“What do you mean?” I asked. “I might be one of who?”
“One o’ our crew,” he said. “If ye be wanting the job. We could use someone who knows the sea, with the eyes fer the crow’s nest.”
“I … I,” I stuttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Join our crew,” he said. “Tha’ plain enough fer ye?”
“Yes,” I said. “I mean, no. I mean, I get it, but I don’t want it.”
“Well, that be yer choice,” he said. “But ye don’t need fear us any longer.”
“So you’ll let me go?”
“Well, not jus’ yet. We want ter hear the rest o’ the story first.”
“And when I finish, I can go? Why should I trust you?”
He did not smile, he did not laugh. He simply said, “The offer’s good, young man. I got no grudge against ye, and nothing ter fear by letting ye go. Though I’d rather be adding ye to the crew.”
“I think I’ve had enough of the sea,” I said.
“And the story?”
“I’ve had enough of that too. But you asked, so here it is.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Our journey back to the Tower of Twilight hadn’t been especially difficult. The days were warming, and summer was nearly upon us by the time we arrived.
“What is she, anyway?” Joen asked, patting Haze’s lush mane in Malchor Harpell’s stable.
“She’s a horse, stupid,” I said.
Joen pulled back from Haze, and the horse nickered softly, shaking her head. Walking around the mare to where I stood, still brushing absently at the pristine mane, Joen punched me in the shoulder. Hard.
“Ow,” I said, recoiling. “What was that for?”
“Calling me stupid,” she said.
“If the shoe fits,” I said.
She kicked me in the shin. “Oi, what about shoes?” she said, winding up for another kick.
“Hey, hey, stop already,” I said, retreating a few steps. “You’re not stupid. I’m sorry I said you were.” I laughed a little, and Joen joined in.
“Oi, but really,” she said. “A horse doesn’t walk on water, you know? So what is she?”
I shrugged. I’d never heard nor read of any creature like Haze, and it never occurred to me to ask someone who might have the answer. “Malchor or Jaide would probably know better,” I replied.
“I think she’s an elemental,” Joen said.
“Or maybe half-elemental. Like Chrysaor. Haze’s great-great-grandmother was a sea horse or something.”
“No,” Joen said. “She’s more pure than that. She’s not touched by the elements, you know? She walks on the water like it’s just … natural, like she was born to it.”
“The water walking actually tires her out,” I said. “She can only do it for a short while.”
“Well, if she’s an elemental, she’d be from another plane, right?” Joen asked. “Like, from a place that’s just water everywhere?”
“Maybe.”
“So maybe she’s just not used to this plane, or her magic doesn’t work as well here or something like that.”
I thought for a moment, then said, “No, I don’t think that’s it. If she were from a place that’s just pure water, wouldn’t she swim? And she’s fine on land too. And there’s that mist that rises from her hooves when she wants it to.”
“Oi, I haven’t seen that,” Joen said, a bit of excitement in her voice. “Mist, eh?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She can bring up a whole lot of it too. Like a big cloud rolling across the ground.”
“Well, maybe she’s all about the air, then,” Joen thought aloud.
“Then she’d be able to fly.”
Joen held her arms out to her sides like mock wings. “I’d love to fly,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning forward as if into a strong wind.
I shrugged and said, “The land and the sea are enough for me.”
“Enough?” she laughed. “You’d rather be tethered to the ground than free to fly?”
“To fly and to fall,” I countered. “At least on land you know where you are.”
“If I could fly, I wouldn’t fall, eh?”
“Everything falls. Everything that climbs into the sky has to come back to the land. But all that flying, all that freedom”—I stressed the word sarcastically—“just means when you get back down, you don’t have a place to call your own.”
“Birds build nests, though,” Joen said.
I laughed. “If you could fly, would you build a nest?”
Joen thought for a moment then shook her head.
“See, that’s the problem with the freedom you want. You haven’t got a place to keep the things you need, the people you love. You haven’t got a home.”
“Oi, I’d rather take those things and people with me. Then wherever I am, that’s my home, eh?”
It was my turn to shake my head.
Before I could answer, the door to the stable swung open and Malchor Harpell walked in. “It’s both,” he said. “Haze is a creature of both air and water. And very astute of you two to figure that out, if I may say.”
He’d been meeting with Jaide in private while Joen and I had tended to Haze.
“Both?” I asked. “Air and water? Then where is she from?”
“She is from right here, on our very own Prime Material Plane,” Malchor said. “She was created of the elements of air and water and bound here by powerful magic.”
“Oi, if she’s made of magic, can she die?”
“She can be killed, certainly,” Malchor said.
“But could she just … die of old age?” I asked.
Malchor shrugged. “It depends how she was created. But I doubt anyone powerful enough to bind her would want that. I’d rather expect that over time, her magic could simply fade away.”
“When?” Joen asked. “Why? What would make her fade away?”
“Could be she’s bound to a specific person or a specific thing. When that person or object is no more, the magic unravels. But if that were so, well, she wouldn’t still be here.” He stepped up to the horse and ran his hand along her flank.
We stood in silence for a good while, each admiring the beauty of Haze, each hoping she’d be with us for a good while longer. It occurred to me that she was my oldest friend. I’d met her when I was just an infant, when Perrault had taken me from my parents’ ruined house and delivered me to Elbeth in the High Forest. The thought of her not being around any longer disturbed me greatly.
“Well, enough of all that,” Malchor said at last. “I have guest rooms all ready for you, if you’d like to take some rest. How long do you plan to stay? My tower is open to you for as long as you’d like.”
Joen shrugged, and I answered, “Not long.”
“Very well, then. I’ll show you to your rooms. You can get washed up, and we’ll have a meal in an hour.”
“Wait, Malchor,” Joen said. “Are our old quarters open?”
“Yes, they are,” he answered.
“Could we just take those instead of your guest rooms?”
Malchor smiled at her. “Of course, of course. You’ll find all the doors unlocked. I’ll see you in the great hall in an hour’s time.”
He bowed and left, and we walked in silence, following the old familiar path through the strange tower that had been our home for a year. As we approached the final door, the entry to the circular training hall, Joen hooked her arm through mine.
“I know who Haze is bound to,” she said softly.
“She’s not bound to me,” I said. “She’s older than I am.”
“Of course,” Joen said. “She’s bound to Perrault.”
That thought had crossed my mind, but I’d dismissed it. “You heard Malchor. If whoever she’s bound to dies, she’d fade away. And Perrault is dead.”
Joen stopped walking, pulling me to a halt beside her. “No he isn’t,” she said. She put her hand up to my chest.
“What, th
e stone?” I asked, skeptical.
She rolled her eyes, that familiar gesture of mock disdain I’d come to know so well. “No, stupid,” she said. “Under the stone. He’s alive in your heart, eh?”
I stared at her for a long time, then unhooked my arm from hers. I tried to say something, but couldn’t push the words past the lump in my throat.
So instead, I punched her in the shoulder. Hard. “I’m not stupid,” I said. I tried to say it casually, but my voice cracked somewhere in the simple statement.
Joen chuckled and rolled her eyes again, and pushed past me and into the room. She skipped off to her quarters, and I followed suit, heading to my old room to wash off the dirt of the road and the single tear I couldn’t hold back.
“Oi, are you going back to Baldur’s Gate?” Joen asked of Jaide, who sat across from her at the table. Malchor’s great hall looked much the same as when we’d first arrived here more than a year ago. A feast of magnificent proportions covered the massive table. Malchor and Jaide sat side by side, with Joen and me opposite them.
“No,” Jaide answered. “My duties there are at an end.”
“What were those duties, anyway?” I asked.
Jaide hesitated. “It is the task of the Sentinels to watch the bearers of the stones, usually from afar,” she said. “Not to interfere, but to ensure that the stones pass on as their wielders die.”
“Oi, that’s a bit morbid,” Joen said.
Jaide laughed. “I held the Stone of Tymora for you,” she said, motioning toward me, “until such time as you were ready. And I have now witnessed the Stone of Beshaba’s passing as well. So until one or both of you pass on, I have no task but to watch.”
“But you can watch from Baldur’s Gate,” I said.
“Or I can watch from up close,” she answered. “Usually the Sentinels keep their identities hidden from the bearers, but since you both know me …” She let the thought trail off with a shrug.
“And not to interfere?” I said suspiciously.
Again, she just shrugged.
I let the subject drop, and the conversation soon shifted to the future. Joen still pressed for a return to the sea, and Jaide thought that a fine idea. I joined the discussion only halfheartedly. I knew exactly where I wanted to be going next and exactly what I had to do. I couldn’t believe that Tymora’s Sentinel would allow me to destroy the stone, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that only Jaide could lead me to the magic I would need to do just that. Having her along would give me time to try to convince her, or trick her, into pointing me in the right direction.
After the meal, as we exited the great hall, Malchor put his hand on my shoulder, holding me back. Jaide and Joen paid little heed—they chatted like old friends, wandering off to wherever. The change from when they’d first met, on the deck of Sea Sprite, was remarkable. Then, Joen had taken a dislike to Jaide for no good reason and with no real explanation. But not long after Jaide teleported us out of the cavern, they had become as thick as thieves. In fact, I found myself a little jealous.
“You seem disinterested, my friend,” Malchor said as the two disappeared around a corner.
“Disinterested in what?” I asked.
“In the future. Joen is excited, and even your elf friend is interested in where you’ll go next. But you …” He let the thought trail off.
I shrugged. “They’re acting as if it’s all over,” I said. I put my hand to my chest, to the sash cradling the stone against my heart. I said nothing, but Malchor understood the gesture.
“You still intend to destroy it,” he said.
“I do,” I answered. “But Joen has no past with the stones. The grief they bring, the destruction. She wasn’t there when Perrault died, or when Asbeel burned the forest around me and Elbeth, or when my parents—”
“Her parents are dead as well,” Malchor said sagely. “They have been since she was young, just like your own. Ill fortune falls on all of us from time to time, not just those who carry magical stones.”
“It just falls on some more often than others,” I said.
“Wise words. But will destroying the stones necessarily change that?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I never wanted this. It’s just by bad luck that I came to have it. If I can destroy it, I can take control of my own fortune.”
Malchor was shaking his head before I’d even finished. “It will not change what has already happened.”
“But it will prevent it from happening again, to me or to someone else.”
Malchor blew a long sigh. “I’m not going to deter you from this, am I?”
“No.”
“Well, then I may as well help direct your path.”
“You have information?” I asked, a bit shocked. “Did Jaide tell you where the other Sentinel is?”
“No and no,” he answered. “But I can find out with a magical ritual. It will require three things, though.”
“Another test? I have to prove I’m worthy of your information again?”
“No, nothing like that.” Malchor laughed, a strained sound void of mirth. “You’ve long since proven your worth. I simply require some components for the ritual. First, I need a lock of hair from the one Sentinel. Second, I need Joen’s blood. Just a drop will do.”
“And third?” I asked.
He paused a long moment before answering. “I need a name,” he said.
“But I don’t know the name.”
“Jaide indicated to me that you’ve met the other Sentinel.”
“Yeah, she told me the same thing.”
“Well, think hard, then. Meet me in my quarters just before the midnight hour with the required components, and I’ll help guide your path.” He took his hand from my shoulder and walked away, leaving me to think.
I’ve met the other Sentinel, I thought. But who?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“My hair?” Jaide asked skeptically.
I nodded, standing uncomfortably in Jaide’s austere bedchamber.
“You intend to do some magic, don’t you?”
I nodded again.
Jaide studied me for a long time. “I’m surprised, I must admit,” she said. “I expected you to engage in some attempt to steal a lock of my hair. I certainly didn’t think you’d just come right out and ask.”
I shrugged.
“Why didn’t you?” she asked, unfastening the tie that held her hair to one side, and pulling a small razor from the shelf beside her. She had taken one of Malchor’s finest guest rooms, complete with a washroom and a full kit of grooming supplies.
You can read my mind, I thought but didn’t say. How can I sneak up on you if you can hear me coming?
Jaide smiled and didn’t answer. She brought the razor to her hair, cleanly severed a lock, and handed the hair to me.
But how will you get the other components? I heard her voice ask in my head. The girl will not likely give you her blood so easily.
Surprised, I asked aloud, “How do you know what else I need?”
“I gave our host the ritual,” she answered.
I blinked a few times. “But you, the Sentinel of Tymora of all people, have known all along that I mean to destroy your goddess’s artifact. And for all your talk about just watching, not being able to help us, you’ve helped us all along.”
It was Jaide’s turn to shrug. She turned away from me to the mirror on the wall.
I considered pressing her, but I figured she’d been as forthcoming as I could have hoped for, and far more than I’d expected.
“I need a name,” I couldn’t resist saying. “Who is the other Sentinel?”
“I’ve told you before,” she said. “I can’t fight your battles. That is for you to do.”
“But you can give Malchor the ritual that will tell me who the Sentinel is?”
Jaide laughed. “I don’t make the rules,” she said.
No, I thought, not caring that she could hear, you just bend them.
She moved slowly, fluid
ly, each twist the natural extension of the previous, each setting up the next. The glint of metal from her hands, the daggers weaving and cutting, only amplified the mesmerizing effect of her dance. Forward, back, high, now low, she attacked, her blades striking the various arms of the practice dummy with perfect precision.
The room was much as we’d known it for a year. In the center of the circular chamber the oddly shaped, segmented, many-armed pillar stood impassively, accepting of its role as the victim of Joen’s deadly dance.
Her tempo increased. The grace of her movements didn’t suffer with speed. If anything, she seemed more fluid, more hypnotic. I stood in the doorway in a state of awe at how fine a fighter she’d become.
And I wondered how it would affect my plan.
I watched for a while as Joen went through her routines. She practiced with her daggers each night before bed while we were on the road, but only simple, slow attack and defense routines to keep her muscles in shape, to keep her memory sharp. She seemed grateful to once again have the dummy to spar with, to have a focal point for her energy. And she seemed grateful too, to have the full run of the room. She circled constantly, a slow waltz punctuated by occasional sharp sidesteps, usually followed by a devastating attack.
But not always. That was the beauty of her dance. Her moves flowed so well together, but not predictably. Anything she did, she could follow with a number of other moves—forward or back, attack or defense, it all blurred together.
Again she upped the tempo, her daggers a blur, her arms weaving together so quickly I was surprised she didn’t tie herself into knots. But she remained precise, and the dull thump of steel on wood echoed through the room. She stepped to her left and stabbed out hard. She cut back to the right, and brought her daggers across in a quick cut. She stepped back then skipped forward, one blade high, the other low. Then, with a flourish, she spun a full circle, dizzyingly fast—and her foot slipped on the wood floor, sending her sprawling painfully to the floor. I gasped and she grunted. Her dagger came out of her grip and skidded across the floor, almost cutting her. She closed her eyes and groaned as she rolled over onto her back, gingerly touching bruises and pulled muscles.