The Sentinel

CHAPTER 2

With the residents of Marsember fleeing the city by any means possible, every noble in town should have been out in the streets, bolstering the courage of the people and inspiring them to take arms against the coming invasion. Instead, Lady Arietta Seasilver-a Chosen of Siamorphe, the patron goddess of nobility-was trapped on her own balcony, a virtual prisoner in her own rooms. Forty feet below, the family servants were scurrying back and forth to House Seasilver’s private quay, loading her father’s galleass with coin chests and serving silver, ceremonial armor, bejeweled weapons … even crate after crate of fine wine.

The sight set Arietta’s teeth to grinding. When she looked north across Deepwater Canal, she could see over the city rooftops far into the northern plain, where churning clouds of dust marked Netheril’s push into Cormyr. When she leaned over her balustrade and looked to the northeast, she could see a curtain of gray smoke on the horizon-the shadow fiends of Wheloon, burning all they passed on their march to Marsember. If ever the realm had needed every sword it could raise, that time was now.

But instead of rallying the people to the city’s defense, her father was fleeing to Elversult with all his prized possessions. Clearly, it was not for nothing that Grand Duke Farnig Seasilver was known in local taverns as “Farnig the Feckless.” With Myth Drannor under siege and the eladrin doomed, could he truly be fool enough to think he would escape the Shadovar by simply sailing across the Dragonmere? Cormyr was all that remained to stop the Army of Night, and if the kingdom fell, the Netherese would claim all of Faerûn-perhaps all of Toril.

The clack of a turning lock echoed from the interior of Arietta’s chambers. She asked Siamorphe for the strength to be patient and the courage to be direct, then returned to her sitting room. As she had anticipated, a statuesque noblewoman with high cheekbones and a blade-straight nose was arriving from the anteroom. Beyond her, still closing the heavy oak door to the suite, were two burly soldiers in white tabards with wyvern sigils-the same two men who had been standing outside Arietta’s door every day for nearly a month.

Arietta flashed the woman a practiced but joyless smile, then went to greet her.

“Mother, what a pleasant surprise.” She intercepted the Grand Duchess Elira in the center of room and kissed both cheeks, then motioned to one of the ornate armchairs flanking the fireplace. “Please, sit.”

As they settled opposite each other, Arietta’s lady-in-waiting, Odelia, hurried in from the dressing room.

“Your Grace,” said the girl, curtsying to Arietta’s mother. “Please forgive me for not being at the door to welcome you.” Rosy-cheeked and doe-eyed, she had a joyful beauty, and Elira often complained that the servant drew too many eyes away from Arietta. “I was packing gowns and did not hear you arrive.”

Considering the arrival had not been announced by the guards or preceded by a knock, it was little wonder.

Elira smiled with practiced warmth. “Think nothing of it,” she said. “With those dreadful shadow fiends on the way, we must all be a little forgiving of ourselves. I’m sure you’ll return to your usual behavior soon-once we’ve set up the new household in Elversult.”

Tears welled in Odelia’s eyes, for she would not be going to Elversult. Concerned that he might be overloading his ship, Duke Farnig had decreed just that morning that only servants who could handle an oar or a weapon would be accompanying the family. All others would be left in Marsember to defend the townhouse.

Doing her best to hold her emotions in check, Odelia inclined her head. “Your patience is most kind, Your Grace.” She looked to Arietta, always careful not to usurp her mistress’s role as hostess. “Will you be needing anything, my lady?”

Arietta looked at her mother. “May I offer you something?” she asked. Her tone was sweet, but she was seething inside-her mother’s remark to Odelia had not been innocent. “Some pear cider, perhaps, or apple wine?”

The cider had gone bad, and Elira hated apple anything.

Elira replied with a shrewd smile. “I am afraid we haven’t the time.” She waited until Odelia had withdrawn, then finally deigned to comment on her daughter’s attire. “Arietta, really. It’s not as though your father is lacking for guards. Won’t you find that armor rather hot aboard the Wave Wyvern?”

“How nice of you to be concerned,” Arietta replied. “But it won’t be a problem, since I won’t be aboard.”

Elira rolled her eyes. “I thought we had finished that conversation.”

“We did,” Arietta replied. “You made it clear that you and Father intend to flee the realm in its time of need. I intend to defend it. There is nothing more to discuss.”

Elira sighed and looked to the ceiling. “I could have sworn that Chauntea sent me a daughter.”

“She sent you a Seasilver,” Arietta retorted. “And with that name comes a duty to the realm.”

“A duty that is your father’s to observe,” Elira said, narrowing her gaze. “And he is doing precisely that.”

“By fleeing the war?” Arietta scoffed. “I think not.”

“Then we agree-you don’t think,” Elira said. “Because if you did, you would remember that your father is in line to the throne.”

“Twelfth in line!” Arietta pointed out. “He won’t be ascending anytime soon.”

“Be that as it may,” Elira said, “he must survive. He owes it to the king.”

“He owes it to the king to flee the war?”

“Just so,” Elira said. “Arietta, you must consider the larger picture. Your half-uncle Erzoured is undoubtedly scheming with the Shadovar, while anyone with the Obarskyr name is obliged to stay in Cormyr to fight. We must make certain that a legitimate heir remains to claim the throne. And that duty falls to your father.”

Arietta was surprised to see the wisdom of her mother’s argument. She began to wonder if she had judged her father unfairly. “And the king has asked this of him?”

Elira flashed a condescending smile. “The king didn’t need to ask, my dear. Your father understands what is required.”

“He understands …” Arietta could only shake her head, too accustomed to her father’s self-serving rationalizations to be shocked. “Has Father at least thought to send word, informing the king of his plans?”

Elira waved a hand dismissively. “The king has other things to worry about. He does not need to concern himself with the safety of your father’s sea-crossing.”

“Of course not,” Arietta said. “And I doubt that he would. In fact, if the Wyvern were to go down at sea, it would probably be a great relief to His Majesty. There would be one less craven grand-nephew in his line of succession.”

“That is most uncalled for,” Elira snapped. She glanced toward both doors to make certain no servants were eavesdropping, then leaned closer and spoke quietly. “Your father is merely looking toward the future. After Cormyr falls-and it will-the people will need a king in exile to keep their hopes alive.”

“And do you actually expect the people to find hope in a coward?” Elira glared. “If I were you,” she warned, “I’d be mindful of that tongue of yours. It’s the reason you are still unmarried at four-and-twenty-and it’s why Aubrin has refused to honor your secret understanding.”

“Mother, there is no understanding-secret or otherwise,” Arietta said. “I wish you would stop telling people that. He said four words to me, and not one of them implied love.”

“Love? Pshaw.” If Elira had noticed the catch in her daughter’s voice, she betrayed no sign of it. “Love is for people who don’t matter. You, my daughter, are a Seasilver.”

“Which is why I would never swear a false vow,” Arietta said, “or accept one from anyone else.”

“Vows? Pshaw!” Elira threw up her hands in exasperation. “This foolishness has gone on long enough. I’ll see you aboard the Wyvern, Arietta.” She rose and started for the door. “We set sail within the half hour.”

“Thank you for the update,” Arietta said, also rising. “But I have decided to stay.”

Elira waved a hand over her shoulder dismissively. “Your father is not giving you that choice.” Upon reaching the anteroom, Elira stopped and turned, cocking her head as if a thought had just occurred to her. Her voice softened. “He says you have enough space in your cabin for ten trunks.” She gave a little smile. “How would he know if one of those trunks held Odelia?”

Arietta’s stomach grew cold. “I know what you’re doing, Mother.” Elira’s suggestion was, of course, a manipulative ploy. If Arietta agreed to come along nicely, her mother would look the other way and allow her to smuggle Odelia aboard. If not … well, then Odelia’s abandonment would be on Arietta’s shoulders. “It won’t work.”

Elira shrugged. “The girl’s future is yours to decide,” she said. “But tell me, Daughter, have you forgotten the teachings of Siamorphe?”

“You know that I have not.”

“And doesn’t she teach us that it is the duty of all vassals to obey the commands of their liege?”

Arietta began to feel ill. “Of course.”

“Well, there you have it. Farnig is your liege as well as your father. To disobey him is to disobey your goddess.”

“But my liege has duties, too,” Arietta objected. “Father should be leading the fight, not running from it with every bauble he owns.”

“What good would it do for him to throw away his life and his treasure? That would only bolster the enemy further. You mustn’t defy your father, Arietta, not in this. He always says that you are his greatest treasure-and he won’t lose you to the Shadovar, either.”

Arietta met her mother’s gaze. “It would be better if he treasured the people of Marsember.”

“Better for the Shadovar, I think,” Elira countered. “Thirty minutes, Arietta. I’ll send someone to fetch your trunks.”

Elira strode across the anteroom and struck the door with the heel of her hand, causing a surprisingly loud boom for such a thin woman. Again, the lock clacked open. The two guards slowly opened the door and peered inside, as though they feared Arietta might be waiting to attack or bolt past her mother.

Arietta shook her head in exasperation. Her father had been keeping her a near prisoner for almost a month now, ever since the sergeant of his guards had discovered her in a tavern one night, disguised as a common minstrel and singing onstage. Arietta had tried to bribe the man to keep her secret, but he had pocketed her coin and used it to prove the truth of his story when he told her father. As a reward, her father had tripled the payment.

With the door locked again behind her, Arietta turned and found Odelia holding a seldom-worn gown in her arms. From her hopeful expression, it was obvious she had been eavesdropping. Elira’s plan to make her a stowaway was the girl’s best hope of survival.

“So, you’ve heard?” Arietta asked, knowing that Odelia would never be so bold as to bring up the subject herself. “My father says we have room for ten trunks.”

“Then … you may have some difficult choices to make,” Odelia said carefully. “I have already packed fifteen.”

“You may choose which trunks will stay and which will go,” Arietta said. “Just make certain you can hide inside one of them.”

“Are you sure?” Odelia asked, her face brightening. “I know it’s your mother’s idea, but if your father learns that you have defied him yet again-”

“We don’t have much time,” Arietta interrupted. The last thing she wanted to discuss was obedience to her father. “You do want to go to Elversult, do you not?”

Odelia was quick to nod. “Of course, my lady,” she said. “My place is at your side.”

“Then you worry about the trunks, and let me worry about the grand duke,” Arietta said, ignoring the question of whether she would be going to Elversult. She was a Chosen of Siamorphe, which made it her duty to inspire her people and obey her liege. It was not clear to her yet how she could do both, but she was determined to find a way. “Just be sure you can open your trunk from the inside.”

Odelia looked surprised. “Won’t you be able to let me out?”

“Best to play it safe, I think,” Arietta said with a shrug.

A muffled clamor sounded from somewhere down in the streets, and a man’s voice called for the crowd to make way.

“Finish the packing,” Arietta said, heading to the balcony to investigate. A man was charging along the opposite side of Deepwater Canal, heading east toward the bridge. He looked like a typical thug of the Marsember Watch, carrying a greatsword in a single hand and bellowing for people to clear his path. Arietta saw no one fleeing directly ahead of him. But on High Bridge Road, a red-haired woman and a short disheveled man had just emerged from a narrow footlane to the north, and they were headed south toward the canal. It appeared the big watchman was rushing to intercept the pair before they reached the bridge.

The two citizens were clearly in a hurry; in fact, the man looked utterly panicked. But the red-haired woman had an air of refinement, and she was dressed in a silk tunic that appeared to be both finely tailored and cinched by a silver belt. The watchman, on the other hand, belonged to an organization filled with notorious brutes who often abused their power. If there was a criminal below, Arietta suspected it was the man wearing the armor and cape.

Remaining at the balustrade, she called over her shoulder. “Odelia! Bring my bow and quiver!”

Odelia stepped out of the dressing room, looking confused and harried. “My apologies, but did you ask for-”

“Bow and quiver!” Arietta pointed toward the bedchamber, where she kept her most precious possessions-her weapons and her lyre. “Quickly!” she commanded. “A gentlewoman’s life may depend on it.”

When Arietta looked back to the streets, the woman and her slovenly companion were already racing onto Deepwater Bridge. The watchman was quickly closing in from the side, still bellowing and knocking people out of his way. He vaulted over a mule cart and landed near the foot of the bridge. But instead of turning to cross the canal, he stopped and looked up the footlane from which the woman and strange little man had come.

For an instant, Arietta thought the watchman might be waiting for the rest of his troop. But then he brought the giant sword around in a middle guard and stood at the foot of the bridge, turning his back on the fleeing pair. Arietta began to wonder if she had misjudged the situation. Could he possibly be protecting the woman?

A blue aura shone around the hilt of the watchman’s sword, and he sank into a defensive stance, as if bracing to meet a charge. For a moment, none came, then two dark silhouettes emerged from the footlane, their forms swaddled in shadow. When they saw the watchman, they paused, and a third figure emerged from the footlane to join them. This one had two dots of steel-blue light shining out from beneath his hood.

A shade of Netheril, if one of Arietta’s former suitors was to be believed. A Purple Dragon, the fellow had been fond of trying to impress her with his experiences fighting off Netherese border raids, and he had told her that shades could always be identified by their lambent eyes. He had even named the eye color of several of the princes, but Arietta had already grown weary of his bragging and stopped paying attention.

“Odelia!” Arietta called, swinging her hand behind her. “My-”

Arietta felt a shaft of polished yew slapping into her palm, and she brought the bow in front of her to string it. The trio of shades had started to advance again, moving cautiously. By the time she had flipped the bow and slipped the string over the opposite tip, the leader was whipping one hand forward in the air, his blue-gray eyes fixed on the watchman.

A crescent-shaped blade of shadow materialized in front of the shadow warriors and came spinning, past half a dozen people on High Bridge Road. One unfortunate man dropped to his knees, clutching his side. Unimpeded, the dark disc continued toward the watchman, who whipped his heavy sword downward to block. When the disc hit his blade, the shadow divided into two pieces that wobbled past on either side, then dissipated against the stone railing of the bridge. The few people remaining on the street screamed and scattered.

Arietta reached back again with her hand. Before she could even say “arrow,” she felt a thick shaft slap into her palm. She quickly nocked the heavy boar-arrow Odelia had given her, but instead of taking aim, Arietta held her bow low, so it would be hidden by the balustrade. Firing too soon would be a mistake. Her weapon was a hunting bow, not a longbow, and despite the flattery of her retainers, she understood that she was not truly a master archer-not yet. The shades were still too far away, and even the watchman was near the limits of her accuracy.

The shades advanced slowly, the leader’s blue-gray eyes enlarging from dots of light to larger disks. His companions remained two paces behind him.

Odelia crouched behind her and whispered. “Are those … are those the shadow fiends of Wheloon?”

Arietta shook her head. “They don’t look monstrous enough. I think those are just normal shades.”

“That is normal?” Odelia gasped. “We are doomed!”

“Not if we keep our heads,” Arietta said. “The Shadovar are not the only ones with magic at their fingertips.”

Two more shades emerged from the footlane and started toward the bridge. The watchman held his ground, as if determined to deny passage to all five of his foes. The red-haired woman had stopped halfway across the bridge and was looking back toward her protector-until her slovenly companion rushed back to tug at her sleeve.

“There’s going to be a battle,” Arietta said. “Odelia, leave my quiver and sound the alarm. Tell the guards at my door that there are Shadovar on the bridge. Then go to the Bridge Gate and tell the guards they must open our house to the woman and her companion-and to the watchman, too, if he reaches us.”

Odelia hung the heavy quiver from its hook on Arietta’s belt, then hesitated. “Shouldn’t the orders come from your father?”

As Odelia spoke, the Shadovar leader drew a scimitar with a blade that looked like black glass and charged toward the bridge.

“No time!” Arietta fixed her gaze on the pair of gleaming eyes, trying to gauge her target’s speed by counting her own breaths. “Tell them the gentlewoman is a friend of my mother’s.”

“You wish me to lie, my lady?”

Arietta exhaled in exasperation. “Yes, Odelia. I insist!”

The Netherese warriors moved at a speed Arietta could scarcely believe. She raised her bow and drew the string back to her cheek.

By then, the shade’s leader was only two strides from the watchman.

Arietta set her aim on the empty space just above the watchman’s shoulder and, exhaling, let the bowstring sing. The arrow streaked away in a yellow blur, flashing across the canal in less time than it took her to finish emptying her lungs.

The shaft caught the leader high in the torso, piercing his black armor and sinking a hand’s length into his chest. The impact was enough to stop his charge and send him sprawling back into the street.

If the watchman was surprised, he showed no sign of it, instantly stepping forward to finish his foe. His attack was intercepted on the way down by a pair of dark blades, both of which shattered beneath his huge sword.

Arietta struggled to find another target, but with the melee now acting as a shield, she risked hitting the watchman if she loosed another arrow. Then a shade broke to the left, and Arietta let fly, hoping to drive him back before he could slip past the watchman onto the bridge. The warrior saw it coming and swirled a hand through the air, raising a shield of murk between himself and the approaching arrow.

The arrow sank into the darkness and briefly vanished. An instant later, the shade stumbled out from behind his shield, both hands falling away from the arrow now buried in his heart.

Arietta drew back her bowstring, looking for her next target. But the watchman had begun a strategic retreat, pivoting back and forth across the bridge, using his huge sword to hold two shades at bay while the red-haired woman and her companion fled. Arietta could not find the fifth shade, and she could not find a clear shot at the two on the bridge.

Then she saw the leader, still lying on High Bridge Road, struggling to pull her first arrow from his chest.

Impossible.

Arietta’s arrows were a gift from King Foril, created by one of Cormyr’s most powerful War Wizards, Glathra Barcantle herself. They were, in effect, a royal apology. Arietta and her father had been riding with the king’s hunting party when a wounded boar had charged her. Arietta had planted half a dozen shafts in the poor creature before it finally unhorsed her. Afterward, it had emerged that King Foril himself had fired the arrow that enraged the beast. To make amends, the king had asked Glathra to create an entire quiver of arrows that would stop anything Arietta struck.

Anything except Shadovar warriors, it seemed.

She loosed again.

The shade looked in her direction and raised a hand. In the next instant, she watched her arrow sinking into a small shadowy shield, but instead of passing through, the arrow simply vanished.

Hoping that three arrows might succeed where two had failed, Arietta nocked again and set her aim on the shade’s chest-then felt her blood go cold as Odelia’s scream erupted in the sitting room behind her.

Arietta dropped low and spun around. Her lady-in-waiting was swaying on her feet, her face frozen in a shocked expression, her body cleaved from collar to breastbone by the gore-dripping blade of a thick black sword. The Shadovar who held the blade was still hanging from a shadowy corner of the ceiling, like a descending spider.

Arietta started to aim, but the warrior was already pointing four fingers on his free hand in her direction. She loosed anyway, then flung her bow at him and dived for the floor, rolling forward and snatching an arrow from her quiver. She saw her chairs and fireplace flash past to her right, then cold bands of shadow angling toward the patch of floor she’d just left, slicing through everything they touched. She came up on her knees just as the shade dropped to the ground in front of her, his dark sword rising to strike. She plunged the arrow up into his abdomen.

The shaft went vertical as the arrowhead drove up toward his heart. The warrior screamed in anguish and dropped his sword, reaching down to clutch at the arrow with both hands, struggling to pull it free. Arietta kept pushing, hard, and sent him stumbling backward-straight into the swinging sword of a charging guard in a white tabard. The shade’s head bounced off the wall, and Arietta barely had time to spin out of the way before it landed on the floor beside her.

“My lady!” A big hand reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Are you-”

“I’m fine.”

She jerked her arm free, then turned to find the shade’s decapitated corpse sprawled over Odelia’s motionless form.

“Sorry, my lady,” the guard said, no doubt noting the horror in her eyes. “They say you have to remove their heads.”

Arietta nodded, then pointed at the shade. “Could you remove that, please?”

The guard bent down and quickly pulled the shade aside, revealing a gore-filled cleft in Odelia’s chest that left no doubt about her fate. Heart breaking, Arietta uttered a quick prayer and knelt down to close the girl’s eyes.

The second guard-a lanky fellow named Mannus-stepped through door and began to scan the room.

“Was that the only one?” he asked, gesturing at the dead shade. “How did he get in?”

Arietta pointed toward her still-open balcony. “I’m not sure, but they’re out on High Bridge Road.” She paused, suddenly angry at Mannus, then rose. “Where were you?”

Mannus’s face colored with guilt, but instead of apologizing or explaining, he motioned the second guard to the balcony.

“Secure those doors, Suther.” He turned back to Arietta. “Did he come across the balcony?”

“No,” Arietta replied, “and I was standing right there.”

“Maybe you couldn’t see him,” Mannus said. “I’ve heard some of them can walk between shadows.”

“Apparently, you heard correctly,” Arietta said bitterly. She retrieved her bow from the floor, then turned to confront the guard. “This should not have happened, Mannus. I sent Odelia to alert the house and go to the Bridge Gate. Why was she still here?”

Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and headed to her bedchamber.

Mannus trailed after her, but stopped at the door. “My apologies, Highness,” he said. “We thought Odelia’s warning was a trick. Your father-”

“A trick?”

“Your father warned us to be wary,” Mannus continued. “He would have our heads if you fooled us and slipped away.”

Struggling to bring her temper under control, Arietta stepped toward her bed. There was no time to sit and calm herself, but she was still careful to inhale deeply and exhale completely, telling herself that nothing could be accomplished by rage, that nothing would bring Odelia back.

The tactic failed miserably. By the time she had retrieved her sword scabbard from its hook beside her pillows, she was more furious than ever-at the Shadovar, at Mannus and Suther, and most of all, at her father. It was his order the two guards had been following, and now Odelia was gone. Her father would answer for that-even more surely than his guards.

Arietta turned to find Mannus blocking her path, eyeing the jewel-encrusted scabbard in her hand. His expression suggested he thought it ridiculous for her to even own such a weapon, much less wield it. She used the tip of her bow to push the guard backward, then proceeded to herd him across the sitting room.

“Do you really find me that ridiculous, Mannus?” she demanded. “Do you really think me so foolish as to sound a false alarm at a time like this?”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Suther protested. “My pardon for saying so, but you’re a very headstrong wo-”

“Headstrong?” Arietta whirled on the man, bringing the flat of her scabbard up under his chin. “Is it ‘headstrong’ to think that my father’s place-that our place-is with the people? War is upon us, you idiot!”

Suther appeared too confused and flustered to answer.

Mannus came to Suther’s rescue, gently pulling him out of the way. “It’s not our place to decide such things,” he said. “But the grand duke-”

“You’re right, Mannus.” Arietta secured her scabbard on her hip, opposite her quiver, then added, “It is not your place to decide anything. And I order you to come with me.”

Still holding her bow, Arietta hurried from her chambers into the central tower, the Turret of Heavens, and began to descend the long flight of stairs that spiraled down the outer wall. The turret was open all the way to the Golden Hall on the ground floor, and looking over the balustrade, Arietta could see a steady stream of servants carrying armfuls of linens.

She began to call down, “Shadovar on the bridge! Sound the alarm!”

Mannus and Suther added their voices, shouting commands to prepare the house. By the time Arietta had reached the second level, heaps of abandoned linens lay strewn across the marble floor, and the bang of slamming shutters echoed from every corner of the house.

Arietta reached the bottom of the stairs to find a grizzled sergeant-the very sergeant who had told her father about her adventures as a tavern minstrel-waiting with half a dozen armored men.

“Lady Arietta, the Wave Wyvern will depart as soon as we’re aboard.” The sergeant extended an arm to his left, in the direction of the walled yard that protected the ship’s mooring. “Your father has sent me to escort you.”

“Thank you, Carlton,” Arietta stepped directly toward him-then bent backward at the last possible moment and ducked under his arm. “But we both have more important things to do.”

“My lady!”

Carlton spun and grabbed for her, but she was already slapping her bow tip into the helmets of two men, using it to startle them apart before she pushed between them.

“Lady Arietta!” Carlton roared. “Your father has ordered me to bring you to the ship!”

“Then you’ll have to catch me.” Arietta broke into a sprint, racing out of the Golden Hall and into the swirling gray seascapes of the Corridor of the Kraken. She called over her shoulder, “And be quick about it!”

“Be … quick?”

A cacophony of clanking and yelling broke out as the twelve guards took up the chase, with Carlton threatening all manner of dire consequences if Arietta did not stop immediately. The more he threatened, the more determined she became. If the choice lay between obeying her feckless liege and serving the people, then Siamorphe’s will seemed clear. Arietta would not offend her goddess-not when a brave man was out there on the bridge alone, doing what her father should have been doing-leading the fight against the Shadovar.

Carlton’s threats faded into the general din of the house as Arietta rounded a corner and entered the Hall of the Sirens. Halfway down its length, she turned abruptly and ducked down an intersecting corridor, crossed a small foyer, then raced out into the carriage court used for domestic deliveries and casual access.

Thirty paces away, the gate that opened toward High Bridge Road hung closed and barred. A pair of square watchtowers rose to either side of it, and Arietta counted two guards on each one, looking away and peering toward the action on the bridge. Knowing Carlton would soon reappear, Arietta yelled up at one of the towers.

“You there!” she cried, still running. One the guards glanced back into the yard. “Open the gate!”

The double-chinned guard gaped at her in surprise. “Lady Arietta? Is that-”

“Now!” Arietta commanded, halfway to the gate. She slowed just long enough to make her point clear. “My mother will have your heads if something happens to that woman. She’s a dear friend of the family!”

The guard’s expression grew alarmed. He relayed her command to the others, then stooped and disappeared. An instant later, the remaining three guards were shouting warnings down into the street, and the double-chinned guard had entered the yard from the tower. To Arietta’s relief, he rushed straight toward the heavy wooden gate, putting his hand on the crossbar to lift it.

And that was when Carlton emerged from the house behind her, still shouting her name and demanding that she stop. The double-chinned guard-Fiske, she remembered he was called-looked up and scowled, one hand still resting on the bar.

“Carlton, come quickly!” Arietta yelled. Praying to the goddess to make her voice loud enough to drown out her pursuer’s, she swung her bow toward the gate, as if urging Carlton and his men to follow her. “They’re bound to be on her by now!”

Outside the gate, Arietta heard the clang of iron bolts ricocheting off cobblestones, followed by muffled cries of surprise. She looked up and saw that her father’s guards were not aiming their crossbows at the Shadovar on the bridge. Instead, they were shooting straight down, in front of the gate. It seemed they were attempting to clear the area so no commoners would be tempted to seek shelter inside the house.

Another of her father’s orders, no doubt.

Still ten steps from Fiske, Arietta nocked an arrow and raised her bow, ready to pin the man’s hand to the wood if need be. But the guard was merely being cautious, peering out a spyhole before he drew the bar back.

“Now, Fiske!”

Arietta let fly. Her arrow thunked into the wood at the base of the gate, and Fiske looked up, his thick-lipped mouth hanging agape. Arietta nocked another arrow.

“Open it now!”

Fiske lifted the crossbar and pulled his side of the gate open, just far enough for Arietta to slip out. She had to pause in the alcove between the towers, for the scene in the street was madness. A panicked mob was fleeing the fight on the bridge, trying to squeeze through a maze of toppled handcarts and spilled possessions. Her father’s guards were shouting down from their towers, warning people to stay clear of the gate-and reinforcing their orders by pinging iron crossbow quarrels off the cobblestones below.

Arietta looked up the street toward the canal, where the watchman was at the center of the bridge-bloodied, but his greatsword slashing back and forth as he executed a very slow retreat. She counted three Shadovar against him, the nearest pair harrying him with wedges of flying shadow while the third tried to dart past along the bridge railing.

As she watched, the watchman’s sword lashed out, and the third Shadovar’s dark head went tumbling into the canal. The other two countered with an onslaught of sword-work, their blades whirling and slashing as they pressed the attack.

The watchman blocked and parried, then retreated a step.

One single step.

If the man wasn’t a knight, he soon would be. Arietta would see to that herself-assuming he survived, of course.

Knowing that Carlton and his men would soon come through the gate behind her, Arietta took a deep breath, then stepped out into the street and looked up at the tower guards.

“You up there! Stop that!” She used her bow to point toward the battle. “Come with me to the bridge!”

The rain of quarrels diminished, and the eldest guard, a long-faced brute with a drooping mustache, leaned over and frowned back at her.

“What, are you mad?” he called down. “Your father would have our ears!”

“Yes, but he’ll have your heads if you let me go out there alone.” She smiled sweetly, then shrugged. “The choice is yours, of course.”

Arietta heard the gate creaking open behind her, but she did not look back. She was already charging up the street.