Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 1

Vell the Brown tried to recall the last time he was at Morgur's Mound. He had been so very young back then. On this visit, he was met by distant feelings and scraps of memory. He recalled the roar that arose from the tribe as King Gundar stood before the altar, raising the great ceremonial axe above his head. In his mind, Vell saw his parents standing straight and attentive, gazing up at the cairn nestled amid the Crags. Because of all the stories his parents had told him, and all he had heard in the songs of the Thunderbeast skalds, he knew the cairn was the tribe's ancestor mound. Morgur's Mound was the most important place to any Thunderbeast, even one who had never seen it.

Surmounted by menhirs and within the rings of the outer mounds, lay the altar mound. It was here, said the skalds, that Uthgar died fighting Gurt, king of the frost giants. Other tribes claimed that this cairn held Uthgar's mortal remains, but Thunderbeast legend held that no body was left behind when Tempus elevated Uthgar to godhood.

A ring of bones at the edge of the mounds, great thick bones-incomprehensibly large and set rigidly in the ground-were the bones of the Thunderbeast itself: a great behemoth lizard of legend and the totem spirit of the tribe. Some of the bones had been damaged or removed over the decades by vandals or enemies of the Uthgardt, but few dared disturb so sacred a site, protected as it was by magic and curses of old.

Atop a pike in front of the altar mound stood the skull of the Thunderbeast. Its empty eye sockets gazed out at visitors as a solemn reminder that although the place was held in reverence by all Uthgardt, the Thunderbeasts were closest to it. In turn, said the Thunderbeasts, they had the closest relationship to Uthgar, and he to them. As if in proof, the altar mound itself was shaped in the form of a great behemoth.

As a child told of these things by his parents, Vell had felt a swell of pride that had never been equaled. He loved his tribe and felt a deep connection to its history. While in his youth, his young heart had felt as if it might explode with the feeling.

Vell tried to dredge up those memories in the hope of finding the same feeling now. He reached into the past to try to silence his fears of the present, and he wondered how many others of his tribe were doing the same.

For most people of Faerun, this day was celebrated as the feast day of Highharvestide, but to the Uthgardt, the day had a different name and significance. This was Runemeet, the holiest day of the year, most often celebrated with a Runehunt: a campaign against a ritual enemy. But this year, chieftain Sungar Wolfkiller had declared that the entire tribe should travel to Morgur's Mound for a rare ritual.

Word had gone out to all outlying clusters of the tribe, and now all were assembled at Morgur's Mound. Even the druid Thanar, green-robed and thick-bearded, had reappeared. Nobody knew how many years had passed since he had left the tribe to patrol the wilds, and no one had made contact with him since. In all, some six or seven hundred warriors, and just as many women and children, crowded the foot of Morgur's Mound. Their tribal relation was evident in the black hair and blue eyes of most all who were assembled.

Not even King Gundar, during his auspicious rule, had dared send out such a decree. But then, he had never needed to.

The gathering was joyous, but all present knew a strong tribe would have no need for such a ritual. The Thunderbeasts also knew they were not a strong tribe. As soon as they had arrived, they had met with the Sky Pony tribe-more frequent visitors to Morgur's Mound than the Thunderbeasts. The Ponies had been cordial and friendly, agreeing to Sungar's request that they stay away from the mound while the Thunderbeasts were assembled. King Gundar would have never needed to voice this concern. The Sky Ponies were almost as in awe of Gundar as his own tribe.

As the last light faded on Runemeet, the tribe stood within the bone boundary at the foot of Morgur's Mound. Atop the altar mound stood Sungar, just as Gundar had in Vell's memory, but without the traditional axe. Alongside him stood the ancient, thin-skinned Keirkrad Seventoes, the white-haired shaman of the tribe, and the Thunderbeasts' other priests and druids. Only with all of their combined might could they accomplish this ritual.

"Thunderbeasts!" shouted Sungar. "The beast is our guide, our light. It is our route to Uthgar, and it is our route to ourselves. It represents all that we are, and what we should be. King Gundar is with the Thunderbeast now, and I know that he will help us find the answer we seek."

A cheer went up from the assembled tribe at the very mention of Gundar. For many Thunderbeasts, Gundar and Uthgar were held in nearly the same regard. Whatever kind of leader Gundar's successor Sungar would prove to be, he would never escape Gundar's shadow.

As black clouds swirled overhead, and the residual light was finally extinguished, Sungar marched down the mound and stood with his warriors, signifying that he was one of them-a message he always tried to project. Keirkrad, dressed in ceremonial white rothehide, turned to face the assembled tribe. He was so old that he could not summon his voice beyond a weak rasp. Only those standing closest heard him call upon the tribe members to focus their attention on the mound and lend something of their own souls to the ritual of communing.

"The Thunderbeast lives in all of your hearts. Now, you must let it free," he concluded solemnly.

With that, Keirkrad turned toward the altar stone, his head bowed and his arms extended. Specks of light coursed between his outstretched fingers and those of the other priests. A greenish ring of magic flowed between them, pulsing and glowing, lighting up the night with divine energy. The assembled Uthgardt stood straight and tall as the area filled with the crackle of magic, raising the hairs on their necks and arms, and releasing strange vibrations beneath their feet. The magic drifted to the bones at the mound's edge and set them trembling, the crackling rising until its crescendo crashed like thunder off the neighboring crags. Vell clenched his palms tightly and felt them fill with sweat.

The tribal assembly murmured with wonder. A tingling anticipation electrified the crowd. They awaited an explanation of why their number declined; they waited for their path to be shown to them.

But no response came. The racket dwindled to nothing, the skies parted above, and the ring of magic binding the spellcasters together winked out. A murmur of confusion wormed through the barbarians, and Sungar's face became a mask of shame. Vell's heart leaped in his chest. The worst suspicions whispered among the Thunderbeast tribe were true. They had lost their totem's favor. Uthgar had forsaken them.

Without warning, the bones came to life. They rose from their places ringing Morgur's Mound and lifted high above the assembly, swirling in the air together, frantically trying to find the shape they had held in life. They eventually came together in the familiar form of a wingless dragon, a great bulky shape with a long serpentine neck. A collective gasp spilled from the tribe. Most had never seen the Thunderbeast before, but knew its shape well from the images that many of them tattooed on their bodies.

Vell's mouth opened wide. The Uthgardt were not trained to bow and cower in the face of their god, but to stand tall and stare in reverence. Vell felt his knees weaken and tremble at the spectacle of the totem come to life.

The skull was last to rise from its pike and find its place. Two brown lights flared into life within the vacant eye sockets, and they scanned the assembly, shining their radiance in the darkness. Swooping uneasily, the Thunderbeast encircled Morgur's Mound, casting its eyes over the throng. It turned to the altar stone and looked intently at Keirkrad. The shaman stood, his arms outstretched, his eyes closed in rapture, waiting to commune with his totem.

But the link never came. The Thunderbeast pulled away from Keirkrad and the altar mound, turning instead to the throng at the mound's foot. Its flaring eyes scanned the tribe, examining Sungar and many others as it slowly gazed upon the assembly. At last the creature came to rest in midair, its eyes trained directly on Vell.

Though his limbs trembled, Vell did not look away. The sounds of the world around him-the gasps of the warriors standing alongside him, the gentle wind blowing overhead-vanished. The unblinking gaze pulled Vell in. Something inhuman awakened in him, and he began to scream as he felt his own identity milked away. But his scream was cut short, and he stood rigid as a post: his face blank and his eyes empty.

Above, the bones of the Thunderbeast hovered but did not move, and the brown light vanished in its eyes. Most of the Uthgardt could not see Vell or the beast. A wave of confusion spread through them. Sungar pushed his way through the gawking Uthgardt to reach Vell.

"Can you hear me?" the chieftain cried, grasping Vell's face.

Keirkrad rushed down the altar mound to join them, his old bones carrying him through the throng with surprising speed. The shaman looked carefully into Vell's brown eyes.

"The beast has chosen a receptacle," he declared to the assembly. "This warrior-one of you-has received the beast's blessing. Let Uthgar be praised." His voice was tinged with astonishment and disappointment.

Sungar looked to Keirkrad for confirmation. "Speak to him," the shaman said. "Speak to him. He is the voice of the Thunderbeast."

Sungar looked Vell straight in the eye. "We beseech you. Our tribe needs guidance. We must know your will."

Vell's features remained impassive, and he showed no sign of comprehending or caring.

"What should we do to please you?" Sungar pleaded.

Vell's lips opened slowly. Sungar leaned closer.

"Find the living," Vell said. The voice was his, but the words were not.

"Find the living?" repeated Sungar. But no explanation came, nor any further words from Vell's mouth. His eyes closed, and he fell backward into the arms of some of his fellow warriors. Keirkrad leaned forward to tend to him. Above, the hovering construct tore apart in a whirlwind of bone, the skull taking its place on the pike once again, and all the other massive bones resuming their original places around Morgur's Mound, set and immovable in the earth once again.

"Is he safe?" Sungar whispered to Keirkrad. Keirkrad nodded. Sungar climbed the altar mound and looked out over the massive assembly of his tribe, all waiting for his words.

"The spirit has spoken!" he shouted. "It has told us to find the living."

A murmur of confusion spread through the throng.

Sungar yelled, "And find them we shall!"

A cheer went up, rolling off the distant crags and echoing into the night. The orders of the Thunderbeast were rarely forthcoming. Even words as cryptic as these were cause for much celebration.

A strange rattle sounded-faint at first, but growing louder as it echoed off the stone walls. It disturbed Kellin Lyme, asleep at her desk before a stack of books, her candle burned down to a stump. Since early morning she had been studying the account of Yehia of Shoon and his interactions with the Uthgardt during their early history, attempting to assess its historical veracity. Now, out of her window, she could see that the Way of the Lion was dark. But large portions of it would soon be awake if that rattling kept up.

Shaking the fog from her mind, Kellin paced the library-her father's own writings plus his collection, mixed with an increasing number of her own additions-looking for the source of the sound. She traipsed down the stairs into the archives, where she searched through the multitude of boxes collected by her father decades earlier. She was forced to open each crate carefully, to protect the priceless relics within. The noisy culprit was hidden at the bottom of a large stack. By the time she found it, she scolded the crate, telling it that every monk and scholar in the whole of Candlekeep was probably awake.

Kellin tore open the crate and found a heavy petrified bone rattling against the hardwood sides. It had already smashed and destroyed whatever other artifacts were stored with it, and when the lid came off, the bone jumped into midair. Almost automatically, Kellin reached out and grasped it, and when she did, the object's mysterious animation subsided.

Find the living. The words flashed through her mind as she clutched the bone. Something else came with it: an impression of terrible need and danger that washed over her and set her trembling. It would be a long time before she would feel right again.

Kellin held the bone up to her face and muttered, "Thunderbeast."