Ruby Guardian (6 page)

“I attempted a healing orison before you arrived;” Pilos said, stepping up beside the Grand Trabbar. The superior priest’s only response was a slight smirk, and he continued his prayer.

Pilos sighed and stepped back again, wanting to give the more veteran clergymen room to aid their fallen leader, regardless of his own misgivings.

When Lavant finished his spell and opened his eyes, Pilos could see his face grow more somber. Whatever spell he had attempted, the Grand Syndar showed no improvement.

Immediately, the other high priests began to mutter among themselves once more, their faces

grave and ashen. Everyone in the room realized the situation was dire.

“We must establish a healing circle,” Lavant announced, silencing all talk. “Gather the materials at once. Quickly.” As priests began to hurry urgently back out of the bedchambers, talking in muffled voices, Lavant turned back to Pilos and Atabi. “You were wise to fetch us,” he said, looking from one to the other of them. “The Grand Syndar is very ill and needs our strictest attention.” The rotund man turned to the guard. “You and your companion are to return to your station and prevent anyone other than myself and the other high priests from entering. Do you understand?”

Atabi nodded resolutely and spun on his heel to carry out his orders.

“And you, young priest,” Lavant said, not even deigning to call Pilos by name, “must return to your own chambers and speak nothing of this to anyone. It would not do to upset the temple at large with this dire news. Not, at least, until we know more.”

Pilos began to protest. “But I am needed by his side! I must—”

“You must let us do our holy work,” the Grand Trabbar interrupted, adopting a steely gaze that made it clear he would brook no further argument from an underling of Pilos’s stature. “I understand your concerns, but what the Grand Syndar needs now is our expert ministrations, and there is little you can do to aid us in that. Now return to your quarters, and when there is news, I will send someone to fetch you.”

Pilos opened his mouth as if to resist further, but he snapped it shut again, knowing too well that he could not argue with a Grand Trabbar long and expect to come away unscathed. Reluctantly, in torment, he turned away and plodded toward the doors

leading out of Mikolo Midelli’s chambers, knowing full well he would hear little from any of the high priests once he was out of their sight.

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The first fingers of sunlight were just reaching through the line of shadowtops to the east when Emriana rode into the

orchard. Honey took an easy pace, and the girl gave her dun filly free rein, content to let the horse make its own way while she enjoyed the coolness of the morning. Back in Arrabar, Emriana would never have been up that early in the day, but whenever the Matrells spent time at their country estate, the girl always liked to rise at daybreak and get in a ride. With no refreshing sea breezes able to reach that far into the uplands, the heat and mugginess would become unbearable by midmorning.

As she rode, Emriana enjoyed the smells of the ripening fruit—peaches, plums, and starfruit—that permeated the grounds. There

would be a good harvest of them that year, she noted, and she smiled, thinking about all the preserves and compotes that would mean. The fresh, sweet scents almost let her forget about her problems, at least for a while, but soon enough, she found herself dwelling on them once more.

Grandmother Hetta had insisted that all the women of House Matrell spend a few tendays in the country. “We need some time to recuperate,” she’d said, “to get away from our troubles for a few days.” That logic seemed funny to Emriana, though, for she discovered that she had spent more time thinking about the family’s difficulties, not less. As she and Honey meandered between the trees, she felt dread welling up in her all over again, thinking about all that had occurred the night of her sixteenth birthday party.

Stop it, she chastised herself. That was almost three tendays ago. Get over it. Sighing, Emriana tried to obey her own inner voice, but it was hard.

Maybe Grandmother Hetta is right, she mused. But I don’t need to get away from my problems. I need to face them.

It was still hard for Emriana to accept so many deaths. Uncle Dregaul and Anista Pharaboldi certainly hadn’t deserved to die. And though her older brother Evester and his good friend Denrick, Anista’s son, might have deserved it, she still felt sadness at their loss—or at least Evester’s. Denrick could rot in the Abyss for all she cared.

She could still see Denrick taking his fatal plunge over the third-floor railing outside her grandfather’s old study, and there was no remorse. Whenever Emriana started to feel a little guilty for that lack of sorrow, she reminded herself that he had tried to rape her, even going so far as to have that squirrelly wizard Bartimus magically charm the girl into

cooperating. All in all, it had turned into a rather dreadful sixteenth birthday.

Emriana sighed deeply as she rode on, trying to keep all those feelings of dread from welling up again, but it was difficult. There were still threats from that night running free. The girl wondered where Grozier Talricci and Bartimus the wizard had snuck off to. Just thinking of them on the loose in Arrabar somewhere made her shiver, and she found herself glad that she was far away at the moment. They were supposed to be locked up, she thought bitterly, sealed away from her and her family within the dungeons in the bowels of the Temple of Waukeen.

But they were not, thanks to Grand Trabbar Lavant.

The whole family suspected Lavant, but they didn’t have any proof that he was behind it. He was so clever about avoiding any implications, and it made her furious every time she thought of his fat face. Whatever schemes Grozier, Bartimus, and Lavant had been planning with Evester and Denrick, they were undoubtedly still pursuing them. That thought made her stomach roil.

Uncle Kovrim had said they were trying to start a small war somewhere. The only problem was, no one was certain where.

And now, of course, Emriana thought angrily, Kovrim and Vambran have been shipped off on campaign. How convenient. With no one still inside the temple to try to find out, Lavant can do as he pleases.

Vambran and Uncle Kovrim had left only three days before, but to Emriana, it already seemed like a lifetime. They were going to Chessenta for the entire summer campaigning season. Vambran had showed her on a map the night before he’d taken the portal back to the city. Chessenta seemed so far away. She

had begged him not to go, not to leave her there by herself, but he had made some silly, solemn noise about duty. It was some nonsense about the Temple of Waukeen in Arrabar loaning the Crescents to a sister temple in Cimbar to quell threats from rival cities, but Emriana knew that was just an excuse to get them both out of the Grand Trabbar’s way. Vambran knew it, too, but he had his orders.

She hated that smug, fat toad Lavant.

The girl shook her head as though to dismiss the dire contemplations and passed out of the orchard into another part of the garden, where a broad expanse of lawn led down from one of the large stone porches to the pond. Quindy and Obiron, Marga’s twin children, were there, playing along the edge of the water. Mirolyn Skolotti was nearby, watching the twins without being intrusive.

After everyone came to realize that Grozier, Evester, and Denrick had been responsible for Jithelle Skolotti’s death, Hetta had invited Nimra and Mirolyn to come live with the Matrells. She had insisted that Nimra be made comfortable as a way of setting things right for the woman. Both women had seemed very grateful, and Mirolyn had even found a way to make herself useful, taking on the role of nanny for the twins. It was a far better life than the Skolottis had ever known before.

They’re probably annoying the goldfish again, Emriana thought as she crossed the grass to join her niece and nephew.

Obiron spied the girl first and gave her a quick wave before turning back to peer into the pond again. Emriana could see that the boy had his crossbow out, holding it ready. That surprised her a bit.

“I thought your mother told you that you could not play with that,” she commented as she rode up beside Obiron.

“She changed her mind,” Quindy announced on her brother’s behalf without looking up.

Puzzled, Emriana glanced over at Mirolyn, who shrugged. “Marga said it was all right,” the woman explained. “He’s been trying to shoot the goldfish.”

“Obiron Matrell,” Emriana began sternly, “if you shoot one single fish in that pond, I will take that crossbow away from you and snap it in two!” Obiron turned to gaze at Emriana, saying nothing. The look unnerved the girl, but she refused to back down. “If you want to hunt something, Vambran can take you hunting when he gets back from Chessenta. We have dire-jaguars roaming the woods here,” she added conspiratorially, hoping that might interest the boy more than goldfish.

“It’s all right. He never hits them,” Quindy said, still not looking up at Emriana. The girl was standing on the edge of the pond, gazing down between the lilies and cattails that grew in abundance right along the bank. “You should let him play, or else mother will become angry with you.”

Emriana raised an eyebrow in surprise at her niece’s warning. Marga had never said a cross thing to Emriana about how she dealt with her niece and nephew. And the twins had never been so brazenly disrespectful to her.

Then again, none of us has been ourselves, since—

“I don’t care,” Emriana said at last, trying to sound forceful. “If you want to shoot at something, go practice at the targets Vambran built for you.” She gave Mirolyn a quick, knowing stare as she finished. The woman smiled back, something of a helpless look, and she shrugged.

“All right,” Obiron said at last, though his tone seemed to belie his acquiescence. He and his sister began to move away from the pond, Mirolyn following them discreetly.

Unsettled by her encounter with the twins, Emriana turned Honey away and continued on her ride, and she found herself wishing all the harder that Vambran were there with her. Having her older brother away on campaign had never felt so lonely in the past. She fingered the pendant hanging on the chain around her neck, which he had brought back to her for her birthday. She wanted to use it right then to call to him, magically span the miles between them, just so she could hear his voice, perhaps telling her something humorous, but she knew it was frivolous, and a waste of the magic. Through experimentation, she had come to discover the pendant functioned more frequently than Vambran had believed, but it was still very limited, and she had to be careful how and when she used it.

Besides, Emriana reminded herself, he’s busy, and he’ll just get annoyed if I trouble him over something so silly.

Reluctantly slipping the pendant back inside her shirt, Emriana passed through a hedge into another part of the estate and found her grandmother also out for an early morning stroll. The matriarch of the household spied Emriana right away and waved for the girl to join her.

“A fine day for a ride,” Hetta commented as Emriana moved beside her. “Or for avoiding your lessons.”

Emriana snorted, almost laughing out loud. “Grandmother, I don’t have tutors anymore,” she said, rolling her eyes where she hoped the older woman could not see. “They spend their time with Obiron and Quindy now.”

“Not those lessons, Em,” Hetta replied, sounding, as she often did, as if she were having to explain simple things to a foolish child. “Xaphira returned

from the city last night,” the older woman said, “and she’s about to take Dancer out for a run. I saw she had her throwing daggers with her, so she’s probably going to go practice. If you hurry, you can catch up to her before she gets out of sight.”

Emriana grinned a little bit in spite of herself. Hetta understood far better than her mother ever would what was in her heart. Encouraging the girl to follow her own path, without regard to the traditional expectations of a young girl in Arrabaran society, was just one of the many things that made Emriana love her grandmother so dearly.

She leaned down and gave Hetta a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks,” she said then turned and trotted toward the stable yard, hoping she wasn’t too late.

She caught up with Xaphira just as the woman was about to mount Dancer, her sorrel mare. When her aunt spied Emriana approaching, she gave a warm smile and waved the girl over.

“Grandmother Hetta told me you were going for a ride,” Emriana said. “Care for some company?”

Xaphira grinned and nodded. “Sure, Em. But first, I want to give you something.” The older woman walked Dancer over next to Honey, and Emriana noticed a small wooden box tied to the back of her aunt’s saddle. Xaphira undid the ties and lifted the box up, holding it out for Emriana to see. “Open it,” her aunt suggested.

The box itself was made of rich, dark wood, smooth and finished so it gleamed in the sun. It was thin and wide, like a container made to hold fine silver. Emriana reached out and lifted the hinged lid.

Inside, the box was lined in shimmering cloth. It held a row of four beautiful daggers, each nestled in its own indentation. The handles were made of carved ivory and were etched and inlaid with adamantine and emeralds. The blades, also of adamantine, were

double-edged and had been polished to such a reflective sheen that they could have been mirrors.

Emriana was stunned. “Oh, they’re beautiful!” she breathed, tentatively reaching out and removing one. It felt exactly right in her hands, balanced perfectly.

“They’re throwing daggers, and they’ve been enchanted,” Xaphira explained. “Once you master the art of using them, you’ll be hard-pressed to find their equal.”

“Thank you!” Emriana said, running her finger along the blade lovingly. “I don’t know what to say!” She felt so happy; she thought she was going to cry.

“Say, ‘I will work hard with you to learn how to use them, Aunt Xaphira,”’ the woman said, mimicking Emriana’s own voice. She closed the box and held it out toward her niece.

“Oh, I will!” Emriana said, taking the box from her aunt and cradling it. “I will! Thank you so much!”