Ruby Guardian (12 page)

Darvin let the smile slide from his face and stared right back, but he did not say anything. He respected the priest sitting before him, for Grand Trabbar Lavant was nothing if not thorough and exceptionally competent, two qualities he appreciated.

He’s just defending his territory, as a dog might, the man told himself. As I would, he had to admit, albeit grudgingly.

“I’ll do my level best not to startle you during your beauty sleep,” Darvin said with a second chuckle. “Or when you’re in the midst of a dalliance with one of the maids,” he added.

The Grand Trabbar smirked and rolled his eyes but turned back to his writing. “You obviously appeared out of thin air for a reason. Speak of it.”

Darvin strolled over to a side table where a crystal decanter sat on a tray, along with several matching cups. He selected one, removed the stopper from the decanter, and poured a bit of the amber-colored liquid into it. The assassin took a single sip and let

the flavors roll about on his tongue. There was a hint of honey there, as well as something like toasted almonds, and it was all overlaid with a smoky burning sensation that tickled his throat as it went down.

“The attack on Lady’s Favor didn’t go quite as Grozier and the others had hoped,” Darvin said at last, turning back and crossing over to an overstuffed chair opposite the desk. “They sank her quickly enough, and I’d suspect most of the crew went down with her, but the Crescents were better prepared than Falagh realized and used magic to aid in their survival and escape. I’m not sure what he was expecting, but Grozier was not very happy with Falagh.”

“Any determination of Kovrim’s and Vambran’s fates?” Lavant asked, setting his quill down at last and peering across his desk at the other man.

“Vambran lives, but I am not certain of Kovrim. The wizard could not focus the spell on anyone but Matrell, and we watched him run across the water toward shore. Many of the other men with him did the same thing, but I couldn’t tell if Lazelle was among them.”

“Perhaps I should have given Falagh Mestel more warning; Kovrim Lazelle is nothing if not resourceful, and I would expect nothing less than for him to supply the troops with all manner of useful magic for just such eventualities as today.”

“There is more,” Darvin said before taking another sip of his drink. “Grozier decided that some of the army could finish the job the pirates could not. The Crescents made it to shore not far from Reth, and we had a company camping in the vicinity, holding as a reserve force. It seemed like a good idea to me, so I spoke with Captain Havalla only a few moments ago and gave him the orders to move on Vambran and his men. They are breaking camp even now, as we speak.”

Lavant cocked his head to one side, considering that latest news. Darvin wondered for a brief moment if the high priest was going to oppose his decision. Lavant’s biggest shortcoming, in Darvin’s eyes, was a rather infantile need to be in charge, to make all the decisions.

But the high priest only nodded. “That seems reasonable … if we have the resources, of course. This won’t hamper our main objectives there, will it?”

Darvin shook his head. “No. They were not due to shift to the front for three more days, and Beltrim claimed his soldiers were getting restless, anyway. So it was a handy diversion.”

“Did you order him to kill them all?”

“No. It occurred to me that we might be able to put a few of them to good use.”

“How so?”

Darvin couldn’t help but grin at what he was about to say next. “Perhaps as soldiers in our new, improved army.”

For the first time since the man known to the rest of the world as Junce Roundface had arrived, Grand Trabbar Lavant got a bit of a gleam in his eye. “How clever of you,” he said, smiling. “That would be only too fitting.” The rotund priest stroked his chin as he considered the implications of Darvin’s suggestion, nodding repeatedly in agreement. “Yes, I like that very much. You will make all of the arrangements?”

“Certainly. I’m glad you found the idea as appealing as I did.” Darvin let his smile drop as he prepared to change the subject once more. “Grozier told me that Xaphira Matrell is trying to track me down.”

Lavant sniffed. “That doesn’t surprise me. She always was a very headstrong girl. But I would be very surprised if she were able to make much headway. There are only a handful of people in all

of Arrabar, indeed, in all of Faerűn, who know your true identity. She’s not going to be much of a problem, so long as you remain out of her sight.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Darvin said, rising up to replace his cup with the others next to the decanter. “Truthfully, that was my initial reaction, too. But then I got to thinking, if she’s so intent on finding me, perhaps I should let her. I see an opportunity to eliminate her from our little game.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Lavant said, frowning. “There’s too much at stake, and I need you to run my errands. He needs you,” the priest added, giving the assassin a knowing look. “This has been in motion for so very long, and now, with it so near to fruition, we cannot risk any unnecessary accidents. We’re too close.”

Darvin shrugged. “But wouldn’t it be better to face her on my terms, to lure her into a battlefield of my choosing, rather than risk a chance encounter? If she were to get lucky and stumble upon information that could reveal more of me than I care for her to know, is that not a greater risk? He certainly wouldn’t like that happening, you understand.”

Lavant sighed, and Darvin was almost certain it was more because he was making good points than because he was arguing in the first place. But regardless of whether his logic was sound, Darvin was itching for that fight. He’d been itching for it for more than a decade, actually, and the prospect of finally seeing it become reality was almost too much to bear. He knew that Lavant was aware of that, too, and that the high priest could see right past his arguments.

That didn’t make them any less valid.

“Very well,” Lavant said at last. “But be very careful. As I said before, she is a very headstrong girl, and also very resourceful. Do not let her surprise you.”

Darvin couldn’t wipe the grin from his face as he nodded. “I think I know just the way to handle it. You know,” he began to add, seeing another opportunity and not wanting to let it go to waste. “With Xaphira Matrell out of the way, that would almost certainly be the last obstacle to Grozier’s plans with their House. Hetta’s a shrewd old bird, but she must rely on her children and grandchildren to do most of the work these days. Without Xaphira to protect her and handle the street work, House Matrell is very vulnerable.”

“Indeed,” the Grand Trabbar admitted. “But don’t let Grozier Talricci get too caught up in his thirst for revenge. If he can consummate a merger between his House and House Matrell without losing sight of the main issue, I’m all for it. But don’t let him stray too far from his tasks. We need him to keep funneling coin east.”

“I’ll be subtle and charming, as always,” Darvin said. He rose from his seat and prepared to depart. He knew that if he were going to lay a proper ambush for Xaphira Matrell, he was going to have to speak to a few people, and it was already getting on into afternoon.

“Before you go,” Lavant said, picking up the sheet that he had been working on when the assassin had arrived, “have a read.”

Darvin took the proffered parchment and began to scan the page. The words made him smile. “Your acceptance speech as the new Grand Syndar? We’re not getting ahead of ourselves, are we?” he asked, letting the corners of his mouth curl up the slightest bit. “No one has died and left a vacancy to fill, yet.”

“No, but it won’t be long,” the Grand Trabbar said. “Mikolo Midelli speaks with the Merchant’s Friend very clearly now, and he will undoubtedly go to join her in the next day or two. Of course,” he added, his

tone full of mock concern, “we’re all doing everything possible, drawing on every conceivable magic, both divine and arcane, to stave off his passing.” Then the high priest let his voice return to normal and finished with, “It won’t be enough.”

“Excellent,” Darvin said, feeling no small amount of pleasure at how smoothly everything was falling into place. “Tymora smiles upon us, it seems. It’s all been almost too easy.”

Lavant grimaced. “Perhaps, but good planning and a strong investment in the future have been most instrumental. Our deeds favor the Merchant’s Friend, and she favors our path.”

Darvin wanted to laugh at the high priest, for it was so plain to him that the pudgy man, in his arrogance and stubborn belief in the goddess he worshiped, could not share credit elsewhere, especially not with another divine force. The assassin held his tongue, though, for he saw little benefit in riling up his accomplice, though the pleasure it would give him was tempting.

“I have to go,” he said instead, handing the parchment back to Lavant. “I have a mercenary pest to catch, and you have a position within the temple to fill.”

“Remember,” Lavant cautioned, “don’t underestimate her.”

“Not on your life,” Darvin replied. “I did once already. It won’t happen again.”

• • •

“How many are with us?” Vambran asked, closing his eyes and lying back, resting his head against the rocks where he sat. He could hear the tiredness in his voice, the devastation, and he knew he needed to fight through that, to put a strong, decisive face on for the

rest of the men. It was hard, though, not knowing what happened to Kovrim.

“Twenty-three, sir,” Horial reported. He stood near where Vambran was resting, on an outcropping of rock that overlooked the beach where the handful of Crescents had made it to shore. “Blangarl and Tholis are in need of healing, but the rest are in fine shape, if a little tired.”

“Twenty-three,” Vambran repeated. “We lost nearly half,” he lamented, feeling defeated. “So many.” He sat there for a long moment, wondering how many were still out there somewhere, lost, and how many had died.

Or perhaps had gone to some mysterious place deep beneath the waves, he thought wistfully.

Either way, Vambran doubted he would see them again. He let the sorrow of that notion course through him, grieving for every single one of the men and women he would never speak to, would never fight alongside again. Then he sighed and sat up, opening his eyes once more and turning toward Horial. “You have a full accounting of each one missing?” he asked solemnly.

The sergeant nodded. “Adyan is making a list right now,” he said. “I’ll have him give you a report when he’s finished.”

Vambran nodded. “How are we doing on supplies?” he asked, changing the subject. Better to deal with what we can control and stop worrying about what we can’t, he told himself.

“Thin,” Horial replied. “Most of the troops have some sort of weapon, but we are short on bolts, and four are unarmed other than with a personal blade such as a dagger or something similar. Other than that, we’ve got very little. Almost no one was carrying a pack when the attack occurred, so most of our provisions sank.”

Marvelous, Vambran thought silently. “Food?” he asked.

Horial shook his head. “Almost none,” he replied. “Foraging shouldn’t be a problem, but hunting might be troublesome, with the shortage of ammunition. Of course, some of the men are pretty handy with a sling, so they figure they can make do that way. I’ve got them gathering stones from the beach right now. Otherwise, we may have to rely on Waukeen’s bounty.”

Vambran nodded. “If it comes to that, I’ll be prepared for the castings. Do we have much of an idea where we are?”

Horial opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from down on the beach cut him off. Both men rose up to peer down onto the sandy shore and saw several Crescents pointing and running. Vambran turned in the direction to which the soldiers’ attention had been drawn and spotted a number of mounted figures riding along beyond the perimeter of the beach, near the edge of the forest, coming toward them. They were armed with bows and crossbows, and most of them wore livery of white with some sort of black or possibly silver insignia on it. They were too far away for Vambran to make it out clearly. The figures were strung out, in a long and’ loose line, and they seemed to be moving warily in the direction of the Crescents’ position.

“Scouts,” Vambran said as his sergeant began to scramble down the rocks toward the sand below. “Get the men to form up, Horial. Quickly! Double wing formation, backs to these rocks!”

The sergeant scampered down off the outcropping, moving away from Vambran. As he reached the flats of the beach, Horial began shouting orders to the milling soldiers.

Vambran stayed behind, using the superior vantage point to keep watching the scouts maneuver.

Already, Vambran could see more figures in the distance, an orderly column of soldiers marching in his direction from farther along the beach. There were a lot of them, and Vambran found himself wishing he still held his spyglass, so he could get a better look, but like so much else, the lieutenant had lost it among the waves of the Reach during the ship battle.

On impulse, Vambran turned and clambered over a few jagged projections until he was in position to peer in the opposite direction. As he feared, the mercenary officer spotted another group of troops moving toward him from that direction. Again, mounted soldiers led the way, moving in a line right along the edge of the forest. They were light cavalry, the lieutenant realized, strung out to dissuade the Crescents from making a break for the trees, holding Vambran and his troops in place so they could be caught between the two groups of infantry marching from either side.

Damn! They knew we were here, he reasoned, furious at himself for not sending scouts of his own out sooner. Then Vambran’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. They knew we were here because they’re serving the same curs who sent the pirates against us. The lieutenant’s sudden insight made his stomach churn.

No time for worrying about that now, he thought, turning and rapidly working his way back across the rocky point so he could join his men. We’re going to get slaughtered if we don’t get out of this trap.

Once down on the sand, Vambran sprinted toward the formation he had ordered, which he saw was already formed up. Men armed only with blades were positioned in the middle in a single tight rank, while those with crossbows took up spots on either flank, spaced out a bit more. With only twenty-three men, the formation was pitifully small.