Sentinelspire

by Mark Sehestedt

  “Where are you going?” asked Val.

  “Taaki can catch the boy,” said Sauk over his shoulder. “But I don’t know if she can bring him in without hurting him. I don’t want to be up all damned night stitching up a mewling boy.”

  The half-orc sauntered off, and the dark of the wood soon swallowed him.

  The blond man tossed away the unstrung bow and quiver, then held the knife up and knelt next to Berun. His insolent grin widened. “Name’s Valmir,” he said. “You can call me Val. Most around here do. You just listen to Sauk and behave yourself, and you and me’ll get along just fine.”

  Berun considered bringing his leg up and jamming his boot in Valmir’s face—the man was close enough—but he knew that even if that worked, he stood little chance of finding Lewan in the dark before Taaki and Sauk. This wasn’t over. But something Sauk had told him earlier came to him—I have hunted enough prey to know when it is time to strike and kill and boast, and when it is best not to draw attention to yourself. Calling down doom … that’s just foolish. And so Berun let his head fall back into the cushioning grass. He could still hear the tiger roaring, but the screams had stopped.

  Chapter Seven

  15 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

  The northern Shalhoond

  They walked. Sauk roused the camp when dawn was no more than a pale shade of gray in the east. Lewan had barely slept. The events of the previous night had hit him hard. The tiger had not harmed him—at least not physically. Master hunter that she was, she’d forced him to the ground, much as she would a deer, but she’d kept her claws in, and her teeth had held his neck without piercing the skin. That had been the worst. In his travels with Berun, Lewan had seen cats hunt. Once the prey was subdued, they took it by the neck, and with a quick snap, it was all over.

  He had lain there, crushed leaves filling his mouth, the breath of the tiger filling his ear and rushing all the way down his shirt, and had waited for those jaws to end him. He’d wondered if there would be pain, wondered if he’d be able to hear his own neck snap, or feel his throat cave in, or the teeth tear through the blood vessels of his neck.

  But the snap hadn’t come. The tiger had held him there, her massive paws pinning his back while her jaws gripped his neck. He had no idea how long he’d lain there. He thought he might have screamed, but afterward he couldn’t remember. His first clear memory after the initial attack was the jaws loosening, moving away, then the great weight of the tiger was gone. Lewan had looked up, leaves clinging to his face, and the half-orc and his men were standing around him.

  “Don’t try that again,” said the half-orc.

  And that was it. No beating. No warning. No threats of punishment.

  Except from one man, the one whom Lewan had hit with the torch. He came at Lewan, one hand clenched tight and trembling at his side, but the other holding a torch. In pain as he was, still he was quick, and he lunged with the flaming torch.

  “Burn me, whelp? I’ll—!”

  Sauk’s boot took the man in the gut, doubling him over, and the half-orc snatched the torch.

  “You’ll do nothing,” said the half-orc. He looked down on the man, who lay near where the tiger had pinned Lewan. “Dren, see to his hand. Kerlis, you’d do well to stay away from the boy. I’m setting Taaki to watch him. You come at him, and Taaki will take you. And I won’t stop her.”

  And that had been it. The half-orc had made sure Lewan wasn’t hurt, even brushed off the clinging leaves and twigs, then brought him back to camp where he was fed, allowed to clean up, and given warm blankets by the fire. Still, after the events of the day, he’d lain awake long into the night, unable to stop his trembling. The only thing resembling punishment was that he was not allowed near Berun. He’d seen him, huddled near a fire on the far side of the camp. The way his master sat—hunched over, stiff, and favoring one side—Lewan knew he was hurting, but the two times Lewan rose and tried to walk over, the tiger came and stood in front of him with a growl so low that Lewan felt it in his boots.

  And so it was the following day. As they walked deeper into the wood, the country becoming rougher and climbing with every mile, Lewan walked near the front of their procession, Sauk beside him or just ahead, the tiger following. In the few places where the forest paths broke through clearings, Lewan caught sight of Berun, walking at the very rear of the line, surrounded by three men, two of whom held naked blades. The third, the blond one Sauk had called Val, kept a wary eye on their surroundings and seemed to be trying to engage Berun in conversation, but to no success.

  “Thirsty?”

  Lewan turned around. Still walking at the easy pace he set, the half-orc held out an open waterskin.

  When Lewan just stared at it, Sauk said, “Just water. Won’t bite you.”

  Lewan took the skin and squeezed a few sips into his mouth. Just enough to keep him going. He tied it shut and handed it back to the half-orc.

  “Keep it,” said Sauk.

  Lewan nodded thanks and tied the skin’s cord round his belt.

  “Feeling sick?” asked Sauk.

  “No. Why?”

  “Your color’s no good. You look pale, and you’ve been jumping at every noise all morning.”

  They left the clearing and plunged back into the cool of the wood. In the brush off the path, spider webs hung heavy with morning dew. A few even crossed the path, but Sauk used his scabbard to clear them out of the way.

  “I’m well enough,” said Lewan.

  “Not afraid of spiders, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t let the webs worry you,” said Sauk. “Nothing too dangerous in the lowlands. The big monsters stick mostly to the mountains, especially this early in the year.”

  “I’ve been living here for several seasons,” said Lewan.

  The half-orc grinned. “You know this country better than me. That what you’re saying?”

  Lewan shrugged. “I don’t know you.”

  Another fit of trembling hit Lewan. He clenched his jaw and fists to quell it. The half-orc laid a palm against his face. Lewan flinched back.

  “Just checking for fever,” said the half-orc. “I mean you no harm.”

  Lewan snorted despite himself.

  “Truly,” said the half-orc. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Then let us go.”

  “Us?”

  “My master and I.”

  “Can’t do that,” said the half-orc. “You and Kheil are needed, whether he’ll admit it or not.”

  “His name is Berun.”

  The half-orc rolled his eyes, then returned his attention to their path. “He never told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Your master … Berun”—Lewan heard the sneer in the word, though he couldn’t see the half-orc’s face —“used to go by the name Kheil. Kheil was once the best assassin west of Kora Shan. Some of the most powerful houses in Faerûn paid vast amounts of gold or favors for Kheil’s services. Our master, the Old Man of the Mountain, most often specialized in quiet killing. Trained most of his men to make murder look like an accident. But Kheil was … special. Kheil was used when a message needed to be sent. Kheil didn’t just kill. He slaughtered—and liked it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The half-orc chuckled and brushed a thick web from across the path before plunging onward. “Believe what you want. Kheil and I were more than comrades in arms. We were brothers.”

  “You’re a half-orc.”

  “Dam yeluk ufrum kahutat naw.”

  “What?”

  “A saying of the orc tribe where I grew up. It means, ‘Blood is thicker than milk.’ Means that brothers in blood”—the half-orc raised his right arm and flexed so the muscles of his forearm pushed up an old scar across his wrist —“are closer than brothers who shared the same mother’s milk. That was Kheil and me.”

  Lewan scowled and looked away. Just off the path, a fat brown spider sat on a magnificent
web larger than a knight’s shield. Even as he watched, a moth hit the web, stuck, and began to struggle frantically. The spider skittered down, stopped, and watched a moment as the moth’s struggles tangled it further, then it struck. It didn’t bother Lewan. Killing was part of life. The moth would nourish the spider. In a few more tendays, her eggs would hatch, and her body would nourish her young. Struggle and death was part of living, but what Sauk was talking about—no other way to say it. It was murder, plain and simple.

  “When I was fifteen,” the half-orc continued, “about your age, eh? I killed my father’s son. A good fight. He died well. But I did not mourn him. Hated him, in fact. Might have even danced on the ashes of his pyre had I not left him to rot by the river. But Kheil, I would have died for. I did kill for him. More than once. When I saw him taken that night in the Yuirwood, it was the blackest night of my life.”

  “My master,” said Lewan, “isn’t like that. He’s not a … a murderer.”

  The half-orc laughed, but kept it low and quiet. The wood pressing in on them seemed to call for silence. “Not now, maybe,” said the half-orc. “This … Berun isn’t the brother I knew. What do you know of him?”

  “Know of him?”

  “You seem damned determined not to believe me,” said the half-orc. “Right now, I could tell you the sky is blue and we’re walking in the woods, and you wouldn’t believe me—because you don’t want to. Even though in your heart you know it’s true. So if you’re so sure your precious master isn’t the killer I know him to be, tell me why. You can’t have known him more than nine years. I knew him far longer than that.”

  Lewan looked over his shoulder. The path had gone straight for a while, and he could just catch sight of Berun, still at the end of the line between the three men.

  “Berun saved my life,” said Lewan.

  “Now there’s a tale,” said the half-orc. “Do tell.”

  Lewan took a deep breath. Years had dulled the edge of the pain, but these were memories he still didn’t like to dredge up. “Raiders—outlaws out of the Ganathwood—hit my village. Killed my parents. Took me captive. They were almost back into their territory when Master Berun and his own master came upon them. They attacked the raiders. Saved my life.”

  “Your master and one other killed a whole band of raiders?” The half-orc smiled. “Sounds like a killer to me.”

  “That was justice—those bastards had it coming!” said Lewan, a bit of heat rising in his voice. “Not murder. The raiders deserved death. Deserved worse! Berun and his master didn’t kill for pleasure or profit. They killed to save me.”

  “Killing is killing. The why … now that is something else.”

  The only other time Lewan had seen his master kill another person—a Tuigan outcast from his tribe who’d turned to banditry—Berun had taken no pleasure in it.

  “It’s the why that makes a murderer,” said Lewan.

  The half-orc turned and smiled down on him. “Like me?”

  Yes, Lewan started to say, his mouth open, but instead he said, “I don’t know you.”

  “I have killed for coins, boy,” said the half-orc. “More times than I can remember. And I’ve killed for pleasure, hunting and slaying those stronger than me, more powerful. But my cunning won out, and I’m still breathing while they’re rotting. Killing’s part of life. Shy away from it, and you stand a good chance of being one of the rotters.”

  Lewan looked away.

  “You ever killed anyone?” said the half-orc.

  Lewan was silent a long time. Again, the pain of memories drained the color from his face. When he was sure he had control of his voice, he said, “I’m a hunter. My master taught me well.”

  “Meaning you’ve killed deer and rabbits. Maybe even a bear.”

  “I’ve killed three bears.”

  “But never a man? Never prey with weapon in hand and cunning in heart?”

  Lewan scowled and looked away.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” said the half-orc.

  Walking at the rear of the column through the woods, Berun only caught occasional glimpses of Lewan. But each time he did, the boy was listening to Sauk. Berun scowled.

  “Your boy is fine,” said Val, who walked beside him.

  Berun turned his scowl on the blond man.

  “You look ready to chew rocks,” said Val. That insolent smile again.

  What Berun would have given to remove that smile with a few punches. Barring that, he’d have given his next three meals for the path to narrow again so that Val would walk behind him and not be so eager for conversation. The man’s incessant chattering was bad enough. Combined with the raw pain in Berun’s ribs and the dull fire in his shoulder from the beating he’d endured last night, Berun felt ready to kill. He hadn’t hurt this bad in a long, long time, and he hadn’t been another’s prisoner since … never. Berun had never been a prisoner. Kheil had died a prisoner, and Berun had been reborn a free man.

  And here he was held captive by Kheil’s old life.

  “The boy your son?” said Val.

  Berun looked away.

  “ ’Cause he don’t look like you,” Val continued. “Looks like a Murghôm. Mulhorandi, maybe. His mother a Murghôm?”

  Berun slowed down, hoping Val would walk ahead, but one of the two men walking behind them jabbed his short sword into Berun’s back. “Move it! No lagging.”

  Val’s smile widened. Berun knew he could have easily bested these three, even snatched one of their blades and disappeared into the forest before the other men could do anything about it. But Sauk not only had Erael’len, he had Lewan. And there was the tiger. Berun knew that to beat the tiger, he’d have to think like a tiger. Don’t rush. Wait and let your prey give you the best chance to attack. Conserve your strength and wait.

  “I don’t think he’s your boy,” Val said. “Too old. If the stories I heard are true, that boy had to have been at least five or six years old when you left Sentinelspire. Unless you sowed some foreign fields while you were working for the Old Man …”

  Their path narrowed, the trees and brush closing in, and Val fell behind. But it didn’t deter him.

  “Not much of a talker, are you?” he said. “Talieth said that was one of your better qualities.”

  “What about Talieth?” Berun slowed and half turned before he caught himself.

  “Weh-hell!” said Val, beaming. “He does speak! A little salt in an old wound there, eh?”

  Berun turned his eyes back to the path and kept walking. He was glad Val was behind him and couldn’t see the heat filling his face.

  “It true what they say about you and Talieth?” Val said.

  “Aren’t you tired of talking yet, Val?” said one of the men behind them.

  “Just trying to pass the miles.”

  “Well, we’re tired of listening to you,” said the other man.

  “Then fall back,” said Val, a sharp edge in his voice. “You don’t have to hold my hand.”

  “Sauk told us to guard him. Told you that too. Didn’t say nothing about sharing our life stories.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” said Val. “Not while Sauk’s got his necklace and his boy.”

  Berun glanced back. The two men didn’t fall back, but their scowls now matched his own.

  Val grinned and looked at Berun. “Isn’t that right?”

  Berun turned forward. He pushed aside a branch, thick with broken cobwebs, then let it fly back at Val.

  “Don’t want to talk about the boy,” said Val as he ducked under the branch, “and Talieth seems to be a sore spot. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I agree with your friends,” said Berun. “You talk too much.”

  “Friends?” said Val. “These two camel humps aren’t my friends.”

  “Lick my—” one of the men started, but Val ignored him and kept talking.

  “See. They don’t like me twice as much as I don’t like them. We just work together.”

  “We’ll r
emember that next time we’re in a fight,” said one of the men.

  “Kerlis, you couldn’t catch one boy in the woods without burning your hand and crushing your little manhood. Twice. I’m not really counting on you in a fight. Unless we’re up against a bunch of little girls.”

  “You—!”

  “Leave it,” said the other man. “Sauk’s already threatened to feed you to Taaki. Don’t let this blond pretty boy drive you into the tiger’s jaws.”

  Berun glanced back. Kerlis looked ready to tear logs with his bare hands. The other man just looked weary.

  “Wonderful company, aren’t they?” said Val, his smile undiminished.

  Berun turned around in time to see something flit off the path and into the brush. For a moment, he hoped it was Perch, whom he hadn’t seen since last night, but a closer look showed it was just a spider. A big one. A bark spider. Nasty bite, but the venom did no more than cause a rash and make you thirsty.

  “Something tells me you don’t have many friends,” Berun said to Val.

  He heard the man chuckle. “I didn’t come to Sentinelspire to make friends. Besides, working for the Old Man provides the only kind of companionship I’m interested in.”

  Thinking of Perch brought a twinge of worry. Berun felt sure Sauk would have said something had he found—or harmed—the lizard, but he didn’t know these other men. They killed people without hesitation. Most of them probably enjoyed it. They likely wouldn’t give a moment’s thought to harming a treeclaw lizard. Berun kept his eye on the path, let his body do the walking, and tried to relax his mind, to quiet his thoughts, and stretch his senses.

  “It true what they say,” said Val, “that you and Sauk used to be friends?”

  Berun ignored him.

  “Word around the campfire is that you used to be the best cold-blooded damned butcher Sauk ever knew—and that’s something, coming from Sauk.”

  “Valmir,” said Berun, “I don’t share your campfire, so I don’t care what is said around it.”

  Val laughed, the chuckle of a mischievous little boy pulling his sister’s hair. “Like it or not, you’re going to be sharing lots of our campfires. Talk or don’t. But you don’t tell your tale, and others’ll tell it for you.”