The Sentinels

  “Then let it begin,” Asbeel said. Asbeel walked through the doors. As soon as he crossed the threshold, his features changed. His face became twisted, his skin took on a red hue, and great black wings sprouted from his back.

  “Oi, what consequences?” Joen asked, falling into step behind him, daggers still in hand.

  “Our fates,” Jaide said, “are tied to the stones. If Maimun succeeds in the ritual, he will destroy the stones and Asbeel and me along with it.”

  “All these years trying to hide the stones away,” Asbeel said, “and only now you choose oblivion?”

  “I choose freedom,” she replied.

  We walked through the city in silence and darkness. The only light was the occasional torch from a guard patrol on the walls, or a candle in the window of a shop or home of a night owl. The only sound was the soft clap of our feet against the cobblestone roads.

  Our path wound through the middle of the city, though I was certain it would have been faster to skirt the edges. I assumed at first that Asbeel simply wanted to avoid any potential guard patrols—after all, he was wearing his demonic visage openly, though from past experience I knew he could hide it if he so desired. But he walked with a confident swagger, and he led us with purpose.

  So when he came to a stop outside a nondescript building in a nondescript part of town, I was somewhat surprised.

  “I thought you said the docks,” I said. “Or would you rather die here?”

  Asbeel laughed. “Don’t you recognize this place, boy?” he said.

  I looked around for a moment, taking in the scenery. Then it hit me.

  “There should be a sign above that door,” I said. “This is the Empty Flagon, Alviss’s tavern.”

  “It was indeed,” the demon said with a laugh.

  “So you brought me here, why? To show me that even the places you burn down are rebuilt?”

  “I didn’t burn it down,” he said.

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t care one bit about that. I brought you here to remind you where your dear mentor died. If he cannot best me, what makes you think you can?”

  My stiletto was out of its sheath before I fully registered his statement. With a flick of my wrist, I triggered the dagger’s magic, extending it into a fine saber, thin and balanced and just slightly curved. And ever so sharp.

  Asbeel laughed again, more loudly. “Not here, boy, and not yet.”

  “I say right here,” I growled. “Right now.” I advanced a step.

  “Stop.” His voice was forceful, and there was magic behind it as well. I felt the waves of mental energy roll through my brain, commanding my limbs to hold fast, demanding that I obey.

  Something seemed to shift in my mind. It flooded down through my body like a shower of warm water. All at once I could feel a series of connections taking shape in my mind and body. Throughout the thirteen months at the Tower of Twilight, I was fed subtle lessons—fragments only—hidden in the exercises and books. I never saw them as connected before, never saw the whole. Never knew I was learning to resist, to make my own choices. To be my own man.

  With a silent thanks to Malchor Harpell, I took another step forward, defiant.

  “You do not know the ritual,” the demon said, a note of respect in his voice for the first time.

  “I don’t care,” I answered. I gripped my sword in both hands, rushed forward, and swung with all my might.

  Asbeel brought his empty hand up to block, but it wasn’t empty. His own wicked sword—a huge piece of twisted metal, curved and serrated and burning with red flame—appeared from nowhere to intercept my swing.

  I put all my weight behind that blow, all my strength. Metal clashed against metal. Asbeel’s sword, held in one hand, moved barely an inch.

  Undeterred, I chopped again, a mighty overhead swing. My defenses were nonexistent. If the demon took a swing at me, I would be helpless.

  But he didn’t have time to swing. He could only maneuver his much larger blade up above his head to catch my sword. Again, the ring of steel filled the air. Again, I withdrew my blade, my attack defeated.

  Blue flame, I thought, and my sword responded. A thin blue fire traced along the sharp edge of the sword, a mirror to Asbeel’s red. I brought my sword up beside my ear, set my feet a half step apart. I moved my right hand from the hilt to the blade, resting my palm against the flat of the sword, just above the hilt. I let that hilt rest beside my ear.

  “Come, then,” I said. “Do your ritual, and let me kill you.”

  “The ritual,” Jaide said, “is simply combat. A bearer fights a Sentinel, the hands of fate—Tymora and Beshaba—choose the victor, and either the bearer dies and the stone passes on, or the Sentinel dies and the stone is no more.” Jaide looked to me. “I assume you choose to fight Asbeel.”

  “Gladly,” I gripped the hilt of my sword tighter and glared at the demon.

  “Oi, then why do you need all four of us here?” Joen asked.

  “Proximity,” Jaide said. “The stones must be together to be destroyed.”

  Asbeel flashed a wicked grin. “It is as I told you, children,” he said. “But I choose the time and the place.”

  I rushed forward, lunging for his heart, but he retreated a few steps. His wings beating mightily, he lifted off the ground.

  “The docks,” he said. “There we will finish this. Look for my flame.” He beat those horrid, batlike wings again, ascending into the night sky.

  “Why did he bring you here if he wanted to fight at the docks?” Joen asked.

  “He thought he could intimidate me,” I said. “But he was wrong. This place doesn’t remind me of where Perrault died. Perrault died at the docks when Asbeel struck him. This place is something else, was always something else.”

  “This is where you brought Perrault when he was injured, right?” Joen said.

  “And it’s where his dearest friend lived,” Jaide added.

  I nodded, feeling a new strength surge inside of me. “This was not his death. It was his home,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  If I had any doubt what Asbeel meant when he told me to seek his flame, it was made ever so clear when we reached the docks. A single boat, perhaps thirty feet long with a single sail, sat at the end of one short pier in a nearly empty section of the harbor.

  The sail was, incidentally, ablaze.

  A small group of people had gathered on the shore nearby to watch. Mostly they were the vagrants of the area, those who would still be awake at this late hour. We pushed through them, and they gave way willingly.

  Asbeel awaited our arrival on the boat. He stood directly below the flaming mast.

  “Whose ship is this?” I said, stepping to the end of the short pier.

  “Ours now,” he said. “You’ve learned much since last we met.”

  “I have. Have you?”

  He laughed. “You have much yet to learn, though.”

  “We shall see.”

  “Indeed.” He set his feet wide apart, brought his sword up, its jagged, twisted hilt near his forehead. “Come on, then.”

  I stepped onto the ship, set my feet and my blade, and again called up the sword’s blue flame. Joen moved to follow, but I motioned her back.

  “I have to do this alone,” I said.

  Asbeel heard me and laughed.

  Joen shook her head. “You ain’t alone, though,” she said. “I’m here.”

  “No,” I said. “He’s mine. Mine alone.”

  Joen looked hurt. I turned away from her so I wouldn’t have to see that expression, so I wouldn’t lose my focus on the task at hand.

  “You never did get Malchor’s lesson, did you?” she asked in a whisper. “He told you to release your arrogance, but you’re cocky as ever. And you don’t kill.”

  I heard her, but the words barely registered. I approached Asbeel, weapon at the ready. Joen didn’t follow.

  I circled to my left, as I had in my spar with Joen, intending to take
stock of the demon. He stood impassive, his sword held high, his back to the mast. He didn’t even turn his head to follow me. Did he want me to kill him, to be done with it all?

  No, I thought, that would be too easy.

  I moved all the way around to his right side. Any farther and I would have to contend with the mast itself should I attack. So I had a choice: attack now, or reverse my circle.

  The latter would reveal weakness in my approach, so I chose the former.

  I stepped forward, bringing the sword in a tight circle over my head, dropping my right hand to the hilt as it swept past my ear. The momentum of the quick motion brought my arms out and my blade whipping around, fast and true, at Asbeel’s midsection.

  He didn’t move at all. My blade sliced right through him—or rather, through the air, through the illusion of the demon. I noticed a bit too late. I couldn’t stop my swing. My fine sword bit deeply into the ship’s mast.

  I heard a rush of air behind me. On the pier, Joen shrieked. The demon swept over the far rail of the ship where he’d been hidden from my view.

  I couldn’t release my sword. I couldn’t block his attack. All I could do was let go of my blade and dive forward, tucking into a roll as I went.

  I felt the rush of air, the heat of the demonic flame as his sword swept across just inches above me.

  I rolled to my feet, skittering away from the demon. He advanced, smiling wickedly.

  “You didn’t fight fair!” I yelled.

  “Those aren’t the rules,” he said. “I don’t need to fight fair. I just need to win.”

  As if to enhance his point, he grabbed my stuck sword, pulled it from the wood, and flung it aside. It should have fallen into the water, but at the last moment it hit a guide rope and spun around it, momentum lost, so that the sword fell instead on the deck, though farther away from me.

  Asbeel advanced slowly, tracing his finger along the edge of his horrible sword. He seemed to be savoring the moment. I retreated as far as I could, to the stern rail of the ship.

  I was out of options. I needed to take a chance. He approached, barely five feet from me, still grinning wickedly. Distracted, maybe?

  I dived to the side, to his left, away from his sword hand. I tucked into a roll, meaning to tumble right past the surprised demon. It was a good plan.

  Except, of course, he was not surprised. He kicked out his muscled leg, catching me square in the forehead, and sending me skidding across the deck.

  “And so it ends,” he said somberly, raising his sword for the killing blow.

  I struggled to stand, but my head throbbed, my ears rang. I couldn’t find my feet. All I could see was that horrid sword, the blade that had killed Perrault, that had taken so much from me.

  I heard a scream, but it didn’t register. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye, but it could not take my focus. All I could think of was my impending death.

  But then Asbeel withdrew, howling in anger and pain. He turned to face the pier.

  Something small, something metal, fell to the deck. It was one of Joen’s daggers, its blade wet with Asbeel’s blood. She’d thrown it and obviously, she’d hit the mark.

  I scrambled forward and grabbed the dagger. He seemed not to take note. I thrust the blade upward, as high as I could reach from my prone position.

  It dug deep into Asbeel’s thigh, and his scream amplified tenfold.

  He brought his sword down, pommel first, driving it into my back. This was not much better than the blade would have been, though. It was that jagged, twisted hilt that had struck Perrault two years ago, that had caused the poisoned wound that had eventually killed him.

  The wicked metal cut through my cloak, the once-magical cloak I’d inherited from Perrault, as if it were paper. It dug deep into …

  Not my back. Surprised, I pulled away, scrambling toward the rail, still holding Joen’s bloody dagger. Asbeel didn’t pursue, instead falling back several steps.

  I climbed to my feet, still amazed that I wasn’t even wounded. But as I rose, something heavy fell out of my shirt.

  The sash that held the stone had taken the blow, and had been severed in the process.

  “This is not how it goes!” the demon roared.

  “As if you make that choice,” I said. I flipped Joen’s dagger to her and scooped up my own sword. Together, we advanced on the wounded demon.

  A column of light, narrow and small but brighter than any torch, appeared in front of Joen, then another and another, quickly encircling her. She tried to move forward, but the light was like a steel cage.

  “He is correct,” Jaide said, stepping onto the ship. No longer were her hands empty. She held a staff, itself also appearing as if it were made of light. I’d seen her fight with that staff one time, against Asbeel. “Joen should not interfere, and she will not again. This fight is for you alone.”

  “It is already tainted,” Asbeel spat. “The wench has already defiled the battle.”

  “Then Jaide should release her,” I said. “And we’ll just kill you, ritual be damned.” I scooped up the severed sash, held it high. “I’m starting to think I like this thing after all.”

  Asbeel growled, but had no answer.

  I settled into my attack stance again, and the demon set his guard high, as his illusion had done earlier. But he clearly favored his uninjured right leg. Blood poured out of the wound in his left.

  I decided to change tactics and abandoned the Eastern-influenced stance I’d adopted at Malchor’s tower.

  I set my trailing foot behind me, angled left to right, and my forward foot I set under me, pointing straight at my foe. I let my right hand trail behind me, curled up like the tail of a scorpion. I brought my sword to my forehead in mock salute, sweeping it out to the side then back to my defensive posture.

  “So you regress,” the demon said snidely. “You fall back on Perrault’s style, the one that got him killed.”

  I didn’t bother answering the demon. I shuffled ahead a few steps and lunged, dropping my trailing arm and leg to full extension, the tip of my sword leaping for his heart, my whole body a perfectly balanced, perfectly smooth line.

  Asbeel brought his sword across and picked off my attack, but the motion clearly pained him. I withdrew. The length of my retreat, a full three feet plus the length of my blade, put me out of even his considerable reach, should he wish to counterattack. I lunged again, this time angling my sword to my right and down, directly at his wounded leg.

  He brought his sword down, but not quite quickly enough. My blade grazed along the already bleeding limb, opening a fresh gash.

  Asbeel howled and swung his sword, aiming for my head, but I had already withdrawn and reset, and his blade whistled past harmlessly short.

  As soon as the sword passed, I lunged, again aiming for his wounded leg. He could not possibly defend with his blade, so he instead tried to move the leg. But it was slow, and he was off balance, and I scored another solid hit.

  Asbeel tried to retreat, but I paced him, stabbing at his leg repeatedly, sometimes hitting, sometimes just missing, but always keeping him on the defensive, on the retreat. I drove him all the way back to the far rail of the ship, and lined up one final lunge.

  He was wounded, he was tired, he was off balance. There was no way he could stop my attack. I lunged for the demon’s foul heart.

  As I started my motion, the deck before me burst into flames. Immensely hot, they rocketed ten feet into the sky, a wall of red fire. I only barely managed to stop myself from diving headfirst into the blaze. My arm sunk in to the elbow.

  In searing pain, I withdrew. Only by Tymora’s cursed luck was I still holding my sword. I couldn’t feel my arm at all. I fell to the deck, writhing in agony, trying in vain to regain some composure before the demon dropped upon me.

  He emerged from the fire limping heavily, barely able to put any weight on his many-times-wounded leg. But he would not have to in order to kill me, I knew. My mind screamed at my body to stand, to
mount some defense, but my muscles would not heed the call. All I could manage was a crawl toward the pier, a futile attempt to escape.

  It became even more futile as another wall of flame leaped up from that rail. I heard the lines tying the ship to the dock snap. We were drifting in the current of the great river Chionthar, headed for the open sea.

  Asbeel laughed at me. “I don’t even need to do anything, do I?” he said. “The fire alone will kill you and the girl.” Within the cage, Joen was crying and mouthing words, but the magic apparently also blocked sound. I heard nothing.

  I was about to die, and I just wanted to hear her voice. I looked at her, into her beautiful emerald eyes. At least these two beings could not steal that from me, that last look.

  Asbeel approached, albeit slowly, and raised his sword.

  I brought my own blade up in my right hand, my left tucked uselessly against my chest. It would offer a feeble defense, I knew.

  Asbeel’s sword started its descent.

  Then it flew away, along with the demon.

  Haze had plowed in hard, driving her head into Asbeel’s chest, launching him across the deck. She stood over me as I shakily rose to my feet, still clutching the sword in my good hand.

  The demon roared, rising to his feet, every bit as shaky as I was.

  There it was, at last, I knew. The truth of what Malchor had told me. I had to lay aside my arrogance, else I would face the demon alone. And had I been alone—truly alone, as I insisted moments earlier—I would be dead already.

  Above, I heard one of the crossbeams holding the sail snap, then the other. The flaming canvas dropped to the deck.

  “Well, I said it already,” Asbeel said, his voice once again confident. “I can just let the fire kill you.”

  I leaned heavily against Haze, the heat of the inferno sapping my strength. I could hardly argue. Even Haze seemed somehow less substantial in the fire.

  And less, and less. A thick fog rolled out from the mare even as her physical form seemed to fade. Soon, the boat was blanketed in a thick cloud of cool fog. It didn’t last long, fading after mere moments, and when it was gone, Haze was nowhere to be seen.