The Ruby Guardian

CHAPTER 9

Pilos hurried along a dimly lit and rather uninteresting corridor toward the narrow door at the far end. Though the chances of the Abreeant encountering another priest in that particular section of the temple-a seldom-used wing devoted primarily to storage-at that time of the night was unlikely, he did not wish to be seen. Even the suggestion of impropriety on his part would make the young priest lose his nerve and return to his quarters. And his quarters were the last place in which he wished to spend any more time.

True to his expectations, none of the high priests of Waukeen had sent any kind of word to Pilos on the Grand Syndar's condition in well over a day. As the Abreeant had suspected, Grand Trabbar Lavant had had no intention of keeping Mikolo's attendant informed of the old man's health or potential for recovery. Though he had tried to remain obedient, Pilos could not stand to await news any longer.

Of course, the Abreeant could not approach the Grand Syndar's chambers and demand an explanation. At the very least, the high priests would order him back to his chambers with an admonition to perform some penance for his indiscipline. At worst, they might permanently remove him from his duties and assign him to baser tasks as punishment.

If they didn't just decide I was unfit to serve Waukeen altogether, he silently lamented.

With that thought, Pilos nearly halted his progress and spun around to return to his rooms as fast as he could. The very idea of being denied the opportunity to bathe in the glory that was the Merchant's Friend was abhorrent, and part of Pilos dared not even consider the consequences of what he was preparing to do in place of a frontal confrontation.

When the priest reached the end of the small hallway, where the narrow door faced him, he paused, taking a deep breath and peering back over his shoulder one last time to make certain there was no one there to witness his transgression. Satisfied that he was alone, Pilos slipped a key into the lock of the wooden door, twisted it, and half smiled at the sound and feel of the faint click. Nervously, he pushed the door open, slipped inside, and hurriedly shut it again.

In the dark Pilos could see nothing, so he clutched at his holy coin, which hung from a chain around his neck, and muttered a quick prayer to Waukeen. Instantly a tiny ball of illumination appeared, conjured onto the coin. The light was sufficient for him to see the entirety of the small room, the same as if he had lit a torch, though the glow of his coin was of a more pearly hue, like moonlight. He let the symbol settle back against his breast and peered about.

It was nothing more than a storage closet, a small room lined with shelves on the walls holding linens that were not in use during the summer season. In the fall, when the weather cooled once more, the inhabitants of the temple would very likely retrieve the warmer bedclothes, but for the moment, no one would venture into the closet for any reason…

Unless they knew something unique about the chamber, as Pilos did.

When he had first been raised to the level of Abreeant and awarded, for his pious service in the temple, the position of servitude to the Grand Syndar himself, Pilos discovered a few secrets-or rather, he was taught those secrets by the Grand Syndar himself-about the architecture of the temple. One such secret was the numerous concealed passages that threaded their way through the temple structure, passing through the thickest of the walls and following narrow and steep staircases to different levels. The Grand Syndar seldom used those covert passageways, but they were there in cases of dire need. As Mikolo explained it at the time, one never knew when the Grand Syndar might need to move from one locale within the temple to another "unmolested," as the old man had put it.

Pilos had never been able to imagine what use the Grand Syndar might have had for such secretive modes of travel, but he did not question their existence, nor did he ever reveal to anyone else that he was aware of them. Right then, he was feeling more than a little gratified that the Grand Syndar had seen fit to share their presence with him.

Moving to the back of the closet, Pilos stared at the shelving attached to the wall for a few moments, trying to recall exactly how the Grand Syndar had made them function. He remembered something about a loose stone, but he could not recall exactly which one might be suitable. He shrugged and began to feel with his hands each of the stones that made up the wall. After the fourth or fifth one, he began to grow frustrated.

Perhaps it wasn't a stone at all, he thought, pondering.

Then the young priest remembered. There had been a loose stone at chest height, but it was on the other side of the wall. From the closet side, the trigger mechanism was actually one of the shelves. In fact, Pilos remembered, it was the bottommost shelf. He reached down and felt with his fingers along the bottom of the lowest one. When they brushed across a small stud, he pressed it in and tugged. The entire shelf shifted, and there was a deep click from inside the stone wall. Very carefully, Pilos stood and pushed against the wall, watching with satisfaction when it swung backward, revealing the narrow passageway beyond.

Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, Pilos scurried through the opening and pushed the swinging section of wall back again, until he heard it click shut. Sighing, he wondered if he would be able to figure out how to open it again, but he did not stop to determine which stone was the correct one right then. Instead he turned and began to follow the passage, guided by his glowing coin.

After a short walk down a dusty and cobweb-filled corridor, the passage split into a four-way intersection, and Pilos considered for a brief moment the correct route. When he'd made up his mind, he turned to the right, went down some steep stairs, and turned left at another intersection. He continued to follow that passage for quite some time, passing a couple of different points where he knew other doors were camouflaged in the stonework. Finally, Pilos turned a last corner and found himself in a dead end.

Bolstering his courage, he moved right to the very end of the hallway and stepped on a smallish projection rising up from the floor in one corner. The resulting click was barely audible, but Pilos held his breath anyway, ready to bolt if there was any indication that someone on the far side of the secret portal had heard it open. The distinct sound of voices began to issue through the slender crack that had formed, but they did not change in pitch or volume. When he was at last satisfied that no one had detected his presence, Pilos pulled the door slightly more ajar, peeking through the crack that widened. The door opened into a small alcove in Mikolo Midelli's study where an elegant statue of Waukeen rested.

It was clear to the young man that several people had gathered in the Grand Syndar's study and that they were most likely clustered around Mikolo's desk. Pilos could recognize almost every voice there, realizing that many of the high priests of the temple had congregated in the chamber and were engaged in a heated debate. Their words stung Pilos as sure as if they had slapped him physically.

"And I say that the Grand Syndar has not yet gone on to meet with the Merchant's Friend, and you are blasphemous for even discussing a successor, yet." That was the voice of Grand Trabbar Perolin, usually a soft-spoken priest who was kind to everyone. He was one of Pilos's favorites.

"Surely you are not so naive as to believe his recovery is possible?" asked another, Grand Trabbar Huleea, a diminutive, scowling woman who always seemed to glare at lesser priests unless they appeared busy or in prayer. "You've been a part of the healing circle; you can sense as well as any of us here that Mikolo Midelli is not long for this world."

Pilos nearly gasped out loud at that revelation, understanding for the first time the true cost of his eavesdropping. He had the knowledge he had feared to possess, that the Grand Syndar was dying. He could no longer pretend there was hope.

"Nonetheless," Perolin countered, "I find it noisome to discuss the Grand Syndar in such terms before he sheds his mortal coil and advances to the shores of Brightwater of his own volition. He does not need us driving him there prematurely."

"It is not a lack of concern for the Grand Syndar's condition that brings us to discuss these matters," a third voice said, the smooth, repulsively persuasive utterances of Grand Trabbar Lavant. "Rather, it is a due responsibility for the temple, indeed the faithful among all of Arrabar, that leads us down the path before we would perhaps be comfortable exploring it.

"The simple fact is, our blessed leader and guide has come to the end of his stay here on Abeir-Toril and will soon leave us. If we are not prepared for a seamless transition when that eventuality is upon us, do we not do more harm than good to all of the works he strove for in his long and illustrious career at the helm? Do we not shame ourselves in the eyes of so many if, when we find ourselves leaderless, we cannot act with assertiveness and confidence? That is what separates those of us from the flock that follows us, a sure and indomitable spirit of conviction that we move in the right direction every moment, every day."

"And I suppose you believe that you are best suited to lead us forward down that treacherous path?" Grand Trabbar Perolin said, his tone making it clear that he did not favor the suggestion in the least.

"If that is the will of the council, I would humbly accept the appointment," Lavant responded, his tone thickly obsequious.

"You know good and well that the council is filled with your lackeys and confidants, and that, when it comes time for a vote, your name will head the list!" Huleea spat. "Everyone in this room knows your game, Lavant. Do not think us the blindly pious fools Mikolo was. Your position as Grand Syndar is not secured, yet!"

More voices rose up in argument, but Pilos did not hear them clearly, nor did he particularly care. He had already gently pulled the secret door shut again and had turned and fled back along the narrow tunnel in the wall. He was surprised at the number of tears welling up in his eyes, though not the ache in his chest that was causing them.

For a moment, time seemed frozen to Emriana as she watched a crackling arc of roaring flame come rushing toward her head. Then the girl was falling, having let go of her perch between the walls of the two buildings where she had been climbing. Rough stone scraped at her knees and shoulders as she slid awkwardly down toward the ground, turning her head to avoid the worst of the heat from the fiery blast above.

Emriana's diminutive stature probably had as much to do with her successful escape as any quick reactions on her part. A larger person would undoubtedly have become wedged between the two walls, stuck in the narrow gap and helpless to evade the scorching blast. But the slender girl dropped easily, barely escaping the worst of the withering heat, though her hair was singed sufficiently that the odor of it filled her nostrils. She hit the bottom of the gap and tumbled out, away from the flames, sprawling, half blind from the flash of brightness, into the narrow alley leading back toward The Silver Fish. She landed with a rather soggy splat in the midst of something moist and foul smelling.

Emriana nearly gagged when she realized what she was lying in, and she recoiled as quickly as she could, holding her breath in disgust. In the darkness, she could not see the rivulets of filth flowing toward the grated sewer covers, but she had a pretty good idea what most of it was from the stench. Though the smell nearly overpowered her, the girl had to ignore the nasty stuff covering her front, for it became clear that she was not alone in the alley.

"Evenin', love," came a male voice from the near-darkness, off to her right. "'Tis a shame for a comely wench such as yourself to be out alone, don't you think?" the man said. Emriana could just make out his silhouette in the light spilling from the doorway beyond. It was the short, gaunt fellow with the greasy hair.

"Aye, and I'll bet she's wishing for a handsome rogue such as yerself to link arms with," came a second voice, that one female. She stood behind the wiry fellow, and Emriana could see it was the ponderous woman she had been watching inside earlier. "Maybe we can show her how much more fun she'll have, spendin' the evenin' with us, eh?" the fat hussy added, chuckling unpleasantly.

"Get away from me," Emriana said warily, backing away from the pair while trying to fling the worst of the filth from her hands. "I don't need any company."

"But of course you do!" came a third deep voice from the other direction, behind Emriana, cutting her off from her intended escape route down the alley. "Leastways, you've got it whether you want it or not," the man continued, sounding less friendly.

"You know what to do," came a fourth voice, from above, floating down from the roof. "You've got your gold. Take care of her."

Emriana glanced up and saw her quarry, though she was no longer cloaked and hooded. The girl could see by then that it was the short-haired woman she had spotted before, staring at her inside the rathrur. The stranger was standing at the edge of the roof and peering down, a cloak folded over her arm. Then she was gone, leaving the girl with her three unfriendly companions.

Fool! The girl chastised herself, realizing she had blundered right into the trap despite her vigilance. Idiot!

As the two men began to close in on either side of her, Emriana spun and planted her back to the wall, feeling for one of her new daggers, which she had tucked into her belt. She wondered if it was enough to deter unwelcome advances, as her aunt's had been at the bar before. She doubted it, and she hoped her aim would be as good as it had been against the dire-jaguars.

"Now, little monkey-child," the first man said, only a couple of steps away from Emriana, "come along and play real nice, and maybe we won't stick you like a pig for roasting." He was hardly much larger than the girl herself, and he crouched warily on the balls of his feet as he approached.

"I don't think so," Emriana said, just as the man lunged at her. She slashed at the outstretched hand coming toward her, able to follow it by the glint of a ring shining in the dim light of the distant doorway. Her assailant must have guessed at her intentions, for he snatched his hand back at the last moment, and the girl's dagger sliced through nothing but air.

The bear of a man timed his attack well, though, for at that moment, his very large, muscular arm snaked around Emriana's neck from behind, locking her head firmly in the crook of his elbow. At the same time, she felt his thick, meaty fingers enclose her wrist, clamping down and preventing her from swinging her dagger about again. His grip might as well have been a steel manacle, for she couldn't free her arm at all.

Emriana screamed, and when the skinny man came at her again, she kicked with both feet straight out, snapping her toes at his face. But he was too quick and darted to one side, wrapping his arms around both of her legs in the process. She jerked and bucked like a wild thing, but she could get no real leverage, for she was held completely off the ground. The skinny man worked his way up to her knees, trying to get a better hold of her as she thrashed. At the same time, the larger man behind her twisted her wrist around at an awkward angle, sending stabbing pains up her arm and forcing her to drop the dagger.

"Come on," he said, his breath hot in Emriana's ear, and the two men holding the girl began to move down the alley, away from the doorway leading into The Silver Fish. "Let's find a quiet spot where we can play."

"She stinks!" the smaller man growled. "What's she been rolling around in?"

Emriana wanted to scream again, but without her feet under her for support, much of her weight had settled on her neck, which was still trapped in the arm lock of the assailant behind her. She flailed desperately with her free hand trying to pull that massive arm away from her throat, but it was a useless gesture. She was gasping for breath as they toted her deeper into the alley. Behind the skinny man, Emriana could still see the capacious woman following, laughing.

As spots began to swim in her vision, Emriana thought frantically of the warning Xaphira had given her, about bodies turning up outside the rathrur every morning. Practically paralyzed with panic, Emriana began blindly punching at the man carrying her upper body, slamming her small fist up over her own head at where she guessed his face might be. She felt her pummeling connect with his nose and she struck again, terror lending her strength.

"Ow! You little brat, stop that!" the man howled, nearly dropping Emriana as he turned his face away from her blows. The distraction also loosened his hold on her neck, and the girl gulped a huge breath of precious air.

Just as quickly, though, he had a hold of her again, and he switched hands, shifting his grip so that his arm slid beneath both of Emriana's, between them and her back. With his free hand he took a firm grip on the girl's hair, yanking her head back to face him from upside down.

"You stop squirming," he said, viciously tugging her hair, "or I'll let Lak here slit your throat and be done with you."

Emriana froze, her eyes tearing up from the pain of having her hair pulled. Her hands fluttered uselessly behind her back, unable to prevent the horrid thug from hurting her. Then her hand bumped against a strategic point between the man's legs. Emriana clamped her hand around the telltale bulge and squeezed as hard as she could.

The man's scream was perhaps the loudest thing Emriana had ever heard. It blasted her ears and echoed all around her, bouncing off the high walls of the narrow alley. More important, he sank down to his knees, releasing the girl's hair and arms and bringing both his hands down in a desperate, frantic attempt to pry her painful grip off of himself.

Emriana landed awkwardly on her arms but quick as a cat, she was trying to roll over, twisting herself onto her belly while still maintaining a stout grip on her assailant. At the same time, she jerked one leg free from Lak and kicked, slamming the heel of her boot into his gut.

The skinny man staggered back, releasing her legs, while the larger man, his hands still prying futilely at her clenched fingers, doubled over, still howling in misery. Behind Lak, Emriana heard the woman swear. Emriana released her grip and scrambled to her feet. She was just about to dodge past the larger man, who was still crumpled in the dirt of the alley, whimpering, when something struck her hard from behind, right on the back of her head.

Waves of pain radiated through the girl's skull, and she dropped to her knees, spots swimming in her vision. She tried to stand up again, but the whole world seemed to be out of balance at that point, and she staggered to one side, bumping against the wall of the closest building. As she reached out to catch herself, the rotund woman stepped into view and planted one of her puffy fists right into Emriana's stomach.

All of the girl's breath left her in an audible whoosh, and she sank back down to the ground, gasping. The spots in Emriana's vision only intensified as she struggled, coughing, to regain her breath, and she was unable to do anything but crumple where she had sagged, flopping into the filth.

She felt hands grab her roughly and yank her to her feet again. Something hard cuffed her hard upside the head, snapping it to one side and making her cry out in pain. The blood was roaring in her ears as she was dragged, stumbling farther down the alley. A small part of her mind screamed at Emriana to stand up, to fight back, to stop her assailants from towing her along, but she was too dazed to react. She pulled feebly once or twice against the hands that gripped her by each arm, but it was a futile gesture and did nothing to deter her attackers.

Suddenly, Emriana was thrown forward, and she stumbled to her hands and knees upon something softer than stone and dirt. She rested there for a moment, panting to get her wind back, but before she could figure out what she was resting on, a hard boot planted itself in her backside and sent her sprawling the rest of the way down. Without warning, two or three hard blows struck Emriana in the ribs, and she vainly tried to bring her arms down to protect herself.

That, apparently, was what her attackers had been waiting for, for in the next instant, Emriana felt herself enveloped by the soft material upon which she lay. She realized it was a carpet, and it was wet and sour-smelling. She understood that her three assailants were wrapping her up in the rug, and she began to thrash about again, trying to prevent her entombment, but she was too dazed and her foes too fast. All too quickly, she was engulfed in fetid darkness, her arms pinned to her sides as she was rolled over and over several times. She could feel the thick material tightening around her, cutting off her movement and her air.

"No!" She cried out, trying to jerk her arms back up over her head. "Stop! Please!" She was panicking, terrified of the sense of being buried alive, but her voice was muffled and ineffectual. She frantically kicked her feet, trying to keep from being completely trapped, but it was too late. She could already feel coils of rope being wrapped around her torso and knees, effectively binding her helplessly inside the wrapped carpet.

She wound up on her back, and though she continued to kick and fight, Emriana realized that the trio of attackers was no longer working to contain her in the rolled-up carpet. She felt herself being lifted from the ground, and a rhythmic swaying motion set in, evidence that they were carrying her. The thought that she was being hauled off, farther away from The Silver Fish, from any point of reference she knew, frightened the girl even more, if that was possible. She continued to cry out, hoping perhaps someone somewhere near her would hear and investigate. Praying.

At one point, something slammed into the middle of the carpet roll, walloping Emriana right in her gut, knocking the wind from her once more. She gasped and coughed again, trying to take in enough air to regain her breathing. Tears welled up in her eyes, tears of pain and fear. The stench of the wet, molding rug was almost unbearable, and she thought she would pass out from the suffocating atmosphere. She stopped kicking and screaming after that, fearing that she would be struck again if she continued. She began to sob, shuddering, shaking sobs, knowing she would never see any of her family again.

Images of her mother and grandmother, of Vambran, of Xaphira, even of Marga and the twins flashed through her mind. She could see them all grieving for her, perhaps wondering what had become of her, why she had disappeared. The frightening notion made her chest ache.

No! She insisted, trying to clear her head. You're not dead, yet! Figure something out! Steeling herself against the panic, Emriana grew still and began instead to listen, trying to gain some sense of her surroundings. She could hear nothing, but she at least could begin to think clearly.

After a while, she felt herself lowered onto a flat surface, and she could hear muffled voices, though she could not make out what was being said. She realized that her own efforts at making noise had most likely been similarly muted, and the likelihood of someone actually hearing her in the alleys of Arrabar was slim. She would have to save herself.

As she assessed her situation, Emriana remembered that she had a second dagger hidden on her person, tucked into the waist of her pants at the small of her back. She tried to reach it, but her arms were pressed too tightly to her sides, and she was finding it difficult to flex her elbow enough to shift her hand back there. It was maddening. She stopped trying to grab it and considered other methods.

Shrink, she told herself. Get smaller.

Shifting as much as she could to one side, Emriana exhaled and held very still, feeling the blanket sag around her the slightest bit. Then she shifted her shoulder up as high as she could and rolled her arm around toward the blade. She could barely brush the tip of one finger against it. She sucked in air a couple of times, trapping her arm, then exhaled again and tried once more. On that attempt, she managed to touch it with the tips of three fingers, but before she could make more progress, the wagon or whatever she was riding on bounced roughly over something, jostling her. She lost her position and was deposited onto her back again, pinning her arm beneath her.

Before she could try again, Emriana felt the vehicle come to a halt. She strained to listen and thought she could hear the faint lapping of water. Voices began again nearby, still too muffled for her to make any sense of them. The girl felt hands working on the outer bindings of the carpet, and for a moment she believed they were going to release her. She prepared to yank the dagger free the moment she got the chance, but it soon became apparent that her kidnappers were up to something else. She could feel tugging and pulling and grunts of effort.

She was hoisted into the air, and the ropes that had been wrapped around her torso and knees tightened considerably, cutting into her. The shift caused the middle of her body to sag down, tightening the bindings against her arm, still trapped behind her. The roll of carpet swayed back and forth as she was carried a short distance. Then the movement stopped.

"Sweet dreams, little monkey," a voice near her head said, faint and muffled through the wrappings. "Enjoy your swim."

The carpet began to sway back and forth, putting more strain on her. Emriana realized with a flash of panic exactly what had happened. The men had tied heavy weights to her bindings!

The girl began to struggle again, trying desperately to reach the dagger pinned against the small of her back. But the weight of her own body, coupled with the way she was bent almost double, made it impossible. After the third such rocking motion, Emriana felt herself floating free, had the dreaded sense of falling.

She screamed and felt the sudden splash as she hit water. The weights tied to her ropes remained taut, pulling her down. The carpet began to soak through with water, cold and dark saltwater. They had thrown her into the bay.

Emriana squirmed and thrashed, almost insane with terror. She did not want to drown. She did not want to die. She wanted to breathe, to live, to see the light of day again.

Please! she cried out to no one. Please!

The water closed over her face, and Emriana was forced to snap her mouth shut, to stop trying to cry out. She felt the pressure increasing, pressing in all around her. She continued to kick and buck, shaking back and forth in a vain attempt to wriggle out of the rolled-up carpet.

At last, the girl felt herself jerk to a stop as the weights attached to her bindings must have finally settled to the bottom. She floated, almost weightless, feeling her body trying to bob upward, back to the surface, which seemed to be as high overhead as the heavens right then.

Upward!

With her buoyancy lifting her weight free, Emriana realized she could reach the dagger at last. She groped for it desperately, already beginning to feel her chest aching from a lack of air. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, and she jerked it free, brought her arm back around to her side.

Once more, spots were beginning to float in Emriana's vision as she shifted her wrist the slightest bit and jabbed the tip of the dagger into the fabric. She felt it give, and with that tiny bit of hope to cling to, the girl began to saw, trying to rip a gaping hole through the carpet and free herself.

Her hand plunged through two layers, then three, but it wasn't going to be enough. Her air was gone. Her lungs were about to burst. She couldn't do it. Then her hand came free and she could feel the cold water as she cut a bigger hole and began to extract herself from the rug and its bindings, but spasms were shaking her. Her body was fighting against her, trying to make her breathe. Her head broke free of the carpet, but all was dark, all was fading.

The last thing Emriana could feel as unconsciousness overtook her was losing her grip on the dagger and feeling it sink away.