The Sundering: The Sentinel Part 4

Malik's face grayed with irritation. "About a big oaf with a big sword and a big thirst for using it?" he asked. "His type is as common as vermin in this vile place. I could stand on any corner of the city and hire a hundred just like him."

Joelle flashed her radiant smile. She smiled often-and when she did, it was always radiant.

"How sweet," she said. "You're jealous."

A pained look came to the little man's face. "Why should I be jealous? You will never belong to someone like me-and I am wise enough to know it."

"Belong?" Joelle chuckled, her voice gentle but chastising. "Love isn't a yoke, Malik. It's a gift to be shared freely-or not at all."

"And it is one you will never share with me."

"You're wrong about that, Malik." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I have already given you my love. And you would see that, if only you would give yours to me."

"I'm here, am I not?" Malik's tone was resentful. "If joining you in this madness isn't love, I don't know what is."

"You're here because your G.o.d commands it," Joelle reminded him. "That's obedience, not love."

Malik looked away, as he always did when he did not wish her to see into his heart, then picked up the small woolen satchel he had stolen off a cart soon after the Shadovar began chasing them.

"Enough blather," he said. "We have to move on. It's not safe here."

Joelle turned toward the interior of the cobblestone courtyard, where dozens of other refugees who had pushed through the gate milled about. Many had begun peering into the windows of the carriage house and into the arched doorways of the great house itself, nervously murmuring to one another. If any guards had remained behind when the archer led her company out to join the fight on the bridge, they were nowhere to be seen.

Joelle allowed Malik to take her arm and lead the way around the courtyard's center monument-a grotesque statue of a diving wyvern. On the far side, he stopped suddenly and clutched the small satchel to his chest.

Joelle followed his gaze and immediately spotted the source of his alarm: a pair of steel-blue eyes shining out of the murk beneath one of the arched doorways. In a single fluid motion, she s.n.a.t.c.hed a trio of throwing darts off her belt and whipped them toward the eyes.

The enchanted darts blazed with the all-consuming heat of Sune's pa.s.sion, and a chorus of alarmed cries filled the courtyard as panicked refugees raced for cover. Joelle kept her gaze fixed on the doorway, where the dusky silhouette of her target became visible. Swaddled in a dark cloak that blurred into murkiness at the edges, he was tall and lanky, with a long chin, gaunt cheeks, and the glowing, metal-colored eyes of a Prince of Shade.

Yder Tanthul, of course. He was one of the Shadovar's greatest living warriors-and the bane of Joelle's existence.

He caught her first dart on a shield of shadow, which dissolved instantly into magical flame. Unfazed, Yder pivoted aside, allowing the next pair to thunk into the door behind him. He smiled and extended a hand.

Joelle tensed her legs, gathering herself to spring away, but it was Malik who cried out in alarm.

"Help me!" He began to lurch forward, fighting to keep the satchel clutched to his chest. "The Eye! He has the Eye!"

Joelle drew her slender sword and, praying for Sune's help, stepped between Malik and Yder. Instantly, her long red hair began to emit a faint aura of fiery light. All eyes swung in her direction, and the panic in the courtyard waned as refugees stopped to gape at her divinely enhanced beauty. When she smiled, gasps of awe rippled through the crowd.

Only Yder seemed immune. He emerged from the doorway, hissing and cursing, his hand spraying a beam of shadow in her direction. Joelle spun away and dived into a forward roll, then heard a cold sizzle as the shadow beam grazed the statue behind her. An instant later, the entire courtyard shook as the stone wyvern crashed down and shattered against the cobblestones.

The shadow beam reached the gate and crackled through the heavy oak planks. Cries of alarm and anger echoed across the courtyard. The refugees whirled on Yder in a rage, their hands filled with daggers or clubs or anything else they could use as a weapon. By the time Joelle had returned to her feet, the shadow prince had been swallowed by a screaming mob.

Malik was gone, too, of course. His G.o.d, Myrkul, had bestowed on him the ability to vanish like a ghost, and he practiced it often-especially when danger threatened. That left Joelle to handle Yder alone, and when she looked toward the courtyard entrance, she found several of his shadow warriors already climbing through the shattered remains of the gate.

Knowing that Malik would try to conceal his odor by hiding in the worst-smelling place possible, she turned toward the carriage house annex and raced inside. At the near end, a trio of expensive coaches sat side by side. A line of open stalls stood along the back wall, still lined with hay and manure, but otherwise empty. A ladder between two stalls led up into the hayloft. At the end closest to the main house were two large doors, one marked "Tack Room" and the other "Clean Shoes Only."

Joelle glanced back into the courtyard and found the Shadovar still busy trying to fight off the enraged mob. She felt genuine remorse to see so many felled by the gla.s.sy black blades, but their sacrifice was necessary. If she and Malik did not survive to complete their mission, those same people would suffer a fate much worse than death-as would all of Toril.

She barred the carriage house doors, then turned to look for her companion.

"Malik?" She grabbed a pitchfork and began to stir the piles of hay and manure in the stalls. "Malik, we have to hurry!"

Joelle was on her third stall when she heard a soft clunking from the far end of the annex. Her companion emerged from the tack room, one hand holding his curved short sword, the other clutching the gray satchel hung over his shoulder.

"Is it safe?"

"For the moment," Joelle said. "But we need to move, and quickly."

Malik frowned. "I have only been waiting on you," he said. "Next time, I will not be so gallant."

Malik left the tack room, then led the way through the adjacent door into a long service corridor that ran along the back side of the mansion. The pa.s.sage had limestone floors and iron candle sconces on the walls, and it was littered down its entire length with abandoned furniture and trunks of discarded clothing. Ahead, several exhausted servants stood in the mouths of intersecting hallways, leaning against doorframes and eyeing the cast-off goods with expressions of shock and resentment.

Malik closed the door to the stable and pressed his palm to it, calling upon the G.o.d of the dead to hold it fast. Then he turned and led the way into the house. If any of the servants raised a brow, Malik returned their gaze with a bulging-eyed glare that made most recipients blanch and turn away.

The strategy worked until they had advanced roughly halfway through the house. There, an imperious looking man in velvet robes stepped out to block their path. He had an arched nose and close-set eyes, and his velvet robes bore the same wyvern sigil as the guards' tabards. He was obviously a high-ranking member of the household staff-probably the majordomo himself. The man eyed them up and down, then spoke in a plummy voice.

"Do I know you?"

"No, and you are safer for it," Malik answered. He brandished the gray satchel slung over his shoulder. "But have no worries. We are not here to take your master's cast-off belongings, only to deliver to him a most marvelous gift that has been sent by the G.o.ds themselves."

The man stared down at Malik's soiled clothes and the grimy satchel, then wrinkled his nose and turned to call over his shoulder.

"Kegwell, come here," he said. "And bring your men. I have a job for you."

The clamor of steel and boots echoed down the hallway. Joelle silently cursed Malik's love of the lie. Sometimes, it seemed that he would rather invent an implausible story than tell a convincing truth. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, then stepped into his place.

"Please accept my apologies, my good man." Joelle smiled, and the majordomo's expression quickly softened. "My traveling companion can be quite inventive when he's frightened."

Malik huffed in indignation, but the man ignored him and turned to Joelle. "I don't believe I know you, either, my lady."

"Lady Emmeline, of Berdusk." Joelle did not present her hand, aware that no n.o.blewoman of Cormyr would grant such liberties to a mere servant. "I do hope you'll be good enough to let us pa.s.s. The fighting in the streets is quite ferocious."

As Joelle spoke, five men in white tabards over chain mail emerged from the hallway behind the proud-looking man. She smiled at them, and their countenances immediately changed from bellicose to friendly. Her smile almost always had that effect on people. The lead guard, a grim-faced man with a drooping mustache, allowed his gaze to linger on Joelle as he spoke to the man who had summoned his team.

"You called for us, Master Greymace?"

"Yes, Kegwell, I did."

Greymace frowned at Joelle and Malik, his gaze sliding back and forth between the two as he tried to make sense of the apparent differences in their social rank. Finally, his gaze settled on Malik.

"The rabble is beginning to make its way into the house," he said. "Escort these two from-"

Greymace was interrupted when a m.u.f.fled boom reverberated from the carriage house annex. Malik glanced back, then removed the satchel from his shoulder and astonished Joelle by shoving it into Kegwell's arms.

"You must take that to your master's ship!" His voice had a.s.sumed a commanding urgency. "It will protect him from the shadow fiends!"

"Shadow fiends?" Kegwell looked up the corridor toward the boom. "Here?"

"Who do you think that was?" Joelle asked, starting to see where Malik was going with this particular lie. She turned to Greymace and shooed him down the corridor. "We must hurry. I think your master has been their target all along!"

Greymace studied the satchel and frowned doubtfully-until another boom rumbled from inside the carriage house. Eyes lighting in alarm, he motioned for Kegwell and the guards to follow, then started down the corridor at a brisk pace.

"The duke cannot wait for his daughter any longer," he said. "The Wyvern must depart at once."

They had barely taken five steps before a tremendous crackle-and-clatter sounded behind them. Joelle glanced back to see a long blade of shadow cleaving the stone wall that separated the stables from the main house.

"Run!" she yelled. "They're coming!"

The guards did not need to be told twice. Two of them grabbed Greymace by the arms and broke into a full sprint, pulling the majordomo down the corridor with them. Kegwell followed close on their heels, clutching the heavy satchel under his arm and commanding his men to run faster, and soon they were all racing out of the pa.s.sage into a large courtyard strewn with crates of unwanted books, draperies, and porcelain.

On the far side of the yard, a hundred-and-fifty foot gallea.s.s was docked at a private quay, its deck rails lined by men-at-arms wearing the white tabards of the house guard. On the raised quarterdeck stood a tall, handsome figure in golden scale mail-undoubtedly the master of the house. He had long coppery hair and a pointed beard, and he was using a magnificent sword in a bejeweled scabbard to point and gesture as he bellowed orders to the crew on the main deck.

A thunderous crack echoed out of the service corridor. Joelle returned to the door and looked up the length of the pa.s.sage to where the dark form of Prince Yder Tanthul was just stepping through the remnants of the carriage house wall. She pulled a trio of darts from her belt and sent them sailing down the hall, then spun back toward the gallea.s.s ... and felt Malik's hand close around her elbow.

"Let the fools go," he said, pulling her aside. "They're doomed anyway."

Joelle frowned and-watching Kegwell race up the gangplank with Malik's satchel-tried to pull free. "But the Eye-"

"Will never be aboard that ship." Malik pulled her toward the front of the mansion. "And neither will we."

Arietta stepped onto her father's private quay and could scarcely believe what she saw. The Wave Wyvern was already two hundred yards up the ca.n.a.l, with all oars pulling and dozens of archers at the rails. She could barely make out her father-a copper-haired figure in gold armor-standing on the quarterdeck, peering at something being held by another figure in robes-probably his majordomo, Greymace. After a moment, he reached toward Greymace, then raised what appeared to be a large hammer. He studied the hammer for a moment, then c.o.c.ked his head in confusion and looked back at the majordomo.

The quay drummed with the sound of running boots as her companions caught up to her. The big watchman-he had introduced himself as Kleef Kenric-took a position at her side and began to issue orders, dispatching men to murky corners and dim alcoves to watch for any sign of Shadovar. The sergeant of her father's guard joined them on her other side, then gaped at the departing gallea.s.s in disbelief.

"The Wyvern left without you," Carlton said, shaking his head. "I can't believe the duke would do that!"

"Why not?" asked one of Kleef's subordinates-a heavy-jawed brute who was half a head taller than most of his fellows, but still half a head shorter than his superior. "He's a n.o.ble, ain't he? There's not a one of 'em that ain't a coward-"

"That's enough, Tanner," interrupted Kleef. "Why aren't you looking for Shadovar, like I ordered?"

Tanner eyed his superior with open resentment for a moment, and Arietta saw in his face a bitter hopelessness that was all too frequent in Ma.r.s.ember. It was the sour recognition that the local n.o.bility would do nothing to protect the common people or see to their welfare, that the city's rulers were little better than tyrants who used their power and wealth only for their own benefit.

After a moment, Tanner finally seemed to find the courage to speak what was on his mind: "You haven't given us what you promised for clearing the square, Topsword. I hope you're not thinking of holding out-"

"Your gold is right here." Kleef pulled out a purse and jingled it in his palm. "I'll divide it after we're finished with the Shadovar."

Tanner looked as though he would object for a moment, then his eye dropped to the agate on the crossguard of Kleef's sword. He seemed transfixed for a moment, then finally nodded.

"Fair enough. You've always been a man of your word." A cynical grin crossed his face, and he added, "Otherwise, you'd be a blade-master by now."

He turned to leave, and Arietta scowled at the purse in Kleef's hand. "You must bribe your men for every task? With gold?"

Kleef looked embarra.s.sed. "Never have before," he said, tucking the purse back beneath his breastplate. "But these are strange times."

"Strange indeed," Arietta said. She abhorred the corruption of the Watch-but who was she to judge, when her own father was abandoning Ma.r.s.ember with a quarter of the city's wealth stowed below his decks. "I'm sure they have earned every coin."

As she spoke, a sudden outcry echoed across the water from the direction of the Wave Wyvern. Arietta looked up the ca.n.a.l to find the tall, bright-eyed silhouette of the Shadovar leader looming over her father, menacing him with a dark blade. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she saw that the archers had disappeared from the rails.

"There are your Shadovar!" Carlton gasped. "How did they cross-"

"Walked through shadows," Kleef explained. He stepped to the edge of the quay and peered over the edge. "Is there another boat?"

"Not one that can get us there in time," Arietta said.

As she spoke, bodies and parts of bodies were already tumbling over the Wyvern's deck rails. She nocked an arrow and drew the string back-only to have Kleef's big hand grab her arm.

"Hold," he said. "You might hit the grand duke."

Arietta looked to him in surprise. "You would care?"

"About Farnig the f.e.c.kless?" Kleef snorted and shook his head. "But I have my duty. I must do what I can to protect him."

Continuing to hold Arietta's arm, he looked back toward the Wyvern. When her father finally summoned the courage to attempt drawing his sword, Kleef sighed and released her arm.

"Now you can loose your arrow," he said. "The man is as good as dead already."

A cold hollow formed in her stomach, and Arietta raised her bow again and let fly. The shade's blade swung, and her father's body hit the deck while her arrow was still in the air.

"My lady!" Carlton gasped.

Arietta ignored him and watched in disappointment as her arrow barely cleared the taffrail and dropped out of sight. If the shade noticed the attack at all, he gave no sign of it.

Carlton reached for her arm. "My lady, are you-"

"I'm fine," Arietta said, cutting him off. The watchmen still seemed to think she was a minstrel, and the last thing she wanted right now was to reveal her true ident.i.ty to Kleef Kenric or his men. "We'll say nothing more about it."

She pulled free of his grasp and turned away from the ca.n.a.l, only to find Tanner marching the red-haired gentlewoman toward the quay. Next to him, two more watchmen had the red-haired woman's manservant by the arms, dragging him along as he kicked and struggled.

"Are you mad or daft?" the little man exclaimed. "We must be gone before the fiends discover we are not aboard. Your lives will depend on it!"

CHAPTER 4.

YDER TANTHUL STOOD ON THE GALLEa.s.s QUARTERDECK, clutching an empty satchel in one hand and a captive's throat in the other. The captive reeked of sweat and fresh urine, so Yder knew it would not be long before his velvet-robed prisoner told him what he needed to know. He lifted the man until his heels left the deck, then held out the bag.

"I want the thieves who gave this to you." Yder spoke in a low, wispy voice that the prisoner would hear as much inside his head as in his ears. "And I want the Eye."

"The ... eye?" the prisoner croaked. He had an arched nose and close-set eyes, and when he spoke, it was in a strained voice. "Whose eye?"

Yder shook the satchel in the man's face. "The stone they were carrying in this bag," he said. "The Eye of Gruumsh."