The Ruby Guardian

CHAPTER 10

The darkness beyond the windows revealed that the sun had long since set when Marga stirred from where she had been sitting in a large cushioned chair in one corner of her private chambers. Somewhere during that time, servants had come and lit several lamps in the suite, but they had otherwise left the woman alone with her thoughts. She remembered at some point sending Mirolyn away, telling the young lady that she would look after the children for the rest of the evening herself. To anyone entering the chambers where Marga sat, they would have seen a mother watching over her two children, who played with apparent disinterest toward anything or anyone.

The reality was far different.

Marga looked down at the two figures near her feet, wanting to recoil from them. The one that appeared to be Obiron looked up at her and smiled, though it was far from the warm, loving grin she knew.

"You fear us," the boy said. "You want to kill us." Then he laughed, but it was not Obiron's laugh.

Marga had to resist the urge to clamp her hands over her own ears, though she wanted to shield herself from that dreadful, malevolent chuckle, and from having her thoughts drawn out of her head. She hated it, and she squirmed in frustration and terror. Knowing that the two creatures sitting in front of her could penetrate her mind, could know her every thought the moment she did, made her feel violated, alone, helpless.

"Please stop," she said, desperately. "Leave me alone."

"We have our instructions," said the other one, who looked and sounded for all the world like her daughter, Quindy. "We will know if you try to cross us," she added, glowering.

Marga cringed and drew her feet up into the overstuffed chair, pulling as far from that malevolent gaze as she could. The creature mimicking Quindy smiled and returned to her toys.

Marga wanted to pull her hair out, wanted to scream, but she dared not do anything to give away the secret of her situation. So long as she cooperated, so long as she did whatever her brother insisted of her, the real Quindy and Obiron would remain fine. But to cross him-

As if Grozier, too, could read his sister's thoughts, a flash of brilliant pale blue appeared in the corner of her chamber. Marga started at the sudden glow, jerking her head around to see her brother step through the magical portal that had appeared there, followed closely by Bartimus. Behind the wizard, the shimmering, radiating doorway winked out again.

"Hello, Marga," Grozier said in mock warmth, giving her a sardonic smile as he strode across the room toward her. "Spending a little time alone with your offspring, I see," he said.

Marga could feel her eyes well up with tears, but she fought against the emotion. "They will not leave my side," she said. "They lurk next to me constantly, reading my thoughts. Please, make them stop."

Grozier raised an eyebrow in mock surprise and dismay and turned to the two beings sitting upon the floor. Both of them smiled shyly, looking as though they were two children about to be chastised for stealing cookies.

"She has been imagining killing us," the girl said, pointing toward Marga. "And she has considered revealing the truth to the rest of the family."

Marga flinched and turned her face away, hating the fact that she could hide nothing from the two creatures nor, by extension, her brother.

"Really?" Grozier said, turning and looking at Marga.

She could feel his gaze on her, but she refused to look up at him. "But I didn't," she said sullenly. "Ask them; they know I can't, won't."

Grozier laughed and said, "Of that, I have no doubt, sweet sister. And I would expect resentment and resistance from you at the moment."

In two quick steps, the man was in front of Marga, leaning forward menacingly, both hands on the armrests of the chair.

She recoiled from him, though his actions forced her to look up into his eyes. She could see a dangerous glint there. She felt afraid, had anticipated his wrath. She knew that he would be angry when he found out what she had been thinking.

"I don't have to remind you of what will happen if you decide to act on your impulses," Grozier said in a low voice. "I'm sure that, should I ask my two accomplices here, they will also tell me why you resisted your urge to spill the truth."

Marga drew back, until her head was pressed against the back of the chair, and still she wanted to draw away even more. "Please," she said, her voice nearly a whimper. "I know what you'll do. I can't help my feelings, but I'm not crossing you, I swear by Tyr's scales. I will not. The thoughts-they just come, and I-" And she did look away, then, turned her head to one side and cried, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as the fear and pain washed over her.

Grozier drew back, seemingly satisfied. "You fret too much," he said in a more jovial tone, countering Marga's wretched mood. "And you do not see the benefits of our arrangement yet."

Marga sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek, feeling angry again. She turned and looked at her brother with a scowl. "What? You mean all the glory and wealth that is Obiron and Quindy's to be had, once you've seized control of House Matrell? Oh, yes, let's allow them to live up to their father's and uncle's legacies! Let's teach them that the corrupt path, the path of deceit and theft, will take them far in this world. Yes, I'm overjoyed at such-"

"Enough!" Grozier shouted, making Marga jump from his vehemence. "Like it or not, this is the life before you. You stand at a crossroads, sister. You can choose to live out your days with your children, watching them grow as I guide them to their rightful places as the heirs of this House, or you can… be elsewhere. It changes nothing for me, of course, but I would think you might want to remain living in this world and be a part of the rest of their lives."

Marga watched her brother's seething face as he spat the hateful words at her, blinking in terror but unable to react at all. She knew Grozier well enough to know that he was not making an idle threat. If she stood in his way, if she tried to prevent him from gaining his revenge upon the rest of the Matrell family for their part in turning his plans awry, he would kill her and think little of it. It was as simple as that.

"She knows you do not bluff," one of the creatures said, but in its own voice then, not that of one of her children. "She knows you will kill her if she does not cooperate."

Both Marga and Grozier turned to look at the thing, standing behind Grozier in its natural form. It was all gangly arms and legs, except for its head, which was large and round, like an egg. The thing's skin was gray and hairless. It was repulsive to look upon, but what unnerved Marga the most were its eyes. They were large and round, yellow orbs with narrow slits. She would have said they looked like a cat's eyes, but such a description was inaccurate. No, she decided, they were the eyes of an octopus. Cold and dead, they seemed, and they stared straight at her. She knew the creature was reading her mind right then, could sense her loathing of it.

"Good," Grozier said, stepping back from Marga and turning to face the thing directly. "She's a smart girl. Because I would, you know," he said.

"Yes," the creature replied in a deadpan tone, its voice strangely dissonant and hollow. "I know you would."

Grozier chuckled. "Of course you do." Then he turned away and began to pace. "But I didn't just show up to taunt or threaten my lovely sister tonight. No, I have most exciting news." He moved beside Bartimus, who had been standing in the shadows at the corner of the room, staying out of the way until needed, as usual. Grozier clapped the mage on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, then spun and continued his pacing.

"It seems that various members of the Matrell family have gotten themselves into some unfortunate scrapes today. Sadly, the family is being whittled down to nothing, little by little."

Marga gasped, unable to contain her sudden dread.

"Oh, yes," Grozier replied, picking up on the woman's fear. "Apparently, the ship that was carrying Lieutenant Vambran Matrell and Quartermaster Kovrim Lazelle sank off the coast of Reth today, and all hands are presumed dead or missing." His tone had turned solemn, though it was a mocking gesture, for the man could not contain his smile as he spoke. "It seems that neither man will be coming home from campaign this season," he finished, almost chuckling in his glee.

Marga wanted to strangle him. Her heart ached with the news.

"And as it turns out, two other members of the family have been waylaid in the dark of night in a more unsavory neighborhood of Arrabar. I'm sorry to report that Xaphira and Emriana Matrell won't be finding their way home again, either."

"No!" Marga cried, lunging up from her chair, horrified. "No! You didn't do this! Please tell me you did not hurt them!" She charged toward her brother, her hands balled into fists, and began to pound at him, slamming both fists into his chest, trying to cuff him about the face and head.

Grozier, in his initial shock, did nothing to stop his sister at first, but then he began to step back, away from her assault, and managed to clamp his hands around her wrists, restraining her. "Stop it!" he demanded, driving her back from him, driving her down.

Marga crumpled then, sagging to the floor in agony. It had been by her hand that the two women, Emriana and Xaphira, had been harmed. Her betrayal had led Grozier and his accomplices to find them. Marga could not stand that guilt. She buried her face in her arms, right there on the floor, and sobbed.

I did it. I killed them, she thought as she cried. The same as if I'd held the weapon myself. Why has all of this happened to me? Waukeen, what did I do to cross you, to bring this down upon myself?

Marga could feel Grozier step around his sister and continue pacing. He apparently was refusing to be upstaged during his gleeful telling of the horrid tale.

"Regrettably, after the unfortunate events of last month, that leaves only three family members alive, and two of those are… not of age, yet."

Marga sat up, realizing where her brother was going with his explanations.

He was looking at her, an expectant smile upon his face. "Yes, Marga, dear, I knew you would figure it out. Tonight, the only person who stands between the wealth of House Matrell and your two children is Hetta herself."

"No," Marga said weakly, helplessly. "Don't."

"Oh, I don't intend to," he said, still smiling. "I think we'll leave that for a different member of the family." He turned to the gray-skinned creature, still standing and watching as Grozier had strutted in pride through the room. "I'm sure you have an idea of who might get close to Grandmother Hetta tonight," he said to the thing.

"Absolutely," the creature remarked, and right before Marga's eyes, it began to change, to shift. It grew taller and filled out, adapting a human form all too familiar to the woman. It was as if she were looking in a reflecting glass.

"No!" she cried, trying to rise to her feet. "You cannot do this! Stop it!" Marga demanded, moving toward the thing, the false version of herself. "Leave her alone!"

But Grozier stepped between Marga and the imitation of her, grabbed his sister by the arms. "No, no," he said, wrapping his arms around her when she began to flail at him, hit him, trying to get past him and at the false version of herself. "You and I are going to wait right here, and it'll all be over," he said.

But Marga would not be denied. She fought like a wild thing, for she knew that she could not bear the shame and guilt of allowing her treachery to the Matrells to be continued. She had to stop the wretched creature before it got out of her chambers. She had to stop it! She began to shout, to scream at the top of her lungs, hoping someone, a servant, would hear and expose the plot.

"Bartimus, if you please," Marga heard Grozier say, raising his voice to be heard over her screams. "She's going to bring the entire household down on us, making this noise."

Marga kicked and punched at Grozier, and from his winces, she could see that she was having an effect. He released her then, and she lunged forward, trying to grab her imposter and strangle it, but she never made it across the floor. In the blink of an eye, she felt herself lose mobility, felt her body stiffen and freeze in place, caught in mid-step as she had been dashing across the room.

Marga's horror was complete then, for she found that she could still breathe, and could see-though only in the direction she had been staring, which had been right at her imposter-but she could not move a muscle otherwise. The woman could also hear, and Grozier was laughing. It made her blood run cold.

"Very nice, Bartimus, I must say," her brother said, chuckling, as he moved in front of Marga. "She looks quite humorous." Then he turned his attention away from his sister and toward her duplicate. "You know what to do," he said to the thing as he handed it something Marga could not see.

The creature nodded. "Yes," it replied. "She will die in her sleep, and no one will be the wiser."

"And you're certain you can get to her?" Grozier asked. "There is only one chance at this."

"Do not worry," Marga's double replied, altering its voice until it became the perfect likeness of her own. "I will reach the old woman without trouble or incident."

Grozier chuckled again. "Of course, I should never have doubted. Then off with you," he said.

The false Marga turned and departed.

Marga, frozen in place, wanted so desperately to scream.

Vambran felt an exposed bit of root jab him in the ribs as he tumbled across the ground, desperately dodging the gout of liquid vomited forth by the snake before him. The mercenary officer grunted in pain but refused to stop rolling, jumping to his feet several paces away from where he had originally been standing. The ground where he had been a moment before sizzled and hissed where the foul secretion landed, and he shuddered, imagining what it would have done if it had struck him.

Though he was intensely wary of the giant snake turning to pursue him, Vambran also had a thought in the back of his mind for the men coming behind him, the professional hunters who were tracking both him and his soldiers through the forest. His agitation that the trackers could catch up to the seven members of the Sapphire Crescent only made it more difficult to concentrate on the battle at hand

The snake lunged at Vambran, and he shifted his stance to one side and sliced with his sword at the creature's neck. The blow landed true, but the gouge he created was only a narrow furrow, the blade inhibited by the thick scales covering the reptile. Still, the snake did not like that one bit and hissed malevolently as it recoiled from him, swaying and watching its quarry with beady, frightening eyes that glowed in the dusk.

Vambran considered launching a spell that would blind the creature, one of his magical flares aimed right at the snake's eyes, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately, for he did not want to aid the men hunting the Crescents. Instead, he decided to conjure his magical swarm of coins. Reaching into his shirt as he backed away from the advancing snake, he produced his holy medallion and began to utter the words of a familiar prayer. Finishing the petition, he kissed the coin and felt the manifestation of magic form in front of him.

The clump of coins materialized in a low humming swarm, and with a thought, Vambran sent the buzzing cloud right at the snake's head. In the gathering darkness, it was growing more difficult to see clearly, but Vambran knew the cloud of coins struck true when the snake jerked and retreated, hissing and biting at nothing in particular. Maintaining his concentration on the holy weapon and driving it repeatedly at the snake's head, Vambran used the distraction to circle around to a better vantage point. The snake seemed to sense what the soldier was trying to do, though, because it turned several times to keep its foe in front of itself, but each time, Vambran was able to maneuver the swarm of stinging coins in for another round of vicious blows.

The snake lost interest in attacking the man and settled to the ground with the intention of fleeing. It slithered through the dried leaves, rushing away from the repeated stinging bites that it could not see nor retaliate against. Vambran maintained his magic for a few moments more, desiring to make certain that the snake truly fled, but once it was clear the beast was not going to return, he recalled the swarm and turned to see how his companions were faring.

Several snakes were down and lifeless, and the two remaining were badly bleeding. At least one of the mercenaries was also down, unmoving, and two others were writhing in agony, out of range of the battle. Vambran rushed to aid the soldiers, sending his cloud of coins toward the nearest snake.

As the holy weapon struck the serpent across one side of its head, the snake jerked and shifted its attention sideways, snapping at the air. The distraction gave Grolo the opportunity to leap close to the snake and swing his axe with both hands. The dwarf's aim was true, and he lopped the reptile's head completely off with that single blow, sending it bouncing away into the darkness. The snake's body began to buck and writhe haphazardly across the ground, leaking blood and other fluids as it did. Grolo jumped clear of the corpse as Vambran directed his magic at the last remaining snake.

That single opponent was clearly already in its death throes as Vambran's swarm of coins smacked it across the snout. The strike was enough to send it reeling to one side, toppling over into the leaves. Horial and Adyan closed in and finished off the creature.

Vambran turned to the three downed mercenaries. They all had suffered burns from the acid spit by the snakes, he realized. Filana and Burtis were alive but in terrible pain, but Elebrio did not move.

"Help them!" the lieutenant ordered his three sergeants as he bent down to check the youngest Crescent for signs of life. The acid had done its work too well, though, for most of Elebrio's face was nothing but raw, red flesh, his features scoured by the burning acid. As Vambran suspected, the youthful soldier did not breathe.

No pain for you, at least, Vambran thought sorrowfully.

The mercenary officer knew he could not waste a moment grieving for the young man, though, and went over to see what aid he could give the other two wounded soldiers. Both Filana and Burtis were sitting up by then, while the sergeants applied a healing salve to the worst of their burns.

"Elebrio's dead," Vambran said. "Acid got him squarely in the face, it appears."

"Aye," Grolo grumbled as he handed a waterskin over to Filana. "The boy jumped right into the middle of the fight, though," the dwarf said. "Never backed down from the snake for a moment. He would have made a fine soldier."

"We have to get moving," Vambran said, changing the subject. "There are trackers on our trail, hunting us down even as we speak. It won't take them long to find us, with the kind of noise we just made.

"Adyan, strip Elebrio's body of anything useful and bury him in leaves. We can't dig a grave, but we can at least make it a little harder for the bloodhounds to figure out what happened."

"Aye, sir," Adyan replied and moved to do Vambran's bidding.

"Grolo, Horial, help the two of them," Vambran said, indicating the wounded pair. "You get moving northeast, back toward the coast. I'm going to try to mislead our pursuers a little bit by laying a false trail to the south." The other two nodded, and everyone sprang into action at once. Vambran moved to a position in the midst of the snake carcasses and set off through the trees southward, deeper into the forest, doing his best to stir up leaves, snap fallen branches, and scuff his feet into the dirt. After he had progressed in such a fashion for a couple of hundred paces, he stopped near the base of a tree.

It was almost too dark to see anything, so he drew forth his pendant and uttered a soft prayer of light. The resulting glow that sprang from the coin was gentle, like moonlight, and Vambran cupped the symbol in his hand to keep it from shining out in all directions.

Using the magical light to aid him, Vambran knelt down at the base of the tree and began hunting for another spider. He spotted one quickly enough, and he went through the motions of casting the spell again that he had used to climb with before. When he knew the magic had manifested, Vambran willed the soft light to wink out, waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and scurried up the tree.

Near the top, Vambran began to move out along the limbs of the shadowtop, navigating the narrow branch with ease, thanks to his magical ability. As he neared the end of the branch and felt it begin to sag dangerously low, he transferred his weight to another branch, which happened to protrude from a neighboring tree. Then he scurried across the expanse of that tree's cover and moved on to the next tree.

Vambran continued to maneuver through the forest that way, crossing from tree to tree by means of the climbing spell, never leaving a trail upon the ground. After he had progressed quite a distance and was certain the magic would fade soon, he hurried down. Sure enough, when he was perhaps ten feet from the ground, he felt the spell dissipate, and he half jumped and half fell the rest of the way to the forest floor.

Better not wait so long next time, he thought, dusting himself off. Then he set off in the general direction he had sent his companions, expecting to catch up to them after a little while. Part of his plan also took into account the possibility of his little trick failing to mislead the trackers.

If they don't fall for it, I want them to catch up to me, first, he thought. I can give the others a fair chance to escape by myself.

But his fears did not come to that, and after perhaps an hour of walking, Vambran began to detect motion through the trees ahead. Picking up his pace, the lieutenant issued his telltale bird call. Soon enough, the whistled reply echoed back. Vambran caught up to the rest of the group a short time later.

"Well, we'll see how much we managed to delay them," he said as the six of them settled down to rest for a few moments. "I doubt it will hold them up for long, but every few minutes of time we bought is worth it."

"We tried to tread lightly, sir," Horial said as he began to pass around some hunks of hard bread and some slices of thick, dried meat. "Don't know how good of a job we did, though. We're soldiers, not thieves."

"Don't worry about it," Vambran replied, noticing the ache in his legs for the first time all night. "If we can stay ahead of them, that's good enough." He bit into a slice of meat and tore the mouthful free. His stomach rumbled with appreciation, and Vambran realized he hadn't eaten since before noon that day, when they had all still been aboard Lady's Favor. That seemed like such a very long time ago.

Kovrim, where are you? the lieutenant wondered. What happened to everyone?

In the darkness, he could more than see the rest of the group busily consuming the small repast that Horial had doled out. No one said anything, but Vambran could sense the courage and determination from each of them. He could judge it by the carriage of each soldier's silhouette, hear it in the way they ate their food. They were professionals, and he was proud of the way they were handling the bizarre and unnerving circumstances of the day.

"Any idea where we're headed?" Burtis asked between bites.

Vambran shook his head then realized the other soldiers most likely could not see his gesture. "None at all," he admitted, "though I know that Reth lies ahead of us. We keep walking the way we're going right now, we'll wind up hitting either the coast or the road that runs south out of Reth and circles around the Nunwood back toward Hlath. One way or the other, we'll wind up in the city."

"Assuming we can get there before our pursuit catches up," Filana said, her mouth full of bread.

"Well, if you're so worried about that," Vambran replied, rising, "then break time is over. Let's get marching, soldier."

Filana groaned but did not question her superior. As a team, the six gathered up everything they had and set out again.

As they walked, Vambran took the time to listen to the surroundings. Other than the snakes, they had not been visited by any predators, which surprised him.

Don't go looking for more trouble, soldier, he told himself. Be glad the denizens have left you alone.

Vambran recalled then some of the stories of the Nunwood, of how most of the more dangerous creatures had been run off or slain. The forest had been heavily logged for many centuries before the druids of the Emerald Enclave had stepped in and begun making trouble for the folk who lived along its edge. Lumber processing had slowed down considerably once the druids began pushing everyone around, but it had not died off completely. Regardless, both the logging operations-or rather the mercenaries hired by the loggers-and the druids had managed to make the Nunwood a much safer place than other forests in the region.

Of course, that was a relative thing, Vambran realized. Even a safe forest still remained shrouded in mystery and harbored danger. Though the snakes had been unfortunate, he still considered the group lucky to that point not to have encountered more dangerous creatures during their trek.

Vambran's musings were interrupted by the appearance of a glow from ahead. The others saw the emanations about the same time he did, and the whole group drew to a halt. Though they were still too far removed to be certain, to Vambran's eyes, the glow seemed to be the remnants of some dying fires, barely visible through the trees ahead of them. Almost as one, the five other mercenaries crouched down and huddled together, waiting to see what their leader ordered.

Vambran leaned in and whispered, "stay here while I move ahead to see what's what. Don't make any sounds because whoever this is might have sentries posted in this direction."

Though he could not see the other mercenaries' responses, he could sense that they understood. Quietly as he could, Vambran rose to his feet and began to creep forward, noting a few conspicuous trees that he could use to navigate back in that direction once he was finished scouting. As he drew closer to the glow, he became more and more certain that it was from multiple campfires, and they were all positioned in a clearing ahead. The lieutenant stopped at one point and peered around, searching for telltale signs that guards stood watch there in the edge of the woods, but he did not see anything, so he began to move forward again.

When Vambran reached the underbrush that marked the edge of the clearing, he saw that it was a military camp. Tents were clustered in orderly groups around the fires, and there were indeed sentries positioned around the perimeter of the encampment, but none of them was stationed very close to the edge of the woods. The lieutenant did notice, however, that several of the guards were standing watch over an old barn near where Vambran crouched. He could see that a fresh door had been built into the side of the barn, and a log was used to bar it shut. The mercenary officer had a pretty good idea that prisoners were inside. He wondered if they were Sapphire Crescents.

Knowing he was risking capture, but burning with the need to know, Vambran circled around until he could approach the barn from the back side and, he hoped, unnoticed. He crept very carefully out of the trees and right up to the wall, which was made only of rough logs, so there were plenty of gaps. He peered inside, but the glow of the firelight was not enough to see by.

Taking a deep breath, Vambran gave a very soft whistle, the birdcall signal he was so fond of using. A form stirred very near where he crouched and mumbled something soft. Vambran whistled again, still keeping the sound very light and soft.

"What the-?" the figure grunted, sitting upright. "Who's there?" the man mumbled, trying to whisper.

"Lieutenant Vambran. What's your name?"

"By Waukeen, Lieutenant, it's sure good to hear your voice!" It was Hort "Old Bloagy" Bloagermun, and he was speaking too loudly.

"Shh!" Vambran warned in a whisper, glancing around to see if the sentries had heard anything. "Keep your voice down!"

"Sorry, sir," Hort whispered back, obviously fully awake by then. "What's going on?"

"A few Crescents and I are in the woods, just beyond the camp here. How'd you wind up in there?"

Hort told Vambran the tale of his capture, along with the others. He did a quick listing of the men included, and when he named off Kovrim, Vambran felt his shoulders sag in profound relief.

"That's great news, soldier," he whispered. "We're going to figure out a way to get you out of there, but sit tight. Don't even wake the rest of the men up, yet. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir," Hort replied.

"I'll be back soon," Vambran said then turned and crept away. Elation made the man want to move quickly, but he dared not let it get the best of him, so he very carefully backtracked to the point where he had left his companions.

"I found more Crescents," he began, but before he could finish, he realized that the other five were not alone. Numerous figures rose up from behind trees or bushes, surrounding Vambran and his companions. Instinctively, Vambran reached for his sword.

"Don't," came a soft voice from behind him, and a curved blade was laid across his neck at an angle. "You won't make it."

Vambran froze. At first, he thought the trackers had caught up to them, but as he turned slowly to get a better look, he realized that all of the newcomers were covered in plants and branches. The blade at his throat was a scimitar.

Druids!

Before Vambran could reveal his observation, however, a large shout rose up from the camp.

"It's begun," the figure still holding the scimitar against the lieutenant said. "We must hurry."

"What's begun?" Vambran demanded.

"Your doom," the druid replied.

Something slammed hard against the back of Vambran's head, and the world turned upside down before fading away.