Sauk looked down on him, an amused look on his face. “Nothing noble about death, boy. Death means you lost. If I die, I’ll die fighting, and the Beastlord will greet me with my enemy’s blood on my teeth.”
They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Sauk held out the medallion again.
“Here,” he said. “Put leagues behind you before dark.”
Lewan looked at the medallion, then up at Sauk. “I can’t,” he said.
“Why?”
“It’s … complicated.” Lewan stared at the nearby stream, at the sparkling of sunlight on the water.
Sauk’s words had stung him. You are just a boy. A fool’s hope. Was he right? Was Lewan a fool to think he had any hope in learning Erael’len’s secret? Still … I think I see a hunter’s heart in you. Lewan thought that was as close to high praise as the half-orc ever came. Would he ever be anything more than a scared boy if he ran now? Even if it was a fool’s hope, he had something else calling him back to the fortress.
“Women are complicated,” said Sauk.
Shocked that Sauk seemed to have guessed his thoughts, Lewan looked up at the half-orc. Sauk grinned and shrugged. “There are many secrets in the Fortress of the Old Man, but who is sharing whose bed is seldom one of them. You think you love her, but you don’t. That feeling you’re feeling isn’t love. It’s just the excitement of the first legs you’ve ever parted.”
Anger rose in Lewan, and he stood. He’d intended to face Sauk, but even as he came to his full height, he found himself looking up at the half-orc’s chin, and fear joined his anger. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Sauk smirked.
“No.”
Sauk looked down at the medallion in his and sighed. “Your death is on your own head, then. I tried. One thing, though.”
“What?”
“Best not to tell Talieth of this conversation. I did you a kindness with the offer. Now do me one and forget my offer. Agreed?”
Lewan felt a pang of pride that he managed to hold the half-orc’s gaze. “You’re afraid of her,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Damned right I am,” said Sauk. “You should be too.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
What was the little fool doing? Sauk wondered.
He’d found a good spot—a ways uphill from the boy, well-shaded by a large larch, but still with a good view of where Lewan sat next to the pool. Taaki was off to Sauk’s left, settled and comfortable in a patch of soft sand beneath an overhang of the mountainside that offered her a wide view of the entire stretch of wood. Sauk couldn’t see her, but through the bond he shared with her as a zuwar, he knew right where she was. He could’ve pointed to her like a man with his eyes closed could point to the noonday sun.
Afternoon was turning to evening, and the air up on the mountain had turned cool. Still, the boy hadn’t moved in a long while. After Sauk had left him and settled in to watch, Lewan had stripped off his boots and clothes and bathed in the pool. The way the boy moved in the pool and ladled water over his torso with his cupped palms had more the look of ceremony than a true washing. This struck Sauk as nothing unusual. Most faiths had rites of ceremonial cleansing—his included, though the Beastlord’s worshipers slathered themselves in blood more often than water.
Sauk knew that earlier that morning, Talieth had ordered servants into the gardens with a list of things to gather—acorns, mistletoe and holly leaves, a sprig of oak leaves. So early in the season, the acorns had been the most difficult, but they had found them at last in the tangled maze of greenery that grew round the base of the Tower of the Sun. Since the old druid had taken up residence there, all sorts of odd things grew in and out of season.
Sauk watched as Lewan sat, still naked, at the water’s edge and used a stone from the stream to crush the acorns and some of the leaves. He then dipped three fingers of his right hand into the greenish-brown concoction and painted a series of symbols on his forehead, the backs of his eyelids, across both lips, round his heart, and the patch of skin between his navel and groin. Sauk scowled and muttered, “Damned leaf-lovers.”
Lewan then piled a small cushion of young larch needles at the base of the nearest tree, sat on it with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees, leaned his head back against the bole of the tree, closed his eyes—and didn’t move for a long while. Sauk sometimes thought he could see the boy’s lips moving, but he was too far away to be sure.
And there Lewan sat as the shadows in the wood turned a deeper shade of blue and the cool of evening began to whisper down the mountain. Although he couldn’t see them through the trees, Sauk knew that the first stars were skirting the eastern horizon.
A jolt, almost like a muscle spasm, struck Sauk. But this was in his mind, in his heart of hearts, that deep part of his soul entwined with the tiger. Someone was approaching. And not from a distance. Someone was already well into the wood, within an easy stone’s throw of the boy. How someone had gotten so close without Sauk—or especially Taaki—being aware of them, Sauk had no idea. It put his hackles up. Sauk sensed Taaki rising from her hiding place and stalking down the slope, keeping to the shadows under the trees.
No, Sauk told her. Easy. Let’s see.
Sauk drew his knife and waited. The boy still hadn’t moved. If he heard the figure approaching, he’d shown no sign of it.
Sauk saw movement before he could make out any features. Just a different shadow moving through a wood that was quickly dimming to the uniform shade of evening. The figure made no attempt at stealth and moved without haste. Lewan still hadn’t moved, though he’d have heard the figure by now—unless he’d fallen asleep.
The figure made its way round the last of the trees. A man. Sauk could tell by the way the figure walked. But his features were completely hidden within the folds of a loose robe and a deep hood. In the gloom of the oncoming evening, the robe looked black.
The man stopped a few feet away from Lewan. The boy opened his eyes and started at the sight of the robed man standing near him. The man reached up with both hands and pulled down his hood. Sauk got his first good look at the man, and he felt all the blood drain from his face.
Lewan had been aware of someone approaching for some time. Believing it to be Sauk, he paid it no mind, though he did note that he heard him coming quite clearly. Days ago, on the trek through the Shalhoond, Lewan had been surprised at how someone as large as Sauk could move with such grace through the woods. Perhaps Sauk was purposefully making noise to announce his return.
When the sound of footsteps stopped nearby, Lewan opened his eyes. He gasped and barely caught the scream in his throat, for it wasn’t the half-orc after all, but someone wearing a dark robe and hood. Lewan could just make out a man’s chin within the deep shadow under the hood.
“Forgive me,” said the hooded man. His voice was deep and rich, but Lewan could hear the rasp of old age in its timbre. “I did not mean to startle you.”
The stranger lowered his hood, and Lewan faced an old man. His thinning hair, mostly gray but with streaks of black, just dusted his shoulders. His skin was not as dark as Lewan’s, but it had the darker tone of someone from southern regions, and though he was wrinkled as worn leather, his eyes were bright and sharp.
“Wh-who are you?” said Lewan. The man did not appear hostile, and Lewan’s hammering heart was beginning to slow. Lewan leaned over, grabbed his trousers, and covered his nakedness.
The man smiled and gave a slight bow. “Forgive me again,” he said. “Though you have been a guest in my home for some days, I have not yet greeted you—though I understand you have been partaking of my hospitality. Well met, Lewan.”
“Your … house?” said Lewan. “You mean, you’re …”
“The Old Man of the Mountain. Master of Sentinelspire.”
Lewan’s mouth went dry, and his heart began to hammer again. “Uh … w-well met, Master. Thank you for your, um … hospi
tality. Your daughter the Lady Talieth has made me most comfortable.”
“Has she?” The Old Man chuckled. “She does like them young, but I would have thought you were a bit young even for her.”
Lewan blushed and averted his eyes. “That was not my meaning, my lord! I—”
“And now,” the Old Man cut him off, “I must ask your forgiveness a third time. I know what you meant, young man. I was simply having a bit of fun. But I am glad you have met Talieth, for it is she about which we must speak. She and the half-orc and their little … what would be the word?”
“Word, my lord?”
“You and I have just met, Lewan. I am trying to mind my manners, as they say. Put a polite term to their very impolite … plotting.”
“Plotting, lord?”
The Old Man frowned. “Don’t dither with me, boy. You’re an honest young man. Your master brought you up right. Six days in my fortress, and you are already practicing the arts of deceit. Please allow me to be brutally honest with you, Lewan. You’re no good at it. Don’t try. Remain true to yourself.”
He knows, Lewan thought. Knows it all. Knows Talieth is trying to stop him. Knows Sauk is in on it. Knows I’m helping them. He might even know the bargain I’ve struck. Lewan’s fear paled into something approaching sheer terror at that, and he thought, Oh, Ulaan …
“I’ve not come to kill you, boy,” said the Old Man. “And your girl is safe from me.”
Lewan’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped.
The Old Man threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, dear boy! Don’t look so shocked. I’m no wizard, reading your thoughts like a tome. You wear your thoughts plain on your face. However …” The good humor left the Old Man’s face and he looked down on Lewan with utmost solemnity. “I will not tell you not to fear. Be very afraid, Lewan. Talieth and her little conspiracy … well, I’ll forsake politeness for bluntness on this point. They are lying to you. They are using you. Do not trust them.”
Doubt began to course through Lewan, like a poison slowly working its way through the veins. It occurred to him to wonder why he had never seriously questioned Talieth’s tale or her motives. True enough, a large part of it at first was that he’d believed himself a prisoner without much choice. But there were the earthquakes, that plume of steam from the mountaintop earlier, and the Old Man was a lord of assassins, after all, a master of murderers. Then the obvious question occurred to Lewan.
“Why—?”
“Why haven’t I done something about it?”
Lewan nodded, unable to speak.
The Old Man shook his head. “Well, let me just say that the time is not yet right.”
“The … time?”
“Let me guess,” said the Old Man. “Talieth, Sauk, maybe even a few of the other blades, have told you that I have gone quite mad and am intent on destroying all they hold dear. To assure your sympathies, they have probably even told you that my nefarious plans will destroy all you hold dear as well. Do I hit close to the mark?”
Lewan said nothing and had to force himself not to nod. He didn’t know who or what to believe.
“Truth is a rare gift, Lewan,” said the Old Man, “but I will give it to you now. I am not out to destroy the world, but to save it—save it from Talieth and those like her, whose greed and ambition would destroy anyone and anything that gets in their way.”
The sounds of crickets and night birds began to fill the wood, as Lewan simply sat there, staring into the pool. In the past tenday, his entire world had been cracked. He felt raw, drained, and utterly and completely confused. He put his head in his hands, and without looking up, he said, “Why are you telling me all this? What if I don’t believe you? What—?”
He stopped himself. He’d been about to say, What if I go back to the fortress and tell Talieth everything—that you are on her trail, aware of her entire conspiracy? But he caught himself just in time. Saying that would be as much as admitting he was involved, confirming the Old Man’s story, and no matter how sincere the man seemed, Lewan could not ignore the fact that he was sitting naked and alone in the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger, one who controlled some of the best assassins in the known world.
“Despite what you may think of me, boy, I hold no ill will toward you, and it grieves me to see you so ill used. Taken from your master, held captive, used as a pawn in Talieth’s game. I am no monster. You have never done me any harm, and as a guest in my home, it is my duty to help you. However, I must confess that my motives and my reasoning for meeting you here are not entirely … altruistic.”
Lewan wasn’t sure what that word meant, but he took the general meaning behind it.
“If Talieth asks you what we spoke about,” said the Old Man, “tell her. Hide nothing. As I said, deceit is not one of your strengths. Do not be ashamed by that. Revel in it. Sauk will certainly ask you. He’s watching us now, I’m sure, though I don’t know if he’s close enough to hear.” He shrugged. “It does not concern me. As soon as I’m gone, I’m sure he’ll be along. Tell him everything. However, to answer your question at last—why I have come to speak to you. To put it plainly: in a short time, I will need your help.”
Lewan chuckled, though it was from sheer exasperation, not humor. He’d been captured, watched his master die, and involved in a conspiracy to depose a supposed mad master of assassins, and now the very man he’d been asked to help defeat was standing here and asking for his help—while Lewan himself was naked and shivering. Lewan felt trapped in some sick bard’s tale, and all he really wanted was to take Ulaan and go far away from all this.
“How could I possibly help you?” he said.
“Nothing too drastic,” said the Old Man. “I’m not expecting you to grab weapons and defend me against the assassins of Sentinelspire. Your word, Lewan, is all I ask. In a short time, I will need your word of support. My plans will still succeed without you, Lewan. But things will go better for a great many people—yourself included—if you speak on my behalf. But don’t worry yourself too much. I am not asking for your false witness. When the time comes, you will want to support me. You will see things my way. All I ask is that you take the courage to do what your heart knows is right.”
Lewan heard the man walk away, and when he looked up a few moments later, he saw no sign of him. The Old Man of the Mountain had faded into the gathering gloom of evening. Something occurred to Lewan in that moment. The Old Man had called him Lewan. Repeatedly. Lewan had never given the Old Man his name. He was sure of it. Still … Talieth had told him that her father had ways of seeing things beyond spies, and he certainly seemed to know a great deal already. If he knew what had happened to his master, knew of Talieth’s plans against him, knew even of Ulaan, then the Old Man knowing Lewan’s name hardly seemed notable. Still … Lewan could not shake the feeling that there had been something oddly familiar about the Old Man.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Lewan reached the door to his room, he was breathing heavily and his legs felt like they had turned to granite. After the Old Man had left him on the mountainside, Sauk had come running up, his eyes as large and hard as river stones, and demanded to know what had been said. Lewan told him everything, even that the Old Man told him to tell everyone and that there was nothing Talieth’s conspiracy could do about any of it. When the tale was told, Sauk simply stood there, staring at Lewan and chewing on his bottom lip. Lewan couldn’t tell if the half-orc was furious, or terrified out of his mind. A little of both, he decided.
“Impossible,” Sauk had said, seemingly to himself, then broke into a long string of curses in his own tongue.
The rant seemed to stoke his agitation rather than calm it, and Sauk had ordered Lewan to get his clothes on. Hadn’t even allowed him a moment in the stream to wash the pasty symbols off his skin. Lewan had scarcely pulled on his boots and grabbed Berun’s bow before Sauk was pulling him to his feet and rushing him onward. They’d run the whole way back, even after full dark caught them on the mountainside.
Lewan’s boots were scuffed and his toes hurt from bashing into rocks and roots.
The journey through the statue-haunted passageway had been the worst. Sauk had clutched Lewan’s wrist and dragged him through the maze. He’d been none too careful, and they’d brushed up against several statues. More than once, Lewan could have sworn he’d felt a stony hand or claw reach out and brush his shoulder. But perhaps that had simply been his fear and exhaustion overtaking him in the dark.
Back at the fortress, Sauk had barreled through the guards at the gate, knocking one man flat on his behind. He’d pushed Lewan up the stairs to the tower, opened the door, told him, “Get to your rooms and stay there!” then bounded off.
Lewan watched him go until he was little more than a blur in shadows between pools of lamplight. Then he’d made the climb to his room.
He stood before the door—his hair, skin, and clothes drenched with sweat, dust caking him, his chest heaving, and his legs feeling as if they were about to collapse. Lewan was not soft. He’d lived in the wild most of his life, running for miles without rest. But the day had drained him. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually, he was spent. He scarcely had the energy to twist the knob of his door.
Lewan stepped inside, and an array of scents hit him like a blow—spiced candles, cherry wood burning in the hearth, expensive oil burning low in two lamps, an array of blossoms strewn about the room and on the bed, and set in the middle of the floor between the miniature oak and holly, a huge brass tub. Ulaan, wearing a blue silk gown, her hair loose and flowing down her torso, stood next to it. She saw him and smiled.
“Lewan! Oh, you look ready to fall over.” She went to him, pulled him into the room, and shut the door behind him. “I’ve had a bath brought into the room tonight. I knew you’d be tired after a day out on the mountain with Sauk.” She dropped her eyes and smiled. “And I thought we might not want to have to walk so far from the bath to bed tonight.”
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