Sentinelspire c-4

by Mark Sehestedt

Lewan stuffed the starstone into his shirt pocket and reached for the knife at his belt. He drew it-a wicked, ugly thing that he'd taken off one of Sauk's men back in the camp. Lewan had carried a knife for years-as a tool. This blade was a weapon crafted for one purpose: murder. It felt heavy in his hand.

  Whatever was moving on the hill was getting closer. Had the sun been up, Lewan could have seen whatever it was.

  A voice came out of the roaring rain. "Lewan?"

  Lewan let out his breath. It was Berun's voice.

  "Here, master!" he called out as he made his way out of the shelter. He stood and removed the starstone from his pocket. As it warmed next to his hand, the light grew, catching and sparking in the droplets of rain so that Berun seemed to emerge from a thin curtain of crystal. His master had his hood down, and his long hair lay heavy and dripping over his face and down his shoulders. He held his unstrung bow in one hand.

  "Lewan!" Relief flooded Berun's face, but it lasted only a moment. He looked worried as his eyes took in the sight before him. "I've been scouring the hill. When I didn't find you… you're hurt!"

  "Just a scratch." Lewan managed a grin over his chattering teeth. "I took a bad fall trying to get up the hill."

  The concern didn't leave Berun's gaze. "Why the knife?"

  "Until you called out, I thought you might have been one of them."

  "I took care of them."

  Lewan remembered everything Sauk had told him on their walk yesterday, of Kheil the assassin, one of the most feared murderers in the East. "Took care of them?" he asked.

  "They'll live," said Berun. "Though if Sauk ever catches up to us, we might not. He's never been one to forgive a slight."

  "So it's all true, then? You do know him."

  Berun looked at him, and in the meager light of the starstone, the shadows under his brows seemed very deep. Lewan swallowed and held his master's stare.

  "We'll speak of this later," said Berun. "Let's get you cleaned up and warm."

  They returned to Lewan's makeshift shelter. Berun cleared out more leaves and deadfall to make room for them both, then hung both their starstones from the branches overhead. By their light he had a look at the cut along the inside of Lewan's arm. He cleaned off the worst of the dirt and half-dried blood with his fingers, then dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth that he'd soaked in the rain.

  "More of a deep scrape than a cut," he said. "Still, it bled quite a bit. A branch, you said?"

  "I slipped in the mud and came down on a log."

  "Fortunate it wasn't worse."

  Lewan winced and sucked in a sharp breath. He was still freezing, and his arm was almost numb, but his master's ministrations were working feeling back into the skin, and with the sharp tingling came pain. Fresh blood seeped out of the wound.

  "Let me salve and bandage this," said Berun, "then we'll get you into warm clothes. We'll rest 'til first light, then we need to move. I bought us some time, but we need to be leagues from here by midday."

  "Where is Perch?"

  "He led the tiger away."

  "Is he…?" Lewan couldn't bring himself to finish.

  "He's alive," said Berun. "He's frightened and cold, but he's alive. That much I know. Beyond that…"

  "Master," said Lewan, "what… what did you do? To them. To Sauk and his band."

  Berun turned to rummage through the largest of their packs. He found the small wad of clean linen they used for bandages and a polished wood vial of salve. He opened the vial and began to smear a thick, pungent paste into the wound.

  "They're alive," he said. "I used an old trick Chereth taught me. Used the wild against them." "The wild?"

  "I roused every spider in the valley and surrounding hills and set them on Sauk and his men. They'll live, though I doubt they'll feel much like chasing us for a few days. Still… Sauk is not one to underestimate. I want to be well into the mountains by dark tomorrow."

  "You do know him, then?"

  "I told you we'd speak of this later."

  "We'll be on the run at first light," said Lewan. "Why not talk now?"

  Berun looked up from his work and scowled, obviously displeased at Lewan's impudence. "What do you want to know?" "You do know the half-orc?" "Did."

  "You are Kheil, then?" said Lewan. "Sauk spoke truly? You're a… a killer? A murderer for hire?"

  Berun put the stopper back into the vial and wiped his fingers on his shirr. He stuck his chin out and was breathing heavily through his nose. Lewan knew his master well enough to recognize that Berun was upset. Pensive. Usually when this mood hit, it was wise to leave and let Berun brood on his own. But not now.

  "Is it true, master?"

  Berun sighed and began wrapping Lewan's arm in a bandage. "Not anymore," he said. "Years before Chereth and I found you, before you came to live with me, I… I was… reborn."

  "Reborn?"

  "In my past life, the man I used to be-Kheil-was a killer, a murderer. Kheil served Alaodin, the Old Man of the Mountain who dwells in his fortress on the side of Sentinelspire. Four years before I met you, Kheil was sent to kill an old druid in the Yuirwood."

  "Chereth?" said Lewan. "Your master?"

  "Yes. Kheil led Sauk and a dozen assassins into the Yuirwood. Why? Didn't much matter. They were there to do a job.

  But… the job did them." Berun finished wrapping the arm and tied the bandage. "How's that?" "Tight."

  "Good. It'll loosen as we're on the move. Now, let's get you into some dry clothes so you can warm up."

  Lewan unhooked the clasp of his cloak and shrugged it off. "What do you mean, 'the job did them?' "

  As Lewan got out of his wet clothes and put on dry ones, Berun told his tale. He spoke in a lifeless tone, without detail, of how the Masters of the Yuirwood had killed Kheil upon the Tree of Dhaerow, how Chereth had used Erael'len, calling upon the Oak Father, and raised Kheil to life. The old druid had named him Berun, which meant "hope" in the tongue of Aglarond.

  "Why…?" Lewan struggled to find the words. "Why have you never told me this before?"

  Berun looked down, and in the dim light cast by their star-stones, his face was hidden in shadow. "I am Berun now. Kheil is dead. Best to let the dead rest. Kheil's life is in the past."

  Lewan watched as his master wrapped all of his wet clothes into a tight bundle, tying them with a cord from their supplies. The shirt was probably a loss, but they could use the scraps for other purposes.

  "Kheil's past just came hunting us," said Lewan. "Something tells me that half-orc won't give up so easily. What do we do now?"

  Berun rubbed his fingers through his beard. "We go into the mountains. Deep into the Khopet-Dag. Sauk might follow us there, but his men won't. Leading so many into the mountains would attract unwelcome attention. He knows that."

  "And we won't?" asked Lewan.

  "I'll be careful," said Berun. "We're going to the yaqubi." "The yaqubi? Why?"

  "Chereth and I lived with them for a couple of seasons." The ghost of a smile flickered over Berun's lips. "It's where I found and bonded Perch. The yaqubi are good people. You'll be safe there."

  "Safe?" said Lewan. His heart skipped a beat and started hammering in his chest. "You mean… you're leaving me?" "Lewan-"

  "You can't! Please! I-"

  "Lewan!" Berun grabbed Lewan's shoulders and shook him.

  Lewan closed his mouth with an audible snap. He blinked and stared at Berun, trying to find the words that would convince his master. Berun was the only father he had known since his own father… Lewan clenched his eyes shut and turned away. He could feel a sob building in the back of his throat. I will not cry, he told himself, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

  "Listen to me, Lewan," said Berun. "What Sauk told me… I don't know if any of it is true or not. Chereth, the Old Man… any of it. But I have to know. I have to be sure. If there is even a chance that my master is alive…"

  "I'll come with you."

  "No."

  "I'm ready, master.
I am! I can help. I-"

  "No, Lewan." Berun did not shout. His voice was low, almost gruff, but there was no room for argument in it. "No. Not to Sentinelspire. You don't know that place. It is…"

  "What?"

  "It's… hard to see clearly there." "I don't understand."

  "I know." Berun offered a smile, but it never touched his eyes, and in the gloom of the forest the expression seemed almost obscene. "You must understand, Lewan. Sentinelspire is a realm built on blood. Murder. Despite what the bards may tell you, murder doesn't come easy. At least not to most people. Killing a man is a hard thing. Killing for no good reason save that you're told to do so… that's… damn. I don't have the words. It's not natural, is what it is. You have to convince a man not only that he can kill, but that he wants to. To do that…" Berun shook his head. "I don't want you anywhere near that place."

  "I'm strong, master," said Lewan. "You've taught me well. I'm not afraid."

  "That's what worries me. That's how the Old Man gets to you."

  "But-"

  "No, Lewan." Berun's voice was hard. Cold. "My mind is set as stone. I'm going alone. When I'm done, I'll come for you."

  "And if you don't come back?" Even Lewan could hear the petulance in his voice. Like a child. A scared little boy. But he didn't care. "What then? What about me?"

  Berun held the silence a moment, looking him eye to eye, then said, "Get some rest. We move at first light."

  Chapter Twelve

  16Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) The foothills of the Khopet-Dag

  Morning dawned no drier. Lewan woke to the sound of the rain roaring outside their shelter. Sitting across from him, his head resting against the remains of a long dead waxleaf shrub, Berun slept, his lips open slightly. Sometime during the night Berun had changed into dry clothes and braided his hair to keep it out of his face.

  Lewan sat up. His muscles were stiff, and though his injured arm still hurt, the pain was good. Pain was feeling; the numbness was gone. Lewan leaned over and shook Berun.

  "Master, wake up. It's morning."

  Berun's eyes snapped open. He looked around and groaned. "I didn't mean to sleep."

  "You can't exhaust yourself," said Lewan. "Yesterday was hard."

  "Today will be harder," said Berun. "We must go far and fast. The rain will help to hide us. All but the biggest spiders will stay under cover. But it won't make traveling pleasant."

  Lewan looked outside. Above the trees, the rain still came down in sheets, and millions of tiny waterfalls fell from leaves and branches. Water had begun to seep into Lewan and

  Berun's shelter, and a tiny river was running down the hill just beyond the pile of leaves near the entrance.

  "Should we not wait out the storm?" asked Lewan.

  "We dare not risk it. Sauk and his band are still too close for my liking."

  "You said the venom would take a few days to work through their blood."

  "I also said we shouldn't underestimate Sauk. We need to have leagues behind us come nightfall."

  They shared a light meal and washed it down with rainwater, then set about securing their packs and tightening their bootlaces. Berun hesitated at the entrance.

  "What's wrong, master?"

  "Help me," said Berun, and he began stringing his bow. It was no easy task in the cramped confines of their shelter. But wedging it between them, Lewan holding one end while Berun secured the string on the other, they managed.

  "The rain will ruin your string," said Lewan.

  "I have a spare," said Berun. "But until we're deep in the mountains, I'll feel better with it." Berun looked out at the wet morning gloom. "I'd feel a great deal better if I knew where Perch and the tiger had gone."

  "Still nothing from Perch?"

  Berun shook his head. Lewan could see the worry on his face. "In this weather," said Lewan, "I'm sure he holed up somewhere."

  "Under normal circumstances," said Berun, "so would a tiger. But…"

  "These are hardly normal circumstances." Lewan tried to force a smile.

  "And that's hardly a normal tiger. So I'll walk with the bow, rain be damned."

  They left their shelter, huddled in their damp cloaks. Their breath steamed in the cool morning air.

  "Walking will warm us," said Berun. "I'll risk a fire tonight to dry our things."

  Lewan looked around. It almost seemed as if the gods had lifted the ocean and decided to dump it onto the Shalhoond. This was an unusually fierce storm, even for the mountain lowlands in early spring.

  "You're certain we must travel in this?" Lewan had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the rain.

  "We must," said Berun. "At best, it will be a couple of days before Sauk's men are eager to travel. But I warrant Sauk will not wait that long. He'll be after us sooner than I'd like."

  "Much sooner, I'd wager," said a familiar voice, and Sauk rose from the nearby brush.

  Berun pushed Lewan behind him, threw back his cloak, dropped to a crouch, and reached for an arrow.

  "Easy!" said Sauk.

  The rest of Sauk's men rose from their hiding places, and somewhere in the forest behind them the tiger roared.

  "I was hoping you wouldn't have the bow ready. That… complicates matters." Sauk smiled and thrust out his chest, obviously reveling in Berun's shock. "Oh-ho, I bet you have questions."

  Berun's fingers flexed over the bow. His other hand fingered the nock of an arrow in his quiver. "How…?"

  "You thought we'd venture into the Khopet-Dag without antidotes for spider venom?" Sauk laughed. "You have been gone a long time. The Old Man's blades may not all be men of the wilderness, but we aren't stupid. We came prepared."

  Lewan looked around. Every one of Sauk's men was here. None looked happy, and Lewan could see why. Every one of them bore welts on face and hands from spider bites, Val's eyes were still red and puffy from the tep yen, and Kerlis's skin was red and had the slick sheen of a recent healing. Every man looked ready to murder. Kerlis, in particular, was staring daggers at Berun.

  A show of force, then. Every man in Sauk's band stood before them. That gave Lewan a small amount of hope. If the half-orc had meant to kill them, he would have kept some of his men in hiding and made this an ambush.

  The tiger roared again from somewhere behind them. The sound reverberated off the hillside, but Lewan could tell that she was not in the same place she'd been the last time she'd roared. She was on the move. Tigers were not like most other predators. Ambush hunters, they did not roar to frighten their prey. A tiger roared for one reason: to communicate. She was letting Sauk know that she had their prey covered. One way or another, Lewan and Berun were surrounded.

  Lewan looked to the half-orc. Sauk dropped his smile. His face hardened, and his eyes glinted cold. "Throw down your weapons," he said. "Give me back that relic you took. After your stunt last night, you and the boy will walk with your arms bound today, but you'll go alive. If you do as

  « say.

  Lewan looked to his master. Berun had gone very still- everything except his eyes, which went from man to man, never resting upon one for long. This wasn't lost on Sauk.

  "Don't be a fool," said the half-orc, and Lewan heard genuine concern in his voice. "Even if you get away, you'll never get past Taaki. Even that bow of yours will only annoy her before she gets you."

  Berun stood, looking at the assassins gathered round them. Lewan's gaze flicked between his master and the assassins, waiting for a cue. All eyes were on Berun. His move.

  Berun's shoulders slumped, he looked to the ground, and a great sigh went out of him. A look of utter relief washed over Sauk.

  "Master…?" said Lewan.

  Still keeping the width of his body between the band of assassins and his disciple, Berun turned and looked at Lewan. Nothing Lewan had seen in all their years together, not even the terrifying events of the past day, had ever frightened him like the look he saw on his master's face. Lewan had known that Berun had been deeply
afraid yesterday on the trail upon finding the name Kheil scratched into that print. His master had been worried after their capture, but even then, Lewan had seen the careful calculations, the scheming, going on behind his master's eyes. But the look he saw just then was complete and utter despair. That look in Berun's eyes drained Lewan of all strength. It was a feeling he had not felt since… since that day in his village when he'd heard the raiders, listened to the screams of the dying, smelled the smoke in the thatch of the house where he lived with his parents, found his mother…

  "Mas-?" Lewan began, his voice trembling.

  Something lit in his master's eyes. A defiant fire. The corner of Berun's mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile. Watch this, it said.

  Sauk must have sensed something too, for the look of relief froze on his face, the words he had been about to say caught in his throat, and surprise-and more than a little fear-lit his gaze.

  "Spears!" shouted Sauk, reaching for his sword.

  "Lewan, run!" Berun's right hand rose, an arrow balanced between the fingers. He laid the shaft across the bow and shouted, "Down the hill! Run!"

  Shocked and confused, Lewan froze. Sauk's men fanned out, each holding a spear in hand. They moved with practiced ease. Trained killers, every one.

  "Master, I-"

  "Lewan, run!" Berun cast a glance over his shoulder, then pulled the arrow to his cheek, bending the bow taut, and pointed the steel tip at Sauk. "The boy leaves. As soon as he's safely away, I'll come in peace."

  Kerlis stepped forward. "There's twelve of us. You can't get us all before we get you."

  Berun pivoted, his left arm with the bow coming round. He aimed for only an instant, and the fingers holding the string opened. The bow twanged, and the arrow took Kerlis in his left eye. By the time his body hit the ground, Berun already had another arrow across the bow and the shaft against his cheek.

  "Eleven now," said Berun. "Next one who makes a move is the next one to die."

  No one moved. The Vaasans were grinning and flexing their hands around their spears. Merzan's face held no expression whatsoever, but his eyes were trained on Berun, and he stood ready. Valmir had one hand firmly around his spear, but the other was hovering near an open pouch at his belt. Ready to reach for spell components most likely. The other assassins all stood ready. Except for Sauk, all had spears, but like none Lewan had ever seen. The shafts were plain and unadorned, but rather than a head or barb, they ended in a sharp spike, no larger than a horseshoe nail. An oily paste coated each spike. Poison.