Sentinelspire (44 page)

“I … I did, master,” said Lewan. “I saw Sentinelspire. But not from here, from the Fortress. It was as if I saw it from a great height. Like … like an eagle might see it, far up in the clouds.”

“Yes,” said Chereth. “Yes, that was it! Now, Lewan. Now is the time we spoke of on the mountain. I told you I would need your witness, your word. It is time to give it, my son. Tell your master what you saw. Tell him everything.”

Lewan closed his eyes, trying to recall every detail of the dream. It had been so strange, yet so vivid, and as he searched his mind the memories came back easily.

“I saw the mountain … fall. It just collapsed, like a tent whose pole snaps. Much of it was still falling when it all exploded. For an instant, I saw fire in the center of it, white-hot like the sun, then rocks, dirt, ash, and fire … so much fire … spreading outward. Spreading and spreading. It didn’t slow. Miles and miles, almost like the ripples of a pond. And then … then the darkness and fire filled everything.

“But then I could see again. I was still up above the world—but higher than any eagle. Higher even than a dragon could fly, I think. Hundreds of miles stretched out under me. I could see the edge of the world curving away into blue sky and black night. But below me—far, far below—I could see the smoke and ash from the mountain. It spread over hundreds, maybe thousands of miles, the wind carrying it far. It spread like … like a brown haze over the world, and then … then I was back down, closer to the land. I could see forests covered in ash. Rivers turned to mud and sooty muck. Fish died in the streams, animals on the land. Summer did not come. Beasts and men starved. Disease crippled entire cities. Entire realms burned as kings made war on their neighbors for food and unpoisoned fields. Then the armies turned on one another.

“Seasons passed. Winds and rains cleansed the air, more every month. Forests grew where once entire villages tilled fields. Trees and vines grew in the midst of castles fallen to ruin. Animals lived in the shells of dead cities. Rivers ran clean again. Lakes became clear. No more did fires burn in cities, their smoke turning sunsets brown. And … and here, the mountain … gone. Blasted away. Only a great hole in the ground remained, and over the years it filled with rain and snowmelt, forming a lake clear as diamonds held against the sky. It was …” Words failed him.

“Beautiful,” said Chereth. “Perfect. The very image and heart of that for which our Order strives. Men, elves, dwarves, and all thinking peoples will survive, will even thrive in time. But the stink of civilization will be pushed back for hundreds of generations. The wild will recover. We shall breathe free air again.”

Lewan looked on the half-elf, the horror of what he meant beginning to dawn on him. “You mean that you are going to going to
cause
this? All those people—”

“Dead, yes,” said Chereth. He hung his head, but Lewan did not sense any real sadness or regret in the gesture. “So it must be, much to my sorrow. To save the body from infection, sometimes one must cut off a limb.”

“But all those innocent people …”

“People die every day, my son,” said Chereth. “Innocent and guilty alike. This, too, is part of the Balance. You yourself have been used by people who profit from murder. That is the world that people have made. But it was not always so. Before the rise of cities, of rivers of sewage and sludge … people lived as one with the wild, giving and taking in equal measure. Today, we have a world of rot, and you know that the only way to save a tree from rot is to prune the sick limbs.”

“One who tends the trees must prune, yes,” said Berun. “But you aren’t talking about trimming a few rotten branches. You are talking about burning the whole wood! And what
good to us if we prune ourselves? If what Lewan saw is true, we will not be around to see your vision fulfilled.”

“Oh, but we will!” said Chereth. “You know full well that we stand in the midst of a fortress riddled with portals to points across all of Faerûn—and beyond. Once I wake the mountain at last, we will go elsewhere. I have prepared a place for us. I have not sat idle these years, but I have even taken many of the animals from this world and sent them there so that we may bring them with us when we return. Return as—”

“Conquerors?” said Berun.

“No,” said Chereth. “As teachers. Guides. We will lead by example, not force.”

“Destroying civilization,” said Berun. “That isn’t force?”

Chereth scowled. “Of course it is. A necessary force. Necessary to cleanse the world, to establish paradise.”

Lewan had no idea what to say. He sensed the wrongness—more, the
vileness
—of what Chereth planned. But he could find no reason or argument to refute it.

“Murder,” Chereth continued, “greed, blind ambition … destroying innocent lives. Were the both of you not orphaned by the greed of those more powerful than you? Filth, corruption, the sacrilege of undeath holding sway over entire regions—it must end, my sons.
We
must end it.”

“Vengeance,” said Berun, and an odd expression lit his face, almost like epiphany. “All this talk of justice, of cleansing, it all comes down to simple vengeance. Vengeance in the Tower of the Sun.”

Chereth scowled at his odd choice of words. “No, my son,” he said. “Vengeance is hurting one who has wronged you.”

“And civilization—the stink of cities and their sewage, as you put it—has not wronged us? Has not wronged the wild we love and swore to defend?”

“No, my son!” Genuine distress clouded the old half-elf’s features. “The desire for vengeance, for retribution … those are the desires of lesser men. I speak of the Balance, of righting
the scales so long wronged by”—his lip curled round the word
—“civilization
. We must be above such petty concerns.”

“But Sauk said … I was told—”

“Lies!” said Chereth, and his face flushed with anger. “That murdering bitch and her half-orc lackey told you nothing but lies. Ask your beloved disciple. Lewan”—the half-elf turned his gaze on Lewan, who flinched away—“tell your master. Have you not been well treated, even pampered, during your entire stay? Your every desire”—he glanced in Ulaan’s direction—“quenched?”

“Y-yes,” said Lewan, and he took an involuntary step away from the old druid.

“Yes! Yes, of course you have.” His voice lowered, calming, becoming almost kind again. “But my dear boy, it was all a lie. Sauk gave you just enough truth to cloak Talieth’s lies. From the beginning. Talieth has used you. She even sent a spy into your bed to corrupt you.”

Lewan’s heart lurched at the look of shock that passed over Berun’s face. Both his master and the half-elf turned their gaze on Ulaan.

“What is this?” said Berun

“I …” said Lewan. “It … it isn’t what you think.”

“No?” said Chereth. He glared at Ulaan. “You stand in this holy place and tell my son that you were not sent to his bed by your mistress to gain his sympathies and spy upon him?”

Fear lit in Ulaan’s eyes. “Lewan—”

“Do not look to him!” said Chereth. “You have defiled him enough already. Trained in the arts of murder
and
seduction. What better way to get close to your victim?” Chereth turned to Lewan. “Talieth sent her to you to turn you to their cause. To stop me. To stop the world from returning to purity. To murder me and continue their little cult of death dealing. Once they were done with you, she’d have tossed you out … or worse.”

“No!” said Ulaan. “At first, that’s all it was. Duty. But now, we—”

“Lies!” said Chereth. “Even now her honeyed tongue drips its poison. She is nothing more than a seductress, using you to get what she wants.” The half-elf faced Ulaan, a look of malice twisting his features. He raised his staff and shouted,
“Ebeneth!”

“Wait!” Lewan shouted, but it was too late.

The plants and vines struck. Some rose up and twisted like snakes, while others lashed like whips. The thickest struck Ulaan’s side, knocking her off her feet, and a thick tangle of leaves and creepers caught her and twisted. More and more wrapped around her, binding her tight. With a flick of the old druid’s staff, the vines dragged her back to him until they held her only a few paces away. She thrashed and kicked and screamed, but succeeded only in amassing a crisscross of scrapes and cuts across her skin.

Berun stepped forward. “Master Chereth, what—?”

“Even now she betrays us!” said Chereth. He shook his staff at Ulaan. “Did you think I would not know.
Did you?
”

Ulaan shrieked and thrashed. Blood streaked her face.

“Stop it!” said Lewan. “Stop! You’re hurting her!”

“Do you know what she has done?” said Chereth. “The die is cast. She has used her little trinket”—the half-elf stepped forward, reached amidst the vines into Ulaan’s shirt, and pulled out a silver chain upon which hung a red jewel —“to summon the assassins to rescue her conniving mistress.” He released the jewel and it fell back against the girl’s chest.

Lewan remembered Ulaan stumbling upon the stairs. He
had
heard her murmuring something. A signal. A cry for help.

“Release her!” said Lewan. “Please. Please, I beg you!”

“I can sense them now,” said Chereth. His gaze seemed distant, and he gave no sign that he’d even heard Lewan. “In the courtyard. They are setting fire to my gardens.” He chuckled. “They think that will protect them.
Fools
. Soon they will burn, and all they hold precious—and all the world will be my garden.”

Ulaan stopped screaming. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her eyes, pleading, looked to Lewan, then at Chereth.

“Still,” said Chereth, “I cannot have them interfering. Berun, my son, I fear we cannot perform the last rite until dawn, when the stars and planets align, pulling upon Faerûn to release the energies I need.”

“If all the assassins have come,” said Berun, “we cannot withstand them all. They are too many.” His voice sounded oddly flat. Emotionless and … resigned.

“We
need not do anything,” said Chereth, “save perhaps listen to the screams of the dying.”

The druid raised his staff again and half-closed his eyes. Lewan heard him murmuring something. He looked to Ulaan, afraid that the druid was about to inflict some new torture upon her, but nothing changed. She lay there, encased in vines, smeared with her own blood and shivering from terror.

“What are you doing, master?” said Berun.

The druid lowered his staff, leaned upon it, and opened his eyes. “Sending forth my
loyal
servants. The ones who brought you both here tonight.”

The dark things. Lewan shivered at the thought. He had watched them tear those four assassins to pieces. If they were going after Talieth’s blades … the poor souls wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What of those among the blades loyal to you, master?” said Berun.

Chereth smiled. “I have you and Lewan. I have the only ones I truly need.”

“What of Talieth?” said Berun. “You said you’d saved her. For me.”

The half-elf closed his eyes a moment, then looked at Berun, almost sadly. “That is up to her now.”

“Master!” said Lewan. “You can’t—”

“Be silent,” said Berun. But the look from Chereth truly silenced him.

“And you, Lewan?” said Chereth. “Your master begs for his woman. Do you wish me to spare your little whore? Were the Oak Father’s daughters not worth waiting for?”

“Don’t kill her,” said Lewan. “Please.”

“Purified yourself, have you?” said Chereth. “You think so? Washed her scent and sweat from you? You heard what I said. To save the body, one must cut away the corruption.”

“Please!” said Lewan. “Let her go. I beg you. I’m sorry. I’ll never touch her again. Just … don’t kill her. Please.”

“Oh, I will not kill her,” said Chereth, and the malicious smile returned.
“You
will. Prove your loyalty to me now. To the vision the Oak Father gave me. Kill this vile thing and enter into bliss.”

Lewan’s knees trembled. He tried to steady them, but all strength left his legs and he fell to his hands and knees. He dropped the bundled bow and the arrows he held. Unbalanced and top heavy, the hammer fell out of his belt and thunked on the leaf-covered floor. “No,” he said.

“My son,” said Chereth. Lewan heard the shuffle of feet, and when he looked up the druid was looking down on him, sadness in his eyes. “You have done it before. To spare those you love from pain. Now you will do it to purify yourself.” Chereth nudged the hammer with his foot, pushing it toward Lewan’s hand. “And if it helps you … to save her from pain.”

The druid walked away and raised his staff.

“No!” Lewan cried.

“Naur illeth!”
the druid cried out.

Thick smoke billowed from the vines encasing Ulaan, and Lewan could see tiny tongues of flame catching in the foliage. Ulaan screamed.

V
almir led a half dozen assassins—four men and two women—through the storm-slick streets. He knew he was very likely heading toward his own death, but it was not the thought of death or even life that was running through his head.

The thought that kept coming to mind was that the gods of magic, despite being feared and revered throughout Faerûn, must have one sick sense of humor. He’d at least halfway understood Talieth’s lessons on the necessity for components to spells—how their inherent qualities, both natural and arcane, helped summon and strengthen certain magical forces. But the fact that one of the main ingredients of one of his most deadly spells was something that came out of the south end of a northbound bat often made him wonder if the gods were more than a little insane, or if they just liked to test the mettle of their servants. They were hundreds of miles from the nearest apothecary, so Valmir had to search the caves for his own bat excrement, and that only made it worse. Still … he knew the effort would be worth it.