The Ruby Guardian soa-2

by Thomas M. Reid

  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.

  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