Realms of Shadow

The Fallen Lands

19 Ches, the Year of Wild Magic

I remember sitting in the class of my mentor, the wizard Maligo of Mistledale. Retired from his adventures to the clergy of Azuth, he occasionally defended the Dale from its enemies but mostly was content to live quietly and teach a new generation of mages. He would die several years later of a miscast spell during the Time of Troubles, a hard blow to me. I learned almost all I know about magic from him. In this particular class, I took it upon myself to ask a naughty question:

"If Mystra is a goddess of good, why does she allow evil people to use magic?"

The other children around me tittered that I asked such a question, but not Maligo. He was a man of infinite patience.

"What do you children think?" he asked.

"It is not for Mystra to deny magic to anyone," answered another mageling, the son of one of the Council of Six and certainly my archnemesis of the moment. Despite his best attempts, he never became nearly as close to Maligo as I did. "She teaches us wisdom instead," he explained, "and if we do not heed her wisdom, if we use her power for destructive means, she is not to blame."

This was the usual answer to that question. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it, nor the last. I had to hear that answer many times before it started to sound reasonable…

I woke up to the sun stabbing me in the eye. Assessing my situation as best I could, I found I was wrapped in some kind of animal fur and naked underneath. The chill air on my face kept me awake. I tried and failed to sit up, so badly was I aching, though I knew my wounds had been healed.

Wounds. Where did I get them? The orcs. I remembered the orcs. They attacked us at night. Hundreds of them, far more than I had seen at one time, moved toward us in waves. Many were riding flightless avians, like ugly featherless ostriches. My spells slew many, but they kept coming. These orcs looked unusual. In their eyes, shining in the torchlight, I did not see the manic bloodlust typical of their kind. Instead their eyes were glassed over, faraway.

I remembered Neril slipping between the orcs, slashing at all sides with his great broadsword and cleaving them by the dozens. Mystra! There was a moment when they were around him on all sides, separating him from the rest of us. That was the last I saw of him.

"The others," I croaked, my throat parched. "The others."

“Did you hear that?" said someone with a deep male voice. "He speaks our language!"

"Are you sure?" somebody else said.

"Please… the others." I was regaining my faculties, and I attempted a complete sentence: "Are the others all right?"

A man stepped over me. My eyes widened as I stared up at him. His head eclipsed the sun, so I couldn't make out his features clearly. He was tall, probably a head above me, and in the Dalelands I was considered a tall man. His hair was long and black, and he was clad in the pelt of a wolf. A barbarian.

Yes! I remembered the barbarians. They rushed out of the night like ghosts and joined the fray, their spears and axes and hammers sailing across the battlefield. Just before I passed out, a warhammer shattered the skull of the orc with its sword to my throat. It likely saved my life. Now, a similar hammer was in the hands of the man standing above me.

"Do not move, Civilized. Stay still, or you will taste Uthgardt steel. How did you come to speak our language?"

I heard Common, but his lips moved in his native tongue.

"I don't," I said.

I ran my weak hand up to my chest and confirmed that I was still wearing the amulet. I pulled it out from under the fur. It glowed serenely, and gave off a certain amount of warmth, something I was glad for in these northern winters.

This makes it possible for me," I explained.

The amulet was a gift from my mentor, many years ago. It translated my language into that of the listener and his language to mine. It had served the Blazing Band well over the years, even though it had limitations. The barbarian's use of "civilized," for example, was probably the best translation it could manage of a concept not present in Common.

"I knew we should have taken it away from him, Thluna. It's magic!"

"I knew it was magic, Gar," answered the barbarian above me. "That's why I didn't touch it. I was afraid it might poison me."

"It is not a weapon. It's not a danger to you or anyone," I said. "Tell me, who else from my company survived the battle?"

"No one," he said.

My heart sank, though I wasn't surprised at his answer. I reviewed them all in my mind. I had known Neril the longest, since we were children. The two of us formed the Blazing Men together in Mistledale-it wasn't until we took on our first female member that we amended the name-but somehow I felt saddest for our youngest member, dear young Shalinda. She had joined us in Sundabar barely a month before. She was just a northern farm girl, eager to see the world and with a minor aptitude for the longbow gained from shooting wolves. It was her first battle that killed her, and I doubt she was able to slay even a single orc before they reached her.

Sundabar. That's where we were when we heard the news. The Lords' Alliance was dispatching troops-even the Blackstaff was rumored to be on the move. Neril suggested we take an unusual route-east of the High Forest-to Evereska, one that would get us there quickly while avoiding major roads, which might be compromised. We were lucky to get through the Nether Mountains before the blizzards began.

"Ask him if he's a mage. Ask him if this is a magic book."

I forced myself to sit up and saw the other barbarian, an equally brutish-looking fellow. He had my spellbook, my one possession of true power, my one defense, lying closed in front of him, with my quarterstaff and robes beside it. My mind was empty of spells. I could not fight my way out if I wanted to.

I recalled the advice a seasoned adventurer once gave us. We met him in a tavern in Neverwinter. He said, "If you ever want to commit suicide easily, tell an Uthgardt you're a mage."

But I suspected they had a still lower opinion of liars.

"I am a mage," I confessed. "My name is Arklow of Ashabenford."

I turned my eyes to the barbarian above me. As he moved his head out from behind the sun, I realized that he was very young; probably barely fifteen winters. His scars told me that at this young age he had seen more combat than I had in my thirty. In his eyes, I saw an odd mix of revulsion and something else. Curiosity?

"A mage? We've saved a mage, Thluna," said the other barbarian. "Sungar will skin us for this. He won't be happy that the shaman healed him before some of our own."

"He was the most badly wounded, and he fought fiercely against the orcs," replied Thluna, "even if he is a mage."

I filled in the appropriate adage- the enemy of my enemy is not my enemy-but I detected a strange undercurrent to Thluna's voice that made me suspect there was more to it than that.

"Arklow of Ashabenford, I am Thluna, son of Haagravan, of the Thunderbeast tribe. That is Garstak."

Thunderbeast. I'd never heard of that tribe before, and I was happy for that since the most famous tribes were generally those who raided civilized settlements. Somehow, though, the name made something click in my mind. There were mountains visible in the distance, and I knew they were among the northernmost of the Greypeaks. I turned and looked behind me, and I saw an expanse of dry, dead earth stretch off to the horizon. There was some shifting snow but not much. The area seemed almost devoid of weather. I knew the name of the place we were cutting through to get to Evereska. It was a dismal, little-visited corner of Faerun civilized men called the Fallen Lands.

Once I was ready to walk again, Thluna and Garstak let me dress. They did not return my spellbook or staff, and for the moment I didn't ask for them. They led me through the Thunderbeast camp, a hodgepodge of portable dwellings of animal skins, filled with a selection of stocky barbarians, all male and mostly wounded in some way or another, and all looking at me with fear and contempt. They took me before their chieftain, Sungar

Wolfkiller.

A fiercely bearded man, probably younger than me but looking decades older, Sungar was slighter than many of the Uthgardt but still an imposing figure. He had a huge gash across his cheek, fresh from the battle. Apparently the tribe's shaman had yet to get around to healing his wounds. He clutched a huge battle-axe in a single hand, a weapon so heavy I expected few men could even lift it. The forgery looked almost dwarven, but in a human's size. I wondered where it came from. The chieftain thanked Thluna and asked them to leave us alone in his tent.

"Mage," he addressed me. "We Uthgardt despise your magic. It is a terribly distasteful thing to talk with you through that magic device of yours." He pointed at my amulet.

"I understand that," I said. "I thank you and your tribe for saving my life. I owe you everything. I owe you enough to leave your company immediately.''

"Normally, that would be the best you could hope for, but…" His eyes drifted to the ground. "Circumstances are not normal.

"We are far from the rest of our people and farther still from the bones of the beast that watches over our tribe. We set out into this dead region to battle the orcs. Our tribe generally embarks on such a campaign every two or three winters as a test of our mettle. This is Thluna's first time and my seventh. I believe I have seen almost everything of orcs a man may encounter. Thousands have fallen to my axe, but I have never seen anything like the orcs we battled last night.

"Orcs are cowardly beasts. When the tide of the battle is turned against them, some of them will retreat. This is the case, always, but these orcs fought to the last. I lost many warriors to their spears and swords, and not one orc fled the battle.

"None of us have ever known orcs to mass in such numbers. This dead region in particular is noted for its constant feuds and rivalries, orc tribe against orc tribe. Never have they been so united.

"Finally, some of my men have observed, and I concur, that these orcs did not look like orcs. Orcs are disgusting, drooling creatures. In their eyes there is nothing but hatred and evil, but these orcs had nothing of that. Their eyes were distant. It was as if their minds were not theirs. My experience has no explanation for this. Perhaps yours does."

Sungar stared me in the eye. I took a deep breath, and told him what I knew.

"My company was passing through this region, which we call the Fallen Lands, on the way to Evereska. It is an elf settlement to the south. We received word in Sundabar…" I paused, wondering if I should explain either elves or Sundabar, but I decided against it, "… that something had happened near there-an eruption from the underground of an unusual type of monster, the phaerimm."

"Phaerimm?"

"I don't know much about them. They were more legend than reality for most of us. They're thought to live beneath Anauroch… the desert to the east." Sungar nodded in understanding. "They're said to be intelligent, wicked and powerful, and excellent magicians. Some say they even subsist on magic itself. The arrival of such monsters could have devastating consequences for us all. We heard that many forces of good were proceeding to Evereska to counter this invasion and decided to head there ourselves.

"It's also known that the phaerimm are masters at enslaving other races to their will, even highly intelligent creatures like dragons and beholders. If their object is one of simple destruction, it does not surprise me that they send their servants where they cannot go themselves. If they can control the mind of a dragon, it should be no trick to bend the will of an orc." Or a barbarian, I thought, or a mage. Sungar shook his head in disbelief. "Uthgar protect us. These phaerimm… they can be killed?"

"I'm sure they can, but even the strongest wizards in the world fear the phaerimm. I am no match for them, I am certain of that, and neither are your men. Our only hope is that none of them are here in the Fallen Lands; that instead, it is one of their servants who is enslaving these orcs."

"But the orcs are dead. We killed them." "Were they all the orcs in the Fallen Lands? All the other monsters besides? Maybe they were just an exploratory force. There could be another army out there, probably even larger. What would you do if some of your men were slaughtered, and you were in a position to strike back? How would you react?"

"I would seek revenge." Sungar leaned pensively on his battle-axe. "What do you recommend we do, mage?"

"We could move north. I could rejoin civilization; you could rejoin your tribe, that is, if the phaerimm's forces do not intercept us on the way. They could make us then-slaves, just like those orcs." I paused to let my words sink in. "Or we could-"

"We will move south and confront this army before it expects us. If we perish, we will perish defending our tribe. Come with us, Arklow of Ashabenford. We have seen your valor in battle and know you to be a worthy warrior. I promise no Uthgardt warrior will molest you if you ride as one of us."

My staff and spellbook were returned to me, and as soon as all the Uthgardt were properly healed by the shaman, they were ready to mobilize again. Only Thluna's friend Garstak did not join us but was instead sent back north to warn the tribe. The Uthgardt buried their dead in the dirt of the Fallen Lands and a few of them helped me dig graves for the Blazing Band. I had thoughts of recovering some of their magical items, perhaps the enchanted dagger from the thief Jarok, but with the Uthgardt watching I decided otherwise. Barely a trace was left of the encampment by the time we left.

I was provided with a horse, its rider killed by the orcs. It was a far less domesticated animal than most of the horses I had ridden, but I think I impressed the Uthgardt by handling it as well as I did. The Uthgardt were not horse barbarians like the far-off Nars and Tuigan, and clearly had come only recently to the art of equestrianism. My father was one of the Riders of Mistledale, and he had taught me well. There was something perversely amusing about the situation. Two tendays before, I was wintering in Sundabar and would never have expected to find all my friends and companions dead, and myself riding into the depths of the Fallen Lands with a barbarian tribe to battle the phaerimm.

My mind frequently drifted back to poor Shalinda. How irresponsible we were for taking the young woman, barely more than a child, into such danger. She should have stayed in Sundabar; she should have stayed a farmer. If she had, she'd still be alive.

The Blazing Band had accomplished many glorious things. It deserved better than to be massacred by orcs in some godsforsaken corner of Faerun. Or did it? When Neril had come to us with the news that phaerimm were assaulting Evereska, we all agreed to proceed there immediately. Why? Was it selfless concern for the elves of Evereska? Or was it just another opportunity for glory? Maybe even a chance to fight next to Khelben Arunsun himself?

The farther we went into the Fallen Lands, the more barren the place became. A vast expanse of dirt and cracked earth-no wonder all sensible men avoided it. Only magic could leave a place so infertile. I understood it was once a Netherese survivor state. Perhaps that's why the Uthgardt regarded it with such suspicion. Physically desolate as it was, though, it teemed with magic. I could feel it in the air, just as I could sense the absence of the Weave the instant I stepped into the dead magic area in Tantras. There I developed a throbbing headache, feeling my separation from the Weave and the glory of Mystra, but here I felt the opposite, a heady feeling verging on euphoria. I didn't doubt that the phaerimm would feel very much at home in this place.

Thluna rode his horse up next to mine. He was wearing a silver war helmet and clutching a warhammer. Of all the Uthgardt I had met, he was the only one who went out his way for my company, and I was glad for it. Some of the others looked as if they'd quickly put an axe to my head if it weren't for Sungar's instructions. I was worried that some of them thought I might try to corrupt Thluna's young mind with my civilized philosophies, but they didn't express this as far as I saw. To their credit, they trusted their dogma to keep him on what they defined as the right path.

"Do you know about the Blue Bears?" he asked me.

"The Blue Bear tribe? A little."

"My father pried this helmet off the body of one of their warriors, whom he killed with his bare hands. Of all the degenerate Uthgardt tribes, the Blue Bears are the worst."

I was happy to hear that. The helmet was marked on one side with an emblem of Everlund, and I was a trifle concerned about how he'd got it.

"I understood the Blue Bears are extinct now. The tribe crumbled after Hellgate Keep was destroyed."

By a group of magic-wielding "civilizeds," I silently added.

Thluna nodded. "This is true, so far as we have seen. We passed through their territory a tenday ago and saw nothing of them. It is said that when they learned their bitch chieftain Tanta was not human at all, but some foul fiend of the Hells, they were too twisted to even care." He turned his eyes to me. "Is that what we will be like if these phaerimm enslave us?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.

"Any of us would rather fight to the death than to allow that to happen to us or to happen to the rest of our tribe."

"You'd even rather fight beside a mage." When he didn't knock me off my horse as I suspected he might, I thought I would press my luck farther. "What is your people's objection to magic? You have priestly magic."

"Priestly? Our shaman's spells are a gift from Uthgar.Your magic is not the same."

He was right, in a sense. Clerical magic did not come from the Weave like my spells.

"Magic isn't just a tool of destruction," I said. "It can be helpful, beneficial. This amulet is a good example. Without it, we couldn't be talking to each other like this."

"Were it not for your magic object, we would have to learn to communicate on our own level. We'd be forced to accomplish something. Instead, the amulet does it for us. Magic does not make your life better, only easier."

"Magic is an Art. It's a gift of Mystra."

"Mystra," said Thluna. "We are aware of this goddess, though we do not think of her often. When we do, it is of a trickster who lures men with offers of tremendous power, power without restrictions. These powers grow and grow and eventually become impossible to control. She is a miner of men and tribes alike."

My anger rose, but I knew this was Thluna's way of getting me back for what I had said a moment ago. Things were settled between us, so I didn't dare to say what we thought of his god.

It was later that day that one of the Uthgardt pointed out a plume of smoke rising to the sky in the distance.

"Could be orcs," said Sungar. "But there are so few trees. Where are they getting the wood for a fire?"

He had a point. Orcs ate raw meat but preferred it cooked. "It's probably magical fire," I reasoned. "A gift from their new masters."

One of the older barbarians chimed in with his advice. "We should attack now, while there's still light. In darkness they will have the advantage."

"I'd like to know what we're up against first," said Sungar.

"I have a spell for that."

Some of them began to object, but Sungar silenced them with a glance.

"I’ll need silence for a minute or two," I said and crouched on the ground, facing the direction of the smoke.

I cast my spell and felt my consciousness propelled over the fields of the Fallen Lands with increasing speed. There was a large plain ahead of us, featureless but for a small ruin rising maybe eight feet above, like the tip of something mostly buried under the ground. But for that, there was little cover in any direction. Surrounding the ruin was an impressive force made up mostly of orcs, with a few stray bugbears and gnolls in the mix, probably acquired somewhere between there and Evereska. A lot of them were tending to their mounts, those ugly bipedal birds, and some were cooking meat over a series of magic bonfires. Still, they looked like they were ready to fight at a moment's notice. I estimated at least ten of them for every one of the barbarians.

My mind slipped between a set of orcs and continued toward the ruin, barely more than a few cracked walls and broken columns. A few huge and bulky masses were standing nearby like statues, and on the ruin itself was a long, thin serpentine body, a dark blue-purple in color, ending with a human face that was buried in the belly of its meal, a dead orc.

How do we know this civilized is not warning our enemies?

He is luring us into a trap!

The voices shot through my mind and sent me hurling back to my body so hard that I fell backward.

"Silence!" shouted Sungar at the offending Uthgardt, who slunk away in submission.

Sungar was a strong ruler but smart enough to know that some of the ill-tempered barbarians would not tolerate my presence much longer. Barbarians lived for battle. It was the only pleasure in their harsh lives, and battle was the only thing that would protect me. These Uthgardt would much rather fight beside me than ride with me.

"It's all right," I said, pulling myself to my feet. "I saw enough. There are maybe four or five hundred orcs in the army, and a few other humanoids as well, but I did not see any phaerimm. We can be relieved at that. They're being led by a dark naga."

"A dark what?"

"A naga. They're snakelike beings who hoard magic items and knowledge. They're born collaborators. This one probably works for the phaerimm in exchange for new spells, including the mind control spells that are keeping that army in line. Nagas have poison stingers on the end of their tails, and they bite. They also have powers of telepathy and can read your thoughts if you get too close to them. They're dangerous foes."

"Have you ever fought one before?" asked one of the Uthgardt.

"No," I admitted, "but I did fight something similar-a water naga-back home. I've read accounts from those who've fought others. The naga's being guarded by two umber hulks. They're large, underground monsters, These I have fought before. They can be deadly in close quarters but are slow and awkward out in the open. Never meet their eyes. They have powers of confusion. I bet the naga brought them with it from the Underdark as bodyguards. It's nice to know it can make such a mistake."

"These monsters can be killed?" Sungar asked, clutching his axe.

"I think so." The barbarians shouted in approval. "I said the naga's spells were controlling the minds of the orcs. I can't be certain, but that may mean that if the naga died, the control would end. If the orc tribes in the Fallen Lands are as divisive as I've heard, then that army must contain a lot of enemies. We can capitalize on the confusion. After all, we can't kill four hundred orcs, but two hundred orcs can kill two hundred orcs."

Craftiness in strategy was not a skill much admired by barbarians as a rule, but I think the Uthgardt realized that their usual direct approach would not be successful here. I fetched my staff from the back of my horse and drew in the dry dirt a rough overhead sketch of the army as I had seen it. Soon we had formulated a battle plan.

"None of us will leave the field before the battle is won," said Sungar as the sun was just about to set and our campaign was about to begin, "or none of us will leave it at all."

The sentiment frightened me, but I could not improve upon its eloquence.

Sungar, myself, and a dozen others separated from the rest and circled south and to the west, keeping out of the army's view. As there was no cover close to the battlefield, we had to move quite a distance. After a few tense minutes' wait, we moved on the orcs. The sound of weapons clashing was audible from the battlefield. Dimly we could see the mounted figures of the others beset by throngs of orcs, dodging their spears and arrows, and could hear war cries mix with the clanking of orcish armor.

“There." I pointed out the ruins where I had seen the naga

It seemed our plan was working. The defenses along the flank had thinned as the others drew more orcs forward. We charged. As I looked back at the Uthgardt, horses galloping, weapons held high, their long black hair flying in the breeze, I felt an instinctive terror of my allies. That's what made barbarians the potent force they were, why they were feared across the North. In truth most of them were probably less skilled as fighters than many I'd fought beside or against in my life, but as a spectacle they had no equal-but I knew their fearsome visage would have little effect on these enspelled orcs.

Some of the orcs noticed us almost immediately and started moving in our direction on foot or mounted, but on the whole they continued engaging the others. They did not count on my presence, but they would learn of it soon enough. At this point I offered one discreet prayer to Mystra, and another to Torm or Tempus or Uthgar, or whatever god would help us win the battle.

Sungar used his mighty axe to knock the first blank-faced orc to reach us off its avian as he rode past it, while I prepared my first spell. I had searched my spellbook for something that would impress on the Uthgardt that magic need not be destructive. Perhaps something with weather control, a mighty wind to blow the orcs away from our path, but I went back to one of the most common offensive spells in the Realms, which has no match when it comes to removing larger numbers of enemies and quickly. I had rarely cast it from a horse before, let alone one charging at its top speed, but I managed to summon a large fireball and send the orange-red sphere sailing high through the air. Silhouetted against the darkening sky, it was a thing of tremendous beauty. I even think I heard some of the Uthgardt around me gasp. It landed dead ahead of us in a dense group of orcs, tearing through them with waves of flame. Cries of pain drowned out all other noise.

A spear caught the flank of the horse of the barbarian riding beside me. He went tumbling to the ground, and I hoped he managed to stand before the orcs rushed over to slit his exposed throat, but I couldn't turn back to look. Sungar rode up beside me, and together we led the charge toward the ruin growing larger in the distance. Most orcs instinctively dodged the feet of our horses, and I sent a few magic missiles whistling across the plain to clear those who didn't. Soon a very definite path between us and the ruin formed.

As we passed through the scorched spot where my fireball had landed I could see the two umber hulks loom ahead of us, but I could not see the naga.

A purple tail snaked out of the lines of orcs ahead of me and swung at me. Its stinger came so close to me I could smell its poison. My reflexes were faster than my spells, and I pulled my staff from behind me, bashing the naga's tail as hard as I could. It immediately slipped away, back between the orcs and vanished from my sight.

"Where did it go?" yelled Sungar.

The point where it attacked me was now some distance behind us. We both looked backward just in time to see the naga leap out of the fray onto one of the Uthgardt following us. It caught him by surprise, sinking its fangs into the side of his head. It flexed its long, thin body backward, pulling him from horse and sending him flying backward onto the orcs' waiting blades. I fired a magic missile and struck the naga in its side. With lightning speed, it retracted once again into the safety of the ranks of orcs.

The lines of orcs around Sungar and me were far too close together for us to turn around and confront the naga at this speed. We looked forward again and found we were nearing the ruin where the two umber hulks stood waiting for us. Sungar jumped from his horse just in time for it to run straight into the huge, outstretched arms of an umber hulk. It grasped at the horse's head, crushing it instantly, but the momentum hurled the unsteady creature backward and off its feet while badly damaging its claws.

The other hulk tried to pull me off my horse, but I dodged, rode a small circle around the ruin, and came back at it, letting a flame arrow fly directly at its ugly face.

My spell met its mark, but the creature was unfazed and reached out for me again. I leaped off my horse and landed hard on my back, swearing. My staff went flying off somewhere, and the hulk's huge mandibles were closing in on me.

Sungar's battle-axe impacted the hulk's scaly hide, eliciting a tremendous moan of pain from the beast. The creature turned to face its attacker.

I shouted, "Avoid its eyes," as Sungar struck again. The orcs were keeping their distance. Normally they would have swarmed us, but the naga's spells and the presence of the umber hulks kept them at bay.

No sooner had I pulled myself to my feet than I felt the umber hulk's arms close around my middle. The monster was badly injured in its collision with the horse, but its hug was crushing enough even in its wounded state. Without my hands free, I couldn't cast my spells and I felt my breath start to fail, my ribs ready to crack.

I heard a loud impact just above my head and the hulk's grasp loosened. I wormed my way free and quickly whirled about, ready to fire another magic missile at the monster's foul heart, but I didn't have to. It fell on its own, and the ground shook as its huge mass landed. An Uthgardt throwing axe was embedded in the back of its skull, likely thrown by someone from the other, larger force, at last making some headway in its push for the ruin.

I turned in time to see Sungar's axe finish off the other hulk, slicing it through its thick belly. Almost immediately, the orcs surrounding us stopped being spectators and charged. Sungar and I retreated up into the ruin, a more defensible location since the broken pillars and ancient walls provided protection from some sides. 1 slipped into a corner to preserve the few spells I had left, while Sungar held the entrance with his axe.

"Why does the naga not show itself?" asked Sungar. "It's a coward."

"It wants to survive," I said, "but it also wants to win. It will not disappoint its phaerimm masters. It can read our minds and knows our-"

The wall behind me collapsed. I barely kept my balance enough to stay standing. I turned around and saw the naga coiled ahead of me, hissing at me with its fanged mouth. The orcs backed away once again.

"Something's wrong," I mumbled to myself as I prepared another magic missile.

I launched the spell-bolt at the monster's face, but it never impacted. Instead it bounced off the air surrounding the naga and flew back at me, striking me in the chest. I went flying backward, agony radiating through my torso to all parts of my body. I screamed and fell hard onto the stone of the ruin. Sungar rushed over to my aid, while the naga licked its lips in amusement.

"What has it done?" the chieftain asked me.

"It's wrapped itself in some kind of magical field," I answered, teeth gritting in time with my throbbing pain. "It turns magic back on its wielder."

"That's no match for Uthgardt steel!" Sungar shouted and ran forward, swinging his mighty battle-axe and letting out a loud war cry. The naga tried to dodge, but the battle-axe caught it in the neck. The field around it flickered, and I saw the axe energized with a red burst of energy shooting down to its wielder. Sungar and the naga both writhed in pain, and both seemed on the verge of collapse. The naga desperately swung around its tail, but Sungar, the agony obvious in his every move, sliced through its flank with his axe, sending the stinger flying off into the crowd of orcs. Sungar collapsed from the pain, letting the axe fly away. The naga came about and prepared to rip his throat out with its fangs. I watched helplessly.

A rain of Uthgardt spears, hammers, and throwing axes flew at the naga's thin, serpentine length, a few of them striking their mark exactly. The creature writhed in pain and let out a sharp scream that could have shattered glass. The Uthgardt at last penetrated the row of orcs behind us, and I felt arms strain to lift me from the ground onto the back of a horse. It was Thluna.

"You saved a mage," I said weakly.

"The second time I've done that," he answered.

I saw one of the other barbarians pull Sungar from the ground and bury a warhammer into the naga's ugly face, killing the monster at last.

Thluna brought his horse around and started charging away from the battlefield. I turned my eyes to the orcs and saw that it was happening just as I predicted. When orc after orc realized that it was armed and standing beside a member of a rival tribe, its instinct was not to ask questions. By the time we were clear of the area, orc-on-orc fights were breaking out like a string of Shou firecrackers.

Only fourteen of us left the battle, about a third of those who entered it. Sungar was the most badly wounded and took up most of the shaman's spells, so the rest of us were left to heal on our own. We set up camp nearby. Food was running scarce, the Fallen Lands offering little in the way of vegetation or wildlife. Whatever the orcs usually ate, it was likely consumed by the naga's army, so several of the most able-bodied Uthgardt set off for the Greypeak Mountains to the west to hunt.

Thluna, myself, and a few of the others went back to the battlefield to recover the honored dead from among the piles upon piles of orc corpses. Surely there were some survivors of the battle, but so few that the Uthgardt considered this among the most glorious victories in their tribe's history, one about which great songs would be sung. I doubted, somehow, that Arklow the Civilized Mage would get a verse.

I inspected the ruin and found it was even more badly damaged than before. However, I did notice for the first time that the wall that the naga had brought down was marked with a single star etched into the stone; an ancient symbol of Mystra. Perhaps the ruin was once a piece of her temple, part of some ancient city. A new feeling rose in me, a quite blissful peace. I smiled, and I felt privately certain that someone divine had taken measures to ensure our victory.

"Here it is!" one of the barbarians shouted, and we all rushed over to see.

He found Sungar’s great axe, lying beneath a dead orc.

"Wonderful," said Thluna. "We can present it to the chieftain when he awakens."

I asked Thluna about the axe, and he explained that it was ancient, going back many generations among the chieftains of the Thunderbeast tribe. No one could remember where it came from or when it was forged.

The hunting party returned with game and plenty of firewood just in time for Sungar to awaken. I wasn't there at the time, but I heard that his first words were, "Was the battle won?"

"Yes," he was assured, "the battle was won with Uthgardt steel."

A feast was held as soon as the chieftain was well enough, a final celebration before the tribe would go back north, back home. For my valor in battle I was allowed to take part, and I was gratified that even the gruffest of the barbarians accepted my presence. All attended the feast in their frequently bloodstained armor, fresh from battle.

Sungar offered a prayer. "We thank Uthgar for the victory he has given us, and in Uthgar's name we ask that we may be strong in battle against our enemies. May we resist the unholy temptations of civilization, of magic, and may we keep the North pure, always."

That night, as the festivities continued, my mind started wandering and I gazed intensely at Sungar's huge battle-axe. I remembered how it hurt Sungar when he swung it at the dark naga, just as my magic missile came back at me, and in a flash I understood why.

I should not have done what I did next. I'm not entirely sure why I did it. Maybe it was an act of spite. I cast a spell, one that would show the aura of enchanted items, and the axe started glowing a light blue. All around us, too, some of the barbarians' weapons, armor, and gear glowed. There was silence, and all eyes turned on me.

"It's magic, Sungar," I said. "Your battle-axe is enchanted, a magical weapon. That's why it hurt you when you struck the naga. You may not approve of magic, tat whoever forged that axe certainly did."

"What have you done, mage?" threatened Sungar. "Nothing. I've done nothing. I've changed nothing. I've merely revealed what was always there. You have always used magic. You just didn't realize it. Don't you see, chieftain? That battle was not the first time magic saved your tribe. It probably has hundreds of times before."

Sungar's face gradually turned from anger to resignation. "You have done us a service, mage. We know what needs to be done."

He stood, taking his axe in hand. He walked away from the camp, raised it above his head, and with impossible strength, hurled it far away onto the barren earth of the Fallen Lands.

One by one, the others followed suit. This is an image that will never leave me. They took their swords, axes, spears, hammers, their helmets and their armor, anything that radiated magic, and threw them all away, Soon, a veritable treasure trove of magical items lay in the dirt. Thluna was among the last to go up. He flashed a sad but nevertheless quite determined glance at me before removing his father's helmet and hurling it to join the rest.

I never shared another word with Sungar, but the next morning, Thluna gave me a horse and escorted me to the edge of the High Gap. From there, I could travel on down the banks of the Delimbiyr River to Loudwater, if such a place existed any longer. Perhaps there I could join another adventuring company. Perhaps I would end up at Evereska after all.

"Our people have a story," Thluna told me. "It is that this region you call the Fallen Lands was once a kingdom of magicians who lived in shining cities. They grew in power till they no longer did anything for themselves. Instead, they would have magic do it for them. They were proud and thought themselves capable of anything. Then one day, the well that they drew their magic from went dry. Their civilization crumbled overnight, and those who survived were set upon by orcs and other foul creatures. All that was once their shining cities has vanished beneath the dirt.

"I cannot tell you if that story is true, mage, but I do know this: Uthgar commands us to resist civilization wherever we find it. Civilization breeds leisure and decadence and magic, all of which seem like strengths but will eventually prove weaknesses. We Uthgardt will outlive all civilization. All civilizeds will eventually become like us."

I sat in silence for a long time, pondering what he had told me, and what I had done. I wanted to tell him everything I knew about Netheril and about the creation of Anauroch, that possibly his ancestors, and very likely mine as well, were survivors of a civilization dead from magic.

Somehow I said nothing.

As I rode away from Thluna, I felt my spellbook under my robes. For a brief moment, I wondered if I would ever take it out again.

Oh, Lady Mystra! Command me. How could you grant us a gift so destructive, a gift we so rarely use properly? For Thluna was right. It is magic that might some day turn all of Faerun into the Fallen Lands.