Val’s gaze did not soften. “Spices?”
“In my pack.”
“And there wouldn’t be anything else in your pack that we should worry about?”
Berun sighed. “If you don’t trust me, you could keep the pack and hand me what I need.”
Valmir looked to Kerlis, who was sitting, morose, by his own fire, and Dren, who was sitting beside Lewan and honing his dagger over a whetstone. “You two have any objections?”
Dren just shrugged. Kerlis scowled and spat into the fire.
“You sit still,” Valmir told Berun, and he walked over to where most of the camp’s supplies were piled. He found Berun’s large leather satchel and returned to the fire. He sat, opened the flap, and turned the open satchel into the firelight. “Let’s see if we can get this over with before the rain hits.”
“See the roll of felt wrapped in twine?” said Berun.
“Yeah.”
“Those are needles and spare arrowheads,” said Berun. “Quite sharp, so don’t unwrap them. On the other side of the spare clothes is an inner pocket. See it?”
“Yes.”
“In that pocket is a small leather bag stitched with a red thread. Make sure it’s the pocket on the opposite side from the needles. The other pocket is poisons.”
“Poisons?”
“I live most of the year in the wild. I sometimes have to hunt things larger than me, and it takes a bit more than an arrow to bring them down.”
Val removed a leather bag slightly larger than his hand. “This it?”
“The very one.” Berun reached for it.
But Val drew it back, untied the drawstring, and looked inside. “How about you tell me what you want and I’ll pass it over?”
“You have salt already, so try to find a white doeskin bag. It should have a brass hinge on top rather than a drawstring.”
Val rummaged a moment, then produced the bag. “What is it?”
“Just sage.”
Valmir opened the little hinge and sniffed at it. Satisfied, he closed the latch and tossed it to Berun.
“Now, a larger oilskin pouch with black stitching.”
Val found it, sniffed the contents, and his brows rose appreciatively. “What’s this?”
“It’s called lingale,” said Berun. “It will help to bring out more flavor in the meat, and if we let it simmer, it will thicken the broth nicely.”
“Nice,” said Val. “What next?”
“This one is my little secret,” said Berun. “The yaqubi call it yellow safre. Quite good. You’ll find it in a similar oilskin pouch, only this one has lighter stitching.”
“Not much of a secret anymore.” Valmir grinned as he looked for the pouch.
“This is just cooking,” said Berun. “I don’t guard these secrets that closely.”
Valmir tossed him the pouch.
“One more, I think,” said Berun. “It’s probably near the bottom. Been a while since I used it. This one is a bottle made from bone. Should have a thick wad of felt stuffed in the top for a cap.”
“Why bone?” asked Val as he rummaged through the satchel.
“Clay or glass might break, and leather tends to soak up the flavor of this particular spice.”
Valmir produced the bottle and tossed it to Berun. “What is this one?”
Berun twisted the felt out of the bottle and gave the contents a careful sniff. “This one is most special. I trade for it with Shou merchants in Almorel.” He shook a generous pile into the palm of one hand.
“What’s it called?”
“They call it tep yen,” said Berun. “I suspect it’s some sort of fruit, but these are the seeds, dried and crushed.” He leaned over the fire and extended his hand. “Here. Smell. It’s quite good.”
Careful of the fire between them, Valmir leaned toward Berun’s open palm. He inhaled through his nose, and his brows rose in appreciation. “Good,” he said. “Smells hot.”
“It is,” said Berun—and blew the tep yen into Valmir’s eyes.
Valmir shrieked—a high-pitched scream so loud that Berun thought the man might tear his throat. Val fell back, his hands scrabbling at his eyes and his feet kicking the fire.
Kerlis and Dren leaped to their feet. Kerlis, eyes wide and a snarl on his lips, already had a short sword in hand. Dren was calmer. A small smile played across his lips as he glanced at Valmir, who was still thrashing and screaming. Dren would be the problem, then.
Dren reached behind his back, and his hand reappeared with a knife. But the other hand he held open and outward in a sign of peace. He stepped around the fire and took three steps toward Berun.
Relief swept through Berun. If Dren had stayed by his fire and held Lewan hostage, this little plan would have fallen apart right away.
Fight-fight-fight? The feeling—the eagerness—touched the edge of Berun’s mind.
Not yet, he answered. Hold. Be ready.
Ready-ready. Fight-fight-fight!
“On your belly!” Kerlis shouted to Berun. He’d stopped a few paces away, and his eyes flitted back and forth from Berun to Dren.
“Not for you,” said Berun. He crouched near the fire and motioned the men forward.
“Just sit down,” said Dren. “Don’t make us hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Have it your way.” Dren’s open hand tightened into a fist.
The two men advanced. Berun figured Kerlis would strike first. After the events of the day, the man had a lot to make up for. Berun waited until Kerlis was only a few paces away, then he lifted the near end of the spit over the fire—kettle of boiling water still dangling from the middle—and hurled it at Kerlis. The kettle struck him and the boiling water splashed over him.
Kerlis went down thrashing, and his screams drowned out Valmir’s.
Fight-fight-now? Perch was tense.
Not yet, answered Berun. I have this one.
Berun turned his full attention to Dren, brandished one fist, and said, “You’d do best to go after Sauk and get help. You’re going to need it.”
The larger man smiled and waved his dagger. “You’d do well to sit your arse down. You’re all out of boiling water, and I have the steel.”
“Have it your way,” said Berun, and he feinted forward.
Dren’s smile turned into a snarl and he lunged, sweeping the dagger before him. Berun jumped back, raised the thumb of his fist, and shook the open bottle of tep yen in the man’s face. The red powder burst out in a cloud and enveloped Dren’s head and shoulders.
“Try—” began Berun, but Dren’s shrieks cut him off. The man dropped his dagger and clutched at his face, but he kept his feet. Berun waited for the heavy cloud to dissipate, then stepped forward and punched Dren squarely in the temple. The man went down like a sack of stones.
“—not to breathe it in,” Berun finished. “That hurts even worse.”
Berun looked to Lewan. The boy stood a few paces away, wide-eyed and holding a burning brand in one hand.
“Come,” said Berun over the screams of the three men. “Gather your things. Find my bow.”
Kneeling beside Val, who was still thrashing and whimpering, Berun reached for the buckle of the man’s belt. Val cried out and punched blindly in Berun’s direction.
Berun slapped the punch away and brought his elbow down hard into Val’s gut. The man’s cries cut off in a choke. “Enough of that,” said Berun. “Just getting my knife back.”
He removed Val’s belt and retrieved his knife and sheath. He held Val’s belt and knife in his hand a moment, considering. It was a fine blade. Not too ostentatious, but well crafted. The belt was well made but had seen a lot of use. Berun tossed both into the fire. His pouch still lay where Val had dropped it. Berun picked it up and cinched the flap shut.
Val had stopped his full-throated screaming, but he still rubbed at his eyes and rolled back and forth on the ground. “I’ll kill you,” he said between sobs. “You godsdamned bastard. Don’t care what
Tali says. I’ll kill you.”
Berun looked down at the blond man. “First thing the Old Man ever taught me,” he said. “The assassin’s greatest weapon is not dagger or dart or poison. The assassin’s greatest weapon is the weapon at hand and the willingness to act. I just bested the three of you with spices and boiling water.”
“I’ll kill you!” Valmir lashed at Berun with one foot, but Berun sidestepped.
“Listen to me,” said Berun. “Listen closely. You leave me alone. You leave the boy alone. You come after either of us, and I’ll teach you the second thing the Old Man taught me.”
Berun lunged down and punched Val in the gut. All the air shot out of the blond man, and he clutched at his midsection. His eyes, still clenched shut, were red and swollen. Berun punched him again across the side of the face.
“I’ll—!” Valmir swiped at Berun and tried to sit up.
Berun punched him again, and Val went down, out cold. For a moment, Berun considered kicking him a few times, maybe cracking a few ribs. Might make up for the chattering Berun had been forced to endure all day. And that smug smile. It would feel good to knock that smile off his face for a long while.
“Another time,” Berun said, and turned away.
The boy still hadn’t moved.
“Lewan,” said Berun.
The boy started.
“Listen carefully,” said Berun. He walked over and lowered his voice. It was doubtful that the men would be able to hear him over their own shrieking, but it never hurt to be careful. “I must take care of Sauk and his men or we won’t make it out of these woods alive. You remember the lightning-blasted tree where we cleaned the deer last spring?”
Lewan thought a moment, then nodded, but the fear did not leave his eyes.
“Get as far from here as you can. Sauk and the others went west after the yaqubi. You go east. Find that tree. I’ll meet you there tomorrow. You understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. We don’t have much time.”
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“What about the tiger? You can’t take her on your own.”
“Taaki and I have … crossed purposes before. Leave her to me. Now move.”
Berun watched while Lewan gathered a few supplies, gave his master a final questioning look, and disappeared into the dark. In moments the darkness and swaying boughs of the storm-tossed woods swallowed him.
A small form emerged from the flickering shadows and scuttled up to Berun. Perch stopped, looked up at his master, and let loose a series of excited chitters.
“Yes,” said Berun. “Now it’s time.” Fight-fight-fight.
Chapter Ten
We wait for the storm,” said Sauk.
The half-orc had gathered his raiding party on a small shelf of rock about halfway down the hill. The assassins huddled in the darkness, each no more than a dim shape against the rock. The wind from the oncoming storm cut through the trees so they swayed and tossed like a Shou feather dancer. Through the occasional break in the tossing boughs, Hama could see the yaqubi’s tiny campfire several hundred paces below them.
“Once the rain starts,” said Sauk, “listen for Taaki.”
“Where has she got off to?” asked Hama.
“She’s a ways up the hill on the other side of their camp. Listen for her. She’s the signal. Once your hear her, get in the camp and kill ’em all.”
“Will we be able to hear her over the storm?” Sauk was less than a few feet away, and Hama could barely hear him over the wind in the trees. The sky flickered, and thunder crashed on the mountains to the west, as if to emphasize the point.
“You’ll hear her,” said Sauk.
“Why wait?” asked Merzan.
“What?”
“For the storm.”
“You know that little lizard our captive keeps setting loose on us?” said Sauk.
“Yes.”
“That’s a treeclaw lizard, and Berun”—Hama could hear Sauk’s lips twisting around the name —“learned to train it from the yaqubi. They use the damned things like hunting dogs against the spiders in the deep woods. And like dogs, the little beasts make great guards. Only these little hounds can hide in the trees so that they’re near invisible. No telling how many are nestled in the brush around the camp. But they’ll hole up once the rain starts. That’s when we hit them.”
“Those lizards,” said Benjar, “are they poisonous?”
“Nah,” said Sauk. “But you’ll feel their claws and teeth if one gets on you. But they’re just lizards. If one gets you, just grab and squeeze.”
“It’s the spiders we need to be worried about,” said Merzan.
“Spiders?” said Hama.
“This is the Khopet-Dag,” said Merzan. “The Spiderhaunt Peaks. You and Kerlis nearly wet yourselves all day worrying about them on the trail.”
“You said most of them weren’t dangerous.”
“Most,” said Sauk. “We’re nearer the mountains now. The big ones don’t usually come down this far. And the smaller ones—the rain will drive them into their holes. Don’t worry about the spiders.”
“But what if we run into one of the dangerous ones?” said Benjar.
“Damn it,” said Sauk. “Did you see a single spider all day that you couldn’t squash with your heel? No? You see a spider you don’t like? Kill it. Spiders aren’t bees or flies. They don’t swarm.”
Berun found what he was looking for near the top of the hill—a small swath of forest where seedlings no more than a season or two old were growing in the remains of an ancient tree. The old tree had fallen several seasons ago and gone to rot. Softened by melting frost and spring rains, it was now a hive of thousands of spiders. The treeclaw lizards preferred the fertile valleys between the hills where water was more plentiful, so the many spiders that made this part of the wood their home laid their eggs along the hilltops, and rotted logs were a favorite haunt.
It was late enough in the year that most of the egg sacs had hatched, but early enough that most of the spiderlings were still lurking in the immediate area. They’d had at least a couple of tendays to feast on flies, moths, and the young fangflies newly hatched from the thick mud along the valley streams. They’d grown nice and fat, and their fangs were full of new venom. But they were still growing and hungry. Ravenous, in fact. Still, there were not enough of them to suit Berun’s purpose. Not here. But if his scheme went as planned, more would gather from the surrounding hills and valleys as his spell surged.
Berun settled himself near the base of the old log. He could smell the rot, thick and musky even in the strong rain-scented breeze. In his trek up the hill he’d barreled through a fair number of spider webs, and the tiny fibers fluttered about him like wisps of down, tickling his skin.
Perch, rummaging inside the log, swallowed the last of a spiderling he’d happened across. Running through the wood, Berun had opened the link he and Perch shared, tearing it wide, opening himself to the mind of the little lizard. He could feel the lizard’s metabolism quickening, already growing a new tail, needing nourishment, and his friend was hungry. The dozens of spiders hiding in the crevices of the old log were too much temptation to ignore. The incessant messages of fight-fight-fight that had whispered along the link Berun shared with the lizard had changed to hunt-hunt-hungry-hungry-SPIDER!
Berun closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sent a feeling of urgency, of need, to Perch. Hunt spiders later. Time to fight. Now, Perch.
Fight-fight? Perch stopped in his attempt to chase a young spider out of a moist crevice where the log met the ground.
Fight, yes, Berun answered. Fight now. The tiger. Find the tiger.
Wariness and a tingle of fear wafted into Berun’s mind. Fight … tiger?
Anger the tiger, said Berun. Make her growling-mad—then lead her away. Far away. Understand?
Growling-mad tiger means eating scared-me. Perch emerged from the log. Berun could feel his little friend watching him
, though it was too dark to see him.
You are fast, Berun told him. In-the-shadows in-the-tight-places fast. Get the tiger chasing-you-mad, then run-run-run.
Chasing-me-mad run-run-run. Perch hissed and chattered. Fun-fun fight-chase-run-fun!
Go, my friend.
Perch ran, unseen in the dark and unheard under the storm-swaying trees. In moments, he was gone. Berun relaxed his mind, seeking the rhythm of the storm, of the wood, of the world around him. In the gusts of wind, the wisps of spider web tickled his skin.
“Now,” said Berun. “Now, Sauk. Here it comes. You should’ve stayed in your mountain.”
He began his chant.
The tiger crouched a prudent distance from the camp. Her heart-brother had warned her about the lizards, biters and scratchers who hid in the trees. The little nuisance earlier today had angered her, but her coat was far too thick for such a creature’s claws to be a real threat. No. The real threat was that the beasts would warn their masters below, and that would displease Taaki’s heart-brother. So she kept to the thick brush, becoming a part of the darkness itself. She couldn’t even see the distant twinkling of the campfire, but the smell of their fire was thick in her nostrils. She knew exactly where they were. At the signal from her heart-brother, she would roar to put fear in her prey then rush down the slope, making less sound than the wind in the trees.
Something rustled to her right, a furtive movement over the old leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor. Every part of the tiger went still as stone, save for her ears, which pivoted toward the sound.
The sky above the forest flashed, painting the wood in sharp contrasts of light and shadow, and thunder followed a moment later. The storm was close now, the scent of rain heavy on the wind. The last of the thunder faded, first from the ground, then the air as it rebounded off the mountain. Only the wind through the leaves and branches made any sound—
There.
Again, something skittered through the brush, but it was closer now. Very close.
A rumble gathered deep in the tiger’s chest, and the skittering sound stopped.
The tiger waited.
A sharp patter joined the hissing of the leaves and creak of branches, but it was only the first drops of rain.
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