Sentinelspire (5 page)

Dripping, Berun stood at the pool’s edge, two spearlengths away from the man, and took a long look. Closer, he could see that none of the man’s injuries were serious. Scratches only. The blood covering him was in thin streaks, as if it had been smeared, spreading it as far as possible. Closer up, even in the dim light, Berun could see that not all of it was blood. Around his face, much of it was ochre, dampened by water—and by the scent he exuded, probably reddened with berries.

“You should leave,” said Berun, his right hand tightening the arrow on his bowstring. “The tiger won’t be gone long.”

The man straightened, still cautious, ready, but obviously relaxing. A slight smile curved his lips. “No,” he said. “She will not.”

“What is this?”

The man motioned to the ground with his spear. “Put that bow down. Nice and slow.”

In one fluid motion Berun pivoted, facing the man sideways to present a narrow target, and brought the bowstring to his cheek. The steel head of the arrow aimed at the man’s torso.

“Easy!” said the man, his eyes widening as he took a quick step back. He brought the spear up, but the look in his eyes said he knew it a futile gesture.

“I save your life and you want to rob me?”

“That isn’t how this is!”

“I’m not worth dying over. The poorest shepherd on the steppe has more gold in his croft than I have on me. This bow is the only thing of value I own.”

“And a fine weapon it is!” said a voice from above.

Keeping the arrow aimed at the spearman, Berun risked a quick glance up at the rocks. Kneeling on the very boulder from where he had watched the tiger was a massive shape silhouetted by the dying blue of the sky. He knew that voice, and even as he studied the silhouette, other shapes joined it—one man to the right and two to the left. Last of all, the massive form of the steppe tiger joined the group. Berun knew who was above him.

The silhouette stood and sidestepped so that a shaft of sunlight, orange as an ember in the evening dim, fell on him. He was half-orc, nearly seven feet of grayish skin over knotted muscle, his coarse black hair falling in a series of braids over his shoulders and down his back. Two incisors, one yellow and one silver, protruded from his bottom lip. Tattoos that suggested thorned vines decorated his arms and face. A bone-handled knife was sheathed at his waist, and the pommel of a sword protruded above one shoulder.

“Lower the bow,” said the half-orc. “We’re here to talk, not fight.”

Berun hesitated. If he could feather the spearman, he might make it down the ravine. Maybe. But even if he could, he’d never outrun the steppe tiger.

Berun lowered the bow. He let the tension leave the string, but he kept a good grip on the arrow between his fingers.

“Well met, Kheil!” said the half-orc. “Been a long time.”

T
he half-orc took his time climbing down the rocks. The other men—and they were all men, as near as Berun could tell—kept watch from above, their hands lingering near their weapons. One had a crossbow, latched and ready. Two others held bows with arrows on the strings. Even though Berun could see no hard details, only suggestions of substance amidst the silhouettes and shadows, he could read the tension in the men’s stances. Five stood there at the moment, and Berun worried that more might be on the ridge above him. The tiger lounged with them. She crouched on the boulder the half-orc had left. She looked around, the only one at ease.

The half-orc jumped the last distance into the pool then waded to shore. Dripping from the waist down as he emerged from the water, his eyes never left Berun. He walked near and stopped an arm’s length away. The half-orc stood a full head taller than Berun, and where Berun was lean, the half-orc was a mass of muscle. He grabbed Berun by the chin and forced him to look up.

“It is you,” said the half-orc, almost in a whisper. “Talieth swore, but I never thought …” The half-orc studied Berun’s features. “I saw you. Saw you taken. How …?”

Berun jerked his chin out of the half-orc’s grasp and looked him in the eyes. “What do you want, Sauk?”

The half-orc flinched. Hurt sparked in his eyes, then it kindled and his gaze turned to anger. “What do I
want?
That’s all you have to say to me?”

Berun glared at Sauk, holding the half-orc’s gaze. “What do you want, Sauk?”

The half-orc glared back, breathing like a bellows, then he swung his fist. It felt like a knotted log as it struck Berun on the side of the face, and he went down hard. Floating orbs were just beginning to leave his vision when the top of Sauk’s foot caught him in the ribs, driving all air from his body.

“What do I
want?”
the half-orc shouted.

Berun struggled to take a breath, and what little he managed caught in a ragged cough. The punch had driven the inside of his cheek against his teeth, and blood filled his mouth. Coughing and retching, Berun fought to regain his breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw his bow and arrow on the rocks beside him. He couldn’t remember dropping them.

The half-orc grabbed Berun’s vest above the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Stars swirled his vision, but Berun could see that Sauk’s rage was spent. Regaining his breath, Berun turned and spat blood onto the rocks, then shook himself free of the half-orc’s grip.

“Why are you here, Sauk? How did you find me?”

He glanced up, wondering if he was in for another beating, but the half-orc only looked down at him, a mixture of sorrow and anger playing on his features.

“I thought you dead, you ungrateful bastard. I mourned you a year. I bled for your memory.” He pointed to a scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek. It was a
luzal unba
mark, a ritualized scar of Sauk’s orc clan, a self-inflicted wound cut down the face in remembrance of a lost brother. “How did I find you? I didn’t. Talieth did. Saw you in her scrying pool. Swore to me that you were alive after all these years. I called her a liar.”

“You were not wrong. Kheil died in the Yuirwood. I am called Berun now.”

“Berun?” Sauk snorted.

“It means ‘hope’ in the tongue of Aglarond. The druids gave me the name.”

“The same druids who killed you?”

“The same druid Kheil was sent to kill.”

The two stared at each other, Berun holding the half-orc’s gaze, Sauk flexing one fist. Berun knew the half-orc was giving serious consideration to beating him again.

“What happened to you?” said Sauk. The half-orc looked down on him, his gaze hardening with each breath until his gray eyes stared out, hard as flint.

“Kheil died.”

“You don’t look dead.”

“I told you. I am
not
Kheil. I am Berun.”

A moment of tense silence, then, “That’s how it is, then? After all we shared …”

Berun didn’t want to antagonize Sauk any further, and mostly he felt … not compassion. Not quite. Not for Sauk. But neither did he take any pleasure in deepening another person’s pain. Not even Sauk.

He swallowed and said, “Kheil is dead. Nine years dead.”

“Let him rest easy,” said Sauk. “Is that it?”

“Kheil will never rest easy.”

Sauk snorted and looked down on him. He reached into a large pocket of his vest and pulled out what looked like a thin green strip leather. He held it out to Berun, who realized at once what it was. Perch’s tail.

“I had to pull your lizard off Taaki,” said Sauk. “But the damned thing’s tail snapped right off.”

“Where is he?”

“Your lizard?” Sauk shrugged. “You tell me. Little bug-eater ran off. You really care that much?”

“You care about Taaki?”

Sauk blinked and his eyes widened. For him, that signified shock. “You have an
arumwon?”

Berun took the tail. “Something like that.”

Among Sauk’s orc clan,
arumwon
meant “beast brother,” an animal friend meant to serve and protect. Berun suspected it was very much like his own bond with Perch.

Sauk shook his head, a smile threatening to crease his face. “Kheil the assassin turned
zuwar
. Never would’ve thought.” He banged his chest with a tight fist.
“Kumash damun!
Taste the blood! Eh, Kheil?”

Blood had filled Berun’s cheek again, but he knew that if he spit now, Sauk would take it as a grave insult. Berun swallowed. “The Beastlord did not call me, Sauk,” said Berun. “I serve the Oak Father.”

A look that was half smirk and half scowl twisted Sauk’s face, as if he’d bitten down on a bitter root. “That explains why you hunt with a lizard instead of a tiger.”

“That lizard whipped your tiger.”

A dangerous glint lit Sauk’s gaze. “Taaki did as she was told. She got you down here. She’d’ve eaten your little lizard had she wanted. Little thing like that, she probably wouldn’t have bothered chewing.”

Berun opened his mouth to say,
She’d have had to catch him first, and she was doing a poor job of that
, but good sense took hold of his tongue and he clamped his jaw shut.

“You hungry, old friend?” asked Sauk.

“Not really.”

“You always were a master liar, Kheil, but I could always see through you. Me and Talieth, we were the only ones, eh?”

Berun said nothing.

“We have things to discuss,” said Sauk. “Many things. And tongues always wag better over a full stomach. Come.”

Berun unstrung his bow and carefully slid the arrow back into his quiver. It would be no use against so many. If it came to a fight, it would be bladework.

One of Sauk’s men tossed a knotted rope over the rocks so they could climb up. Sauk went first, then Berun, followed by
the spearman. When Berun came up over the ledge, the steppe tiger crouched an arm’s length away. Taaki looked down at him, her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared and the lips pulled back over her teeth. Again the growl seemed to hit the gut more than the ears.

“Ragh ala
, Taaki,” said Sauk, calming her. He looked down on Berun. “She remembers you. Still doesn’t like you much.”

Berun stepped aside to give the spearman room to get up—and to put the half-orc between him and the tiger. “She never liked Kheil,” he said. “She doesn’t know me.”

“Hunters know their own,” said Sauk. He turned away, and the tiger followed.

Berun kept a careful eye on the underbrush and treetops as they walked. Perch was close but keeping himself hidden. In the early evening with the shadows thick, it was easy for Perch to stay out of sight. Not once did he show himself, but Berun knew he was there all the same.

The loss of his tail hadn’t really hurt Perch. It was a gift of his species—the tail snapped off to distract a predator long enough to get away. Given proper nourishment, he’d grow a new one soon enough.

They walked less than a quarter mile, to a place where an offshoot of a stream fed a reed-choked pool. Sauk and his men made their camp just where stream met pool, so they were surrounded by water on two sides. Full dark had fallen, and Sauk’s men busied themselves building fires.

Taaki padded off into the woods, and Sauk motioned for Berun to sit opposite a small fire from him. The half-orc seemed grim, his brows low and his jaw tight. Berun knew that he had probably spent their walk going over their conversation, getting angrier with each retelling in his mind.

Berun sat and put his unstrung bow across his lap.

Sauk glanced down at it. “A fine weapon. You always hated the bow,” said Sauk. “Called it a coward’s weapon. You liked to get in close for the kill, see your prey’s eyes as the light dimmed. One of the things I liked about you.”

Kheil had once said those very words—and meant them. Berun said, “I don’t kill for pleasure.”

“You seemed ready to kill Gerrell down by the water. And you’ve been hunting Taaki for days.”

“Your man was about to kill me—or so I thought. I was hunting Taaki only because I thought a beast had come out of the Khopet-Dag. She’s been killing sheep, you know. Took a shepherd. And the hunters sent after her still haven’t been found. Had I known it was Taaki, I—”

“What?” said Sauk, heat rising in his voice. “Turned tail and hid in the woods, hoping I’d go away?”