Sentinelspire c-4

by Mark Sehestedt

  He returned to the place where he and Lewan had spent the night. He searched for a trail but found nothing. The rain had ruined any signs, washing away even the blood. The bodies were gone.

  As he stood there in the wood, cursing his ill luck and worrying over Lewan, he considered searching for the portal of which Valmir had spoken. He knew they'd spent the day heading up into the mountains. It had to be up there somewhere. But unless he managed to find their trail, he could spend months looking for the portal, and even if he found it, without the proper key, it would be useless to him. And the farther he went up the mountains, the more dangerous his path would become. With no weapons, he'd be no match against the larger spiders-and there were worse things than spiders in the Khopet-Dag.

  "East it is, then," he said, more to himself than Perch. If he ran, he might make it to Sentinelspire in a tenday-if he didn't have to spend much time foraging for food. Once he hit the steppe again, he might be able to beg or steal a horse.

  He searched long enough to find a good, stout stick. Not great in terms of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. The sun was riding high in the sky, approaching midday. Berun turned east and started running.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dusk found Berun in the last of the true foothills. The land was not as steep, but this meant going back into the Shalhoond, and the woods thickened. Dark would come fast. Thinking of Lewan, and with Chereth s plea still fresh in his mind, part of Berun wanted to push on. But he knew that he had to pace himself. He wouldn't be much help to either his disciple or master if he showed up at Sentinelspire half-dead, so he began to look for a place to spend the night.

  As the last light was fading from the sky and the east was deepening to purple, the brightest stars came out in force. Berun found a quiet glade, partially open to the sky. A massive oak, its branches sprouting new spring leaves, dominated the glade. It had starved out most of the nearby trees. Two of the oak's roots spread out, and between them a stream ran down the hillside to feed a quiet pool. With the thickest of the spider country behind him, Berun had re-entered a part of the wood where insects and birds were more plentiful. Fireflies played over the water, and the evening was alive with the sound of crickets and night birds. Seeing the great oak, hearing the breeze whispering through its leaves, and surrounded by the scent of healthy greenery and clean water, a profound sense of peace settled over Berun.

  He sat down beside the pool, and it wasn't until he was still that he realized how exhausted he was. His hands shook, and his arms and legs felt empty. It was too dark to have any hope of catching a fish in the pool or stream, and it was still too early in the season to forage for acorns. The thought of a supper of fireflies, crickets, and earthworms didn't excite him, but he had to keep up his strength.

  He shook his shoulder to wake the lizard, who had been dozing. "Hey, Perch."

  The lizard twitched. Seeing that they'd stopped, he scrambled down Berun's back and began rustling through the grass.

  Berun closed his eyes, widening the link he shared with the little lizard, and sent one strong image-Eggs. He didn't like the idea of robbing nests, but without some nourishment soon, he wouldn't even have the strength to search for food.

  Eggs-round-round-breaks-eggs-in-trees-eggs?

  Eggs, Berun told him again. In trees, yes. Bring eggs. Try-try-try not to break.

  Through the link, Berun sensed that Perch had detected a cricket that had strayed too close. The lizard lunged and snatched the insect in his jaws. He crunched and swallowed it down, then shot off through the grass. Berun listened to the sound of his claws as they scratched against the wood of the oak, then Berun began unlacing his boots.

  Perch returned not long afterward, when Berun had just finished a long drink from the pool. The lizard had a small egg in his jaws, and wonder of wonders, it was unbroken.

  Good, Perch! More, please. More eggs-in-trees.

  The lizard took off again, and Berun used his thumbnail to crack open the top of the egg. He sucked out the inside, grimacing at the taste, then opened the shell and licked the inside clean. Going back and forth, Perch managed to bring another four. It wasn't much, but it would last Berun until morning, when he could forage or maybe even catch a fish.

  The breeze picked up, and shirtless as he was, Berun knew it would be a cold night if he couldn't get a fire going or find something to cover himself. Leaves wouldn't be much, but they would be better than nothing. If he could find enough dry grass, he could stuff it inside his trousers for insulation, maybe even find enough to put a layer between his bare skin and a blanket of leaves. Still…

  Something about the pool called to him. Light still lingered in the sky, but the surrounding woods were mostly varying shades of shadow. Most of the pool seemed black, shaded as it was by the oak canopy. But on the far edge there was a sliver of water that reflected the first evening stars, and with the fireflies, it almost seemed as if some of the stars had come to life and danced over the water. He was suddenly very conscious of how filthy he was. Running most of the day, he'd poured sweat, and the sweat had accumulated every bit of dust and dirt he had touched or passed. Pushing his way through the brush, his skin felt raw with hundreds of tiny scratches, and some of the leaves made him itch. Cool or not, he knew he'd sleep better if he were clean.

  Perch had gone off to hunt, hoping for a juicy spider but content with the crickets and fascinated by the fireflies. Berun pulled off his boots, then stood and stripped away the rest of his clothes. The grass by the shore felt wonderfully soft between his toes. He stepped into the water. He wished he could dive right in, but he had no idea how deep the pool might be, so he took his time, advancing step by sliding step. The water was cold but wonderfully refreshing, the bottom soft with mud and leaves. It proved to be about chest-deep in the middle, but Berun plunged under, enjoying the soft silence of being underwater, the only sound the faint tinkling of the streams feeding and draining the pool.

  When he emerged from the pool, someone was standing on the shore watching him.

  Berun blinked and wiped the water from his eyes, but when he looked again the figure was still there. The stranger began moving out of the deeper shadow, and Berun could tell by the movement that it was a woman. As she came out from under the oak canopy, a bit of the light from the sky reflected off her dress. It had seemed downy gray in the shadows, but as she stood under the sky, it sparkled like frost, catching the violet light of evening and reflecting some of it back against her skin. Berun followed her with his eyes, and as she stopped, the first edge of the moon broke over the treetops, shedding the glade in her pale light. It gave Berun his first good look at the woman.

  She was strikingly beautiful, and her body had the leanness of an elf. Her sleeveless gown stopped just above her ankles, and it seemed to be made of many strips of fabric, so light that they fluttered in the breeze, reminding Berun very much of new spring blossoms. The fabric seemed pale against the darkness of her skin. Her hair fell well below her waist, and she had flowers and even tiny sprigs twined within her tresses.

  "Good evening to you, lady," Berun called out.

  "Peace to you, Berun," she said. He found the melodic lilt of her accent very pleasing.

  "How do you know me, lady?"

  She stared at him in silence for a long while-so much that Berun became uncomfortable. Finally she looked up to the sky and said, "Have you forgotten what night this, Child of the Oak Father?"

  "I-" Berun stopped, realizing that he had given no thought to the day. What day was it? He might have been in the earth under Chereth's spell for years for all he knew. "I… don't know."

  "Tonight is the Jalesh Rudra," she said. "I am Lebeth, daughter of the Oak Father. You must play for me. Fulfill the covenant."

  Berun blinked and looked away. The Jalesh Rudra. That meant it had been three days ago that Lewan had been taken, that the earth had risen up to swallow Berun. To fulfill the covenant, he would play the pipes for the daughters of the Oak


  Father, and if he found her favor, she would give herself to him for a night's coupling beneath the trees.

  Still standing up to his chest in the water, Berun bowed his head and said, "Forgive me, lady. Great misfortune has overtaken me, and I have lost my pipes."

  "I know of your needs," said Lebeth. "Our father knows of your needs. I will meet yours, but you must meet mine, according to the covenant."

  She held out her hand, and the pale moonlight reflected off a small set of pipes, one of the finest he had ever seen. He could not remember if she had been holding them the whole time. She might have summoned them from the moonlight, for all he knew.

  "So be it," said Berun. He waded to shore. It struck him then that Lewan should have been there, that Berun should be leading him through his first Jalesh Rudra; that if not for Sauk and the Old Man, his apprentice would have awoken tomorrow a boy no longer, but a man in the sight of the Oak Father. Berun's heart quickened in anticipation of what was to come, but his mood was tinged with sadness at Lewan's absence.

  He came ashore where he thought he had left his trousers and boots, but they were gone.

  "Your clothes are gone," said Lebeth, and when Berun turned she was standing only a few feet away. Though they were beneath the trees, the sparkle of starlight had not left her gown. Indeed, tinier sparkles dotted her arms and cheeks. This close, he caught the scent of her-night breeze through spring blossoms, but beneath it, a hint of something musky and primal. "You will not need them." She held out the pipes to him. "Play for me now."

  Berun took the pipes, and in so doing his finger brushed against her hand. Berun swallowed and wet his lips. Damp as he was, the breeze made him shiver, but a warmth was growing beneath his skin and spreading outward.

  "Sit," she said. "Sit and play."

  Berun sat upon the soft grass and put the pipes to his lips. He blew a hesitant note, then began a simple melody, the first Master Chereth had ever taught him. He didn't even know its name.

  Lebeth turned her back to him, though she continued to watch over her shoulder as she began her dance. She began with a rhythmic swaying of her hips, then her hands moved up her body to tangle her fingers in her hair. Blossoms rained down to her feet. A few caught in the breeze and fluttered to Berun. One came to rest on his cheek, and his head spun for a moment at the sharp, sweet scent.

  Dusk faded to night, the sky going from deep purple to a blackness broken only by the moon and stars, but Berun noticed that it was not getting darker in the glade. If anything, he could see more. Still keeping the pipes to his lips, he turned his head slightly and saw that a warm green glow was emanating from the water. At first he thought that the moonlight had simply taken on an odd sheen, but then he saw that the light was coming from the pool itself.

  A rock struck the pool, startling Berun so that his melody faltered. The sudden ripples caused the light to flicker in the glade. He returned his gaze to Lebeth, who had ceased her dance and was watching him. She had thrown the rock.

  "You have all your life to stare at water," she said. "You have me only tonight."

  Berun began to play again, this time a more lively tune. Lebeth resumed her dance, her hips undulating to the melody and her arms moving over her body. She joined in the music herself, stamping her foot or clapping her hands as she danced, her hair flying about her, blossoms falling at her feet.

  She danced closer, bathing Berun in her scent, and looked down on him. "Be wary, son of the Oak Father," she said, almost in a chant.

  He did not cease his playing, but his brows creased in a quizzical expression.

  She danced away again, and as she did, some of the fabric came away from the bottom of her gown, exposing her legs below the knees. The bits of fabric floated like goosedown on the breeze and broke apart in the air until they were no thicker than smoke, enveloping Berun. It smelled like summer rain.

  "My roots run deep," she said, glancing back at him again. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, and the fabric of her gown slipped down. She did not pull it back up. "I sensed the earth spirit during the storm."

  The one that saved me, Berun thought.

  "Even from afar," she continued, "I sensed… wrongness within it, like the beginnings of rot in wood."

  Berun pulled the pipes away from his mouth. "I don't understand."

  Lebeth stopped her dancing and looked down on him. Her lips twisted in a mischievous smile. "Play for me, Berun. Fulfill the covenant."

  Berun resumed the tune, this time, a melancholy air of low notes over the longest pipes.

  "Like the beginnings of rot in the wood," Lebeth continued, and this time her dance was slow, almost more of a swaying, and she drew closer to him step by step. "Do not trust visions of the cold earth, where stone is strong and growing things struggle against the dark. Earth, soil… its life comes from death, from the decay of once-living things. Life comes from death. Of this is the Balance. But in earth where death grows too strong…" Berun thought he saw a shudder pass through her that was not part of her dance. "Beware, son of the Oak Father. Even truth can deceive, when the seeker walks darkened paths."

  The rest of her gown, still sparkling like starlight on frost, melted away. The remains caught on the wind and showered Berun. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, the last of his melody fading away on the breeze. When he opened his eyes again, Lebeth stood naked before him, still slightly swaying, the breeze playing through her hair.

  "To see the light, child of the Oak Father," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, "to protect light for us all, you must bring vengeance to the Tower of the Sun."

  She knelt in from of him, so close that the breeze tossed her hair round his shoulders and face, tickling his skin.

  "I am…" Berun set the pipes aside and looked at Lebeth. Her face was all in shadow, but he could see a radiant starlight glow in her eyes. "I am not an assassin," he said, his voice choked. "Not… not anymore."

  "You are a son of the Oak Father." Lebeth leaned in so close that he could feel her breath when she spoke. "Your sworn duty is the Balance of all living things. For too long the Blades of the Old Man have dealt in death. Gold and power are their currency, but blood is their profit. So much blood. Too much. Too much death. Berun, son of the Oak Father, it is time to restore the Balance."

  Lebeth leaned in, all warm curves and sweet scent, her lips seeking his. Berun lay back on the grass, pulling her on top of him.

  A riot of birdsong woke Berun, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the sun was already above the treeline, reflecting white fire off the pool. He had slept late.

  Berun rose and brushed grass, leaves, and dirt off his skin, hoping that Lebeth had remembered to return his trousers and boots. He looked around and saw that she had not, but had done him one better. At the base of the great oak's trunk, where the largest of the roots hemmed in the pool, lay a pile of clothes, supplies, and-best of all-weapons.

  The trousers and shirt were both green as winter pine needles. At first Berun thought they were of dyed Jinen, but as he picked them up and ran his fingers over them, he was no longer sure. The fabric was soft and thin as linen, but seemed strong as tent cloth. The sleeveless jacket seemed to be made of tanned skin, but he could not tell what kind of animal it had come from-and Berun knew every animal in the Endless Wastes and hundreds of miles beyond. The knee-high boots were of the same material. The belt was thickly woven from some fibrous plant, strong yet supple. The buckle, though cool and smooth, was not metal; it had the feel and sheen of shell or stone.

  The cloak and hood were strangest of all. Spreading it out, he saw that it would just touch the ground when donned, but the fabric and color he could not identify. It was heavy as oilcloth, and under the shadow of the oak it seemed the dark green of forest leaves, but here and there, as bits of the sun peeked through the canopy, it reflected bright as the sunlight itself. It seemed to gather shadow and reflect light. Berun thought that in the deep woods-or even in the tall grass of the steppe-he would
be almost invisible in the cloak if he kept still.

  Under the cloak was a small waterskin, already full. Berun found a cache of food wrapped in large green oak leaves- dried fruits and nuts, mostly. Wrapped round the mouth of the waterskin was a necklace, woven of the same material as the belt, though much finer, the material flexible as dwarf-forged chain. Dangling from the end was a round starstone, though its glow had a greenish tint, like sunlight reflecting off dew-covered moss.

  Two weapons leaned against the trunk of the oak. One was a blade, slightly longer than the knife he'd lost, but just shy of being a true short sword. He ran his fingers along the sheath. It felt like aspen bark, soft and smooth, but it was black as river mud and cool. Blade and hilt were all one piece, carved from bone or antler. Berun drew it. Single-edged, it ended in a slight curve. He tested the blade against the thick callus of his first bowfinger. It cut through the tough skin easily as a steel razor.

  The other weapon was a hammer, handle and head together as long as Berun's forearm and fist. The handle was a dark, heavy wood, and it bound a heavy stone, smooth and black. Leather had been braided round the handle to form a grip, and the braid ran off the handle so he could tie it round his wrist or use the weapon as a sort of flail. Borh weapons had images of oak leaves, trees, and vines etched into them, and the etchings had been colored with a substance that smelled faintly of resin. They were easily the finest weapons he had ever held in his hands.

  As he picked up the hammer and tested the weight with a careful swing, the breeze gusted, whispering through the oak leaves, and Berun fancied he heard Lebeth's whisper-Berun, son of the Oak Father, it is time to restore the Balance.

  Berun gently laid his palm against the oak where the root met the main bole of the tree, and for a heartbeat he felt again the sensation of Lebeth's thigh beneath his caresses.