Troy Denning: The Sentinel

With the door locked again behind her, Arietta turned and found Odelia holding a seldom-worn gown in her arms. From her hopeful expression, it was obvious she had been eavesdropping. Elira’s plan to make her a stowaway was the girl’s best hope of survival.

“So, you’ve heard?” Arietta asked, knowing that Odelia would never be so bold as to bring up the subject herself. “My father says we have room for ten trunks.”

“Then … you may have some difficult choices to make,” Odelia said carefully. “I have already packed fifteen.”

“You may choose which trunks will stay and which will go,” Arietta said. “Just make certain you can hide inside one of them.”

“Are you sure?” Odelia asked, her face brightening. “I know it’s your mother’s idea, but if your father learns that you have defied him yet again-”

“We don’t have much time,” Arietta interrupted. The last thing she wanted to discuss was obedience to her father. “You do want to go to Elversult, do you not?”

Odelia was quick to nod. “Of course, my lady,” she said. “My place is at your side.”

“Then you worry about the trunks, and let me worry about the grand duke,” Arietta said, ignoring the question of whether she would be going to Elversult. She was a Chosen of Siamorphe, which made it her duty to inspire her people and obey her liege. It was not clear to her yet how she could do both, but she was determined to find a way. “Just be sure you can open your trunk from the inside.”

Odelia looked surprised. “Won’t you be able to let me out?”

“Best to play it safe, I think,” Arietta said with a shrug.

A muffled clamor sounded from somewhere down in the streets, and a man’s voice called for the crowd to make way.

“Finish the packing,” Arietta said, heading to the balcony to investigate. A man was charging along the opposite side of Deepwater Canal, heading east toward the bridge. He looked like a typical thug of the Marsember Watch, carrying a greatsword in a single hand and bellowing for people to clear his path. Arietta saw no one fleeing directly ahead of him. But on High Bridge Road, a red-haired woman and a short disheveled man had just emerged from a narrow footlane to the north, and they were headed south toward the canal. It appeared the big watchman was rushing to intercept the pair before they reached the bridge.

The two citizens were clearly in a hurry; in fact, the man looked utterly panicked. But the red-haired woman had an air of refinement, and she was dressed in a silk tunic that appeared to be both finely tailored and cinched by a silver belt. The watchman, on the other hand, belonged to an organization filled with notorious brutes who often abused their power. If there was a criminal below, Arietta suspected it was the man wearing the armor and cape.

Remaining at the balustrade, she called over her shoulder. “Odelia! Bring my bow and quiver!”

Odelia stepped out of the dressing room, looking confused and harried. “My apologies, but did you ask for-”

“Bow and quiver!” Arietta pointed toward the bedchamber, where she kept her most precious possessions-her weapons and her lyre. “Quickly!” she commanded. “A gentlewoman’s life may depend on it.”

When Arietta looked back to the streets, the woman and her slovenly companion were already racing onto Deepwater Bridge. The watchman was quickly closing in from the side, still bellowing and knocking people out of his way. He vaulted over a mule cart and landed near the foot of the bridge. But instead of turning to cross the canal, he stopped and looked up the footlane from which the woman and strange little man had come.

For an instant, Arietta thought the watchman might be waiting for the rest of his troop. But then he brought the giant sword around in a middle guard and stood at the foot of the bridge, turning his back on the fleeing pair. Arietta began to wonder if she had misjudged the situation. Could he possibly be protecting the woman?

A blue aura shone around the hilt of the watchman’s sword, and he sank into a defensive stance, as if bracing to meet a charge. For a moment, none came, then two dark silhouettes emerged from the footlane, their forms swaddled in shadow. When they saw the watchman, they paused, and a third figure emerged from the footlane to join them. This one had two dots of steel-blue light shining out from beneath his hood.

A shade of Netheril, if one of Arietta’s former suitors was to be believed. A Purple Dragon, the fellow had been fond of trying to impress her with his experiences fighting off Netherese border raids, and he had told her that shades could always be identified by their lambent eyes. He had even named the eye color of several of the princes, but Arietta had already grown weary of his bragging and stopped paying attention.

“Odelia!” Arietta called, swinging her hand behind her. “My-”

Arietta felt a shaft of polished yew slapping into her palm, and she brought the bow in front of her to string it. The trio of shades had started to advance again, moving cautiously. By the time she had flipped the bow and slipped the string over the opposite tip, the leader was whipping one hand forward in the air, his blue-gray eyes fixed on the watchman.

A crescent-shaped blade of shadow materialized in front of the shadow warriors and came spinning, past half a dozen people on High Bridge Road. One unfortunate man dropped to his knees, clutching his side. Unimpeded, the dark disc continued toward the watchman, who whipped his heavy sword downward to block. When the disc hit his blade, the shadow divided into two pieces that wobbled past on either side, then dissipated against the stone railing of the bridge. The few people remaining on the street screamed and scattered.

Arietta reached back again with her hand. Before she could even say “arrow,” she felt a thick shaft slap into her palm. She quickly nocked the heavy boar-arrow Odelia had given her, but instead of taking aim, Arietta held her bow low, so it would be hidden by the balustrade. Firing too soon would be a mistake. Her weapon was a hunting bow, not a longbow, and despite the flattery of her retainers, she understood that she was not truly a master archer-not yet. The shades were still too far away, and even the watchman was near the limits of her accuracy.

The shades advanced slowly, the leader’s blue-gray eyes enlarging from dots of light to larger disks. His companions remained two paces behind him.

Odelia crouched behind her and whispered. “Are those … are those the shadow fiends of Wheloon?”

Arietta shook her head. “They don’t look monstrous enough. I think those are just normal shades.”

“ That is normal?” Odelia gasped. “We are doomed!”

“Not if we keep our heads,” Arietta said. “The Shadovar are not the only ones with magic at their fingertips.”

Two more shades emerged from the footlane and started toward the bridge. The watchman held his ground, as if determined to deny passage to all five of his foes. The red-haired woman had stopped halfway across the bridge and was looking back toward her protector-until her slovenly companion rushed back to tug at her sleeve.

“There’s going to be a battle,” Arietta said. “Odelia, leave my quiver and sound the alarm. Tell the guards at my door that there are Shadovar on the bridge. Then go to the Bridge Gate and tell the guards they must open our house to the woman and her companion-and to the watchman, too, if he reaches us.”

Odelia hung the heavy quiver from its hook on Arietta’s belt, then hesitated. “Shouldn’t the orders come from your father?”

As Odelia spoke, the Shadovar leader drew a scimitar with a blade that looked like black glass and charged toward the bridge.