The Sentinel

CHAPTER 4

Yder Tanthul stood on the galleass 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.”

At the mention of Gruumsh, a flash of terror shot through the prisoner’s eyes, and Yder knew he recognized Gruumsh as the name of the orcs’ one-eyed god of savagery. But if the man understood the significance of the Eye itself, he didn’t let it show. He merely studied Yder in confusion, then finally raised his brow in a practiced expression of deferential helpfulness.

“A stone?” he asked. “And just how large … might the Eye of Gruumsh be?”

The prisoner let his gaze slide back to the satchel, silently suggesting that perhaps the stone might still be inside, and Yder realized that the fool took the Eye of Gruumsh to be the name of a mere gem-something akin to the Titan’s Tear or the Star of Halruaa.

Yder tightened his grasp on the man’s throat. “I am weary of hearing questions in the place of answers,” he said. “Where are the contents of the satchel?”

The prisoner’s eyes bulged. “There.” He pointed to a forge hammer lying on the deck next to the gold-armored buffoon Yder had killed just a few minutes earlier. “They … your thieves … they said it would protect Farnig from … your kind.”

Yder recognized the grand duke’s name and knew that his father-Netheril’s ruler, the Most High Telamont Tanthul-would be pleased that Yder had killed a Cormyrean royal. But Yder hadn’t come to Marsember to please his father or kill Farnig-and so far, he wasn’t having much success doing what the Mistress of the Night had sent him to do.

He tossed the empty satchel aside, then lowered his free hand toward the forge hammer and extended a shadow finger to retrieve it. He studied the tool for a moment and, feeling no magic in it, held it before the prisoner’s eyes.

“Who said this trifle would protect the grand duke?” Seeing that his captive was about to pass out, Yder loosened his grasp. “Describe them.”

The prisoner took a ragged breath, then said, “It was a red-haired beauty and her manservant.” His voice was hard, as though he was angrier at the ones who had deceived him than at his tormentor. “She introduced herself as Lady Emmeline of Berdusk, but I knew the moment her servant arrived that she was no lady. A true gentlewoman would never tolerate such an odor.”

Yder nodded and returned the prisoner’s feet to the deck. His spies had already identified Joelle Emmeline as an accomplished Berduskan jewel thief with unusual powers of beguilement. Her foul-smelling “servant” was actually an accomplice, a barely competent spy and murderer who went by the name Malik el Sami yn Nasser.

There were reports of Malik claiming to be a Chosen of the dead god Myrkul, but Yder had his doubts. The spy’s name was the same as that of the Seraph of Lies who had served Cyric the Mad a hundred years earlier. Besides, with the entire world on the verge of a new age, the gods were vying for worshipers like rival crime guilds fighting for turf, dispatching their Chosen to advance their interests and sabotage the plans of their rivals. And sending an impostor to steal another god’s domain seemed like exactly the kind of scheme that Cyric-the god of strife-would relish.

Still holding the prisoner by his neck, Yder turned to study the main deck. Soaked in blood and strewn with corpses and moaning wounded, the Wave Wyvern looked more like a charnel house than a ship. Most of the casualties wore tabards over chain mail, but Yder had suffered losses, too. A long row of dusky bodies lay atop the center cargo hatch, their severed heads tucked under their arms and wisps of shadow still seeping from their neck stumps.

He saw no sign of Malik or Joelle-or the Eye.

He began to seep black wisps of shadow, a sign of his growing frustration. He had brought along only fifty of his Night Guards, believing that number more than adequate to hunt down a single pair of thieves. But the big watchman had proven a nasty surprise-first by stepping forward to protect the thieves at all, then by killing a quarter of Yder’s company almost by himself. It was not the kind of resistance his spies had led him to expect from the Marsember Watch, and he could not help seeing the hand of his goddess’s enemies in the unanticipated interference-and especially in that blue agate on the watchman’s sword. The way it glowed when he and his warriors came near, the way it weakened and blinded them, pointed to divine favor.

And now the hulk had sounded the alarm and was actually leading a hunt for him and his warriors. It would be a simple matter to summon reinforcements from Shar’s Hall of Shadows in Thultanthar, but that carried even greater peril. Less than two years earlier, Yder’s brother Rivalen had attempted to initiate Shar’s world-destroying Cycle of Night, and now many of Netheril’s most important figures-including the Most High himself-feared her power over the empire. If Yder removed too many warriors, someone was certain to raid her temple and undermine her power in Netheril.

And that was a risk Yder dared not take. Rivalen had failed to bring the Cycle to a successful close, but Shar remained one of the most powerful deities on Toril-and one who intended to grow even more powerful by eliminating the boundary that separated her Shadowfell from the world of stone and soil.

After a few moments, Yder grew certain that the thieves could not be among the dead. Had they been, one of his warriors would have informed him by that point. He turned back to the prisoner.

“Where are these liars now?” he asked. “Why can’t we find them?”

A look of confusion came to the majordomo’s face, and he glanced forward. “They should be here,” he said. “They were right behind us when we boarded.”

Whispering through the shadows, Yder ordered the survivors of the battle to continue the search for the thieves and their prize below decks, then turned back to the majordomo.

“Did you actually see them board?” he asked. “Or do you assume?”

The majordomo’s eyes widened. “I didn’t see them, no,” he admitted. “The situation was chaotic, and they were behind me.”

Yder resisted the temptation to crush the man’s throat. “Then why do you believe they followed you aboard?”

“Where else could they have gone?” he asked. “You were coming right behind us.”

“And they knew it,” Yder said, more to himself than the prisoner. “That was my mistake.”

Yder looked aft, debating the wisdom of returning to shore. Cyric’s blessing-at least he assumed it was Cyric’s blessing-kept the Eye and its bearers hidden from the divination magic of even the Mistress herself. So if he lost track of his quarry now, there was a chance he would never be able to find them again.

But the big watchman had no doubt sounded the alarm, and that meant the entire Marsember Watch would soon be mustering to hunt down his company. If he returned to the city to search for the thieves, his Night Guards would be outnumbered ten-to-one. And that meant he would lose a lot more of his force-probably most of it.

Fortunately, Yder saw no reason to believe that he needed to find his quarry in Marsember. Contrary to what the prisoner had seemed to think, the Eye of Gruumsh was not a giant gem, and the thieves had not come to the city to sell it. They had probably come to Marsember because it was a port-and that meant they intended to board a ship.

And now Yder had a ship of his own.

In their haste to escape Marsember with their lives, the Shadovar were fleeing in their stolen vessel with all oars pulling. Malik could hear the cries of their wounded captives echoing off the buildings that lined the canal banks, and he could see their craven leader standing on the quarterdeck, looking back toward the great arcing bridge where Kleef Kenric and his brave fools stood watching in anger and despair.

The crazed watchman had hoped to reach the High Bridge in time to drop onto the Wave Wyvern’s decks and avenge the death of his murdered duke, and so the entire group had spent the last ten minutes racing through the streets like madmen. But Malik had wanted to avoid being seen by the Shadovar, and it was on that account that he had contrived to stumble and fall so frequently that his companions had finally begun to drag him along by his elbows. Even so, he had managed to slow the company enough to save it from the slaughter that would surely have followed had it arrived in time to execute Kleef’s foolish plan, and the group had raced onto the bridge to find the Wave Wyvern’s stern just beyond leaping distance.

Taking care to keep one of Kleef’s courageous buffoons between him and the Shadovar at all times, Malik reached out to tug on the topsword’s tattered cape.

“It is a sad thing that we have missed our chance to deal those Shadovar devils the death they deserve,” he said. “But Lady Emmeline and I have urgent matters beyond the Lake of Dragons. If you and your men will kindly escort us to Starmouth Harbor and help us find the ship we have hired, I’m certain you will find Lady Emmeline most grateful.”

“Indeed,” Joelle said. Like Malik, she was taking care to remain hidden from the Shadovar-in her case, by standing directly behind the big watchman. “Most grateful.”

She took Kleef’s arm and graced him with a beaming smile, and Malik knew they would soon be on their way to the harbor. As a Chosen of Sune, Joelle had but to smile at a man to bend him to her will-and when she deigned to touch him, he became her happy slave. Malik knew this from his own experience. It was the only reason he been foolish enough to accompany her into the orc stronghold at Big Bone Deep and remove the Eye of Gruumsh from the great statue in the Hidden Temple of Nishrek.

As Malik had foreseen, Kleef nodded at Joelle, then turned to his followers. “This is a matter for the Royal Navy now,” he said. “We’ll escort the lady and her manservant to Starmouth Harbor and report to the lord admiral. He’ll alert the fleet to watch for the grand duke’s ship, and perhaps one of his captains will be able to take vengeance.”

“What about Her Grace?” demanded the archer, Elbertina. Though she had spoken very little until now, she had been one of the most determined runners, leading the company the entire way. “And the rest of the household?”

“The Seasilver family is aboard?” Kleef asked this not of Elbertina but of the grizzled sergeant of the household guards, Carlton. “Duke Farnig hadn’t sent them ahead?”

For some reason Malik did not understand, Carlton glanced at Elbertina before he spoke. Perhaps she had been the grand duke’s private bodyguard or his personal bard-or some other assistant of an even more confidential nature.

After a moment, Elbertina nodded, and Carlton said, “The grand duke felt his family would be safer crossing on the Wyvern with him. Her Grace is aboard.”

Kleef cursed, then said, “You didn’t mention Lady Arietta. Is she aboard, too?”

Again, the sergeant’s gaze slid to Elbertina.

“Arietta wasn’t aboard,” she said. “She was … away from the residence.”

The words scratched at Malik’s ear, for it was a gift of Cyric the One and All that he could always tell when someone spoke a lie, and he knew her hesitation had not been innocent. The minstrel was keeping something from them-something she and the sergeant both knew about Lady Arietta.

If Kleef noticed her falseness, he did not show it. The big oaf merely turned to watch the Wave Wyvern as it departed the canal, his brow furrowed with the effort it took him to see what was obvious. The ship was already entering the open sea, and even now the shades were stepping her masts. There was no way to catch the vessel.

Still, Kleef pointed to a pair of canal boats moored at a quay at the far end of the bridge.

“There,” he said, starting across the bridge. “We can still catch them.”

“And then what?” asked Joelle, taking his arm. “Even you can’t board a fighting ship from a pair of oversized canoes-not against shades.”

“We need to try,” Elbertina insisted. Her loyalty to Duke Farnig and his family must have been great, for her voice was cracking and her eyes were swollen and wet. “If they don’t murder Her Grace outright, they’ll hold her hostage the rest of her life.”

“And how will getting yourselves killed change that?” Joelle asked, her voice filled with comfort and reassurance. “It’s better to be patient and look for a real opportunity to save her.”

“What opportunity?” Kleef asked. “The Lake of Dragons is a big place. By the time we reach Starmouth Harbor and report, the Wyvern will be far from shore. And by the time the lord admiral sends a flotilla after it-if he sends a flotilla-it will be lost in the Sea of Swords.”

Joelle shook her head. “No, it won’t,” she said gently. “It will be waiting for us somewhere at sea. And if you do as I suggest, the Shadovar will come to you.”

“How can you know what the Shadovar will do?” Malik asked. He was starting to grow worried, for it was plain to see that Joelle had set her fickle heart on Kleef and would say anything to have him-even the truth. “They have what they came for. The duke is dead and they have his wife. We should say our farewells to our brave friends and let them go after her before it’s too late.”

Malik took Joelle’s arm and started to pull her away-only to have his path blocked by Jang, the narrow-eyed Shou who served as Kleef’s second-in-command.

“But you are wrong,” Jang said. “The Shadovar do not have what they came for. It is you and Lady Emmeline they have been chasing.”

Kleef nodded. “It’s true,” he said, turning to Elbertina. “I only noticed the Shadovar in the first place because they were stalking these two.”

Elbertina lowered her brow and studied Malik for a moment, obviously weighing Kleef’s words-and perhaps what she had observed for herself-against the brilliance of Malik’s suggestion. Finally, she nodded to herself and turned back to Joelle.

“Very well. I’m listening.”

Joelle smiled, and Malik knew that the oaf and his followers would soon be traveling with them-a tragedy that would certainly make it more difficult for him to claim Joelle for himself and to perform the task his true god had set before him. Still, Malik would never have been pulled from the Plane of Nothingness, where Cyric had left him to roam lost and dead for a hundred years, were he not the most resourceful of all the Chosen now wandering Toril. By the time the fateful moment arrived, he would be long rid of Kleef and his troop of fools-and free to make Joelle his forever.

“The good watchman is correct,” Joelle said, nodding at Jang. “The Shadovar are chasing Malik and me. If you want to find them, come with us.”

“And what good will that do?” Malik asked, making one last attempt to divert his competition. “If the Shadovar see watchmen aboard our ship, the duke’s wife is as good as dead.”

Joelle shot him an angry look-a devastating frown that almost crushed his putrid heart-and then she said, “Then we mustn’t let them see any watchmen.” She turned to Kleef and spoke in a warm voice. “I don’t believe she’s dead. The Shadovar are too cunning to kill a valuable hostage without good reason. As long as the grand duchess makes no trouble, she’ll be held as a bargaining chip-or perhaps to install as a straw queen after they’ve conquered the realm.”

“Duchess Elira has no value on that account,” Elbertina clarified. “She has no direct claim to the throne. If the Shadovar are here to capture a royal heir-”

“But they’re not,” Kleef reminded her. “They were chasing Lady Emmeline-”

“Joelle,” Joelle corrected. Her voice grew sultry, and she touched his arm. “Please.”

Kleef nodded and continued, “They were chasing Joelle and her manservant.”

Malik objected that he was no manservant, but the big oaf continued to talk over him, and no one paid him any attention.

“Capturing Her Grace was a happy accident,” Kleef continued. “My guess is the Shadovar won’t be in a hurry to kill anyone. They’ll want to take stock and consider their options.”

“Then it seems we’re decided.” Joelle took Kleef’s arm again and turned away from the canal boats. “Which way to the harbor? Our captain-”

“Not yet,” Elbertina said, signaling for Kleef and the others to remain on the bridge. “First, I want to know why.”

“Why the Shadovar are chasing us?” Joelle asked. “Or why I want you to come with us?”

Elbertina shook her head. “Neither. You’re the one who brought this trouble to my … to the grand duke’s door.” She glanced in Kleef’s direction, then continued, “I want to know why I shouldn’t have the good sergeant and the topsword seize you, then offer to trade you for the grand duchess and her sons.”

Kleef’s brow shot up at the suggestion that he would do any such thing at the request of a mere minstrel, but the grand duke’s sergeant nodded as though he thought it an excellent idea. Malik scowled and quickly reached out to tug Joelle’s hand away from the huge arm it was holding.

“You see?” Malik demanded. “This is the tragedy that comes of helping strangers.”

He tried to pull Joelle away, but she only glanced toward the departing Wave Wyvern and frowned at the murky fog that was rising up to engulf it. She studied the scene in silence for a moment, then finally shook her head.

“No, Malik,” she said. “They deserve to know the truth.”

“They deserve to know nothing,” Malik said, starting to panic. “Least of all the truth! Are you so eager to damn us both to the Great Pit of Hells?”

Joelle gave him a patient smile. “Malik, we’re Chosen,” she said. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Not to a Chosen of Sune, perhaps,” Malik retorted quickly. “But I am a Chosen of Myrkul. How is a dead god going to protect me from the Mistress of the Night?”

Joelle’s smile grew condescending. “As long as Myrkul lives in your heart, he’s not truly dead, now is he?” She pointed at the magic pocket hidden inside Malik’s drab robe. “Show them the Eye.”

Malik recoiled as though she had struck him. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “He will see us.”

“He already knows who we are,” Joelle said. “And Kleef needs to understand that there’s a reason our paths have crossed.”

She glanced at Kleef, who was scowling at her and Malik as though he thought them both mad. Elbertina, on the other hand, was watching them with a wide-eyed expression of relief and … could it be recognition?

“Who is this he?” Kleef demanded. “And stop stalling, or I swear I’ll do as Elbertina suggests.”

His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, and blue light flared from the agate in the crossguard.

The glow prompted Joelle to grab Malik by the elbow and squeeze. “Show him,” she hissed. “Now.”

Malik sighed. “As you command,” he said. “But must we show everyone? And do it in plain sight of the Shadovar?”

Without waiting for a reply, he started to shuffle down the bridge toward the shelter afforded by the tall buildings that lined the street. The others followed, and soon he was standing in the doorway of a shuttered spice shop with Joelle, Kleef, and Elbertina.

Malik reluctantly slipped a hand inside his robe. It took a moment to find the line of rough thread that marked the mouth of the pocket-and once he had, he was so nervous he had to thrust his arm inside up to the elbow before Cyric’s magic responded to his thoughts and he felt the Eye resting in his hand. He was seized at once by a terror so cold he began to shiver, and he could not help looking back to Joelle.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” he asked. “Once they have seen the Eye, we can never undo it.”

“You have no choice,” Kleef warned. “Show us the reason the Shadovar are chasing you, or I’ll deliver you to them myself.”

Malik had to bite his tongue to keep from answering with a threat of his own. He lifted the Eye from its hiding place, the mouth of the pocket stretching around the huge orb, until he finally had to slip his second hand beneath it and support the thing in front of his belly.

Made of milky quartz, the orb was far from perfect. It had lumps and flat spots, and crooked veins of red iron that came together in front to join a scraggy disk of false gold. In the center of the sparkling disk was a small circle of obsidian-which was rapidly expanding, as Malik could see by the raised brows and dropped jaws of the others.

The red veins began to pulse and writhe, and the stony eye spun in Malik’s hands, turning its dark gaze on Kleef and Elbertina.

The minstrel gasped and raised a hand to shield her face, but Malik could tell by the way she trembled and stumbled that she had been touched by its savage lust and dark appetites. The big topsword merely paled and clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, but even he looked as though he were about to leave his morningfeast on the steps of the spice shop.

Malik shot a questioning look in Joelle’s direction, and she was quick to nod.

“That’s enough,” she said. “You can put it away.”

Malik slipped the Eye back into its magic pocket and began to feel a bit more steady and confident. Kleef glared at the robe into which it had disappeared for a moment, then turned to Joelle.

“What was that thing?” he demanded.

“The Eye of Gruumsh,” Joelle said. “Malik and I took it so we can save the world.” She stepped closer to Kleef, so close it was easier to describe what was not touching him than what did. “And you, my friend, are going to help us.”