He stomped over to the nearest corpse, retrieved a long knife from the belt of one of the dead assassins, spared Valmir a glance that was pure rage and disdain, and disappeared into the shadows of the wood.
A similar strike released Talieth, though she demanded help in freeing herself from the thorn-thick vines. With the fires destroying the main clusters of vines, several of the assassins had worked up the courage to venture into the courtyard.
Standing, Talieth was bruised and her exposed skin was bloody from dozens of scratches and cuts inflicted by the thorns, but the wounds only strengthened her resolve and stoked her fury.
“We must get inside that Tower,” she told her assembled blades, “and we have to do it fast. Before—”
“Lady Talieth!” said Merellan, pointing up to the tower.
Talieth and the gathered assassins looked up. Dozens of shapes were shambling down the outer walls of the Tower.
“What are those?” said someone behind Valmir.
“I think those are what happened to Dayul,” said Valmir.
Chereth still leaned upon his staff, watching Berun and Lewan. He heaved a great sigh and said, “I am most disappointed in you both. Lewan cries for a lying whore, and my trusted disciple rescues her from justice.”
“This was not justice.” Berun stood. Water from Ulaan’s thrashing had splashed onto him, and the runes and holy symbols were running off his skin in long, dark streaks. “That was simple cruelty.”
“Cruel?” said Chereth. “That would imply she didn’t deserve it. Pitiless? Perhaps. But justice must often be pitiless, lest it become weak.”
Berun held his master’s gaze a long time, then looked at the knife in his hand. “Do you remember the autumn before we left the Yuirwood?”
“What of it?” said Chereth.
“Blight had infected the Seventh Circle’s grove. It was beyond saving, so we burned the grove. Trees that had been old when our ancestors were young … we had to kill them. When this grieved me, do you remember what you said?”
“That was many years ago,” said Chereth, his voice still cold. “But I know what I would say now. Corruption must be rooted out, rot destroyed, blight burned. Yes?”
“Yes,” said Berun. “But do you remember why?”
“What?”
“You told me why it had to be so. Because an infected tree, once it is beyond saving … its greatest danger is in nurturing the corruption that might spread to others.”
“Quite true. All the more reason to kill corruption wherever we find it.”
Berun fell to his knees. He still held the knife, but in a limp hand, and there were tears in his eyes. “Don’t you see? This place … this cursed place … is corruption. It is death and murder and”—Berun looked around, the eldritch lights reflected in his eyes as he searched for the right word—“pitilessness. To kill without mercy. Without thought for the life ending. To kill only for what the killing will gain. Can’t you see it, master? You cannot live in such disease without becoming infected by it. I … I know this better than anyone. Oh, master, it has infected you.”
Chereth’s eyes narrowed, and at first he paled, but then blotches of color—purple, in the arcane light—began to rise in his cheeks. “You impertinent, ungrateful little … whelp! You presume to rebuke me?”
Berun, still on his knees, fell into a deep bow. His wet braid fell on the leafy floor before him. “Forgive me, master. I … beg you. Destroying so many … killing thousands … thousands of thousands! That is not our way. That is not the Balance of the Oak Father. Please, master, let us go far from here. Tonight! Far away and we will take a vigil together to seek our Father’s guidance.”
“You think I have not sought the Oak Father’s guidance? I have taken more vigils in my life than you have taken meals. And yet you presume to counsel me.” Chereth slumped, and he shook his head. “I see that I left you too long, my son. You have forgotten—”
“Nothing,” said Berun. “I have cherished your every word, master. Everything you ever taught me. Not a day has gone by since you left me in the Ganathwood that I have not meditated on your teachings. Those teachings guide me now. Death, killing, murder … cannot be the will of the Oak Father. This is not the wisdom that guided me.”
“You little fool,” said Chereth. He threw back his head and laughed, but it was a burst of exasperation, not humor. “I made you. You would be nine years to rot if it were not for me. And this is the gratitude you show me.” The half-elf stood straight, then, his staff held in a firm hand, no longer leaning upon it. “This is your judgment, then? You will not join me? You will not aid me?”
Berun went even lower, putting his head upon the floor. “Forgive me, master.” He looked up, his cheeks wet with tears, but a fierce resolve filled his eyes. “If I cannot turn you from this madness … I must stop you.”
Chereth laughed again, this time in mockery. “You? Oh, Berun, I do admire your foolish courage. The day I left you, I was ten times stronger than you. My power has grown since then. What makes you think you can stop me?”
“Bring vengeance to the Tower of the Sun.”
“What …?”
“The night of the Jalesh Rudra,” said Berun. “A servant of the Oak Father came to me. Those were her words, the Oak Father’s command to me. I understand them now. Bring vengeance to the Tower of the Sun.”
Sadness filled Chereth’s face. Genuine regret. But then his eyes hardened. “This is your final word, then?”
“Not mine,” said Berun. “The words of the Oak Father. I am merely his hand. I am vengeance.”
“ ‘I am vengeance,’ ” said Chereth. “Those are the words of Kheil the killer, not Berun, son of the Oak Father.”
Lewan could see his master’s gaze turning inward as he considered the old druid’s words. But then Berun blinked, his eyes cleared, and he said, “It seems then that Kheil must become the son of the Oak Father. Berun Kharn kienelleth. Hope must become vengeance.”
“Then I have no choice,” said Chereth. “I am so sorry, my son. I must destroy you.”
The druid took in a breath, raised his staff with both hands—
And a dark shape hit him. The half-elf went down under the dead weight. Eyes wide, Lewan saw that it was one of the druid’s dark creatures.
But quite dead. Broken and bloody, in fact, its throat a mangled mess. Not cut, it had been ravaged by teeth.
“Oh, no,” said a hoarse voice. “That bastard is mine.”
An even larger form dropped down from the ledge at the edge of the roof, then stood up. What was visible of his skin showed greenish gray under the floating lights, but he was covered in a black wetness that Lewan knew was blood. More coated his heavy blade and the hand that held it.
It was Sauk.
Chapter Forty
The half-orc had not only killed one of Chereth’s dark creatures—he had scaled the tower carrying the dead weight, then thrown it on the druid. Sauk stood near the edge of the roof, covered in gore—much of it his own blood. His skin was a collage of cuts, scrapes, and scratches. He bled from a deep gouge on his left shoulder.
Sauk fixed his gaze on Berun, who still knelt on the ground. “On your feet, you bastard. Your skulking little lizard killed Taaki.” He hooked three fingers like claws and raked them across his face and heart. “Now I’m going to eat your heart. Dam ul dam. Blood for blood.”
Completely unhurried and seemingly unconcerned, Berun pushed himself to his feet. He still had the knife in his hand, but it hung in a relaxed grip at his side. “Talieth …?”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Sauk, and he approached Berun. “All that matters now is you and me.”
“You dare!” Chereth crawled out from under the dead weight of his servant and regained his feet. Blood from the dead creature smeared his robes, and he trembled with rage. The lights drifting over the roof flared brightly and took on a red tint. “Ebeneth!”
The foliage around Sauk erupted, vines snaking forward and branche
s grasping for him. But the half-orc was prepared. He leaped away, and when the plants came too close, he slashed at them with his blade, cleaving vines and sending leaves flying. Dodging the first assault, he tried to charge the druid, but more plants rose up to block his way and try to trap him. Sauk slashed and jumped. A few meager creepers managed to grasp one leg and arm, but he ripped away.
Chereth raised his staff and pointed, as if directing the attack. More and more leaves and branches surged after the half-orc, driving him away. Sauk cut and punched and kicked his way out of them, but he was being steadily forced toward the ledge.
Berun raised his knife and charged the old druid.
But Chereth saw him coming. He took one hand from his staff, held it palm upward before his face, and said, “Naur telleth!”
A burst of flame erupted in Chereth’s palm, painting his manic features in a devilish light. He curled his hand into a fist, thrust it outward, and the flame shot straight for Berun.
Berun put his forearm in front of his face and tried to dodge, but the flame followed him and struck his midsection. Berun screamed and fell.
“Master!” Lewan called out.
His blistered torso smoking, his face twisted in pain, Berun pushed himself onto his feet and looked to Lewan.
Lewan took one step forward and tossed the hammer. It tumbled end over end in a long arc. The druid cried out and threw another gout of flame at the hammer. With his free hand, Berun reached out. The haft of the hammer slapped into his palm, he gripped it, twirled, and swung. The heavy stone hammerhead struck the ball of flame in midair, scattering it into a cloud of bright sparks.
Roaring like a wild animal, Sauk was still trying to find a way past the vines, but no matter how much he dodged or slashed, more always rose to take his place, pursuing him.
A weapon in each hand, Berun resumed his advance, more cautiously this time. A large patch of skin on his stomach and chest was blistered and torn, and he was obviously in pain.
Lewan turned and crouched next to Ulaan. She was trembling, her eyes wide. Lewan tried to peel back some of the vines and leaves. Some that had been burned crisp broke away, but most of the foliage still twisted tightly around her. He could see that her clothes had taken most of the flames. Only the skin of her hands and one cheek showed any injury from the fire. Her shivering was more from fear and shock than severe physical harm.
“Ulaan, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him. She didn’t speak, but her gaze seemed to acknowledge his presence. Lewan pulled and tore at the vines. Whether they had been weakened by the flames or because the druid’s magic was focused elsewhere, Lewan made progress, if too slow for his liking. Some of the vines had thorns that gouged and ripped his skin, but he ground his teeth through the pain and kept at it.
Lewan pulled and twisted at her bindings, snapping a thick tendril and freeing her left arm. “I don’t suppose you could call for help?”
“Th-they’re dying, Lewan,” said Ulaan. Lewan could see that she had the jewel of the necklace clutched in her hand. “M-my … sister.” A sob shook her and she squeezed her eyes shut. “They’re all dying.”
Lewan looked over his shoulder. Sauk was only a pace or two from the ledge, the vines and foliage still pushing and whipping at him. More vines had risen to try to seize Berun, and Chereth continued to lob balls of flame at them both. Sauk managed to duck or dodge most, though he had a large burn on his forearm. Berun was avoiding the fire or swiping it away with the hammer.
Lewan knew there was little he could do to help his master. But he might be able to help Ulaan.
“If I can get this off of you,” he pulled off another long vine, “do you think you can walk?”
“Get me out of here, and I’ll run,” she said.
Lewan smiled and tore at the greenery. Some of the smaller creepers had burrowed into Ulaan’s cloak, and bits of fabric ripped away as he pulled the foliage.
“Lewan?”
“What?” He kept at his work, not looking her in the face.
“I meant what I said. That I care for you.”
“We’ll talk of that later.”
Behind him, Sauk roared.
“If there is a later.”
A great many of Talieth’s blades lay dead or dying. Only the most skilled of her assassins had lasted past the first assault, for their steel did little to deter the druid’s creatures. The monsters hurled themselves on the assassins’ steel, and if they felt any pain, it only seemed to fuel their fury. The assassins who could cast spells lasted longer, and Talieth was foremost among them, hurling fire and bolts of arcane energy at the creatures. Flame seemed the only thing that gave the creatures pause—and even that did not last long against their cunning, for they came in great numbers, some throwing themselves at their prey, distracting them, while others lunged in from behind.
Talieth lost sight of Valmir, concentrating all her attention on killing anything that came too close. It didn’t take her long to realize that the creatures were slaughtering the assassins only as a means to an end. They were coming for her.
The assassins nearest her seemed to realize it as well, and they fled, leaving Talieth standing alone in the heavy mists, surrounded by a ring of the druid’s minions. They moved in slowly, their eyes reflecting the light of the fire Talieth held in her upraised hand. It sizzled and hissed as the rain struck it.
One of the things stepped forward, crouching and keeping a wary eye on Talieth’s fire. It reached out a hand toward her, then its entire body stiffened, its head shook, and its eyes rolled back. “Talieth,” it said, though she knew that it was not the creature’s voice, but something speaking through it. “Bring it to me. You fought a good fight. You lost. Give me Erael’len, and even now I will forgive you. Come to Kheil. Join me in our new world.”
A shudder passed through the creature, and all stiffness left its body. It was fluid grace again. It watched her, waiting for her answer.
Talieth took a deep breath and squeezed her hand shut, extinguishing the fire. “Take me to him,” she said.
Berun struck a gout of flame with the hammer and dodged another. From the edge of his vision, he saw Chereth muttering, and he knew the druid was toying with them. His power was beyond anything that he or Sauk could hope to withstand. Berun’s heart dropped as he watched his old friend. His master, the one person in the world that Berun had held as an ideal, had gone mad. Whether it had truly been the seductive evil of Sentinelspire, the druid’s own blind ambitions, or a combination of both … at this point, did it matter? All that mattered was stopping him.
Despite Berun’s delusions to the contrary, Chereth had indeed become the Old Man. No matter what Chereth told himself, his motives were little different than Alaodin’s. Alaodin had sought power and dealt in murder, but he’d rationalized it, believing it necessary to protect himself and those he loved. Was Chereth any different? And had he always been that way?
Swinging the hammer, Berun deflected more fire. It shattered into sparks and singed his bare arm. Berun backed away for a moment’s respite and risked a glance behind him. “Lewan!” he shouted. The boy had succeeded in getting most of the vines off the girl. “Get out of here! Run!”
Lewan did not look up from his efforts. “Trying!”
“Enough of this!” Chereth called out, and he thrust his staff toward Sauk.
The writhing vegetation surged like a wave over rocks and hit the half-orc. Sauk struck at the greenery with his arm, but it did no good. The thick mass of vines, leaves, and writhing wood slammed into him, his legs struck the stone ledge, and he toppled over. His feet went up over his head and then he was gone, tumbling over the tower’s edge.
Chereth swept his arm around, and a mass of leaves and branches rose and enveloped Berun. He lashed out at them with the hammer and knife. The blade sliced through a few branches before the vines wrapped round both his arms and pulled them to his chest. More snaked around his legs and torso. He screamed
as the sharp leaves and prickly vines tore into the blistered skin along his stomach and chest. The mass of vegetation constricted, pulling his limbs tightly against his body so Berun could move only his head. He felt himself lifted up and borne toward the druid. He looked down upon the half-elf, who was not even breathing heavily.
“You see the power I now wield?” said Chereth. “You see the folly of opposing me? Forsake this foolishness, my son.”
Chereth turned away, leaning upon his staff as he walked across the roof. The vines holding Berun bore him along after the half-elf. Chereth stopped before two statues—one of a winged lion, the other of a great stag whose antlers spread wide, reaching toward the lion’s wings and forming a sort of arch. The druid reached inside his robes and withdrew a rod carved from white wood, or perhaps bone. He spoke a string of words in a language Berun did not recognize, and the air under the arch shimmered and blurred like a summer haze on the horizon.
“See?” said Chereth. “This portal leads to a realm of endless wild, where bricks and mortar are unknown, and the highest creatures live in harmony with the lowest. There, I will dwell while this world cleanses itself of Sentinelspire’s fire and ash.” He faced Berun again. “Do you still wish to oppose me? To die here amongst those who would trample upon all we hold dear?”
Berun looked down on his master. He would not give in to despair. He’d been dead before. To die now … at least he would have the hope of being found worthy to join the Oak Father. Such a fate might be welcome after the horror of the past days. But Berun knew that if he died here, he had to take Chereth with him. Otherwise, untold numbers of people—entire nations—would die as well.
Sentinelspire Page 31
