Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [43]
The door opened, and in walked a girl. She seemed close to Lewan's age, perhaps a bit older. The slight cant to her eyes, the long hair the color of a raven's eye, and skin the color of honeyed wax gave her the look of one of the Shou. She carried a bundle of folded cloth before her.
Her eyes widened at the sight of Lewan sitting up in bed. She nudged the door closed with one foot, then bowed. "I am Ulaan, your servant. I have brought you clean clothes."
"My… servant?" She was dressed like no servant he had ever seen. Her dress, the color of sunset on the clouds and of a simple cut, was made from silk that would have befitted the daughter of the wealthiest merchant trading along the Golden Way.
"I serve the Old Man," she said, "Lord of Sentinelspire. You are his honored guest. I am to see to your every need. Should I displease, another servant will be provided for you."
Lewan swallowed. His eyes stayed on the girl, but his attention focused inward. Servant? Honored guest? None of this made any sense.
"You wish for me to send for another?" Ulaan still had not risen from her bow. Her gaze was fixed on the fine rug before her, and as Lewan's attention returned to her, he noticed that her posture offered a generous gaze down the front of her dress.
Lewan blushed and averted his gaze. "Uh, no. That… that's won't be necessary, thank you."
"Thank me for what?" Ulaan rose and looked at Lewan. Her expression was one of complete deference, but there was a coy spark in her eye.
"Where am I?" asked Lewan. "How did I get here?"
"You are the guest of the Old Man of the Mountain," said Ulaan. "Others will tell you the tale in full, I am sure. It is my task to see that your needs are met." She lifted the folded bundles of cloth. "I have brought you clean clothes. Yours could not be saved. Shall I dress you?"
Lewan's blush deepened. "No! That, uh… that won't be necessary, thank you."
"Young master, my sister Bataar and I bathed and shaved you, and I have tended you since your arrival. You have nothing that I have not seen and touched."
Chapter Fourteen
Xalicth found Sauk where she thought she would-on the mountainside, sitting cross-legged before a small fire. He often came up here when he wanted to be alone. The large outcropping of bare rock was around the north face of Sentinelspire, well out of sight of the Fortress in its secluded canyon. The broken cone of the mountain rose behind, and before them spread the Endless Wastes. Hundreds of miles of steppe.
The wind off the mountain whipped her heavy cloak in front of her and tossed her hair in front of her face. She was glad for the cloak. Early spring as it was, the wind at this height still held a chill, and her cheeks were soon raw and flushed.
The chill did not seem to bother Sauk. The half-orc sat naked except for a loincloth. His long hair was unbound, and the breeze tossed it over his shoulders. The stiff wind made the fire's meager flames struggle for life, but Sauk was close enough to the fire that his broad back kept off the worst of the breeze. As she came around to stand before him, she saw that the druid's relic, the Three Hearts, lay discarded on the dusty stone beside him. A huge knife lay upon his lap, and blood tinged its edge. The old scar that ran from his hairline down his forehead and left cheek oozed fresh blood. Some of it had dripped and dried on his chest. She