As they entered the Gallery of Stone Faces, Bennig was able to make out more details around the green light. A statue, a crouched demonlike figure with a horned head and wide, leering lips. Its stone tail curved around, its forked tip dangling over the lip of the pedestal. Hanging from the lower fork was a necklace. Nothing lovely, it looked like no more than braided leather or perhaps a rough thong, but the small stone on the end of it gave off a faint green glow.
Lightning flashed outside, sending down a few shafts of bright white light that disappeared as quickly as they’d come. Thunder shook the gallery, a great explosion that faded into a rumble down the mountain.
“Oh, damn,” said Galban, and knelt a few feet before the statue.
Bennig stepped around him and saw the reason for Galban’s curse. By the green glow, Bennig could clearly see smears of something dark along the stone and floor. It was impossible to tell for certain in the green light, but Bennig thought it looked like blood.
“What is it?” said Jerumillis as he entered the gallery last. He opened his fist slightly, and a bit of the sunrod’s light leaked from his fingers. The light was meager at best, but in the green-tinged gloom of the gallery, it seemed a small sliver of the sun. As the light spread about the nearest of the statues and the back wall, Bennig saw them—two pale eyes watching from above the doorway to the main passage, and around the eyes the dark mass of a figure.
Bennig drew in a breath, but then the eyes dropped. “Jeru—!” Bennig shouted, then he saw the flare of a cloak, and Jerumillis went down beneath it, and the sunrod’s light with him. The light in the cavern was again only the faint green glow.
The other assassins cried out. One scrambled away, but Galban and another man ran for Jerumillis. Bennig followed them, opening his eyes wide to adjust to the dim light.
“What—?” said Galban.
Bennig looked down at the body. It wasn’t Jerumillis. It was Lurom, his skull over his right eye smashed in, blood caked round his face and down his chest. His mouth hung open and his eyes stared sightlessly at the comrades who had come too late for him.
“Where is Jerumillis?” said Bennig.
The man who had fled into the dark cried out, “Sound the ala—!” followed by a sharp crack of something heavy smashing bone. Then another sound—one Bennig had heard many times in his service for the Old Man—the sound of a body striking the floor.
The green light winked out and there was only darkness. Quick as it took him to draw a breath, hold it, and crouch, two thoughts occurred to Bennig.
One, their keys that protected them from the guardians in the Gallery of Stone Faces had failed—or someone had found a way to dampen their power. But he discounted that. If one of the guardians had been after them, all of the guardians would have been after them, and in their moments of light he hadn’t seen a single one moving.
Two, someone was in the tunnels with them. Sauk and the Lady Talieth had known something was wrong and had set guards in the tunnels for a reason. A reason they hadn’t explained. But Bennig realized that the reason had come, and he had to think quickly.
Two down. But Berun knew that there were three others in the room, all armed—and any number could still be lurking in the far tunnels. He’d been expecting only the three he’d seen farther up before he’d retreated back to the Gallery. Where the other two had come from, he couldn’t be sure. One of the side tunnels, surely. And if there were two, there could be twenty, still waiting.
He’d been crouched on the ledge above the doorway when the guards entered. It had not been an easy climb, carrying the dead guard with him, but he knew that this was the worst place in all the mountain to be without a ward. When the guard had seen him, he’d dropped the corpse on the nearest man and followed after. He’d killed the man with the saber and took his body instead, leaving the first one, hoping it might cause some confusion among the survivors. It had, just enough for him to strike again.
He’d managed to get one man’s sunrod and douse it, and after killing the leader, he’d retrieved his starstone. He had to end this quick.
The gallery lit up as lightning split the sky over the mountain, the edges of its bright light leaking through the cracks in the roof.
“There he is! By the—”
Thunder drowned out the rest.
Four guards huddled just inside the main gate of the Fortress. Two had been assigned to watch the tunnels and to sound the alarm should anyone try to pass without the proper words. The other two were to keep an eye on the grounds around the main gate. But once the storm began in earnest, the wind off the mountain driving the rain horizontally at times, all four had sought refuge just inside the tunnel. The torches set on posts just inside the gate had long since been drowned by the storm, but the brazier set inside the tunnel still gave the guards a decent light. Whatever powder Velugis had sprinkled on the coals had turned the tiny flames blue, and it kept the fire going. Three of the guards huddled near the brazier, taking comfort not only in the warmth but the light, though they all took turns complaining about the foul odor.
“What did you put on the coals, Velugis?”
Velugis, the fourth guard who stood apart from the rest, just at the edge of the circle of light, was from Thay. Beyond that, no one knew much about him, nor cared to ask. He kept to himself most of the time, shut up in his rooms when not on assignment. Word around the Fortress was that he never even asked for one of the slaves for his bed, and he never drank anything but water. But one thing everyone knew was that Velugis was a master of potions and poisons, second only to the Old Man himself.
He turned his head a bit, not so much to look at his companions as to make sure his voice was heard. “Just something to keep the coals going in the damp. They burn hot, yes?”
“Hot, yes. Like hot horse piss. Is there nothing you can do about the stench?”
“I do have something I could sprinkle on the coals,” said Velugis. “A powder of my own design. It would burn with the scent of honeysuckle.”
“Well, let’s have it then,” said one of the other men.
“I think not.”
“Why not?”
Lightning struck somewhere up the mountain, bathing the Fortress in harsh light for a moment. The ensuing thunder was so loud that it drowned out even the sound of the wind and rain.
“Because those sweet fumes would kill you within five beats of your heart.” Velugis turned again to face the darkness.
The three guards muttered amongst themselves a moment, occasionally sparing a withering glance at the Thayan.
“Why you standing over there, Velugis? Don’t care for our company?”
“Two reasons,” said Velugis. “First of all, we are supposed to be standing guard. And second, the coals do smell like scalded horse piss.”
“You aren’t cold?”
Velugis said nothing, but his posture went suddenly very stiff and he leaned forward into the darkness.
“Hey! You hear me, Velugis?”
The Thayan drew his dagger with one hand and reached into his large belt pouch with his other. “Someone is coming,” he said.
The other three men spread out and drew their own weapons. Two had heavy cudgels and the third a sword.
More thunder rumbled from somewhere far off on the eastern grasslands. When it faded, all four men could hear it—footsteps coming up the tunnel.
Velugis stepped back amongst the other three, so that all four guards blocked the tunnel.
“Who approaches?” called out the guard with the sword.
No answer.
More lightning struck, and if anyone answered from the darkness, they could not be heard over the thunder.
“Name yourself!” the swordsman called.
A man stumbled into the light cast by the brazier. He wore no cloak or coat, and his left sleeve was a bloody tattered mess. It was hard to tell ripped cloth from shredded skin, but the sliver of bone protruding from his forearm was quite clear. What had once been his left eye no
w hung out of the socket, and the entire left side of his face was a cut and torn wreck.
He looked at the four guards with his remaining eye, which went wide, then he fell to his knees.
“Oh, gods,” the man said. “Sound the alarm. Hurry!”
Part Four
THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN
Chapter Thirty
25 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Sentinelspire
The door between the balcony and the room opened, and for a moment it was Lewan’s mother who stood there, outlined by fire.
Death comes. When death comes for you, you must see clearly. You must not run. You must find your courage.
But then the dream faded. His mother was gone—many years gone—and it was Ulaan standing there, the thick fur coverlet from the bed wrapped around her shoulders, a dim, flickering light outlining her. Not the light of burning thatch and timber—she had lit a lamp in the room behind her, its yellow glow weak and guttering from the wind of the storm.
“What’s happening?” asked Lewan as he struggled to bring his mind out of the dream and back into the world around him.
“The Fortress is under attack.” Ulaan’s voice held a slight tremble.
“Attack? I—?”
“Those horns are the call to arms,” she said. “Please come inside, Lewan. We should lock the doors.”
Lewan stood and gathered his blankets. He was dripping wet, his hair sodden and clinging to his forehead, and his blankets were heavy with water. How had he slept through such a storm? Still, his body felt strangely hot. Not fevered, for he felt strong and full of vigor.
“Lewan, please come inside.”
He did, and Ulaan pushed the balcony doors closed behind him. Lewan’s mind still felt foggy.
The knob of the hallway door rattled, startling Lewan. Finding the door locked, whoever was on the outside pounded on the heavy wood. “Open!”
Lewan recognized Sauk’s voice.
“Open the door or I’ll kick the damned thing down!” said Sauk.
Lewan looked to Ulaan. She stood very still, huddled up to her chin in the blanket, a look on her face like a denned rabbit who can hear the fox coming down the hole.
“Stay here,” said Lewan, though he wasn’t sure where else she could go.
He walked to the door, raised the iron crossbar, and twisted the latch that opened the main lock. He reached for the knob, but the door flew open before he could twist it. The edge of it caught him in the knee as Sauk pushed his way in. The half-orc’s skin was flushed, his hair and clothes wet, and he held his short sword in one hand.
“You’re wet,” said Sauk, looking Lewan up and down. “And already dressed, I see. Well and good. You’re about to get wetter.” He grabbed the front of Lewan’s shirt and dragged him from the room.
“My boots!” Lewan protested.
“No time,” said Sauk, and threw Lewan in front of him. When Lewan tried to stop, Sauk pushed him onward.
“Lewan!” Ulaan called. He looked back and saw her standing in the open doorway.
“Go inside and bar the door!” he said, then Sauk pushed him round the bend in the hallway. Even if the half-orc had not held two feet of naked steel in his hand, Lewan knew he would be no match for Sauk, so he went along. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“Out,” said Sauk.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Someone made it inside the walls,” said Sauk as they walked down the stairs. Sauk took them two at a time and saw to it that Lewan did the same. “Got through the guardians on the mountain and inside the tunnels. Took out the guards we set—either killed ’em or hurt ’em so bad that they wished they were dead.” A feral smile lit the half-orc’s face. A wolf’s smile. “Only two people alive know the tricks of the tunnels and could do all that.”
“I don’t understand. Who—?”
“Me, for one.”
“And the other?”
“Kheil.”
“Kheil is dead.”
Sauk snorted. “Berun, then.”
“Berun died too. You saw it yourself.”
They reached the main floor and Sauk forced them into a slow run. “That man cheated death once already,” he said. “Looks like he’s back again. Damned if Talieth wasn’t right.”
The obvious question hit Lewan then. “Why drag me out?” He gave Sauk’s short sword a meaningful look.
Sauk stopped at the door. Hand on the lever, he turned and grinned at Lewan. “Kheil’s a killer, a hunter. You want to catch a hunter, you put out the thing he’s hunting.”
“You mean bait,” said Lewan.
“I mean you.” Sauk pulled open the door and dragged Lewan out into the storm.
They were not alone. A group of five, cloaked against the weather, waited for them at the bottom of the stairs.
Talieth stepped forward and eyed Lewan, but she spoke to Sauk. “Did you have to drag him out bootless?”
“You said hurry,” said Sauk. “I hurried.”
“No matter.” She looked to Lewan, her hood up against the rain. The lamps set to either side of the door gave off ample light, and he could see her face, could see the regal look she turned on him. It was not the look of a benevolent queen, but of a ruler ready and eager to pronounce judgment. “What happened on the mountainside today,” she said, “what you saw, what you were told. We will speak of it later. At length. For now, you’re with us.”
“I won’t help you capture him.” There. Lewan had said it, though it took all of his courage. He half expected to be slapped, maybe even beaten to submission and tossed over Sauk’s shoulder.
Instead, Talieth turned to face him and said, “I’m not out to capture your master, Lewan. I’m out to stop him from doing more foolishness. He’s already killed several of my men. I’m hoping that your presence will be a … calming influence upon him.”
“But,” said Sauk, and he laid the full weight of one hand on Lewan’s shoulder, “you are coming with us. One way or the other. Don’t make it the hard way.”
“Truly spoken,” said Talieth, and she turned away. Her men followed in her wake. Sauk pushed Lewan after her, and he followed. For now.
The first sight of the Tower of the Sun only increased Lewan’s fear. The physical layout of the Tower seemed unchanged since the last time he’d looked upon it. But something set Lewan’s teeth on edge, almost as if the Tower hummed at an octave just out of his range of hearing. It had a … presence to it. Something inside that tower was watching him.
As they drew closer, Lewan saw the lights. Like bits of mist that glowed, the lights filled the garden in the courtyard below the Tower. Lewan had no gift for the arcane, but even he could recognize magic of this magnitude. Some of the lights were no larger than fireflies, but some were big as faces, and they seemed all too watchful as they wafted soundlessly through the boughs and climbed the Tower like sparks lifted by the heat of a fire.
“I don’t like this,” one of the guards muttered.
“Be silent,” Talieth ordered him. She led the way round the wall to the main gate.
Six men stood before the entrance, and Lewan could see the eldritch lights reflecting off bare steel in their hands. Talieth walked up to them, and they bowed before her.
“Lady Talieth,” said one of them—a pale-haired man with a rapier. His bow deepened, but he did not put away the blade.
“Erluk, is it?” said Talieth.
“Yes, my lady. At your service.”
“Why are you here? Has the Old Man ordered you to stand watch?”
“No, my lady. When we heard the alarm—”
“You were to take your stations.” She cast her gaze over the other men. “All of you. So I ask you again: why are you here?”
Two of the men looked down at their feet, but the others only stiffened, and Lewan saw one of them flexing his hand around a thick dagger. This did not bode well.
“Forgive me, Lady Talieth,” said Erluk. “We thoug
ht it best to see to the Old Man’s safety.”
“You thought it best?” said Talieth.
“Yes. I did.”
Erluk held her gaze, and by the looks her guards gave, Lewan knew he was not the only one to notice the omitted my lady.
“The Old Man rules the Fortress,” said Talieth, “and the Tower is his inviolate domain. But I order the blades of Sentinelspire. As you can see, I have brought men to guard the Tower. You men will go to your stations. Now.”
“Our place is here,” said one of the men behind Erluk.
“Is it?” said Talieth.
Erluk opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Sauk struck. The half-orc thrust Lewan aside and brought his short sword down into the space where Erluk’s neck joined his shoulder. The sheer force of the blow slammed Erluk to the ground. His comrades were so stunned that Sauk’s follow-through, a backhand strike, beheaded the man stepping away from Erluk before the others had even raised their weapons.
It was over in moments. Talieth’s guards struck down three others, almost with ease, while a sole survivor fled for the open gate. He made it no more than a half-dozen steps before a dusky shadow hit him from behind. Taaki bore the man to the ground with her claws. Her jaws grabbed the screaming man by the back of his neck. Lewan heard the bone snap and the man went limp.
Talieth had barely moved through the entire confrontation. She looked at the six corpses lying in pools of blood and said, “Throw them in the foliage and take your positions. Lewan, you are with me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Fortress had changed since Berun had last seen it nine years ago. The buildings, statues, and canals were much the same. The interior had always been verdant—cultivated gardens, fountains, flowers, and fruit in every street—but the greenery inside the walls was lush to the point of choking out the stone. Some structures were completely encased in vines. The building that had once been used to house prisoners was now roofless, one wall fallen, and trees grew in the midst of the floor. Even the youngest of them stood well above the building’s walls.
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