The Sentinel

CHAPTER 9

The canebrake lay strewn in a tangle of leafy stems and sand-filled root balls 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 god 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 god’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 ship was being sailed by a gnome. “So it appears the good ship 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 shore, 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 Marsember.”

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 goddess.”

His father flicked a hand. “The Lady of Loss and I have had an uneasy relationship 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 noble 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 gods?”

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 shore 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.”