Mark Sehestedt: Sentinelspire

The tiger gave up and turned back to the spearman, but she'd gone no more than a few steps before Perch leaped on her rump and sank in his claws, one quick squeeze, then jumped away again. Snarling, the tiger turned and bounded after him. Perch skittered away, a small brownish streak disappearing into the brush where the stream fell in a series of falls down the valley. The tiger followed.

Berun waited until the sounds of the chase faded and he could see no more trace of the huge beast trampling through the brush. He looked down at the spearman, who was staring after the tiger, his eyes wide as coins and his mouth agape. Berun stood and called down, "Hey!"

The spearman started and looked up, bringing his spear around to point at Berun.

"You hurt?" said Berun.

The man started at the sound of Berun's voice but said nothing.

Berun repeated the question in Chondathan, Damaran, and Tuigan. Still nothing. The man clenched his jaw shut, and the hands that held the spear began shaking violently.

Berun looked down the opening of the ravine. No sign of the tiger or Perch. Not even rustling brush. The sound of the waterfall crushed any hope of hearing them. He'd have to be quick.

Holding bow and arrow in one hand, Berun climbed down into the ravine. Plenty of rocks jutted from the cliff, but most were worn smooth by years of falling water, and a fine spray made them slippery. Berun nearly fell twice. After the second near-miss he jumped the final five feet or so, landing with a splash. Though he hit near the edge of the pool, it was deep, and he sank well past his midriff. The pull of the water falling down the ravine was surprisingly strong, and Berun had to fight to cross to the other side.

The spearman hadn't moved, but he kept the point of his weapon trained on Berun. The man's hands no longer trembled, and some of the tension seemed to have left him. An odd spark lit his eyes, and Berun hesitated at the edge of the pool. A warning went off at the base of his skull.

Dripping, Berun stood at the pool's edge, two spear lengths away from the man, and took a long look. Closer, he could see that none of the man's injuries were serious. Scratches only. The blood covering him was in thin streaks, as if it had been smeared, spreading it as far as possible. Closer up, even in the dim light, Berun could see that not all of it was blood. Around his face, much of it was ochre, dampened by water-and by the scent he exuded, probably reddened with berries.

"You should leave," said Berun, his right hand tightening the arrow on his bowstring. "The tiger won't be gone long."

The man straightened, still cautious, ready, but obviously relaxing. A slight smile curved his lips. "No," he said. "She will not."

"What is this?"

The man motioned to the ground with his spear. "Put that bow down. Nice and slow."

In one fluid motion Berun pivoted, facing the man sideways to present a narrow target, and brought the bowstring to his cheek. The steel head of the arrow aimed at the man's torso.

"Easy!" said the man, his eyes widening as he took a quick step back. He brought the spear up, but the look in his eyes said he knew it a futile gesture.

"I save your life and you want to rob me?"

"That isn't how this is!"

"I'm not worth dying over. The poorest shepherd on the steppe has more gold in his croft than I have on me. This bow is the only thing of value I own."

"And a fine weapon it is!" said a voice from above.

Keeping the arrow aimed at the spearman, Berun risked a quick glance up at the rocks. Kneeling on the very boulder from where he had watched the tiger was a massive shape silhouetted by the dying blue of the sky. He knew that voice, and even as he studied the silhouette, other shapes joined it-one man to the right and two to the left. Last of all, the massive form of the steppe tiger joined the group. Berun knew who was above him.

The silhouette stood and sidestepped so that a shaft of sunlight, orange as an ember in the evening dim, fell on him. He was half-orc, nearly seven feet of grayish skin over knotted muscle, his coarse black hair falling in a series of braids over his shoulders and down his back. Two incisors, one yellow and one silver, protruded from his bottom lip. Tattoos that suggested thorned vines decorated his arms and face. A bone-handled knife was sheathed at his waist, and the pommel of a sword protruded above one shoulder.

"Lower the bow," said the half-orc. "We're here to talk, not fight."

Berun hesitated. If he could feather the spearman, he might make it down the ravine. Maybe. But even if he could, he'd never outrun the steppe tiger.

Berun lowered the bow. He let the tension leave the string, but he kept a good grip on the arrow between his fingers.

"Well met, Kheil!" said the half-orc. "Been a long time."

The half-orc took his time climbing down the rocks, the other men-and they were all men, as near as Berun could tell-kept watch from above, their hands lingering hear their weapons. One had a crossbow, latched and ready, two others held bows with arrows on the strings. Even though Berun could see no hard details, only suggestions of substance amidst the silhouettes and shadows, he could read the tension in the men's stances. Five stood there at the moment, and Berun worried that more might be on the ridge above him. The tiger lounged with them. She crouched on the boulder the half-orc had left. She looked around, the only one at ease.

The half-orc jumped the last distance into the pool then waded to shore. Dripping from the waist down as he emerged from the water, his eyes never left Berun. He walked near and stopped an arm's length away. The half-orc stood a full head taller than Berun, and where Berun was lean, the half-orc was a mass of muscle. He grabbed Berun by the chin and forced him to look up.

"It is you," said the half-orc, almost in a whisper. "Talieth swore, but I never thought…" The half-orc studied Berun's features. "I saw you. Saw you taken. How…?"

Berun jerked his chin out of the half-orc's grasp and looked him in the eyes. "What do you want, Sauk?"

The half-orc flinched. Hurt sparked in his eyes, then ii kindled and his gaze turned to anger. "What do I want? That's all you have to say to me?"

Berun glared at Sauk, holding the half-orc's gaze. "What do you want, Sauk?"

The half-orc glared back, breathing like a bellows, then he swung his fist. It felt like a knotted log as it struck Berun on the side of the face, and he went down hard. Floating orbs were just beginning to leave his vision when the top of Sauk's foot caught him in the ribs, driving all air from his body.

"What do I want? " the half-orc shouted.

Berun struggled to take a breath, and what little he managed caught in a ragged cough. The punch had driven the inside of his cheek against his teeth, and blood filled his mouth. Coughing and retching, Berun fought to regain his breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw his bow and arrow on the rocks beside him. He couldn't remember dropping them.

The half-orc grabbed Berun's vest above the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Stars swirled his vision, but Berun could see that Sauk's rage was spent. Regaining his breath, Berun turned and spat blood onto the rocks, then shook himself free of the half-orc's grip.

"Why are you here, Sauk? How did you find me?"

He glanced up, wondering if he was in for another beating, but the half-orc only looked down at him, a mixture of sorrow and anger playing on his features.

"I thought you dead, you ungrateful bastard. I mourned you a year. I bled for your memory." He pointed to a scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek. It was a luzalunba mark, a ritualized scar of Sauk's orc clan, a self-inflicted wound cut down the face in remembrance of a lost brother. "How did I find you? I didn't. Talieth did. Saw you in her scrying pool. Swore to me that you were alive after all these years. I called her a liar."