Sentinelspire (34 page)

“Oh, damn,” said Galban, and knelt a few feet before the statue.

Bennig stepped around him and saw the reason for Galban’s curse. By the green glow, Bennig could clearly see smears of something dark along the stone and floor. It was impossible to tell for certain in the green light, but Bennig thought it looked like blood.

“What is it?” said Jerumillis as he entered the gallery last. He opened his fist slightly, and a bit of the sunrod’s light leaked from his fingers. The light was meager at best, but in the green-tinged gloom of the gallery, it seemed a small sliver of the sun. As the light spread about the nearest of the statues and the back wall, Bennig saw them—two pale eyes watching from above the doorway to the main passage, and around the eyes the dark mass of a figure.

Bennig drew in a breath, but then the eyes dropped. “Jeru—!” Bennig shouted, then he saw the flare of a cloak, and Jerumillis went down beneath it, and the sunrod’s light with him. The light in the cavern was again only the faint green glow.

The other assassins cried out. One scrambled away, but Galban and another man ran for Jerumillis. Bennig followed them, opening his eyes wide to adjust to the dim light.

“What—?” said Galban.

Bennig looked down at the body. It wasn’t Jerumillis. It was Lurom, his skull over his right eye smashed in, blood caked round his face and down his chest. His mouth hung open and his eyes stared sightlessly at the comrades who had come too late for him.

“Where is Jerumillis?” said Bennig.

The man who had fled into the dark cried out, “Sound the ala—!” followed by a sharp
crack
of something heavy smashing bone. Then another sound—one Bennig had heard many times in his service for the Old Man—the sound of a body striking the floor.

The green light winked out and there was only darkness. Quick as it took him to draw a breath, hold it, and crouch, two thoughts occurred to Bennig.

One, their keys that protected them from the guardians in the Gallery of Stone Faces had failed—or someone had found a way to dampen their power. But he discounted that. If one of the guardians had been after them, all of the guardians would have been after them, and in their moments of light he hadn’t seen a single one moving.

Two, someone was in the tunnels with them. Sauk and the Lady Talieth had known something was wrong and had set guards in the tunnels for a reason. A reason they hadn’t explained. But Bennig realized that the reason had come, and he had to think quickly.

Two down. But Berun knew that there were three others in the room, all armed—and any number could still be lurking in the far tunnels. He’d been expecting only the three he’d seen
farther up before he’d retreated back to the Gallery. Where the other two had come from, he couldn’t be sure. One of the side tunnels, surely. And if there were two, there could be twenty, still waiting.

He’d been crouched on the ledge above the doorway when the guards entered. It had not been an easy climb, carrying the dead guard with him, but he knew that this was the worst place in all the mountain to be without a ward. When the guard had seen him, he’d dropped the corpse on the nearest man and followed after. He’d killed the man with the saber and took his body instead, leaving the first one, hoping it might cause some confusion among the survivors. It had, just enough for him to strike again.

He’d managed to get one man’s sunrod and douse it, and after killing the leader, he’d retrieved his starstone. He had to end this quick.

The gallery lit up as lightning split the sky over the mountain, the edges of its bright light leaking through the cracks in the roof.

“There he is! By the—”

Thunder drowned out the rest.

Four guards huddled just inside the main gate of the Fortress. Two had been assigned to watch the tunnels and to sound the alarm should anyone try to pass without the proper words. The other two were to keep an eye on the grounds around the main gate. But once the storm began in earnest, the wind off the mountain driving the rain horizontally at times, all four had sought refuge just inside the tunnel. The torches set on posts just inside the gate had long since been drowned by the storm, but the brazier set inside the tunnel still gave the guards a decent light. Whatever powder Velugis had sprinkled on the coals had turned the tiny flames
blue, and it kept the fire going. Three of the guards huddled near the brazier, taking comfort not only in the warmth but the light, though they all took turns complaining about the foul odor.

“What did you put on the coals, Velugis?”

Velugis, the fourth guard who stood apart from the rest, just at the edge of the circle of light, was from Thay. Beyond that, no one knew much about him, nor cared to ask. He kept to himself most of the time, shut up in his rooms when not on assignment. Word around the Fortress was that he never even asked for one of the slaves for his bed, and he never drank anything but water. But one thing everyone knew was that Velugis was a master of potions and poisons, second only to the Old Man himself.

He turned his head a bit, not so much to look at his companions as to make sure his voice was heard. “Just something to keep the coals going in the damp. They burn hot, yes?”

“Hot, yes. Like hot horse piss. Is there nothing you can do about the stench?”

“I do have something I could sprinkle on the coals,” said Velugis. “A powder of my own design. It would burn with the scent of honeysuckle.”

“Well, let’s have it then,” said one of the other men.

“I think not.”

“Why not?”

Lightning struck somewhere up the mountain, bathing the Fortress in harsh light for a moment. The ensuing thunder was so loud that it drowned out even the sound of the wind and rain.

“Because those sweet fumes would kill you within five beats of your heart.” Velugis turned again to face the darkness.

The three guards muttered amongst themselves a moment, occasionally sparing a withering glance at the Thayan.

“Why you standing over there, Velugis? Don’t care for our company?”

“Two reasons,” said Velugis. “First of all, we
are
supposed to be standing guard. And second, the coals
do
smell like scalded horse piss.”

“You aren’t cold?”

Velugis said nothing, but his posture went suddenly very stiff and he leaned forward into the darkness.

“Hey! You hear me, Velugis?”

The Thayan drew his dagger with one hand and reached into his large belt pouch with his other. “Someone is coming,” he said.

The other three men spread out and drew their own weapons. Two had heavy cudgels and the third a sword.

More thunder rumbled from somewhere far off on the eastern grasslands. When it faded, all four men could hear it—footsteps coming up the tunnel.

Velugis stepped back amongst the other three, so that all four guards blocked the tunnel.

“Who approaches?” called out the guard with the sword.

No answer.

More lightning struck, and if anyone answered from the darkness, they could not be heard over the thunder.

“Name yourself!” the swordsman called.

A man stumbled into the light cast by the brazier. He wore no cloak or coat, and his left sleeve was a bloody tattered mess. It was hard to tell ripped cloth from shredded skin, but the sliver of bone protruding from his forearm was quite clear. What had once been his left eye now hung out of the socket, and the entire left side of his face was a cut and torn wreck.

He looked at the four guards with his remaining eye, which went wide, then he fell to his knees.

“Oh, gods,” the man said. “Sound the alarm. Hurry!”

T
he door between the balcony and the room opened, and for a moment it was Lewan’s mother who stood there, outlined by fire.

Death comes. When death comes for you, you must see clearly. You must not run. You must find your courage
.

But then the dream faded. His mother was gone—many years gone—and it was Ulaan standing there, the thick fur coverlet from the bed wrapped around her shoulders, a dim, flickering light outlining her. Not the light of burning thatch and timber—she had lit a lamp in the room behind her, its yellow glow weak and guttering from the wind of the storm.

“What’s happening?” asked Lewan as he struggled to bring his mind out of the dream and back into the world around him.

“The Fortress is under attack.” Ulaan’s voice held a slight tremble.

“Attack? I—?”

“Those horns are the call to arms,” she said. “Please come inside, Lewan. We should lock the doors.”

Lewan stood and gathered his blankets. He was dripping wet, his hair sodden and clinging to his forehead, and his
blankets were heavy with water. How had he slept through such a storm? Still, his body felt strangely hot. Not fevered, for he felt strong and full of vigor.

“Lewan,
please
come inside.”

He did, and Ulaan pushed the balcony doors closed behind him. Lewan’s mind still felt foggy.

The knob of the hallway door rattled, startling Lewan. Finding the door locked, whoever was on the outside pounded on the heavy wood. “Open!”

Lewan recognized Sauk’s voice.

“Open the door or I’ll kick the damned thing down!” said Sauk.

Lewan looked to Ulaan. She stood very still, huddled up to her chin in the blanket, a look on her face like a denned rabbit who can hear the fox coming down the hole.

“Stay here,” said Lewan, though he wasn’t sure where else she could go.

He walked to the door, raised the iron crossbar, and twisted the latch that opened the main lock. He reached for the knob, but the door flew open before he could twist it. The edge of it caught him in the knee as Sauk pushed his way in. The half-orc’s skin was flushed, his hair and clothes wet, and he held his short sword in one hand.

“You’re wet,” said Sauk, looking Lewan up and down. “And already dressed, I see. Well and good. You’re about to get wetter.” He grabbed the front of Lewan’s shirt and dragged him from the room.