Son of Thunder f-4

by Murray Leeder

  "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.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sungar awoke in the dark, with the stench of human waste assaulting his nostrils. He hurt worse than from any beating he had ever taken. His flesh was ripped and torn, his ribs ached, and his mouth was dry and filled with the acrid taste of blood. The only light he could see was the flicker of a torch somewhere down the hall, its light dancing on the thick steel bars of his cage. His cell looked out on the featureless walls of a passage
way.

  Yet somehow, he found the strength to rage. He rose to his feet, let out a hoarse war cry, and assailed the walls and bars with his fists and feet. If anything had been near enough to smash, he would have demolished it as he vented his rage, but there was nothing, and so he slammed his weight against the bars again and again, challenging his unseen captors to come and confront him.

  As his energy left him, and he collapsed into a defeated heap in his cell, it occurred to him that the bars survive the prisoner much more readily than the prisoner survives the bars.

  Only a small shower of pebbles broke free from the walls where he had battered them. Sungar reached out to gather them up in his weak hands.

  "If yer finished," came a whispered voice, "I'd like to welcome you. If you can call it a welcome." The voice was low and gruff and came from the cell next to Sungar's.

  Sungar could barely speak-his throat was parched, his energy sapped. He leaned against the stone wall.

  "Where is this?" Sungar asked.

  "We're residents of the Lord's Keep. Dignitaries and other important folks guesting in Llorkh get to stay in the Lord's Keep, and so do we. I'm guessin' their rooms are nicer."

  "Llorkh," repeated Sungar. "Where is Llorkh?"

  "You don't know it?" said the voice. "Then I really can't imagine what yer in here for. Just who are you?"

  "Who are you?" demanded Sungar.

  "I'm Hurd Hardhalberd. Who are you?"

  "You're a dwarf," Sungar said.

  "Excellent guess," said Hurd. "And now it'd be polite to give me yer name in return."

  "Sungar. Of the Thunderbeast tribe."

  "Thunderbeast?" the dwarf said in surprise. "Uthgardt?" He took Sungar's silence as confirmation. "I used to meet with your people when I worked up in Mirabar. Bought yer timber now and again."

  "Are we near Mirabar now?"

  "No," Hurd told him. "I guess you don't get to look at maps very often. Llorkh's well on the other side of the North, nestled pleasantly among the Graypeaks like an open wound oozing Zhentarim corruption throughout Delimbiyr Vale. We're south and east of the High Forest, if that means more to you."

  "Is that anywhere near the Fallen Lands?" asked Sungar.

  "Aye, rather near," Hurd said. "Why do you ask?"

  There had to be some connection, Sungar knew. The decisions he made in the Fallen Lands had set the stage for all of this-the Thunderbeasts' disfavor had drawn them to Morgur's Mound where powers were bestowed on Vell, and the attack on his camp couldn't have been coincidence. And now he was here in this dirty hole, with no company but a nattering dwarf.

  If it had been King Gundar in the Fallen Lands, Sungar wondered, would Gundar have done any differently?

  "Fine conversationalist you'll be, I'm sure," Hurd said. "But you really have no idea why they've brought you here?".

  "I don't even know who 'they' are."

  "I can help with that part," said Hurd. "They're the Zhentarim. Or some arm of it, led by the fop wizard Geildarr, who murdered the rightful ruler of this town long ago, chased out most of the dwarves, closed down the mines, and handed Llorkh over to the Black Network."

  Few in the North had not heard of the Zhentarim, even among the insular barbarians. Sungar knew that warriors loyal to the Zhentarim had slain the Great Wyrm-one of the most respected of the Uthgardt beast totems-just to scavenge its treasure hoard.

  "One thing's fer sure," said Hurd. "If they brought you here, they have a reason. You should be able to figure it out soon enough, once Kiev's assistant asks you his questions. He's the chief torturer down here. You'll know him when you see him. One of them half-breeds of men and orcs, made of the vilest parts of each."

  "He'll get nothing out of me," Sungar said.

  "That's what I thought," Hurd told him. "But I spilled my guts, puking it out till there was nothing left. That was in the first months of my stay here. But listen to this: afterward, Kiev's assistant told me that they already knew everything I'd said. Kiev took it from me while I was unconscious, using magic. He just did it again for the pleasure of seeing me break. I don't know if he told me the truth, but it could be that every secret you have, you've already given up. It's been a year since then, and they still torture me again every now and then. They know I have nothing else to say, but they do it anyway."

  "Have you ever thought about killing yourself?" asked Sungar.

  "I plan to," said Hurd. "Every morning I wake up thinking that this'll be the day. But it never is."

  "Cowardly dwarf," Sungar shot at him, though he instantly wished he hadn't.

  "Maybe I am a coward," Hurd replied. "But I don't see what my death will accomplish. Llorkh's on the verge of big changes, one way or the other, and I want to stay alive long enough to see what happens. So kill yourself if you want," Hurd went on. "But don't do it just to prove you're braver than a dwarf."

  Sungar welcomed the thought of the lash; it would be punishment either for the past betrayal of his tribe or his future betrayal of its secrets. He knew that either way, he would earn the ire of the Thunderbeast and the shame of dead King Gundar.

  Five men marched silently to the main door of the Lord's Keep and were shown through immediately. The strangers were a common enough sight in Llorkh, but even if they hadn't been, few guards would have dared question them. Their features were worn and battered, and though they were fairly young, they looked as if they had lived many lifetimes of danger and strain in their years. The Lord's Men opened the great iron doors and nodded to them as they passed. They climbed several flights of stairs, finding their way to Geildarr's purple-curtained audience chamber, where they were greeted by a person they'd come to appreciate much in the last year.

  "Welcome back," said Ardeth, embracing each of the Antiquarians in turn-Bessick, Vonelh, Gunton, Nithinial, and Royce Hundar.

  "I can't tell you how glad we are to see you again, Ardeth," said Royce, their de facto leader, and the most handsome and dynamic of the bunch. His ready smile was disarming but weary. "We're puzzled about the reason Geildarr pulled us back. We think we were close to something big in Highstar Lake."

  "Have no fear," said Ardeth. "Highstar Lake is child's play compared to where you men are going. You're all about to be sent on the mission of missions."

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Vonelh, the company's wizard. "Tell us about it."

  "And spoil the suspense?" Ardeth grinned. "Don't worry. Geildarr will explain everything soon. We first need a few more people to arrive for this briefing. You'll have companions on this mission."

  "Gods, no!" protested the heavyset warrior Bessick. He wore his usual maniacal grin and toyed with his favorite weapon-a heavy spiked chain. "Not more of those damned Lord's Men! Doesn't Geildarr remember what happened last time?"

  "I promise," said Ardeth. "No Lord's Men. You'll have more interesting companions." On that note, she vanished through a door and left the Antiquarians wondering just who would be joining them. A short time later, the answer arrived. Their eyes grew wide with disbelief and they dropped their heads.

  Mythkar Leng nodded in vague satisfaction at their display of supplication.

  "I trust you can explain what I'm doing here," Leng said.

  "Forgive us, Strifeleader Leng," said Royce, "but we are wondering the same. We would be honored if you were to accompany us on this mission."

  "What?" demanded Leng. "What mission?"

  "We don't know," Royce told him. "Geildarr has just recalled us for some important new mission."

  "Ardeth said that we're waiting for somebody who'll come with us on this mission," said Nithinial. "We're honored if that's you." He was a half-elf, lean and small-boned, though most folk he met learned quickly never to bring up his elf heritage. His companions still told the story of a man who hurled an ethnic slur at Nithinial from across the Ten Bells tavern and found his hand nailed to the wall by Nithinial's expertly-thrown dagger.

  "What?" Leng hissed. "Geildarr summoned me to a meeting. He said it w
as a matter of critical importance to the Zhentarim. He wouldn't dare send me on one of his fool's errands!"

  "Indeed I wouldn't," said Geildarr, walking through the door with Ardeth beside him. Behind them came an armor-clad hobgoblin, so tall he had to duck to pass through the doorway. In his hands he held a massive axe and he walked deliberately, as if he invested each step with momentous reverence. The effect was hilarious, and the Antiquarians had to hold back laughter.

  "You'd better have a good explanation, Geildarr," said Leng.

  "Trust me, I do," the mayor answered. "Gan, if you'd like to put that down." The hobgoblin laid the axe on a table in the audience chamber's center and backed off to a corner where he stood as still as a statue. "Welcome back, men. Gunton, perhaps you'd like to look at this."

  Heavily-bearded Gunton walked forward to look over the axe. "Dwarven," he said, and looked up at Geildarr. "That much is obvious. Could it be Delzounian?"

  Geildarr patted his shoulder. "Your instincts do not disappoint, my friend." Geildarr was clearly excited about the news he had to share, but wanted to delay the pleasure of revealing it. "Here's a brief history lesson." At the priest's sneer, he said, "You'll have to bear with me, Mythkar. You'll understand why in a moment.

  "We all know about Netheril, the Empire of Magic from so long ago. Anyone who hadn't heard of it before should be acquainted with it now, ever since the Plane of Shadows spat up its last survivors. Netherese magic was so great that it could make cities fly, transform lands, and accomplish other feats that the Weave simply doesn't support any longer. When magic failed during Karsus's Folly, most of the artifacts made by the Netherese mages were lost. As you can imagine, any exception to this catastrophe is of great interest to me, and to the Zhentarim. This axe, with a tangled history behind it, is as old as Netheril, and I believe-" he slowed for dramatic effect "-it will point the way to the lost magic of the greatest archwizards Faerun has ever known."