparing for another such casting for sometime this evening, if you’d like.

But alas, I did not consider the possibility that you would want more than one viewing, and I did not prepare my magic twice.”

“Very well,” Grozier replied, his tone exasperated. “As soon as you can.”

“Of course,” Bartimus answered, stooping down to gather up his dropped notes once more.

The three other men, no longer in need of the wizard’s talents, began to walk toward the door leading out of his chambers.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Grozier began as they reached the door, “I found out that Xaphira is on the prowl, looking for you again. She comes to the city every night from that country estate where they’re all hiding out, trying to glean information.”

“Is that so?” Junce said as they exited. “I’ll bet that’s frustrating her,” he added with a laugh.

Bartimus the wizard did not hear the assassin’s reply, however, for he was already engrossed in his notes on a new conjuring spell.

• • •

“You two look like you spent the morning stuffed in a box with a bunch of angry cats,” Hetta Matrell said as Xaphira and Emriana walked into the dining room together. Their riding clothes were soiled and torn, and Xaphira had dried blood caked on her in several places.

“That’s not far from the truth,” Xaphira said as she took up a clean platter and began to assemble a meal of boiled eggs in cheese sauce, hard bread, and peach compote. “We ran into three dire-jaguars this morning,” she explained.

There were several startled gasps around the table. “Oh, by Waukeen! What happened?” Ladara asked, her hand covering her mouth in alarm.

“Em and I took care of them,” Xaphira replied. “She’s quite handy with a blade, Ladara.”

Ladara made a disapproving sound, but Emriana seemed to beam as she followed her aunt’s lead and began to fill her own dish. One of the servants of House Matrell brought a fresh pitcher of chilled milk and set it on the table, along with a couple of thick, clay-fired mugs. The two women slouched down into chairs and began to eat.

“Between the dire-cats and last night,” Xaphira said between bites, “I feel like I was stuffed into a box that was kicked down the garden steps. Now I remember why I don’t run with the old crowds anymore. I can’t keep up with them.”

“Well, I hope your prowling around was worth it,” Hetta said, sipping at a porcelain cup of steaming Amnian tea. The elder dame of the house didn’t sound the least bit reproachful, merely concerned.

“It was,” Xaphira said, smearing some butter and peach compote onto a thick slice of bread. “Quill might know someone who can tell me more about Junce. I’m supposed to meet with him again tonight to find out for certain.”

Marga sighed, wishing she were in another part of the house. She didn’t want to hear of Xaphira’s plans for tracking down the assassin who worked for Grozier. She blamed her brother and his cronies for Evester’s death almost as much as she blamed Evester himself. It was bad enough that they had been trying to start a war—especially for the sole purpose of profiting from it—but the tangle of deceit, murder, and greed that Grozier, Evester, and Denrick Pharaboldi had woven in trying to get their business alliance established went beyond making her sick. It horrified her that her own children would have to live with their father’s treacherous legacy.

“Well, you be careful,” Ladara Matrell said, sitting next to Hetta. “That Junce Roundface is a dangerous character. The way he almost—” the woman couldn’t finish, and she swallowed hard as she reached out and squeezed Hetta’s hand. “Even the thought of him roaming around out there frightens me,” Ladara said, wide-eyed, in a near whisper.

“Calm yourself,” Hetta said, giving her daughter-in- law a level look. “Xaphira has hired some very reliable House guards to replace the fools who let Dregaul and Evester lead them astray. We’ll be perfectly safe once we return to the city tomorrow evening.”

“Did you say Roundface?” Nimra Skolotti said from where she was sitting at the far end of the table, gazing across the room without really looking at anything. She could not see, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing, it seemed. Her daughter Mirolyn sat beside her, looking as surprised as everyone else that the aged woman had spoken.

Xaphira held a bite of food halfway to her mouth. “Yes,” she said, a worried look on her face. “Do you know of him?”

“I’m not sure,” Nimra replied, bringing her hand up to rub at her brow, which was furrowed in thought. “It seems familiar somehow, but I can’t recall.”

Beside her, Mirolyn looked at the rest of the group gathered at the table and shrugged. Despite her lost sight, Nimra still seemed sharp in conversations, and if the elderly woman could shed some light on the mysterious assassin who had been plaguing the family, it would be a great boon. Marga knew she wasn’t the only one who realized that. Everyone at the table was watching the woman with intent expressions, too. When Nimra shrugged and said nothing further, everyone resumed eating.

Marga continued to watch Nimra for a moment longer. She felt sorry for the old woman, for she

could imagine all too keenly the pain of losing a child. Thinking of trying to cope with the deaths of Obiron and Quindy made a lump form in the woman’s throat. She tried to banish such notions, but it was difficult.

“I do hope Vambran is well,” Ladara commented, breaking the silence. “It’s all so terribly unfortunate that they were ordered away while this unpleasant business of war is still unresolved. And so soon after—” the woman paused, suddenly aware of what she was about to say. She sniffed once, her lip trembling, her eyes rimming red with the beginnings of tears. “I’m sorry,” Ladara said, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin while another silent pall settled over the table. “I still miss them so much, whatever their faults.”