Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 5

Geildarr strolled through the halls of his private floor of the Lord's Keep with a stack of books in his arms, headed for his study. As always, he surveyed the artifacts displayed on the walls and his table. He stopped short as he realized that one was missing. A chuckle came from behind him, and he was not surprised to turn around and see red-clad Moritz standing in the hallway. In his hand he clutched a small stone cougar that he was inspecting with little interest.

"I'll never understand your interest in these things, Geildarr," Moritz said. "I can understand the magical artifacts. They have real power. But cutlery from Athalantar? Coins from Ostoria? Dwarven house decorations from Ammarindar? Mundane, useless relics of failed civilizations-what is the point of those?"

Geildarr reached out his free hand and snatched the statue away, placing it back on the pedestal.

"I thought you were in hiding," he said. "Not deeply enough for my taste."

"You have no idea," said Moritz. "But honestly. Wherein lies the appeal?"

"I don't have to explain my interests to you."

"I suppose not," Moritz said, cocking his head, "but you just might need to explain yourself to the inaptly-named Manshoon Prime. You sent one of his precious skymages on a mission that he won't be returning from. That may delay the new caravans across Anauroch considerably."

"You mean Valkin Balducius is dead?" asked Geildarr. "How?"

"A lizard stepped on him." Moritz smiled widely at Geildarr's reaction. "Ardeth will explain when she returns. Let me say this-I wouldn't turn my back on that minx for anything. She'll kill someone just to show herself she can."

"So you were spying on her," Geildarr said. "Why?"

"You might say I'm acting as an interested spectator in this whole new endeavor of yours. My attention is being rewarded. It's just taken an interesting turn. There's some real power at work here. Magical power. The kind the Zhentarim would like to have their hands on."

"And the kind Sememmon would like to have too," said Geildarr. "Or at least to keep such a thing away from Zhentil Keep. So why not go find it yourself?"

"It's not really what I do," said Moritz. "It's more what you do. Why should I do it when I can get you to do it instead?"

Geildarr slammed down the stack of books on the nearest table with as much force as he could muster and turned on the illusionist, waving an accusatory finger.

"I don't work for Sememmon! He's nothing now-a pathetic rat hiding in a dark hole somewhere with his elf whore. If you were smart, you'd give him up and look for a different master."

Moritz's face flushed with rage. "Do you think you can afford to be so arrogant?" The gnome's nose turned as red as his clothes. "You think yourself secure as mayor of Llorkh-so did Phintarn Redblade before you slit his throat. Traitors surround you. The Dulgenhar Conspiracy could have taken this city from you. It took a little girl to save your rulership. You've managed to offend the Zhent leadership at exactly the wrong time. You worship the wrong god. And I haven't mentioned the Shadovar, who probably aren't too fond of Llorkh either. I trust you've heard what happened to Tilverton. When the axe-the proverbial axe, not the one sitting in your study-comes down, just who do you expect to save your skin if not Sememmon?"

Geildarr broke himself away and paced the hallway, cursing loudly as he wondered if there was anything Moritz said that he could refute. "What if…" he muttered. "What if…"

"You won't be able to sit on the fence much longer, Geildarr," Moritz said. "It's your choice, of course."

"What if that hobgoblin had never brought that axe to Llorkh?" asked Geildarr, mostly to himself. "What if I hid those clues, forgot all about everything?"

"Then how will you explain getting a skymage killed while abducting a barbarian chief?" asked Moritz. "You're past burying it now."

"True, but what if…"

Moritz tapped his cane twice against the floor. "It says something about you that when faced with a difficult choice, you start thinking of ways to avoid making it. Let me say this-you may be on the verge of finding an artifact that makes all of the items your Antiquarians have pulled from old ruins look like the toys they are. I'll be watching closely to see just what you do with it."

"And let me guess," said Geildarr. "If I give it to you, you'll reward me richly. Or some other equally vague offer."

"I couldn't have termed it better myself," Moritz answered. "And while you're speculating, what do you think will happen to you if you should give it to my enemies instead of me?"

Geildarr stared at him wordlessly. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

"A silent threat is always the most potent. If I learned anything hanging around with Zhentarim all these years, that would have to be it!" Moritz vanished, but his laughter still echoed off the stone walls.

When the sun rose over Sungar's Camp, it shone down on a shattered people. A quiet haze of disbelief had settled over the camp, now littered with bodies of Uthgardt and wolves, damaged by fire and force, and leaderless. Its bravest blood had been taken away, but why, by whom, and to what place they did not know. The healers attended the many wounded, but much more would be needed to heal the Thunderbeast soul.

Battle was a way of life for the Uthgardt. It was their primary drive and purpose for being. But usually the enemy was known-an orc horde, a rival tribe-something they could understand. They had no way of knowing who their new enemy was. A bead of light had dropped from the sky and blinded most of them, knocking some into unconsciousness. They couldn't fight such dishonorable tactics.

Their chief was gone-not dead, but taken. Leadership of the tribe fell to his son-in-law, but Thluna was so inexperienced and so young-perhaps even subject to the temptations of the outside world. Already there were whispers that an older Thunderbeast-possibly even Keirkrad, still unconscious from the magical attack-would be a more appropriate choice.

Kellin awoke with rain drizzling onto her face. Barbarian women tended to the wounded all around her. No one would speak to her or accept her offers of help. She walked the camp as an observer, searching for a friendly face but finding none. She bound her own shoulder wound where that foul girl had slashed her, hoping that one of the healers might tend to it properly later on. She asked nearly everyone about Vell, but eventually put pieces together from overheard conversations. No one had seen him, and the thunderous steps had not been heard in the valley since dawn.

She found Thluna in the center of the camp, clutching his young wife Alaa, her eyes flowing with tears. Thluna stroked her glossy black hair. Kellin placed a hand on Thluna's shoulder and to her surprise, he did not cast her off. Thluna spoke to her in Common, which Kellin guessed Alaa did not know.

"Her father has been taken," he said. "And I cannot do anything about it. I cannot live up to my responsibilities as a husband, or as a chief's heir." Kellin now saw him not as a strong barbarian warrior and chief to his tribe, but as a scared, confused boy, grappling with things far beyond him. "Who would do this to us?" he asked.

"Do you know of the Zhentarim?" asked Kellin.

Thluna raised his head and nodded. "Was this their work?"

"Perhaps. They're known for their wizards on winged mounts," Kellin said. "And for stirring up local monsters to dislodge or weaken their enemies. They're not often active in the Silver Marches, but they have a stronghold south of the High Forest, in the town of Llorkh."

"Why are we their enemy," asked Thluna, "when we have scarcely heard of them? What could they want with Sungar?"

Thluna summoned his strength. "We must do what Sungar was preparing to do," he told Kellin, stroking Alaa's hair. "She won't like it, but I must. Very soon. The Thunderbeast gave us our mission, and we must achieve it."

"Will you take my aid?" asked Kellin.

Thluna looked away.

"Shaman Seventoes lies unconscious across the camp," Kellin said. "And even if he were whole, you are chief and not he."

"You do not understand," Thluna said softly. "We do not tolerate civilized people. And we do not cooperate with those who shape magic. We know where that path leads."

Kellin's brow furrowed. She was missing something-something they weren't telling her, something not founded in ancient doctrine but in recent experience.

"I assure you, there is nothing corrupt about my magic. It does not come from a book-my magic is as innate to me as my ability to breathe."

Thluna looked at her.

"You will have my answer soon," he said at length. "We will not be leaving for several days. Our warriors must heal, and we await Vell's return. He is our hope and our prayer. I believe our tribe's survival rests on his shoulders now."

"That's an awful lot to place on him," said Kellin.

Thluna closed his arms tighter around his weeping wife. "If he will not save us," he said, "then I cannot imagine who will."

No place on Faerun was more mysterious than the High Forest-or at least it seemed that way to the inhabitants of the North. It was a holdover from ages past when such great woods dominated the face of the world. It held elves, treants, dragons, drow, and only the gods knew what else. Why did it still stand after millennia, with encroaching civilizations all around it, all craving lumber? The High Forest had a way of conquering those who sought to do it harm.

In the minds of many, the High Forest threatened to swell in the imagination and become the very embodiment of the unknown. But there it stood, all too real, and churning out mysteries beyond invention. Though most gave it a wide berth-only a few roads skirted close enough even to see the edge of the trees-anyone living in or traveling through the southern end of the forest knew of the Star Mounts. They could be seen from many places in the North, and it was reckoned that they were almost as tall as the highest peaks of the Spine of the World. Shrouded in cloud and lore, they were perhaps the most tempting secret of the infinite mysteries that the High Forest kept so well.

These peaks occupied the thoughts of Llorkh's mayor.

From the westward balcony attached to his study in the Lord's Keep, he stared in their direction even though they were out of view. Perhaps, he mused, his destiny would be decided there.

"The Sanctuary," he muttered to himself.

"What?" asked Ardeth, stepping next to him. "What sanctuary is this?" She was still battered and bruised from her fight in the barbarian camp, but now, with a long rest and some time in Geildarr's private baths, she was recovering.

"Sanctuary," he repeated with a smile. "All of our hard work may be realized in that little word. Come." He led her down the hallway to his study, where the axe still rested on his desk amid stacks of books and papers. He snatched up a note containing the details from one of his divination spells.

"I had almost given up when this came to me in a spell. It'll be interesting to see what Kiev can extract from the chieftain, but perhaps capturing him was unnecessary." He held the parchment out to her and she read:

Blood flows from the heart of secrets, where shepherds tend to scales. The axe is the key that pulls back the false and reveals the old Sanctuary in Vision's long shadow. The brave shall find the forgotten source.

Geildarr couldn't stop beaming.

"What does it mean?" asked Ardeth.

"It's simple," he said, grasping a book and flipping to a faded sketch of the Star Mounts. Each peak was marked with human and elf names. On the far right was a mountain labeled Mount Vision.

"Here," Geildarr said, pointing his finger. "This Sanctuary lies somewhere in the vicinity of Mount Vision. More importantly, the Star Mounts are the source of the Heart-blood River." He quoted, " 'Blood flows from the heart of secrets.' Whatever it is we're looking for, it should be near here." He poked the diagram with his finger.

"But shepherds tending to scales," asked Ardeth. "What riddle is this?"

"Perhaps it's more literal than that," Geildarr said. "Tyrrell said that the Thunderbeasts worship a behemoth, a great lizard of legend. And what attacked you may be the same, or some godly incarnation of the same."

"I'm lucky to have escaped it," said Ardeth.

"Truly," Geildarr said. "It's a shame Valkin couldn't have as well."

"He came back to save me. I owe him my life."

"You've done me no favors by returning without him," Geildarr said. He kept his tone steady, making no obvious judgments, but Ardeth sensed the anger underneath.

"Would you be happier if I had died instead?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch only slightly, but enough to make Geildarr feel the intensity of her words. "I'm not Zhentarim, after all. Manshoon wouldn't need to know, or care, if I had died."

Who is master here, and who is the apprentice? Geildarr thought. But he kept his frustration in check.

"That's not what I meant," he said. "But this has made the situation all the more desperate for me." He rested his hand on the battle-axe. "You'll shortly be going on another mission, if you're well enough. And this time, I wouldn't be unhappy if your party returns a member light."

The tribe assembled at nightfall in the camp's center. All expected that Thluna would give them some impassioned speech, saying that challenges let their tribe excel, or bidding them to trust in the Thunderbeast's will. But perhaps Thluna knew that speech-making was for another time, for he spoke simply and honestly. Kellin stood on the edge of the assembly, keeping an eye on Keirkrad, who had recently awakened. But throughout the day there had been no signs of Vell, and those barbarians who went combing the valley for him found nothing but a great many large indentations in the ground.

"Our destiny awaits us inside the High Forest," Thluna said. "Our future will be decided there. Our trail is set by the Thunderbeast itself. But our enemies are many, some of our strongest warriors are lost, and this camp must stay strong. When he designed this quest, Sungar did not foresee this calamity, and I can't follow the plan he had set. My place had been to remain in camp, but the chief of the Thunderbeasts must lead this journey. In my stead, Hauk Graymane, bane of orcs and Blue Bears, hero of the Red Ridge, shall lead with all his wisdom." A cheer went up on behalf of Hauk, one of the tribe's most respected elders.

"Sungar also wanted Hazred along with him on this expedition," Thluna went on, facing the skald. "He is the Voice, the keeper of our stories and our soul. I know Sungar's reasons, but I cannot now deprive this tribe of its skald. Hazred is the history of this tribe, which is now more important than ever for safekeeping.

"Some of you wonder what of Everlund and our pact with them? It may well be that our unseen foe no longer has any interest in this camp, but it may equally be that the attack of last night is just a taste of what they mean for us. Still, it is important that we stand on our own, now more than ever. Let only the direst circumstances compel you to retreat to Everlund's door."

As shouts of encouragement came out of the assembled tribe, Kellin felt a swell of admiration for Thluna. He was nervous, that was certain, but he faced the tribe with the undeniable authority befitting a chief. Kellin knew Sungar would be proud if he were here. But was Keirkrad? Like some ancient, shriveled turtle he stood, passing silent judgment but never betraying anything on his features.

What followed was a hunting ritual Kellin had read about, and was delighted to witness firsthand. Thluna called the name of each man chosen for the quest. Each was showered with a litany of titles and accomplishments, many of them better suited to gods than men. The stout warrior Hengin was praised as "the vengeful arm of Uthgar," the scout Draf as "faster than the white rabbit and as unseen as a ghost," and Keirkrad was hailed as "the Thunderbeast's greatest blessing upon our tribe." Not even this drew a rise from the shaman.

With the roll completed, Thluna turned his eyes to Kellin. "Lastly, there is the matter of Kellin Lyme." His voice was soft, almost apologetic, and Kellin knew what he was going to say. "We must thank her. She delivered to us a lost piece of our heritage, and she helped us in our battle last night, taking the wounds to prove it. And more, she's done what perhaps no outsider ever has-offered her assistance to us not for any personal gain, nor compelled by pressing circumstance, but only because she thought it the right thing to do." Thluna's voice was almost breaking.

"But in conscience I cannot allow her a place with us. We are Thunderbeasts, and it's all the more important-now that our tribe faces so much crisis-that we strive to keep ourselves free from outside influence. So go with our thanks."

Kellin nodded. She understood, but she flushed with anger when she saw a smile cross Keirkrad's lips. Then the hush over the camp was shattered by a loud "No!"

Everyone turned to find the source, and their eyes fell upon Vell at the camp's edge, striding closer. He appeared just as he had before-a young Uthgardt warrior-but his countenance was different. Passed again from man into beast and back, his presence resonated with a new authority-one that awed and terrified the Thunderbeasts. The assembly of barbarians parted as he strode forward toward Thluna, and fear washed over their faces.

"The Thunderbeast chose us both. You need us both." The passionate certainty that flowed in his words as he contradicted the chief was palpable. Kellin felt it as a tingle down her spine. Only Keirkrad dared step forward to confront him.

"Vell," he said, "it is your not your place…"

"Deny Kellin," Vell said, "and you shall not have me either."

"Do we need you?" asked Keirkrad, limping up to Vell.

"The Thunderbeast never decreed for you to come along into the High Forest."

"Nor did the beast ask for you," Vell shot back. Gasps were heard from the Uthgardt at this verbal attack on the shaman.

"Fellow warriors were crushed under your feet last night," said Keirkrad. "Tell me, Vell, are we all to fall victim to the powers you cannot control?"

"I need you all," Thluna spat out quickly. "Vell, Keirkrad, and Kellin. All three and no less. This is my last word, and I will hear nothing more of it." Keirkrad made fists of his trembling hands and frowned at Vell as he walked away.

Soon enough, the center of camp was deserted but for Vell and Kellin. She approached the warrior, fighting to steady her own shaking hands as she did so. Why was she feeling this way? she wondered. She sensed that all of the uncertainty and vulnerability she had seen in Vell before was now gone, and she just didn't know who she was talking to.

"Vell," she said, scanning his brown eyes, which were seemingly harder and deeper than before. "I don't know how I can thank you."

"Why thank me?" he demanded. "Thanks to me, you may die, for a cause you don't believe in and a people who don't want your help. I've helped make that happen." His voice was thick with bitterness.

"I've made my own choices," Kellin said. "Vell, what happened? Do you remember anything… anything from your transformation?"

"Not much. Like a dream mostly forgotten, or a night lost to mead." Vell shook his head. "I don't think I'd like to remember more. I wasn't Vell any longer. I was something else, to whom my life as a man was nothing but a shadow of a memory. I don't even know how I found my way back home."

Kellin reached out and clutched at his hand. He instinctively pulled away, but then let her take it.

"You did the right thing. You fought for your tribe," Kellin said.

"And so shall I again," said Vell. "This is the Thunderbeast's price. It is ransoming my own soul. That's how it is assured of my service."

"Is that really how you see it?" asked Kellin. She saw a flicker of uncertainty in Vell, and this pleased her. He did not wear his dark cynicism well.

Vell's muscles tensed. "Keirkrad is right. I killed some of my own people last night-Thunderbeasts are dead by my actions."

"The blame is with the wizard who knocked them unconscious. Would not those warriors have laid down their lives to protect Sungar? That's exactly what they did.

"I can't pretend to know what you're feeling," she continued, "but I too have felt things inside me that were beyond my control. When I was a child, I felt magic flowing through me in search of an exit. To stay sane and become who I am, I needed to understand it, tame it, and make it part of myself."

"Then you're what the outside tongue calls a sorcerer?" Vell asked. "Such children have been born into our tribe in times past. They were left to die in the Lurkwood." Kellin twitched. "I don't think that was right," Vell hastily added.

"But that would have happened if I had been born into your tribe," Kellin asserted.

"Yes. You would have been deemed impure and too dangerous to live."

"Is that much different from the way things are now?"

Vell looked around the camp, where suspicious eyes ducked and hid from his accusatory gaze.

"They rejected you," he said. "You came from a world away to help, and they spurned you. Perhaps they don't deserve salvation."

"Vell!" protested Kellin. "These are your people. I wouldn't have come here if I thought that about them."

"Why did you come?" asked Vell. "I still cannot fathom it."

"What reason would suffice?" Kellin said, asking herself as much as Vell.

"Might it have to do with your father?" Vell asked.

"Most assuredly," Kellin replied. "But not in a way you might think. I never knew him as well as I wanted to, and now I've followed his ways and gone several steps beyond the path he trod. He revered your tribe above all the others. I remember so vividly the stories he told me of his time in Grunwald."

"And you won't have any such stories to tell," Vell said sadly.

"Maybe not." Her smile awakened all the dark beauty of her face. "But somehow I'm not upset to be here. In the end, I wonder if I will gain more understanding than he ever dreamed of."

Vell stood silently, then he finally allowed himself a smile. "I look forward to counting you as my companion, Kellin Lyme."

His formality brought a broad, open laugh from Kellin, and she repeated it.

"And I, you, Vell the Brown." As they parted in the fading light, each of them felt a bit stronger and a bit more certain about the task to follow.