Free Sentinelspire by Mark Sehestedt Page B

but he wore the fine clothes of a westerner. Although he was in need of washing, it was evident he took pride in his appearance; his beard was well trimmed, and his hair was just growing out of what was obviously a carefully chosen cut.
    “Merzan,” said Sauk. “Me and Benjar and Hama are going out to scout. You’re in charge.” He looked at Lewan and Berun. “You two just sit by the fire and rest. No talking. Merzan, take appropriate action if they try to speak to each other.”
    “As you say, Sauk,” said Merzan. He gave Lewan and Berun a look of complete indifference. That bothered Berun. A grin might have shown overconfidence—something Berun could use. A bluster or boast might have meant he was dealing with someone too keen on who was in charge—something else Berun could use. But the complete lack of emotion likely meant that Merzan was an iron-cold killer, who didn’t care one way or the other whether Lewan and Berun lived or died. That meant trouble.
    Berun settled himself beside the fire that Benjar and Hama—Vaasans, by the looks of them—had left. His shoulder felt better. Perhaps all the walking had helped to stretch it. But his side where Sauk had kicked him still throbbed with pain.
    Valmir sat across from him. The blond man looked tired, but the easy grin was back. “Hungry?”
    “A little,” said Berun.
    Val rummaged through a heavy canvas pack. “No servants out here. We’ll have to make our own.”
    “Sauk took my pack.”
    “No worries,” said Val. “I got you.”
    “Very kind.”
    “You haven’t tasted my cooking yet. May not think me so kind after.”
    Berun shrugged out of his cloak and loosened his belt a notch. He winced at the pain in his ribs.
    “Still hurting?” asked Val.
    “I’m fine.”
    “Have it your way. Tea’ll be ready soon.”
    Berun watched Val set a small iron kettle near the fire and rummage through his foodstuffs.
    “What kind of changes?” asked Berun.
    “What?”
    “Back on the hill. You said there’ve been lots of changes at Sentinelspire. What kind of changes?”
    Val’s smile widened. “So you admit that you used to live there?”
    “I never denied it.”
    “Never admitted it, either.”
    “Why give you answers you already know?”
    Valmir nodded. “Fair enough, I suppose. Let’s just say the Old Man’s been busy all these years. And not always in good ways. That man could give Sauk lessons in cunning.”
    “Then won’t he know we’re coming?”
    “Don’t you worry about that,” said Val. “Sauk is still as much a cunning hunter as he ever was, and the Old Man still trusts him. We might have to disguise you a bit, though I’d wager that you look nothing like you used to. Am I right?”
    “I’m … not the man I used to be.”
    Val laughed. “Who is?”
    Berun glanced to the other side of the camp. Lewan was sitting beside a fire. He accepted a bit of food and a small tin cup of water from one of the men. It bothered Berun that the boy seemed so at ease.
    “Don’t underestimate your old friend Sauk,” Val continued. “He could get King Haedrak into Sentinelspire if he wanted to.”
    “But you said the Old Man was even smarter. ‘Could give Sauk lessons in cunning,’ you said.”
    “True enough,” said Val as he continued to prepare the tea. “But I also said that the Old Man still trusts him—and we aren’t on our own. We got us some … what you might call ‘inside help.’ ”
    “You mean Talieth.”
    Valmir’s movements suddenly became very careful and precise. Very intentional. “What do you know about Talieth?”
    “Another one of those questions to which you already know the answer?”
    Val’s grin didn’t falter, but the good humor left his eyes. He shrugged and said, “People talk.”
    Berun knew that was enough on this subject. Kheil and Talieth … to say they had a history together would be only the beginning of a long tale, and it was not a happy one. And this was obviously a sensitive point