Sentinelspire by Mark Sehestedt

for Val. That intrigued Berun.
    “How long have you been at the Mountain?” said Berun.
    “A few years.”
    “Where before that?”
    “Why are you so interested in talking all of a sudden? Couldn’t get a damned word out of you all day.”
    Berun shrugged. “When I walk, I walk. But fireside is good for talk.”
    The glint of mischief lit Val’s eyes again. “And there’s one thing you don’t like to talk about. Am I right?”
    “That’s true of everyone,” said Berun. “You don’t want to tell me where you’re from, then?”
    “Not much to tell,” said Val as he inspected the insides of two tin cups. Apparently satisfied, he took the kettle from the coals and poured the tea. He looked at Berun through the steam rising from the cup as he handed it to him. “I was a thief in Darromar. A moderately successful one. Enough that I began to get a bit of a reputation. I had an … incident with the local guild and had to ply my skills elsewhere. Went to Tethyr, where I took in with a fellow who started teaching me a bit of the Art.”
    “Magic?”
    “Nothing special. Just a few spells here and there that help in my line of work. But that line of work proved a bit too successful again. I was hiding from a local noble’s hired men when worse trouble came knocking at the noble’s door. Turns out he’d angered some of the wrong people, and the Old Man was hired to take care of the problem. One thing led to another, and I ended up impressing Merzan, who offered me … what you might call an audition.”
    “One thing led to another?” said Berun. “What’s that mean?”
    “It means things got ugly with the nobleman, and Merzan was impressed with how I handled the situation.”
    “Care to elaborate?”
    “Care to talk about Talieth?” said Val as he took a careful sip of the tea.
    Berun sipped the tea and scowled.
    Valmir chuckled, but Berun didn’t hear much humor in it.

    The dregs of Berun’s thin soup were just beginning to cool when Sauk and the scouts returned. One glance at the eagerness in the half-orc’s gaze and the confidence in his gait told Berun that something was happening.
    “Any problems?” Sauk asked Merzan.
    “None,” said Merzan, still displaying no emotion.
    The steppe tiger emerged from the shadows, skirting the scouts to stand beside her master. She fixed her gaze on Berun. She didn’t growl, but Berun could feel the weight of her stare. Taaki had never liked Kheil, and she seemed to like Berun even less.
    “Good,” said Sauk, “ ’cause we’ve got news. Good news.”
    “What is it?” said the man sitting across from Lewan. The boy looked tired, but the fear and shock were largely gone from his eyes.
    “Yaqubi,”
said Sauk, “bedded down in the next valley. Most likely headed back into the mountains after trading on the steppe.”
    “Which means they’re likely fat with gold,” said Merzan.
    “How many?” asked the man near Lewan.
    “Seven.”
    “Easy pickings,” said Kerlis.
    “Yeah, your favorite kind,” said one of the men who had gone scouting with Sauk.
    Kerlis spat and scowled at the man, but he held his tongue.
    Sauk looked to Kerlis and said, “If you think
yaqubi
are easy pickings, you’ve never fought them. They know these woods better’n your finger knows your nose. They may seem small and shy, but they’re the best hunters around the Khopet-Dag. In the mountain valleys where some of the spiders are big as horses, the
yaqubi
thrive.” He swept his gaze over the rest of his men. “We’ll take them. Don’t doubt it. But this will be a good hunt. We’ll earn their blood.”
    Laughter and a quiet cheer went up throughout the camp. All except for Kerlis. Watching him, Berun was reminded ofthe wolf packs that roamed the Amber Steppes. Every pack had its leaders, the mated male and female, and a precise order down from there. In every pack was the lowest wolf, always the last to eat, the last to drink, and the recipient of the leader’s