Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [130]
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Chereth still leaned upon his staff, watching Berun and Lewan. He heaved a great sigh and said, "I am most disappointed in you both. Lewan cries for a lying whore, and my trusted disciple rescues her from justice."
"This was not justice." Berun stood. Water from Ulaan's thrashing had splashed onto him, and the runes and holy symbols were running off his skin in long, dark streaks. "That was simple cruelty."
"Cruel?" said Chereth. "That would imply she didn't deserve it. Pitiless? Perhaps. But justice must often be pitiless, lest it become weak."
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