Prophet of the Dead: Forgotten Realms

by Richard Lee Byers

  As soon as their riders dismounted, the two huge raptors dissolved into wind, moaning and flinging up snow for a moment, and then they were gone. Vandar started westward.

  “Stop!” Cera said. “I saw the ship too, but you can’t just run off by yourself.”

  “She’s right,” rasped Jet. Frequent applications of Cera’s healing sunlight had strengthened him and improved his appearance, although black feathers and fur had yet to cover over every patch of ugly scarring. “I’ve got a score of my own to settle, and if things were different, I’d come along and help you. But we have a plan in motion. A plan to rescue your miserable excuse for a homeland.”

  Vandar hesitated and felt the red sword at this side urging him on to battle and revenge. And as he’d learned to his cost, when he felt the fey weapon goading him toward one course of action, that in itself was reason enough to at least consider doing the opposite.

  “All right,” he growled. “I’ll wait.” He marched up to the hathrans’ house and pounded on the door.

  A coltish novice in a simple cloth half mask answered, goggled at Vandar and those clustered behind him, and, when Vandar made his wishes known, scurried off to fetch Yhelbruna.

  “You realize,” said Jet, “by now, the great hathran could be possessed or a vampire’s thrall herself.”

  “If she is,” Cera said, “I’ll know.”

  “So will I,” said Vandar. Yhelbruna had allowed him to meet the real woman hidden behind the leather mask and cold, mysterious demeanor only once, after they’d encountered the undead hag and goblins in the High Country, but it had left him with a vivid sense of who she truly was.

  Vivid enough that he sensed the happiness the sight of him inspired when his companions almost certainly did not. “You’re alive,” she said.

  “So is Captain Fezim,” said Jhesrhi, a new and hastily carved ash staff in her hand. She’d enchanted it as she did her clothing to keep it from charring in her grip. “Whatever Mario Bez may have told you.”

  “We found out Bez is a liar,” Yhelbruna said. “Still, when you failed to return from this alleged battle at the Fortress of the Half-Demon, we had no choice but to assume the worst.”

  “Aoth is looking through my eyes and listening through my ears right now,” said Jet. “He’ll speak through me too when he needs to. Take a walk with us, hathran. We need to talk where spies can’t overhear, and we’re short on time.”

  “As you wish,” the witch replied. She turned and stepped out of the doorway for a moment, and when she reappeared, she wore a green hooded cloak and carried a staff of her own in her hand.

  As they all wandered toward a little stand of trees to the west of the hall, Jhesrhi began to relate all that she and her comrades had discovered. Apparently, life as a sellsword had taught her to report clearly and succinctly, for it took her only a little time to lay out the facts as best they understood them.

  “So you see,” she concluded, “at this point, we don’t know who among the hathrans and the Iron Lord’s warriors has been compromised and who hasn’t. But if Yhelbruna and Cera work together, the two of you should be able to identify at least some folk who are still trustworthy and free others from the undead’s influence. The troops you muster will rendezvous with the Old Ones south of the Urlingwood, and then we’ll all assault the wood together.”

  Yhelbruna shook her head. “No. That won’t work.”

  Vandar took a breath. “As you heard, the Old Ones understand they’re breaking their vows, and we all know men are barred from the forest. But—”

  “Rose and scythe!” Yhelbruna snapped. “Do hathrans truly seem like such mad tyrants that you imagine I care about any of that when the soul of the land itself is in jeopardy? The wizard’s proposal won’t work because this Eminence of Araunt is a move ahead of us. Again. A few of their creatures revealed themselves on the southern shore of the River Rasha, and Mangan Uruk rushed forth to chase them with every witch and berserker he could find. I imagine we can still collect a smattering of reinforcements between here and Urling, but not in the numbers you were hoping for.”

  Everyone was glumly silent for a moment. Then Cera said, “All right, but let’s think this through. The undead’s plan is based on stealth and trickery for good reason. We destroyed much of their strength at the Fortress of the Half-Demon, and Pevkalondra threw away more when she detached the Raumvirans from the rest of the creatures’ army and led them to defeat. Lod sought to bring reinforcements, but Sarshethrian’s ambush killed at least half of those. Maybe we aren’t at as much of a disadvantage as we think.”

  Yhelbruna stopped and pondered, meanwhile idly poking holes in the snow at her feet with the lead tip on the butt of her staff.

  “That all makes sense on its own terms,” she said eventually, “and now that I understand what’s been weakening my witchcraft, true hathrans can take countermeasures. But the enemy’s witchcraft is gaining strength, and with the Urlingwood falling into shadow, I guarantee you dark fey are assembling to support their old allies and ensure their ascendancy in the new Rashemen.”

  Cera scowled. “I didn’t endure Sarshethrian’s foulness and vampires sucking my blood just to hear our cause is hopeless.”

  “Aoth says it isn’t,” said Jet. “He wants to know, how did Yhelbruna come to realize Mario Bez is a liar, and why is the Storm of Vengeance still in Immilmar?”

  Vandar’s jaw muscles clenched.

  * * * * *

  Even without the aid of a saddle and tack—Jet’s accouterments had burned away when the orb of fire blasted him—Aoth felt good hurtling along on griffon-back once more, with a cold wind in his face, a blue sky and wispy cirrus clouds above, and the tangled branches of a forest below. His pleasure would have been even keener if he hadn’t felt the ache in the griffon’s wings. Jet had pushed himself hard to fly to the Running Rocks, collect his master, and carry him to the Ashenwood, leaving Orgurth to shepherd the Old Ones the rest of the way north.

  I’m fine! snarled Jet across their psychic link. Clearly, the bond had enabled him to perceive Aoth’s concern in the same way Aoth had registered his pain. Exercise is what I need to recover the last little bit of my strength. I only wish I was exerting myself for a sensible reason.

  Do you want to win or not? Aoth replied.

  Jet gave a disgusted rasp. It was a noise he made when he recognized his rider was right but was unwilling to admit it straight out. If you think I’m unhappy, wait until you see Vandar.

  Vandar disagrees with one of my ideas? How surprising.

  Jet laughed a screeching laugh, and they flew onward.

  The trees grew thickly in the Ashenwood, and Aoth assumed those he sought knew something about how to hide. But fortunately, the ashes and aspens had shed their leaves, and he had his fire-kissed eyes and Jet’s sharp senses to foil attempts at concealment. He was confident they’d find their quarry if they simply kept looking, and toward twilight, he spotted a man with black side whiskers and grubby red and yellow clothing trying to dig and chop roots from the frozen earth while a skinny, shivering fellow dressed in the same colors stood watch with a crossbow cradled in his hands.

  Unfortunately, the sentry was looking around at ground level, but not higher. Perched in the branches above him and his comrade, three rusty brown ettercaps, their forms an angular mix of human and spider, were drawing glistening white strands from their spinnerets. When they had enough webbing, they’d drop it to snare their prey.

  Aoth was still pondering how best to handle the situation when Jet furled his wings and dived. Maybe he wanted to prove he was as capable of maneuvering among and, when necessary, smashing right through branches as he’d ever been.

  Thanks to their mystical connection, Aoth knew which ettercap Jet was targeting. He pointed his spear, spoke a word of command, and hurled darts of blue light at the other two.

  Then he and Jet were plunging through the canopy, branches cracking beneath them like a drumroll. The ettercap the griffon had chosen l
ooked up in reaction to the noise, then flexed its four hind limbs and tried to spring aside.

  With a flick of his wings, Jet compensated and crashed down on the spidery hunter anyway. His talons punched through shell into the flesh beneath, and the branch on which the ettercap had been perching snapped as well.

  They all plunged on earthward together. Jet lashed his wings to slow their descent and landed without giving his master much of a jolt. His weight drove his eagle claws even deeper into the ettercap, though, and through their bond, Aoth felt the creature convulse and then stop moving as its body squashed.

  Aoth glanced up. His magic hadn’t killed either of the other ettercaps, but they were fleeing, scurrying and leaping from branch to branch and tree to tree.

  He then pointed his spear at the foragers, both of whom were frozen with shock, and set the point of the weapon aglow with an intimidating display of power.

  “Hello,” he said. “Do you know me? If not, you surely remember my steed. Which of you vermin shot him out of the sky?”

  “Not me!” babbled the man who’d been digging the roots. “Not either of us!”

  “No matter,” said Jet. “You were all trying. That’s why I couldn’t let the ettercaps have you.” Making a show of it, he pulled his gory talons from the carcass beneath him.

  “Please!” said the root digger. “It wasn’t personal. Our captain ordered us to shoot, and we obeyed. You’re sellswords. You know how it is!”

  “We do,” said Aoth. “Just like we know it’s bad for a mercenary company’s reputation to let anybody attack it without reprisal. But fortunately for you, the man we really came to see is Mario Bez. If you take us to him, you just might live to see the moon rise.”

  Both foragers seemed cowed and eager to cooperate. Still, Aoth made sure the failed sentry pointed his crossbow away from his captors and uncocked it slowly.

  Meanwhile, he dismounted. Jet was always happy to carry him through the air, but not when they were on the ground. It was beneath his dignity to perform the function of a common beast of burden.

  They ordered their captives to walk in front and watched them for signs of mischief. But the foragers led them straight to their camp and without trying to warn their comrades that enemies were approaching. That, however, didn’t keep the other sellswords from snatching for their weapons when Aoth and Jet came into view.

  “Easy!” said Aoth. “If we wanted to kill you, we would have attacked from above in the dead of night. Half of you would have died in your sleep.”

  “And if one of you raises a weapon or starts jabbering a spell,” Jet rasped, “these two idiots we caught will die right now. Then Captain Fezim and I will slaughter the rest of you.”

  A bit of broken twig caught in the grizzled hair that now hung loose, not gathered in his customary ponytail, Mario Bez smiled. “I don’t take that threat lightly. The two of you wouldn’t be here now if you weren’t every bit as tough as the stories say. But if it is just the two of you dropping by, I’m fairly certain my crew and I can cope with you.”

  “Even if you’re right,” Aoth replied, “you wouldn’t all live through it. And those who did wouldn’t be any better off than they were before.”

  Bez raised an eyebrow. “Whereas …?”

  “The undead didn’t all perish in the Fortress of the Half-Demon. In fact, the ones that remain are a bigger problem than anybody realized. You’ll hear the details if we come to an agreement, but the nub of it all is that Rashemen still needs you to do the job you promised to do in the first place.”

  “In exchange for what? At this point, I assume Yhelbruna wouldn’t stand for Halruaans claiming any of the wild griffons, no matter how much we contributed to the solution of her problem.”

  “In exchange for safe passage out of the country.”

  Bez snorted. “Not exactly a generous offer for professionals of our caliber.”

  “Your other option is to go on hiding here like the common outlaws the Rashemi now consider you to be. How’s that working out?” Aoth waved his spear to indicate the haggard faces and crudely constructed lean-tos he saw before him. “Do you like sleeping rough in the cold of a northern winter? Anybody sick yet? Are you finding plenty to eat? Just how often do you run into ettercaps and trolls? I hear the Ashenwood is crawling with them.”

  Bez glowered. “I won’t insult your intelligence by saying we don’t find our situation challenging. But after what’s happened, it’s difficult to believe Yhelbruna and the Iron Lord would let us depart in peace no matter what.”

  Jet made a spitting noise that was half screech as well. “Liars always have trouble believing other folk are telling the truth.”

  “You’re right,” said Aoth. “But maybe Captain Bez senses there’s something I haven’t mentioned. And if we’re going to sneer at him for being the lying, traitorous turd he is, then maybe I shouldn’t hold any information back.”

  Bez’s hand had shifted to the hilt of his main gauche. Evidently, he didn’t appreciate being likened to dung. “By all means,” he said through gritted teeth, “enlighten me.”

  “You understand the locals have cause to dislike you,” Aoth replied, “but you don’t realize just how much of your treachery has come out. Vandar Cherlinka survived your attack to reveal you and your crew murdered his lodge brothers.”

  For a heartbeat, Bez looked taken aback. Then he chuckled. “I can see how that looks bad.”

  “Still, I told you the truth. Rashemen’s need is such that if you help now, Yhelbruna swears by the Three that each and every one of you will receive a pardon for his misdeeds. But for you, Captain, that won’t be quite the end of the matter. You and I may think of this land as backward, but it understands dueling as well as Chessenta, Impiltur, or any civilized realm you care to name. And before you take your leave, one of the folk you’ve wronged will call you out.”

  “Are you referring to yourself?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but I hope so.”

  “Then perhaps it would be better to kill you here and now.”

  “Better for whom? It’s only you who will have to fight the extra fight. No one will bother your men.”

  A white-haired, sour-faced man with a wand tucked in his broad yellow belt cleared his throat.

  Bez’s eyes flicked to the side to see who’d spoken, then immediately returned to Aoth. “Uregaunt,” he said. “What is it?”

  “We’re sellswords,” the old mage said. “We follow a leader because it’s in our interest, not because he’s some halfwit inbred nobleman or somebody like that. Starving here in the snow is not in our interest.”

  Bez smiled a smile so crooked it fell just short of being a sneer. “So you’re telling me if I don’t accept Captain Fezim’s offer, you’ll desert.”

  “I’m saying I’ve watched you win plenty of fights. I’ll wager you can win one more.”

  “Or,” Aoth said, “I suppose that if you’re afraid, you could even refuse to duel. But I wish you luck commanding sellswords or attracting contracts when word of that gets around.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Bez said, “just examining all possibilities. You’d do the same in my place.”

  “So is that a yes?” asked Aoth.

  Bez snorted. “It is, curse you to the Hells. I assume you understand that to fight to best advantage, my crew and I will need the Storm of Vengeance.”

  “I do,” said Aoth. He paused, giving the Halruaan a breath to examine what he must imagine to be the possibilities of that. Then: “That’s why Jhesrhi and Yhelbruna are busy carving runes in the hull. If you attack us once you’re in the air, or try to fly away without meeting your obligations, it will be your turn to burst into flame and fall out of the sky.”

  * * * * *

  The tent still held the heat of Cera’s conjured sunlight long after the glow had died away. She supposed it retained the heat of the three bouts of lovemaking too. At any rate, she was warm enough, but a mix of tenderness and worry still prompted her to
snuggle even closer to Aoth’s naked body.

  She hadn’t meant to wake him, but his luminous blue eyes opened in the gloom, and then he kissed her. “Ready for another tumble?” he asked.

  “That would be lovely if you can manage it. One more. After that, it will be dawn and my time to pray.”

  “Then let’s have at it. I know you can’t keep Amaunator waiting, and I don’t want him interrupting me in the middle.” He caressed her breast and made it tingle.

  Good as it felt, she put her hand on his to stop it moving. “We’ve been too hungry for one another’s touch to talk much. Before we start in again, and then have to get up and be about our business, I just … well, I want you to know the deathways were bad for me, worse, even, than for Jhesrhi, because they all but cut me off from the Yellow Sun. It was partly the hope of finding you again that kept me from breaking down.”

  “Only partly?”

  “Be grateful an impious cutthroat rates even that high.”

  “That sounded witchy. Yhelbruna and her kind are a bad influence … But, darling lass, if you insist on talking seriously, then I guess I should take a turn. I missed you too. Enough that I realized something.

  “You can’t turn down being sunlady of Chessenta if your peers elect you to the office,” he continued. “Being a priestess is your calling. And I can’t give up being a wandering sellsword. That’s mine. But I swear by the Pure Flame, we won’t lose one another. At the moment, I have no idea how to make things work, but we’ll find a way.”

  “I want that too. Perhaps we can figure it out after we defeat the undead.”

  She’d intended to sound confident, but his lambent eyes narrowed. “Are you scared we won’t? Mario Bez has the scruples of a starving rat, but he has no play except to deliver on his promise. Neither he and his men, the Old Ones, nor I have gone into Immilmar, so Lod’s agents in town haven’t seen us and can’t have sent word to him that we’re lurking about. If Lady Luck smiles, we’ll catch the undead by surprise.”