Son of Thunder

by Murray Leeder

  The sighting of the dragon did not set their minds at ease. They knew of the ongoing Dragon Rage burning throughout Faerûn.

  Gan jumped to his feet, snatching up the axe and scanning the valley for his mistress.

  “Ardeth!” he shouted.

  “Quiet!” Royce whispered. “She’s probably taken cover, just like we should.”

  But it was too late. Though the dragon was several mountains away, its face turned in their direction, locking its gaze on them across all that distance. For an awful second Elaacrimalicros flapped its wings, breaking its glide, then changed its mind and rose on the drafts out of view, behind one of the great mountains.

  “Thanks be to the Helping Hand,” said Gunton, putting his hand over his heart.

  “His hunger outweighed our intrusion,” said Royce. “But now Elaacrimalicros knows we’re here.”

  “How long till he comes out again?” asked Gan.

  “Did you see the size of him?” said Gunton. “Do you think even a feast that size will keep him satisfied for long? And if he’s afflicted by the Rage … this is not good news.”

  Gan lifted Berun’s axe into the air.

  “Let him come,” Gan said. “The axe craves dragon blood! For Geildarr’s glory, I will slay Elaacrimalicros myself, then haul his head back to Llorkh as a trophy!”

  Gunton and Royce looked at Gan with a mix of concern and amusement. Was it the axe’s influence that gave him this wild confidence?

  “If it’s all the same,” Royce said, “I think we should get out of these mountains as swiftly as possible.”

  Under the guidance of Rask Urgek, the Thunderbeast party traveled through the deep woods of the High Forest. The leaves on the trees rippled like fire. Only occasionally did a glimpse of the fog-shrouded Star Mounts, their destination, appear through the dense canopy. They made good time, and the ground became more level as they traveled farther south, as if it had been smoothed by some ancient woodworker’s plane.

  Three days of travel had passed without incident, but late on the fourth night, their rest was disturbed by a cacophony of high-pitched squeals in the woods.

  “Bats,” said Rask. Only traces of Selûne’s light filtered down through the leaves, illuminating the thick trunks of the overgrown trees. Flashes of movement teased their eyes, and soon the whole forest seemed alive with them.

  “Are they dangerous?” asked Thluna.

  “The High Forest is home to some carnivorous bats,” Rask said. “But they live far to the northeast, in the area of Hellgate Dell and Stone Stand.”

  “The most dangerous part of the High Forest,” Thanar elaborated. “Only marginally more dangerous than the rest.”

  “There must be thousands of them,” said Kellin, watching the trees. The swarm came closer and closer, and they could see an occasional bat darting overhead.

  “They find their way by sound, do they not?” Keirkrad asked Thanar. The druid nodded. “Then I know a simple way to keep them away.” The shaman motioned with his ancient hands and suddenly, the chiropteran squeals seemed to cease, and with them, all sounds of the night.

  “What did you do?” asked Vell, but his question was answered when he opened his mouth and no sound came out.

  Kellin smiled. “Clever,” she mouthed, and even dared to pat Keirkrad on the back.

  Their camp was unearthly, deathly quiet. The bats, perceiving the silence as something solid, avoided the protective shell around the Thunderbeasts. Though the area above was thick with bats, Keirkrad’s spell had created an island of calm.

  Then the silence turned deadly. Without warning, a jagged spear hurtled down from the trees above. Crudely aimed in the darkness, it nevertheless found an unsuspecting Thunderbeast, striking his chest and driving deep. Grallah collapsed backward, blood trickling from his mouth. Thluna and Hengin reached him to deliver aid, but they could only lower him to the leaf-strewn ground. Grallah’s lips moved, but no one could hear his dying words—perhaps a final prayer to Uthgar. The others scanned their dim surroundings, especially the branches of the trees. Amidst the shards of moonlight, they saw flashes of movement, larger than the bats—man-sized forms swooping between the trees.

  “Werebats,” mouthed Rask.

  The group knew that if they huddled closely, they would be easy targets. Worse the lycanthropes didn’t seem to be inhibited by the magical silence. A few Thunderbeasts broke away to put their backs to the tree trunks, forming a perimeter.

  Vell looked at his hands, seeing flesh and not scales. He summoned the scales and he felt the restless behemoth spirit within him eagerly rising to the surface. He grimaced at first as the lizard scales sprouted and crawled across his flesh, but it was not painful. Lanaal’s teachings have had an effect, he thought. He understood the advantage of calling on these powers, but worried about feeling so natural while wearing a behemoth’s skin.

  Every inch of his human form was quickly covered with a layer of brownish scales. Vell walked away from his group until he was beyond the protection of Keirkrad’s spell, finding tumult outside. The air was warm and humid from the swarm of bodies. Dozens of bats immediately set upon him, landing so tightly that his whole body seemed to writhe with their presence, but their teeth could not penetrate his natural armor. He reached out and grabbed handfuls of them, crushing them in his grip.

  A figure swept down on him from the trees—a slender, human shape with thick bat wings and sharp white teeth on a hideous rodent face. Kellin jumped beyond the silence and, inspired by Keirkrad’s manipulation of sound, howled in the werebat’s direction. A tremendous shriek tore from her throat: a low-pitched boom of fantastic intensity that echoed off the trees. The blast struck the creature in midair and sent it careening against a tree, its thick claws grasping at its enormous bat ears. Vell ran over to it and delivered a bare-fisted blow to its head that crushed its skull. Its crumpled, leather-winged form collapsed in a twisted heap. All around, stunned bats plummeted from the sky like fat raindrops.

  Unnoticed, a strange pellet fell from the trees. It landed next to Keirkrad and erupted into a mesh of thick, gooey strands like spider silk that wrapped around the ancient shaman, binding him in an instant. Within the sticky wrapping, his hands were held in place and his mouth was covered. The more he struggled, the tighter he was bound within the cocoon.

  Ilskar and Draf ran over to slice through Keirkrad’s bonds, but another flock of bats assailed the party. The new attackers were as large as dogs, with triangular bodies and red fur. Like their smaller brethren, they lost their ability to navigate inside the magical silence. They panicked and lashed out with spiny tails, drawing blood wherever they struck. Thluna bashed one solidly with his Tree Ghost club, damaging its wings then crushing it under foot. Ilskar and Draf tried to cut Keirkrad free, but their blades were useless against the thick webbing. They turned away from Keirkrad to fight the new enemy.

  Amid the confusion, two werebats swooped down from the treetops. They gripped the strange webbing that held Keirkrad and tried to pull him aloft. Rask hit one of them solidly with his battle-axe, but it bounced off the lycanthrope without leaving a mark.

  Thanar clapped Thluna on the shoulder and turned him toward the werebats assaulting Keirkrad. Thluna swung his club at one of the struggling werebats, catching it just above its knee. The werebat released its grip on Keirkrad and turned to face Thluna, silently hissing and snarling. Thluna struck again with the enchanted club, sending his victim to the ground on one knee. At the same time, a red-tinged globe of magic struck the other werebat on the head, crimson streamers reaching back to Kellin’s fingers. The werebat released its grip on the webbing and flew off to the shelter of the trees. Still bound, Keirkrad tumbled unceremoniously to the ground, rolling out of control and landing with his face planted in the dirt.

  Outside the silence, Vell found himself assailed by two werebats. Their speed and flight kept Vell off balance. Dozens of bats swarmed around him until he could hardly see. Thanar slaughtered one of the night
hunters with his sword before rushing to join Kellin.

  “They’re not trying to kill us,” he called over the clamor of bat shrieks. “They want Keirkrad.” He watched Thluna finish off a werebat with a blow from the Tree Ghost club. The other warriors slashed their way through the remaining night hunters.

  Kellin nodded in agreement, looking over at Keirkrad’s bound form. “Did they bind him because he’s the most powerful of us?”

  Thanar shook his head. “They probably thought he was the least powerful. We need to free him.”

  Thanar and Kellin rushed to the shaman, spun him onto his back, and dragged him out of the magical silence so they could try their spells on the magical webbing. He was still conscious, and his ancient blues eyes darted about in fear. Before Kellin and Thanar could even begin to weaken his bonds, more werebats appeared from above. Kellin quickly conjured a bright blue bolt that blasted through a werebat’s thin wings. Thanar summoned a powerful blast of wind that tossed the creatures astray, but more came, flying down and striking, then retreating to the trees and sending more of the smaller bats down on them. Knowing they could not endure much of this, Kellin and Thanar gripped the webbing and hauled Keirkrad back into the shell of silence.

  “It won’t last,” Kellin called, just before her words were swallowed up again.

  Vell stood alone outside the protective silence. He succeeded in grabbing one of the werebats, and he squeezed its neck until its huge rodent eyes went dim. Ignoring the other werebats, he leaped into the silence. The world within was deceptively calm. Werebats swooped around the edges, testing its limits and baiting those within it, baring their sharp teeth and begging the barbarians to rage and rush out into danger. The night outside writhed with the bat swarm. An occasional night hunter bat darted into the silence but was swiftly dealt with by the weapons inside. The radius of Keirkrad’s spell no longer felt like safety or comfort. Their attackers would soon overcome the fragile barrier.

  With communication nearly impossible, the group had difficulty forming a strategy. Kellin drew her father’s enchanted sword and passed it to Rask, who dropped his battle-axe to the ground. The barbarians fanned out around the incapacitated Keirkrad. Before long, the silence dissolved, and the cacophony of the outside world assailed them.

  Immediately, bats and werebats swept in. Kellin unleashed her ear-piercing shriek again, deafening a host of bats and stunning a number of the werebats. Thanar launched a strong wind that filled outstretched wings and sent numerous bats flying backward, crashing against trees. Vell snatched a werebat from midair and drew it into a tight hug, crushing it with the full force of his strength against his scaly body. The warriors swung their weapons, but only Thluna with his club and Rask with Kellin’s sword were able to harm their attackers. The bat swarm filled the air, confounding the senses with their loud shrieks. The horrific mass teemed inward so the defenders could hardly move without their limbs brushing against hairy bodies or leathery wings.

  It was a doomed effort. More werebats appeared above, then swooped down and wrapped their claws around the webbing that bound Keirkrad. Before anyone could turn to his aid, the shaman was lifted into the trees and away.

  The other werebats followed, vanishing swiftly. The defeated Thunderbeasts were left to hack their way through the thick bat swarm, till at last it dissipated with the first light of day.

  The stink of bat guano assailed Keirkrad as he was deposited on a rickety wooden platform in some uncharted corner of the High Forest. For a long time he lay on his back, staring up at the tree tops and the impassive sky beyond, silently calling on Uthgar for aid. At last the webbing around him melted away, though his hands remained stuck to his sides and his mouth was still glued shut. Two figures arrived and pulled him to his feet. One was female and one was male, and both were slight, with coppery skin and elf ears.

  Elf werebats, Keirkrad thought, but in this form, they did not look like the elves he had met around Grandfather Tree. Something in these faces was twisted and batlike.

  The werebats gripped Keirkrad firmly by the arms and led him across a crude wooden walkway built in the heights of the trees, concealed from view below by thick undergrowth. Bats, large and small, flitted through the trees around him. Perhaps some of them were werebats too, Keirkrad thought. This was a disgusting place, caked with guano, peopled by creatures with scant interest in cleanliness: a rank parody of Ghostand, the Tree Ghosts’ village among the trees.

  The two werebats led Keirkrad to the middle of a larger platform and let him drop to his knees.

  “What have my children brought me?” spoke a strange, high-pitched voice.

  On the surrounding trees, Keirkrad noticed crude trophies. Among various animal remains, he identified a hybsil’s antlers and desiccated elf ears nailed into the bark. At the end of the platform sat a werebat perched on a crude wooden throne amid piles of offal. Its vast wings were folded against its middle. It was naked but covered with matted fur, and its face was a hideous amalgam of bat and man: a snarling mouth with sharp teeth and grossly oversized ears. Two red eyes stared at Keirkrad.

  The werebat stepped from its throne and walked over to Keirkrad, its long toenails clicking against the wooden floor.

  “Shaman Seventoes,” it pronounced. “What a boon they have brought me. And they had no idea who you were! What luck! What luck!”

  It leaned in closer to Keirkrad, bathing him in its foul breath. A pink tongue snaked out to lick its long rodent teeth.

  “Do you remember me, Thunderbeast? I am now called Heskret, but I had another name. We met in battle. Have you forgotten? Beneath Thranulf’s Height. Do you remember?”

  The werebat transformed before Keirkrad’s eyes. His wings drew into his sides and vanished, his face twisted and contorted, and the fur vanished from his chest and revealed human skin. A white-haired man stood naked before Keirkrad, and on his shriveled upper chest was a huge tattoo, one that Keirkrad recognized all too well. It was the crude form of a hulking bear.

  The Blue Bear! Every barbarian believed that the most hated Uthgardt tribe had utterly perished in the fall of Hellgate Keep. Keirkrad remembered the man who stood before him—a war chief whom he and Gundar had battled long ago. The fighting was long, with many casualties on both sides, resulting in a costly victory for the Thunderbeasts. It was whispered that the Blue Bear war leader feared to return to face punishment from his chief and vanished into the forest to seek penance from Malar.

  “Do not misunderstand,” said Heskret, now speaking with a human voice. His blue eyes locked onto Keirkrad. “I am not Blue Bear, though I was Blue Bear. My former tribe proved weak and perished, but my new tribe lasts still. Now I serve nothing but the Black Blood.”

  He walked closer and planted a finger on the strands of webbing that held Keirkrad’s mouth shut. But instead of removing the obstruction, Heskret made a fist and punched the shaman in the side of the head. Weak and exhausted, especially at his advanced age, Keirkrad tumbled sideways, his head slamming hard into the wooden floor. When Heskret unsealed his mouth, all Keirkrad could do was drool blood onto the floor.

  A clawed finger stroked Keirkrad’s cheek. He knew without looking that Heskret had taken his werebat form again.

  “You have lived how long now?” Heskret snarled, leaning closer till Keirkrad could feel his warm breath on his face. It stank of raw meat and rot. “They say Uthgar prolonged your life so grotesquely because he had some destiny in store for you. I wonder if this is what he had in mind.”

  Keirkrad cried out as he felt sharp teeth take a chunk out of his cheek.

  CHAPTER 14

  Tremendous winds pelted Ardeth, Royce, Gunton, and Gan as they slowly navigated a high mountain pass. A vicious thunderstorm had slowed them; the gray mists above had let out their store, dropping a sudden deluge that turned the mountain slopes into slides of pure mud. The foursome lost much time hunkering in sheltered spots, and their object, Mount Vision, had disappeared into the haze. The wind howled so loudly
that they could barely hear each other, their clothes were soaked through, and all the while they looked over their shoulders for Elaacrimalicros to drop out of the rain clouds.

  While the rain was at its worst, and they took refuge in a hollow at the base of a steep cliff, a black figure stopped at the mouth of their cave, barely visible in the gloom. Everyone grasped weapons, and Ardeth pointed her crossbow at the intruder. Through the rain, they saw the outline of huge wings. The wings disappeared as the strange creature approached, and a copper-skinned elf stepped out of the murk, dressed in animal leathers. Short and slender even for an elf, his dark hair was matted and unkempt. His red-streaked hazel eyes darted back and forth before settling on Ardeth.

  “Ardeth of Llorkh?” he asked, barely audible over the raging winds outside. His voice was high-pitched and raspy, decidedly not like any elf any of them had encountered before.

  “Yes,” Ardeth answered cautiously.

  “I smelled your scent on the wind. I am here on behalf of the Mayor of Llorkh.”

  “Thank the gods,” Royce gasped. “I didn’t suspect Geildarr would have contact with the wood elves.”

  The elf let out a disgusted grunt as his answer.

  “You’re a werebat,” Ardeth said. “From Heskret’s tribe. Geildarr told me there was a chance he could recruit aid from your folk.” There was no relief in her voice, only suspicion, and she kept her eyes locked on his face, scanning for any insincerity.

  “My name is Halzoon,” the elf said, looking at the group, his neck twitching. “I am to offer myself as your guide.”

  “No deva, but a winged savior nonetheless,” said Gunton.

  “Where are you guiding us?” asked Ardeth.

  “Three great phandar trees in a triangle, alongside the Heartblood River. That is what you seek.”

  “How do you know this?” asked Royce.

  “Heskret extracted it—” he drooled and chuckled, “—from an Uthgardt shaman.”