The Sundering: The Sentinel Part 12

THE CANEBRAKE LAY STREWN IN A TANGLE OF LEAFY STEMS AND sand-filled root b.a.l.l.s that formed a sort of nest around the abandoned skiff. Yder could see that at one time, the little boat had been hidden beneath a mound of woven cane. But someone had come along and torn the camouflage apart in a rage. The skiff itself had been flipped onto its hull and bashed into uselessness by what appeared to be clubs and dull blades. The ground-where it was visible-had been churned into a lumpy mess by stiff-soled boots, and a broad swath of trampled cane meandered inland from the moonlit beach.

Yder turned to his most recent second-in-command, a square-jawed shade who had replaced the three who had already fallen to Kleef Kenric and his companions. "It seems we are no longer the only ones chasing the Eye, Ajloon."

"That would be hard to deny, High One." Ajloon pointed a wispy finger toward the meandering swath of trampled cane. "But how could a band of orcs know to look for it here, when we wasted two days searching at sea?"

The scouts had yet to confirm that it had been orcs who smashed the skiff, but Yder had no doubt that Ajloon's conclusion would prove correct. As the G.o.d of savagery, Gruumsh was the most revered deity of orc tribes everywhere, and word of the theft from Big Bone Deep had no doubt spread quickly. By now, there would be orcish spies posted outside every city, along every road and coast, watching for any hint of the thieves who had taken their G.o.d's eye.

And two days ago, they would have felt the same thing Yder had.

"The orcs knew to come here because Gruumsh guided them," Yder said finally. "They felt the Savage One look at them-just as we did."

"Before the Wave Wyvern ran aground?"

"Indeed," Yder replied.

His new second-in-command had wisely avoided pointing out that the mistake had been Yder's, but the memory caused angry wisps of shadow to seep from the prince's body. In his eagerness to believe he had won Kleef Kenric for Shar, he had ignored the possibility of a trick-and now a band of orcs was closer to success than he was.

When Yder did not elaborate, Ajloon said, "Truly, High One, your genius has no equal."

"If that were true, we would have the Eye already." Yder's tone was just sharp enough to suggest he was not impressed by such flattery. "I only hope Shar will be patient with me despite my failure."

A sinuous shape rose from the shadows at their feet, coalescing into the dusky figure of a Shadovar scout. Ajloon waited for Yder to nod, then turned to the scout.

"Speak."

"The trail leads to a caravan track ten leagues distant," the scout said. "The ground is too trampled to read clearly, but we found no tracks to suggest that any humans had fled in another direction. I'm confident the orcs are pursuing our thieves."

"And you're certain these are orcs?" Yder asked. "It couldn't be another trick?"

The scout dipped his head in affirmation. "We found stragglers, High One," he said. "Their tongues had been ripped out, and they had been left to die where they collapsed."

"The orcs are moving fast," Ajloon observed. "And they don't want anyone asking questions."

Yder nodded. "There can be no doubt now. They are after the Eye." He turned to Ajloon. "We depart at once."

"High One, there is more." The scout waited for a nod of permission, then continued, "When we reached the caravan track, we found the footprints of a gnome. He was traveling away from the orcs, toward Alaghon."

"Alone?" Yder asked.

"So it appeared," the scout reported.

"Interesting," Yder said. Over the last two tendays at sea, they had caught enough glimpses of their quarry to realize the s.h.i.+p was being sailed by a gnome. "So it appears the good s.h.i.+p captain has parted ways with our thieves."

"I'll send a pair of shadow blades to fetch him," Ajloon said.

"Wait," Yder said, raising his hand. "As we rowed to sh.o.r.e, did we not see lights just up the coast?"

"We did," Ajloon confirmed. "A great many."

Yder's frustration began to seep from his body on tendrils of shadow. "Then the gnome is already in Alaghon, you fool," he said. "And our number is down to twenty-five. What makes you believe we can spare two warriors long enough to hunt down one gnome in a city that must have hundreds?"

Ajloon's complexion paled to the color of dusk, but he did not let his gaze drop. "The gnome might have seen how they are keeping the Eye hidden from your magic," he said. "And if nothing else, he can tell us more about our new foes from Ma.r.s.ember."

The argument was not unreasonable, and Yder liked how Ajloon had refused to look away in the face of a Prince's anger. The refusal to be intimidated reflected well on his ability to be an honest advisor-and it served to remind Yder that their losses were not Ajloon's doing, but the results of his own mistakes.

After a moment, Yder laid a hand on Ajloon's shoulder. "You are not a fool. But if you are to be second commander of my Night Guard, you must learn to think and then think again. If the gnome knew anything of value to us, why would the thieves have let him live?"

Ajloon's eyes darkened in comprehension. "They wouldn't."

"That's right," Yder said. "Now, think and think again. The thieves not only let him live, but let him leave. Why?"

"Because they want us to find him," Ajloon replied, growing more confident. "They hope to make us believe what they have made him believe."

"Exactly," Yder said. "These thieves may seem like fools and bunglers, but never forget that one of them is the Seraph of Lies and the other is the Thief of Hearts. We must question everything we see, doubt all that we hear-or suffer the wrath of the Mistress of the Night for failing her."

"And what of failing Netheril?" The new voice was deep and raspy and ghostly, and it seemed to come from the broken canes beneath their feet and the starlit sky above his head and the darkness all around. Ajloon and the scout glanced over Yder's shoulder and prostrated themselves at once. Then the rest of the company spun toward the voice and dropped to their stomachs.

"What of my wrath?" the voice demanded.

Yder turned to find the gloom-cloaked figure of his father looming behind him. With bright platinum eyes peering out from a blocky face cowled in shadow, Telamont Tanthul looked as much like an apparition as an actual living being, and even Yder found it impossible to tell whether he was standing before a phantasm or his father's true form.

"Most High." Yder clasped his hands before his stomach and bowed. "What have I done to earn your wrath?"

"It is what you haven't done," his father replied. "Suzail has yet to fall, and here you are-still chasing after orc trinkets."

Ignoring the fact that he had not yet been given permission to rise, Yder drew himself to his full height. "Perhaps the war is going poorly because you have angered the G.o.ddess."

His father flicked a hand. "The Lady of Loss and I have had an uneasy relations.h.i.+p for a thousand years-no doubt because I prefer that Netheril continue to exist ... along with the world it inhabits."

"If you are referring to the Cycle of Night, you know Rivalen was driven mad by his divinity," Yder said. "You know he misinterpreted Shar's will."

"I know no such thing-and neither do you." The Most High's eyes blazed white, burning into Yder's shadowy essence. "Do not follow your brother's path, I warn you. I won't tolerate it again."

Yder forced himself to meet his father's glare-and felt his entire body growing warm. The longer he tried to lock gazes, the brighter the Most High's eyes seemed to glow-and the more Yder burned inside.

Finally, he could stand no more. "Even if you are right, the Cycle of Night has been stopped," he said. "Now you must serve Shar, if you wish her help in the war."

The Most High's eyes dimmed to their normal silver-white glow. "It's not Shar's blessing I need," he said. "It is blades-blades that are Netheril's by right."

A cold hollow formed inside Yder. "You're asking for the Night Guard?"

"Did it sound like I was asking?" The Most High's eyes began to blaze again. "The Hall of Shadows will be safe until their return."

Knowing better than to openly doubt his father's promise, Yder said simply, "Sadly, your retainers aren't the only ones who blame Shar for what became of Rivalen and Brennus. There are many n.o.ble houses that would like to see the Hall of Shadows brought low."

"And they will answer to me if they dare." The Most High's voice grew gentle, in the way it always did when he delivered a threat. "You mustn't defy me in this, my son. At least I am leaving you with the men you have here."

Knowing that his father would take them, too, if he did not yield, Yder sighed and nodded.

"I will send word at once," he said. "But the Mistress will not be happy. I cannot promise her favor in your attacks."

The Most High smiled, revealing his long fangs in a way that Yder had not seen in centuries. "But I will have it, Yder," he said. "Is not Netheril her only champion in this tournament of G.o.ds?"

With that, his shadowy figure dissolved into the night, and Yder finally knew he had been talking to but an apparition of his father, a phantasm of thought that the Most High had projected across the vast distance that separated the City of Shade from the lonely sh.o.r.e upon which he now found himself.

Yder turned to find his entire company still flat on the ground, looking up at him in obvious distress. He motioned them up.

"It's a ploy," Ajloon said, even before he had finished rising. "The moment the Night Guard departs, Hadrhune's allies will raze the Hall."

Yder thought for a moment, then caught Ajloon's eye and shook his head. "No," he said. "They won't."

Ajloon looked puzzled for a moment, then finally seemed to realize that Yder had something else in mind. "You mean to defy the Most High?"

"Not at all," Yder said. "I will send word to the Night Guard that it is to join the Most High in the fight against Cormyr. You will take ten warriors and return to Shade at once."

"To defend the Hall of Shadows?" Ajloon asked.

"To protect the Hall of Shadows-in the best way you can," Yder said. "Remember, Ajloon. Think, and think again."

Ajloon was silent for a moment, then finally seemed to grasp the full extent of what Yder was asking him to do-murder, coerce, blackmail, take hostages ... whatever was necessary.

"We'll find a way," he said. "But ten warriors? That will leave you with only fifteen."

Yder could only nod. "Shar will provide," he said. "Perhaps it was she who sent the orcs, after all."

CHAPTER 10.

THE PLAIN AHEAD WAS ROLLING LIKE A SEA BEFORE A STORM, ACTUALLY rising and falling and rising again in a slow undulating rhythm that made Joelle's mount skittish and her stomach queasy. The ground smelled of damp earth and rotting vegetation, and a pale green stubble of new growth rose through a mat of dead feather gra.s.s drowned by the Great Rain of a few months before. The sky hung low and golden between two mountain chains, with wisps of darkness and fire creeping across it in a never-ending battle for control of the heavens.

The world was on the cusp of a painful rebirth, and all across Toril, Chosen just like Joelle were fighting to decide the nature of that rebirth-whether it would bring forth the life-giving radiance of the G.o.ds of hope and love or let loose the living h.e.l.ls of the lords of fire and darkness. She knew it was the outcomes of all of those thousands of battles that would determine whether the world to come was a place ruled by Lathander's hope-bringing light or Umberlee's storming rage or Cyric's truth-eating madness, but Joelle could not help feeling that her own fight was the most important, that if she and her companions failed to deliver the Eye to Grumbar's temple, then the Mistress of the Night would rule supreme forever.

And that responsibility terrified her. The unacknowledged daughter of a Berduskan lord, Joelle had been little more than an unrepentant jewel thief until a year earlier, when a threat against her beauty had prompted her to join the Church of Sune. Soon after, she had awoken one morning with flame-red hair and an innate ability to charm and heal. Then she'd had visions of a misshapen eye of badly sculpted quartz, and now here she was, in the middle of a quest to stop Shar from loosing the Shadowfell across Toril.

Fortunately, Sune had sent Kleef Kenric to help her.

After the escape from Yder's sea monster, Kleef had rowed the skiff ten leagues to sh.o.r.e and led his companions to a road. A few hours later, they had come across a caravan preparing to camp for the night, and a short demonstration of his fighting prowess had won the entire party a place in their company.

That had been eight days ago, and now Kleef was riding flank guard. Mounted on a huge courser and wearing an expensive suit of filigreed armor, he looked more like an elite mercenary knight than a common traveler earning his pa.s.sage with his sword-which was no doubt why the caravan master had been so eager to lend him the horse and equipment. Even without the other guards arrayed around the column, Kleef cut such an imposing sight that Joelle felt certain he would give pause to any common band of thieves.

She glanced up at the mottled crimson disk that was the midday sun, then reached up to mop the dampness from her brow.

"Amaunator must be winning the G.o.dfights today," she said, glancing over at Malik. Like Joelle herself, the little man held the leads of a five-horse pack-string in one hand and the reins of his own mount in the other. "I'm ready to melt."

"Indeed. Faroz is a foolish oaf for making us ride in the heat of the day." Malik pointed east toward the Aphrunn Mountains, where a crooked line of trees marked the river that snaked along the base of the range. "In my own kingdom, we would be resting in the shade of those trees, watering our camels and feasting on dates until the coolness of evening."

"And in your country, would a band of orcs be lurking among those trees, waiting to ambush your caravan the instant it entered the wood?"

"Never in a hundred years," Malik replied. His round face had turned red and blotchy, and he smelled of death more strongly than usual. "The orcs would be resting, too. In my kingdom, everyone rests at highsun."

Joelle laughed. "Then you must come from a very civilized country." She looked back toward Kleef and-ignoring the fact that he was still sitting tall and straight in the saddle-said, "I think Kleef is beginning to slump. He must be growing thirsty."

"If the oaf is thirsty, he will drink," Malik replied. "Even Kleef is not such a fool that he has trouble finding his own lips."

"I think his waterskin must be empty," Joelle said. "He hasn't lifted it in the last hour. I've been watching him."

Malik's voice grew bitter. "I have no doubt."

Joelle turned to find her fellow Chosen glaring in Kleef's direction, his eyes filled with a smoky hatred that made her wonder what intentions the little man might be harboring for his "rival."

"Malik!" she scolded. "What did I tell you about jealousy?"

"That jealousy is the first refuge of a selfish heart," Malik recited. "But I am not jealous of the fool. I am only weary of watching you pursue the one man in Faerun unwilling to be yours."

Joelle frowned. "Who says he's unwilling?"

"He does, every time you throw yourself at him," Malik said. "You have gone to him eighty times in eight days, and the fool has not come to you once. If that is willing, then I am a cloud giant."

Joelle sighed. Malik was not exaggerating much. She had been trying to recapture Kleef's heart since before they joined the caravan, always making sure that she was the one to bring him food and drink, asking for his help with little tasks she could have performed herself, sometimes even joining him on watch. His reaction was always friendly but restrained, an obvious attempt to hold her at arm's length.

Joelle knew he wanted her. She could see that much in the way the veins in his neck pulsed as she drew near, in how the air grew musky and warm after she smiled at him. But whenever she tried to move close, he was careful to hold himself apart, and whenever she tried to lock eyes with him, he always looked away the instant their gazes began to smolder.

Finally, she nodded to Malik. "I know how it looks," she said. "But Kleef is ready to fall in love with me. I can feel it. There's just something that holds him back."

"Perhaps that something is another woman."

"Lady Arietta?" Joelle shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. It would never occur to Kleef to pursue a Cormyrean n.o.blewoman-and Arietta would never invite him to."

Malik shrugged. "What does that have to do with their feelings?" he asked. "If what you say is true, Kleef has feelings for you and refuses to pursue them. Perhaps his feelings for Arietta are the reason."

Joelle thought for a moment, then let out her breath. "It's possible, I suppose," she said. "Arietta is quite beautiful."

"And do not overlook the temptation of forbidden fruit," Malik added. "A heart wants most what it can never have. On that account alone, Kleef and Arietta are a perfect match. They can l.u.s.t after each other from afar-and feed their n.o.ble pride by resisting their desires."

"And that doesn't strike you as terribly sad, Malik?"

"The world is a sad place," Malik replied. "And Myrkul's embrace is the only true escape-"

"Sune's love is a pretty good escape, too." Joelle hated to be rude, but the Myrkul refrain was a familiar one, and she had a problem to solve. She glanced back toward Kleef, then added, "And it's my duty to make certain Kleef understands that."