Troy Denning - The Sentinel

“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.”

Ringfinger wharf was creaking and swaying beneath the weight of the refugees packed onto its spongy decking. Despite his height, even Kleef found it difficult to see anything beyond their heads except the masts and bulwarks of ships at berth. There were at least five large vessels moored along the pier, all three-masted caravels or barkentines with lines of passengers still ascending their gangplanks. But at the seaward end was a small gap with a pair of slender masts barely rising above the crowd, and if there was anyone boarding the unseen vessel, the mob in front of it did not appear to be growing any thinner.

Guessing that his charges had hired the small vessel that wasn’t currently taking on passengers, Kleef started toward the seaward end of the wharf. With his own watchmen on his left, and Carlton’s men-at-arms on his right, the crowd parted before him like water before a prow. It soon grew apparent that the throngs were clustered most densely around the gangplanks of the five large ships, where armed members of the ship’s crew stood guard as their officers sold berths.

As Kleef and his companions continued to push forward, an angry din began to build ahead. Soon, they reached the end of the wharf and found a mob of people standing along the edge, yelling down at an unseen vessel, simultaneously offering unthinkable bribes and threatening dire acts of piracy.