Son of Thunder (22 page)

Ardeth said, “Thank Geildarr for our escape.” She reached into her robes and produced a small black gem. She dropped it on the ground and it shattered as if it were glass. “Alas, we’ll be forced to use our feet from here on.”

“Thank Geildarr indeed!” Royce thundered at Ardeth. “If not for his petty rivalries, there’d be five Antiquarians alive now instead of two!”

Gan stepped forward, lifting the axe just slightly. Ardeth placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Spare me, hobgoblin!” Royce shouted. “I’m not going to kill your mistress today. Your glowering and brandishing of that battle-axe didn’t intimidate Leng. Why didn’t you just bury it in his brain and be done with it?”

Gan snorted and stood up straighter.

“Gan was only doing what I asked,” Ardeth said. “Don’t blame him.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Royce said. “I blame you and Geildarr. If you wanted Leng dead, we could have devised a plan to slaughter him and hide every trace, if you had only told us.”

“Why did it have to be the Unicorn Run?” asked Gunton. “Why did he have to die there?” A quieter soul than his leader, his anger manifested in red streaks spreading across his cheeks and a slight tremor in his voice.

Ardeth said, “We wanted him to choose his own death. It would look better to Fzoul that way. Also, Geildarr wanted Leng to have a death of… sufficient grandeur.”

Royce laughed madly, the sound echoing off the high mountains surrounding them. “It had grandeur, that’s for sure!” He made a fist and banged it against his leg. “And we were just expendable pieces in his scheme?”

“You’re mercenaries,” said Ardeth. “You are, by your nature, expendable.”

“They were all fond of you,” Royce said. His eyes were moistening and his voice broke. “Your pretty face, your graceful walk … these things put us off guard. But my vision is clear now. Asmodeus’s soul is no darker than yours.” Unable to stop the tears for his dead companions, he fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

“I had hoped we might avoid the heights of the Star Mounts,” said Gunton, staring accusingly at Ardeth. “Our mountaineering equipment was mostly destroyed when Leng set our camp ablaze. What remained was in Bessick’s pack. It now lies at the bottom of the Run.”

“I lived all my life in the Graypeaks,” Gan proclaimed. “I know my way through mountains. I will lead the way.”

Ardeth looked around. “Which of these is Mount Vision?” she asked. “The Sanctuary should lie to the east of it.”

“Well, I’m guessing that we’re somewhere deep inside the Mounts …” Gunton surveyed the terrain and finally pointed out a distant peak rising over a group of smaller mountains, its tip vanishing into cloud and haze.

“Somewhere beyond that one, I should think.”

“Probably ten days’ travel at best,” the hobgoblin estimated. “Assuming that passes exist.”

“We’ll need to keep a low profile,” said Gunton.

Royce bolted to his feet. “We’re still speaking about doing Geildarr’s bidding? What makes you think Gunton and I will go along to find this Sanctuary now?”

“You’ll still be rewarded if we succeed,” Ardeth said. “All the more for your fallen comrades. And if you disobey Geildarr, you’ll spend the rest of your life dodging Zhentarim assassins. Moreover, we’re stranded here. Gan can survive here better than any of us. This is no time to separate.”

Royce cursed, but he knew that her logic was undeniable. This time he had no choice but to do what she said.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Ardeth admitted. “I had no desire to see Vonelh, Bessick, or Nithinial dead. I’m sad to see them so. Only Leng was supposed to die.”

“So not all your plans come off perfectly,” Royce said, still filled with grief. He looked up at the hobgoblin who towered over him. “She put you in danger too, Gan. She risked your life, and for what? Think about that.” He could see something flicker over Gan’s stern face.

“I saved your lives,” Ardeth reminded Royce and Gunton. “I could have left you to be smashed by that fey juggernaut. But I saved you. Does that count for nothing?”

“It’s a start,” said Royce with a sneer. “But let this be a promise—if you betray us again, nothing will keep me from slitting your throat. Not the hobgoblin, and not all the lord’s men.”

“I believe you,” said Ardeth. Royce wondered if he saw a shadow of a smile on her lips.

When Vell, Kellin, and Lanaal returned to the village of Ghostand, they found the rest of the Thunderbeast party equipped and ready to forge out again. Many of the Tree Ghosts and their elf guests were present to see them off.

“We know the way,” said Thluna. “Faeniele has found our path.” He nodded graciously toward the copper-haired wood elf.

“Toward the Star Mounts?” asked Vell.

Thluna’s brow furrowed. “How did you know that?”

“I saw it in the Fountains of Memory,” said Vell. “And I felt it.”

“Truly, the Thunderbeast smiles on us,” said Keirkrad. He stepped away from the others, directly toward Kellin. He lowered his head before her, a gesture of contrition that shocked all—not only the idea that he would do so, but that he would do so in public.

“I owe you an apology, daughter of Zale,” he said. “Your father was a good man. I have not treated you in a manner befitting his memory. We must set aside our differences for the sake of this mission. I promise things will be different now.”

Kellin didn’t know what to say. Perhaps the tree’s influence could soften even the stoniest of hearts. Even her vast knowledge of Uthgardt customs didn’t suggest what to do in this situation. Her cheeks flushed, not the least because of what she now knew about her father.

“Thank you, Shaman Seventoes,” she said, clutching one of his ancient, lined hands. “I can only hope that our association will be smoother from now on.”

“I promise you, it shall.” She looked deep into his blue eyes for any hint of deception and found none. She detected real kindness. Fancy that, she thought.

“We must move quickly,” said Vell. “Our enemies are on the march. I saw them in the Fountains of Memory.” He described some of his vision; the glimpse of the seven walking along a river.

“That river would be either the Unicorn Run or the Heartblood,” explained Faeniele. “Either way, they’re a good deal closer to your destination, which lies close to the Heartblood’s headwaters. You must seek out three great phandar trees growing in a triangle, lying in a shadowed valley at the Star Mounts’ eastern reaches. If this story is more than a legend, there you will find the lost swamp and your totem behemoths.”

“We will leave soon and move quickly,” said Thluna. “And we take with us a new guide.”

Rask Urgek stepped up to join them, dressed for travel and clutching a battle-axe of his own. “Your chief has generously consented to walking with a half-orc.”

“Walking with a fellow Uthgardt,” Thluna corrected him.

Rask smiled, his orc fangs creating an unnerving grin. “I have a history with the Zhentarim,” he said. “I was born into their service. This may be a chance to wash them from my spirit at last.”

Gunther Longtooth, chief of the Tree Ghosts, spoke. “We will miss Rask’s presence here, but we understand his motives. May Uthgar smile on you and speed you to your destination. We have a gift for you, Chief Thluna.” He held out a sturdy wooden club with the Tree Ghosts’ emblem carved onto it. “This weapon is carved of old oak that grew in Grandfather Tree’s shadow. It is enchanted by the Tree Ghosts’ grace. Wield it wisely.”

“I am humbled by the honor,” said Thluna, taking the club and feeling its weight.

Before they were ready to leave, Lanaal spoke to Vell and Kellin alone.

“I mean to help you more,” she said. “I’d come with you, but I think I can help more from afar. In this forest, there are others like Vell and myself who might know more. I will seek them out, and I will find you.”

“You’ve helped me enough already,” Vell said.

“The more I learn about you, the more I learn about myself,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She turned to Kellin and said, “Take care of him for me,” smiling wistfully. Then she transformed into a falcon and flew up past the treetops and away.

More good-byes waited to be said.

“If you should ever decide to visit your cousins of the wood again,” Gunther told the Thunderbeasts, “know that you will be welcome.”

When the Thunderbeast party forged out again, they knew they left behind a small piece of joy in the High Forest’s depths. They never could have imagined keeping company with elves! Now they had accepted a half-orc as one of them. The rules of the outside world didn’t apply in the forest depths. Every one of them was changed by Grandfather Tree’s grandeur and the Tree Ghosts’ hospitality, and it created a most curious effect: they marched into the unknown with a new sense of unity.

“Do you blame your gods, Hurd?” Sungar asked. Five days had passed since his last meeting with Kiev, and he felt almost entirely healed. He felt that the time would soon come for Kiev to return and strip away all of his strength again.

“Blame them?” the dwarf answered. “For what?”

“For you being here,” Sungar answered, lying on his back in the center of his cell, staring at the stones of the ceiling for the thousandth time. “For your rebellion failing. Surely you thought they were on your side.”

“The Morndinsamman and I have exchanged some harsh words,” Hurd answered. “I don’t think they mind.”

“Do you hate them?” Sungar asked. “Do you think they let you down—betrayed you?”

“I can’t deny having some thoughts like that. But the gods can’t do everything for us. See, the god whom I feel closest to now is Gorm Gulthyn. He was Trice Dulgenhar’s god—Trice was a barakor of the Lord of the Bronze Mask. Not a lot of people know what I’m about to say, and I surely shouldn’t be telling you. But who are you going to tell?

“Gorm’s fate is tied to the fate of dwarves on Faerun, and as our strongholds fell, he grew weaker and weaker. The fire in his eyes, it is said, grows dimmer with each fallen nation and city. To fight to reclaim them, like we fought to reclaim Llorkh, is a holy war to help reverse his fate. Or so Trice said.

“Even our gods suffer defeats, Sungar. But they endure them. So must we.”

“I suppose,” said Sungar, and he asked no more questions. He thought of Uthgar’s defeats: losing the Blue Bears to Malar, the Elk tribe to Auril. Each must have been a piece of him cleaved away. And the other dead tribes of old, remembered in the skalds’ songs—the Red Pony and Golden Eagle had supposedly vanished into the Underdark forever.

Were the Thunderbeasts bound for a similar fate?

So often Sungar’s mind went back to that day in the Fallen Lands. Geildarr’s words were insidious. And he wondered whether following Uthgar’s law might be leading the tribe down the road to destruction.

And if so, did that mean Uthgar willed it?

Laying her crossbow on a rock, Ardeth kneeled at a fast-moving mountain stream at the foot of a tall peak and filled her waterskin. The inglorious task gave her a welcome moment to herself, away from Royce’s cynicism and Gan’s toadying. If only she could do without them!

This mission was not going entirely according to plan, she had to admit to herself. But she would not let herself be dismayed. The Sanctuary still awaited.

She heard a strange noise behind her and spun to face it, snatching up her crossbow. It was a sort of flapping sound, but when she turned, she saw nothing. Then she heard it again, behind her still, and swung around to see a red-feathered birdman, just shorter than Ardeth, staring at her from across the stream. Its wings were folded, and it clutched a javelin in one three-fingered hand.

“What are you doing here?” it spoke in a chirping voice, its head darting from side to side.

“We are merely passing through the Star Mounts,” Ardeth said.

“My people were slaughtered and dispersed by the green dragon Elaar,” the creature said. “Your kind call him Elaacrimalicros. Are you here to slay him, or to aid him?”

Ardeth recognized the birdman as an aarakocra. She had seen drawings of them in Geildarr’s study. She shook her head. “We have no interest in your struggle…”

“If we are to survive—” the aarakocra lowered its javelin and pointed it in Ardeth’s direction “—then we need magic and weapons. We demand…”

Ardeth fired her crossbow, launching a bolt directly toward the aarakocra’s feathered belly. But the missile never reached its target. It was deflected in midair by magic and bounced into the stream. Suddenly smiling, Ardeth took another shot at the aarakocra’s head. It sailed through as if it were fog and struck the rock face behind it.

The aarakocra vanished. In its place stood a creature half the height of the illusionary bird. Ardeth cast a disgusted look at a red-clad gnome. The aarakocra’s spear shrank and became the blackwood cane that Moritz carried. Impressive, Ardeth thought.

“Well met, Ardeth Chale,” he said. “You’ve confirmed what I always suspected: it is in your nature to go for the kill.”

“Moritz of Hardbuckler.” She never changed the aim of her crossbow. “Fancy encountering you here.”

“Charmed, sweet lady,” he said, tipping his red tricorn. “So good to speak with you at last.”

“I take it this isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

“Met, maybe,” Moritz said with a chuckle.

“Now comes the part where you make a portentous threat before vanishing on the spot?” asked Ardeth. “Geildarr forewarned me. The feathers were a nice touch.”

“Rather, I wanted to commend you on securing the death of Mythkar Leng for Sememmon and myself,” Moritz told her, taking a step closer to the quick-running stream.

“He was a most inconvenient enemy.”

“I wasn’t aware he was your enemy,” Ardeth answered. “And I’m quite sure I didn’t do it for Sememmon’s sake.”

“All Zhentarim are Sememmon’s enemy,” said Moritz. “At least all those faithful to the Keepers.”

“Does that include Geildarr?” Ardeth asked. “Why doesn’t Sememmon kill him?”

“Is that your answer to everything? Why shouldn’t I kill you, then?” Moritz shrugged. “You find it easier to kill a man than to let him live. Isn’t that so?” He reached into his robes and produced a bone dagger, the same one she had used to kill Arthus Tyrrell. He tossed it into the stream and it gave a small splash. “He wasn’t lying about his wife and children—but I don’t expect that moves you any. Did you kill him to silence him? Surely not. Who would have known about your visit? The Thunderbeasts? Or was it only because you knew you could? I bet you’d slaughter the surviving Antiquarians and that great beast who carries the axe, if only you didn’t need them.”