Mark Sehestedt - Sentinelspire

"They want us to go up, I think," said Lewan.

"Do we have a choice?" said Ulaan.

"You want to tell them no?"

She considered a moment, then said, "You still have your hammer?"

He patted the stone head of the hammer protruding from the top of his belt. "Yes."

A moment's silence, then she said, "You go first."

Lewan led the way. The door shut behind them. The steps, wide and shallow, wound around the tower several times, then passed through a large opening in the ceiling.

Lewan and Ulaan emerged onto a wide roof, lit by a few braziers and several lamps, their flames low and weak in the drizzle. But dozens of the meandering lights had climbed the tower and floated about, making the shadows seem to cringe and gasp in their passing. Great columns of stone, twisted in the Imaskari fashion, stood at each corner. Statues of ancient Imaskari heroes-or perhaps they were gods-stood atop them, and each supported the end of one of the great stone tubes. One, a beautiful woman, held forth a silver urn, still untarnished by the years, and clear water poured from it. Opposite her, a bearded man stood amidst stone waves, and from the tip of each wave, water streamed out in fountains. The water filled a pool before running off in channels and through sluices over the edge of the tower. The other two-one holding aloft a stone sun, the other pounding stone flames over a graven forge-stood cold. Vegetation dominated everything-trees growing up through broken stone, vines and creepers covering stone and trees, moss carpeting many surfaces, petals and lily pads floating in the water.

"And there they are!" said a voice behind them.

Lewan turned. On the far side of the roof stood an old man, dressed in a long robe and leaning on a staff made from twisted branches. Lewan knew the voice at once-the voice of the man he'd met on the mountain, and the voice that had spoken through the creature after rescuing Lewan and Ulaan from the guards. Behind the Old Man, Master Berun sat shirtless upon a wide stone table covered in leaves and flowers. Most of his exposed skin had been painted with runes and holy symbols, and his wounds were gone.

"Master!" Lewan called out. He ran to Berun and embraced him with his free arm. "I could not get away," he whispered. "Forgive me. I tried."

Berun returned the embrace, then pushed Lewan away gently. "There is someone you must meet."

Lewan stepped back from his master and turned to the other man. Closer now, he saw that it was not an old man at all. The sharper features, the slight cant to the eyes amidst the high cheekbones, and the points of the ears protruding from the tufts of white hair showed Lewan that he was a half-elf-a very, very old one.

The half-elf smiled and bowed. "We have met, have we not, Lewan?"

"Uh, I…" No mistaking it. It was the same voice. But this half-elf looked nothing like the man Lewan had met that day on the mountainside.

"You must forgive our young disciple, Berun," said the half-elf, "though I fear the fault for his confusion must be laid at my feet. Observe."

The half-elf closed his eyes and murmured. He drew in a deep breath and… flickered. The light and shadow of the floating orbs played over him, and his image seemed to blur and shift. When it steadied, an altogether different man stood before them. A human, still past middle-age, but taller, darker, and possessing an aristocratic bearing. It was the man Lewan had met that day on the mountain.

Berun's eyes went wide with shock and something like horror.

The man laughed, and his image flickered again. When it steadied, the old half-elf stood before them again.

"A small joke on my part," said the half-elf. "I came and spoke to your disciple several days ago while he was undergoing a vigil on the mountainside. I knew that the half-orc was watching, and I knew that the sight of Alaodin emerging from the woods to talk to Lewan here would… rattle Talieth's little conspiracy."

"Conspiracy?" said Lewan. "I'm sorry, masters. I'm… I'm confused." He looked at the half-elf. "You aren't the Old Man of the Mountain?"

The half-elf chuckled. "Oh, but I am! And I am not. The Old Man of the Mountain-Alaodin, master of assassins, feared the world over… well, I fear he met his just and deserved end many years ago. At my hand. But the Oak Father smiled upon me, and rather than fight his remaining subjects, they swore loyalty to me. And so I became a 'new' Old Man."

The half-elf sighed. "But alas, the oaths of assassins are not to be trusted. Seeing my vision, the beauty of what I would bring to the world, some of the blades of Sentinelspire joined me. But some want only to sate their own appetites, to horde power for themselves no matter the cost to the world. And these… these found a willing leader in the Lady Talieth. Almost from the beginning, she has conspired against me." "You killed her father…" said Berun. "I did," said Chereth, "though it was no grief to her. I don't suppose you two had time to speak much tonight, have you? 1 killed Alaodin, true. But it is also true that the last rebellion the Old Man put down before my arrival-the one that almost succeeded-was led by Talieth. Even she recognized what a blight Alaodin had become to the world. The day I killed her father, Talieth was locked in a dungeon beneath the Fortress, waiting for her father to decide what to do with her. I had hoped she might treat me with some gratitude. I succeeded where she failed, and I freed her. Still… Talieth will never serve" — he cast a quick glance at Berun-"or love anyone but Talieth." "Then why-"

The sharp look from the half-elf stopped Lewan. Master Berun had always permitted-even encouraged-Lewan to question him.

"Why did I allow her to live?" said the half-elf. "Her and Sauk and the rest?"

Lewan nodded. Berun did nothing. His eyes held a hollowness that Lewan had never seen before.

"I am no murderer, Lewan," said the half-elf. "I kill only when left with no other choice. I had no desire to kill Talieth, despite her plot to kill me. But…" Something like mischievousness crossed the half-elf’s features, not unlike a little boy hiding a secret. "In truth, I spared her out of my love for you, Berun. Once my plan reaches its fruition, the world will need to be filled again. Filled with the faithful who will not defile the natural world. I knew, both from things you had told me and things I learned of Talieth, that she was the only woman you had ever loved. I spared her in hopes that she might come to see the folly of her ways, to accept the truth and beauty of what I seek to do. I hoped she might be your bride in our glorious new world, the mother of many children who will carry on our legacy."

"And Sauk?" said Berun. "Why spare him and the others?"

The half-elf smiled. "Truthfully? I like Sauk. Make no mistake, he's a bloodthirsty killer, but if there is malice in his soul I have never found it. He does not prey upon the weak. To do so would be the gravest sin, in his mind. To him, glory is hunting and killing those stronger than him. In our new world, we will need hearts like his."

"New world?" Lewan looked to his master, hoping for an answer, for guidance of any sort, but he saw nothing.

"Yes, my son," said the half-elf, and he laid a hand on Lewan's shoulder.

Something in the half-elf's touch made Lewan want to pull away. It reminded him of the time out on the steppe when he and his master had made their camp too close to an old hill that housed a colony of snakes. Lewan had woken with one in his blankets.

"And here we come to the reason I have summoned you," said the half-elf. "I intend for the two of you to rule by my side. We are about to see the birth of a glorious new world, a world free of the corruption of civilization, where the peoples of Faerun live in harmony with their world. Tell me, Lewan. The night after your vigil, you dreamed, did you not? Tell us of your dream."