Sentinelspire (36 page)

“To see the light,” Berun said to himself. He needed that now more than he ever had. “So be it.”

Berun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and prodded the link he shared with Perch.
Ready, Perch?

The Tower of the Sun was not far from where he hid. One tree-lined garden, a low wall, and a building separated him from the great spire.

Ready eat-and-eat then sleep-sleep. Tired-tired-so-tired
.

“Me, too,” Berun whispered.

Eat and sleep soon-soon?

Lightning flashed in the distance. Berun saw the light flickering off the ruined walls and leaves in their midst.

Soon, I hope. We must hunt a while still. Then sleep
.

It occurred to Berun that the sleep he might be walking into was the eternal sleep, but he tried not to let that thought seep through to Perch.

Thunder rolled over the Fortress. He felt Perch’s claws flex, piercing his shirt and pricking his skin.
Hunt-hunt
.

Yes, hunt-hunt. Perch, I need you to look. Search the shadows. Search the leaves and trees. Find the tiger
.

Malicious glee surged through Berun’s mind from Perch. He couldn’t help but smile. The treeclaw lizard had developed a most intense dislike for Taaki. Spiders knew their match and did their best to get away, fighting only when cornered. Perch had never fought a creature as large as Taaki that would hunt and fight back with such ferocity. The lizard might have been afraid of the tiger at first, but twice he had faced her and won. The victories had filled his little heart with an eager boldness.
The link Berun shared with the lizard flooded his mind with emotions and images—
Fight-fight tiger. Claw and bite and leap-leap and claw-claw-fun-fun-fun!

Only if you have to
, Berun told Perch. With his bow and poisoned arrows long gone, his only hope was to avoid the tiger. His hammer would only anger her. The bone knife might bite deep, but for him to get close enough to use it, the tiger would have to be on top of him, and it would hardly matter how deep his blade bit if that happened.

Perch crawled out from under Berun’s cloak and scampered away, all the while giving off a constant chatter of
tiger-tiger-tiger-hunt-tiger-fight-fight-tiger-tiger-tiger
.

“Yes,” Berun said to himself, “time to hunt.”

Nine years ago, the Fortress of the Old Man had been well lit, even at night. Torches burned in sconces along pathways. Slaves tended braziers where the larger paths crossed, and in the gardens and along the main thoroughfares, oil lamps burned behind colored glass. But tonight, under the storm, the pathways were dark. Wind and rain had doused the torches and braziers, the slaves hid indoors, and the oil burned low in the lamps, casting only weak puddles of light. Shadows welled thick in the fortress, and Berun stayed in them as best he could.

He skirted the tree-lined garden and went round several smaller outbuildings so he could approach the Tower of the Sun from the east. The entrance to the tower’s courtyard and the main doors were to the west, but Berun knew they would be well guarded. Better to have a look around first.

His first sight of the tower up close stunned him.

Nine years ago, carefully tended fruit trees, a few fountains, and stone benches had filled the courtyard. All were gone. A small forest ringed the base of the Tower, the trees, vines, and creepers topping the courtyard wall and spilling onto the path
outside. The trees swayed in the wind and millions of leaves trembled beneath the onslaught of the rain. But within the boughs and drifting overhead round the lower stories of the tower were dozens of bluish-green lights, wispy round the edges, their light undimmed by the rain. Far too large to be fireflies they floated without sound and seemed completely impervious to wind and rain, moving of their own accord. Berun sensed nothing natural in those lights.

Look-look-look!
The message from Perch hit Berun so strong and sudden that his vision blurred and he swayed on his feet. He leaned against the building and closed his eyes.

You’ve found the tiger?
Berun asked.

Found tiger. And others-others-others. Found big-big two-legs brother of tiger
.

Sauk?
Berun asked. Names meant little to Perch. He recognized his own and a few beyond that, but Berun sent the knowledge of the half-orc in a way that the lizard could understand.
Big two-legs with long hair
.

Yes-yes-yes. Big-big two-legs smells like death. He has little two-legs brother! Has him! Has him!

Berun’s eyes snapped open.

Where, Perch? Tell me where!

“You’re certain he’ll come here?” Talieth asked Sauk.

Talieth and Sauk stood just outside the open gateway of the courtyard of the Tower of the Sun, the vines and flowers on the wall dripping rain into puddles behind them. Still barefoot, cloakless, and thoroughly soaked, Lewan stood just in front of Sauk. He was shivering, and his feet felt cold as winter river stones.

Sauk didn’t take his eyes off the shadows of the far buildings and gardens. In the pouring rain, and cool as it was, he still stood without cloak or coat. His canvas shirt had soaked
up all the rain it could, and water poured off him in a steady stream. He didn’t seem to mind. “Only two things he’s coming for—the old druid and this young one. One way or the other, he’ll make his way here.”

Talieth turned and looked behind them. Under her long cloak and deep hood, Lewan could only see the tip of her chin. The wispy lights haunted the trees and wound their way around the tower. Something about the shadows in the trees seemed … watchful. “I don’t like being this close,” she said. “We’re taking an awful risk.”

“You really think that being farther from the tower would do any good if the Old Man wanted to stop us?”

Talieth turned her back on the tower. She was silent for a while, then said, “Taaki can’t find him?”

“She could,” said Sauk. “But we want him to talk, not fight. Yes?”

“Of course.”

“Then Taaki stays where she is.”

“Where is she?” asked Lewan, turning his head to look at the half-orc.

“Don’t you worry about that.” Sauk still had one hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder. “You cold?”

“Yes,” said Lewan.

“Worse things than being cold.” Sauk smiled, and when he saw Lewan blanch, his smile broadened. “Think warm thoughts. I’m sure Ulaan will be willing to—”

Sauk grunted—every last bit of air in his lungs exploding out at once—and pitched forward into Lewan.

The lights gave off neither heat nor cold and made no sound—and they made Berun nervous. He’d scaled the eastern courtyard wall of the Tower of the Sun—an easy task with all the thick vines and foliage encasing the wall—and dropped
into the greenery beyond. To call the garden overgrown would have been to call the ocean wet. It was an uncontrolled mayhem of growth—trees, shrubs, untrimmed hedges, buds, early spring fruit, vines, and creepers of every sort. The lights played amongst them, shedding their unnatural light within the greenery.

They never came very close to Berun, and none seemed to linger for long. Still, the lights made his skin crawl. Worse was the deeper darkness of the shadows—especially up in the trees. Nine years in the wild had taught Berun to trust his instincts, and he knew from the first moment he set foot inside the courtyard that he was being watched. But there was no help for it. He knew for certain that Sauk, Taaki, and at least half a dozen men were spread around the main entrance to the courtyard. To have any chance of getting to Lewan before he was surrounded, Berun’s only hope was to come at them from behind, charge fast, and hit hard.

Berun took his time, making his way through the foliage to the western side of the tower and the main gate. Although the trees and brush were thick enough to hold off the worst of the rain, the way before him seemed strangely clear of branches and vines. Even the wet grass and leaves beneath his feet were soft, so his footfalls made little noise. The only sound was the rain pattering on the canopy overhead, dripping down the leaves, and a steady stream of water than ran down the sides of the tower itself.

There.

About ten paces from where Berun crouched under the shadows of an oak bough, Sauk stood just outside the main gate, one hand on Lewan’s shoulder in front of him. Another figure, cloaked and hooded against the weather, stood to the side.

Berun untied his hammer’s leather strap from around his wrist. He knew that Sauk’s senses were exceedingly sharp. He’d have to risk a throw rather than a charge. Carefully so as
to minimize the sound of his sleeve rustling against his cloak, Berun brought his left arm out, tightened his grip around the haft of the hammer, brought his arm back—

—and hesitated.

At one time, Sauk had been his …

No. Not Berun’s. Sauk had been Kheil’s friend. More than just a friend. Blood brothers. Sworn to live and die for one another. Dead Kheil might be, but his memories lived in Berun, and Berun knew that Sauk was a hunter who reveled in the chase, in the kill, and had no remorse for most who had died by his hand. But there was little malice in him. Sauk did not prey upon the weak. To hunt and kill those weaker than himself was the utmost shame to Sauk, and he refused to take part in it.

Kheil had been there many times when Sauk stood in the way of the Old Man’s blades, refusing to let them kill for killing’s sake, because there was no honor in it. Sauk stalked and killed to prove himself, to test himself against stronger foes. And, Berun knew, to fight the demons that haunted his past—growing up among orcs who derided him, under a father who despised him, and amidst brothers who recognized how much better he was than them and hated him for it. Had Sauk not fallen under the wing of the Old Man, had his fate taken him under brighter skies, Berun knew that Sauk could have been a great force for good in the world. Perhaps even a hero.

And so Berun hesitated.

All that stood between him and Lewan was Sauk and whoever was under the cloak. More assassins were likely scattered nearby, hiding in the shadows, but if he could remove Sauk and his companion from the situation, he and Lewan could lose the others.

Easier said than done. Incapacitating a foe quickly was not as easy as bards’ tales told. A knock to the head that fell too lightly might only annoy a very dangerous foe. Too heavy, and
you could just as easily kill your target as knock him out. And despite everything that had happened over the past tenday, despite the blood he had already spilled that night, Berun could not bring himself to strike at Sauk. Not to kill.

If he could strike the soft tissue between Sauk’s jaw and left ear, it would daze the half-orc at the very least. Might even knock him unconscious if he hit with enough force. But again, too much, and it might kill him.

Berun closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the Oak Father, adjusted his grip on the hammer, swung it round once to gain momentum, and threw.

Sauk was halfway through a sentence. “I’m sure Ulaan will be willing to—”

—and the weighty stone head of the hammer struck.