Sentinelspire (13 page)

Chasing-me-mad run-run-run
. Perch hissed and chattered.
Fun-fun fight-chase-run-fun!

Go, my friend
.

Perch ran, unseen in the dark and unheard under the storm-swaying trees. In moments, he was gone. Berun relaxed his mind, seeking the rhythm of the storm, of the wood, of the world around him. In the gusts of wind, the wisps of spider web tickled his skin.

“Now,” said Berun. “Now, Sauk. Here it comes. You should’ve stayed in your mountain.”

He began his chant.

The tiger crouched a prudent distance from the camp. Her heart-brother had warned her about the lizards, biters and scratchers who hid in the trees. The little nuisance earlier today had angered her, but her coat was far too thick for such a creature’s claws to be a real threat. No. The real threat was that the beasts would warn their masters below, and that would
displease Taaki’s heart-brother. So she kept to the thick brush, becoming a part of the darkness itself. She couldn’t even see the distant twinkling of the campfire, but the smell of their fire was thick in her nostrils. She knew exactly where they were. At the signal from her heart-brother, she would roar to put fear in her prey then rush down the slope, making less sound than the wind in the trees.

Something rustled to her right, a furtive movement over the old leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor. Every part of the tiger went still as stone, save for her ears, which pivoted toward the sound.

The sky above the forest flashed, painting the wood in sharp contrasts of light and shadow, and thunder followed a moment later. The storm was close now, the scent of rain heavy on the wind. The last of the thunder faded, first from the ground, then the air as it rebounded off the mountain. Only the wind through the leaves and branches made any sound—

There.

Again, something skittered through the brush, but it was closer now. Very close.

A rumble gathered deep in the tiger’s chest, and the skittering sound stopped.

The tiger waited.

A sharp patter joined the hissing of the leaves and creak of branches, but it was only the first drops of rain.

Soon …
Her heart-brother, warning her.

Leaves rustled nearby, stopped, and the tiger heard a small hiss.

A lizard.

The tiger knew it, and the knowledge sang through the link she shared with her heart-brother.

Kill it!

The tiger lunged.

Hama sat, his legs crossed under him and his back against a tree. He dared go no closer, not if the
yaqubi
had who-knew-how-many of those little lizards lurking in the trees. He was close enough that he could charge the camp quick enough.

The first drops of rain, fat and falling hard, began striking the forest canopy. The leaves provided a barrier—so far—but they struck with enough force to be heard over the wind.

Any time, now.

Hama rose to a crouch and drew his knife.

The patter of the rain came stronger, and drops began to reach the ground. Something about the drops sounded … wrong. Just off slightly. The wind had been skittering through the leaves all evening, but Hama swore the sound had changed, just slightly.

As Hama stepped round the bole of the tree, something struck his hand. He ignored it, thinking it was only a raindrop, but when another struck his forehead, he brushed it aside.

Something bit his finger, and he hissed. Reflex took over. He flapped his hand and in half a heartbeat, felt tiny legs lose contact with his skin.

Lightning flashed over the mountain. In the flicker, Hama could see the wind-tossed boughs, stirred by the storm. But he’d been wrong about the raindrops. The rain had not yet come. Other things were dropping from the trees. Some were no larger than his thumbnail, but some were larger than his hand. A hundred or more shadows moved along the forest floor—moved against the wind. The nearest were only a few feet away.

Hama looked up. The last of the lightning died, and in the instant before complete darkness surrounded him, Hama saw dozens of spiders crawling around the tree. Crawling right for him.

Thunder shook the ground as the first of the spiders crawled over his boots.

Hama turned to run, but on the dark hillside his haste
betrayed him. Three steps and his feet went out from under him. He fell into a bush thick with new spring leaves. His heart hammered in his chest, and his breath was coming in quick gasps. In the brush he could not tell the difference between the leaves, branches, and hundreds of tiny legs crawling over him.

Hama screamed.

Sauk heard the first wave of rain washing over the valley. Fitful at first, it gained strength with each gust of wind.

Most of his attention was fixed on the tiny glow of campfire twinkling in the valley below him, but a small sliver of his mind was with the tiger—every beat of her heart, every breath and careful, considered movement. He could not see what she saw or hear what she heard, but his mind registered her reactions to sight, sound, even smell.

Lightning lit the mountain along the western sky. Thunder followed, and with it came the torrent, like a wave washing over a shore.

He told the tiger,
Soon …

Lizard!
It came through not in a word, but in the awareness that one of the little creatures had found her.

Kill it!
he told the tiger.

He felt her lunge. Then a scream—a man’s scream, but not on the opposite hillside where Taaki waited. This came from off to Sauk’s right. A shriek of utter terror.

“Damn!”

Sauk would kill whoever it was. Break his neck with his bare hands. Hama, by the sound of it. The fool had just ruined their element of surprise. The
yaqubi
were a skittish lot, and they might well be gone before the assassins even hit the valley.

The rain came harder, rattling the leaves overhead, but Sauk’s sharp ears caught something else. Even over the sound
of the wind-tossed trees and falling rain, Sauk heard a skittering like … tiny feet. Or claws. Hundreds of them.

Sauk turned his back on the valley and looked up the hillside. His half-orc eyes could see far better in the dark than any human’s. He could see the forest floor
moving
.

Lightning cracked the sky over the valley, and in the sudden harsh light Sauk saw that he was about to be overtaken by a tide of hundreds—hundreds of
thousands
—of spiders.

“Damn you, Berun,” he said. “Damn you, you clever—”

And then the spiders were on him.

The storm washed over the foothills of the Khopet-Dag. Wind and rain pummeled the forest while lightning lashed from cloud to cloud overhead, and thunder followed all. The thick canopy of the forest caught the rain and funneled it downward in thousands of tiny waterfalls so that by the time the fury of the storm had passed, and the rain settled in for a long, steady deluge, all the forest floor was a muddy, sodden mess.

It took Berun longer than he’d hoped to find Sauk. The little starstone he held gave off only a faint glow, and the storm had washed away any sign of the half-orc’s trail. If only Perch could keep the tiger busy a little longer, this just might work.

Sauk lay in the mud at the bole of a tree. The spiders were gone. The effects of Berun’s spell were long spent, and the spiders had either drowned or taken refuge from the storm wherever they could find it.

The half-orc was doubled over and shivering. The tree’s thick, waxy leaves kept the worst of the rain off him. In the dim silver glow of his starstone, Berun could see dozens of swollen bites across Sauk’s exposed skin. His eyes were squeezed shut, and tiny convulsions rippled through his muscles.

Berun touched Sauk’s temple with the back of his hand. The half-orc burned with fever. At the touch, Sauk’s eyes fluttered open. He tried to snarl, but it turned into a tooth-chattering grimace.

“D-d-damn you,” Sauk rasped.

“Damn me later,” said Berun. “Right now, I only want what’s mine.”

He opened the pouch at Sauk’s belt and rummaged through it. It wasn’t there.

“Where is it, Sauk?”

“Puh-p-piss on you.” Sauk grimaced and doubled over further as a stronger convulsion hit him.

“Don’t worry,” said Berun. “The venom from most of those spiders isn’t fatal. Not even from so many. Not for a big, strong hunter like you. Now where is it?”

Berun set the starstone on the ground, grabbed the collar of Sauk’s tunic, and ripped. Several necklaces hung round the half-orc’s neck. Some bore symbols of his faith, others were trophies of past kills, and the brass chain seemed plain jewelry. But around one particularly fine leather thong was what Berun was searching for:
Erael’len
.

Sauk tried to bat Berun’s hands away, but he was fever weak, and Berun ignored him. He eased Sauk’s head up, pulled off the necklace, dropped it over his own head, and tucked the talisman under his shirt.

“Th-this is-s-sn’t … over,” said Sauk.

“I know,” said Berun. “Listen to me, Sauk. Your plan is too risky. If you think you can sneak me in under the Old Man’s nose, you’ve grown soft. He’s using you to get to me. You’re only going to get us all killed. If it were just me, I might let you try, but I won’t let you pull the boy into this. I’ll help.
My
way. But only after I see Lewan safely away.”

Sauk growled something unintelligible.

“Leave the boy out of this,” said Berun. “Let me handle this my way. I’ll get my master out of the Fortress and take care of
the Old Man.
My way
. But if you come at the boy again, Sauk, I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Muh-m-m—” Sauk gasped, then said, “
Mal karash!
Oath breaker!”

Berun retrieved his starstone and looked down on the half-orc who had once been his closest friend. Lightning flashed, painting the half-orc’s face in sharp contrast.

“Kheil swore brotherhood to you until death,” Berun said. “He kept his oath. I owe you nothing.”

Thunder shook the world around them, and before it faded, Berun left the half-orc lying in the mud.