Sentinelspire by Mark Sehestedt Page A

bad temper. If this band had been wolves, Kerlis definitely would have been the lowest wolf in the pack, and Lewan’s recent escape and Kerlis’s mishandling of it seemed to have roused Sauk’s anger toward the man. Berun felt a small twang of pity for Kerlis, but mostly he knew he’d have to watch the man. Kerlis would know better than to take out his anger on Sauk or any of his men. If he felt that the boy was the source of his recent woes—and Berun knew he did—then he would be the focus of Kerlis’s ire.
    “Kerlis,” said Sauk, “you and Dren will stay here with the boy. Berun”—the half-orc’s lips twisted around the name —“care to join the hunt? A good fight. Just like old times, eh?”
    “No,” said Berun. “I won’t murder innocents.”
    Sauk snorted. “In that case, you better stay here, too, lover boy.”
    A few of the men laughed. Berun looked around to see who was “lover boy,” and was surprised to see Valmir blushing. The blond man’s interest in discussing Talieth suddenly became clear.

Chapter Nine
    T he raiding party had been gone a while. The wind had picked up, though their camp was deep enough in the valley that the surrounding hills and trees kept off the worst of it. The occasional thunder off the mountains was getting closer. Still no rain, but it was only a matter of time.
    Valmir had washed the iron kettle, refilled it, and it was just now beginning to bubble over the fire. For washing and shaving, he’d explained.
    “Something wrong?” Valmir asked Berun.
    “No,” Berun replied.
    “You been quiet since Sauk and the others left.”
    Berun rubbed his temples to clear his head. One bit of good news, at least. Perch was back. While Val washed the kettle and cups, Berun had taken the opportunity to reach out to his friend. The little lizard was up in the trees, watching them. The approaching storm had made him skittish, and he was worrying over the absence of his tail. But he’d found a comfortable place in the canopy to watch. His feelings came through, touching the edge of Berun’s consciousness—
Come down? Warm sleep?
    Berun sent out a call—not words, but the intent was clear:
Not yet. Fight coming. Be ready
.
    The wind had the trees swaying in a chorus racket, but Berun’s sharp ears picked up something rattling in the branches overhead.
    Not yet
, he told the lizard.
Sit-sit-sit. Be ready
.
    —ready-ready-ready. Fight-fight-fight! Tooth-and-claw-and-fight!
    Berun concentrated, sending forth one image, one thought wrapped in a question
—Tiger …?
    Gone-gone. Over hill with the big-big one. Big one grab-grabbed my tail. My-tail-my-tail-my-tail!
    New tail soon, Perch. Be ready. Fight coming
.
    Fight-fight-fight!
    Berun smiled and called out to Valmir. “The soup all you have to eat?”
    The blond man had just finished stowing the cleaned cups in his pack. “Still hungry? I warned you not to expect too much from my cooking.”
    “It isn’t that.”
    “Then what?”
    Berun shrugged and said, “Just … Sauk’s mention of ‘old times’ reminded me of something.”
    “And what’s that have to do with my soup?” asked Val.
    Berun poked at the fire with a stick, sending a torrent of sparks into the air and stirring the flames to new life. “Back when I used to live at the Fortress,” he said, “I did more than work for the Old Man. Besides … doing what I did, I was also the best cook between Teylan Shan and Yal Tengri.”
    “That’s not saying much,” said Val, “considering that half the tribes out here drink rotten horse milk.”
    “Ah, have a little faith,” said Berun. “Let me prove it to you.”
    “You want to cook for us?”
    “I do.”
    Val tilted his head and looked at Berun through narrowed eyes. “Why?”
    “Why not? I’m not tired, but I am still hungry, and if all we have are supplies for soup, I could show you some spicesthat you might not have tried before. You have anything better to do?”
    Val’s gaze did not