A cold bitterness seeped into Kleef’s heart. He tossed Malik into the back of the grotto, then whirled on Joelle.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
Joelle did not flinch from Kleef’s anger. “As far as it goes,” she said. “Love is sacrifice, and love is the only way to bind Grumbar-”
“And you didn’t tell us?” Kleef interrupted. He shook his head, the bitterness inside him building into cold fury. “You’re worse than Yder. At least he was honest about what he wanted. At least he offered something in return.”
Joelle reached for his arm. “Kleef, I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen.” She was using her warm voice, the one that made others want to please her. “There needs to be a sacrifice, but whether that’s-”
“Don’t.” Kleef jerked his arm from her grasp. “Don’t try to charm me. Don’t even talk to me.”
He stepped to the edge of the grotto and looked out onto the bridge, where the orcs had drawn to within a hundred paces. They still cowered beneath their breastplates, trying to stay out of the fire-hail, but he knew it would not be long before the orcs were close enough to risk a charge-and once that happened, there would be no question of delivering the Eye to Grumbar’s Temple. The companions would be dead, and the Eye would be returned to Gruumsh.
Kleef peered down into the Underchasm. The Shadowfell was less than fifty feet below, so close he could almost feel Yder inside it, looking up and watching them, waiting for his opportunity to snatch the Eye.
Kleef turned back toward Malik, who cowered against the gate with a small black dagger in his hand, and he felt his bitterness become a physical thing, a cold throbbing tumor where once there had been a heart.
Perhaps the time had come to stop believing in dead gods, to live in the world as it was instead of as he wished it was-to do what was practical instead of what was right.
Kleef started across the grotto.
Malik glanced toward the walls, looking for an escape that did not exist.
“There’s nowhere to run,” Kleef said. “Just give me the Eye, and we’ll get out of this alive.”
“Kleef!” Arietta said. “What are you doing?”
“Saving us,” Kleef said. “We’re never going to reach Grumbar’s Temple anyway.”
“So you want to do what, exactly?” Arietta stepped to his side and grabbed him by the arm. “Strike a deal with Yder?”
“No choice,” Kleef said. “The orcs have us cornered. They’ll never agree-”
“No.” Arietta slipped in front of him, blocking his way. “This is wrong.”
“There is no wrong.” Kleef glanced over his shoulder toward Joelle. “I’ve finally learned that.”
“Because Joelle didn’t tell us someone might have to die?”
“Because she used us,” Kleef said. “Because she used you.”
“Tell me how that matters,” Arietta said. “This isn’t about me, and it’s not about your hurt feelings. It’s about stopping Shar.”
Kleef raised his brow. “You don’t care?”
“Not at all. In fact, if I must die at the end of this, I’m glad she didn’t tell me.” Arietta turned to Joelle and said, “That was very kind.”
Tears welled in Joelle’s eyes, and Kleef began to feel a little petty in his anger.
“Then you’re willing to be the sacrifice?” he asked.
Arietta nodded. “As I know you would be, were the situation reversed.” She paused for a moment, then glanced back toward the Underchasm. A mischievous smile crept across her face, and she said, “Besides, look at what’s happening out there. You’d have to be a damned fool to think any of us are going to survive.”
The goat slammed into the gates again, and Kleef broke out chuckling. He could not help himself. Arietta’s selfless courage was both a call to duty and an admonishment to rise above his own petty anger, and her easy humor was an inspiration to him, a reminder that their lives were less important than the cause they served. He felt the cold drain from his heart, and just like that, his bitterness was gone. Arietta was the one he had been waiting for his entire life, a noble who honored her vows and served a cause greater than herself. She not only deserved his trust, she was entitled to it-and to his loyalty, as well.
Kleef dropped to a knee in front of her, then laid Watcher’s hilt across his forearm-and was nearly blinded as a blue radiance blossomed in Helm’s Eye. For an instant, the agate seemed to become a window into a realm of pure, shining light-and then the light was outside the stone, flooding the grotto with a fierce blue heat that made their hair stand on end and set their blades to humming.
The goat bleated in alarm, and his fur crackled with tiny forks of dancing static. His eyes began to shine with the same blue light that had arisen from Helm’s Eye. Blue haloes formed around his horns. He reared up on his hind legs, and for just an instant he seemed to take the form of a gauntlet with a blue eye on the back. Then he hit the gates again.
This time, there was no boom, only the crack of splintering planks and the bang of a snapping crossbar. The gates swung open, revealing the cramped confines of the small bailey beyond. The goat dropped back to all fours and stood between the gates, shaking his head from side to side and watching the yellow pellets of flame pelt the cobblestone courtyard ahead.
The light in the grotto swirled along the walls, drawing itself into an ever-tightening spiral that finally coalesced into the shape of a knight in blue plate. The knight stepped out onto the bridge and swelled to the size of giant. Paying no attention to the fire-hail pinging off his armor and helmet, he stood looking out on the world, his eyes moving from the orcs cowering on the bridge ahead, to the Shadowfell seeping up from below, to the raging fire-filled sky. Finally, the blue knight squared his shoulders and spread his arms, expanding his chest and drawing in a long, hot breath of brimstone-laced air.
If the knight ever exhaled, there was no sign of it in his shoulders. He simply took a step forward, then turned to look back into the grotto.
It was impossible to see the face behind the helmet’s lowered visor, but Kleef could feel Helm’s gaze upon him, boring down into his very soul, taking stock and passing judgment. He found himself trembling at the memory of the bitterness that had ruled his life for so long, of the doubt and resentment that had nearly led him into Shar’s darkness, and he wondered how such a weak man could ever be worthy of being one of Helm’s Chosen.
The hidden face continued to study Kleef for what seemed both an eternity and the mere blink of an eye, and a single word rang off the grotto walls.
Vigilance.
And with that word, Helm’s power came flooding into Kleef, filling him with strength and magic and a perception beyond anything he had ever imagined possible. He could smell the orcs out on the bridge, a cloud of sour leather and rotten breath less than a hundred paces away. He could feel the Shadovar watching from the shadows in the corners of the grotto, a cold patient malice awaiting their next chance to strike. He could hear the wallbound moving through the stone around them, a long lingering whisper filled with loneliness and despair.
Kleef dipped his head in the blue knight’s direction, acknowledging both the gift and the obligation, then repeated, “Vigilance.”
The knight nodded once. He stepped over the bridge cables into the Underchasm and started to walk across the Shadowfell, heading toward a distant curtain of lightning.
Kleef was still on a knee in front of Arietta, who was staring after the knight, her mouth gaping as the giant warrior faded into the raging storm. Her wounds had stopped festering and were closing before his eyes, no doubt healed by the divine magic that had filled the grotto.