Troy Denning - The Sentinel

The crag wasn’t a mountaintop at all; it was an earthmote. And it wasn’t supporting the bridge-the bridge was supporting it .

The growl in the decking swelled to a rumble, and the hum in the suspension cables began to rise and fall in pitch. Malik grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her toward the tunnel.

“This is no time to sulk,” he said. “Your plan may be a reckless one, but it is certainly better than giving up!”

Arietta started forward again, half-expecting to find herself plunging into the Underchasm at any moment. With its suspension cables of living crystal and earthmote anchoring piers, the bridge was a marvel of elemental magic. But the earthmotes of Faerûn had fallen many tendays ago, and now the ones on the way to Sadrach’s Spire were dragging the bridge down instead of supporting it. Could that be because the air primordial, Akadi, had already left Toril?

And if Akadi was already gone, how long could it be before Grumbar followed? Arietta had only to look at the fiery rift in the sky to know that Abeir and Toril were parting fast, and it seemed obvious that the earth primordial would need to make his choice soon-perhaps even before Arietta and her companions had a chance to deliver Luthic’s token of love.

The companions had closed to within fifty paces of the cliff face when Kleef finally drew up short and raised his sword, the hilt turned to display the glowing agate. The goat stepped in front of him, his body positioned crosswise between him and the mouth of the tunnel. His head was lowered and his tail twitching, and Arietta half-expected the beast to break into a charge.

Arietta and the others stopped behind Kleef and peered into the murky depths ahead. The tunnel was the same width as the bridge and a little higher than Kleef was tall, with a tiny square of light at the far end that suggested it was both straight and long. There were no figures silhouetted against the light, but Arietta knew better than to think the tunnel empty. Even if there were no niches or alcoves along the walls, the Shadovar could be lurking within the shadows themselves, waiting to emerge until the companions had entered their trap.

She turned to Malik. “Are you ready?”

Malik shrugged and reached inside his robe. “Does it matter?” he asked. “Your foolish plan will either save us or kill us, and the time has come to find out which.”

He withdrew the Eye of Gruumsh from its hiding place, and Arietta sensed its profane gaze on her, a cold nettling touch that made her feel sick and weak and vile. When she looked away, the touch became an icy chill that raced down her spine in a shiver of fear and revulsion. Had Arietta not experienced the sensation twice before, she might have cowered in terror or fled in a blind panic. As it was, she merely looked behind them and saw that the orcs were more frenzied than ever, battering and shoving each other in their lust to reach the Eye first.

Good.

Now that they had it in sight, they wouldn’t want anyone else leaving with it-not even their Shadovar allies. The orcs in front raised their bows and began to loose on the run. Their arrows rarely landed on the bridge and fell short when they did, but Arietta knew that would change all too soon. She stepped to Malik’s side, then motioned for Joelle to take the opposite flank.

“Hold the Eye over your head,” she said. “Make certain it’s looking in their direction.”

Malik did as she asked. The orcs broke into a roaring battle cry, and the decking began to shudder with the fury of their charge.

“This will never work,” Malik complained. “We are only inflaming their lust for our blood.”

“Give it time,” Arietta said.

She took her bow off her shoulder, then watched as an orc loosed an arrow in their direction. The shaft dropped a dozen paces short and came sliding along the bridge in their direction. She nocked her own arrow and returned the attack.

Her shaft took its target high in the chest and sent him sprawling into the warriors behind him. Half a dozen fell, and Arietta saw three figures tumble out beneath the suspension cables and plummet into the Shadowfell far below. She loosed another arrow and downed a second target, with much the same effect as the first, and the orc charge became more of a churning snarl.

“Now, Malik,” Arietta said. “Let them see what happens if they keep coming.”

Keeping the Eye high in the air, Malik stepped to the side of the bridge and held it out over the Underchasm. At the same time, Joelle raised both hands toward the orcs.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Stop, or he’ll drop it!”

Whether or not the orcs comprehended Joelle’s exact words, they understood the message, and the column came to a slow, lurching halt. The warriors in front nocked arrows or loaded their slings and stood just seventy paces away, their angry glares shifting back and forth between the Eye of Gruumsh and Arietta and her companions.

A murmur rolled forth from deep in the column, and Arietta soon saw warriors scrambling to make way for a huge orc in ornate plate mail. Following close behind him was a lanky, one-eyed orc with a finger bone through his nose.

“Kleef, it looks like the chieftan and his shaman are coming,” Arietta said over her shoulder. “Any sign of the Shadovar?”

“Not yet,” Kleef replied. “Just stick to the plan. They’ll be out.”

Arietta watched as the chieftan and his shaman shouldered their way to the front of column, then continued forward at a walk, leading the rest of the column behind them. Arietta allowed them to approach to within fifty paces before finally nocking an arrow.

“Close enough,” she said, raising her bow. “We can talk from there.”

The chieftan continued to approach, his long tusks glistening with saliva and his crimson eyes burning with malice. Arietta dropped her aim and let fly, putting the arrow through the thin metal of the bridge decking where his foot was about to come down.

The orc snapped the arrow beneath his boot and continued to approach, the shaman still at his side-and the rest of the horde at his back. Arietta nocked another arrow and aimed at the chieftan’s head.

“One warning is all you get,” she said. “Any closer and you die first.”

The chieftan paused, then locked gazes with her and signaled the column to wait. He leaned toward his shaman and appeared to ask for a translation, then started forward again. The shaman walked at his side, making a show of gesturing at Arietta and the Eye as he spoke, but Arietta suspected it was all a ruse. The chieftan’s quick reaction to her threat suggested he had understood exactly what she had said. He was just pretending to need a translation in order to work his way closer.

After a few steps, the chieftan growled something to the shaman, and the shaman called out, “If you return Gruumsh’s Eye now, Hadarog will give you quick deaths.” His voice was deep and raspy, but with a brittle edge that made it seem as though he were in pain. “But for every minute you make him wait, you will suffer an hour.”

“Or we could just drop the Eye into the Shadowfell and let Shar have it,” Arietta replied. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to return it to Gruumsh-when the time suits her.”

A flash of alarm shot through Hadarog’s red eyes, but he recovered quickly and managed to mask his concern as he pretended to listen to his shaman. The two orcs were less than forty paces away now and still coming, and Arietta had no doubt that the chieftan intended to attack once he drew near enough.

After a moment, the shaman said, “Hadarog says the choice is yours. The Shadovar are our allies, and he is certain the Mistress of the Night will return Gruumsh’s Eye as soon as she receives it.”

Arietta cocked a brow. “Is that so?” She drew her bowstring back and shifted her aim to Hadarog’s left eye. “Then go ahead. Call the attack and see how Gruumsh rewards you in the next life.”