Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 17

The Central Square in Llorkh had been emptied of its usual town market, but now it held more folk than ever. Onlookers swarmed around its edges where the Lord's Men stood guard, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange newcomers. The exotic lizards, each taller than the buildings that surrounded them, were tethered by magic. Each behemoth wore an iron ring around a hind ankle, connected by a massive chain to a stone post in the middle of the square. The chains were enchanted to dissolve flesh that touched them, lest any fool try to release the behemoths. The chains were only long enough for the creatures to reach feed bins placed at the square's edges by some brave Lord's Men.

The great beasts occasionally raised their feet, pulling the chains to their tightest and lifting them off the ground, but the chains could not be broken. And as long as the lizards bore the rings around their ankles, they could not lift more than one foot off the ground at any time. The magical formulation had proven to be simple but effective, for which Geildarr was vastly proud.

From the heights of the Lord's Keep, Geildarr enjoyed stepping onto his balcony and watching the behemoths. He never tired of watching them. A honey-colored bird alighted on the balcony's rail and chirped merrily; its cheerful song echoed in Geildarr's heart.

The fate of the behemoths was an open question for Geildarr. He considered dissecting them, harvesting their organs for whatever magical value they might possess, and making armor of their hides. Naturally, the Dark Sun temple wanted the dinosaurs turned over to them, so they could explore corrupting them, perhaps turning them into beasts of Cyric. Geildarr would need time to weigh his options. In the meantime, he just enjoyed their presence. Huge creatures of living, breathing art, they were more of a monument to his success than any statue of Geildarr could ever be.

And yet, these animals were but a side show. The real bounty was the Heart of Runlatha. A piece of Netherese magic from before the fall was worth many more lives than had been spent on the expedition.

"You expect me to discipline you for letting the Antiquarians die," Geildarr told Ardeth as he met with her in his study. "But I will not. I was very fond of them-I know you were, too. I will miss having them crawl through ruins on my behalf. They were useful. But your success-" he gripped the red hunk of magic, its scarlet glow escaping through his fingers, "-does much to counterbalance that loss."

"I'm glad you think so," said Ardeth. "But what is that thing?"

Geildarr smiled and answered, "Nothing less than our redemption."

"You will deliver it to Zhentil Keep, then?" Ardeth asked.

"In time," said Geildarr. "I want more time to study it first-to see what it truly is. It's clearly capable of weaving powerful illusions, from what you report. Perhaps it even extended the lifespan of the Shepherds you encountered in the Sanctuary." The excitement rose in his voice. "Netherese magic, Ardeth! I've never before had my hands on a piece of magic from before Karsus's folly. I wonder how it survived. This could be magic of the sort Mystra now denies to Faerun!"

"Fzoul and Manshoon will be very pleased with it, then," said Ardeth. She watched Geildarr's crestfallen reaction to that statement.

"Truly," he said. "It's a shame that the Heart should only be ransom for my preservation as mayor."

"Is not your reign more secure now?" asked Ardeth. "Or did I kill Mythkar Leng for nothing?"

"His death pleases me, for certain." It's a shame the Antiquarians needed to die also, he silently added. He would save that issue for another time, a future blackmail.

"I'm afraid this accomplishment is only delaying the inevitable," Geildarr said. "So long as I answer to Lord Chembryl, my position here in Llorkh is in jeopardy."

"Is there not another option?" asked Ardeth. "What of Sememmon?"

Geildarr sighed heavily. "You give voice to my darkest thoughts. I never liked him, even when he was master of Darkhold, and I answered to him directly."

"Perhaps because of that reason," Ardeth suggested with a coy smile.

Geildarr patted her shoulder. "That could be. But I understood when he fled the Zhentarim, even sympathized. Fzoul has consolidated power to a terrifying degree. The Inner Circle used to battle among itself mercilessly, and that system worked-it kept any one of them from gathering too much power. But the new Manshoon appears to be thoroughly under Fzoul's thumb, and Sememmon is gone. Bane's vision is being stamped on the whole Network. Cyricists like myself will be an increasingly rare breed."

"Sememmon was a coward for fleeing Darkhold," said Ardeth.

"No," said Geildarr. "He was smart." He looked sadly at the Heart of Runlatha, still gleaming in his clenched hand. "This could only buy me a reprieve. I serve as mayor of Llorkh at Fzoul's pleasure."

The golden bird on the balcony chirped, but somehow its song didn't seem as happy as before.

"Do you think Sememmon would be a better option?" asked Ardeth.

"He has kept himself hidden from Fzoul," Geildarr acknowledged. "No minor feat even for a wizard of such resources and power. But I am not interested in living out my days lurking in dark shadows. Moritz would like me to think Sememmon has some plan for overthrowing Fzoul, or destroying the Zhentarim, or carving out some kingdom for himself. Only the gods know if he does, or if he has a prayer of seeing it to reality. He is certainly amassing magic and allies for some purpose."

"He would like the Heart of Runlatha," said Ardeth.

"Certainly." He looked down at the artifact and sighed. "I'm afraid he might try to take it by force, and I mean to be ready for him if he does. But enough of this doom and gloom. A guest of mine must be made acquainted with our new arrivals." He smiled at Ardeth. "He is an old friend of yours. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me?"

The sunlight seared Sungar's eyes as guards led him through the streets of Llorkh. After so many tendays in a dark hole, the outdoors were no longer his friend. He'd never been in a city before, not Everlund, or Mirabar, or any other. If they all were like this one, he couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to live within city walls. Llorkh stank of desperation and decay. It was drab, and its streets were littered with garbage. From the windows of cottages, common people looked out, their eyes sunken in despair. Armored orcs walked the streets.

Sungar was weak from another beating, his hands bound with iron once again. Two dungeon guards marched him from the Lord's Keep, across Llorkh to the Central Square, but a few blocks away, they put a blindfold on him.

"The mayor's orders," one of them explained. "Geildarr says he wants to be there to see your expression." Sungar did his best not to show any reaction, but when the blindfold came off, he could not help himself.

Geildarr laughed at the chief's surprise and sorrow. "Priceless, priceless, Sungar!" He gestured at the wide square before them. "Thunderbeast, meet the thunderbeasts!"

Sungar wept. These were the living totems that he revered, and like him, they were Geildarr's prisoners. They were myths that were never meant to be real. He would have been overcome with wonder had he seen the beasts in a forest's depths, grazing and roaming, but now, interred like living statues in this square, the sight was a tremendous blow to Sungar. Incomprehensible sadness showed in their massive eyes. Sungar tried to make a fist, but his fingers were too weak.

A young woman stepped up to Sungar. Small and dark-eyed, she wore a smug smile, and she strode up to him flaunting her lack of fear.

"I brought them here," she said. "Just like I brought you here."

Sungar knew her name and spat it. "Ardeth." The traitor to Hurd's conspiracy.

She was surprised. "You know me? Oh yes-you learned it from the dwarf."

"Uthgar will destroy you," Sungar said. An unexpected feeling of peace flooded up inside him.

"Will he?" she asked. "Trice Dulgenhar said that Gorm would do the same, just before I chopped his head off. Why is it that only the most obscure gods have it in for me?" She giggled.

"And you, Geildarr," Sungar said. "You will fall. This precious city of yours will fall." He nodded toward the behemoths. "The buildings will topple under their strength."

He did not feel as if the words were his own any more.

They flowed from his chest unbidden. Across the square, amid the enslaved behemoths, a ghostly figure flickered-King Gundar.

"Vague proclamations of doom from a barbarian chief," Geildarr said. "What a shock."

"You have stolen our birthright," Sungar went on. "This theft will not be tolerated. My tribe will arrive to reclaim them." And he believed it. He knew it.

Geildarr leaned close to him, so Sungar could feel the mayor's breath on his cheeks. "We took more than just these dumb beasts. Ardeth claimed for me an object of power from before the Fall of Netheril."

Geildarr was so close-if Sungar were less weak, and he not been bound, he could have killed him with his bare hands. But he felt no compulsion to do so. His anger left him. The specter of King Gundar in his vision smiled widely.

"I will watch your fate unfold," he told Geildarr. "And it will be soon."

Geildarr took a few steps back. "The dungeon usually drives its residents insane," he said, "but not this swiftly."

Ardeth spoke to the guards who stood around Sungar. "Instruct Kiev to step up the torture. This pathetic man must be brought to his lowest point."

But Sungar was smiling as they led him away. Gundar vanished into nothingness but left Uthgar's grace behind, and Sungar awaited his captors' comeuppance with giddy anticipation.

A few days' march south of the Sanctuary, the Thunderbeast party continued to make its way through the High Forest. They kept a discreet distance from the Unicorn Run and slipped through the deep woods without incident. As they walked, golden and red leaves cascaded down on them and formed a carpet stretching forward, guiding them to victory or ruin. But the leaf fall was coming to an end, and all around trees stood leafless, their bare branches reaching out and grasping like the thin arms of desperate men.

They spoke very little. Thanar and Rask at first attempted to keep the mood light, though they swiftly realized that this was futile and joined the silence. The Shepherds' revelations had cast a shadow over the Thunderbeasts' entire history. Now, to be doing the work of these loathsome tokens of the past rankled especially. And whenever Vell and Kellin's dark eyes met, they knew without speaking that her thoughts concerned her father-another idol fallen, and another dark secret of the past unearthed so unwelcomely.

Thluna carried the axe, though it was heavy for his lean stature. It was his tactile reminder of their real purpose. It kept his focus on Sungar. He bade Rask carry the oaken club given as a gift by Chief Gunther.

At a quiet, grassy clearing at the forest's edge, next to the quick-flowing Delimbiyr, they came upon a figure standing in the half-light of evening, staring into the distance, robed in rothehide. They recognized him instantly, even before they saw his face. Thluna yelped when he saw the man. "Keirkrad!"

He turned to face them. A festering red wound crawled across Keirkrad's cheek. His eyes were frozen oceans of blue streaked with lines of bright crimson.

Keirkrad smiled a warped, feral smile, his teeth glistening with saliva.

"The champions come," he said, his distinctive rasp familiar but somehow infused with malice. "Uthgar's champions come marching from the wood of their ancient home." He extended a finger in Vell's direction. "The blessed one," he hissed, "the brown-eyed one-Uthgar's favorite."

"No," said Vell. "No, Keirkrad. You must understand. Uthgar did not choose me."

"No?" Keirkrad's lined brow furrowed. "No? He did not pluck you for glory on Runemeet, on the site of his own death, the most sacred Morgur's Mound? He did not invest in you all the power he denied me?"

Vell shook his head firmly. "I am not of Uthgar's choosing, and this is not glory. This is a curse."

"Again you spurn the honor!" Keirkrad shouted to the sky. "Again you turn away from your god's calling! Is there no end to your gall? I will do his work in destroying you, though I have found a more potent master than Tempus's son could ever be. As a child, Uthgar granted me a glimpse of Morgur's Mound, but cruel and capricious he was, revealing to me the place where I would be undone and betrayed. Now the Beastlord has granted me what Uthgar would not."

Keirkrad snarled, and the red in his eyes spread till his eyes swam in crimson. Huge leathery wings unfurled from his sides and his face twisted and distorted into a drooling werebat. Heskret had inflicted lycanthropy, the ultimate punishment, on an enemy of old. He had not foreseen how the blessing of Uthgar resident in Keirkrad would manifest in his new form. With Keirkrad's mind wrested from his old form, he served his new master with devotion far exceeding that which he had lavished on Uthgar, and Malar responded to this fervor. Keirkrad was no simple werebat, but a nightmare of strength and power.

He was quickly a mass of fur and vast wings. Sharp claws spouted from his hands and feet, his ears grew huge and cupped like a bat's, and his teeth lengthened into glistening white fangs. Most terrifying of all was that he was still Keirkrad. Something indescribable in his movement-the way he held his shoulders and his head-and those watery blue eyes were the same, but now set in a bat's leering face.

The Thunderbeast party fanned out and drew weapons. I am a werebeast of sorts, too, Vell realized for the first time.

Keirkrad advanced in slow steps, his wings dragging on the ground. His eyes locked on the axe in Thluna's hands.

"How is this?" he asked. "The axe reclaimed? Sungar's folly undone?"

"There is much to be explained, Keirkrad," said Thluna. "We Thunderbeasts have been misled and manipulated. Let us explain."

"There is no reasoning with a werebeast," Kellin warned.

Keirkrad let out a throaty chuckle. "For once, the southland whore and I agree. You are weak creatures, all. I have borne witness to the fickleness of your kind all my long life." He scanned the assembled Uthgardt. "The child chief, the traitor druid of Silvanus, an orc infiltrator, and warriors of no particular distinction. You disappoint even so minor and weak a god as Uthgar. Only one among you is worthy of the transformation, of Malar's blessing, and that is purely for the power that resides in you. A repository, the treant called you. Just what is a reservoir, if not a power waiting to be tapped?"

A new kind of anger awakened in Vell.

"You wanted to groom me as your champion to challenge Sungar's chiefdom!" he shouted. "And when I wouldn't, you slandered me instead, told me that I was not worthy of Uthgar's blessing. You openly schemed against the chief to whom you swore fealty-what behavior is this for a shaman? "What actions are these for a favored son of Uthgar? I did not betray Uthgar-you did."

The composure drained from Keirkrad's batface, and Vell counted that as a victory. He went on. "And now you would make me a monster? Perhaps I am a monster already." Lanaal's lessons in transformation, which he had resisted, suddenly struck home. When he shed his human form, he largely kept his own mind and volition.

Vell's transformation into a brown-scaled behemoth was more shocking than the first incident. In Sungar's Camp, it had happened so quickly amid such confusion and in the dark of night-it had seemed like a strange dream. Now, in the daylight amid a tranquil setting, it bore a new reality. Vell was gone, or what the warriors knew as Vell, and in his place stood a creature of legend, a creature the Thunderbeasts had been taught to revere. No glimpse of the bones of the beast hovering above Morgur's Mound could have prepared them for the flesh and blood behemoth before them.

Vell stood as tall as the treetops. He felt a strange rush of embarrassment as he looked down on the disbelieving faces of his friends and allies as they rushed to keep clear.

Hissing, snarling, Keirkrad sprang from the ground into the air. His physical weakness was erased by his bat-form, and he landed on Vell's vast face, clamping on with his claws and wrapping his huge wings over Vell's eyes. Vell charged, partly to keep Keirkrad away from the others, and partly to disturb Keirkrad's grip, the ground trembling as he did so. He blindly strode into the River Delimbiyr. A massive splash drenched the river's banks, and Vell waded into the middle of the river.

Vell felt the shocking coldness of the water rush up his massive limbs, reaching his brain with the intensity of a thunder strike. He dunked his head into the water, dousing Keirkrad. All around them, currents and eddies swirled, formed by the sudden intrusion of Vell's bulk. The werebat clung, squeezing more and more tightly on Vell's face; but he could not maintain his grip, and drifted away in the rapids.

Vell watched Keirkrad's huge wings vainly struggling against the water, their fine bones and leathery covering inadequate against the Delimbiyr's onrush. Then the water swirled around him, forming a whirlpool and a wall that protected him, and Keirkrad magically lifted above the Delimbiyr's surface. Beating his wings steadily to dry himself and stay aloft, he looked toward Vell with a perverse grin as he faced the lizard in the middle of the river.

"I am no longer human, perhaps," Keirkrad taunted. "But a cleric I am still." He spat out a prayer, and when Vell tried to urge his vast body to action, he could not move. A vicious torpidity seized his limbs and held him captive in the middle of the river, where the chill still assaulted his senses. He urged his animal body to action, but it would not answer. He was still as a statue, and the cold numbed his senses. He could barely feel his legs beneath him.

How could I have been so stupid? Vell asked himself. He had no way of knowing how long he could maintain his beast form, especially while paralyzed.

When he lapsed back to his human shape, he would be at Keirkrad's mercy.

A loud roar filled the air. A burst of sound caught Keirkrad and blasted him out of the air with such force that he landed beyond the south bank, clapping his clawed hands to his ears. From the corner of his eye, Vell saw Kellin standing on the river bank, Thanar alongside her. He could only guess that they were trying to dissolve the magic that held him.

Keirkrad unfurled his wings and flew across the river, bound for the druid and the sorceress. Thunderbeast hammers and arrows assailed him, but they bounced off as if he were solid metal. When he swooped down to harry Kellin and Thanar, Rask Urgek planted a blow solidly in his face with the Tree Ghosts' club, sending Keirkrad reeling, but leaving him aloft. His nose was smashed, and blood dripped down his face. He let out a high-pitched chirp of pain.

Thluna ran at Keirkrad with the greataxe, but Keirkrad ably dodged, and it slashed through empty air next to him. Too heavy for Thluna to wield properly, the axe went astray, and its head embedded deep in the ground. Keirkrad let out a twisted laugh as he swooped.

"Leave it to a true man to handle such weapons," the werebat taunted. "It is beyond a mere boy such as you."

Rask swung the club at him again, but missed. Keirkrad beat his wings furiously, lifting himself till he was just above the half-orc's head. He lowered a clawed foot, several of its toes missing, to Rask's face with his sharp nails and raked his throat. Before Rask could react, Keirkrad murmured a dark spell. A ravenous maw sprouted from the underside of his foot, a ring of teeth that snapped and sank hungrily onto Rask's chin.

The half-orc screamed with pain. He dropped the club, and his hands grabbed at the werebat's foot, but the fangs only sank deeper. Snarling in pleasure, Keirkrad beat his wings and began to lift Rask off the ground.

Thluna pulled at the shaft of the battle-axe, freeing it from the earth. He took another swing at Keirkrad, more quickly than the shaman had expected. Keirkrad released Rask, letting the half-orc tumble to the ground. The werebat dodged wildly, but Thluna's swing clipped one of his broad leathery wings, ripping it halfway through. Keirkrad flapped his great wings uncertainly. He hissed as he looked down on his enemies, yet he gained control of his flight. Blood ran from his smashed nose and dribbled onto the grass below.

Kellin and Thanar's magic unbound Vell from his paralysis in the Delimbiyr, and he struggled to move his chilled legs. With slow, steady steps, he lumbered to the shore, his vast brown lizard eyes locked on Keirkrad's hovering form. But he was so weak, his energy drained from him, that he felt his behemoth form shuddering and realized it would soon leave him. Soon, he would be Vell again and subject to Keirkrad's scheme. What would happen if Keirkrad succeeded in infecting them all with lycanthropy? Would all Vell's power vanish, or would it be shaped in some hideous new way? What would remain of himself?

In his moments of contemplation and weakness, Vell felt the transformation stirring. He rallied the last of his energy into a charge at Keirkrad. The others dodged to safety as the drenched behemoth thundered across the field. Keirkrad prepared to fly out of reach, but his damaged wing slowed him, and he could not rise high enough before the juggernaut collided with him at full speed. Vell knocked Keirkrad from the air with a swing of his mighty neck.

The world around Vell faded and shifted as he focused on the object of his rage. Brown eyes locked on the two bloodshot eyes that had such little humanity left in them. Even when Keirkrad was at his very worst, he was at least human. Now the elements of his humanity had been sacrificed for this sick taint.

Is this what I will become? thought Vell as he continued his assault. He was no longer conscious of his own body, human or behemoth; that awareness floated away on a sea of desperate fury. All of the anger he had held in check against the Shepherds, and against those of his own tribe who had shunned him for a lifetime, he unleashed on Keirkrad. He sated his need for vengeance against all those who had made him this amalgam of man and beast. He cried, weeping tears of rage for all the blows he had absorbed in his life. His tears dripped onto Keirkrad's snarling face below him.

They dripped from human eyes.

When his senses cleared, Vell found his bare hands locked around Keirkrad's neck, the werebat underneath him, pinned and struggling on the ground. Pulling back in shock, he released his grip just in time for the axe to swing down and slice through Keirkrad's throat. Thluna's blow separated the werebat's head from its body and sent it rolling away.

Vell weakly pulled himself to his feet, wiping streaks of tears from his cheeks. Beneath him sprawled the open-winged remnants of the man who had been their shaman for longer than any Thunderbeast could remember. Vell stared down on the spectacle of ruin, appalled. The ugly bat face rolled to a stop and lay facedown in the dirt.

Thanar rushed over to heal Rask's wound. Much to the half-orc's relief, the druid discovered that he had not been infected with lycanthropy.

"I loved him," Vell reflected. "Our shaman. All my childhood I was told to love him, and so I did."

"That's true of us all," said Thluna. He propped up the axe and cleaned the blade of Keirkrad's blood. "But it was not our shaman of old we just killed."

"Is that truly so?" Vell asked. "I wonder."

Kellin stood near Vell and placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. She felt a tremble as her flesh touched his.

"It's sad that Keirkrad had to die," she said. "But it's for the best."

"There is no doubt of that," said Thanar. "He is the reason I could not make my home in Grunwald. If our tribe is to survive, his type must be consigned to the past." He turned to face Thluna. "And so, chief of the Thunderbeasts, what honor is appropriate for our fallen shaman?"

Thluna thought for a moment. "Keirkrad was our comrade, and his memory will carry much weight among our brethren. When our fellow, Grallah, fell in the deep wood, we could not pause to honor his body. We have scarcely more time now…" He looked at the Delimbiyr River. "Burial or fire would be a greater honor, but…"

Thanar smiled. "A decision worthy of a chief. Worthy of my chief."

"This all may have been a test," said Rask. A fresh scar, a circle of teeth marks as if from a lamprey's bite, now adorned his chin. "Even the Tree Ghosts knew of Keirkrad and the destiny Uthgar supposedly planned for him-the reason his life was preserved for so long. As a test for us. And we've won." The notion let a contemplative mood settle over the assembled Thunderbeasts. They felt uplifted by the idea that Uthgar had godly plans of such foresight. It might even have redeemed Keirkrad, by justifying his betrayal.

Vell spoke simply but profoundly. "Perhaps, in a way he never imagined, Keirkrad fulfilled his destiny at last."