Sentinelspire (45 page)

The night is red! The night is red! The ni—

The call had come not long ago. He’d feared it since Talieth first laid out their plan this morning—feared it and prepared for it. Still, that it had come not from Talieth or Sauk but from one of Talieth’s pets that was currently sharing the boy’s bed … that bothered Val. It meant things had gone from bad to worse to—

“What in the unholy hells is that?” said the man walking behind Val.

Valmir had been so lost in his thoughts, his attention so focused on getting them to the Tower of the Sun, that he’d almost stepped on … whatever it was. At first he thought it was merely a pile of refuse that a servant had been taking out, dropped on the street, and left when chaos broke loose. But then he caught the stench—blood and offal.

One of the other men, the one holding the lantern, came round. His light fell on the bloody wreck. “I think that was Dayul.”

Whoever it was, he hadn’t simply been killed. He’d been torn apart. Limbs ripped off the torso, skin and flesh ripped from bones, intestines scattered. Not even the tiger would have done something like this.

“Dayul?” he said. “How can you tell?”

“I recognize the boots … uh, boot,” said the lantern man. He pointed. Lying a few paces away from the thickest mass of gore was half a leg. It still wore a fine leather boot with brass buckles. “Dayul loved those boots.”

“Not anymore,” said Valmir. “Let’s move. Be ready.”

“Ready for what?” said one of the women.

“Wish I knew,” said Val, and he reached inside a pouch for the small clump of bat excrement. He grimaced, but damned if it didn’t feel comforting just then.

Nearly two dozen of the blades were already at the Tower of the Sun when Valmir arrived. The assassins stood on the path outside the main entrance of the courtyard. Several held lanterns, but most of the light came from the odd orbs floating round the tower and among the brush. A few of the assassins had ventured under the archway, and one of them—an old veteran named Merellan—called to Valmir.

He walked past the others. “Where’s Talieth?” he asked.

Merellan swallowed and looked inside the courtyard. “Trapped. Up there in the trees.”

“Trapped?” said Valmir, both confusion and anger in his voice.

“Wrapped up in vines.”

“What are you waiting for?” The confusion gone, Valmir’s voice was all anger. “Get her out!”

“We … we tried. The woods in there—they’re alive, Valmir.”

“Alive? Of course they’re alive you damned fool. They’re plants!”

“Not like this. See for yourself.”

The man motioned to another to bring up his light. He opened the lantern’s shutter. Valmir held the wad of bat droppings and brimstone mixed together, just the way Talieth had taught him, and he rolled it between his thumb and fingers as he advanced, the words of the spell playing round and round in his mind.

He heard something approaching through the foliage, and he stopped. Then he saw that it was the foliage itself moving—vines covered in leaves and thorns, and thick braidlike strands of creepers—snaking over the ground and swaying through the air toward him. He quickly backstepped out of their reach.

“That’s
what I meant,” said Merellan. “Alive.”

“What do we do, Valmir?” said one of the assassins in the street.

“Valmir!” called a voice from inside the courtyard. A woman’s voice.

“Talieth?” Valmir shouted. “That you?”

“He captured us,” said Talieth. “Sauk and me both. We’re caught up in the vines.”

“How bad you hurt?”

“We’ll live,” said Talieth. “You need to get us out. We have
to get up there and stop the druid before it’s too late. Burn it. Burn the woods.”

Val looked round at the other assassins. They wore the same shocked, fearful look that he knew was on his own face. “But that will burn you, too.”

“The vines are coming from the thick foliage near the base of the tower. One cluster has me. The other has Sauk. Hit them—burn them all—and I think the vines will release us. But be ready to cut and drag us out quick.”

Valmir took a deep breath. “What if it doesn’t, Talieth? What if it burns and you stay right where you are?”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the patter of the drizzle on the leaves and the rustling of a few branches in the wood, then Talieth said, “Burn the cluster holding Sauk first.”

Valmir smiled. “That I can do.”

N
o!” Lewan grabbed the hammer and forced himself to his feet. Gripping the weapon tightly, he charged Chereth.

He’d gone only three steps when a heavy shape bowled him over. Lewan went down hard, the breath knocked out of him and his shoulder bruising even on the carpet of leaves. He rolled up and saw Berun standing before the smoldering net of vines around Ulaan. His master held his long knife in his hand and raised it.

“No!” Lewan shrieked.

Berun brought the knife down in a ferocious arc—but not at Ulaan. He struck low, hewing at the braided vines that held her off the floor. One swipe, and a thick mass of vines parted as easily as old cloth. Berun’s backhand chop cut another thick, smoking bundle. The weight of the girl was too much for the remaining vines, and she toppled. Berun caught her with his free hand and sliced through the last of the greenery.

Chereth simply stood there, leaning upon his staff and watching.

But Berun ignored the half-elf. Ulaan was still screaming, her voice becoming shrill and almost inhuman as tangled vines and her clothes still burned. Berun grabbed her and dragged her to the nearest fountain. Five long strides, and he heaved her in. She landed with a splash and a hiss as the water drowned the
flames. Still encased in smoldering vines, the girl kicked and thrashed, but Berun forced her all the way under the water.

Lewan pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to his master. Berun pulled the girl and mass of scorched foliage out of the water. Ulaan was coughing up water, which Lewan took as a good sign. Coughing meant alive. Many of the leaves and vines were withered and burned, but still firmly wrapped their victim.

“Thank you, master,” said Lewan.

Berun set the girl on the ground and looked up, an expression of profound sorrow upon his face. He still held the knife in one hand.

Lewan’s blood was pounding in his ears, but as it began to calm, he heard screaming. For a moment, he thought it was Ulaan again. Her screams and the smell of burning dredged up memories of Lewan’s mother, but he squeezed his eyes shut and forced them away. He could still hear the screaming—faintly, but there was no mistaking it.

Then he realized it was coming from outside, far down below. Men and women screaming. Chereth’s dark creatures had found Talieth and her assassins, and the bloodbath had begun.

Talieth’s plan had worked. Even more amazingly, Valmir’s spell had worked. He’d spoken the incantation, completed the last of the hand motions, and a tiny ember had shot forth from his fist, growing in size to a great globe of fire before striking the thick mass of foliage to the left of the tower’s main doors.

The arcane fire burned fast and hot, and as Valmir and the other blades stood just outside the main gate, watching the woods begin to burn, Sauk—wrapped in vines and branches—had fallen from the canopy. He hit the leaf-covered pavement hard and began thrashing and roaring. None of the assassins—Valmir included—were bold enough to go inside the
courtyard yet, especially with an enraged Sauk. With the base of the vines in flames, the tops of the plants had been reduced to no more than ordinary vines, and though they reduced his clothes and some of his skin to shreds, the half-orc managed to free himself in short order.

He stomped over to the nearest corpse, retrieved a long knife from the belt of one of the dead assassins, spared Valmir a glance that was pure rage and disdain, and disappeared into the shadows of the wood.

A similar strike released Talieth, though she demanded help in freeing herself from the thorn-thick vines. With the fires destroying the main clusters of vines, several of the assassins had worked up the courage to venture into the courtyard.

Standing, Talieth was bruised and her exposed skin was bloody from dozens of scratches and cuts inflicted by the thorns, but the wounds only strengthened her resolve and stoked her fury.

“We must get inside that Tower,” she told her assembled blades, “and we have to do it fast. Before—”

“Lady Talieth!” said Merellan, pointing up to the tower.

Talieth and the gathered assassins looked up. Dozens of shapes were shambling down the outer walls of the Tower.

“What are those?” said someone behind Valmir.

“I think those are what happened to Dayul,” said Valmir.

Chereth still leaned upon his staff, watching Berun and Lewan. He heaved a great sigh and said, “I am most disappointed in you both. Lewan cries for a lying whore, and my trusted disciple rescues her from justice.”

“This was not justice.” Berun stood. Water from Ulaan’s thrashing had splashed onto him, and the runes and holy symbols were running off his skin in long, dark streaks. “That was simple cruelty.”

“Cruel?” said Chereth. “That would imply she didn’t deserve it. Pitiless? Perhaps. But justice must often be pitiless, lest it become weak.”

Berun held his master’s gaze a long time, then looked at the knife in his hand. “Do you remember the autumn before we left the Yuirwood?”

“What of it?” said Chereth.

“Blight had infected the Seventh Circle’s grove. It was beyond saving, so we burned the grove. Trees that had been old when our ancestors were young … we had to kill them. When this grieved me, do you remember what you said?”

“That was many years ago,” said Chereth, his voice still cold. “But I know what I would say now. Corruption must be rooted out, rot destroyed, blight burned. Yes?”

“Yes,” said Berun. “But do you remember why?”

“What?”

“You told me why it had to be so. Because an infected tree, once it is beyond saving … its greatest danger is in nurturing the corruption that might spread to others.”

“Quite true. All the more reason to kill corruption wherever we find it.”