Mark Sehestedt: Sentinelspire

"No!" said Ulaan. "At first, that's all it was. Duty. But now, we "Lies!" said Chereth. "Even now her honeyed tongue drips its poison. She is nothing more than a seductress, using you to get what she wants." The half-elf faced Ulaan, a look of malice twisting his features. He raised his staff and shouted, "Ebeneth!"

"Wait!" Lewan shouted, but it was too late.

The plants and vines struck. Some rose up and twisted like snakes, while others lashed like whips. The thickest struck Ulaan's side, knocking her off her feet, and a thick tangle of leaves and creepers caught her and twisted. More and more wrapped around her, binding her tight. With a flick of the old druid's staff, the vines dragged her back to him until they held her only a few paces away. She thrashed and kicked and screamed, but succeeded only in amassing a crisscross of scrapes and cuts across her skin.

Berun stepped forward. "Master Chereth, what-?"

"Even now she betrays us!" said Chereth. He shook his staff at Ulaan. "Did you think I would not know. Did you?"

Ulaan shrieked and thrashed. Blood streaked her face.

"Stop it!" said Lewan. "Stop! You're hurting her!"

"Do you know what she has done?" said Chereth. "The die is cast. She has used her little trinket"-the half-elf stepped forward, reached amidst the vines into Ulaan's shirt, and pulled out a silver chain upon which hung a red jewel — "to summon the assassins to rescue her conniving mistress." He released the jewel and it fell back against the girl's chest.

Lewan remembered Ulaan stumbling upon the stairs. He had heard her murmuring something. A signal. A cry for help.

"Release her!" said Lewan. "Please. Please, I beg you!"

"I can sense them now," said Chereth. His gaze seemed distant, and he gave no sign that he'd even heard Lewan. "In the courtyard. They are setting fire to my gardens." He chuckled. "They think that will protect them. Fools. Soon they will burn, and all they hold precious-and all the world will be my garden."

Ulaan stopped screaming. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her eyes, pleading, looked to Lewan, then at Chereth.

"Still," said Chereth, "I cannot have them interfering. Berun, my son, I fear we cannot perform the last rite until dawn, when the stars and planets align, pulling upon Faerun to release the energies I need."

"If all the assassins have come," said Berun, "we cannot withstand them all. They are too many." His voice sounded oddly flat. Emotionless and… resigned.

"We need not do anything," said Chereth, "save perhaps listen to the screams of the dying."

The druid raised his staff again and half-closed his eyes. Lewan heard him murmuring something. He looked to Ulaan, afraid that the druid was about to inflict some new torture upon her, but nothing changed. She lay there, encased in vines, smeared with her own blood and shivering from terror.

"What are you doing, master?" said Berun.

The druid lowered his staff, leaned upon it, and opened his eyes. "Sending forth my loyal servants. The ones who brought you both here tonight."

The dark things. Lewan shivered at the thought. He had watched them tear those four assassins to pieces. If they were going after Talieth's blades… the poor souls wouldn't stand a chance.

"What of those among the blades loyal to you, master?" said Berun.

Chereth smiled. "I have you and Lewan. I have the only ones I truly need."

"What of Talieth?" said Berun. "You said you'd saved her. For me."

The half-elf closed his eyes a moment, then looked at Berun, almost sadly. "That is up to her now."

"Master!" said Lewan. "You can't-"

"Be silent," said Berun. But the look from Chereth truly silenced him.

"And you, Lewan?" said Chereth. "Your master begs for his woman. Do you wish me to spare your little whore? Were the Oak Father's daughters not worth waiting for?"

"Don't kill her," said Lewan. "Please."

"Purified yourself, have you?" said Chereth. "You think so? Washed her scent and sweat from you? You heard what I said. To save the body, one must cut away the corruption."

"Please!" said Lewan. "Let her go. I beg you. I'm sorry. I'll never touch her again. Just… don't kill her. Please."

"Oh, I will not kill her," said Chereth, and the malicious smile returned. "You will. Prove your loyalty to me now. To the vision the Oak Father gave me. Kill this vile thing and enter into bliss."

Lewan's knees trembled. He tried to steady them, but all strength left his legs and he fell to his hands and knees. He dropped the bundled bow and the arrows he held. Unbalanced and top heavy, the hammer fell out of his belt and thunked on the leaf-covered floor. "No," he said.

"My son," said Chereth. Lewan heard the shuffle of feet, and when he looked up the druid was looking down on him, sadness in his eyes. "You have done it before. To spare those you love from pain. Now you will do it to purify yourself." Chereth nudged the hammer with his foot, pushing it toward Lewan's hand. "And if it helps you… to save her from pain."

The druid walked away and raised his staff.

"No!" Lewan cried.

"Naur illeth!" the druid cried out.

Thick smoke billowed from the vines encasing Ulaan, and Lewan could see tiny tongues of flame catching in the foliage. Ulaan screamed.

Valmir led a half dozen assassins-four men and two women-through the storm-slick streets. He knew he was very likely heading toward his own death, but it was not the thought of death or even life that was running through his head.

The thought that kept coming to mind was that the gods of magic, despite being feared and revered throughout Faerun, must have one sick sense of humor. He'd at least halfway understood Talieth's lessons on the necessity for components to spells-how their inherent qualities, both natural and arcane, helped summon and strengthen certain magical forces. But the fact that one of the main ingredients of one of his most deadly spells was something that came out of the south end of a northbound bat often made him wonder if the gods were more than a little insane, or if they just liked to test the mettle of their servants. They were hundreds of miles from the nearest apothecary, so Valmir had to search the caves for his own bat excrement, and that only made it worse. Still… he knew the effort would be worth it.

The night is red! The night is red! The ni The call had come not long ago. He'd feared it since Talieth first laid out their plan this morning-feared it and prepared for it. Still, that it had come not from Talieth or Sauk but from one of Talieth's pets that was currently sharing the boy's bed… that bothered Val. It meant things had gone from bad to worse to "What in the unholy hells is that?" said the man walking behind Val.

Valmir had been so lost in his thoughts, his attention so focused on getting them to the Tower of the Sun, that he'd almost stepped on… whatever it was. At first he thought it was merely a pile of refuse that a servant had been taking out, dropped on the street, and left when chaos broke loose. But then he caught the stench-blood and offal.

One of the other men, the one holding the lantern, came round. His light fell on the bloody wreck. "I think that was Dayul."

Whoever it was, he hadn't simply been killed. He'd been torn apart. Limbs ripped off the torso, skin and flesh ripped from bones, intestines scattered. Not even the tiger would have done something like this.

"Dayul?" he said. "How can you tell?"

"I recognize the boots… uh, boot," said the lantern man. He pointed. Lying a few paces away from the thickest mass of gore was half a leg. It still wore a fine leather boot with brass buckles. "Dayul loved those boots."

"Not anymore," said Valmir. "Let's move. Be ready."

"Ready for what?" said one of the women.