Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [14]
"Prisoner?" said Berun. The thought of old Chereth locked in the stony cells of Sentinelspire…
"At times," said Sauk, "the Old Man spends half the day and night talking to the old leaf lover. Enjoys his company like a favorite uncle. Other times, the Old Man questions him. Questions him hard."
Sauk didn't have to explain. Berun knew all too well what an interrogation by the Old Man of the Mountain entailed.
"Sometimes," said Sauk, "the Old Man uses his… arts"- the half-orc scowled as if he'd tasted something sour -"to leech power from the leaf lover."
Berun's anger turned cold. The Old Man had once been a devoted follower of Bhaal. The death of his god had hit him hard, made him desperate in his search for a new source of power. He'd never been too particular about where the power came from.
"Other times," Sauk continued, his voice dropping low, "the Old Man hurts your master. Hurts him just for the pleasure of it."
"What?" said Berun. "Why?"
" 'Cause that's what the Old Man does."
"No," said Berun. "Not Alaodin. He's a killer, but it's… business. Even the Old Man never hurt just to hurt."
"You've been gone a long time," said Sauk. "Almost nine years. Things have changed at the Fortress. Things happen now that…" The half-orc's voice faltered and he shook his head. "Dark things. Vile."
"What kind of things?"
Sauk scowled into the fire and made the sign of the Beastlord-three fingers hooked like claws, which he dragged down his face and heart. "Not here," he said. "Not in the dark."
"You? Afraid?"
"Afraid?" said Sauk, thinking as he chewed a large hunk of bread. He swallowed. "If you mean am I made weak at the thought of dying, then no. I don't know that kind of fear. Not anymore. But there are worse things than death, and I have hunted enough prey-many stronger than me-to know when it is time to strike and kill and boast, and when it is best not to draw attention to yourself. Besting those stronger than you… that is honor. Calling down doom… that's just foolish."
Sauk chewed his lip and stared into the fire. The rest of the camp had gone quiet, caught up in Sauk's tale.
The half-orc broke the silence. "But that's not why we came for you. This is about that old druid locked in the Fortress."
"His name is Chereth," said Berun. "And why do you care?"
Sauk looked down at his bread, as if considering another bite, but he grimaced and put it away. "About the half-elf?" he said. "I don't. Old leaf lover means nothing to me. But the Old Man… he's gone mad. You know me, Kheil. I have no qualms about killing when there is profit in it, or a fair fight. But a bloodlust has seized the Old Man. He's gone beyond simple murder-for-hire to massacres. The old fool is killing for pleasure or just plain meanness. He's put our entire operation in jeopardy. Last winter, he killed three of our best clients-western nobles who paid well. But Talieth…"
"What?" Berun cursed the eager tone in his voice. Very few days had gone by over the years that her face, her scent, the feel of her skin did not come to his mind, but every time he thrust them away. Kheil had loved her. And Kheil was dead.
"Talieth suspects something darker is at work. She fears her father is on the verge of doing something… irreversible." Sauk ground his jaw and looked away. His nostrils flared and he slapped the ground. "Damn it all, we want him dead."
Berun held Sauk's gaze. The half-orc looked back, unflinching.
"We?" said Berun.
"Me, Talieth, and every man here. A few others at the Mountain."
"So kill him," said Berun, his voice hard.
Sauk snorted, but there was no humor in it. Only disgust. "We tried," he said. "Talieth sent her best blades but the Old Man killed 'em all. The Old Man has been using your master's power to set new guardians. Things I've never seen before. Things that haunt the dark places