the flames. Standing out in the open, bathed by firelight, the hunters would have made easy targets. If the watchers in the woods had hostile intentions, they had just lost part of their advantage. Still, the cover of the woods would be in the hidden creatures' favor. Kelemvor urged the hunters to pack their belongings as quickly as possible.
'If we keep our wits about us, we may be able to get to the horses and outdistance whoever is out there,' Kelemvor said, slinging his pack onto his horse with one hand and brandishing his sword with the other.
Suddenly there was a piggish grunt from the forest, and one of the horses whinnied in terror. The horse rose up on its hind legs and threw its rider, Jorah, to the ground. Then the frantic horse raced onto the Mistledale road and vanished into the night. There was a hiss, like the whisper of a sudden gust of wind, and Gurn, the white-haired woodsman, grunted and fell forward.
One of the fishermen, Carella, was near Gurn, close to the Mistledale side of the crescent-shaped clearing. He leaped from his mount and rushed to the woodsman's aid. Gurn lay on his chest, writhing in agony. A three-inch dart protruded from the back of his neck. The fisherman reached down, grabbed the woodsman's arms, and tried to drag the white-haired man to a horse.
'Kelemvor!' Carella shouted between puffs of breath. 'They're using some kind of darts. They could be poisoned. They — '
The fisherman's words were cut short as a dart pierced the side of his face, passed through his cheek, and impaled itself into his tongue. Despite his absolute horror, Carella was quickly satisfied that the darts were not poisoned. He felt no sensation other than intense pain. The fisherman lost his grip on Gurn and fell to the ground, clutching at his face. As Carella quickly struggled to his feet, another dart pierced his throat, and the fisherman fell backward, his body quivering as death claimed him.
Rough, snorting laughter erupted from the forest. For the first time, Kelemvor saw something — a few faces — in amongst the trees. The creatures had large, watery eyes, set irregularly over a piggish snout. The fighter knew immediately what the hunters faced — orcs. Probably a dozen, at least.
'To the road!' Kelemvor shouted and wheeled his horse around. Several darts and two or three black- fletched arrows flashed from the trees. Cabal pulled Jorah onto the back of his horse, and the other two archers raced after Kelemvor.
Near the center of the clearing, Mikkel screamed as he saw Carella fall. They had been childhood friends and inseparable for most of their lives. Mikkel started to move quickly to help his friend, but Yarbro grabbed the red- skinned fisherman from behind and dragged him back toward the horses. Arrows flew all around them as they mounted and made for the south road.
No one was there to stop Terrol Uthor from rushing to Carella's side. However, as the guide crouched over the fallen fisherman, an arrow flew out of the darkness and pierced Terrol's chest. The guide gasped once, then fell onto his face in the dirt.
Five orcs, wearing dirty, rusted armor and carrying swords, burst into the clearing near the Standing Stone. Two immediately ran toward the bodies of the dalesmen, but the other three rushed toward Kohren and Lanx, the two clerics of Lathander, who were still fumbling with their saddlebags.
'Forget your books!' Bursus screamed as he spurred his horse down the south road. 'Hurry! We — ' A black arrow pierced the fighter's leg, pinning it to his horse. Bursus careened down the road after Kelemvor, gritting his teeth in pain. Five more orcs, most carrying bows, leaped from cover. A few stray arrows and a larger number of curses screamed in Orcish followed the dalesman down the road.
Kelemvor reined in his horse and stopped around a bend in the road. Cabal and Jorah, riding the same horse, quickly joined the green-eyed fighter, as did Yarbro and Mikkel. The hunters sat silently for a moment, listening to the orcs cursing in the distance. Only Kelemvor could understand what the orcs were saying, but all of the riders shivered. The meaning of the threats were clear enough, despite the difference in language.
In another second, Bursus's mount cantered into sight. The black-haired dalesman was lolling in the saddle from the pain of his wounded leg, but his horse had continued down the road. Jorah jumped down from Cabal's mount and stopped Bursus's horse from continuing past them.
'The Lathanderites…,' Bursus mumbled. 'Save them!' The archer tried to raise his hand, probably to point back at the Standing Stone, but couldn't. Cabal dismounted and examined the arrow wound in Bursus's left leg.
Kelemvor turned his horse away from the Standing Stone. 'Let's go,' he muttered. 'The clerics are lost. There's no way they can escape those orcs.'
Yarbro drew his sword and looked at Kelemvor. 'Sometimes orcs let their victims live… for a while.' The young guard paused for a moment. Mikkel drew his sword and Cabal remounted. 'We're going back for them.' Kelemvor closed his eyes. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could go back for the clerics. It simply wasn't in his best interest to endanger his life for them. 'Do what you want, Yarbro. I'm not going to help you.' The fighter got off his horse and walked toward the trees. 'I'll wait here until you get back.'
'I'll look after Bursus,' Jorah said flatly. 'I'll try to get that arrow out and bind his leg.' The slender, auburn- haired archer turned to Kelemvor and spat, then turned back to the others. 'If that's what you want me to do, that is, Yarbro.'
The young guard narrowed his eyes and stared at Kelemvor for a moment. 'Yes… it is up to me now, isn't it?' Yarbro said slowly. 'Fine, Jorah.' The guard spurred his horse and headed back toward the Standing Stone. 'But I'd keep Kelemvor in front of you at all times.' Yarbro, Cabal, and Mikkel raced back down the road, whooping and yelling. Kelemvor heard a few squeals and cries in Orcish as the fighters rounded the bend, then nothing but the sound of something running through the woods. This is the end, Kelemvor thought as he sat under a tree and watched Jorah pull the arrow from Bursus's leg, then dress the wound and even tend to Bursus's wounded horse. There's no way I'll ever be able to stop these men from killing Midnight, Cyric, and Adon.
The fighter kicked a stone into a rut in the rough dirt road. It would all be so simple if it weren't for my damned curse! I could do what was right. I could give up this hunt. But that wasn't possible, and Kelemvor knew it. The moment he sided with Midnight, Adon, and Cyric, he broke his pledge to Lord Mourngrym and would lose the reward the dalelord had promised him as incentive to finish the quest. He would have endangered his life on the hunt for no reward — an act that would surely cause the curse to go into effect. Then Kelemvor would transform into a panther until he killed someone.
Jorah turned to Kelemvor and scowled. Kelemvor saw the hatred in the archer's eyes. For a moment, he felt afraid. It's far more likely they'll kill me, too, Kelemvor suddenly realized. I'm no better or worse to these men than Midnight.
Before Kelemvor could think about that too long, he heard the rumble of hooves on the road. The fighter jumped to his feet and moved behind his horse. If the orcs had taken the dalesmen's mounts, they'd likely try to shoot a volley of arrows at him as they rode past.
But it wasn't the orcs coming down the road — it was Yarbro and the two other archers. They had one other riderless horse in tow. All three men were sweating profusely, and Cabal had a nasty slash across his upper arm, but they were alive. Jorah helped them to dismount, and Yarbro immediately went to check on Bursus.
As soon as Jorah and Cabal had placed Bursus onto a horse, Yarbro walked over to face Kelemvor, his sword drawn. 'The orcs ran, you coward. Just like you did!' The young guard held his sword up to Kelemvor's face. 'I ought to kill you right now, but we'll need you as a shield in case we're attacked again. You ride in front, alone, from now on.'
Kelemvor pushed the guard's sword away. 'And were you right about the clerics?' Yarbro snarled, and his sword flashed out toward Kelemvor's chest. The fighter slapped the sword aside with his own blade, however, and Yarbro was knocked backward a few feet by the blow. Jorah, Cabal, and Mikkel drew their swords.
'See?' Yarbro hissed as he sheathed his weapon and held up his hands. 'You're alive only because I say so.' The other dalesmen sheathed their swords as well. Kelemvor turned away and readied his horse for another long ride.
The ride to Blackfeather Bridge was long and silent for Kelemvor. The dalesmen stopped in Essembra only long enough for supplies and to have a local healer look at Bursus's leg. The wound was not too serious, and after a few poultices, Bursus was ready to ride on to the bridge with the other hunters. All along the road, Kelemvor rode far out in front of the others, hoping that something would attack them from behind.
The green-eyed fighter knew that if the dalesmen were ambushed, he wouldn't lift a sword to save them. There was nothing but Mourngrym's gold and his promise holding him to the quest now, and even that was proving
