Son of Thunder

CHAPTER 4

An the shadow of the twin stockades that dominated Newfort, Arthus Tyrrell arrived at his modest home after a hard day of work. His features were weathered and his hands were calloused, but he never wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake in coming to this inhospitable frontier town. Dwarfed by the mountains that surrounded it, Newfort was founded and largely occupied by settlers from Zhentil Keep. Now, they worked hard to carve out a life for themselves in the North.

Tyrrell closed his door behind him. He was alone; his wife and two children were not yet back from their work at Stauvin's Mill. A few steps from the door, he noticed something lying on his table-something resembling a large, white knife. He walked to it, grabbed the dagger, and held it up to the light. He gasped. He had seen it before.

"Is it true," came a voice, "that you dealt the death blow to the Great Wyrm?" Tyrrell spun around to see a pretty face smiling at him from a shadowed corner.

"Who are you?" he asked, taking a step forward. But he was silenced as she raised a crossbow from the darkness and sent a bolt zipping past his head to embed in the wall beyond. He stood very still as he looked at her-a petite woman, dressed all in black.

"My name is Ardeth. No one saw me enter your home," she said with a coy smile, "and no one will see me leave."

"Where did you get this?" he said, holding up the dagger.

"Geildarr Ithym sends his regards," the girl said.

Tyrrell sighed. This was his worst fear realized. His past with the Zhentarim had caught up with him. He had never been a member of the Black Network, but he worked for them on occasion. Years before, at the behest of Llorkh, he and his fellow adventurers had sought the Great Wyrm Cavern high in the Spine of the World. It was the most sacred site of the Great Wyrm tribe of Uthgardt, and they had to slaughter and torture a great many of the barbarians before they learned its location.

When they finally reached the cavern, they slaughtered the benign dragonlike creature Elrem-the Great Wyrm tribe's totem, shaman, and chief in one. They claimed Elrem's considerable hoard for their Zhentarim masters. The bone dagger was a mundane item of considerable antiquity, presented to Geildarr much later. Geildarr believed that it dated back to the earliest human habitation in the North, many thousands of years before even Netheril.

"I have a family," said Tyrrell. "A wife and children. Kill me and you're taking a father and a husband away. Surely even you Zhentarim have some feelings about that."

"The only thing I care about right now is the Uthgardt," Ardeth said. "Geildarr tells me you're something of an authority on the subject. If you want to live, I recommend you answer my questions."

"The Uthgardt," said Tyrrell. "You're threatening me for information on the barbarians?"

"As implausible as it may sound, yes. And unless you're willing to die to protect that information, I'd recommend telling me all you know. For instance, the significance of the name 'Berun.'"

"He's a figure in the mythology of some tribes," Tyrrell stammered, drumming his fingers on the table in his nervousness. "Sometimes he's conflated with Uthgar. There's a Berun's Hill near Neverwinter Wood, and Beorunna's Well was probably named for the same person."

"Is this just mythology?" asked Ardeth. "Is it possible he actually existed?"

"Possible. I don't know much about it, but some sages think he might have been a Netherese warrior who led an exodus to the North after the fall."

"Netherese," Ardeth repeated, savoring the word. "Geildarr will like that. Is there anything special about an axe in these legends?"

Tyrrell shrugged. "They're barbarians. There's always an axe. That or an especially large club. For the cracking of skulls."

"Such a wit you are," Ardeth said through pursed lips. "Now, what can you tell me about the Thunderbeasts?"

"Thunderbeasts?" Tyrrell thought a moment. "Thought to be the most civilized of all the tribes, though I don't recommend saying that to their faces. They hate wolves for some obscure reason-they regard them as a ritual enemy. Orcs, too. Something to do with the Gray Wolf tribe, probably. Their totem animal is something called a behemoth, or 'thunderer'-a big lizard of some sort, possibly one of those dinosaurs that live down in Chult. There may even be one of those creatures still alive closer to home-they say that the lizardmen in the Lizard Marsh …"

"Where can I find them now?" asked Ardeth. Even though his life was under threat, she sensed a general willingness to cooperate. Perhaps the threat was unnecessary-once a Zhentarim supporter, always a Zhentarim supporter. Or perhaps this erstwhile scholar was so in love with the sound of his own voice that he welcomed any opportunity to hear it. She added, "And by 'them' I mean the Thunderbeasts, not the lizards."

"Well, for about a century they lived in a place called Grunwald, up in the Lurkwood, making a living at some sort of trade. No other tribe has ever dealt with the cities of the North so directly, except possibly the Black Lions, who've recently cast their lot with the Silver Marches wholeheartedly. Some of the other tribes hated the Thunderbeasts for settling down and wanted to destroy them, but others respected them for the power they commanded."

"You say they lived in Grunwald," said Ardeth. "You mean they don't now?"

"No. Their chief for many years was named Gundar. He outlived all his sons, and the story goes that as he was dying, he had a choice between two successors-the old priest Keirkrad, who wanted to stay in Grunwald, and a warrior called Sungar, who represented a faction of the tribe who wanted to abandon Grunwald and go back to their nomadic roots. The dying chief chose Sungar, though some thought that he was too senile to make the decision properly. But Sungar is now chief. Because his succession came under odd circumstances, some in the tribe question the validity of his rule.

"If you're trying to find them, don't try Grunwald. I heard recently that they cut a deal with the folk of Everlund. The Thunderbeasts are living somewhat east of there, along the Rauvin, and they've agreed not to raid the town or harm trading interests as long as Everlund does not extend too far in their direction. Basically, they've both agreed to leave each other alone, except in the face of common enemies. That essentially means orcs-barbarians need little justification to fight orcs."

"This … Sungar … how would one recognize him?" asked Ardeth.

"Well, like I said, the tribe hates wolves. Sungar's nickname is 'Wolfkiller.' Many of them wear wolf skins, but when dressed for ceremony, the chief probably gets the fanciest-they favor black. Or alternatively," Tyrrell said through a grimace, "you could just ask every barbarian you see. That way, you're bound to find him sooner or later."

Ardeth smiled coldly. "Is there anything else you'd care to tell me about them?"

"Well," said Tyrrell, "there's one thing. I hesitate to mention this-I don't know if it's anything more than silly rumor."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Ardeth. "Talk."

"Apparently, about two and a half years ago, around the same time the Phaerimm War was happening, some members of the Thunderbeast tribe-Sungar included, and maybe Keirkrad, too-were on an orc hunt down in the Fallen Lands." Tyrrell watched Ardeth's eyes narrow at the mention. "I see you've heard of it. Well, when they came back, most of the tribesmen were dead and those still living were missing a great number of weapons, including a very special axe."

"How did you hear this story?" demanded Ardeth.

"From a logger here in Newfort, but he claimed he heard it from a barbarian named Garstak, a former Thunderbeast who left the tribe not long after this. Sungar and the others refused to discuss what had happened, but word got out anyway, and it led to some internal strife. This Garstak-according to the logger, anyway-refused to say much more, but said that he thought his tribe was too debased and was doomed to weakness and ruin. He said he was going to go up north to try to join the Black Lion tribe, for he thought they had the nobility he founded lacking in his own people. And that's all I know."

"Do you know where I might get more information?" asked Ardeth.

"Oh, I don't know … you might ask the Thunderbeasts themselves."

"I just might," said Ardeth, letting out an odd giggle. "I thank you for your help, and Geildarr thanks you."

"I hope he does. Here's his dagger back." He tossed it, and the weapon landed on the floor at Ardeth's feet with an unceremonious clunk.

"No," she said. "It belongs to you." She picked it up and hurled it at his face. Tyrrell dodged too slowly and it struck him in the neck. He instinctively grasped at his throat as blood flowed down his chest. Ardeth stood watching as he attempted a few steps toward her, but he collapsed from the pain and blood loss before he could reach her. She smiled like a naughty child as his bloodstained hand reached in her direction and grasped only air.

"Thanks for the help," she said as she leaped over Tyrrell. Within heartbeats, she was through his door and gone.

Through the haze of death, and the blood dripping in his eyes, Tyrrell saw a new face. Was it real, or was he dreaming it? he wondered. The image spun-a huge red nose on a shrunken face.

The face spoke. "She's very good, isn't she?"

Without moving to help him, the gnome waited until Tyrrell rattled with death. Then he reached over to extract the bone dagger from Tyrrell's neck, freeing a tide of blood that swelled the puddle on the floor.

What am I doing here? thought Kellin. Children lurked outside her tent to try to get a glimpse of her, so exotic a creature was she in these northern lands. They regarded her little differently than they might a dark-skinned visitor from Zakhara-any place outside the North was the same to them, and any visitor who looked different was an object of curiosity and fear.

Kellin liked and respected Sungar, and Thluna seemed like a man far beyond his years, yet with boyish wonder and enthusiasm. But they were the only Thunderbeasts she'd spoken to in the days since she'd arrived. She'd taken her meals with the tribe, but they seemed scared of her, especially when she spoke to them in their own language. The women particularly looked at her with disdain, as if she were there to steal their men-as laughable a notion as that was.

Kellin could hear the voices of those who had tried to dissuade her from coming here.

"I can understand it perfectly," one of the Candlekeep lorekeepers told her. "Your whole childhood was spent safely locked away here, while your father wandered the world in search of adventures. But such a venture is foolhardy and dangerous." Kellin's denials hardly even convinced herself.

She heard footsteps approaching outside her tent and instinctively reached for the hilt of her father's sword.

"May I speak with you?" came a deep voice, speaking uncertain Common.

Kellin stood and opened the tent flap. She instantly knew who the man was by his brown eyes, but from the stories she'd heard, she hadn't expected him to look quite so gentle and innocent.

"Vell the Blessed," she said, using the Uthgardt tongue. "I've heard a lot about you. I am honored that you've come to see me."

"The honor is mine," Vell said, staring deeply at her face. He stared so long, in fact, that he pulled away in embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"No," she laughed. "It's fine. I've gotten the same reaction from most of your people."

"Your parents. . where did they come from?" asked Vell.

She admired his directness. "My mother was of Tethyrian blood. I've inherited something of her skin tone, and hopefully some of her good sense as well." She smiled. "My father was born in the Moonsea region, in a place called Melvaunt."

"I see," said Vell, though Kellin suspected she'd named a few places he'd never heard of. "Our chieftain tells me the Thunderbeast sent you here."

"All I know is that when I touched that piece of bone, I heard a message of some kind, and it led me here."

"Will you be coming into the forest with us?" asked Vell.

"I don't know," Kellin confessed. "Sungar says he hasn't decided, and I haven't decided if I should."

"I hope you do. We can protect you."

"I can fight," said Kellin, half-smiling. "So can the women of your tribe-they've proven it many times in your history. But I'm not sure if my place is on this expedition. I don't really belong."

Vell reached over with a clumsy hand to comfort her in her uncertainty.

"Do I belong?" Vell asked. "I'd never have dreamed to be invited on such an expedition as this. Sometimes I wonder why the spirit chose me. The entire tribe was assembled at Morgur's Mound. Why didn't the beast choose Sungar as its vessel, or Keirkrad the Shaman? Did it pick me at random out of all the Uthgardt there? Even an outsider responds to the beast's summons better than I."

"Gods, don't think that," said Kellin. "It hasn't been easy for me. That moment on Highharvestide, I felt a nagging dread wash over my body and settle in my stomach. I haven't been able to get rid of it. That's just a taste of what you must have experienced." Vell nodded. She was the first person to try to excuse his weakness. It felt good, but he instinctively mistrusted it for coming from an outsider. "But what's interesting is, it's starting to fade now that I'm here. It's crazy that I'm here, but somehow it feels right, too. Am I making sense?"

"Yes," Vell said. "And I'm glad you're here." Then Keirkrad appeared behind him, seemingly popping out of nowhere.

"I, too, would like to greet our new arrival," the shaman said.

"Oh," said Vell. To Kellin, he whispered, "We shall talk again," before walking out of the tent.

Keirkrad stared at Kellin. She found his eyes unnerving-they were blue as the sky, and so piercing and unwavering. His body appeared frail and crumpled, and he was hunched over like some gargoyle. A brisk wind disturbed the flaps of the tent, and Keirkrad looked almost as if he'd blow away with it.

"I trust you are shaman Seventoes," Kellin said. "Sungar has told me of you."

"He has told me about you," Keirkrad said. He stood very close to her, and she could see a brown film coating his yellowed teeth. "No matter how much you've heard about our tribe's penchant for hospitality at Grunwald, you should know that those times are passed. We no longer consort with outsiders. You are not welcome here."

"I'm here because your totem spirit guided me here," Kellin retorted. "I should think that I would be treated with the greatest courtesy."

Keirkrad sniffed. "Southern humor translates poorly to our tongue. You may think the Thunderbeast sent you here, but I shall be the judge of that. I remember your father well. For a month he lived as we lived in Grunwald. We tolerated him because we thought him an amusing diversion-an outsider who wanted to know our ways. We did not realize he had made himself our chronicler as well, that he put us in books. What death befell Zale Lyme?"

"He died in his sickbed," said Kellin.

"A suitable death," Keirkrad said. "Unheroic."

"Your King Gundar died the same way, as I understand."

Keirkrad ignored her comment. "I just got back from retrieving Vell, who thought to abandon his people in their time of need. I hope his moment of weakness is over. Sungar says you will come with us into the wood. He is my chief and I will not question his wisdom. But I will not let you taint the mind of Vell or any other Thunderbeast with your ways."

"I've spent my life studying the Uthgardt, as my father did," Kellin told him. "The last thing I'd want to do is to change you."

"Have you brought books with you?" asked Keirkrad.

"Yes," she said. "Various reference works that might help me understand what's happening to your tribe."

"Let me see one of these books," said Keirkrad.

Warily, Kellin went to the corner of her tent and picked up a thick volume from her collection. Keirkrad snatched it and flipped through it, idly running his fingers over the lines of dense text. There were occasional illustrations-line drawings of costumes and tribal emblems. He found one sketch of King Gundar himself. At that he snapped the book shut.

Keirkrad looked at the leather-bound cover.

"What does this say?" asked Keirkrad, tracing the embossed title.

"It says, Customs of the Northern Barbarians." She hesitated before adding, "By Zale Lyme."

"Oh." Keirkrad looked up at her. "Your father wrote this?"

"Yes," she said.

Keirkrad tore the book to shreds. The binding snapped under his bony hands, and he ripped the pages free, tossing them to be caught by the breeze and scattered all over the camp.

"You may come with us if you want," Keirkrad concluded with a bitter sneer. "But leave your so-called civilization behind. The Thunderbeast doesn't want it."

That evening, before a roaring fire at the clan hearth, the skald Hazred sang a song of Uthgar. It went on for a long time, like most longer epics, but Hazred's voice never faltered and his memory never failed. When he concluded, Kellin stepped forward to take the skald's place before the assembled warriors, their grim faces lit by the orange flicker of the fire.

"I, too, have a story to tell," she said. "I know it is a tradition of your people for newcomers to tell a story. It does not have a song, but I would never try to usurp the place of your magnificent skald. I'm not practiced in your language, but I shall do my best.

"I'm rarely called upon as a storyteller," she said, smiling. She scanned the crowd and her eyes connected with Sungar, Thluna, Vell, and finally Keirkrad, who stared at her impassively from across the fire. Kellin had first wondered if she might tell them a story from their own history, about the figure known variously as Berun, Beorunna, and the Bey of Runlatha. But Kellin had thought of something that she hoped would work better.

"Let me tell you a story from my own life," she began. "Many of you met my father, Zale Lyme, when he visited Grunwald many years ago. He studied all the Uthgardt tribes, largely from afar, but yours was the only one that welcomed him.

"I didn't realize until after his death how little I truly knew my father. The bulk of his life was spent away on one expedition or another, and when he came back to me and my mother, he spent most of his time preparing for his next journey. But he enthralled me with stories of faraway places and all the things he learned, all the people he met. And before he died, I told him all this. With his blood and his stories inside me, what choice did I have but to follow in his footsteps?" Kellin paused a few heartbeats, gauging the interest of her listeners. Around the campfire, all was still.

"A few years ago, I went on my first expedition, to the island of Ruathym far away in the Trackless Sea. My father was there many years before, and I went to verify his findings. I was looking for information on Uther Gardolfsson, as Uthgar was called before he came to these lands. He was Thane of that distant isle before he came to the North all those centuries ago. And as I walked the place where Uthgar was born, where he was educated, I realized something. I was not only walking in Uthgar's steps, I was walking in my father's as well. And that helped me understand why he admired your people so much.

"I was born and raised amid stone walls, a world of books and learning. I'm anathema to your way of life, but I realize that makes me respect it all the more. Many civilizations rose in the North and later fell, till only scholars like myself remember their names. But through all that there were the Uthgardt, living more or less as you do today. You are the finest of survivors. Even when the Silver Marches are dead and gone, just another name on a roll of dead kingdoms, the Uthgardt will live on, living the same as you do today."

A roar of applause came up from the tribe. Sungar walked forward and stood with Kellin-a silent gesture of her acceptance by the tribe at large. She caught Keirkrad still wearing the same blank expression as before, but she discovered Vell smiling widely.

Wings beat in the night, so softly that no one below heard them. The riders on the hippogriff's back heard a dull roar of excitement rise as they made quiet circles above the barbarian encampment, lit by the flickering red and orange of its bonfire.

"I wonder what's going on down there," said the skymage Valkin Balducius, his forehead furrowing beneath his jet black bangs. He was smiling wickedly at having spent so much time with Ardeth over the last few days, even if most of it was just ferrying her around. Now to engage in this strange endeavor alongside her… it would make for a good story, if nothing else.

"They're barbarians," said Ardeth. "They're probably celebrating a new record for most spines snapped or something."

"Which one do you suppose is chief?" Valkin asked her.

"There by the fire," said Ardeth, pointing to a dimly lit figure beneath them. "With the beard. Only chiefs are allowed to wear black wolf pelts like that."

Valkin looked back at her. "Just how do you know that?"

She smiled coyly. "I know a lot of things," she said. "Now speaking of wolves, are your pets in position?"

"Ready on your word," Valkin said. "May I say, Ardeth, this mission has proved a lot more interesting than guarding caravans across Anauroch has ever been. Maybe afterward, you'll tell me the real reason we're doing this. Abducting barbarian chiefs… not standard Zhentarim activity."

"Geildarr wants him," Ardeth replied. "That's all you need to know for now."

"Hmm," Valkin said. "I spent all morning flying over the Nether Mountains finding dire wolves for this little project, and you still haven't thanked me."

She turned back to him and smiled a transfixing smile.

"Perhaps I'll thank you later," she said. He cursed himself for being so damned malleable, all the while admitting that he couldn't do a thing about it.

Wolf howls suddenly filled the night, ringing like a knell through Sungar's Camp. The festivities ceased instantly. Mugs filled with mead spilled on the ground as warriors hurried to draw weapons. No war cry and no chiefs orders could call the Thunderbeasts to arms faster. These were not the cries of normal wolves, but of the great dire wolves that wandered the wilderness.

"She has brought wolves upon us!" cried Keirkrad, pointing a finger in Kellin's direction, but he was scarcely heard among the uproar. Families were roused from their tents and ushered to the camp's center, and horses were pulled from their corral to the center of camp as well. Mothers armed themselves with bows and formed a tight circle around the children. More howls came from the west, the north, then all sides. Torches were lit, armor donned, and weapons readied.

Kellin searched for Vell, dodging huge barbarians as they rushed back and forth, trying desperately to form a perimeter around the camp before the onslaught began. But as she navigated the confusion, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and was spun backward, directly into Vell's face.

"This is no random attack," he demanded. "Some mind guides it. If you have anything to do with this…"

She shouted at him in fury. "You and Keirkrad both?" Vell shrank back at the force of her reaction. "Why would I have wolves attack your camp while I'm in it? I can help you fight," she said, reaching for the blade she wore at her side. The howls grew closer.

"Save your mettle for another time," Vell said. "Stay with the children." And he turned toward the edge of camp.

At that moment a dire wolf bounded into the lines, very close to Kellin and Vell. Kellin was startled by the suddenness of the attack, but Vell dashed between her and the wolf. Thunderbeast axes and swords quickly brought the creature down, but not before it had bitten a warrior in two with a single snap of its huge jaws. Another wolf came, then another, all charging into camp with suicidal fervor, their huge eyes glowing and drool glistening on their white teeth. The weapons of the Uthgardt dug into fur and flesh, stopping the wolves only at the cost of brave lives. The howling in the distance did not cease.

"Some wizardry is at work on their minds," said Kellin. But when she looked at Vell, she gasped at the transformation that was overtaking him. Scales sprouted from his skin as he vanished into a rage, and Kellin watched reptilian slits grow in the place of his soft, brown eyes. She extended a hand to feel his scaled skin, but he pulled away.

"No," she heard Vell croak. He fell to his knees, gripping at his face with both scaly hands. "Not this time."

"What if the chieftain should die in the attack?" asked Valkin, projecting his voice over the noise of the battle below.

"I suppose I'd leap down there and save him," said Ardeth. Valkin didn't doubt that she would.

It was quite a spectacle. Wolf after wolf tried to ram its way through the barbarian line and was slaughtered in the process. Valkin's magic willed the creatures toward the center of the camp-the beasts had nothing in their heads except a desire to get there and to kill anything in their way. Ardeth kept her eyes locked on the bearded chief who seemed well prepared to stay alive himself, hacking away at fur and claws.

The dire wolves were not so powerful that the tribe was in danger of destruction, but they served their true purpose well. They had been summoned only as a distraction.

"So when do we do it?" asked Valkin, tugging impatiently on the hippogriff's reins.

"Patience, skymage," said Ardeth, a cool night breeze tousling her hair. "When you have the luxury of choosing when to strike, always strike when the opponent is weakest."

"Did Geildarr teach you that?" asked Valkin.

Ardeth ignored him. "Barbarians are strongest when they rage. We wait till that subsides-after all their foes are killed."

"You mean," said Valkin, "we wait until they think they're triumphant, then hand them an awful defeat? A delicious idea."

"Why, Valkin," Ardeth replied. "Where did you acquire so cruel a mind as that?"

"Spending some time with you, my dear," Valkin said. "It rubs off."

He felt the squeeze of Ardeth's arms around his waist as she giggled away, so adorably, so madly.

Like waves against rocks, wolf after wolf charged the Thunderbeast lines. Some were skewered by archers, but many broke through. Barbarians were torn apart by vicious claws or snapped in two by massive jaws, and blood, of both wolves and men, ran in streams across the camp. A few torches had been knocked from their staves and several tents had caught fire. Some of the braver children ventured forward to try to extinguish them.

Vell choked back his anger and summoned every fragment of his will to contain the beast inside him. He knew some would call him a coward-Keirkrad would certainly scold him for abandoning his tribe in its time of need-but he did not trust his other self. Vell still feared that if the beast within him were released again, he would not be able to tell friend from foe.

In the chaos and cacophony that consumed Sungar's Camp, and despite his distorted senses, he could hear Kellin's voice pleading with him.

"Trust yourself," she begged. But how could he?

"There's a power in you," she said quickly. "I don't understand it. Not even Keirkrad understands it. But I know what it's like to have something within you that seems on the verge of controlling you. You have to learn to control it instead."

Vell looked at Kellin through his lizardlike eyes, wondering what she was talking about, and he saw that the concern on her face was genuine. He looked back at his hands and realized that they were his again. The scales had receded. He stood uncomfortably and looked her in the eye. He wondered how to thank her, but when he opened his mouth his words were not his own.

"What are you?" he asked.

A strange silence settled over the camp all at once. The clinking of armor and weapons ceased, and the howls ended. The enemy was defeated, and the camp was safe again.

"Victory!" Sungar shouted, thrusting a fist high into the air. All eyes turned to him.

In that moment, something appeared in the darkness above. A tiny point of light fell from the sky over the camp, looking no more dangerous than a shooting star in the distant heavens. But Kellin knew better.

"Turn away!" she shouted as loudly as she could, spinning away from it and slapping her hands over her eyes. But Vell's instincts misled him and he turned to look instead, just in time to stare into the heart of the burst.

The speck exploded into a brilliant wave of light that washed over the camp, a thousand times brighter than the midday sun, before it dissolved back into the dark of night. In that horrid instant Vell saw the night vanish, and watched as many of the Uthgardt closest to the impact collapsed unconscious. Most of the barbarians were too late to protect their eyes and now screamed, unable to see. Behind him, Vell could hear the cries of children. Torches fell to the ground and burned the grass, leaping and raging toward some of the tents.

But Vell's eyes had looked into the flash and withstood it.

Kellin uncovered her eyes and turned to join him, just in time to see a winged beast swoop down from above. The warriors stumbled and groped, blind or dazed, and did not notice as the creature closed its talons around the unconscious form of Sungar and lifted him into the air. The hippogriff bore two riders-a honey-haired young woman and an older man. It lifted off with Sungar firmly in its grip.

Kellin extended one hand. A bolt of silver-blue energy burst forth, rocketing across the camp and striking the woman just as the hippogriff rose. It blew her from her place and she fell to the ground, landing amid a group of semiconscious barbarians. The woman dazedly propped herself up and shot Kellin a dirty look. Then she drew her sword and sank it into a defenseless Uthgardt's heart, twisting his body to place it between herself and Kellin.

The revelation that Kellin was a spellcaster was lost on Vell as he watched the hippogriff rise into the night, Sungar in its talons. In perfect fury, Vell called upon all that he had previously held back and fought against. He bid the scales to come, and with them, whatever powers that so terrified him. Like a dammed river bursting free, they came in a torrent.

This was supposed to be easy, thought Valkin as he tugged on the reins. He turned his mount to circle back to the camp that he would be so happy to leave behind.

It hadn't taken much for Geildarr to talk Valkin into this scheme. Everybody who'd visited Llorkh in the past two years had heard about Ardeth. She was Geildarr's protegee and some said something more-an uncomfortable thought. At the very least, Valkin thought that a few days alone with her would be good for much discussion over ales at the Wet Wizard.

He could hardly leave her to be murdered by barbarians.

But when the hippogriff came about, Valkin found himself staring into the black, slitted eyes of a great lizard. Indistinct in the dim light, it seemed to him that a new hill had grown up beneath him, its serpentine neck reaching up so high it was almost at his level.

"What in all the Hells!" shouted Valkin. His hippogriff shrieked and stared, closing its claws more tightly around Sungar. Valkin did nothing to discourage the hippogriff as it wheeled about and flew. He looked back, and the behemoth was running after him, the sound of each step rolling off the Crags and crashing like a waterfall. It was gaining on him.

Valkin yanked the reins, taking his mount higher and higher to escape the colossal beast's reach. When he looked back, the barbarian camp was visible only from the fires burning in the distance. He led the hippogriff into a dive to the left, and as he passed alongside the rampaging behemoth, he lit up the night with a lightning bolt that danced between his fingers before streaking to the behemoth's bulky middle.

Letting out a dull but deafening moan of pain, the lizard's legs collapsed beneath it. It fell to the ground with force that rumbled the entire vale. But it was not dead-far from it-and Valkin could already see the creature straining to rise again. He had, however, slowed the monster, and that gave him his chance.

"I must be mad," he muttered as he tugged the reins, directing his hippogriff back to the camp.

Distant rumbles roiled in the distance. Like a thunderstorm crashing all around them, the ground rolled and shook in the Thunderbeast camp. A great mountain of scales rose among the barbarians and was gone and away in a flash, some of the dazed and fallen crushed under its huge feet. Kellin and Ardeth ignored the distraction as they illuminated the night with colorful spells-red and gold shimmers and bursts of magic flying from their fingertips and coursing through the chaotic camp. Kellin did not know what was happening out in the darkness, but she feared for Vell as a lightning blast crackled through the sky in the periphery of her vision.

The dazed barbarians were beginning to recover around Ardeth, and she tried to finish them with a quick flash of her sword or by sinking her foot into their exposed necks, crushing windpipes. But there were too many, and as her human shield rocked under each new magical assault, the corpse weakened and collapsed into pulp. Cursing, Ardeth pushed free of the barbarian hands that grasped at her slender legs and arms. She made quick leaps in Kellin's direction, her sword at her side. Through the darkness she bounded and wove past the barbarians with strange grace, reaching Kellin too quickly for her opponent to react. Kellin tried to dodge her, but cried out as Ardeth's sword caught her shoulder.

Kellin stumbled backward, blood spilling down her sword arm. She drew her father's blade from its sheath but could not hold onto it, and it fell to the ground. In the flickering light of the fire, she could see her opponent's pale oval face twisting into a wicked smile, her sword held at the ready, but before Ardeth could finish off her opponent, a strong hand gripped Ardeth's forearm and twisted her around.

The distant rumbles became closer again, somewhere off in the night.

Keirkrad's blue eyes bore through Ardeth, staring at her from beneath a layer of scales, the sour stink of his breath washing over her. Silently, he released her forearm and instead clamped onto her shoulders with both hands, squeezing with all the magical strength of his altered shape. But Ardeth twisted and slithered within his embrace, freeing her hands just enough to drive her sword into the shaman's magical hide. It sliced deep and embedded. Keirkrad gulped back the pain, but he did not release her. His fingers dug down to her bones, and she let out a high-pitched yelp.

So intense was Keirkrad's blood fury that he did not feel the breeze of wings beating just above him. He was unprepared for the bolt of magic that struck him from above, battering him into unconsciousness in an instant. Keirkrad's form remained stiff as he collapsed, Ardeth still locked within his embrace.

As Kellin prepared a spell, Valkin shot a purplish bolt in her direction that exploded as she dived frantically. The blast hurled her backward by more than half a dozen sword lengths. As a number of Uthgardt warriors charged, Ardeth wriggled free of Keirkrad's unconscious grip and grasped Valkin's outstretched hand above her.

In a single motion he pulled the woman up. She settled behind him on the hippogriff, and it lifted into the night sky just as Uthgardt arrows and hammers sailed in their direction. But with Sungar still in the creature's talons, the warriors dared not strike the hippogriff. The battered tribe could do nothing to stop the beast from flying away, their chief caught in its grip.

"Do you know anything about this?" Valkin demanded of Ardeth. The ground rumbled again, but he couldn't see the creature that had attacked him as he peered through the darkness. "There's something out there. It's huge, and it almost knocked me out of the sky. What is it?"

"I think it's what some call a dinosaur," said Ardeth. "Or what that tribe calls a thunderbeast."

"What's it doing here?" Valkin asked. "We're a long way from Chult."

"I don't know," said Ardeth, peering over the side of the hippogriff into the darkness beneath them. "Perhaps our captive knows. The whip will tell."

As the thunder of heavy steps approached behind them, Valkin tugged on the reins. The hippogriff, tired and overburdened, angled upward but gained elevation only gradually.

"We need to get back to Llorkh alive first," the skymage said.

"Perhaps we need a distraction," Ardeth suggested. She reached out and stroked his ear gently, a lover's gesture.

"What kind of distraction?" asked Valkin, curious.

As an answer, Ardeth delivered a blow to the side of his head with a clenched fist, precisely where she had stroked. It took Valkin's breath, and as he tried to turn, she pummeled him again, knocking him from his place on the hippogriff. The last thing he saw of her was her smiling face as he tumbled down into the darkness.

Cursing, Valkin mouthed a single command that slowed his fall to a safe speed. But the thunderous steps were getting closer, and just as he landed on the grass, something fast-moving and massive emerged from the darkness. Valkin died wondering which spell could save him from being trampled under a behemoth's massive foot.