Sentinelspire (7 page)

“What?” Berun cursed the eager tone in his voice. Very few days had gone by over the years that her face, her scent, the feel of her skin did not come to his mind, but every time he thrust them away. Kheil had loved her. And Kheil was dead.

“Talieth suspects something darker is at work. She fears her father is on the verge of doing something … irreversible.” Sauk ground his jaw and looked away. His nostrils flared and he slapped the ground. “Damn it all, we want him dead.”

Berun held Sauk’s gaze. The half-orc looked back, unflinching.

“We?” said Berun.

“Me, Talieth, and every man here. A few others at the Mountain.”

“So kill him,” said Berun, his voice hard.

Sauk snorted, but there was no humor in it. Only disgust. “We tried,” he said. “Talieth sent her best blades but the Old
Man killed ’em all. The Old Man has been using your master’s power to set new guardians. Things I’ve never seen before. Things that haunt the dark places of the mountain. Things that scare even Talieth, and I’ve never seen anything frighten that woman.”

A smile threatened to break over Berun’s face but he held it back.

“But it doesn’t end there,” said Sauk. “The Old Man rooted out any who had colluded with the assassins. Didn’t just kill them. He tortured them. Till they begged for death. When we left the Fortress, their bodies were still on the walls. Some dead and rotting. Even the crows won’t touch them. But some … some were still alive.” He took a long swig from the waterskin and swallowed with a wince. “Wrapped in thorns and vines, bleeding, their skin rotting away even as they begged for someone to end their pain.”

Berun shuddered. “Talieth …?”

“The Old Man suspects her. He’s no fool. But she is his daughter. She’s still alive—or was when we left—but she walks the razor’s edge. She’s all but a captive in the Fortress, and the Old Man might kill her any time the whim hits him.”

“How did you get away?”

Sauk spared a glance at his men and a smile, sly and pleased, crossed his face. “Well, I said the Old Man rooted out the assassins. I should have said ‘any he could find.’ He found several. Too damned many. But not all.”

“As far as you know,” said Berun.

The grin froze on Sauk’s face, faltered, then fell. “Yes, as far as we know.”

“So the Old Man could just be biding his time. Playing you like a cat pawing at a mouse.”

Sauk’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no mouse.”

“What about your men?”

The tall blond man behind Sauk bristled and scowled at this, but he held his tongue.

“You aren’t half as smart as you think you are,” said Sauk. “Talieth’s always had a gift for magic—more than a little touch of the seer’s gift.”

“Don’t tell me what I already know,” said Berun.

“Really?” Sauk’s eyebrows rose, but Berun saw the mockery in the expression.
“Kheil
knew Talieth well—in many senses of the word. Seems that Berun remembers. Maybe Kheil isn’t so dead after all, eh?”

Berun didn’t respond.

“Using her … gift, Talieth found you, whatever you choose to call yourself. She knew you were alive. But … well, it seems that leaf-loving master of yours doesn’t know how to hold his tongue.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your old master talked. Sang like a damned minstrel for his supper. Mad the Old Man may be, but he’s no fool. He figured out who this ‘Berun’ was … is … whatever. There are still blades in the Fortress loyal to the Old Man. Had it not been for Talieth’s particular gifts, they might have found you first.”

“Found me?” Berun’s heart hammered, and he suddenly felt as if his breathing were too loud and quick. “What does the Old Man want with me?”

“You have something he wants.”

“Something he wants?” said Berun. “What—?”

“Air eye lin, or something like that.”

“Erael’len?”

“As you say,” said Sauk. “Never could wrap my tongue around the damned elfspeak.”

“It’s Aglarondan. It means—” Berun stopped, cursing himself.

“Means what?”

“Three Hearts.”

“Three Hearts,” said Sauk. “How sweet. Damned leaf lovers. No teeth in their jaws. When your old master talked, the Old
Man became interested.
Very
interested. Seems he not only misses his favorite assassin, but he’s hungry for this thing you carry, the Three Hearts.

“Which is why Talieth sent me after it,” said Sauk. “After you. So what do you say? Kill the Old Man and help save your old master. Are you with us?”

“No.” The word slipped out before Berun could stop it. But he didn’t regret it.

“No?” said Sauk, his tone equal parts shock and outrage.

“I … can’t,” said Berun. “Things are different now.”

Lewan. That’s what it all came down to. The boy wasn’t everything. There was the Old Man, Talieth, Sauk, and Sentinelspire itself, all facets of Kheil’s old life that Berun had hoped were dead and buried forever. Going back to them … it would be too much like stepping back into Kheil’s skin. There was the thought of Chereth, his beloved master, a prisoner, possibly being tortured or worse, but every thought of the old druid only reminded Berun of his oath.
I swear I will not come after you, save on your word alone. By my blood upon thorn I swear it
. By blood and thorn had he been given life, a second chance. He couldn’t defile that. But beyond all that was Lewan. He couldn’t forsake the boy. Like Berun, Lewan was alone in the world. All they had was each other.

Sauk held his scowl a good long while, but then he smiled and shook his head. “Nothing I can say to change your mind, old friend?”

“Sauk, you must understand, I have … other responsibilities now.” He took a deep breath and offered up a silent prayer. “I will help, if I can. But you must allow me to do it
my
way.”

Sauk’s smile went feral. “Now there’s the Kheil I remember.”

“You said it yourself,” said Berun. “The Old Man has new guardians, things none of us understand. If he’s somehow
leeching power off Chereth, then I need to find others who understand such powers better than I do.”

“You mean druids.”

“Yes.”

“But you—”

“I’m no druid, Sauk. Chereth was my master, and he taught me many things. Had he continued to teach me … someday, perhaps. But now I am simply a servant of the wild. I’ll be no help to you. But perhaps I can find those who will be.”

“There’s no time for that.”

“If I can find a grove, there are rites I can perform to contact help.”

“I can’t allow that.”

“Why?”

“Make no mistake here,” said Sauk. “We’re out to kill the Old Man. Kill him dead and put him on a pyre. But the Fortress of the Old Man, the blades—those will live on. And you know our ways. Invitation only, and only those wishing for our … services. You think I’m going to allow you to bring a flock of tree lovers into a fortress that has stood undiscovered by outsiders for generations? You know us better than that, Kheil.”

“Berun.”

“Berun
, then! I don’t care what you call yourself. We must stop him, and we need you—and what you carry—to do that.” The earnestness in Sauk’s eyes hit Berun. “Don’t you want to help your old master?”

“I do. But rushing to my own death won’t help him. If half of what you say is true, if the Old Man’s powers are beyond Chereth’s, then I can do nothing against him. I’ll need help.”

Sauk’s gaze hardened again. “That the way it is, then? Despite what you call yourself now, you have to remember that we were once as brothers. I come to you asking for help and you turn me away?”

That felt like a slap. Something tingled deep in Berun’s mind. Not shame, exactly. More like confusion and a niggling fear that there was some truth to the half-orc’s words. Still, his mind was made up. The only sure way of getting Chereth out alive was to find help. And there was Lewan to think about.

“My mind is made up, Sauk.”

The half-orc’s shoulders slumped, just for a moment, then he stiffened again. “I was afraid you’d say that. Have it your way.”

Sauk whistled, a harsh shriek between his bottom lip and top teeth that cut through the darkness. For several moments nothing happened, and then he heard it. Something approached through the woods. Not Taaki. The tiger would never make so much noise, even in the dark.

Two more of Sauk’s men emerged from the wood, and between them walked Lewan. The boy’s bow was gone, and his quiver and sheath hung empty from his belt. His left sleeve had been ripped halfway off his shirt, dirt and mud smeared him, and he had grass and twigs in his hair. He seemed unhurt, but his eyes had the look of a deer that had been outrunning a wolf pack and knew it could run no more.

Berun leaped to his feet, his unstrung bow clutched in one hand. “What is this?”

The half-orc rose and put out a placating hand. “Easy. Calm yourself. We need you—and what you carry. The boy will be safe as long as you come with us and behave yourself.”

Berun stared spears at Sauk for several long breaths. It didn’t seem to bother the half-orc.

“Lewan,” said Berun, looking to his disciple, “are you hurt?”

The boy blinked and looked at Berun. His jaw started to quiver, but he clenched it and swallowed. “I’m fine, master.”

“He just had a good long run that didn’t end well,” said the man to Lewan’s left. “We did him no harm.”

Berun returned his attention to Sauk. “Free the boy, and I’ll come with you.”

“You will come with us anyway,” said Sauk. “And so will the boy.”

Berun ground his teeth, looked off into the dark, and took a deep, controlled breath. He’d have to play this just right. He’d done this before, but never against so many, and never against a hunter like Sauk.

Closing his eyes, Berun let out the breath, nice and slow. Still standing, he relaxed his muscles and took another breath, this time through his nose, drawing in strength. Keeping his gaze set on the dark, Berun reached out with his other senses.

Scent. He smelled the wood smoke of the campfires, the thin stew bubbling in a cast iron cauldron, the damp of the streamside mud, the slight musky tang of sweat, leather, and unwashed clothes from Sauk and his men.

Sounds. The crackling of the nearby fire, loudest of all. The shuffle of men beside their fires, their low conversation, the scrape of their boots over ground. A slight breeze rattling the tops of the trees. Crickets, frogs, a night bird or two. The flutter of a moth past his ear.

Feeling. The air, tinged by smoke, passing in and out of his throat, filling his lungs. The soft scrape of his clothes against his skin. Cool air along his left cheek, warmer air on the right side that faced the fire. And deeper down, deep behind his eyes where men could only see in dreams, Berun sensed Perch, the edge of the little animal’s mind touching his own. Berun knew that the treeclaw lizard crouched above them somewhere in the darkness amongst the branches, watching. Perch could sense the tiger in the area, taste her scent on the air, but he couldn’t see her.

Returning his gaze to the half-orc, Berun said, “Nothing I can say to change your mind?”

Sauk stood, slowly, watching Berun, perhaps sensing
something out of the ordinary. He returned Berun’s stare, eye to eye. “No,” he said.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Keeping his face turned to the half-orc, Berun fixed his gaze on the man on Lewan’s left.
That one
, he told Perch.
Strike. Tooth and claw. Tooth and claw!

Perch’s excitement lit up.
Fight-fight-fight! Strike-tooth-and-claw!

A shadow fell from the darkness overhead.…

A
nd hit the man next to Lewan in the face. The man went down screaming, the lizard hanging on.

Berun shouted, “Lewan, go! Go!”

The man on Lewan’s left thrashed on the ground and slapped at the leathery shape clawing at his face. The other man had hold of Lewan’s forearm. The boy twisted and brought his knee into the man’s crotch. The man’s eyes squeezed shut and he crumpled to the ground.

Lewan, eyes wide, cast one quick glance at Berun.

“Go, Lewan!” shouted Berun, just as Sauk screamed, “Get that boy!”

Seeing five men coming for him, Lewan turned and ran for the woods. Sauk’s men leaped after him. Berun let his bow slide down his grasp so he held it only a foot or so from the end. The bow was only thick in the middle and wouldn’t make much of a staff, much less a club, but it might serve to distract the half-orc if nothing else. These men, if they were from Sentinelspire, were most likely trained killers. The best at what they did, surely. But Berun was willing to bet that Sauk was the only true woodsman in the group.

Berun turned, cocked his arm, and swiped the bow outward, aiming for Sauk’s face.

The half-orc sidestepped and ducked. He turned and
looked at Berun, his lips curling in a snarl over his incisors. “That’s how it is, then?”

Seeing their master facing off against Berun, two of Sauk’s men—Val and Gerrell, if Berun remembered right—stopped just inside the reach of the firelight and turned around.

“Let him go, Sauk,” said Berun. “The boy isn’t in this.”

“He is now,” said Sauk—and lunged, aiming a jab at Berun’s face.