The Sentinel (The Sundering Book 5) by Troy Denning

Author:Troy Denning [Denning, Troy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786965489
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

THE RIVER ARRABAR WAS IN SLOW FLOOD AS THE SEA OF FALLEN STARS seeped back to the Vilhon Reach, turning grassy plains into marshes and stands of timber into islands of yellow leaves. A hundred leagues distant, a jagged ridge marked the line of earthmotes the goddess Chauntea had dropped across the valley to hold the sea back and give her worshipers time to bring in the harvest. Closer by, a cluster of thatched roofs marked the location of a drowned village, and it seemed clear to Arietta that had the caravan tarried to rest along the way, it would never have reached the river in time to cross. As it was, the stone bridge ahead was nearly submerged, with its abutments hidden below the surface and muddy water lapping at the haunches of its arches.

“What a happy sight!” said Malik. He was riding next to Arietta, between her and Joelle. “Now that we’ve made it, perhaps Faroz will let us take the time to cook our meals before we eat them.”

“We haven’t made it yet.” Joelle pointed to the far end of the bridge, where Kleef and twenty more guards were galloping ahead to scout the ground on the far side of the river. “This would be a good place for an attack.”

“Who is there to attack us?” Malik asked. “Even Kleef has not seen an orc for three days. Perhaps we have finally outrun the brutes.”

Arietta and Joelle turned to Malik simultaneously, both of them with a single eyebrow cocked in doubt. The orcs had been trailing the caravan for a couple of tendays now, mounting raids so frequently that Faroz had hired more guards at Xorhun. Arietta had even forsaken her place at the front of the column, choosing to ride with Joelle and Malik so she would be available to help defend the Eye.

After a moment, Arietta said, “I fear that’s wishful thinking, Malik. Those orcs wouldn’t quit that easily.”

“Why should they not?” Malik asked. “They are on foot and the caravan is mounted. It is a wonder they keep catching us at all.”

Malik had barely spoken when an alarm cry rose from the far bank of the river. Arietta turned to look and, fifty paces up the slope, saw a mob of stooped figures charging from a copse of duskwood trees. With stocky bodies armored in leather and thick gangling arms bearing two-handed axes, there could be little doubt they were orcs—and almost certainly orcs from the same horde that had been shadowing the caravan.

Arietta saw Kleef draw his sword and spur his courser into a charge. The other guards hesitated, clearly surprised by the maneuver, then grabbed their own weapons and raced after Kleef. Only a single rider remained behind, a gaunt figure in robes who dropped his reins and gestured, then drew something from a sleeve and flung it toward the orcs.

A thunderous crack rang out across the river, followed by a brilliant flash that flattened dozens of orcs. Kleef reached the

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