Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 15

Sungar's world was a blur as two guards tossed him back into his cell. He'd had another session of Kiev's ministrations. They grew more brutal each time, Sungar was convinced, and now his body was raw and torn as never before. Falling limply on the hard cell floor, he heard one of the attendants say, "Sweet dreams, chief." Then Sungar drifted away on the pain.

A hand reached out to grasp his. When he opened his eyes, Sungar found himself staring into the craggy, bearded face of King Gundar.

He was not lying in the prison cell in Llorkh, but on a warm, grassy field, with an open sky sprawling above him. His wounds were gone-not healed, but gone-as if they had never been. Gundar's familiar, smiling face, so strong and so benevolent, beamed down on him. This was not Gundar as he lay dying in Llorkh, but the vibrant man Sungar had fought beside so many times, now decked in mail as if newly returned from their victorious raid on Raven Rock.

"Arise, Chieftain of the Thunderbeasts," Gundar said.

Sungar accepted his hand and pulled himself to his feet. He could see the Spine of the World towering in the distance and knew that he was just south of the Lurkwood. Open spaces, a clear sky-he drank in all of those things he had feared he would never see again. But this place was strangely unreal: the colors more vivid, the rose-colored sky so much closer to the ground. Sungar wondered whether he was receiving a vision, or if he was hallucinating. One would be a true gift from Uthgar, the other the meaningless babble of a crippled mind.

"I fear I am chief no longer," said Sungar. "Perhaps I was never meant to be."

"I chose you," Gundar said. "All of my sons were dead. On my deathbed, I named you my successor-not Keirkrad, nor any other."

"And by doing so, you confirmed my decision to withdraw from Grunwald."

Gundar shrugged. "Our people thrived in Grunwald in some senses, but in others, we festered. Perhaps a return to nomad ways was wise."

"I strive to make all of my decisions wise," said Sungar. "But my decisions have brought us here. Our tribe is in ruins, and I am nothing but a prisoner. They must have been a fool's decisions. I misled our people."

"Do not be so certain," the old chief said. Sungar saw that Gundar held the battle-axe. Better it be in Gundar's grasp than a hobgoblin's. "It is possible to make no mistake, and yet fail."

"What would you have done?" asked Sungar. "I've asked myself that a thousand times. That day, in the Fallen Lands. I can't deny that I felt satisfaction as I threw the axe." He reached toward the phantasmal battle-axe and rested his hand on its blade. "The civilized mage thought himself better than us-he thought he could make us abandon our principles because he said so. I proved him wrong."

"You were interpreting Uthgar's law," said Gundar.

"So did the Black Ravens when they tried to destroy us in Grunwald," Sungar said. "They thought they were doing his work. But that day, I had motivations other than serving Uthgar."

"So you think this is Uthgar's punishment?" asked Gundar. "Do you think Uthgar placed the axe in that hobgoblin's hands and sent him to the door of a great enemy-all to teach you a lesson?"

Sungar flinched. "That shows a lack of humility, I confess. I am curious… if you are dead, do you have access to Uthgar's will?"

Gundar smiled mysteriously. "That is a question. Are you so certain that you are speaking to someone beyond the grave? Honestly?"

"Who could ever be certain of such a thing?" asked Sungar. "Is it humble to think so miraculous a visitor would come to me?"

Gundar let out a roar of laughter. It felt entirely right-exactly how Gundar would have reacted in life. "M'boy, the Chieftain of Chieftains isn't punishing you. Uthgar is trying to help you, and he is acting to help your tribesmen. Don't be afraid for them. Nor should you be afraid for yourself. If death awaits you, face it proudly in a manner befitting a chief."

"Should I kill myself, then?"

Gundar's blue eyes locked onto Sungar's. He spoke simply, but his words hit Sungar with unexpected weight. "Do not be in such a hurry to die."

The sky began to fade away, the dull gray of the stone ceiling peeking out behind it.

"You haven't answered my question," said Sungar hurriedly.

"About the axe, you mean?" Gundar lifted it into the air. "Uthgar wielded this axe once. Our people gave it to him as an offering in the time when he walked and breathed as a man. Uthgar gave it to Chief Tharkane Scalehide, not as a rejection of our gift, but because he thought it most appropriate that our tribe wield it. The weapon of Berun stayed with the blood of Berun."

"So Geildarr spoke the truth," said Sungar. He desperately tried to keep his eyes shut to the world so that this vision might continue, but it was dissolving despite his efforts.

"Yes," said Gundar, the world trembling around him. "If you had known that this magical axe had been wielded by Berun of old, and even by Uthgar, would you have acted any differently?"

Sungar's eyes flew open. His bloodied lips parted, and his hoarse voice rasped, "Yes, I would have."

When they saw light again, it was through an archway facing north, overlooking the sweep of the High Forest. Royce and Gunton squinted at the welcome light. Their trip through the dark tunnels of Onthrilaenthor had been tedious and exhausting, but thankfully uneventful. Their doorway to the outside lay partway up one of the mountains, cut into the slope of one of the easternmost Star Mounts. Traces of ancient switchbacks cutting down the mountainside and into the forest were evident.

"Mount Vision!" Halzoon pointed up at the peak towering into the clouds. He kept his back to the sun; the bright light was uncomfortable for him. "The place you want is on the other side, down in a valley."

"How far?" asked Ardeth.

"On wings, not far," the werebat mused. "But on legs, another day."

"Very well," said Ardeth. "Take us there now. But I must ask-what is your agreement with Geildarr? Are you to simply lead us there, or are you willing to join us in battle if needed?"

"Hmm," said Halzoon. "Heskret told me to deliver you to the place you seek. He said nothing of fighting."

"I don't understand something," said Royce. "What kind of payment has Geildarr given you? Just what do werebats want?"

"Mmm," Halzoon mused. "Mosquitoes."

Ardeth, Gunton, and Royce stared at him like he'd just dropped down from the Sea of Night. Even Gan seemed puzzled.

"He paid you in mosquitoes?" Royce asked.

"No, silly," said Halzoon, baring his saliva-covered teeth. "He paid us in gold."

Unsure whether to laugh, they just stared at him. At this Gan spoke; none of them could remember him saying anything in several days.

"You will not help us fight, if we must fight?" he asked Halzoon, holding Berun's axe close.

"I am not paid to fight," Halzoon rasped. "And you, goblinoid?"

"There is more to life than wealth," Gan answered.

Halzoon shook his head in confusion. "You, goblinoid, are here for the same reason as I, surely. Zhentarim hired your people…"

"I serve Geildarr out of honor, not for profit. Serving for profit ruined my people, and it will ruin yours." Gan angrily slammed the shaft of the axe onto the rock at his feet.

"Then why do you serve him?" Halzoon's hazel eyes looked up at the hobgoblin. "You admit that the destruction of your tribe is on his head. So what has he done to make himself worthy of your loyalty?"

Snorting, Gan twisted the axe sideways. The blade caught the light and flashed directly into the werebat's eyes. Halzoon's hands went up instinctively to cover his eyes, and Gan delivered a quick blow to Halzoon's knee. With a yelp of pain, Halzoon fell forward. Gan sank the axe into his back. The werebat twitched a moment then expired, lying face down on the rock.

"Gan?" demanded Royce. "Why did you do that?"

"He was disloyal," the hobgoblin said calmly as he pulled the axe free and began cleaning the blade.

"It's the axe." Royce turned to Ardeth, while casting a nervous glance at Gan. "It has a strange effect on him. Its influence is probably getting stronger as we approach the Sanctuary. Ardeth, did you mean to do this?"

"What do you mean?" Ardeth demanded.

"You deprived us of a fighter. I think you know the effect that axe has on Gan. Even if Halzoon didn't want to fight with us, he certainly did not deserve death," said Royce. "Only the vaguest suggestion of disloyalty, and Gan killed our guide."

"Then we'd best get there quickly, lest Gan hack the two of you into little pieces," said Ardeth with a self-satisfied smile. "Wouldn't you agree?" Hopping over the dead werebat, she led them down the mountain path.

There was no mistaking the phandar trees that they sought. The group could see their destination long before they reached it. Each tree was taller than a temple spire, far larger than phandars usually grew, with huge masses of tangled branches and green leaves paling to golden. The lonely phandar trees were indeed growing in a triangle straddling the deep blue Heartblood River, two on one side and another opposite. They delineated a large area, perhaps not the size of Llorkh, but certainly equal to a smaller town. No trees or features of any kind lay within their boundary. Between them, the Heartblood flowed down from the mountains and into the forest. Somewhere on its path, it entered the Dire Wood and emerged with a red tint. But here, it was pure, cold, and fresh.

"In Vision's shadow," Ardeth muttered as they looked down on it from their high pass. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the mountain, covering the whole valley in darkness. "Just as Geildarr's divination said. We have found the Sanctuary."

"Something is here," said Gan. "I can feel it. We are very near now."

The light was beginning to fade as they reached the foot of the mountain. Gan's hands clenched the axe so tightly that his knuckles were pale. A steely single-mindedness shone in his eyes. He did not shift his focus off the triangle of land below them.

"What do you feel, Gan?" asked Gunton. "What's it like?"

"Like I'm going home," Gan answered. Without warning he stood up straight and spoke in a voice not his own. Clutching the axe to his breast, he rattled off several sentences.

"What was that?" asked Royce. "Gan, did you understand that?"

The hobgoblin dropped the axe, which clanked to the ground before him. He was white as a ghost, and he could only shake his head in the negative.

"I think I recognize some of the words," said Gunton. "I think it was the Netherese tongue. My spoken Netherese isn't as strong as…"

"What did it mean?" demanded Ardeth.

"Like I said, I only know a few words," Gunton answered. "But I'm fairly sure it was some sort of warning. I wonder if it is an automated ward, or if there's someone or something alive in there." He pointed down at the area between the phandars.

Ardeth put her hand on Gan's side. "Gan," she asked. "Can you continue?"

The hobgoblin snorted and bent over to pick up the axe. He raised it high and bolted down the mountainside in the direction of the Sanctuary, so fast that the others could barely keep up.

Like an arrow from on high, an image struck Vell's brain and split it open. Amid the peacefully swaying trees, the Star Mounts closer than ever, Vell dropped to his knees and let out an agonized scream.

The others rushed to him, but they could do nothing to console him.

"What are you feeling?" asked Kellin, kneeling before him.

"There are so many of us," he said, staring right through her face as if she weren't there. "So many in one place, and so close. We are afraid. They are coming close. We will try to trample them when they arrive. The Shepherds have willed it."

"What do you see, Vell?" asked Thluna.

"A marsh. Trees. And a red light." He spoke quickly, fervently. "So many perspectives at once. Too many!" he cried, clasping his temples. He blinked the vision away, and his eyes locked with Kellin's. "Make it go away," he whispered. "Help me."

"He must be seeing through the eyes of the behemoths," Thanar said. "He said 'we'-he thinks he's one of them."

"We should be moving," said Thluna. "If it's so close he can feel them, it can't be far. We need to get there ahead of this threat."

"Vell," said Kellin. "What else can you tell us? Where is it?"

Vell pointed in the distance, directly at one of the Star Mounts. "There. On the other side of that mountain."

"It will take us days to reach it," said Rask.

"Vell," said Thluna. "Can you go back into the vision? Can you tell us more about it?"

Vell shook his head furiously. "Too many minds," he said. "Lanaal spoke of this-how she can sense the feelings and thoughts of birds."

"Can you focus on one of them?" asked Kellin, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Maybe you're having trouble because you're taking in all of their thoughts at once."

Vell's face was a mask of fear, but Kellin's touch helped steady him.

"Let me try," he said, and he went back inside his mind. He found himself wading through the marsh amid the massive behemoths, perhaps two dozen in all, grazing from the trees-all except three tall phandar trees that they never touched. They knew never to go beyond the phandars. It was not safe there. They had no reason to go there, anyway.

Vell's fear left him, and he pressed on with a sense of wonder and curiosity, pushing more and more of his human mind aside. He bathed in the sensations of the behemoths instead-the taste of the leaves they plucked from the treetops, the warmth of the water around their legs. What trees-like none he had ever seen, thin and tall, swaying in the breeze.

But he also felt a different kind of fear-fear of an approaching enemy.

He loved the behemoths. They were his kind. Part of him was amazed to see these animals that he had never laid eyes on before. But part of him saw them every moment of every day.

In the center of the hidden Sanctuary stood a small menhir marked with ancient runes, rising from the marsh water. Atop it, a bright light gleamed, dabbing the whole Sanctuary in streaks of red. The runes, too, glowed faintly. The behemoths ignored it, but Vell could not.

Magic. The magic that sustained this place.

They mean to steal it.

That's the reason for all of this.

But the Shepherds? Where were they? How would they protect their flock?

Figures were coming down from the mountain. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. He'd seen them before, some of them, in the pool.

They carried the axe. The axe would bring it all down. It would expose them and make them vulnerable. It would tear down the magic on the menhir-the magic that concealed them.

He knew it because the Shepherds knew it.

"Who are the Shepherds?" Vell said aloud. His companions in the High Forest heard it and had no answer. He was not asking them, but his true fellows in the hidden marsh of the Sanctuary.

You are, came the answer. He didn't know where the reply came from.

The behemoths arrayed themselves in lines, ready to attack the intruders. He did the same. He wondered if he could control the behemoth whose perspective he shared, but he didn't want to try. The animals grunted and paced.

Why did the Shepherds not protect them?

Vell knew: because they expect me to.

"I've failed them," Vell said. This time, he addressed the humans around him. "They gave me the power so I would protect them."

He heard voices ask many questions, but he pulled away from them, deeper and deeper into his vision. Four outsiders stood at the very rim of the Sanctuary.

"They died to get us here," said Royce as they stood near the northernmost phandar. "Vonelh, Nithinial, Bessick, the werebat… this expedition even claimed Mythkar Leng." To Ardeth, he added, "This had better be worthwhile."

"I'll try not to disappoint," said Ardeth, her tone somewhere between haughty and flirtatious. She cast a spell to reveal emanations of magic, then narrowed her eyes in concentration. "There," she said, pointing in the direction of the phandar trees. Gan, Royce, and Gunton stared without seeing anything different.

Ardeth drew a number of crossbow bolts from her leathers and slowly loaded one into her crossbow. "Geildarr's gifts," she explained, and held the crossbow at the ready.

"Illusion magic," guessed Royce. "We came all this way to pilfer illusion magic?"

"Don't underestimate the power of illusion, or its value," said Ardeth. "I've recently been reminded of what it's capable of. Anything that can create an illusion this size could conceal a marching army. And that's assuming that it's the only…"

A voice not his own suddenly rolled out of Gan's throat. "Please reconsider this," it said. This time the language was Illuskan, if an oddly accented and archaic version of it. "Turn away, travelers," it continued. "We warn you again. Our secrets are ours. We keep them with our might."

"And we shall take them with ours," Ardeth promised. "Gan…"

The hobgoblin needed no instructions. He was seething with anger at the idea of something controlling his body again, and he charged the area sectioned off by the phandar trees, the axe held high over his head. The instant it touched the invisible field, a reddish energy flowed out of the axe; it trembled in his hands, nodding toward the center of the triangle. Shocked, Gan slowed and took a few steps backward just as the axe's energy punched a hole through the illusion. A red pulse burst away and traveled halfway across the field before colliding with another source of magic. The rest of the illusion crumbled around him.

"Vell," said Thluna. "What's happening?"

"They have arrived," Vell answered, though his eyes were still staring into another place. Then he added, "We have failed."