Sentinelspire

Chapter Thirteen

19 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Sentinelspire

Awareness returned little by little. First the sensation of warmth. Not like fire, nor even sunshine. A soft warmness. Then sound, though it was no more than a breeze sighing over stone. Then scent. Many subtle aromas-fire, both wood smoke and the spicy aroma of candles, clean water, the particular thin scent air takes at high altitudes, and the sweet smell of spring blossoms-all blending in a pleasant whole. Last of all came true awareness.

Lewan opened his eyes. He lay in a soft bed wide enough for five people, his head nestled on goose down pillows, his body wrapped in silk sheets over which had been laid a soft coverlet sewn of rabbit skins.

The room around him was… luxurious. Lewan knew the word, though he had only been able to ascribe meaning to it from bard's tales. Never had he seen such opulence. A massive stone fireplace centered the wall opposite his bed. A fire was burning to embers in it. The bed itself lay under a canopy around which a netting of sheer red fabric had been pulled up. Tiles the color of rich cream lined the floor, over which lay thick rugs. A door of some wood the hue of burnt cinnamon centered the wall to the right of his bed. Scented candles burned throughout the room. The wall to the left of his bed opened onto a balcony, beyond which Lewan could see blue sky interspersed with high, thin clouds, fine as gossamer strands. Even through the scent of wood smoke and candle wax, he could tell that the air was thinner, crisper, yet a scent of many growing things pervaded all. Mountain air-but lush mountain air.

Lewan sat up, and a tiny spark of pain ran through his left shoulder. He looked down and realized two things. First, he was naked and completely clean. Even his hair had been washed and trimmed, his face freshly shaved. Second, the wound near his shoulder was no more than a pale blotch of skin with the slick-smooth sheen of magical healing. His last memory was the morning on the hillside in the Khopet-Dag. The assassin had sneaked up on him and plunged the poisoned spear into his shoulder. Obviously the poison had been meant to subdue him, not kill him. The earth had risen up and swallowed his master. Or had it? Lewan had been unable to hear anything, save for a strange chanting, and his vision had not been clear. Had that been a dream?

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."