Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 21

Sungar and Hurd burst out of the dungeons of Llorkh with impassioned fury. The two guards at the entrance were startled to be attacked from behind. Sungar caught one on the shoulder with his sword, and Hurd slashed at the knees of the other, sending him tumbling to the ground. Hurd sank his sword into the guard's heart.

The two warriors dashed through the elegant hallways of the Lord's Keep, looking for a staircase to take them upward. They made no secret of their presence-Sungar freely shouted Uthgardt war cries-but wherever Lord's Men found them, the soldiers were swiftly slaughtered. One of the men, run through by Sungar's sword, lay dying against the wall. Hurd held his blade to his throat.

"What is happening in Llorkh?" Hurd demanded.

"Behemoths," he gasped out. "The great lizards. Some have come to attack the city."

"Friends of yours?" Hurd asked Sungar, sliding the sword home.

"I can only hope so," said Sungar.

They rushed through the ground floor. Sungar's rage was in full fervor. Clutching a weapon again, and feeling enemies fall under his blade, made him feel alive once more, reborn from the prison cell. He had feared that all of his Uthgardt instincts had atrophied and vanished, but was thrilled to find his faculties re-ignited.

Before the great iron doors that served as the entrance to the tower, they found a contingent of five Lord's Men. A massive, sickly painting of Lord Geildarr, clad in purple and surrounded by the adoring people of Llorkh, hung over their heads. The soldiers faced the entrance to the Lord's Keep, their attention on the large, sealed doors, ready for a threat from that direction. Sungar snatched up a vase that decorated the passage and tossed it across the hall into an opposite room. As it smashed, the guards turned to look.

In that moment, the barbarian and the dwarf assaulted them with full strength. Their swords found critical places, and they made short work of their foes. Puddles of blood collected on the red carpet.

"This is the way out," said Hurd, pointing to the large doors. "If you want to leave…"

"Why would I?" asked Sungar. "Most likely Geildarr's up there." He pointed to the wide stairway leading upward. Hurd bent over to pick up the head of a Lord's Man, hacked from his shoulders by Sungar's sword. He tossed it up at the painting and it bounced off, leaving a red smear across Geildarr's smiling face. He and Hurd ran up the stairs, leaving bloody footprints on the carpet.

Soon they found the narrow dining hall where Geildarr had met with Sungar to taunt him. Huge paintings hung on the walls, and white linen covered the long table. The chair at the end of the table had iron restraints built into it. All was lit by a magical white sphere floating in the center of the ceiling.

Standing on top of the table was a figure familiar to them both, lithe and slender, dressed in black and holding a leveled crossbow. Sungar knew her face from the night of the attack on his camp. She was the one who had captured him.

Hurd's lip curled into a smile. "We meet again," he said, brandishing his sword.

Ardeth returned his smile and raised her crossbow. Hurd dodged wildly, and the quarrel zipped past him. Sungar jumped onto the table, his feet skidding on the tablecloth. Almost losing his balance, he swung his sword horizontally at Ardeth. She deftly leaped into the air over the blade, flipping backward to land on the chair Geildarr had sat in when taunting Sungar. She leaped again just as Sungar's sword came down, digging deep into the chair's wooden back.

In midair, with the heavy crossbow still in one hand, Ardeth planted a foot against a wall and pushed off, turning to plant her other foot on Sungar's shoulder. Though she was light, the force sent him tumbling away from the embedded sword, off the table, and into the opposite wall.

Hurd snatched up a chair and threw it, striking Ardeth just as her feet touched down on the table. The chair cracked on impact, sending Ardeth tumbling off the table and into a far corner. Her head slammed hard against the wall with an audible smack. She lost her crossbow, which struck the wall and broke apart, landing near her on the floor.

Hurd dashed around to confront Ardeth where she lay near the manacled chair. Seeing her lying limp and dazed in the corner, Hurd raised his sword above his head and ran toward her with surprising speed for his short stature, hoarsely crying, "For Trice Dulgenhar! For Gorm Gulythn!"

But as Hurd came closer, he saw a devious twinkle in Ardeth's eye. She slid her hand into the wreckage of her crossbow and came away with a closed fist. She leaped to her feet and charged in the raging dwarf's direction, using her remarkable speed to duck under his sword as he tried to bring it down upon her. In her fist she grasped a single crossbow bolt, which she drove into one of Hurd's eyes. Having penetrated it, she placed her palm on the bolt and drove it into Hurd's brain.

The dwarf's sword fell to the carpet, and his good eye blinked, then stared dully.

Sungar rose to his feet. Seeing Hurd's lifeless body collapsing to the floor, he gripped the hilt of the sword, still embedded in the chair, and twisted sideways. The wood snapped and cracked, and Sungar pulled the weapon free. Spinning to face Ardeth, his rage redoubled and he saw something new on her face-fear.

Before she could reach Hurd's sword, Sungar jumped up, planting his feet on the table with such impact that the whole room trembled. Ardeth skipped away, just before Sungar swung the sword at her from atop the table, slicing through a painting on the wall. Ardeth stopped just before the open door through which Sungar and Hurd had entered.

Her chest visibly rising and falling, she stood like a frightened animal, unsure of what to do next. Sungar stood atop the table, sword ready, waiting for her next move. She was a dangerous enemy, he knew, and an intelligent one. Hurd died because he attacked her in anger, and Sungar would not make the same mistake.

Ardeth turned her back to Sungar, ready to run out of the open door. Sungar moved to follow her, but at the last moment she turned back, pulled into a somersault, and rolled under the table. Sungar plunged his sword downward with all his strength. It sank through the wood, and Sungar put all his weight behind it until it was buried hilt-deep in the table.

All was silent. The magical light above the table trembled, casting nervous shadows over the room.

Sungar jumped off the table, snapping up the sword that Hurd had wielded. He looked under the table, where the darkness was deep. The sword Sungar had impaled in the table was close to touching the floor, but no one was there.

Ardeth was gone.

Vell urged his behemoth form forward through the streets of Llorkh. To his left, he heard a massive crash and hoped that Thanar and Draf were destroying the barracks and any Lord's Men who were still inside. He hoped the two of them would escape with their lives.

Vell seemed to have left the Lord's Men behind. Rarely, a soldier would dare cross his path, but the streets were mostly empty as he continued his dauntless plunge toward the Lord's Keep. In the buildings around him, he occasionally glimpsed terrified townsfolk peering out at him.

Half a dozen strange dogs appeared in the street before him, unlike any Vell had seen before. These curs were slightly larger than the dogs or wolves he knew, wiry and muscular, with fur the color of rust. But their eyes glowed fire, and their hideous faces had such unearthly looks that Vell knew they could not be of this world. Hell hounds, he realized.

More hounds joined the small pack, and together they ran at Vell, leaping and snarling, plumes of fire emerging from their mouths. Vell stamped his feet, trying to trample them, but the hell hounds nimbly dodged, snapping at his legs and feet where they could. Each time they sank their jaws into his flesh, a jolt of pain shot up his leg.

In the middle of the Central Square, Kellin froze, her head spinning as her spell to erase Geildarr's magic collapsed in her mind. She turned to stare a hell hound directly in its blazing eyes. It leaped on her, its huge fore-paws striking her shoulders and smashing her against the stone post. Her arms flew back, nearly striking the deadly chains. She smelled the sulfurous stink of the hell hound's mouth as its huge jaws snapped at her neck.

Desperately, Kellin kneed the beast in its underbelly, and as it yelped from the blow, she grasped it around the middle, her hands clawing into its matted fur. With all her strength she flung the dog sideways, hurling it onto one of the chains tethering the behemoths. The hell hound bayed in agony as the magic of the chain melted its flesh. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning fur. The hell hound bounded upward, almost regaining its footing before Kellin drew her sword and slashed through the air. It caught the hound through its muzzle, cleaving its skull apart.

Brazen barks sounded across the square as three more hell hounds entered, running toward Kellin. She extended a finger and conjured four cold blue pellets of magic. They coursed across the square and struck one of the hell hounds, but it kept running. Kellin looked toward the other streets leading out of the square, but hell hounds burst from them as well. She pressed her back to the post, held her sword ready, and awaited the assault.

Not far from the Lord's Keep, Thluna ducked into an alley as a trio of hell hounds rushed by. He hated hiding from an enemy, but knew it was only prudent. Lanaal was fetching another flask of alchemist's fire that she had stolen from a local shop and hidden on the rooftops of Llorkh. Her destination was the guard contingent in front of the Lord's Keep. The fire, they hoped, would occupy the guards, and allow Thluna entrance.

Hell hounds seemed to have the full run of the city, tearing through anything that stood in their way. Thluna slaughtered two with the axe, but the beasts were ripping away at the behemoths wherever they found them. He feared for Kellin, for he could see that the behemoths in the square were not yet free of their bonds.

Thluna heard a strange sound in the dirt beneath him. He looked down just in time to see a hole open at his feet. Thick-clawed hands reached out and grasped him by his legs. He caught a glimpse of a creature like a giant badger-its black-furred snout covered with dirt-just before it pulled and yanked him off his feet.

Thluna fell, grasping the axe tightly in his hands. He kicked his feet hard but it was no help; he was being dragged down into a burrow. The creature dragged him farther and farther until his head was pulled into the hole, his mouth filling with dirt. Thluna kicked and struggled madly. He punched and scraped at the dirt, widening the burrow's entrance to give himself enough room to swing his weapon.

Choking on dirt, Thluna gripped the axe by the end of its handle, managing an unwieldy swing downward. The axe head sank into the dirt, and as the groundling tried to pull him farther, Thluna swung again and again, with as much strength as he could manage. The groundling gripped his legs tighter, its badger-claws digging into flesh, just as the axe broke through the earth, sinking into the creature's head.

Feeling the claws yield their grip on his legs, Thluna released the axe. His muscles strained as he dragged himself free of the burrow. Gasping heavily, he brushed clumps of dirt from his face. Down the street, he heard a small explosion and the crackle of fire, followed by the screams of men.

Thank you Lanaal, he thought, as he spat dirt from his mouth.

Rask Urgek blinked his huge behemoth eyes, trying desperately to hang on to the threads of his mind. As a rare half-orc born to half-orc parents, he had never felt torn between two worlds. Throughout his tangled history and variety of identities-Zhent caravan guard, thug in the employ of the Xanathar's Thieves Guild, mercenary for hire, Tree Ghost adoptee-he had always had at least some idea of who he was. Now, in this animal body, he felt his identity slipping away like dew in the sunlight. This beast form was seductive in its immensity and power. He felt a strong temptation to cast off the troubles of the civilized world, where Rask had lived on the margins most of his life, and even shrug off his duties and responsibilities with his adopted tribe. O, to be a beast!

As he clung to his consciousness, he wondered whether being in this city again played a part in his mental crisis. Every corner of Llorkh reeked with unpleasant memories for Rask, and walking the streets again brought them all flooding back. They fueled his rage but impaired his reason. The smell of the streets was the same, except now it was tinged with the foul stink of sulfur.

A dozen or more hell hounds pursued him, close enough to snap at his tail. They must have come from the underlevels of the Dark Sun, Rask knew, where Mythkar Leng bred them for dark purposes. Leng still stalked Rask's darkest dreams, his gray eyes peering from the front of the temple, seeing through his feigned faith in Cyric.

The Dark Sun. Did he have the power to destroy it?

Rask could make out its single spire from where he stood, and he turned a corner and galloped toward it, his skin crawling with anger. The street trembled as he ran, stampeding through the Merchant District and crushing caravans as if they were egg shells. As the dark cathedral grew closer, the hell hounds on his trail increased in number.

The Central Square was alive with hell hounds, growling, leaping, and barking. They avoided the deadly chains crisscrossing the square, even when the behemoths lifted their feet and pulled the chains higher. The dogs surrounded Kellin as she fended them off with her father's sword and her spells. The fiery blasts from their mouths were unrelenting, and she was wounded and exhausted. Backed against the post, with hounds snarling at her on all sides and bounding over her head to attack from above, Kellin knew she had little hope of defeating them.

The ground shook as a behemoth stormed into the square. Its vast bulk traveled with remarkable speed and care, and it reared back and slammed its front feet down on the hell hounds that harried Kellin, crushing them beneath its great weight. Those massive feet landed mere inches from Kellin, and the vibrations rattled her brain. The remaining hell hounds jumped at the impact, many onto the deadly chains.

Kellin watched as the behemoth transformed, its vast size melting. Soon, standing before her was the green-robed druid Thanar.

"I've never been more grateful to see you," she said.

"Nor I you," he answered. He smiled in wonder, looking around at the chained behemoths crowding the square.

Kellin asked, "How are the others?"

"Hengin fell, and so did Draf." He lowered his head. "The soldiers tore Draf down as we were toppling the city barracks."

"And Vell? What of Vell?"

"I do not know," said Thanar. "Can we free the captives?" he asked, looking up at the trapped behemoths.

Kellin nodded at the post. "Its enchantment is strong, but perhaps we can overcome it together."

Both of them placed their hands over the stone post and began to concentrate, pouring all their energy into dissolving Geildarr's magic.

Rask's feet burned as he raced through the streets of Llorkh, the infernal dogs at his heels. With his gargantuan strides, he quickly reached his destination. The Dark Sun stood before him-the huge, purple-walled church raised after the Time of Troubles to the glory of Cyric.

In Rask's mind he was a small child again, flogged by Leng as Cyricists looked on and smiled. He felt each lash again, ripping his flesh.

The huge doors to the Dark Sun were closed. Rask pounded them with his huge forelegs until they flew off their hinges. As a behemoth, he shouldered his way inside, dozens of hell hounds following him.

The church trembled at his entry. Pillars shook, and shocked Cyricists darted and dived for cover as the behemoth rushed in. The temple could barely contain Rask, even with its enormous size. His head bumped the ebon ceiling, and he thrashed his tail at the jawless skulls staring at him from every wall. The hell hounds raced into the temple and dashed around Rask, howling and yipping, breathing flames, snapping at him, ripping away flesh in their fiery jaws. The priests of Cyric unleashed their cruel magic upon him.

Rask looked for Leng among the Cyricists, but was disappointed not to find him. He could think of many reasons for the priest's absence, but somehow Rask suspected he was dead. He sighed, wishing he could crush him under his heel, smash his body, grind him into nothingness.

He would settle for Leng's creation instead-the foul temple to the Prince of Lies.

Some Cyricists ran toward the doors to flee, but Rask shifted the bulk of his weight against the doors to block them. All would die together. Rask's vision blurred, and the walls seemed to close in on him. The skulls leered at him, pressing closer. The Dark Sun had always seemed like a giant tomb to him, but as a child, he never anticipated that it would be his tomb.

Magical chains tore at him, huge claws raked him. The hell hounds bit through Rask, exposing white bone. The priests stole his vision and tormented him with diabolical spells. Flames lashed over his body. He was dying. Every part of Rask's vast body rang with pain, but he was happy. He was laughing inside as he swung his great tail and threw his body about, upsetting ebon pillars and smashing through walls. Chunks of the ceiling collapsed. Acolytes ran for the exit but found their way blocked by falling debris. Their wailing prayers were not answered by their cruel god.

As the world fell around him, Rask lost all sense of body and place. Amid this destruction, he was at peace. He had a sudden vision of himself in his own half-orc body, resting for all eternity in the shade of Grandfather Tree. The boughs swayed, and the leaves danced. Eternity waited.

When the roof finally let go, bringing down the Dark Sun in a final, glorious ruin, Rask Urgek had never felt more satisfied.

Thluna swung the axe, cleaving the skulls of the last survivors among the Lord's Men who guarded Geildarr's Keep. Forcing open the great doors, he was surprised to find bodies lying within, slashed by swords. The dead had been dispatched ferociously but efficiently-a hallmark of a raging barbarian.

"Sungar!" he exclaimed. The chief must have escaped, saving Thluna the need to rescue him. On the wall nearby he noticed a painting of a man who could only be Geildarr, standing before a crowd of adoring citizens. Thluna smiled as he noted the blood smeared across his face.

He saw bloody footprints going up the staircase and followed them.

Netheril falling. This was not the same, but it felt just like it. Geildarr watched from his balcony as the Dark Sun collapsed in on itself, the final reservoir of magical strength in Llorkh destroyed. Buildings were falling all over Llorkh, and whole portions of the city were lost to his eyes in the haze kicked up by the debris. Rampaging behemoths went wherever they cared to, destroying whatever offended them.

A small stone cougar in the hall fell from its pedestal and smashed on the floor. It had come from Ammarindar and was almost a thousand years old. It had survived so much, only to break apart now.

His city. They were destroying his city.

The citizens of Llorkh, those who were smart, quit their lodgings and ran for the city gates. Geildarr could see them moving through the streets by the hundreds. He looked toward the Merchant District, where caravans were crushed and devastated by a behemoth's destructive passing. Their goods were surely beyond rescue. Perhaps this assault would finally convince Zhentil Keep that Llorkh required a larger garrison.

In all likelihood, however, it would convince them that it needed a new mayor.

Geildarr looked down at the Heart of Runlatha, still clutched in his right hand, and wondered if it gave him that dream to taunt him.

Ardeth appeared to report bad news. "The barracks are gone. At least fifty of the Lord's Men were killed there alone, and just as many in the disaster at the gate. Battles are going on all over the city. The soldiers and Leng's hell hounds are the only ones fighting against the dinosaurs. This was a well-coordinated, intricately planned assault."

"The Dark Sun has fallen," said Geildarr. "Cyric must be mightily displeased with us for letting his temple be destroyed. No rabble of barbarians could be so calculated in a siege. What force can be behind this?"

"I don't know, but Chief Sungar has escaped from his prison. He is racing through the Lord's Keep, killing anything that moves. I only barely escaped from him with my life. No doubt," Ardeth added, "he's looking for you."

"I can handle one rabid Uthgardt," said Geildarr.

Ardeth frowned. "We have far more to deal with than one Uthgardt! Llorkh is being demolished building by building! Have you considered what will happen when Fzoul hears about this? He'll ask questions. He'll ask 'Who brought this on?' 'Why did this happen?' and 'Who do I blame?' You said he was angry that our incursion into the Fallen Lands failed-how do you suppose he'll feel about all of this?"

Each statement drove a nail into Geildarr's troubled mind. "Do you think you need to tell me this? I know!" he howled, banging his left fist against his thigh. "I know!" he repeated, stamping his feet on his red carpet. He let out a scream of frustration that echoed throughout the Lord's Keep. If Sungar did not know where to find him, he did now.

Geildarr's posture collapsed, and he wandered across his study, placing the Heart of Runlatha on a table-the very same zalantarwood table on which the axe had rested when all of this began.

"If only I had more time," he whispered. "If only I could have learned how to use it. It could have kept us secret, kept us safe from Fzoul, Manshoon, and the world. We could have lived together, you and I, hidden away from the world." He looked up at Ardeth, tears streaming from his eyes. "If Sememmon and Ashemmi can hide from the Zhentarim's eyes, surely we could too?"

"This is not a time for dreams," Ardeth spat. "It is a time for decisions."

"Yes," Geildarr said. "Decisions." He walked over to a case on his wall and pulled out a wand of duskwood. Walking back to his balcony, he looked down at the behemoths bound in the Central Square. "There's a good chance our foes are here for my pets, that they want to liberate them. We may want to relieve them of that task."

"Or you could enrage them further," said Ardeth.

"If we are to fall this day," said Geildarr, "let it be a glorious fall."

He pointed the wand at the behemoths, and the wand's magic crackled forth.

Like a key turning in a lock, Thanar and Kellin's blended spells succeeded in undoing the magic in the post that bound the behemoths in place. The sorceress and druid clapped hands in their victory as they watched the chains vanish. The great lizards were free, the rings on their legs now only mundane anklets.

Across the city, Vell felt their freedom and shared it. We are free, we are saved! their minds shouted, and they trumpeted in joy. You have freed us, Shepherd! Vell knew their pleasure.

No sooner had they raised their necks to salute their liberation than a lightning bolt flashed down from above.

The thunderous impact sent Kellin and Thanar diving to the ground.

The energy arced down a line of behemoths-the half of the herd that only moments before had strained at the limits of their chains along the west side of the square. Vell felt every stab of their pain as if it were happening to him, doubled and redoubled in his psyche until it became unbearable. The force of it brought him to his knees.

Another lightning blast tore down from the Lord's Keep, striking the same six behemoths. They shuddered and collapsed, their huge bulks sending the city trembling as they fell to the ground.

A blast of agony struck Vell's brain as if it carried the force of thousands of tons. Then he felt nothing. The absence was worse than the pain. Six minds fell silent.

The emptiness was deafening.

All of Lanaal's teachings fell to a forgotten corner of Vell's mind. All of his careful control of his behemoth body vanished in an instant. A rage beyond all rage overtook him and he was no longer Vell, but the mindless, rampaging monster that had killed the Zhentarim skymage in Rauvin Vale. No recollection of human consciousness, no sympathy for the blameless folk of Llorkh remained in him. Vell had no way to focus his anger on a single source. The whole city stood around him for one purpose-to be destroyed, a mere plaything to sate his bottomless fury.

Lying on the ground, Thanar and Kellin rolled to avoid the bodies of the dead behemoths that fell across the square. The living behemoths were no less of a hazard; consumed by the same anger that had seized Vell, they rampaged through the square, smashing walls with their huge fore-limbs in search of an exit. Thanar and Kellin lay right in the path of a mad behemoth, its eyes inflamed with fury, and unable to recognize friend from enemy. Numb with fear, they scrambled to their feet and dashed toward the street.

Outside of the Central Square, they discovered Lanaal, again in the form of the huge brown-feathered hawk that had lifted Kellin and Thluna over Llorkh's walls. Thanar and Kellin desperately climbed onto her back and she took wing, just ahead of a rampaging behemoth. Lanaal kept low to avoid Geildarr and his lightning bolts, and circled around to the back side of the Lord's Keep.

From their vantage point, they saw the city being demolished from within. They easily identified Vell, larger than the rest, smashing his way through buildings with an unfettered appetite for destruction. Ilskar, also in his behemoth form-but apparently retaining his wits-patrolled the inner side of the walls, appearing uncertain of what to do. The liberated behemoths joined Vell in his rage, bursting free of the Central Square and damaging anything that stood in their path.

Lone hell hounds still roamed the city, but the bulk of them had been killed in the collapse of the Dark Sun. The behemoths stormed streets and alleys, unchallenged. Many of the Lord's Men withdrew and fled the city alongside terrified townsfolk. Crowds poured out of the gates and into the countryside. But Llorkh was far from deserted, and innocent citizens remained in the path of the behemoths' rampage.

"This is wrong," said Kellin. "We have to stop Vell."

"We have to stop Geildarr," corrected Thanar. "And we have to do it now."

Lanaal veered to one side, toward an aerial landing platform jutting out from an upper level of the Lord's Keep. She settled lightly and turned back to her elf body, a short elven blade hanging from her belt.

"Geildarr's private floor is three stories below," said Lanaal. "He was probably firing lightning bolts at the behemoths from his balcony, so I didn't dare land there."

The wind whistled across the platform, almost loud enough to block out the noise of the destruction below.

"I certainly hope Geildarr didn't expect anyone to intrude from up here," Kellin said, trying the door. It was not locked and swung open.

"I guess he didn't," said Lanaal with a smile. "Not his first mistake of the day, but perhaps his last." The three ran into the keep.

Sungar ran up a staircase to a landing, then up to a higher floor in the Lord's Keep. No guards waited for him here, and the entire complex was eerily silent. Only the cacophony outside bled through, faint and distant as a dream. A long room unfurled before him, lined by mirrors on each side. A narrow table spanned the length of the room, and the whole place was lit by candles that faintly wobbled as the keep trembled with the vibrations of the city.

The barbarian walked slowly forward. Soon his reflection caught his eye, doubled and redoubled into an infinity of Sungars walking beside him. He startled and turned to stare into the mirror, watching his own blue eyes gaze at himself. He studied his face closely. Sungar's beard and hair were streaked with white, a token of his time in the dungeon. With his fingers, he traced the scars and the wounds, still red and tender, that Kiev's cruel lash had inflicted on him.

Sungar's rage left him; his fury-fueled energy dissipated. He felt every ache again, every stinging wound along his back and sides. His shoulders drooped, his sword arm fell to his side, and he felt as weak as he had when he was sprawled on the floor of his cell so far below.

He stared deeper into the mirror. Sungar had heard of such things, but he had never seen one before. Other than his reflection in water, he had never seen himself. There was something beautiful about the mirror, as smooth, cool, and polished as an icy mountain lake. Things seemed more perfect in the mirror, even his own face and form.

Civilized vanity, he thought. The shamans of Uthgar often described mirrors as the symbol of civilization's flaws. They represented the tendency to become distracted with oneself, and to become useless and nonproductive. An Uthgardt warrior was trained not to be drawn into excessive contemplation, but Sungar knew that was happening to him now.

His sword fell from his hand, landing on the floor with a thud. Those blue eyes in the mirror-his eyes, but somehow not his eyes-drew him in deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, the mirror smashed in front of him, a thousand shards falling to the carpet. It shook Sungar from his reverie, his moment of weakness shattering. A familiar axe head was embedded in the mirror's frame. Sungar turned to face its wielder, and his heart soared with joy.

"Thluna!" His cry echoed off the walls. He embraced the boy, pulling him close. "My son! Can it be you?"

"Sungar," Thluna wept. "Thank Uthgar you're alive. Thank Uthgar."

Breaking their embrace, Sungar's eyes went to the axe. "Is this…"

"Yes," said Thluna. "It is what you think."

Sungar gripped the axe handle, the head still stuck in the wall.

"We now know that it was once the weapon of Berun himself, in an age past," said Thluna, "and also that Uthgar himself wielded it."

"I know," said Sungar. "How?" asked Thluna.

"King Gundar came to me in a vision. He showed me that you'd be coming to rescue me."

"And we feared the Battlefather had abandoned us!" Thluna declared. "He never forsook us. He was on our side all along."

Sungar pulled the axe from the wall. It felt comfortable in his hands-better than any weapon he had ever wielded. He offered it to Thluna. "This is for the chief of the Thunderbeasts," he said.

Thluna shook his head. "I am not the chief of the Thunderbeasts. I played that role in your absence, wielding this axe with pride, but only because I knew it was in your stead. This axe belongs to you. Besides, I have my own weapon now." He reached to his belt and drew up the heavy oaken club. "This was a gift from Chief Gunther Longtooth of the Tree Ghosts." He paused a moment before adding, "It, too, is a magical weapon."

Sungar breathed heavily, looking at the axe in his hands. It seemed so long ago since he threw it away on that desolate plain in the Fallen Lands. It felt so good to have it in his hands again. It felt like a part of himself long missing, now restored.

Sungar's strength rose in him again. "To war!" he cried, and together once again, the two Uthgardt dashed through the halls.