The storm washed over the foothills of the Khopet-Dag. Wind and rain pummeled the forest while lightning lashed from cloud to cloud overhead, and thunder followed all. The thick canopy of the forest caught the rain and funneled it downward in thousands of tiny waterfalls so that by the time the fury of the storm had passed, and the rain settled in for a long, steady deluge, all the forest floor was a muddy, sodden mess.
It took Berun longer than he'd hoped to find Sauk. The little starstone he held gave off only a faint glow, and the storm had washed away any sign of the half-orc's trail. If only Perch could keep the tiger busy a little longer, this just might work.
Sauk lay in the mud at the bole of a tree. The spiders were gone. The effects of Berun's spell were long spent, and the spiders had either drowned or taken refuge from the storm wherever they could find it.
The half-orc was doubled over and shivering. The tree's thick, waxy leaves kept the worst of the rain off him. In the dim silver glow of his starstone, Berun could see dozens of swollen bites across Sauk's exposed skin. His eyes were squeezed shut, and tiny convulsions rippled through his muscles.
Berun touched Sauk's temple with the back of his hand. The half-orc burned with fever. At the touch, Sauk's eyes fluttered open. He tried to snarl, but it turned into a tooth-chattering grimace.
'D-d-damn you,' Sauk rasped.
'Damn me later,' said Berun. 'Right now, I only want what's mine.'
He opened the pouch at Sauk's belt and rummaged through it. It wasn't there.
'Where is it, Sauk?'
'Puh-p-piss on you.' Sauk grimaced and doubled over further as a stronger convulsion hit him.
'Don't worry,' said Berun. 'The venom from most of those spiders isn't fatal. Not even from so many. Not for a big, strong hunter like you. Now where is it?'
Berun set the starstone on the ground, grabbed the collar of Sauk's tunic, and ripped. Several necklaces hung round the half-orc's neck. Some bore symbols of his faith, others were trophies of past kills, and the brass chain seemed plain jewelry. But around one particularly fine leather thong was what Berun was searching for: Erael'len.
Sauk tried to bat Berun's hands away, but he was fever weak, and Berun ignored him. He eased Sauk's head up, pulled off the necklace, dropped it over his own head, and tucked the talisman under his shirt.
'Th-this is-s-sn't… over,' said Sauk.
'I know,' said Berun. 'Listen to me, Sauk. Your plan is too risky. If you think you can sneak me in under the Old Man's nose, you've grown soft. He's using you to get to me. You're only going to get us all killed. If it were just me, I might let you try, but I won't let you pull the boy into this. I'll help. My way. But only after I see Lewan safely away.'
Sauk growled something unintelligible.
'Leave the boy out of this,' said Berun. 'Let me handle this my way. I'll get my master out of the Fortress and take care of the Old Man. My way. But if you come at the boy again, Sauk, I swear I'll kill you.'
'Muh-m-m-' Sauk gasped, then said, 'Mai karash! Oath breaker!'
Berun retrieved his starstone and looked down on the half-orc who had once been his closest friend. Lightning flashed, painting the half-orc's face in sharp contrast.
'Kheil swore brotherhood to you until death,' Berun said. 'He kept his oath. I owe you nothing.'
Thunder shook the world around them, and before it faded, Berun left the half-orc lying in the mud.
Chapter Eleven
Lewan laid his hand against the bole of the tree, dead from a lightning strike in a long-ago storm. His hand trembled like an old man's.
It had taken him much longer to find the tree than he'd hoped. Running at night, through the storm, even with the small starstone to light his way, Lewan had been forced to go the long way round the hill. The way he and his master usually took up the southwestern face had been far too slick-mud running down in tiny rivulets over the slick rocks. Desperate to be away from the assassins, he'd tried two different ascents and fallen both times. The second time, a broken branch had opened a wicked gash along his right arm, almost from wrist to elbow, and he'd bled most of the way to the tree.
The pain, the blood loss, the wet, and the miles-long run through rough country had left him more weary than he could ever remember being. He was soaked down to his smallclothes, and moving had been the only thing keeping him warm. No help for it. Even if he could find dry kindling in this mess, lighting a fire on a hilltop would be beyond foolish. He'd simply suffer through the storm. Once the rain stopped, he'd don his dry clothes.
Lewan turned away from the tree and opened his left palm to allow the blue-silver light from the starstone to give him a better view of his surroundings. The lightning strike that had killed the tree had also started a fire, and most of the brush around the tree was stunted and no more than a few seasons old. To get out of the rain, he'd have to go back into the forest.
It didn't take him long to find a suitable spot-an old pine that had fallen under its own weight in ages past. It hadn't made it all the way to the ground but lodged in a tight grove of aspens, and the aspens had continued to grow, unperturbed by the old cousin who had fallen into their midst. Through season after season the dead pine gathered more and more deadfall, leaves, mud, and the dwellings of various forest creatures. It formed a sort of roof. Once Lewan had cleared out several years' worth of dead leaves and pine needles, he had a nice hollowed-out spot that, while not exactly dry, was at least not sodden. There he settled in to wait.
Down the hillside several dozen yards into the forest, he could no longer see the lightning-blasted tree, but he knew his master would come. If he didn't find Lewan right away, he'd look around, even call out if he'd managed to fend off pursuit. Right now, Lewan needed rest.
He dampened the light of the starstone, huddled into his cloak, and lay down. Exhaustion claimed him, and he was asleep in moments.
Cold woke him. With his body no longer on the move, the chill had settled into his sodden clothes. His body was shivering, his teeth chattering.
Lewan sat up and gasped at the sudden pain that flashed along his arm. He could no longer feel his right hand, and the arm throbbed. Whether it was from the cold or from infection trying to settle in, he'd have to do something about it soon.
He grabbed the starstone with his left hand and rubbed it between thumb and fingers, stirring the light back to life. He peeled the remains of his right sleeve back with his left hand and teeth. He gasped and winced as bits of thread and cloth pulled out of the wound. A wet, puffy scab ran down most of the length of his arm. He suspected it looked worse than it really was. Once he cleaned it and applied a salve-he prayed it was still in the pack he'd retrieved from the assassins' camp-it would likely hurt for a tenday, then be nothing more than a bothersome itch for the rest of the month.
As he sat worrying over his arm, Lewan heard something moving through the brush not far up the hill. Even over the roar of the downpour he could hear it. He squeezed his left hand into a fist, shutting out most of the starstone's light. He held his breath, listened, and peered into the dark. Even after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see nothing beyond his meager shelter. The forest was a patch of utter blackness.
There it was again-something making its way through the brush and mud. It wouldn't be an animal. The beasts were smart enough to find shelter and stay there until the storm was over.
Lewan considered calling out. More than likely, it was Berun come at last. Not finding Lewan at the lightning-blasted tree, he would've started searching. But if it wasn't Berun…
It was either his master, Lewan knew, or one of the assassins, and they could not have known where Lewan was going unless Berun told them. Except for maybe Sauk and his tiger. Lewan knew that of the band, only those two would stand any chance of tracking him. So… either Berun or Sauk.
Lewan stuffed the starstone into his shirt pocket and reached for the knife at his belt. He drew it-a wicked, ugly thing that he'd taken off one of Sauk's men back in the camp. Lewan had carried a knife for years-as a tool. This blade was a weapon crafted for one purpose: murder. It felt heavy in his hand.
