The Ruby Guardian

CHAPTER 7

The first sensation Kovrim Lazelle became aware of was a steady, painful throbbing in his head, centered on a spot on the back side of his skull. After that, the priest became conscious of numerous other aches throughout his body, as though he had been beaten and battered by a gang of club-wielding thugs. He groaned and began to move his arms gingerly, feeling gritty, wet sand beneath the palms of his hands. The sounds of the surf crashing against a nearby shore brought the man to full awareness, and he began to remember bits and pieces of his plight.

Images of great tentacles and a shattering ship flashed in his mind's eye, and Kovrim remembered trying desperately to scramble to the deck, stumbling as part of the flooring beneath his feet cracked in two. As the planking all around him began to snap and split, the priest saw sunlight and seawater rushing at him, and… nothing more. Somehow, he had drifted or was dragged to shore.

Kovrim opened his eyes and blinked at the bright, glaring sun shining in his face; then he rolled over, away from the intense light, and tried to sit up. The motion nearly made him retch, and he sank back down, closing his eyes again and panting. His head felt swollen and filled with cotton, and the pain radiated down to his gut, making him queasy. He just wanted to find a quiet, shady place where he could drift back off to sleep, but he knew the risks of remaining exposed too long to the heat of the sun. Taking a deep, calming breath in the hopes that the fresh air would settle his stomach, the priest tried again to sit up, reaching back with one hand to feel gingerly at the painful lump at the base of his skull. Something had walloped him pretty hard, he decided.

Squinting, Kovrim began to peer around and discovered that he was on a beach, right at the edge of the tide line. The waves that tumbled to shore rolled up to a point just a pace or two from his feet, and he could see twin drag lines from there in the drier sand. Someone had brought him to that point. With one hand shading his eyes, the priest began to examine the beach more closely, noting the rough, rocky ground just above the sandy stretch, and beyond that, he could see the tops of a line of trees that stretched as far in either direction as he could look.

There seemed to be no one else around.

Kovrim attempted to rise to his feet and almost regretted the move, as he swayed unsteadily, feeling the pounding increase in his head. He stood very still for several seconds, letting the queasiness subside, and he reached down to his belt and checked a pouch. Thankfully, the potion he had stored there when the Crescents had begun their journey aboard Lady's Favor was still safely tucked inside. He drew forth the small vial, pulled the stopper free, tipped his aching head back, and downed the contents. The familiar fiery flavors of pepper oil and burnt meat cascaded down his throat, but he ignored the taste and waited for the effects. A moment later, as he felt the concoction settle in his belly, Kovrim also felt the pain in his skull and joints ease away. Though the potion did not assuage every little stab of hurt, it was enough to relieve the pounding in his head, and he sighed in profound relief and recapped the vial, then tucked it away again.

Once he felt better, Kovrim began to make his way up the beach, toward the line of trees. If nothing else, the blessed coolness of shade was going to be a welcome change. The priest had taken perhaps a dozen steps or so when movement from ahead of him caught his eye. He stopped and peered toward the tree line, trying to get a better view, and he half smiled in relief as he noted a man dressed in the white and blue of the Crescents moving there, crouched over and studying the ground.

Not wanting to draw undue attention to the two of them in case there were threats nearby, Kovrim did not call out, but instead started walking again, intending to catch up to his compatriot. As he drew closer, he noted the identity of the soldier, a younger man named Velati Fenisio, an eager fellow who had signed on with the company in the spring. The trip aboard Lady's Favor to Chessenta had been Velati's first assignment.

A fine way to begin his soldiering career, Kovrim thought wryly.

The priest could see that Velati was rooting around in the grass, and as he got closer to the young man, he realized that Velati was foraging for tubers that grew wild in the underbrush. The young mercenary already had an armload full when he turned and spotted Kovrim moving toward him.

A smile broke across Velati's face, and he waved to the priest. "I got you as far out of the surf as I could, then I went looking for food," he said brightly, heading back down onto the beach to join Kovrim.

The priest felt his knees growing wobbly and sank down onto a bit of stone just the right height to serve as an impromptu seat. "Where are we?" Kovrim asked as Velati moved to stand beside him.

Velati shrugged. "Not sure," he said as he dumped the armload of roots to the ground at the older man's feet. "Wherever we are, there's no one else around," he added, settling onto the ground next to Kovrim.

Kovrim closed his eyes and took several long, slow breaths, still feeling weak from his ordeals. His stomach rumbled, a typical aftereffect of magical healing. He eyed the tubers eagerly, almost not even caring that they were still raw and dirt-covered.

No, he admonished himself. Must cook them first, or you'll be squatting in the bushes for the rest of the day.

"Do you have any water?" Kovrim asked the soldier, noting ruefully that his own waterskin had apparently vanished.

"Yes, sir," Velati replied, handing a nearly bulging skin over. "Drink up."

Kovrim took the skin gratefully and tipped it to his mouth, drawing several large mouthfuls and gulping them down. The liquid, though warm, did almost as much to soothe the priest's discomfort as the healing draught had. Finally, he handed the skin back to Velati with a nod.

"So, how did we get here?" Kovrim asked the younger mercenary. "Where are the rest of the Crescents?" Surely they didn't all go down with the ship, he thought, remembering the tentacles and feeling cold in the pit of his stomach. "Where is Vambran?" The fact that he and the young man appeared to be alone on the stretch of beach worried the priest. Then he shook his head, dismissing his pessimistic notions.

Vambran can take care of himself, Kovrim thought. He doesn't need me to look out for him.

Velati shrugged then said, "Lieutenant Matrell gave the order to drink our water-walking potions, and the ship was being ripped apart by that… that thing." He shuddered then seemed to regain his composure. "I got thrown into the water when Lady's Favor split in half, and you splashed into the drink near me, out cold. I heard the order to retreat, but there were two ships between us and shore, so I hid both of us among some debris until no one was watching, and I began to drag you away from the fight. I had to swing wide of the area to avoid the pirates, and about halfway to shore, the magic of the potions wore out." At that point in his tale, the young man looked forlorn. "I had to remove your breastplate and let it sink, sir," he said ruefully. "I'm terribly sorry, but it was the only way I could keep us both afloat after that"

Kovrim gave the young man a half smile and waved away the apology. "You did fine," he said, though he lamented the loss of the enchanted armor, for it had served him well in campaigns many seasons before, and he had grown quite fond of it.

Nothing to be done about it now, he thought. And I'm alive, so no sense making the lad feel worse than he already does. I just pray that Vambran and the others made it to shore, too. It's a long coastline, and the tide is strong; they're probably just farther along, out of sight somewhere.

"So you swam to shore and pulled me along with you?" Kovrim asked, changing the subject. He was genuinely impressed with the younger man's prowess.

"Yes, sir," Velati replied, beaming. "I was almost done for by the time we reached the shallows. It's a good thing it wasn't rocky along this stretch of coast, or we might both have wound up feeding the fish."

Kovrim nodded, rubbing his chin. "Well, we've got to try to find the rest of the men, soldier," he said, rising to his feet. "No time for eating right now, though those tubers look mighty tasty. Bring them along, though, and we'll see if we can't enjoy them later."

The priest was on the verge of squatting down beside the younger man to help him gather up the food when he saw movement in the distance. He turned in that direction, farther along the beach, and noted several men approaching. In the bright sunlight, it was clear that they were soldiers, though they were not members of the Order of the Sapphire Crescent. Kovrim could not distinctly make out the insignia, but he did not like the look of things.

"Velati," he said as the men spotted him and began to fan out in an obvious maneuver of hostility. The younger man stood up and turned his attention in the direction Kovrim was looking then sucked in his breath. Kovrim began to count figures moving toward them and realized there were at least a dozen. Beside him, Velati pulled his sword free of its scabbard.

"Easy, son," Kovrim said, placing a hand on his companion's arm to calm him down. "There are too many of them," he said. He could feel the younger man's muscles tense and relax as he slipped the blade down again.

"Yes, sir," Velati said dismally.

The enemy soldiers closed the distance and moved to flank Kovrim and Velati, several of them with bows and crossbows out and ready. By that point, the priest could see that the insignia on their uniforms was of a silver raven. He did not recognize it, but he certainly understood that they viewed the two Crescents as potential threats.

"Throw down your arms!" one of the men called out, gesturing at Kovrim and Velati.

Kovrim spread his arms wide to show that he was not attempting to threaten his foes. His crossbow had never made it out of his room when Lady's Favor had been attacked, and he carried no other weapons.

Beside him, Velati stiffened again, yanking his blade free in a rush and taking a single, sudden step forward.

"No!" Kovrim shouted, trying to stop the younger man from his foolishness, but the priest wasn't fast enough. He heard the unmistakable twang of several bows firing, and right before him, three missiles lodged in Velati's chest. The young man jerked and stumbled as Kovrim flinched away, fearful that he, too, would be struck by overly eager bowmen. No shots hit him, though, and he turned back to see Velati lying facedown, blood pooling beneath his twisted, still form.

"Damn you!" Kovrim shouted, moving over to where the younger man lay. "Velati!" he shouted, gingerly turning the young man onto his back. Velati's eyes were wide with pain, but he still breathed. Sighing in relief, Kovrim looked up at his potential captors, more specifically at the man who had ordered their surrender. "I'm going to heal him, nothing more," he said, reaching in his tunic for the symbol of Waukeen he kept on a chain around his neck. "I'm no threat to you," he said carefully, hoping the other man would understand.

The soldier eyed Kovrim warily and motioned for him to hold. "No," he said, shaking his head. "You will come with us."

"But he's going to die!" Kovrim shouted, furious. "I'll disarm him first, if that's what you want, but you can't let him perish for one foolish, youthful mistake."

"He made his choice, and now you must make yours, old man," the soldier said, scowling. "If you do anything other than stand up and surrender to us right now, you will be left here to die, too."

Stunned, Kovrim eyed the other soldier, refusing to move. He couldn't believe that a mercenary would be so callous as to let another soldier die, enemy or not. The code of war that most companies in the Reach fought by precluded such barbarous acts. "You can't mean it," he said at last, watching the man's face for some sign of his real intentions.

"I do, and we will," the soldier replied. "Now stand up. It's your last warning."

Kovrim shook his head, still unwilling to leave Velati to bleed to death. The young man's breathing had grown more rapid and shallow, and it was becoming moist. There wasn't much time left.

At that point, another soldier standing next to the leader who had been speaking moved next to his companion and whispered something in the man's ear. The speaker jerked his gaze around to look at the second fellow and shook his head, and there seemed to be a quick argument. Finally, the second mercenary shrugged and moved back to his spot as the speaker scowled for a moment.

"I've changed my mind," the speaker said at last. "You will hold perfectly still while my men search your companion and rid him of any weapons. Only then will you be allowed to heal him. But if I sense even one false move on your part, if I see the barest hint of you casting your magic at me or any of my men, you'll be sporting so many arrows that you'll look like a seamstress's pincushion. Do you understand?"

Kovrim nodded and rocked back on his heels, motioning for his captors to do their work quickly. He sat very still as the men surrounding him drew beads on him. Two soldiers trotted forward, removed Velati's sword from the young man's grasp, and tossed it well out of reach. They did the same with a pair of daggers and they thoroughly searched Kovrim. Once they were satisfied that neither mercenary had anything more hidden, they stepped back.

Kovrim gave the leader an expectant glance, one eyebrow raised. The other man nodded once, and the priest moved close to Velati and began to pray, his hands roaming over the wounds, the arrows and bolts still imbedded in his flesh. Feeling the surge of magic inside him, Kovrim yanked one of the missiles free just as he applied the healing orison.

Velati jumped and issued a half-strangled cry of pain, but the gaping hole in his ribs sealed itself in a moment more. Sighing with relief that the young soldier had survived that first attempt, Kovrim applied a second spell, and a third, withdrawing the weapons a split second before finishing the magic. By the third such healing, Velati was gasping and clutching at his body, obviously still in pain but stable enough to remain conscious.

"Now, you foolish boy," Kovrim said when he was finished, "you will do exactly as I say, or I will let these men kill you and be done with your ridiculous notions of heroics. Is that clear?"

Velati looked at Kovrim, licked his lips in fear and relief, and nodded.

"Good," Kovrim said, backing away and holding his hands up to show that he was not doing anything else untoward. "I'm finished," he said to all within range. "He will need help walking, though. He's still very weak."

"That will be your job, then," the leader said. "Now give me that coin around your neck and get him on his feet."

Reluctantly, the priest removed his holy coin and tossed it toward the mercenary leader. Then he helped Velati up so the young man could stand with Kovrim's help.

"Let's go," the man said, motioning for his two prisoners to begin walking back the way they had come.

As the pair of Crescents began to march in the direction they had been ordered, Kovrim spotted a large column of soldiers, all of them wearing the same silver raven insignia that his captors displayed, coming down the beach in their direction. He frowned, wondering why an entire mercenary company would be in the middle of nowhere.

"Where, pray tell, are you taking us, and why are you treating us as hostiles?"

"My orders were to capture as many of you as I could. Anyone who refused to surrender, I was to kill. I didn't question why. Now be quiet."

Kovrim shrugged but nodded. As he walked along, helping Velati keep a steady pace, he considered why someone would have issued such orders to the men escorting them. It didn't seem likely that they would have known the Crescents would be there-unless they are in league with the pirates, he realized. Perhaps they are working for the same people. But who?

Then the priest's eyes narrowed. Lavant, he thought. To get me and Vambran out of the way. Why else would I have been ordered to serve as quartermaster at my age?

The thought that the Grand Trabbar would go to such lengths to eliminate threats made Kovrim's blood run cold. He knew that the high priest had influence, and the evidence he had found suggested that Lavant was putting together an army. But the notion that he would sink an entire ship and destroy a whole company of mercenaries just so he could get two men out of the way was astonishing.

If Lavant ordered our deaths, Kovrim thought, then it's only a matter of time before these men, or those they answer to, realize who I am and try to finish the job.

As the priest considered that, he began to go over other options in his mind. Even without his holy coin, he still had magic at his disposal that could aid him in his escape. But Velati did not, and there was nothing Kovrim could do to assist him that way. No, Kovrim decided, I'll stay with him until there's no other choice. But did I save him only to let him die later?

With such a realization fresh in his mind, Kovrim's thoughts turned once again to his nephew. He wanted to hold out hope that Vambran had somehow escaped, that he had been resourceful enough to evade the pirates and reach the shore, but he feared the worst. The attacks on Lady's Favor and the number of troops scouring the beach were so powerful, had been so well coordinated, that it hardly seemed possible that any Crescent had managed to escape.

Kovrim prayed he was wrong.

As Vambran moved stealthily through the trees, nearing the edge of the forest, he could hear the sounds of a large gathering of troops, just beyond sight. He picked his steps carefully, trying to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves, but he knew he was no woodsman, and every time he scuffed his feet, the lieutenant held his breath, waiting for sentries to come charging through the underbrush toward him. They did not. Finally, when he reached a point where he could begin to see beyond the ground cover that marked the boundary of the forest proper, he crouched down behind the trunk of one of the last sizeable shadowtops and just listened for a few moments.

The typical sounds of an army wafted through the screen of plant life toward him, of some men shouting orders and others laughing. He could hear the sounds of horses whinnying, and those of wagons creaking. The one sound he did not hear, thankfully, was that of prisoners being tortured. He hoped it was not because they had taken no prisoners.

It was growing toward dusk. The seven remaining Crescents had spent the better part of the day evading the enemy forces, and though the army had been thorough, its command had seemed reluctant to drive too deeply into the interior of the forest. Only after his foes had given up and returned to open ground had Vambran crept back to the edge of the woods to scout. The other Crescents had orders to remain well away from the border. If he didn't get back to them by nightfall, they were to march through to the other side and get back to Arrabar as best as they could.

He decided that he had to get closer, see what he could determine of the fate of the Crescents who had not escaped into the woods. He considered trying to sneak into the perimeter of the gathering, but he dismissed that idea again. There would be sentries. If the mercenary officers of that army were worth their salt, they would know that the few who had escaped might at least try to rescue their companions, and the soldiers would be ready. Vambran did not like the idea of getting caught by himself in the open, where a handful of spellcasters could easily overwhelm him. There had to be other options.

An idea came to him. Only a few days before setting out upon Lady's Favor, Vambran had become aware of a new arcane trick he could perform. The concept seemed to come on him without warning or thought, as a flash of inspiration. He understood what he would need to do to conjure the magic, and it would happen.

He began to rummage around in a small pouch on his belt, producing a tiny vial with a wax-coated stopper. The container held a bit of black, sticky substance. He squatted down and stirred his finger through the dead leaves and other debris at the base of the tree, looking carefully. When he overturned a small stone, a small brown spider scurried out from its disturbed hiding place, and Vambran snatched it up.

Vambran still found the intuitive nature of his arcane power unsettling, but he ignored the sensation and did what came naturally. Eyeing the spider for a moment, he steeled himself and tossed it in his mouth, and followed that by unstoppering the vial and dripping a bit onto his tongue. Ignoring the foul taste of the tarry substance and the wriggling of the spider, the lieutenant swallowed both at once then uttered a phrase that had popped into his head only a few tendays ago.

He waited a moment. Then, when he was certain the magic had taken effect, Vambran turned and began to climb the tree behind which he had been hiding. It was remarkably easy, as he found he could scamper along the surface of the trunk as a spider might, traveling straight up to the top almost as quickly as he could walk the forest floor. When he reached the first branches high in the tree, he stopped and peered out from behind the trunk toward where he believed the mercenary army to be.

Vambran had chosen a good tree, for it was one of the last really tall ones that bordered the woods, and from that vantage point, he could see beyond its sheltering leaves to well beyond the limits of the forest. The army was arrayed below him, groups of soldiers milling about, as though waiting for the order to move out. By Vambran's judgment, there appeared to be perhaps one hundred foot soldiers and half that many cavalry. It was not an overly large force, but certainly sizeable enough to overwhelm the company of Crescents he had commanded, even at full strength.

In a small depression in the land surrounded by armed guards, numerous members of the Crescents sat. They were huddled together, perhaps talking, but it was clear that they were prisoners, for their captors watched them carefully, bowmen with their weapons held casually but ready, and others with swords or axes also watching.

Vambran was both relieved and angry. He wished once again that he had his spyglass with him, so he might get a closer look and determine who was there, but it would be difficult to see faces very clearly in the fading light of day. He could, however, count the figures gathered on the ground, and it appeared that there were approximately two dozen Crescents altogether. That number made him smile, for it meant that others who had not managed to join him on the beach had survived the sinking of Lady's Favor. Even if they were prisoners, at least they were alive.

For the moment, anyway, Vambran thought. The pirates certainly weren't interested in taking prisoners. If these soldiers answer to the same masters as the corsairs did, then they must have orders to slay the Crescents, too. But then, why hadn't they?

Vambran considered that bit of information, wondering if his previous assessment had been faulty. Perhaps the mercenary army was not operating under the same guidance as the pirates. Perhaps the Crescents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, that seemed almost as illogical. Something was going on, but he could not yet piece it together.

In due time, he thought. In due time.

Vambran spent a few moments more in the tree, peering as best he could at his men huddled under the watchful eyes of their guards, trying to make out faces despite the distance and growing darkness. He realized he could pick out a few after all, though not all of them were looking in his direction. There was no sign of Kovrim, however, and it was fast growing too dark.

The lieutenant was just about to scurry back down the tree and return to his companions deeper in the forest when the activity of the mercenary army suddenly changed. He could hear orders being shouted, and the soldiers formed up into units. Most of the foot troops began to assemble in column formation, preparing to march, but a handful had stayed near the tree line, milling about and talking. They looked to be the better armed, perhaps most veteran of the troops.

No, not merely soldiers, Vambran realized, trackers and bounty hunters-professionals. They're sending their best back in to get us.

The prisoners also got to their feet, apparently also having been ordered to ready themselves to move. He watched as the Crescents formed a line, still watched over by their guards, and the cavalry mounted up. Together, the cavalry and the infantry began to move off, flanking the prisoners.

Shortly afterward, the trackers began to enter the forest to hunt for the remaining fugitives. The lieutenant was mildly surprised, given the fact that it was nearing the end of the day, but the growing dark did not seem to deter them.

Vambran scurried back down the shadowtop, disappearing into the foliage, and when he reached the bottom, he darted away, weaving through the trunks of the trees in an effort to gain a lead on the impending pursuit. Already he could hear the soldiers beginning to push forward, entering the woods. As he trotted, the lieutenant began to formulate possible plans to evade the new group of hunters. Unlike before, when there were more men hunting, he did not think it would be too difficult to hide from the trackers and wait for them to pass, especially in the gloom of twilight. But Vambran suspected they had effective magic employed to prevent just such an occurrence.

I guess we'll find out soon enough, Vambran thought, nearing the location where he had parted ways with the other six Crescents. They were not there.

Good, the lieutenant thought. They didn't wait around.

Vambran pulled his holy coin free and uttered a quick prayer, visualizing Adyan's crossbow in his mind as he did so. Once his divine magic had taken effect, Vambran could sense the direction in which the crossbow-and by extension, Adyan and the others-lay, and he began to move that way.

Just based on the limitations of the magic, Vambran knew his companions could not be too far ahead of him, and as he drew closer to their position, he could hear them well before they came into his view. There was quite a bit of shouting. Frowning in anger over their lack of stealth, he was ready to scold his sergeants as soon as he caught up to them.

The lieutenant's admonition died in his throat as he rounded a barrier of several tangled suth trees and spotted the six Crescents.

The mercenaries were bunched together, fending off nearly half a dozen very large vipers. Even as he sprinted toward them to aid in the fight, another snake slithered out of the deepening shadows, from beneath the suth entanglement. The serpent blocked Vambran's path as it reared up, towering higher than Vambran himself. As he drew his sword free of its scabbard, the snake hissed and opened its mouth, sending a gout of liquid right at the mercenary officer.