Sentinelspire c-4

by Mark Sehestedt

  "One thing led to another?" said Berun. "What's that mean?"

  "It means things got ugly with the nobleman, and Merzan was impressed with how I handled the situation." "Care to elaborate?"

  "Care to talk about Talieth?" said Val as he took a careful sip of the tea.

  Berun sipped the tea and scowled.

  Valmir chuckled, but Berun didn't hear much humor in it.

  The dregs of Berun's thin soup were just beginning to cool when Sauk and the scouts returned. One glance at the eagerness in the half-orc's gaze and the confidence in his gait told Berun that something was happening.

  "Any problems?" Sauk asked Merzan.

  "None," said Merzan, still displaying no emotion.

  The steppe tiger emerged from the shadows, skirting the scouts to stand beside her master. She fixed her gaze on Berun. She didn't growl, but Berun could feel the weight of her stare. Taaki had never liked Kheil, and she seemed to like Berun even less.

  "Good," said Sauk, " cause we've got news. Good news."

  "What is it?" said the man sitting across from Lewan. The boy looked tired, but the fear and shock were largely gone from his eyes.

  "Yaqubi," said Sauk, "bedded down in the next valley. Most likely headed back into the mountains after trading on the steppe."

  "Which means they're likely fat with gold," said Merzan.

  "How many?" asked the man near Lewan.

  "Seven."

  "Easy pickings," said Kerlis.

  "Yeah, your favorite kind," said one of the men who had gone scouting with Sauk.

  Kerlis spat and scowled at the man, but he held his tongue.

  Sauk looked to Kerlis and said, "If you think yaqubi are easy pickings, you've never fought them. They know these woods better'n your finger knows your nose. They may seem small and shy, but they're the best hunters around the Khopet-Dag. In the mountain valleys where some of the spiders are big as horses, the yaqubi thrive." He swept his gaze over the rest of his men. "We'll take them. Don't doubt it. But this will be a good hunt. We'll earn their blood."

  Laughter and a quiet cheer went up throughout the camp. All except for Kerlis. Watching him, Berun was reminded of the wolf packs that roamed the Amber Steppes. Every pack had its leaders, the mated male and female, and a precise order down from there. In every pack was the lowest wolf, always the last to eat, the last to drink, and the recipient of the leader's bad temper. If this band had been wolves, Kerlis definitely would have been the lowest wolf in the pack, and Lewan's recent escape and Kerlis's mishandling of it seemed to have roused Sauk's anger toward the man. Berun felt a small twang of pity for Kerlis, but mostly he knew he'd have to watch the man. Kerlis would know better than to take out his anger on Sauk or any of his men. If he felt that the boy was the source of his recent woes-and Berun knew he did-then he would be the focus of Kerlis's ire.

  "Kerlis," said Sauk, "you and Dren will stay here with the boy. Berun"-the half-orc's lips twisted around the name — "care to join the hunt? A good fight. Just like old times, eh?"

  "No," said Berun. "I won't murder innocents."

  Sauk snorted. "In that case, you better stay here, too, lover boy."

  A few of the men laughed. Berun looked around to see who was "lover boy," and was surprised to see Valmir blushing. The blond man's interest in discussing Talieth suddenly became clear.

  Chapter Nine

  'The raiding party had been gone a while. The wind had picked up, though their camp was deep enough in the valley that the surrounding hills and trees kept off the worst of it. The occasional thunder off the mountains was getting closer. Still no rain, but it was only a matter of time.

  Valmir had washed the iron kettle, refilled it, and it was just now beginning to bubble over the fire. For washing and shaving, he'd explained.

  "Something wrong?" Valmir asked Berun.

  "No," Berun replied.

  "You been quiet since Sauk and the others left."

  Berun rubbed his temples to clear his head. One bit of good news, at least. Perch was back. While Val washed the kettle and cups, Berun had taken the opportunity to reach out to his friend. The little lizard was up in the trees, watching them. The approaching storm had made him skittish, and he was worrying over the absence of his tail. But he'd found a comfortable place in the canopy to watch. His feelings came through, touching the edge of Berun's consciousness-Come down? Warm sleep?

  Berun sent out a call-not words, but the intent was clear: Not yet. Fight coming. Be ready.

  The wind had the trees swaying in a chorus racket, but Berun's sharp ears picked up something rattling in the branches overhead.

  Not yet, he told the lizard. Sit-sit-sit. Be ready. -ready-ready-ready. Fight-fight-fight! Tooth-and-claw-and-fight!

  Berun concentrated, sending forth one image, one thought wrapped in a question-Tiger…?

  Gone-gone. Over hill with the big-big one. Big one grab-grabbed my tail. My-tail-my-tail-my-taill

  New tail soon, Perch. Be ready. Fight coming.

  Fight-fight-fight!

  Berun smiled and called out to Valmir. "The soup all you have to eat?"

  The blond man had just finished stowing the cleaned cups in his pack. "Still hungry? I warned you not to expect too much from my cooking."

  "It isn't that."

  "Then what?"

  Berun shrugged and said, "Just… Sauk's mention of 'old times' reminded me of something."

  "And what's that have to do with my soup?" asked Val.

  Berun poked at the fire with a stick, sending a torrent of sparks into the air and stirring the flames to new life. "Back when I used to live at the Fortress," he said, "I did more than work for the Old Man. Besides… doing what I did, I was also the best cook between Teylan Shan and Yal Tengri."

  "That's not saying much," said Val, "considering that half the tribes out here drink rotten horse milk."

  "Ah, have a little faith," said Berun. "Let me prove it to you."

  "You want to cook for us?" "I do."

  Val tilted his head and looked at Berun through narrowed eyes. "Why?"

  "Why not? I'm not tired, but I am still hungry, and if all we have are supplies for soup, I could show you some spices that you might not have tried before. You have anything better to do?"

  Val's gaze did not soften. "Spices?" "In my pack."

  "And there wouldn't be anything else in your pack that we should worry about?"

  Berun sighed. "If you don't trust me, you could keep the pack and hand me what I need."

  Valmir looked to Kerlis, who was sitting, morose, by his own fire, and Dren, who was sitting beside Lewan and honing his dagger over a whetstone. "You two have any objections?"

  Dren just shrugged. Kerlis scowled and spat into the fire.

  "You sit still," Valmir told Berun, and he walked over to where most of the camp's supplies were piled. He found Berun's large leather satchel and returned to the fire. He sat, opened the flap, and turned the open satchel into the firelight. "Let's see if we can get this over with before the rain hits."

  "See the roll of felt wrapped in twine?" said Berun. "Yeah."

  "Those are needles and spare arrowheads," said Berun. "Quite sharp, so don't unwrap them. On the other side of the spare clothes is an inner pocket. See it?"

  "Yes."

  "In that pocket is a small leather bag stitched with a red thread. Make sure it's the pocket on the opposite side from the needles. The other pocket is poisons."

  "Poisons?"

  "I live most of the year in the wild. I sometimes have to hunt things larger than me, and it takes a bit more than an arrow to bring them down."

  Val removed a leather bag slightly larger than his hand. "This it?"

  "The very one." Berun reached for it.

  But Val drew it back, untied the drawstring, and looked inside. "How about you tell me what you want and I'll pass it over?"

  "You have salt already, so try to find a white doeskin bag. It should have a brass hinge on top rather than a draw
string."

  Val rummaged a moment, then produced the bag. "What is it?"

  "Just sage."

  Valmir opened the little hinge and sniffed at it. Satisfied, he closed the latch and tossed it to Berun.

  "Now, a larger oilskin pouch with black stitching."

  Val found it, sniffed the contents, and his brows rose appreciatively. "What's this?"

  "It's called lingale," said Berun. "It will help to bring out more flavor in the meat, and if we let it simmer, it will thicken the broth nicely."

  "Nice," said Val. "What next?"

  "This one is my little secret," said Berun. "The yaqubi call it yellow safre. Quite good. You'll find it in a similar oilskin pouch, only this one has lighter stitching."

  "Not much of a secret anymore." Valmir grinned as he looked for the pouch.

  "This is just cooking," said Berun. "I don't guard these secrets that closely."

  Valmir tossed him the pouch.

  "One more, I think," said Berun. "It's probably near the bottom. Been a while since I used it. This one is a bottle made from bone. Should have a thick wad of felt stuffed in the top for a cap."

  "Why bone?" asked Val as he rummaged through the satchel.

  "Clay or glass might break, and leather tends to soak up the flavor of this particular spice."

  Valmir produced the bottle and tossed it to Berun. "What is this one?"

  Berun twisted the felt out of the bottle and gave the contents a careful sniff. "This one is most special. I trade for it with Shou merchants in Almorel." He shook a generous pile into the palm of one hand.

  "What’s it called?"

  "They call it tep yen," said Berun. "I suspect it's some sort of fruit, but these are the seeds, dried and crushed." He leaned over the fire and extended his hand. "Here. Smell. It's quite good."

  Careful of the fire between them, Valmir leaned toward Berun's open palm. He inhaled through his nose, and his brows rose in appreciation. "Good," he said. "Smells hot."

  "It is," said Berun-and blew the tep yen into Valmir's eyes.

  Valmir shrieked-a high-pitched scream so loud that Berun thought the man might tear his throat. Val fell back, his hands scrabbling at his eyes and his feet kicking the fire.

  Kerlis and Dren leaped to their feet. Kerlis, eyes wide and a snarl on his lips, already had a short sword in hand. Dren was calmer. A small smile played across his lips as he glanced at Valmir, who was still thrashing and screaming. Dren would be the problem, then.

  Dren reached behind his back, and his hand reappeared with a knife. But the other hand he held open and outward in a sign of peace. He stepped around the fire and took three steps toward Berun.

  Relief swept through Berun. If Dren had stayed by his fire and held Lewan hostage, this little plan would have fallen apart right away.

  Fight-fight-fight? The feeling-the eagerness-touched the edge of Berun's mind.

  Not yet, he answered. Hold. Be ready. Ready-ready. Fight-fight-fight!

  "On your belly!" Kerlis shouted to Berun. He'd stopped a few paces away, and his eyes flitted back and forth from Berun to Dren.

  "Not for you," said Berun. He crouched near the fire and motioned the men forward.

  "Just sit down," said Dren. "Don't make us hurt you." "You won't hurt me."

  "Have it your way." Dren's open hand tightened into a fist.

  The two men advanced. Berun figured Kerlis would strike first. After the events of the day, the man had a lot to make up for. Berun waited until Kerlis was only a few paces away, then he lifted the near end of the spit over the fire-kettle of boiling water still dangling from the middle-and hurled it at Kerlis. The kettle struck him and the boiling water splashed over him.

  Kerlis went down thrashing, and his screams drowned out Valmir's.

  Fight-fight-now? Perch was tense.

  Not yet, answered Berun. I have this one.

  Berun turned his full attention to Dren, brandished one fist, and said, "You'd do best to go after Sauk and get help. You're going to need it."

  The larger man smiled and waved his dagger. "You'd do well to sit your arse down. You're all out of boiling water, and I have the steel."

  "Have it your way," said Berun, and he feinted forward.

  Dren's smile turned into a snarl and he lunged, sweeping the dagger before him. Berun jumped back, raised the thumb of his fist, and shook the open bottle of tep yen in the man's face. The red powder burst out in a cloud and enveloped Dren's head and shoulders.

  "Try-" began Berun, but Dren's shrieks cut him off. The man dropped his dagger and clutched at his face, but he kept his feet. Berun waited for the heavy cloud to dissipate, then stepped forward and punched Dren squarely in the temple. The man went down like a sack of stones.

  "— not to breathe it in," Berun finished. "That hurts even worse."

  Berun looked to Lewan. The boy stood a few paces away, wide-eyed and holding a burning brand in one hand.

  "Come," said Berun over the screams of the three men. "Gather your things. Find my bow."

  Kneeling beside Val, who was still thrashing and whimpering, Berun reached for the buckle of the man's belt. Val cried out and punched blindly in Berun's direction.

  Berun slapped the punch away and brought his elbow down hard into Val's gut. The man's cries cut off in a choke. "Enough of that," said Berun. "Just getting my knife back."

  He removed Val's belt and retrieved his knife and sheath. He held Val's belt and knife in his hand a moment, considering. It was a fine blade. Not too ostentatious, but well crafted. The belt was well made but had seen a lot of use. Berun tossed both into the fire. His pouch still lay where Val had dropped it. Berun picked it up and cinched the flap shut.

  Val had stopped his full-throated screaming, but he still rubbed at his eyes and rolled back and forth on the ground. "I'll kill you," he said between sobs. "You godsdamned bastard. Don't care what Tali says. I'll kill you."

  Berun looked down at the blond man. "First thing the Old Man ever taught me," he said. "The assassin's greatest weapon is not dagger or dart or poison. The assassin's greatest weapon is the weapon at hand and the willingness to act. I just bested the three of you with spices and boiling water."

  "I'll kill you!" Valmir lashed at Berun with one foot, but Berun sidestepped.

  "Listen to me," said Berun. "Listen closely. You leave me alone. You leave the boy alone. You come after either of us, and I'll teach you the second thing the Old Man taught me."

  Berun lunged down and punched Val in the gut. All the air shot out of the blond man, and he clutched at his midsection. His eyes, still clenched shut, were red and swollen. Berun punched him again across the side of the face.

  "I'll-!" Valmir swiped at Berun and tried to sit up.

  Berun punched him again, and Val went down, out cold. For a moment, Berun considered kicking him a few times, maybe cracking a few ribs. Might make up for the chattering Berun had been forced to endure all day. And that smug smile. It would feel good to knock that smile off his face for a long while.

  "Another time," Berun said, and turned away.

  The boy still hadn't moved.

  "Lewan," said Berun.

  The boy started.

  "Listen carefully," said Berun. He walked over and lowered his voice. It was doubtful that the men would be able to hear him over their own shrieking, but it never hurt to be careful. "I must take care of Sauk and his men or we won't make it out of these woods alive. You remember the lightning-blasted tree where we cleaned the deer last spring?"

  Lewan thought a moment, then nodded, but the fear did not leave his eyes.

  "Get as far from here as you can. Sauk and the others went west after the yaqubi. You go east. Find that tree. I'll meet you there tomorrow. You understand?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Good. We don't have much time."

  "Master?"

  "Yes?"

  "What about the tiger? You can't take her on your own."

  "Taaki and I have… crossed purposes
before. Leave her to me. Now move."

  Berun watched while Lewan gathered a few supplies, gave his master a final questioning look, and disappeared into the dark. In moments the darkness and swaying boughs of the storm-tossed woods swallowed him.

  A small form emerged from the flickering shadows and scuttled up to Berun. Perch stopped, looked up at his master, and let loose a series of excited chitters.

  "Yes," said Berun. "Now it's time." Fight-fight-fight.

  Chapter Ten

  “We wait for the storm,” said Sauk.

  The half-orc had gathered his raiding party on a small shelf of rock about halfway down the hill. The assassins huddled in the darkness, each no more than a dim shape against the rock. The wind from the oncoming storm cut through the trees so they swayed and tossed like a Shou feather dancer. Through the occasional break in the tossing boughs, Hama could see the yaqubi's tiny campfire several hundred paces below them.

  "Once the rain starts," said Sauk, "listen for Taaki."

  "Where has she got off to?" asked Hama.

  "She's a ways up the hill on the other side of their camp. Listen for her. She's the signal. Once your hear her, get in the camp and kill 'em all."

  "Will we be able to hear her over the storm?" Sauk was less than a few feet away, and Hama could barely hear him over the wind in the trees. The sky flickered, and thunder crashed on the mountains to the west, as if to emphasize the point.

  "You'll hear her," said Sauk.

  "Why wait?" asked Merzan.

  "What?"

  "For the storm."

  "You know that little lizard our captive keeps setting loose on us?" said Sauk. "Yes."

  "That's a treeclaw lizard, and Berun"-Hama could hear Sauk's lips twisting around the name — "learned to train it from the yaqubi. They use the damned things like hunting dogs against the spiders in the deep woods. And like dogs, the little beasts make great guards. Only these little hounds can hide in the trees so that they're near invisible. No telling how many are nestled in the brush around the camp. But they'll hole up once the rain starts. That's when we hit them."