Troy Denning: The Sentinel

“For the One and All!” He swung the dagger toward Arietta. “For the Prince-”

His cry ended as Joelle hurled herself into Malik’s side, driving him back onto the dais. As the dagger came down, it opened a shallow gash across Joelle’s back, then they both dropped into the Shadowfell and vanished from sight.

Arietta screamed and lunged after them.

Kleef rolled himself off Watcher’s tip. Blood was seeping into his tunic, and his chest ached where the sword had already started to drive through his breastbone. He kicked the hilt into the air and grabbed it on the move, then stepped to Arietta’s side as she plunged her arms down into the swirling darkness.

She cried out in dismay, but when she rose into a kneeling position, her arms wrapped around her beloved’s torso. Too late. The color had already vanished from Joelle’s face, and her lips had gone blue with death.

A tremendous crunching sounded atop the dais. The dull rumbling that had filled the temple faded and the shuddering stopped, and the muffled grinding of stone became the hushed hissing of shifting soil. The temple smelled dank and earthy and pure again, and the profane hunger of Gruumsh’s searching Eye became just a passing moment of revulsion.

Too concerned about what Malik would do next to look away from Arietta, Kleef plunged Watcher into the swirling darkness-and felt the tip sink into something too soft to be flesh. He brought the sword around in a clearing arc and felt it drag through something thick and loose, then raised the blade-and found fresh dirt clinging to it.

When Kleef raised his feet, he felt the ground tugging at his boots-and Malik quickly became a secondary concern. He slipped a hand beneath Arietta’s arm and pulled her to her feet.

“It’s done,” he said. “Time to go-before we get buried.”

Arietta rose with tears streaming down her face. She tried to pull Joelle’s body up after her, but managed to lift the heartwarder only about halfway out of the congealing darkness.

“Kleef, something has her!”

“Malik?”

Arietta shook her head and thrust an arm toward the temple entrance. Malik was stepping from the chamber into the mouth of the passage beyond, still holding the dagger that had killed Joelle. He looked back in their direction and raised the dagger as if to throw it-then saw Kleef glaring at him. He shrugged and lowered his arm, then turned to flee up the stairs.

“We’ll deal with him later.” Arietta wrapped her arms around Joelle’s waist, then said, “First, help me get her out of here.”

Kleef swept Watcher through the darkness again, and was dismayed to feel the dirt already twice as deep as before. He stooped down and slipped his free arm around the lifeless heartwarder and tried to pull her free-only to have a seven-fingered hand rise from the floor and wrap her in its earthen grasp.

Arietta cried out and fell backward, but she refused to let go of Joelle. She gathered her feet beneath her and began to pull.

A clatter sounded beside them, and Kleef turned. The hand atop the dais had closed, and a cascade of crushed quartz-all that remained of the Eye of Gruumsh-was streaming from between its stony fingers.

Kleef took Arietta by the arm and gently drew her to her feet.

“Arietta, we have to go … we have to leave her behind,” he said. “That’s our sacrifice.”

The silhouette could not have been a shade.

Arietta was almost certain of it. She had only glimpsed the figure briefly, as he crossed in front of the arrow loops that overlooked the drawbridge. But she had seen enough Shadovar in the last few months to feel confident in her conclusions. The figure had been too short, more swaddled in darkness than a part of it. And his head was too round, his shoulders too slouched.

Definitely not a shade.

Arietta started to reach for Kleef’s sleeve, then thought better of it and drew her hand back. Malik would not be easy prey to hunt down, not with his god’s blessings and his inherent cunning. If she wanted justice for Joelle’s death, it would be better to let the little man come to them.

Besides, Kleef was a Chosen of Helm, ever vigilant and always aware. If he had not paused when the silhouette crossed in front of the arrow loops, it was because he’d already known someone was there.

As they started across the anteroom toward the drawbridge doors, Kleef lengthened his stride and began to pull away. Arietta let him, knowing he was only making space to fight. They had been expecting this attack since fleeing Grumbar’s Temple, so they both had their swords in hand. Neither one of them knew why Malik wanted Arietta dead, but since he had tried to kill her twice already, it seemed wise to expect a third attempt.

Kleef was just reaching for the drawbridge doors when a dark figure dropped from the ceiling shadows, his dagger leading the way. Arietta yelled a warning, but Kleef was trapped against the still-closed doors with nowhere to leap free.

Instead, he pivoted around, slamming his forearm into his attacker’s elbow. The dagger came flying back at Arietta, passing so close to her ear that she felt the air stir before it clattered off a wall behind her.

Malik landed on his feet behind Kleef, clutching his broken elbow and howling in pain. Kleef kicked the little man’s feet from beneath him, then planted a boot in the center of his chest and started to bring Watcher down.

Arietta raised her hand to stop him. “Hold.”

“Hold?” Kleef looked up. “ Seriously ?”

“For now.” Arietta came forward, then looked down into Malik’s bulging eyes and asked, “Why?”

“Why what?” Malik replied. “Why should you release me before my god sends his unliving-”

“ Your god,” Arietta interrupted. “Would that be the One and All?”

Malik’s eyes bulged wide. “That is but one of his many names.”

“And another would be the Prince of Lies?” Arietta asked. “It was him you were calling out to when you attacked me, was it not?” She pressed the tip of her sword to his throat. “Cyric?”

The fear in Malik’s eyes gave way to resignation. “So it would seem,” he said. “The Most Mighty was as eager as Sune to see Shar stopped.”

“That much, I believe,” Arietta said. “But why claim to be a Chosen of Myrkul?”

“So Sune would accept the One’s help,” Malik said, looking her straight in the eye. “She is a jealous goddess who demands all the glory-”

“The truth , Malik.” Arietta pressed down until the tip of her sword drew a bubble of blood so dark it was black. “Or I’ll tell Gingrid who you are and let her feed you to her friends.”

Malik swallowed, then said, “Perhaps the One also wished to claim Myrkul’s old throne.”

“What’s that have to do with Arietta?” Kleef demanded. “Why do you keep trying to kill her?”

Malik hesitated, no doubt wondering whether he would suffer more by remaining silent or telling the truth. Kleef answered that question by putting more weight on the foot pinning Malik to the floor.

“It was never to be just … Arietta,” Malik gasped. “I was to slay you all.”

Kleef paused expectantly, then finally seemed to realize Malik was serious and broke out laughing. “You, kill all of us?” he asked. “What were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t … my idea,” Malik said. “The Mighty One desired his own ritual.”

Arietta frowned. “A ritual to do what?”

“How am I to know?” Malik demanded. “And why should I tell you anyway? I failed the One, and for that I will suffer a fate worse than any of you can offer.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” Kleef said. “The punishments for things you have done-”