Mark Sehestedt: Sentinelspire

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 whatever 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.

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 branches 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.