Sentinelspire (23 page)

They passed a set of elegantly crafted buildings with brass pillars set before huge double doors, then walked through another garden, and Lewan saw that they were passing beneath one of the tall columns on which stood a statue. The statue was bigger than a cave bear. It had been carved in the form of a rearing stallion, its mane flowing back over the spread wings of an eagle. Holding his hood so it would not fall back, Lewan made sure no one was around, then looked up. Smaller statues—all of winged horses—lined the path or sat upon pedestals throughout the garden.

They passed a fountain whose outlet was choked with detritus from the storm. A massive oak grew beside the pool, its boughs spread over the fountain so that the lowest leaves were tickled by water spouting from the mouth of another winged horse. A half-dozen men were standing under the boughs of the oak near the water. Lewan saw that Sauk was among them.

Talieth led Lewan down a narrow side path toward the group of men. Coming under the eaves of the oak, they passed out of the drizzle. Still, remembering Talieth’s warning, Lewan kept his hood up and his head down. Sauk knew of his presence in the Fortress, but Lewan wasn’t sure about the others. He didn’t recognize any of them from the Shalhoond.

As they drew near, Lewan risked a glance up and was sorry he did. Sauk and the other men were standing around what Lewan first thought was a pile of muddy, torn rags. But then he saw that it was not mud at all. It was blood, and the
rags were what remained of clothes upon bodies. How many, Lewan could not be sure, for the pieces were jumbled together. His gorge rose. He’d seen slaughter before, but animals—deer, bison, elk, cattle, sheep. Only twice before had he seen people slaughtered with such savagery.

“What happened here?” said Talieth. Lewan heard the rage and shock in her voice.

Sauk spared Lewan a glance, then fixed his gaze on Talieth. “We think it is Vasilik, Draalim, and perhaps Peluris. The others … well, we’re still looking for the rest. There aren’t enough pieces for whole bodies. We think some might be in the water.”

“Why were they outdoors last night? I gave orders!”

The men around Sauk looked away, blanching under the lady’s fury.

“They were keeping a vigil,” said Sauk.

“A vigil?”

“The Old Man told them that the faithful must be ready, ordered them to prepare and contemplate.” Sauk shrugged. “Looks like they weren’t prepared after all.”

Talieth stood a moment, looking at the carnage. “Get this cleaned up,” she said, “and have men search the pool. I don’t want pieces floating up once the weather warms.” She turned to Lewan. “Come.”

Raising her skirts over the blood-soaked leaves, she went round the men and led Lewan back along the path. As Lewan walked, he kept his head low, and thus could not help but look right upon a bloody torso with everything but half an arm and the remains of a neck torn away. But through the blood and shredded clothing, Lewan saw one wound clearly. He might have thought nothing of the claw marks and their size—except that he and Berun had spent several days tracking those very prints. A steppe tiger.

Lewan’s eyes widened and he glanced toward Sauk. The half-orc caught his gaze and smiled.

Talieth and Lewan left the garden, passing under a stone arch covered in mistletoe. She said nothing, but her gait was stiffer than before. Whether from rage or shock, Lewan couldn’t be sure—he had been around no ladies of such social standing in his life and could not read her—but he was certain there was very little grief in her mood. She had ordered the men to clean up the torn corpses as if ordering a servant to sweep up a broken plate.

A great domed building stood at the end of the path before them. Pillars ringed it—Lewan counted four on the near side alone—and he was surprised to see smoke wafting out the top. Not pillars, then, but great chimneys, each one covered in the odd angle-patterns that seemed to dominate the fortress’s architecture.

Talieth glanced back and saw him gawking. “This is the Dome of Fire,” she said. “Get your head down.”

Lewan obeyed, and she led him down a brick path along one wall of the dome to a narrow stairway that began at ground level and descended into the earth. Ten steps down, the darkness was broken by lamps set in alcoves along the wall. The air felt cool but close, and water from the storm ran down into the earth through gutters on either side of the path. Twenty more steps and the stairway turned left and doubled back, their way lit by more lamps. Farther from the fresh air, Lewan could smell the lamp oil, scented with some kind of spice.

The stairs doubled back twice more, then ended before a yawning blackness. Lewan hesitated, but Talieth stepped toward the right wall. Just at the border between light and shadow was a stone column about waist high. The odd angular patterns and strange runes covered it, and atop it, set within the stone itself, was the top third of a crystal sphere. In the murky light cast by the last of the lamps, the crystal seemed
black as dreamless sleep. Talieth placed her open hand on the crystal and stroked it.

Lewan gasped and jumped back as fire flared to life in the darkness beyond—leaping from a ledge that ran along the wall a few feet off the floor. It ran down the length of the hall, disappearing around a bend not far ahead.

Talieth turned around and gave him a gracious nod of her head. “Welcome to the Dome of Fire,” she said, “although as I’m sure you’ve guessed, we’re actually well below the dome itself.”

“How—?” Lewan stared, open mouthed, at the long stream of flame running along the wall.

“The Imaskari were masters of the elements,” said Talieth. “They are long gone, but their works endure, only waiting for the proper hand to bring them to life.” A sharpness entered her eyes, not unlike the careful watchfulness Lewan had seen in the eyes of Sauk’s tiger when she’d been set to watch him. “Much as we are hoping you will do with your sacred relic, yes?”

Lewan drew a breath, intending to point out that he had never agreed to aid their conspiracy. At least not yet. But that tigerlike gaze made him think better of it. Still, frightened as he was—and he didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that he wasn’t frightened—he could not bring himself to give in so easily. He simply looked to the flames and kept his tone light as he said, “What would you have me do, lady?”

Talieth smiled, though the predator’s eyes remained. “Follow me,” she said, and turned down the hallway.

Lewan followed. The hall was wide enough for several to walk abreast. Talieth glided down the middle, Lewan behind her and slightly to the right. He drifted to one side and looked down into the channel. He could not smell or see oil or fuel of any sort—only a tiny crack along the bottom of the stone. It seemed no thicker than his thumbnail, and the flames leaped to life just above the crack.

He was near the wall, his eyes following the track of flame, when the channel ended at a doorway. Although the entrance had a thick wooden door on four stout iron hinges, the door was open. Inside, the room was dark, and the light from the channels of flame in the hall only penetrated a few feet inside the room. As they passed, Lewan could see no more than a bare stone floor, covered in dust and grit. But the smell emanating from the room was unmistakable. Blood and charnel. A hunter for most of his life, Lewan had seen countless animals butchered. In the villages and settlements in the Amber Steppes, he’d seen entire pens devoted to slaughter, the blood and offal drenching the grass and forming a putrid mud. This smell was worse. Lewan recoiled, almost trampling the hem of Talieth’s skirt in front of him, and his gorge rose. For the first time since waking, he was glad of his empty stomach. This was the stench of slow death and rot.

Grimacing, Lewan swallowed bile and looked to Talieth for explanation. She kept walking, not even turning, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“What … was that?” Lewan’s voice was hoarse and raw. His throat burned from the bile.

“Put it out of your mind,” said Talieth, not turning or slowing her pace. “You have other concerns now.”

They passed three more doors—two on the left and one on the right. Thankfully, these were shut tight, but as they passed the second, Lewan thought he heard a faint sniffling from behind the door, like the ragged end of weeping or someone breathing during the final stages of a long sickness. But the steady hiss of the flames drowned it out after they passed.

The hallway curved again, always to the right. They passed a large passageway with more stairs leading down, and not far beyond, they reached another door. Talieth lifted the black iron latch, the door swung forward on noiseless hinges, and she entered.

Lewan hesitated in the doorway, but the room before him was nothing like the one he’d passed earlier. It was opulent. The room was bigger than most houses he’d seen in his lifetime, though the ceiling was low. Heavy drapes covered the walls, alternating with several bookshelves, each of which was filled with scrolls and thick tomes. Soft couches rested upon thick rugs. Thick white candles burned in sconces on the wall and on pedestals throughout the room. In the middle of the far wall, a fire burned in a hearth so large that Lewan could have stood inside it. A brass brazier hung from a chain over the flames, and something inside bubbled, filling the room with a spicy scent. In the middle of the room, sitting upon a thick rug that looked as if it had been taken from a sultan’s palace, was a plain table, four plain chairs set around it.

“This is my private study.” Talieth stood just inside the room. “Enter and be welcome.”

Lewan stepped inside, his footsteps soundless on the deep rug. Talieth shut the door behind him and walked to the table, where she turned and leaned against it to regard him with that predator’s gaze.

“Please, sit wherever you like.”

Lewan looked around, eyeing the plain wooden chairs and the soft, cushioned couches. Time to test this predator’s mettle, he thought. He sat on the rug with his back firmly against the door.

Talieth’s left eyebrow shot up, and one corner of her mouth followed it in an amused smile. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, my lady.”

With both hands Talieth reached behind her neck and pulled a necklace of braided leather over her head.
Erael’len
emerged from the front of her dress.

“You remember of what we spoke yesterday?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Talieth looked at him, her eyebrows rising a little more
with each moment that he didn’t speak. Finally, she said, “Lewan?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Are you going to be difficult?”

“Difficult, my lady?”

“ ‘Difficult, my lady,’ ” she repeated in a flat tone. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts,
Erael’len
dangling from one hand. “It’s been so long since I’ve had to deal with a man your age, I’d forgotten how difficult you can be.”

“My lady?”

“Lewan, I commend your manners, but I sense a lack of sincerity in them.”

Lewan said nothing. He tried to hold her gaze but found that he could not, so he glanced away and pretended a sudden profound interest in the nearest bookshelf.

“I ask you, Lewan,” she said, “have I shown you anything but kindness since you came to my home?”

“As I remember it,” said Lewan, still studiously watching the bookcase, “you sent a band of killers to capture my master. He was killed trying to escape, and I was poisoned and brought here.”

Silence. Soon it became uncomfortable, and Lewan decided to risk looking at Talieth. She stood in the same pose as before, but her eyes had gone cold.

“I loved Kheil more than my own life,” she said, her voice low and carefully controlled. “Whether you believe me or not … damn it all, I honestly don’t care. I care not if he took a different name and fled my father. Gods know I’ve considered it many times over the years.”

She turned her back on him and bowed her head. A small part of him—the part that remembered his master’s lessons of treating women,
especially
nobles, with deference, if not genuine respect—felt a pang of guilt. But only a small pang. Although the memory of watching his master disappear beneath that shambling manlike mound of earth was dull and
unfocused in his mind’s eye, he could still see it, like a fading dream, and he held on to that last fleeting image. He would
not
apologize.

Talieth turned to him. “We must make things clear between us, you and I,” she said.

“Clear, my lady?”

Her jaw clenched for a moment. “Yes, clear,” she said. “We are a proud people here at Sentinelspire, and whether you know or respect our code of conduct and honor, I assure you we do have one. This fortress is the pride and envy of the East and West—among those few fortunate enough to have seen it and lived. But we are not like the societies of the pampered sultans or simpering kings. Every person here must contribute something. We have no layabouts. Your task is to unlock the secrets of this relic.” She held
Erael’len
up in her fist and shook it at him. “As long as you agree, as long as you
contribute
—and I do expect results—you will be our most honored guest in the fortress. You will be clothed in the finest clothes, fed the finest foods, bathed and oiled, you will sleep in a soft bed with the company of Ulaan or as many women as you choose. But you
will
help us.”