Emerald Sceptre (23 page)

coast of Jhaamdath had been harder hit or were more susceptible to destruction than others. It made sense to him that regions along the coast that were formed of loose soil would settle more evenly once dragged into the water, while rocky terrain would form a more uneven landscape—or rather seascape—such as the scene they faced at the moment.

“This is where Naarkolyth is buried,” SeriIle said, swimming closer to Vambran and Arbeenok. “A couple of locations can be found where fissures open into the depths of the ruins, but most of the buildings were crushed beneath all of the earth that was dragged off the land with it.”

“I wish we had some sort of map of the city,” Vambran lamented. “It might help us determine the layout once we get down there.”

SeriIle chuckled. “No map from the surface would aid you now,” she said. “The city was literally tumbled down upon itself. What little survived was most often turned upside down or sideways. Whole sections of the city were rearranged as the waves dragged it out to sea. It is simply a different place.”

“What should we expect in the way of trouble?” Vambran asked. “You said these were dangerous waters.”

“They are. Koalinth live in the cracks and crevices of this part of the Selmal Basin, brutes who wage war upon one another almost as often as they attack my own people. They are not overly bright, but they prefer overwhelming numbers. We would do better not to have to face them at all, but if we cannot avoid a skirmish with them, do not show them any hesitation, any fear. That’s what inspires them to continue to fight.”

Vambran glanced over at Arbeenok, who was

nodding. “They are distant cousins to hobgoblins in the hills above,” the druid said. “They fight with similar tactics.”

Vambran found himself wishing he had his sword. He looked at the trident in his hands. I’ll make do, he decided. “All right,” he said at last, “Lead on.”

“We cannot risk light here,” Serille said, turning to begin the descent. “Not until we reach the mouth of the fissures. We will attract too much attention to ourselves. So until then, stay close so you don’t get lost.”

The procession of sea elves and surface visitors began to swim out over the edge of the continental shelf, following the steeper slope as it angled down, deeper into the gloom below and away from the sunlight. The rough and tumble appearance of the sea floor put Vambran on edge, for he imagined a horde of swimming, swarming hobgoblins springing out of every gorge, charging from around every craggy outcropping. Hiding places were plentiful, and because the sea elves had explained that they should stay close to the sea floor rather than risking visibility by swimming high, it felt as if they were ripe for an ambush.

Yet nothing attacked the group and they continued on, swimming downward, deeper than Vambran could have managed on his magic alone. The pressure would have taken its toll on his body long before, without the aid of the necklace Serille had given him. Even so, he was beginning to feel the effects of the gloom, for the water was growing colder, cut off as it was from the warmth of the sun shining on the surface.

This is the sea nightmares are made of, the mercenary realized. This is what the sailors imagine

when their ships are slowly receding beneath the storm-tossed waves. They both love and fear it, and this is why.

As Vambran paddled along, keeping an eye on the rocks below him, he passed a particularly unusual outcropping. It was covered in brown coral, not nearly as colorful as the species that grew in shallow water. The coral was interspersed with unusual anemones and strange, frondlike things. But what really caught the lieutenant’s attention was the shape of the undersea promontory. It had the distinct likeness of a broad, round dome, and though the growth of the sea hid it well, he thought he could see columns, evenly spaced and perfectly parallel, running from one side of the dome. Its orientation suggested that it was lying on its side, but Vambran could easily imagine it as a central structure in a broad plaza somewhere on the surface. A temple, perhaps, or a civic building with steps surrounding it.

The mercenary stopped, peering, for he was suddenly certain that he had spotted an opening, a tiny crevasse, where a wide doorway might once have been. He rubbed his eyes and swam closer, fighting the gloom. Yes, it was definitely symmetrical, and centered.

A way in!

Vambran popped his head up to call to the rest of the group, to tell them of his find, and discovered to his great dismay that he was alone. Serille, Arbeenok, and the other sea elves had vanished. Frantically, Vambran began swimming forward again, looking for his companions. He did not want to lose track of the discovery he had made, but the thought of being left alone in such a dismal, murky location made his heart race with fear.

Fool! Vambran berated himself. What did she tell you about getting lost?

The mercenary glanced back once to see if he could still make out the building behind him, and he froze in the water. A huge dark shadow was approaching, slightly above him, blotting out all the light. It seemed to swim lazily back and forth, but as it got closer, its shape became clear.

It was a shark, and the biggest Vambran could ever have imagined, easily the size of a small ship. Vambran was awestruck even as his heart pounded in his chest.

The shark suddenly accelerated and came straight for him.

Vambran nearly dropped his trident as he turned and dived as quickly as he could downward, toward the uneven formations of rock below. The shark, a gargantuan thing that seemed to go on forever, altered its course slightly, still bearing down on him. Pulling through the water with all his might, Vambran was still not fast enough to evade the thing.

Opening its jaws wide, the enormous shark engulfed him.

In the end, Xaphira acquiesced, agreeing that being accompanied by an armed force was more practical than the two women going alone—even if she did insist she was ready to knock the very walls down to reclaim what was hers. Emriana had not blamed her for wanting to stalk right up to the gates of House Matrell, just the two of them, and demand to be let in, but she knew better than to trust that the guards would make way for them to enter the dwelling. Grozier and Marga had turned them out, and it had seemed to be all on the level.

So Tharlgarl Darowdryn and twenty of his best House guards approached the front gates of the Matrell estate with Xaphira and Emriana, and though she was ready to mete out some serious revenge all on her own, Emriana realized she was thankful for the support.

Xaphira wore her red mercenary outfit, while Emriana had donned her more comfortable and practical black shirt and trousers. “The better for skulking,” she had said. She had told Xaphira to keep Hetta’s ring, for though she immensely loved her grandmother’s presence inside her head, she thought it only fair that Xaphira have an opportunity to share time, too.

They arrived on horseback, for Steelfists had insisted on wearing his elaborate armor to the fray, and there was no way in the Nine Hells, he had said, that he could walk to the end of his property in it without passing out from exhaustion. Emriana doubted the veracity of that statement, for the man’s arms were as thick as small trees, and she could sense the strength radiating from him. Nonetheless, she was also thankful for a mount, for it made her feel more in charge and less … pleading. Yes, on horseback, it felt less like they were asking to be allowed to reenter their home.

As they trotted up to the gates, Xaphira was the first to speak. “Get the damned gates open right now before we ride them down,” she said simply.

Emriana nearly laughed out loud at the wide-eyed expression of the four guards there, at least two of which she knew. Despite whatever Grozier and Marga might have told them, the House guards did not seem the least bit interested in denying the woman who was ostensibly their lady and mistress. They nearly stumbled over themselves in an effort to get the portal open before Xaphira actually had to rein in.

Emriana wondered whether her aunt would have

slowed down to wait or if she would have plowed right through the gates. She was thankful they hadn’t had to find out.

“As of right now,” Xaphira said, not deigning to look at any of the four guards as she rode through, straight and proud, “you are either still employed by me, in which case you had damn well better consider Grozier Talricci a threat to this family, one to be apprehended at once, or else you still operate under the illusion that he is in control of this House, in which case I’d better not see your faces again. Because by the time I come back this way, he will either be dead or in a pillory.”

Emriana stole a glance to one side and saw the two guards looking at one another in amazement. The first bowed deeply and said, “We are at your service, m’lady,” and quickly, the other three piped up with similar oaths of loyalty.

“Good,” Xaphira said, still not turning to meet them eye to eye. “Then start earning your coin.”

It’s good to be home, Emriana thought, almost giggling.

The procession rode up to the front steps of the house, where servants began pouring out the front doors, many of them exclaiming how stunned and delighted they were that the two Matrell women were both alive and well. A few offered hugs, which Xaphira accepted graciously, but it was clear that she was in no mood for reunions, and neither was Emriana. She dismounted beside her aunt and together, they stepped into the front hall of the estate. Steelfists ordered his men to dismount and be at the ready.

“Talricci!” Xaphira called out, already taking hold of her holy coin and muttering a prayer. “We

have unfinished business, now!” She strode from the front hall into the main sitting room, and into the dining room, looking for her quarry. All around her, servants fell over themselves either welcoming her back or trying to tell her that Grozier and Bartimus were no longer there.

It took a few moments of chaos before Xaphira and Emriana finally got a straight story. It seemed that the moment word had reached the house that the two Matrell women had returned and were riding at the front of an armed escort, Grozier and his wizard had bolted.

Liezl, the serving girl who had told Emriana of Hetta’s death, saw the man depart and was happy to share the experience. “He heard the commotion and stood up from that very chair to look out the windows there. When he turned back around, he was pale as a ghost, and he said, `Bartimus, get us home, now!’ Just like that.”

Emriana was almost sorry they hadn’t caught him in the middle of their house. She really did want to thump him. “That still leaves Marga,” she told her aunt.

“Right,” Xaphira said, turning about. “Where-is she?” the woman asked of anyone willing to answer.

“Why, Marga hasn’t come out of her rooms in the last couple of days,” Mirolyn said, standing at the doorway. “She doesn’t seem sick, but she doesn’t want any visitors.”

“We’ll see about that,” Xaphira said. “Tharlgarl, will you and your men kindly begin rounding up the rest of our House guards and explain to them exactly what is expected of them?”

“It would be my pleasure, Lady Xaphira,” Steelfists

boomed. He turned and barked orders to his men.

With that, Xaphira turned and stalked down the hall toward Marga’s chambers. Emriana was right on her heels.

Xaphira made the door slam open as she entered Marga’s rooms. There had been no knock, Emriana observed in delight. “Either you have a very good explanation for why you let your brother take over this House, or you’re out on the street by nightfall,” Xaphira said, staring at the woman seated in a chair on the far side of the room.

Marga only looked up calmly and said, “I don’t wish to be disturbed at the moment. Perhaps you could come back later?”

Xaphira’s shoulders hunched in rage, but Emriana thought that Marga’s expression was odd. Sort of pained, the girl thought, like she’s struggling with something. That was when she noticed Marga’s hands twitching, and Emriana saw that she was clasping something in them.

Xaphira began to stride across the room. “Why you thankless little wench,” she said, reaching out, intending to grab Marga by the shoulders. “I ought to—”

“Xaphira, wait,” Emriana said, pointing at the item, which seemed to be a letter. “What is she holding?”

Marga only smiled and said, “I really don’t want to be disturbed. Can’t this wait?”

“Probably the deed to the property,” Xaphira snapped, yanking the paper from the woman’s grasp. She glanced at it as if ready to discard it, but then the woman did a doubletake and began to read in earnest.

Emriana noticed a single tear form in the corner of Marga’s eye, and as Xaphira finished reading the

letter, that tear began to make its way down the woman’s cheek.

“Oh, by the gods, I’m so sorry,” Xaphira said, dropping the letter and grabbing at Marga to hug her tightly. Though Marga wrapped her arms around Xaphira in return, Emriana heard her say, “This really isn’t necessary. I would like to be alone right now.”

The girl snatched up the fallen missive and read

it.

Please help me! I am being magically compelled to say these things, but in truth I want very much to come out of my rooms. Grozier has kidnapped Quindy and Obiron and is holding them at the Talricci estate. Bartimus made sure I couldn’t say anything to anyone, but he slipped up because I can write the truth. Please help me and my babies!

Marga

Emriana was beside her aunt, hugging Marga just as hard, even before the paper hit the floor. Marga still seemed unwilling to admit what was going on, and Emriana shuddered to think of how hard it must be, wanting to say something and not being able to make the words come out.

“Can you remove this foul magic?” Emriana asked at last, pulling back and studying Marga’s smooth, emotionless face.

“Oh, yes,” Xaphira said. “I’ve got just the thing to deal with this. And when I get my hands on that damnable wizard, he’s going to wish he had never set foot in this house,” she muttered, fumbling for something in one of her satchels.

“Not if I get to him first,” Emriana said, imagining planting a well-placed kick right into the paunchy wizard’s nose. “Hurry, Aunt Xaphira. We need to get to the Talricci estate before he does—” Emriana cut herself off then, not wanting to suggest injury to the twins in front of Marga. It must be hard enough to be thinking about them and unable to plead for help, she thought. But hearing someone else talk about them in that way …