Sentinelspire (47 page)

Berun struck a gout of flame with the hammer and dodged another. From the edge of his vision, he saw Chereth muttering, and he knew the druid was toying with them. His power was beyond anything that he or Sauk could hope to withstand. Berun’s heart dropped as he watched his old friend. His master, the one person in the world that Berun had held as an ideal, had gone mad. Whether it had truly been the seductive evil of Sentinelspire, the druid’s own blind ambitions, or a combination of both … at this point, did it matter? All that mattered was stopping him.

Despite Berun’s delusions to the contrary, Chereth had indeed become the Old Man. No matter what Chereth told himself, his motives were little different than Alaodin’s. Alaodin had sought power and dealt in murder, but he’d rationalized it, believing it necessary to protect himself and those he loved. Was Chereth any different? And had he always been that way?

Swinging the hammer, Berun deflected more fire. It shattered into sparks and singed his bare arm. Berun backed
away for a moment’s respite and risked a glance behind him. “Lewan!” he shouted. The boy had succeeded in getting most of the vines off the girl. “Get out of here! Run!”

Lewan did not look up from his efforts. “Trying!”

“Enough of this!” Chereth called out, and he thrust his staff toward Sauk.

The writhing vegetation surged like a wave over rocks and hit the half-orc. Sauk struck at the greenery with his arm, but it did no good. The thick mass of vines, leaves, and writhing wood slammed into him, his legs struck the stone ledge, and he toppled over. His feet went up over his head and then he was gone, tumbling over the tower’s edge.

Chereth swept his arm around, and a mass of leaves and branches rose and enveloped Berun. He lashed out at them with the hammer and knife. The blade sliced through a few branches before the vines wrapped round both his arms and pulled them to his chest. More snaked around his legs and torso. He screamed as the sharp leaves and prickly vines tore into the blistered skin along his stomach and chest. The mass of vegetation constricted, pulling his limbs tightly against his body so Berun could move only his head. He felt himself lifted up and borne toward the druid. He looked down upon the half-elf, who was not even breathing heavily.

“You see the power I now wield?” said Chereth. “You see the folly of opposing me? Forsake this foolishness, my son.”

Chereth turned away, leaning upon his staff as he walked across the roof. The vines holding Berun bore him along after the half-elf. Chereth stopped before two statues—one of a winged lion, the other of a great stag whose antlers spread wide, reaching toward the lion’s wings and forming a sort of arch. The druid reached inside his robes and withdrew a rod carved from white wood, or perhaps bone. He spoke a string of words in a language Berun did not recognize, and the air under the arch shimmered and blurred like a summer haze on the horizon.

“See?” said Chereth. “This portal leads to a realm of endless wild, where bricks and mortar are unknown, and the highest creatures live in harmony with the lowest. There, I will dwell while this world cleanses itself of Sentinelspire’s fire and ash.” He faced Berun again. “Do you still wish to oppose me? To die here amongst those who would trample upon all we hold dear?”

Berun looked down on his master. He would not give in to despair. He’d been dead before. To die now … at least he would have the hope of being found worthy to join the Oak Father. Such a fate might be welcome after the horror of the past days. But Berun knew that if he died here, he had to take Chereth with him. Otherwise, untold numbers of people—entire nations—would die as well.

“Ah,” said Chereth, looking past Berun’s shoulder. “Look who is back.”

Berun craned his neck around to see Sauk climbing over the ledge of the tower. He no longer held his blade.

“I thought you might be too stubborn to fall,” said Chereth. “Hail and well met, Sauk.”

“I …” Sauk dropped to the ground and sat, his chest heaving. “I have no quarrel with you, Old Man. I’m here for … for him.” Sauk pointed at Berun.

“Taaki truly meant that much to you?” said Chereth.

“Why ask what you already know?”

“Your devotion is commendable, Sauk,” said Chereth. “It is one of the many things I admired about you. Had you taken a different path in your early years, you might have been a disciple to make me proud.”

Sauk snorted. “Damned leaf lover.”

Chereth smiled, though a dangerous glint filled his eye. “This leaf lover just beat you like a cur.”

“I seem to remember your leaves beating me,” said Sauk.
“You
haven’t faced me yet,
Old
Man.”

“Old I am, yes. But it seems I’ll outlive you. Look.”

Chereth pointed to the east. The clouds of last night’s storm
still hung heavy in the sky, but they did not reach quite to the horizon, where the bright glow of dawn was already peeking over the edge of the world.

“The time approaches,” said Chereth. “The stars, the Tears of Selûne, the Dawn Heralds, the Five Wanderers … all are in perfect alignment, pulling the molten blood of Faerûn into the beating heart of Sentinelspire. Soon, the new world begins.”

Chereth walked to the very center of the roof. The vines holding Berun pulled him behind. The druid looked at Lewan, who had almost finished removing the last vines from around Ulaan’s legs.

“You could have been a prince in paradise, boy, with your choice of women,” said Chereth. “You chose poorly.” He looked at Berun. “A third time now, I offer my forgiveness, for the affection I still bear for you and the loyalty you once gave me. I will not offer again. Join me in a new paradise. Teach our ways to a new world. Or die here. Now.”

Berun tried to move his arms. He could feel his weapons in his hands, but the vines held him tight. He sighed and said, “What you offer isn’t paradise. It’s just a greener hell. You can rot there on your own.”

Chereth’s jaw stiffened and his lip twisted into a sneer. “So be it.”

He turned to face the entrance to the stairs and said, “Come!”

Two killoren emerged, moving with their unsettling, almost-human grace. Behind them walked Talieth, her clothes torn, her hair a tangled mess, skin scratched and bloody. Still, she walked like a queen. She took in the scene around her, glancing at Sauk, Lewan, and Ulaan. Her eyes widened when she saw Berun.

“Kheil, I—”

“I’m sorry, Talieth,” said Chereth. “It seems that your former love will not be joining us after all. He would rather die here than live with you in paradise.”

Talieth stopped, glanced again at Berun, then fixed her gaze on the druid. “I will not leave without him.”

Chereth returned her gaze for a moment, then sighed and said, “You have ruled here too long, it seems. You misunderstand me. You no longer command anyone or anything. I am not bargaining with you. I am offering you the chance to live, and serve me in a new world. Or you can die here.” He shrugged. “Understand—I don’t need you. I only need what you carry. And I can have it.”

Chereth raised his staff and pointed it at Talieth. The killoren leaped away as vines rustled forward, wrapping around her and pinning her arms. She struggled, frantically at first but then giving up entirely. One of the killoren grabbed a leather cord from round her neck and pulled, yanking
Erael’len
from Talieth’s bodice. Before the killoren could get a look at
Erael’len
, a long tendril of ivy darted out, grabbed the relic, and whipped it into Chereth’s waiting hand. Raising his staff, the druid began a long chant.

Berun heard rustling in the leaves that carpeted the roof, and looked over to see Sauk charging Chereth. The half-orc was still several paces away when Chereth glanced at him, almost casually, and flicked his staff. Vines snapped forward, seized Sauk’s legs, and the half-orc hit the ground, where more vines entangled him. The druid resumed his chant.

Berun felt it before he heard it—a low rumble, like distant thunder, only it did not dissipate. It grew, all the leaves on the roof rattled, and then Berun could feel the stone of the tower shaking beneath him.

“Lewan!” Ulaan screamed and kicked the last vines off her legs. Her limbs tingled as the blood began to flow again. A few burned twigs and leaves still clung to her clothes. “Lewan, we have to run!”

“It won’t matter now.” He looked at her, resignation in his eyes, then grabbed her in a fierce embrace. It hurt her burned skin, but she didn’t care.

The trembling increased, and Berun could hear the stones rattling. Chereth kept up his chant, his voice rising over the rumbling of the mountain.

Furtive shapes came up the stairs, ignoring Lewan and the girl, walking right past them. The killoren—all that had survived the battle below. They moved quickly, and Berun saw something in their eyes for the first time—fear. The killoren knew what was coming. More climbed over the tower’s ledge. Some ran and some shambled, almost beastlike, but all headed for the air shimmering between the statues and walked through, back to their world. Those who had been guarding Talieth joined their brothers, passed into the hazy air, and disappeared.

“Chereth!” Berun called out. “Master! Stop this! Stop it before it’s too late!”

Chereth turned to face him, an exultant smile on his face, but he did not cease his chant. He was still smiling when a dusky brown shape hit him in the face, all biting teeth and scrabbling claws. The druid’s voice broke and rose into a shriek. He dropped both staff and relic and slapped at the treeclaw lizard ravaging his face. As soon as the staff left his grip, Berun felt the vines around him lose their strength, and he dropped to the floor. He could feel the tower shaking, but the rumble in the air was quieting, and the tremors losing their strength.

Berun thrashed and kicked. Broken twigs and thorns jabbed his skin, cutting bloody swaths in his back and arms, but he didn’t care. He kept fighting.

Chereth’s cries stopped, and Berun dared to look up as he continued his efforts to free himself. The half-elf’s face was a ruin—bright red blood surrounding darker patches
of shredded skin and flesh. Both eyes were intact, and they burned with fury.

“Damn
you!” Chereth shrieked.

Berun heard a screech and saw Perch not far away, standing on his hind legs amidst the leaves. His forepaws hooked into savage claws, Perch looked up at the druid with his jaws open in a fierce show of aggression.

Chereth bent and retrieved his staff. He raised it, but even as he took in a breath to summon his spell, Sauk plowed into him from behind. They hit the roof hard, and Perch had to scramble away to keep from being crushed beneath them.

It gave Berun the distraction he needed. He lunged forward, tearing loose from the last of the vines, half rolling and half stumbling, then he dropped the hammer and reached out. His hand grabbed
Erael’len
.

“No!” screamed Chereth.

Berun looked up. Chereth stood again, staff raised, his face a mask of blood. Behind him, a tangle of vines had wrestled Sauk to the ground. The half-orc thrashed and cursed and screamed, but he could not break free.

Even as Berun watched, Chereth flicked his staff at Perch, and a smaller tangle of vines shot out and engulfed the lizard.

Chereth turned his bloody visage upon Berun. “Give that to me!”

Berun stood. Even as the last tremor passed through the tower and the stone stilled, Berun could feel
Erael’len
coming to life in his fingers, its warmth spreading through his hand and arm.

“No,” said Berun. “This madness ends now.”

Chereth’s chest heaved from exertion and pain. Blood dripped from deep cuts on his forehead and cheeks. His eyes seemed very bright, even savage. His lip curled into a snarl and he turned, pointing his staff at Lewan, who was huddled with the girl not far from the stairs. Vines shot out with so much force that some cracked through the air like whips.
They struck the boy, tearing skin off his face and hands, then wrapping around him. Lewan screamed but the vines kept coming, wrapping him tight and lifting him off the ground. One wound round and round his neck, then constricted, cutting off Lewan’s screams.