Sentinelspire (8 page)

Berun sidestepped, brought the bow up, and turned the punch aside—just as Sauk’s left fist hit him in the gut. In that last instant, he thought he felt Sauk’s knuckles scrape his backbone. All breath burst out of Berun in one gasp. His legs turned to water and he fell. His next thought was plain, stupid pride—he was grateful his bowels had held and he hadn’t retched up his last seven meals. Then his thoughts vanished. His vision blurred and his body poured every bit of energy into getting breath back into his lungs.

Lewan used the fall. He’d been running as fast as he dared. But beyond the light of the campfires, all was pitch black, and through the trees he had to cast his arms in front of him and run more by feel than sight, each headlong sprint broken by stumbles over the uneven ground, roots, and rocks. Shouts from behind spurred him on.

Branches scratched his clothes and scraped skin off his face and hands. After a bad stumble that left his shin bloody, Lewan risked a glance back as he pushed himself to his feet. The men had stopped long enough to light torches. He could see two of them amongst the trees, and the distance from them to himself made hope flare in his heart.

Then something roared off to his right. The tiger.

Lewan ran, pumping his arms, heedless of the branches and leaves. He’d run perhaps two dozen steps when the ground fell
away beneath him. He hit the downslope, biting his cheek as he did so, and continued a long slide down a hill covered in generations of leaves and fallen branches. When he finally came to rest at the bottom, the avalanche of detritus he’d caused kept coming, burying him.

And so Lewan used it, keeping absolutely motionless, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths rather than the gasps his body demanded. From somewhere above he heard men crashing through the brush.

“Here!” one shouted. “This way!”

“No.” This voice fainter. “He’d keep to the ridges where the ground is surer. Can’t you see?”

“I can see. But he can’t. He’s got no light, and look how all the leaves are disturbed.”

Lewan’s heart hammered, and he tensed, preparing to run again.

“A tracker now, are you? Just ’cause you follow Sauk don’t mean—”

“Move, you idiots,” said a third voice, and Lewan heard something coming down the hill.

Close now. Lewan could feel the vibration through the ground. The man stopped, probably no more than a pace or two above him, then began moving again.

A toe struck Lewan’s shoulder.

“Got him!”

Lewan erupted from cover, put all his strength behind one fist, and brought it up into the fork of the man’s legs. A pained gasp escaped the man, then he folded in on himself, dropping the torch.

“Ha!” said a voice from above. “That whelp got him again. Same damned place!”

The man lurched onto his knees as his companions started their way down. Lewan snatched the torch from the fallen leaves and thrust it at the man’s face. The man saw it coming and slapped at the fire, then began to fall forward. He
screamed in agony as the burning pitch stuck to his fingers, but the thrust had swiped the brand from Lewan’s grip.

Lewan turned and ran, following the course of the valley between the two hills.

“After him!”

“My—hand!” said a voice that was half sob.

A harsh laugh, then, “That ain’t the part
I’d
be worried about. I’d—holy gods!”

Lewan heard a rustle of leaves on the slope above him, then a mammoth weight hit his back and crushed him onto the leaf-covered ground.

When awareness began to seep back in, Berun saw the blond man—the one Sauk had called Val—standing over him, holding his bow and quiver. The man wore an insolent, almost pleased smile. Another man, shorter and darker, stood behind him. Sauk was crouched beside him, one fist clutching Berun’s torn shirt. The other fist jerked back, and Berun felt fingers scrape the back of his neck just before he heard a snap. His necklace!

Sauk stood, a broken leather braid dangling from one fist. On the end of the braid was tied an intricate knotwork of hardened vines. Something in the midst of the vines caught the firelight and sparkled, almost as if an ember burned there.
Erael’len
.

“No!” said Berun as he lunged for it.

Sauk stepped back, almost casually, as Berun’s hand swiped at empty air. Then the half-orc stepped forward again and brought the toe of his boot into Berun’s side, just below the bottom rib. Biting back pain, Berun swiped at the necklace again, but Sauk caught his wrist and twisted. Berun struggled, but it was no use. His free hand reached for his knife—

The half-orc twisted harder, tough nails breaking through
Berun’s sleeve and piercing skin. Bones in his wrist scraped together, then Sauk wrenched, bringing the entire arm around behind Berun’s back.

Sauk planted one foot in the middle of Berun’s back and said, “You draw steel on me and I’ll tear your arm off. Understood?”

Berun poured the rest of his strength into a final attempt to pull his arm free.

Straightening the leg planted on Berun’s back, Sauk pulled the arm tighter. Though he tried to hold it in, tried to clench his jaws shut, a scream escaped Berun.

“Understand now?” said Sauk.

The tension in the arm loosened. Not enough that he could move it, but just enough that Berun no longer felt as if muscles were tearing.

“Don’t think he heard you.” That was Val’s voice. Berun couldn’t turn his head enough to see, but he felt someone yank his knife out of the sheath.

Sauk let the arm go and put his full weight into the foot on Berun’s back. His ribs creaked and he could only take shallow breaths.

“Just remember,” said the half-orc,
“you
brought this on. If you’d behaved yourself, you and the boy would be sitting round the fire sharing some soup. Now—”

Shouts of men out in the woods. Berun could hear them. But beyond that, he heard the deep thunder of the tiger’s roar, more shouting from the men, and then screaming. A boy screaming.

“Lewan!” gasped Berun, and he tried to push himself up. It was like pushing against a mountain root.

“You just stay down,” said Sauk. “Taaki isn’t going to kill the boy. But she
will
catch him, and she’s not nearly as gentle as my men.”

“Let”—Berun could barely take in enough air to speak—“boy—go.”

“No,” said Sauk.

“Why?” He wanted to ask,
What is he to you? He isn’t involved. Let him go and I’ll come along, do whatever you say
, and a dozen other things, but he couldn’t find the breath to form any words.

“Right now? ’Cause you caused me a lot of trouble. Put my men to a lot of trouble. And you tried to hit me with your bow.” Sauk stepped away, turned his head, and spat. “That wasn’t nice, Kheil.”

Sweet air filled Berun’s lungs, and he rolled over onto his back. Breath was coming easier now, but his gut still hurt—a little higher with that first punch, and Berun knew he’d be holding broken ribs right now—and his arm felt like splinters were tumbling through his veins. Sauk stood a few paces away, arms across his chest. What he’d done with
Erael’len
, Berun couldn’t see. Val stood beside the half-orc, Berun’s bow and quiver cradled in his arms, the knife in one hand, and the insolent smile on his face. Gerrell stood behind them, spear in one hand, looking as if he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Berun,” said Berun.

“Berun,” said Sauk. “Kheil. Leaf-lovin’ blight-beater, I don’t care what you call yourself. Keep this up and Berun might join Kheil, and they can bicker over who is who in the afterlife. But to finish my answer—even if I weren’t annoyed with you, I’d still keep the boy. It’ll give you incentive to behave yourself. I have nothing against the boy. But understand, I’ve got no love for him either. You play nice—no more flyin’ lizards in anyone’s face, no more trying to slap me with your twig-tosser—and you and the boy can go your way once our business is done. You try any more of this nonsense, and I’ll let Taaki have her way with little Lewan. Might even make you watch.”

Berun stayed on the ground. He didn’t want another boot on him just then, but he looked up and glared at the half-orc.
“Dukhal.”

Berun had never been fluent in the language of Sauk’s orc tribe, but he knew enough to give a good curse.
Dukhal
. A bastard whelp. A vile enough insult to any orc, but for Sauk it held a particular barb. He was the son of the clan’s chief and a human slave. His mother had died before Sauk could walk, and he’d spent his childhood competing for—and never winning—his father’s affection and respect among the chieftain’s legitimate sons.

Sauk’s eyes went cold and hard. “There you go hurting my feelings again,” he said. Then his visage seemed to soften a bit and something happened Berun would never have predicted. The half-orc looked almost … sad. Truly hurt. “I see now that Kheil my brother is dead indeed. I was not wrong to bleed for him. Still, we need you. I didn’t lie. Help us with this … Berun. Help us, and you and the boy can go wherever your new god takes you.” He turned to Val. “No need to tie him, but don’t give his weapons back. As soon as he can sit up, put him by a fire and feed him. And keep an eye out for that lizard. Don’t know where it got off to.”

“The lizard?” said Val, looking annoyed. “What do you want me to do with a damned lizard?”

“Give it to him,” said Sauk. “If he can get it to behave, fine. If not, throw it in the soup.” He turned to walk away.

“Where are you going?” asked Val.

“Taaki can catch the boy,” said Sauk over his shoulder. “But I don’t know if she can bring him in without hurting him. I don’t want to be up all damned night stitching up a mewling boy.”

The half-orc sauntered off, and the dark of the wood soon swallowed him.

The blond man tossed away the unstrung bow and quiver, then held the knife up and knelt next to Berun. His insolent grin widened. “Name’s Valmir,” he said. “You can call me Val. Most around here do. You just listen to Sauk and behave yourself, and you and me’ll get along just fine.”

Berun considered bringing his leg up and jamming his boot in Valmir’s face—the man was close enough—but he knew that even if that worked, he stood little chance of finding Lewan in the dark before Taaki and Sauk. This wasn’t over. But something Sauk had told him earlier came to him—
I have hunted enough prey to know when it is time to strike and kill and boast, and when it is best not to draw attention to yourself. Calling down doom … that’s just foolish
. And so Berun let his head fall back into the cushioning grass. He could still hear the tiger roaring, but the screams had stopped.

T
hey walked. Sauk roused the camp when dawn was no more than a pale shade of gray in the east. Lewan had barely slept. The events of the previous night had hit him hard. The tiger had not harmed him—at least not physically. Master hunter that she was, she’d forced him to the ground, much as she would a deer, but she’d kept her claws in, and her teeth had held his neck without piercing the skin. That had been the worst. In his travels with Berun, Lewan had seen cats hunt. Once the prey was subdued, they took it by the neck, and with a quick snap, it was all over.