“Not at all,” Yder said. “I will send word to the Night Guard that it is to join the Most High in the fight against Cormyr. You will take ten warriors and return to Shade at once.”
“To defend the Hall of Shadows?” Ajloon asked.
“To protect the Hall of Shadows-in the best way you can,” Yder said. “Remember, Ajloon. Think, and think again.”
Ajloon was silent for a moment, then finally seemed to grasp the full extent of what Yder was asking him to do-murder, coerce, blackmail, take hostages … whatever was necessary.
“We’ll find a way,” he said. “But ten warriors? That will leave you with only fifteen.”
Yder could only nod. “Shar will provide,” he said. “Perhaps it was she who sent the orcs, after all.”
CHAPTER 10
The plain ahead was rolling like a sea before a storm, actually rising and falling and rising again in a slow undulating rhythm that made Joelle’s mount skittish and her stomach queasy. The ground smelled of damp earth and rotting vegetation, and a pale green stubble of new growth rose through a mat of dead feather grass drowned by the Great Rain of a few months before. The sky hung low and golden between two mountain chains, with wisps of darkness and fire creeping across it in a never-ending battle for control of the heavens.
The world was on the cusp of a painful rebirth, and all across Toril, Chosen just like Joelle were fighting to decide the nature of that rebirth-whether it would bring forth the life-giving radiance of the gods of hope and love or let loose the living Hells of the lords of fire and darkness. She knew it was the outcomes of all of those thousands of battles that would determine whether the world to come was a place ruled by Lathander’s hope-bringing light or Umberlee’s storming rage or Cyric’s truth-eating madness, but Joelle could not help feeling that her own fight was the most important, that if she and her companions failed to deliver the Eye to Grumbar’s temple, then the Mistress of the Night would rule supreme forever.
And that responsibility terrified her. The unacknowledged daughter of a Berduskan lord, Joelle had been little more than an unrepentant jewel thief until a year earlier, when a threat against her beauty had prompted her to join the Church of Sune. Soon after, she had awoken one morning with flame-red hair and an innate ability to charm and heal. Then she’d had visions of a misshapen eye of badly sculpted quartz, and now here she was, in the middle of a quest to stop Shar from loosing the Shadowfell across Toril.
Fortunately, Sune had sent Kleef Kenric to help her.
After the escape from Yder’s sea monster, Kleef had rowed the skiff ten leagues to shore and led his companions to a road. A few hours later, they had come across a caravan preparing to camp for the night, and a short demonstration of his fighting prowess had won the entire party a place in their company.
That had been eight days ago, and now Kleef was riding flank guard. Mounted on a huge courser and wearing an expensive suit of filigreed armor, he looked more like an elite mercenary knight than a common traveler earning his passage with his sword-which was no doubt why the caravan master had been so eager to lend him the horse and equipment. Even without the other guards arrayed around the column, Kleef cut such an imposing sight that Joelle felt certain he would give pause to any common band of thieves.
She glanced up at the mottled crimson disk that was the midday sun, then reached up to mop the dampness from her brow.
“Amaunator must be winning the godfights today,” she said, glancing over at Malik. Like Joelle herself, the little man held the leads of a five-horse pack-string in one hand and the reins of his own mount in the other. “I’m ready to melt.”
“Indeed. Faroz is a foolish oaf for making us ride in the heat of the day.” Malik pointed east toward the Aphrunn Mountains, where a crooked line of trees marked the river that snaked along the base of the range. “In my own kingdom, we would be resting in the shade of those trees, watering our camels and feasting on dates until the coolness of evening.”
“And in your country, would a band of orcs be lurking among those trees, waiting to ambush your caravan the instant it entered the wood?”
“Never in a hundred years,” Malik replied. His round face had turned red and blotchy, and he smelled of death more strongly than usual. “The orcs would be resting, too. In my kingdom, everyone rests at highsun.”
Joelle laughed. “Then you must come from a very civilized country.” She looked back toward Kleef and-ignoring the fact that he was still sitting tall and straight in the saddle-said, “I think Kleef is beginning to slump. He must be growing thirsty.”
“If the oaf is thirsty, he will drink,” Malik replied. “Even Kleef is not such a fool that he has trouble finding his own lips.”
“I think his waterskin must be empty,” Joelle said. “He hasn’t lifted it in the last hour. I’ve been watching him.”
Malik’s voice grew bitter. “I have no doubt.”
Joelle turned to find her fellow Chosen glaring in Kleef’s direction, his eyes filled with a smoky hatred that made her wonder what intentions the little man might be harboring for his “rival.”
“Malik!” she scolded. “What did I tell you about jealousy?”
“That jealousy is the first refuge of a selfish heart,” Malik recited. “But I am not jealous of the fool. I am only weary of watching you pursue the one man in Faerûn unwilling to be yours.”
Joelle frowned. “Who says he’s unwilling?”
“He does, every time you throw yourself at him,” Malik said. “You have gone to him eighty times in eight days, and the fool has not come to you once. If that is willing, then I am a cloud giant.”
Joelle sighed. Malik was not exaggerating much. She had been trying to recapture Kleef’s heart since before they joined the caravan, always making sure that she was the one to bring him food and drink, asking for his help with little tasks she could have performed herself, sometimes even joining him on watch. His reaction was always friendly but restrained, an obvious attempt to hold her at arm’s length.
Joelle knew he wanted her. She could see that much in the way the veins in his neck pulsed as she drew near, in how the air grew musky and warm after she smiled at him. But whenever she tried to move close, he was careful to hold himself apart, and whenever she tried to lock eyes with him, he always looked away the instant their gazes began to smolder.
Finally, she nodded to Malik. “I know how it looks,” she said. “But Kleef is ready to fall in love with me. I can feel it. There’s just something that holds him back.”
“Perhaps that something is another woman.”
“Lady Arietta?” Joelle shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It would never occur to Kleef to pursue a Cormyrean noblewoman-and Arietta would never invite him to.”
Malik shrugged. “What does that have to do with their feelings?” he asked. “If what you say is true, Kleef has feelings for you and refuses to pursue them. Perhaps his feelings for Arietta are the reason.”
Joelle thought for a moment, then let out her breath. “It’s possible, I suppose,” she said. “Arietta is quite beautiful.”
“And do not overlook the temptation of forbidden fruit,” Malik added. “A heart wants most what it can never have. On that account alone, Kleef and Arietta are a perfect match. They can lust after each other from afar-and feed their noble pride by resisting their desires.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as terribly sad, Malik?”
“The world is a sad place,” Malik replied. “And Myrkul’s embrace is the only true escape-”
“Sune’s love is a pretty good escape, too.” Joelle hated to be rude, but the Myrkul refrain was a familiar one, and she had a problem to solve. She glanced back toward Kleef, then added, “And it’s my duty to make certain Kleef understands that.”