The Sentinel

CHAPTER 13

Kleef plunged into the forest canopy with his feet together and his arms held wide, snatching at branches and boughs as he dropped through the tangled darkness. He managed to grab hold of only twigs and leaves and began to realize just how reckless he had been to jump. But what choice had there been? He could not be sure that Arietta and Malik had survived their fall, and in the confusion of his dream, Kleef had revealed the Eye’s hiding place. If Malik was dead and Yder located the body before Kleef did, Malik’s robe would be lost.

Kleef’s boots came down squarely atop a limb. Then the limb bounced and his knees buckled. He toppled off backward and went tumbling down through the branches, falling from bough to bough almost gently, his descent gradually slowing until he felt almost under control. Finally, he landed face-down on the tip of a particularly long limb, which slowly dipped until it had deposited him feet first on the forest floor.

Once the branch had risen out of the way, Kleef found himself looking at the base of an enormous duskwood tree. Though he stood less than five paces away, the forest gloom was so thick that he could barely make out what he was seeing and thought his eyes must be deceiving him. With a heavy beard of moss and a pair of horizontal ridges that looked like lips, the trunk resembled the profile of an old man’s face-complete with a heavy brow ridge and crooked branch-stub that looked like a hooked nose.

Then something stirred above the branch-stub nose, and a pair of pale ovals appeared beneath the brow and swung in Kleef’s direction.

Eyes.

The eyes seemed to study him for a moment, then blinked and swung away, looking in the opposite direction.

Kleef was too stunned to react. He had heard of treants, of course. But in the tales sailors told, treants were not kindly beings who caught hapless men as they fell from the sky. They were huge walking trees who guarded their forests against loggers and farmers and all manner of fire users-and who always seemed to be attacking some poor ship’s crew as it tried to replace a broken mast.

An impatient rustle sounded from the far side of the treant. The pale ovals swung back in Kleef’s direction and lingered on him expectantly, then a low creaking noise came from within the moss beard. Kleef may not have been able to understand the word, but its meaning was clear.

Go.

Kleef drew Watcher from its scabbard and started in the direction the treant had indicated. After a moment, a wall of dappled light appeared through the trees, and he soon realized it was moonlight reflecting off the cliff beneath the citadel. Standing in a small clearing at the base of the cliff were two figures, both holding swords and facing each other. They were not fighting, but the shorter figure was waving his blade around angrily and complaining in a whiny, nasal voice.

Malik and Arietta-both alive.

Kleef was about to call out to them when he glimpsed silhouettes moving through the undergrowth around them. He feared for an instant the shapes were orcs or shades, but they had curled horns on the sides of their heads and a strange bouncing gait that seemed more beast than humanoid. Uncertain of quite what he was watching, Kleef dropped into a crouch and paused to study them-only to have the figures glance in his direction, then vanish as quickly as they had appeared.

When the agate on Watcher’s crossguard remained dark, Kleef decided that whatever the creatures were, they weren’t Shadovar. He started forward again and began to make out Malik’s complaints.

“… almost killed me,” the little man was whispering. “As it is, I can barely draw a breath.”

“It’s your own fault,” Arietta hissed back. “You’re the one who pushed me.”

Pushed?

Kleef felt his stomach clench. He could not imagine why Malik would want to push Arietta off a cliff, but there was no doubting what he had just overheard-not with the pair holding weapons and facing off. Kleef stepped into the clearing and pointed Watcher at Malik.

“Throw down your sword,” he ordered. “And stand away.”

Malik looked in Kleef’s direction, then his eyes bulged and he turned to flee. Giving the little man no time to use his ability to vanish, Kleef leaped after him.

“Kleef, wait,” Arietta whispered. “Don’t hurt-”

Kleef ignored the order and caught Malik by the wrist of his weapon hand. “Drop it, you worm.”

When Malik shifted the sword to his other hand, Kleef lifted him into the air and heard a joint pop.

“Last chance,” Kleef warned. He gave Malik a little shake. “Drop the sword.”

“Stop!” Malik’s voice was pained, but he continued to hold onto his sword. “You’ve broken my arm!”

Kleef doubted it was true, but the complaint was enough to make Arietta lay a hand on his arm.

“Stop,” she ordered. “We still need him in one piece.”

“A man can walk with a broken arm,” Kleef said. “Right, Malik?”

Malik squirmed in Kleef’s grasp, trying to swing his body around so he could bring his short sword to bear. Kleef brought Watcher’s blade around to guard himself-and heard a female voice call out from near the base of the cliff.

“Kleef, no!”

Kleef glanced over to find Joelle stepping out of the undergrowth, Arietta’s bow slung across her shoulders. She was still breathing hard from the long climb down the cliff, but that did not prevent her from rushing to protect Malik.

“You can’t kill him,” Joelle said. She took the sword from Malik’s hand. “You can’t even hurt him.”

Kleef frowned. Joelle was the one who had told him that Malik and Arietta had fallen into the forest, just before she slipped over the parapet to climb down the cliff face. But she had not said anything about Arietta being pushed-and she did not seem all that surprised to find Kleef ready to lop off an arm.

After a moment, Kleef said, “You knew.”

“That Malik pushed her?” Joelle hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “I thought it was possible.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was afraid of how you would react.” Joelle waved at Malik’s still-dangling form. “Apparently, I was right about that. Besides, I couldn’t be sure of what I had seen.”

“Because this is all a tragic mistake,” Malik said, quick to seize on her doubt. “The shades were coming, and there was nowhere else to go. I was only trying to save her.”

Kleef looked to Arietta for a denial, but she was studying the gloom-shrouded forest around them, clearly more interested in keeping watch than anything Malik had said. He turned back to find Joelle rolling her eyes at the little man’s latest lie.

“I was right behind you, Malik,” she said. “The shades were nowhere near when you went over.”

Malik’s gaze flickered away. “Perhaps not,” he allowed. “But the oaf and his noble lady are a threat to the Eye. You saw how they worked together to steal it from me.”

“First you’re saving Arietta’s life, then you’re protecting the Eye?” Kleef demanded. He was beginning to understand why Joelle had wanted to protect Malik from his wrath-because he could feel himself growing angrier by the moment. He shook his head in disgust, then turned to Arietta and Joelle. “Under Helm’s Law, a man who attempts murder can be cast out or have a hand taken. Let’s pick one and be done with it before the shades show up again.”

“What?” Malik cried. “I need my hand to protect the Eye!”

“I can carry the Eye,” Kleef said. He was still holding Malik up by the wrist.

Joelle shook her head. “Not for long,” she said. “And even if you could, you’re not a Chosen of Myrkul. When the time comes, how will you retrieve the Eye from the Fugue Plane?”

Kleef had no answer for that, of course. He hadn’t even realized that was where the Eye went when Malik slipped it into his robe.

“And that would suggest we can’t cast him out, either,” Arietta said. She took Malik’s sword from Joelle, then stepped close to the little man. “I can only imagine you attacked me because of some of the things that have passed between us on the trail. For that, you have my regrets.”

A look of triumph came to Malik’s face. “Did I not warn you to watch your tongue?”

Arietta’s eyes grew cold. “And I shall,” she said. “But if you attack me again, I’ll have Kleef cut out your tongue and feed it to you. Do you understand?”

Malik’s face clouded with anger, but he reluctantly nodded. “Good.” Arietta returned Malik’s sword and motioned for Kleef to put him down. Then she turned toward the heart of the forest. “Because someone is trying to get our attention.”

At first, Kleef saw nothing but gloom. Then, as he grew accustomed to looking into the darkness, he realized there were dozens of silhouettes ahead, standing in the undergrowth without trying to hide. They had the same curled horns as the figures he had glimpsed earlier, but now he could also see that they had large, heavy legs that seemed to bend backward at the knees.

“Satyrs!” Joelle gasped. “What a welcome surprise.”

She started forward, until Kleef caught her by the arm.

“You know them?” he asked.

“Not by name,” Joelle said. “But we’ll be fine. Satyrs are special to Sune.”

As she spoke, a tall satyr in the center of the clan stepped forward, then abruptly turned away and vanished into the gloom. The rest remained where they were, the dark silhouettes of their heads turned as though they were watching the four humans.

A moment later, the tall satyr returned and approached to within ten paces of the companions. Kleef could see now that he had a thin, rugged face with a tuft of beard on his chin. He carried a long, curved bow, and on his belt he wore a short, thick-bladed sword.

Joelle smiled and stepped forward to greet him.

The satyr quickly turned away, then ran a few steps in the opposite direction and paused to look back.

“He seems to want us to follow him,” Arietta whispered.

“Then let’s do it,” Joelle said.

Before Kleef could object, both women started after the satyr. “That cannot be good,” Malik said.

“It’ll be worse if we lose sight of them.” Kleef grabbed Malik’s arm and shoved him forward. “You first.”

They had taken no more than three steps before a distant crashing reverberated through the trees-no doubt an orc mob entering the Chondalwood in pursuit of Kleef and his companions. The satyrs turned toward the sound and started to string bows, then moved off one at a time, vanishing into the gloom as silently as they had appeared.

Kleef could only assume the tribe was rushing off to defend the Chondalwood from the Eye’s pursuers. But were they also trying to protect Joelle and her companions? It seemed as hard to believe as a treant breaking his fall from the cliff top, yet there seemed no other explanation for the satyrs’ behavior-especially the behavior of the tall one, who was clearly leading them deeper into the forest.

Kleef and Malik continued to follow, stumbling and staggering through the darkness as they tried to keep Arietta’s blonde hair in sight. Malik maintained a constant litany of complaints, whining about the pain in his injured arm-even though he never shied away from using that same arm to break a fall. Kleef did his best to ignore the mewling and watch for shades, though the latter seemed impossible in so much gloom.

After a few minutes, a distant thudding rumbled through the forest, growing steadily louder and closer. Then the ground began to shudder. Their pace slowed, and Kleef and Malik came up behind Arietta and Joelle just as their satyr guide stopped entirely, his arms spread wide to hold everyone behind him.

Moonlight danced down through the leaf canopy, and Kleef saw the looming pillars of tree trunks crossing in front of them.

Treants, on the march.

As the last one passed, he turned his pale eyes toward the satyr. He groaned something in a voice barely audible above his booming footfalls, then shook a leafy bough behind him. The satyr dipped his head in acknowledgment and, motioning for the companions to follow, angled off in the direction from which the treants had come.

A hundred steps later, the ground grew soft and spongy beneath their feet. The satyr spoke in a wispy language Kleef did not recognize, and a narrow band of soft green light arose from the mossy ground beneath their feet. The light extended for perhaps ten paces-just enough distance to reveal that they had entered a narrow forest corridor that ran through a thick stand of hawthorn trees.

And, just where the light ran out, the corridor ended in a tangled wall of thorny branches.

“Trap!”

Kleef reached past Arietta, grabbing for the satyr’s shoulder-and met Joelle spinning around to push him back.

“I wouldn’t do that,” she warned. “Satyrs hold a grudge.”

“Grudge?” Kleef glanced at the satyr, who was watching their exchange, looking more confused than dangerous. “He’s led us into a chokepoint. We’re about to be ambushed!”

Joelle chuckled. “Not likely,” she said. “They’re forest children, and forest children are not fans of the Shadowfell. I’m sure the Forest Queen sent them to help us. The treants, too.”

“You’re just assuming,” Kleef said. “There’s no way Mielikki sent them, because she couldn’t have known we’d jump off that cliff into the Chondalwood. We didn’t even know.”

“But she did know we’d be going through the Chondalwood,” Joelle replied. “It’s the only way to reach the Underchasm from where we were.”

Kleef frowned. “How does Mielikki know where we’re going?”

“The Lady of Love is hardly the only god who wants to stop Shar,” Joelle said. “Sune’s allies have been sending help all along. Myrkul sent Malik, Helm sent you, Siamorphe sent Arietta-and Mielikki sent the children of the forest.”

As Joelle spoke, the satyr said something in a melodic language Kleef recognized as Elvish. Arietta held up a finger, then pulled a pinch of something from a cloak pocket and tossed it into the air, at the same time speaking the twisted syllables of a spellcasting.

When she was finished, she turned and touched the satyr’s shoulder. “What is it?”

The satyr spoke for a few seconds, then looked up the path-to where Malik was already ten paces ahead of the rest of the group and still moving. To Kleef’s surprise, the moss was still glowing ahead of him, and the wall of thorny branches had pulled back to create an open corridor.

Arietta turned back to the others. “Theamont says we need to trust him,” she said. “The forest children are no friends to orcs or Shadovar, but that doesn’t mean they will let us hide in the Chondalwood forever.”

Joelle smiled and motioned him forward. “By all means, Theamont,” she said. “Lead the way.”

She fell in behind the satyr, leaving Kleef and Arietta to bring up the rear. As they started forward, he looked over at her and raised his brow.

“You know magic?”

Arietta shrugged. “I’ve picked up a few spells along the way,” she said. “Unfortunately, they tend to be more useful in handling court intrigue than in surviving a fight.”

They caught up to the others and continued down the enchanted pathway. Still concerned about pursuers, Kleef made a habit of checking the trail behind them. All he ever saw was the glow fading from the moss and the corridor closing behind them, but it did not make him feel any safer. An impassible tangle of hawthorn branches might prevent the orc horde from pursuing them, but it would also cut off any possibility of retreat.

How long they continued to flee down the corridor was impossible to say. With nothing but darkness around them and a soft green glow ahead of them, he soon lost all sense of time. Malik’s elbow swelled to twice its normal size, and they paused long enough for Joelle to make a sling and assure him it was only sprained. Arietta grew so weary she started to stumble, and Kleef convinced her to let him take her arm and help her along. Soon after, Joelle had to call on Sune for strength, and she began to give off a faint aura as the goddess’s divine power flooded into her.

Still, Theamont led them onward. When the gray glow of false dawn began to filter through the hawthorn branches ahead, he urged them to move faster. Eventually, Kleef found himself almost carrying Arietta, and Joelle and Theamont had to resort to dragging Malik along by his armpits.

When even that did not seem fast enough for the satyr, Arietta cast her spell again. Theamont did not even slow his pace as he explained.

“He says the Forest Way’s magic ends at dawn,” Arietta said. “If we haven’t reached the end before then, we’ll be trapped inside.”

“Would that be so bad?” Malik asked. “I could sleep the entire day.”

Arietta hesitated, as though debating whether she wanted to answer Malik at all, then finally said, “He didn’t mean until nightfall. His actual words were ‘when the thorns close.’ ”

The threat of death-by-perforation was enough to reinvigorate the companions, at least temporarily. Malik no longer had to be dragged, and Arietta grabbed onto Kleef’s belt and insisted that he pull her along at whatever pace Theamont set.

The gray glow filtering through the branches became a pearly gleam. Leaves rustled in the morning breeze, and the sound of purling water arose somewhere beyond the thorny wall ahead. Theamont gestured more vigorously, at once urging them to hurry and beaming as though the end were in sight. The pearly gleam became a silver radiance, and the glow began to fade from the mossy ground.

Theamont waved them onward one last time, then broke into a sprint and raced down the path. The hawthorn branches continued to open ahead of him-but more slowly, and at times it seemed he would crash into the thorn wall before it divided.

Then there were no more branches ahead, just Theamont running up the Forest Way, silhouetted against a circle of silver sky. After a few steps, he stopped and stood panting for breath, his gaze fixed on the far horizon. Finally, he turned and pointed at the ground, beaming and nodding to indicate that they had reached the end.

Joelle arrived next, so exhausted that when she finally stopping running, she stumbled and nearly pitched over. Theamont grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her feet.

By then, the first golden rays of sunlight were shooting across the horizon beyond them. A soft hissing arose from the walls of the path, and the hawthorn branches crept inward.

“Hold on!” Kleef called.

He reached back and grabbed Malik by the arm, then sprinted the last dozen paces to the end of the path-and nearly ran over Joelle as she stepped in front of him, her palms raised.

“Kleef, wait!” she yelled. “It’s a chasm!”

Kleef jammed his front heel into the ground and threw his weight back, then felt his feet go out from beneath him. He released Malik’s arm and hurled himself away from Arietta-then felt Theamont’s big hoof land between his shoulder blades and stop his slide by pinning him face-down against the mossy ground.

Beneath his feet, Kleef felt nothing but air.

“All that running for this?” Malik cried out. He was a few steps to Kleef’s left, somewhere near Joelle. “It is nothing but a dead end.”

Once Theamont had removed his hoof, Kleef rolled over, sat up, and found himself looking across twenty paces of gorge. He couldn’t see the bottom from where he was, but from somewhere below came the purling sound he had started to hear earlier.

Theamont said something in his own language, and Kleef looked up to see the satyr pointing down the canyon.

“He says we can rest on that island,” Arietta translated. “The Shadovar won’t be able to find us, and the orcs are a hundred leagues behind.”

“A hundred leagues?” Kleef asked, rising. “How far did the Forest Way take us?”

Theamont studied Kleef with a blank expression for a moment, then turned back to Arietta. As the satyr spoke, Kleef peered down into the gorge and saw that they were forty feet above a dark, slow-moving river. The water filled the canyon from wall to wall.

After a moment, Theamont fell silent, and Arietta turned to her companions. “He says we’re free to make a raft, as long as we use only dead wood,” she said. “But the river empties into the Underchasm, so we should leave the water as soon as we hear the canyon roaring.”

“A raft is well and good,” Malik said, peering over the edge. “But how are we to reach the island-or the river, for that matter?”

Theamont smiled and used his fingers to make a running motion toward the river, then spoke a single word that needed no translation.

Jump.