Sentinelspire Read Online Free Page A

tiger leaped for him but before she struck Perch was gone, skittering away amongst the rocks. She scrambled after him, reminding Berun of a stablecat hunting a mouse through the straw. But Perch was a treeclaw lizard of the deep Khopet-Dag. He and his kind hunted spiders—some that were as big as a man. Small as he was, Perch possessed extreme quickness and cunning. Amid the cracks and crevices of the rocks, the tiger could not catch him. She came close twice, her claws coming down an instant after the lizard scampered away.
    The tiger gave up and turned back to the spearman, but she’d gone no more than a few steps before Perch leaped on her rump and sank in his claws, one quick squeeze, then jumped away again. Snarling, the tiger turned and bounded after him. Perch skittered away, a small brownish streak disappearing into the brush where the stream fell in a series of falls down the valley. The tiger followed.
    Berun waited until the sounds of the chase faded and he could see no more trace of the huge beast trampling through the brush. He looked down at the spearman, who was staring after the tiger, his eyes wide as coins and his mouth agape. Berun stood and called down, “Hey!”
    The spearman started and looked up, bringing his spear around to point at Berun.
    “You hurt?” said Berun.
    The man started at the sound of Berun’s voice but said nothing.
    Berun repeated the question in Chondathan, Damaran, and Tuigan. Still nothing. The man clenched his jaw shut, and the hands that held the spear began shaking violently.
    Berun looked down the opening of the ravine. No sign of the tiger or Perch. Not even rustling brush. The sound of the waterfall crushed any hope of hearing them. He’d have to be quick.
    Holding bow and arrow in one hand, Berun climbed down into the ravine. Plenty of rocks jutted from the cliff, but most were worn smooth by years of falling water, and a fine spray made them slippery. Berun nearly fell twice. After the second near-miss he jumped the final five feet or so, landing with a splash. Though he hit near the edge of the pool, it was deep, and he sank well past his midriff. The pull of the water falling down the ravine was surprisingly strong, and Berun had to fight to cross to the other side.
    The spearman hadn’t moved, but he kept the point of his weapon trained on Berun. The man’s hands no longer trembled, and some of the tension seemed to have left him. An odd spark lit his eyes, and Berun hesitated at the edge of the pool. A warning went off at the base of his skull.
    Dripping, Berun stood at the pool’s edge, two spearlengths away from the man, and took a long look. Closer, he could see that none of the man’s injuries were serious. Scratches only. The blood covering him was in thin streaks, as if it had been smeared, spreading it as far as possible. Closer up, even in the dim light, Berun could see that not all of it was blood. Around his face, much of it was ochre, dampened by water—and by the scent he exuded, probably reddened with berries.
    “You should leave,” said Berun, his right hand tightening the arrow on his bowstring. “The tiger won’t be gone long.”
    The man straightened, still cautious, ready, but obviously relaxing. A slight smile curved his lips. “No,” he said. “She will not.”
    “What is this?”
    The man motioned to the ground with his spear. “Put that bow down. Nice and slow.”
    In one fluid motion Berun pivoted, facing the man sideways to present a narrow target, and brought the bowstring to his cheek. The steel head of the arrow aimed at the man’s torso.
    “Easy!” said the man, his eyes widening as he took a quick step back. He brought the spear up, but the look in his eyes said he knew it a futile gesture.
    “I save your life and you want to rob me?”
    “That isn’t how this is!”
    “I’m not worth dying over. The poorest shepherd on the steppe has more gold in his croft than I have on me. This bow is the only thing of value I