It wasn’t working. Perhaps it was the pain. More likely the constant chatter. But Berun could not sense Perch in the area. He knew the lizard was likely following them, staying out of sight, but even a slight reassurance would have done much to ease Berun’s mind.
“The villages,” said Berun.
“What villages?”
“Out on the steppes. Hubadai Khahan’s new settlements. The attacks on the flocks, the attacks on the shepherds, the dead man … that was you?”
“Me?” said Val.
“This band,” said Berun, motioning wide with his hands at their procession, and regretting it. He winced at the pain it brought to his shoulder.
“Nah,” said Val. “Not me. Nor any of the others. That was Sauk’s doing. Sent that tiger of his. He and Taaki … not natural, if you ask me, but that damned creature will do whatever Sauk wants her to.”
“And Sauk wanted Taaki to kill that shepherd?”
“Kill?” said Val. “Don’t know that he put that much thought into it. You’d have to ask him. But Sauk knew that the locals’d hire you once they thought some beast had come hunting them. Knew it’d draw you out. Swore it. Said he knew you like a brother. That true? You and him blood brothers?”
Berun ignored the question and sidled around a thorn bush that crowded the path. Broken spider webs clung to its waxy leaves where Sauk had cleared the path. Dozens of spiders—little budbacks no longer than Berun’s thumbnail—crawled over the brush in an agitated swarm. The budbacks’ venom wouldn’t hurt a man—not even so many—but they liked to bite when annoyed.
“Can’t stand all these cursed spiders,” said Kerlis as he sidled around the bush. “Damned woods are full of ’em. Makes my skin crawl.”
The man slapped at the bush with his sword, then hurried away.
Wait, and let your prey give you the chance to attack. Berun smiled.
Chapter Eight
Sauk pushed them hard. They ate and drank while they walked, and by mid afternoon they began their climb into the broken foothills of the Khopet-Dag. The trees in this region were small, but their branches and leaves were thick, darkening the forest floor beneath them. Birdsong ceased, but the air was alive with newly-hatched insects, and spider webs of every sort festooned the wood.
Some of the trees, long dead from blight or drought, were completely enshrouded in webs. Others were entirely free of the sticky strands, and Berun knew that treeclaw lizards were near. Part of Berun was glad, knowing that Perch would feel right at home, but part of him worried that his little friend might become distracted by the abundance of food. Most of the spiders were no larger than a man’s knuckle, but Berun saw a few larger than his hand, and he knew that Sauk’s men saw them too. Everyone walked with weapons in hand, and they scanned the forest canopy as often as they watched the path. Kerlis had gone pale as a dead fish’s eye, and the fist that gripped his short sword trembled.
Even Valmir had gone silent. Whether it was because the forest seemed to call for silence, his wariness of the spiders, or the exertion from walking the steep hills, Berun neither knew nor cared. He simply thanked the Oak Father and every benevolent deity that the man had finally ceased flapping his jaw.
As the sun fell behind distant peaks, their procession topped a small rise where the rocky ground gave only enough soil for stubborn grasses and thorny bushes, giving them a view of the sky for the first time since late morning. Larger foothills stood before them, and the canopy of the great Shalhoond lay behind and to either side. The southern horizon was dark—a storm building over the Ghor Nor. Looking eastward, Berun could see all the forest laid out beneath them, and the Amber Steppes painted a deep gold out of the mountains’ shadow. Beyond the grasslands, jutting from the horizon like a broken tooth, stood a mountain. Sentinelspire.
“Keep moving,” whispered Valmir. “We don’t want to get separated from the others.”
“Spiders bother you?”
No grin from Valmir this time. In fact, his face was downright grim. “There’s worse than spiders in the Khopet-Dag these days,” he said. “Now move. We’re out in the open.”
Berun quickened his pace until they were just behind the next man in line. When they descended the opposite side of the hill and were once again beneath the trees, Berun turned to Val and said, “Sentinelspire is east. Why are we walking west?”
“Sentinelspire’s two hundred miles east,” said Val. “You really want to walk all that way?”
“Beats all these damned spiders,” Kerlis muttered.
“We aren’t walking?” asked Berun.
For once, Val seemed annoyed at the chatter, his scowl deepening. “There’s a portal in the foothills,” he said.
“I never knew of a portal in the Khopet-Dag.”
“There’s lots of things you don’t know,” said Val.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you’ve been away a long time. Things have changed at the Fortress. Lots of things.”
Night hit the woods fast. Though it was still dusk above the tree canopy, the thick leaves blocked out what little light bled down from the sky. Wind from the south had picked up, thunder rumbled in the distance, and Berun could smell the storm coming. Sauk stopped and ordered them to camp at the first sizeable stream they found—a small rivulet that cut its way through steep banks and over the black rocks of the hill before them.
The men set to work, building a few fires and preparing their meager meals. No tents. Each man carried blankets, and they would sleep beside the fires. Berun was thankful for his oilskin cloak. By the sound of the thunder and the smell of the wind, they would have a significant rain before midnight.
Seeing the work well underway, Sauk called out to a man to whom Berun had not yet spoken. Tall and swarthy, he had the build and complexion of a Thayan, but he wore the fine clothes of a westerner. Although he was in need of washing, it was evident he took pride in his appearance; his beard was well trimmed, and his hair was just growing out of what was obviously a carefully chosen cut.
“Merzan,” said Sauk. “Me and Benjar and Hama are going out to scout. You’re in charge.” He looked at Lewan and Berun. “You two just sit by the fire and rest. No talking. Merzan, take appropriate action if they try to speak to each other.”
“As you say, Sauk,” said Merzan. He gave Lewan and Berun a look of complete indifference. That bothered Berun. A grin might have shown overconfidence—something Berun could use. A bluster or boast might have meant he was dealing with someone too keen on who was in charge—something else Berun could use. But the complete lack of emotion likely meant that Merzan was an iron-cold killer, who didn’t care one way or the other whether Lewan and Berun lived or died. That meant trouble.
Berun settled himself beside the fire that Benjar and Hama—Vaasans, by the looks of them—had left. His shoulder felt better. Perhaps all the walking had helped to stretch it. But his side where Sauk had kicked him still throbbed with pain.
Valmir sat across from him. The blond man looked tired, but the easy grin was back. “Hungry?”
“A little,” said Berun.
Val rummaged through a heavy canvas pack. “No servants out here. We’ll have to make our own.”
“Sauk took my pack.”
“No worries,” said Val. “I got you.”
“Very kind.”
“You haven’t tasted my cooking yet. May not think me so kind after.”
Berun shrugged out of his cloak and loosened his belt a notch. He winced at the pain in his ribs.
“Still hurting?” asked Val.
“I’m fine.”
“Have it your way. Tea’ll be ready soon.”
Berun watched Val set a small iron kettle near the fire and rummage through his foodstuffs.
“What kind of changes?” asked Berun.
“What?”
“Back on the hill. You said there’ve been lots of changes at Sentinelspire. What kind of changes?”
Val’s smile widened. “So you admit
that you used to live there?”
“I never denied it.”
“Never admitted it, either.”
“Why give you answers you already know?”
Valmir nodded. “Fair enough, I suppose. Let’s just say the Old Man’s been busy all these years. And not always in good ways. That man could give Sauk lessons in cunning.”
“Then won’t he know we’re coming?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” said Val. “Sauk is still as much a cunning hunter as he ever was, and the Old Man still trusts him. We might have to disguise you a bit, though I’d wager that you look nothing like you used to. Am I right?”
“I’m … not the man I used to be.”
Val laughed. “Who is?”
Berun glanced to the other side of the camp. Lewan was sitting beside a fire. He accepted a bit of food and a small tin cup of water from one of the men. It bothered Berun that the boy seemed so at ease.
“Don’t underestimate your old friend Sauk,” Val continued. “He could get King Haedrak into Sentinelspire if he wanted to.”
“But you said the Old Man was even smarter. ‘Could give Sauk lessons in cunning,’ you said.”
“True enough,” said Val as he continued to prepare the tea. “But I also said that the Old Man still trusts him—and we aren’t on our own. We got us some … what you might call ‘inside help.’ ”
“You mean Talieth.”
Valmir’s movements suddenly became very careful and precise. Very intentional. “What do you know about Talieth?”
“Another one of those questions to which you already know the answer?”
Val’s grin didn’t falter, but the good humor left his eyes. He shrugged and said, “People talk.”
Berun knew that was enough on this subject. Kheil and Talieth … to say they had a history together would be only the beginning of a long tale, and it was not a happy one. And this was obviously a sensitive point for Val. That intrigued Berun.
“How long have you been at the Mountain?” said Berun.
“A few years.”
“Where before that?”
“Why are you so interested in talking all of a sudden? Couldn’t get a damned word out of you all day.”
Berun shrugged. “When I walk, I walk. But fireside is good for talk.”
The glint of mischief lit Val’s eyes again. “And there’s one thing you don’t like to talk about. Am I right?”
“That’s true of everyone,” said Berun. “You don’t want to tell me where you’re from, then?”
“Not much to tell,” said Val as he inspected the insides of two tin cups. Apparently satisfied, he took the kettle from the coals and poured the tea. He looked at Berun through the steam rising from the cup as he handed it to him. “I was a thief in Darromar. A moderately successful one. Enough that I began to get a bit of a reputation. I had an … incident with the local guild and had to ply my skills elsewhere. Went to Tethyr, where I took in with a fellow who started teaching me a bit of the Art.”
“Magic?”
“Nothing special. Just a few spells here and there that help in my line of work. But that line of work proved a bit too successful again. I was hiding from a local noble’s hired men when worse trouble came knocking at the noble’s door. Turns out he’d angered some of the wrong people, and the Old Man was hired to take care of the problem. One thing led to another, and I ended up impressing Merzan, who offered me … what you might call an audition.”
“One thing led to another?” said Berun. “What’s that mean?”
“It means things got ugly with the nobleman, and Merzan was impressed with how I handled the situation.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Care to talk about Talieth?” said Val as he took a careful sip of the tea.
Berun sipped the tea and scowled.
Valmir chuckled, but Berun didn’t hear much humor in it.
The dregs of Berun’s thin soup were just beginning to cool when Sauk and the scouts returned. One glance at the eagerness in the half-orc’s gaze and the confidence in his gait told Berun that something was happening.
“Any problems?” Sauk asked Merzan.
“None,” said Merzan, still displaying no emotion.
The steppe tiger emerged from the shadows, skirting the scouts to stand beside her master. She fixed her gaze on Berun. She didn’t growl, but Berun could feel the weight of her stare. Taaki had never liked Kheil, and she seemed to like Berun even less.
“Good,” said Sauk, “ ’cause we’ve got news. Good news.”
“What is it?” said the man sitting across from Lewan. The boy looked tired, but the fear and shock were largely gone from his eyes.
“Yaqubi,” said Sauk, “bedded down in the next valley. Most likely headed back into the mountains after trading on the steppe.”
“Which means they’re likely fat with gold,” said Merzan.
“How many?” asked the man near Lewan.
“Seven.”
“Easy pickings,” said Kerlis.
“Yeah, your favorite kind,” said one of the men who had gone scouting with Sauk.
Kerlis spat and scowled at the man, but he held his tongue.
Sauk looked to Kerlis and said, “If you think yaqubi are easy pickings, you’ve never fought them. They know these woods better’n your finger knows your nose. They may seem small and shy, but they’re the best hunters around the Khopet-Dag. In the mountain valleys where some of the spiders are big as horses, the yaqubi thrive.” He swept his gaze over the rest of his men. “We’ll take them. Don’t doubt it. But this will be a good hunt. We’ll earn their blood.”
Laughter and a quiet cheer went up throughout the camp. All except for Kerlis. Watching him, Berun was reminded of the wolf packs that roamed the Amber Steppes. Every pack had its leaders, the mated male and female, and a precise order down from there. In every pack was the lowest wolf, always the last to eat, the last to drink, and the recipient of the leader’s bad temper. If this band had been wolves, Kerlis definitely would have been the lowest wolf in the pack, and Lewan’s recent escape and Kerlis’s mishandling of it seemed to have roused Sauk’s anger toward the man. Berun felt a small twang of pity for Kerlis, but mostly he knew he’d have to watch the man. Kerlis would know better than to take out his anger on Sauk or any of his men. If he felt that the boy was the source of his recent woes—and Berun knew he did—then he would be the focus of Kerlis’s ire.
“Kerlis,” said Sauk, “you and Dren will stay here with the boy. Berun”—the half-orc’s lips twisted around the name —“care to join the hunt? A good fight. Just like old times, eh?”
“No,” said Berun. “I won’t murder innocents.”
Sauk snorted. “In that case, you better stay here, too, lover boy.”
A few of the men laughed. Berun looked around to see who was “lover boy,” and was surprised to see Valmir blushing. The blond man’s interest in discussing Talieth suddenly became clear.
Chapter Nine
The raiding party had been gone a while. The wind had picked up, though their camp was deep enough in the valley that the surrounding hills and trees kept off the worst of it. The occasional thunder off the mountains was getting closer. Still no rain, but it was only a matter of time.
Valmir had washed the iron kettle, refilled it, and it was just now beginning to bubble over the fire. For washing and shaving, he’d explained.
“Something wrong?” Valmir asked Berun.
“No,” Berun replied.
“You been quiet since Sauk and the others left.”
Berun rubbed his temples to clear his head. One bit of good news, at least. Perch was back. While Val washed the kettle and cups, Berun had taken the opportunity to reach out to his friend. The little lizard was up in the trees, watching them. The approaching storm had made him skittish, and he was worrying over the absence of his tail. But he’d found a comfortable place in the canopy to watch. His feelings came through, touching the edge of Beru
n’s consciousness—Come down? Warm sleep?
Berun sent out a call—not words, but the intent was clear: Not yet. Fight coming. Be ready.
The wind had the trees swaying in a chorus racket, but Berun’s sharp ears picked up something rattling in the branches overhead.
Not yet, he told the lizard. Sit-sit-sit. Be ready.
—ready-ready-ready. Fight-fight-fight! Tooth-and-claw-and-fight!
Berun concentrated, sending forth one image, one thought wrapped in a question—Tiger …?
Gone-gone. Over hill with the big-big one. Big one grab-grabbed my tail. My-tail-my-tail-my-tail!
New tail soon, Perch. Be ready. Fight coming.
Fight-fight-fight!
Berun smiled and called out to Valmir. “The soup all you have to eat?”
The blond man had just finished stowing the cleaned cups in his pack. “Still hungry? I warned you not to expect too much from my cooking.”
“It isn’t that.”
“Then what?”
Berun shrugged and said, “Just … Sauk’s mention of ‘old times’ reminded me of something.”
“And what’s that have to do with my soup?” asked Val.
Berun poked at the fire with a stick, sending a torrent of sparks into the air and stirring the flames to new life. “Back when I used to live at the Fortress,” he said, “I did more than work for the Old Man. Besides … doing what I did, I was also the best cook between Teylan Shan and Yal Tengri.”
“That’s not saying much,” said Val, “considering that half the tribes out here drink rotten horse milk.”
“Ah, have a little faith,” said Berun. “Let me prove it to you.”
“You want to cook for us?”
“I do.”
Val tilted his head and looked at Berun through narrowed eyes. “Why?”
“Why not? I’m not tired, but I am still hungry, and if all we have are supplies for soup, I could show you some spices that you might not have tried before. You have anything better to do?”
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