Troy Denning - The Sentinel

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.