Ruby Guardian (16 page)

Once confined, Kovrim sank down wearily in the darkness and sighed, feeling the ache in his feet. The narrow door swung shut behind the mercenaries, and Kovrim watched through chinks in the wall as two burly figures settled a heavy log in place across the portal, effectively locking most of them inside. Kovrim still had options, he knew, but using his little remaining magic would require

careful planning. He did not like the thought of leaving the men behind.

“Well, this is a fine mess,” one of the Crescents said. It was Hort Bloagermun, known as Old Bloagy to everyone in the unit. He was as old as Kovrim and a veteran of many seasons’ worth of campaigning. Though he wasn’t quite as spry with a blade as he had once been, he was still a crack shot with his crossbow, which was how he had managed to stay with the company for so many years.

Kovrim nodded, though he knew Old Bloagy couldn’t see him in the near-darkness. “Aye, and it’ll get finer before it’s finished, I’ll wager,” he said as Hort moved to sit beside him. “Tell me what you know so far.”

Hort snorted in the twilight. “Not much, and that’s more than most of us,” he said. “When the ship went down, we all tried to rally to the beach, but a couple of the lads and I got cut off by one of them accursed pirate ships, which had enough archers on it to stick us all twenty times over. We had to hightail it the other direction, and by the time we had outdistanced them, we couldn’t see where the main group had gone. We headed for shore anyway, and hooked up with , three more boys, but that’s when a whole mess of these fellows’ cavalry arrived. We were outnumbered at least ten to one and didn’t see the sense in putting up much of a fight, and now here we are.”

The rest of the group had similar tales to tell. When they had all recounted their own fates in the attack, Kovrim quizzed the group on how many of their companions they knew had fallen in battle, if any of them had seen or had been with Vambran at any point during the confusion, and what sorts of equipment they had been allowed to keep.

At one point, the priest’s information gathering was interrupted as the door was unbarred and opened.

Several soldiers came inside carrying a large kettle of some sort of fish stew and a handful of wooden bowls. “Finish what you want and use the kettle for your jakes,” one of the soldiers said. The stew was weak and watery, but to Kovrim, who hadn’t eaten in more than a day because of his seasickness, it tasted fine. After everyone had a chance to nourish themselves, the priest continued his questioning.

In the end, despite the total surprise of the corsairs’ attack, it sounded as though the company’s losses were light. Only four were confirmed dead or mortally wounded at sea, and none of them had seen Vambran fall. Kovrim’s hope that his nephew was still alive, and possibly still free, began to grow.

The supplies were not so promising. Most of their equipment, including packs, belts with pouches, and any holy symbols belonging to the priests among them, had been taken. Old Bloagy had managed to keep a small knife concealed, tucked way down in his boot, but it was hardly a weapon, and it certainly couldn’t get anyone far in an escape attempt.

“Well, Crescents,” Kovrim said at last, “it looks like we’ll be biding our time here for the night.” When everyone began to speak at once, asking why they had been attacked on the sea and why they had been taken prisoner without having even engaged the enemy in battle, Kovrim had to shout to get them to settle down. “Those are questions we don’t have the answers to, yet. But if these soldiers follow any of the code, I’m sure we’ll be learning more soon. In the meantime, get some rest, and no one is to try anything foolish on their own. We’re still on campaign, and I’m the ranking officer, and those are my orders. Any questions?”

None of the twelve had any issues, so after another bowl of stew for each, the Crescents settled in for the night. Kovrim found a relatively comfortable spot

leaning against one wall of the barn and began to try to piece together what he could of the day’s events. Assuming that both the encounters with the pirates and the mercenaries were coordinated, he was troubled by the incongruity of their purposes. The pirates had wanted them dead, no quarter offered—he suspected that the kraken was their doing and not just lousy luck. The silver ravens, on the other hand, had seemed loathe to kill them, even going so far as to allow him to heal Velati. Something didn’t quite make sense, but Kovrim had a suspicion he would eventually come to regret finding out the answer. He considered whether or not it was an opportune time to slip away unseen and try to hunt for some help, but he decided against it, at least for the time being. He wasn’t sure if the guards had taken a head count, and he didn’t want to create more trouble for the rest of the Crescents. He would wait to escape until he knew he could get away with it.

The priest fell asleep fretting about many things.

• • •

“Now remember, this place is real trouble, so be on, your toes, and stay out of everyone’s way,” Xaphira cautioned again as she led Emriana around a corner and down the narrow side street toward the entrance to The Silver Fish.

Emriana tried to contain her sigh of exasperation. “Yes, I know,” she said. “You’ve told me five times already.”

“Well, I want to make sure you get it, Em,” her aunt snapped back, startling the younger girl with her vehemence. “I’m not kidding around. This isn’t practicing in the barnyard. A body or two winds up sitting outside the doors of this place just about every night.”

Emriana was more careful to sound respectful and agreeable. “All right, I’ll watch out.”

“Good.”

Emriana could hear loud, boisterous music and singing as they approached, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. They reached the entrance to the rathrur and Xaphira led the way inside. Immediately, Emriana could see what her aunt was talking about. The clientele were of the surliest, roughest sort she could have imagined, all dirty, sweaty men and women who performed the most menial labors of the city. As the two women strolled in, more than a few conversations halted as many pairs of eyes turned curiously toward them. Xaphira didn’t seem to notice, but Emriana found herself feeling very self-conscious. She caught herself crowding in a little tighter behind Xaphira, almost stepping on her heels.

I can’t believe she used to spend all of her time here, Emriana thought, vaguely disgusted. It’s the great unwashed all packed together.

The girl wrinkled her nose at the sour smell that hung in the smoky air and followed her aunt. Xaphira led her over to a spot along the bar that was unoccupied at the moment and settled against it. Emriana noticed a dark stain that looked suspiciously like blood spattered across part of the bar nearest her. She discreetly placed her hands at her sides rather than lean against it as she tried to peer around without actually staring at anyone.

In the far corner of the rathrur, a small stage had been set up, and three musicians played a lively tune while the patrons sang along. One of the bards had a swollen, discolored nose. Emriana realized that there were actually three different sets of lyrics to the song being performed, and the crowd seemed to be competing with itself to see which of the versions

was actually correct, the winner being determined by sheer volume. She listened to the version being sung by the table nearest to hers, but after getting the gist of the bawdy words, she blushed and tried to tune it out again.

One of the other patrons stood up and wandered over in Xaphira’s and Emriana’s direction, and the look in the fellow’s eyes made the girl shiver, for it reminded her a little too much of how Denrick had looked at her that night in her bedroom, when he had her tied to a chair.

“Uh, Aunt Xaphira, don’t look now, but here comes trouble,” Emriana said as quietly as she dared over the music.

Xaphira slipped one of her throwing daggers free from her belt and made a show of jabbing it into the surface of the bar, though she never looked up at the approaching man, who was weaving slightly. Upon seeing the brandished weapon, the drunk fellow paused, tilted his head to one side as if considering whether or not the struggle would be worth the prize, and apparently thought better of it. He adjusted his direction to take himself to the far end of the bar and didn’t look back.

Emriana shuddered again. “I can’t believe you liked coming here,” she grumbled, wrinkling her nose again.

Xaphira laughed. “There was a time when all of this was good sport, Em,” she said. “There was nothing better than coming down to the dockside of town and slumming with the commoners.”

“Why?” Emriana asked, realizing the disgust in her tone was obvious but not caring.

“Because, my dear niece, it made your grandfather unhappy,” Xaphira replied. “And I enjoyed making him unhappy, just like you enjoyed making Dregaul unhappy.” Then the older woman sniffed once, perhaps

recalling some wistful memory about her deceased brother. “Besides, it felt good to be challenged,” she added after a moment. “The folks here don’t tend to fight fair, but they also don’t tend to fight to kill. A black eye or broken hand was worth the experience of learning to brawl.” Xaphira caught the eye of the barkeep and motioned for service, then turned back to Emriana. “It was fun,” she finished.

Emriana tried not to roll her eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t come home with a broken skull,” she said derisively. “Actually, you’re lucky you made it home at all.”

“That is too true,” Xaphira said, nodding in agreement. “So now you know why I told you to stay alert. I would be in the deep stable muck if I brought you home tonight with a split lip. I don’t think even Hetta could save us from your mother, then.”

Emriana tried to scowl at the thought of having to explain such a condition to her mother, but the thought ended up making her laugh instead.

After the barkeep served both Xaphira and Emriana a mug of some sour-smelling concoction and Xaphira tossed a couple of coins on the counter, the older woman led her niece back across the room toward a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. Emriana tried to ignore the stares she drew as she followed her aunt. She couldn’t help but overhear more than a few lewd comments directed at her, and she was sure her cheeks were crimson by the time they reached the balcony of the second floor.

Emriana had no idea what Xaphira was planning, but the older woman seemed to know where she was going, so the girl followed her without question. Finally, Xaphira stopped at the open curtains of an unoccupied alcove and slipped inside. Emriana gratefully followed and settled onto the coarse wooden bench opposite her aunt.

“What now?” she asked, sipping at the mug Xaphira had procured for her. The beer inside was weak and bitter, and Emriana set it down and slid it away from herself.

“Now we wait,” Xaphira replied, watching the girl with a bemused smile. “Quill will find us. I’m sure he already knows we’re here.”

True to her prediction, a man appeared a moment later, filling the doorway to the alcove. Emriana started at the sight of him, tall and sinewy, with disheveled hair and more than a few wrinkles. His clothes were just as mussed as he was, but there was a brightness to his eyes that told the girl he was both clever and dangerous. Emriana stared, noting that he eyed her right back, and there was a hint of a hunger in his expression as he appraised her. She wanted to shrink back, but Xaphira was up and taking the man’s hand before she could react.

“Quill!” Xaphira said, pulling the man into the booth next to her. “Stop looking at my niece like that. You’re old enough to be her father,” she said.

The man blinked a couple of times, still looking, and despite Xaphira’s admonition, his appreciative stare did not abate. But in the next moment he was all smiles for Emriana, reaching across the table and introducing himself as he took her hand and shook it. Emriana returned the greeting, though she saw that he could sense the coolness of her tone.

“So,” Quill said, turning his attention back to Xaphira, “you decided you needed someone to watch your back tonight? What’s the matter, don’t you trust me anymore?” he asked, chuckling.

“I never trusted you, but no, she’s here merely to observe.” Then Xaphira’s smile faded. “Did you learn anything?”

Quill’s own pleasant facade melted away to a deep frown. “Always one to get straight to the point,

weren’t you?” When Xaphira didn’t respond, the man sighed. “Very well. Yes, I found someone who can help you. He’s prepared to meet with you right now.” Then he glanced over at Emriana and added, “But only you. I didn’t tell him anything about a niece, and if we try to change the conditions now, he’ll bolt in a heartbeat.”

Xaphira nodded, frowning. “Em, stay right here. Don’t go anywhere; don’t do anything until I get back. You got it?”

Emriana looked across at her aunt reproachfully, but she only nodded. “Not going anywhere, not doing anything,” she said, “that’s me.”

“All right. I’ll be back in a little while.” Xaphira turned her attention back to Quill. “Lead on,” she said, gesturing to the entrance to the alcove. Together, the pair scooted across the bench and out through the curtains, leaving Emriana by herself.

For the first few moments, the girl sat there, studying the rough wood of the table, thinking about how unpleasant the whole excursion had become. She had had no idea just how rough-and-tumble The Silver Fish would be, or she might have decided to remain at the country estate. Then she shook her head, angry with herself.

You get to prowl around the city with your aunt, she scolded herself, and you’d rather be at home, sitting and listening to mother read poetry. The girl rolled her eyes at her own foolishness and decided to get another look at the riffraff below.

Emriana slid out of the seat and peered cautiously through the curtains, checking in both directions before getting up completely. Then she crossed the balcony to the railing and leaned over, looking down. Most of the patrons were busily talking, singing, or drinking, and men were playing dice at one table. It seemed that no one was aware enough

to look up and see her watching them, which suited her just fine.