Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [85]
He raised his eyes and looked to the east. Higher hills lay between him and the steppe, and beyond, a thick haze. He could not see Sentinelspire. But from where he sat he knew it was well over a hundred miles as the crow flies. Over the hills and valleys on foot, it was probably closer to two hundred. His supplies were gone. His knife, his bow, Erael'len… everything but the clothes he wore were either with Sauk's band or buried in the earth. And the clothes wouldn't count for much. He brushed at the mud on his sleeve to try to get the worst off, and the fabric ripped. His pants and boots, filthy as they were, were still useable. His shirt was a loss. The dirt grinding him down had done it in. The mud was probably the only thing holding it together.
Berun, you must help me. Had it been a panic-induced dream? Berun didn’t think so. Besides… Lewan. Sauk had taken Lewan. As far as Berun knew, the boy was still alive.
His limbs still trembling, Berun pushed himself to his feet. He winced. Mud and grit had filled his boots. He'd have to find a stream very soon and clean himself up, or walking the first mile would rip all the skin off his feet.
Berun sat down and removed the boots. He'd go slower barefoot, but until he could find a stream, he had little choice.
"Let's go, Perch," he said, "and let's hope we don't run into any spiders too big for you to handle."
+++++
A stream wasn't hard to find. The little creeks running between the hills were loud and full. Berun cleaned himself up as best he could, but as he'd feared, washing the shirt ruined it. The homespun fabric fell to pieces in the stream. He saved enough strips to braid a small roost he could sling around one shoulder on which Perch could sit. With no shirt, if the lizard insisted on riding the whole way, he would tear Berun's skin to shreds. The job done, he let the final remains of his shirt float away, finished cleaning the rest of his clothes and boots, then set out.
He returned to the place where he and Lewan had spent the night. He searched for a trail but found nothing. The rain had ruined any signs, washing away even the blood. The bodies were gone.
As he stood there in the wood, cursing his ill luck and worrying over Lewan, he considered searching for the portal of which Valmir had spoken. He knew they'd spent the day heading up into the mountains. It had to be up there somewhere. But unless he managed to find their trail, he could spend months looking for the portal, and even if he found it, without the proper key, it would be useless to him. And the farther he went up the mountains, the more dangerous his path would become. With no weapons, he'd be no match against the larger spiders-and there were worse things than spiders in the Khopet-Dag.
"East it is, then," he said, more to himself than Perch. If he ran, he might make it to Sentinelspire in a tenday-if he didn't have to spend much time foraging for food. Once he hit the steppe again, he might be able to beg or steal a horse.
He searched long enough to find a good, stout stick. Not great in terms of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. The sun was riding high in the sky, approaching midday. Berun turned east and started running.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dusk found Berun in the last of the true foothills. The land was not as steep, but this meant going back into the Shalhoond, and the woods thickened. Dark would come fast. Thinking of Lewan, and with Chereth s plea still fresh in his mind, part of Berun wanted to push on. But he knew that he had to pace himself. He wouldn't be much help to either his disciple or master if he showed up at Sentinelspire half-dead, so he began to look for a place to spend the night.
As the last light was fading from