The Sentinel

CHAPTER 20

The darkness had already devoured the barracks where Yder had died. Now it was blossoming inside the curtain walls, slowly eating its way around the bailey to the little gatehouse where Kleef and his companions stood debating their next move. Across a small drawbridge in front of them, Sadrach Keep shuddered with wallbound fury, its stones grinding and clacking as though it might collapse any moment.

A stony face glared out from each side of the keep, its appearance exactly the same on all four walls: an immense, gaunt visage with a hooked nose and a long beard hanging from the narrow chin of an old man. Beneath each face, a pair of thin, stony hands gestured furiously, hurling spell after spell across the bailey, blasting orcs and undead and even other wallbound with wave after wave of fire, force, and lightning.

Kleef pointed at the nearest face. “I take it that is your grandfather,” he said, glancing at Gingrid. “Sadrach?”

Gingrid nodded. “I’ve never seen him this bad,” she said. “I don’t think we can make it inside.”

“And that’s where Grumbar’s Temple is?” Arietta asked. “Beneath the keep?”

Again, Gingrid nodded. “Beneath the dungeon catacombs,” she said. “The temple is easy enough to find-but not when he’s like this.”

The companions were atop the curtain wall, studying the keep from the upper level of the little gatehouse. The drawbridge that led to the keep was lowered, and the portcullis that protected the doors was raised. The fire-hail had finally stopped falling, and the wounds that Kleef had suffered against Yder were already closed, healed by the spark of Helm’s divine essence that Kleef now carried. But it was growing clearer by the moment that entering the keep would be far more challenging than simply crossing the bridge and booting open the doors.

Sooner or later, they would have to risk Sadrach’s ire.

After a moment, Joelle asked, “How did Sadrach come to be like this?” She waved her hand around the bailey. “How did they all come to be like this?”

“It was during the Spellplague,” Gingrid answered. “When the Underchasm opened, Grandfather believed his magic was powerful enough to protect Castle Sadrach. And it was-but you can see what became of us. Those who were not wallbound became spellscarred or plaguechanged.”

“Us?” Arietta asked. “Then you were here? A hundred years ago?”

Gingrid nodded. “That is my curse,” she said. “To live among the dead and never age.”

“I know a woman in Westgate who would pay her entire fortune for the second part of your curse,” Malik said. “But we lack the time to wait out your grandfather’s temper. Surely, there is another way into the dungeon?”

Gingrid shook her head. “No.”

Malik studied the drawbridge for a time, then turned to Arietta. “We have only one choice,” he said. “You must command Sadrach to let us inside.”

Arietta frowned. “Me?” she asked. “How?”

“Just as you commanded Gingrid.” Malik looked up at the wizard’s wallbound face. “I cannot be certain your blessing will work on him, but even if you fail, your death will be no worse than ours.”

Arietta looked confused. “Blessing?” she asked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I am talking about Siamorphe,” Malik replied. “Surely, you have felt her presence since we entered the castle?”

Arietta thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Most of the time, I’ve just been scared.”

“That means nothing,” Malik said, too quickly. “I have always found being Chosen a most frightening thing.”

Kleef saw Arietta’s eyes light with pride-and he immediately grew suspicious of Malik’s motives.

“Whatever you’re trying to do, stop it,” he ordered the little man. “We’ll find another way inside.”

“No, you won’t,” Gingrid said, watching Arietta. “And the doomlord is right. I felt Arietta’s power when she summoned me to obedience. She’s certainly someone’s Chosen.”

“It must have happened when you agreed to offer your life for Toril,” Malik said, continuing to speak to Arietta. “Surely, that is the kind of self-sacrifice any god values.”

“Enough,” Kleef said, stepping toward Malik. “One more word from you and I’ll tear out your tongue.”

“No, Kleef.” Arietta raised a palm to stop him. “I think Malik may be right.”

“What?” Kleef saw the hurt flash across her face and instantly regretted his reaction. “What I mean is, Malik could be playing on your emotions. You know how tricky he is.”

“I’m aware of that.” Arietta’s voice was reserved without being hostile, but even Kleef knew she resented his doubts. “I’m also aware of what happened in the barracks-and no one is in a better position to reflect on those events than I am.”

“Maybe,” Kleef said. “But even if Malik is right-”

“If Arietta thinks Malik is right, then I’m sure he is,” Joelle said.

She took Kleef by the elbow. “Unless you know of some easier way into the keep, there’s nothing to be gained by questioning her judgment.”

As Joelle spoke those last few words, she squeezed Kleef’s elbow hard, and he realized he was only undermining Arietta’s confidence in a decision she had already made.

And that was one of the things Kleef loved most about Arietta, her determination to be worthy. He nodded reluctantly and stepped back.

“Forgive my rudeness.” He shot a warning glance in Malik’s direction, then added, “When it comes to our doomlord, I find it hard not to be suspicious.”

“As do I,” Arietta said, giving him a warm smile. “But I saw the same reaction Malik did.”

Keeping a watchful eye on the orcs’ progress across the bailey, the companions spent the next few minutes developing a plan, asking Gingrid about her grandfather’s personality and discussing how Arietta should phrase her commands. Kleef was careful to avoid casting any doubt on her chances of success, though inside he was aching to take her place and simply charge the keep. He tried to remind himself that Malik would not risk Arietta’s life lightly, since the little man still believed that only she could trigger Sune’s binding magic. But the thought wasn’t much comfort. Malik was just too unpredictable.

All too soon, Arietta gave Joelle a long, lingering kiss and stepped out onto the drawbridge. As they had discussed, she made no effort to hurry or attract attention, but simply walked purposefully toward the keep until she saw Sadrach’s eyes drop in her direction.

The wizard’s stony fingers immediately began to weave a spell.

Arietta raised an arm and wagged her finger at him. “I’ll have none of that, Sadrach,” she called, continuing across the bridge. “You are not to harm me or my friends in any way.”

The face on Arietta’s side of the keep lowered its arched brows, and the hands gestured more frantically. Kleef had to resist the urge to draw Watcher and rush out beside her-which would only have gotten them both killed, he suspected.

Arietta continued to stride forward. “You will not cast magic at me or my friends.”

Her voice was commanding but nervous, and Sadrach’s hands paused for only a moment before renewing their gestures. Arietta continued across the bridge at the same steady pace, her stride just awkward enough to betray the doubt Kleef wished he had not planted in her mind.

A sudden bang sounded from the mouth of the gatehouse, and Arietta’s knees seemed to buckle just a little. Kleef was halfway to the door before Gingrid caught him by the arm and dragged him back.

“Look,” she said, pointing through the window. “Your friend’s blessing is working, or Grandfather would have killed her by now.”

Arietta was three-quarters of the way across the bridge and still striding confidently forward, her gaze fixed on the stony face above.

“And you will stop behaving like an ogre.” This time, there was nothing but anger in her voice. “Your granddaughter is terrified of you, as are the rest of the people you trapped in the walls of your castle. If you cannot free them, then you will at least stop tormenting them.”

Arietta reached the archway at the far end of the bridge, which sheltered the closed doors. Once she was in the alcove, there was no way the face on the wall could continue watching her-nor could the stony hands cast a spell in her direction.

But the keep began trembling even more fiercely-so fiercely that Kleef feared Sadrach might soon loosen the keystone above Arietta’s head. He shot an angry glare in Malik’s direction, but it was clear that Arietta would never have made it across the bridge, had the little man not been right about her becoming one of the Chosen. If Arietta’s powers failed her now, it would only be because of the doubt Kleef had placed in her mind.

Malik returned Kleef’s glare with a smug little smile, then shifted his gaze back to the keep, where the stones had finally stopped trembling. The mad anger soon drained from all four of Sadrach’s faces, and his hands stopped weaving their spells. The door to the keep swung open.

Kleef breathed a sigh of relief, then nodded to Malik. “It seems I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, and I will accept one later,” Malik said, heading for the drawbridge. “After we have delivered the Eye.”

The group was less than a quarter of the way across when the orcs spotted them and began to stream across the bailey toward the keep. Gingrid volunteered to stay behind and handle the problem-no doubt using the undead and the wallbound. She told them how to find the entrance to Grumbar’s Temple, and ten minutes later, Kleef was leading the way down a narrow, spiraling passage deep beneath the keep. An eerie gray glow lit the way, always seeming to come from just around the bend. Like the passage itself, the steps had been hewn from the surrounding stone, and they were so narrow that two men could not stand on them side by side. The air was dank and musty, but still fresh enough that the only obvious whiff of decay came from Malik.

Kleef kept expecting to see a warning glow rise from the agate on Watcher’s crossguard, or to feel a band of Shadovar lurking around the bend ahead, but the only enemies they encountered were the phantoms of his own imagination.

Finally, the passage opened into a small, seven-sided chamber with uncut gems glowing from the walls in seven different colors. In the center of the room stood a mountain-shaped dais with seven slopes, each veined with a different native metal. The summit of the dais rose into the shape of a huge seven-fingered hand, held open and flat. The palm was large enough for a man to sit upon, and Kleef could imagine Sadrach seated atop the strange throne, meditating on the changeless nature of the earthlord.

“At last!” Malik slipped past Kleef and started for the dais. “No one will be happier than me to see this done.”

He was no more than halfway there when a cold pool of darkness began to seep from the base of the stone walls around them. It was impossible to guess whether Shar was coming for them or the boundary between the physical realm and the Shadowfell had simply grown that tenuous, but the result was the same-Malik stopped and looked down in horror.

Kleef rushed to Malik’s side. “Don’t stop now!” He slipped a hand beneath the little man’s arm, then glanced back to find Arietta and Joelle close behind. “What next?”

Joelle pointed at the dais. “Deliver the Eye,” she said. “The rest is for fate to decide.”

By the time she finished speaking, the darkness had congealed into a blanket of gloom and spread across the entire floor. Kleef could feel the murky stuff drawing the warmth and sensation from his feet, turning them into numb bricks of ice. He lifted Malik off the floor and carried him the last few steps to the center of the room, then placed him on the edge of the dais.

Kleef felt the darkness swirl around his ankles.

“Hurry!”

Malik reached up, grabbing hold of the seven-fingered hand and using it to pull himself up a gold-veined slope to the top. He reached into his robe, and Kleef felt the Eye of Gruumsh hunting for him, a profane hunger searching for a bitterness that no longer existed.

The darkness climbed toward Kleef’s knees, and he could no longer think of it as anything but the Shadowfell, Shar’s cold oblivion rising up to take the world.

Malik placed the Eye in Grumbar’s stony hand.

“A token from your beloved,” he said. “Your rival’s only eye.”

A soft rumble arose inside the dais, so deep and sonorous that Kleef heard it more in his stomach than in his ears. The entire temple began to shudder in a slow, pulsing rhythm, and the muffled crump of grinding stones reverberated from the temple walls.

Then the veins on the Eye began to throb, and the savage fury of Gruumsh became a burning fear in the pit of Kleef’s stomach. He wanted nothing more than to flee and leave Toril’s fate to the gods, but he could not. He had sworn a vow.

The Shadowfell was seeping in from all sides now. Malik slid back down to the edge of the dais, his gaze fixed on Arietta.

“I hope you have said your farewells,” he said. “I fear we are at the end of our time.”

Arietta nodded. “I’m ready.” She stood a few paces from Kleef, holding Joelle’s hand, her eyes moist, her chin held high. She turned to Joelle and asked, “How do we do this?”

“We don’t-not you, my lady.” Kleef turned to Joelle. “I can’t allow it.”

Joelle’s eyes glimmered with approval, as though she had actually been expecting his declaration, but behind Kleef, Malik was aghast.

“What do you mean you can’t allow it?” he demanded. “Sune must have her love sacrifice.”

“And she will,” Kleef said, directing his answer to Joelle. “When Arietta offered her life, it was because she knew it was the only way to save Toril.”

Joelle nodded, her eyes patient and knowing. “I had the same thought.”

Arietta’s eyes widened in alarm.

Kleef gave her no time to object. “But you are not the only one who loves Arietta.” He flipped Watcher around, setting the hilt on the floor and bracing it in place by leaning his chest against the tip. “And when I offer my life, it will be to save hers.”

Arietta’s jaw fell, and she shook her head. “You can’t!”

“Of course he can,” Malik said. He looked to Joelle. “The question is, will sacrificing Kleef work instead?”

Joelle glanced past Kleef toward Malik, her eyes cold with dislike. “Probably better.”

“Good,” Kleef said.

The Shadowfell was swirling around his thighs now, and would soon reach the top of the dais and begin its advance toward the Eye. Kleef’s legs had gone cold and numb from the knees down, and he felt as though he were standing on pillars of ice. He looked up and met Arietta’s eyes, then steeled himself to begin the long fall forward.

“Kleef,” she said. “Please-”

Her sentence came to an abrupt end when Malik leaped into view, a little black dagger in his upraised hand, his eyes locked firmly on Arietta’s heart.

“For the One and All!” He swung the dagger toward Arietta. “For the Prince-”

His cry ended as Joelle hurled herself into Malik’s side, driving him back onto the dais. As the dagger came down, it opened a shallow gash across Joelle’s back, then they both dropped into the Shadowfell and vanished from sight.

Arietta screamed and lunged after them.

Kleef rolled himself off Watcher’s tip. Blood was seeping into his tunic, and his chest ached where the sword had already started to drive through his breastbone. He kicked the hilt into the air and grabbed it on the move, then stepped to Arietta’s side as she plunged her arms down into the swirling darkness.

She cried out in dismay, but when she rose into a kneeling position, her arms wrapped around her beloved’s torso. Too late. The color had already vanished from Joelle’s face, and her lips had gone blue with death.

A tremendous crunching sounded atop the dais. The dull rumbling that had filled the temple faded and the shuddering stopped, and the muffled grinding of stone became the hushed hissing of shifting soil. The temple smelled dank and earthy and pure again, and the profane hunger of Gruumsh’s searching Eye became just a passing moment of revulsion.

Too concerned about what Malik would do next to look away from Arietta, Kleef plunged Watcher into the swirling darkness-and felt the tip sink into something too soft to be flesh. He brought the sword around in a clearing arc and felt it drag through something thick and loose, then raised the blade-and found fresh dirt clinging to it.

When Kleef raised his feet, he felt the ground tugging at his boots-and Malik quickly became a secondary concern. He slipped a hand beneath Arietta’s arm and pulled her to her feet.

“It’s done,” he said. “Time to go-before we get buried.”

Arietta rose with tears streaming down her face. She tried to pull Joelle’s body up after her, but managed to lift the heartwarder only about halfway out of the congealing darkness.

“Kleef, something has her!”

“Malik?”

Arietta shook her head and thrust an arm toward the temple entrance. Malik was stepping from the chamber into the mouth of the passage beyond, still holding the dagger that had killed Joelle. He looked back in their direction and raised the dagger as if to throw it-then saw Kleef glaring at him. He shrugged and lowered his arm, then turned to flee up the stairs.

“We’ll deal with him later.” Arietta wrapped her arms around Joelle’s waist, then said, “First, help me get her out of here.”

Kleef swept Watcher through the darkness again, and was dismayed to feel the dirt already twice as deep as before. He stooped down and slipped his free arm around the lifeless heartwarder and tried to pull her free-only to have a seven-fingered hand rise from the floor and wrap her in its earthen grasp.

Arietta cried out and fell backward, but she refused to let go of Joelle. She gathered her feet beneath her and began to pull.

A clatter sounded beside them, and Kleef turned. The hand atop the dais had closed, and a cascade of crushed quartz-all that remained of the Eye of Gruumsh-was streaming from between its stony fingers.

Kleef took Arietta by the arm and gently drew her to her feet.

“Arietta, we have to go … we have to leave her behind,” he said. “That’s our sacrifice.”