'I mean to help you more,' she said. 'I'd come with you, but I think I can help more from afar. In this forest, there are others like Vell and myself who might know more. I will seek them out, and I will find you.'
'You've helped me enough already,' Vell said.
'The more I learn about you, the more I learn about myself,' she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She turned to Kellin and said, 'Take care of him for me,' smiling wistfully. Then she transformed into a falcon and flew up past the treetops and away.
More good-byes waited to be said.
'If you should ever decide to visit your cousins of the wood again,' Gunther told the Thunderbeasts, 'know that you will be welcome.'
When the Thunderbeast party forged out again, they knew they left behind a small piece of joy in the High Forest's depths. They never could have imagined keeping company with elves! Now they had accepted a half-orc as one of them. The rules of the outside world didn't apply in the forest depths. Every one of them was changed by Grandfather Tree's grandeur and the Tree Ghosts' hospitality, and it created a most curious effect: they marched into the unknown with a new sense of unity.
* * * * *
'Do you blame your gods, Hurd?' Sungar asked. Five days had passed since his last meeting with Kiev, and he felt almost entirely healed. He felt that the time would soon come for Kiev to return and strip away all of his strength again.
'Blame them?' the dwarf answered. 'For what?'
'For you being here,' Sungar answered, lying on his back in the center of his cell, staring at the stones of the ceiling for the thousandth time. 'For your rebellion failing. Surely you thought they were on your side.'
'The Morndinsamman and I have exchanged some harsh words,' Hurd answered. 'I don't think they mind.'
'Do you hate them?' Sungar asked. 'Do you think they let you down—betrayed you?'
'I can't deny having some thoughts like that. But the gods can't do everything for us. See, the god whom I feel closest to now is Gorm Gulthyn. He was Trice Dulgenhar's god—Trice was a barakor of the Lord of the Bronze Mask. Not a lot of people know what I'm about to say, and I surely shouldn't be telling you. But who are you going to tell?
'Gorm's fate is tied to the fate of dwarves on Faerun, and as our strongholds fell, he grew weaker and weaker. The fire in his eyes, it is said, grows dimmer with each fallen nation and city. To fight to reclaim them, like we fought to reclaim Llorkh, is a holy war to help reverse his fate. Or so Trice said.
'Even our gods suffer defeats, Sungar. But they endure them. So must we.'
'I suppose,' said Sungar, and he asked no more questions. He thought of Uthgar's defeats: losing the Blue Bears to Malar, the Elk tribe to Auril. Each must have been a piece of him cleaved away. And the other dead tribes of old, remembered in the skalds' songs—the Red Pony and Golden Eagle had supposedly vanished into the Underdark forever.
Were the Thunderbeasts bound for a similar fate?
So often Sungar's mind went back to that day in the Fallen Lands. Geildarr's words were insidious. And he wondered whether following Uthgar's law might be leading the tribe down the road to destruction.
And if so, did that mean Uthgar willed it?
CHAPTER 13
Laying her crossbow on a rock, Ardeth kneeled at a fast-moving mountain stream at the foot of a tall peak and filled her waterskin. The inglorious task gave her a welcome moment to herself, away from Royce's cynicism and Gan's toadying. If only she could do without them!
This mission was not going entirely according to plan, she had to admit to herself. But she would not let herself be dismayed. The Sanctuary still awaited.
She heard a strange noise behind her and spun to face it, snatching up her crossbow. It was a sort of flapping sound, but when she turned, she saw nothing. Then she heard it again, behind her still, and swung around to see a red-feathered birdman, just shorter than Ardeth, staring at her from across the stream. Its wings were folded, and it clutched a javelin in one three-fingered hand.
'What are you doing here?' it spoke in a chirping voice, its head darting from side to side.
'We are merely passing through the Star Mounts,' Ardeth said.
'My people were slaughtered and dispersed by the green dragon Elaar,' the creature said. 'Your kind call him Elaacrimalicros. Are you here to slay him, or to aid him?'
Ardeth recognized the birdman as an aarakocra. She had seen drawings of them in Geildarr's study. She shook her head. 'We have no interest in your struggle...'
'If we are to survive—' the aarakocra lowered its javelin and pointed it in Ardeth's direction '—then we need magic and weapons. We demand...'
Ardeth fired her crossbow, launching a bolt directly toward the aarakocra's feathered belly. But the missile never reached its target. It was deflected in midair by magic and bounced into the stream. Suddenly smiling, Ardeth took another shot at the aarakocra's head. It sailed through as if it were fog and struck the rock face behind it.
The aarakocra vanished. In its place stood a creature half the height of the illusionary bird. Ardeth cast a disgusted look at a red-clad gnome. The aarakocra's spear shrank and became the blackwood cane that Moritz carried. Impressive, Ardeth thought.
'Well met, Ardeth Chale,' he said. 'You've confirmed what I always suspected: it is in your nature to go for the kill.'
'Moritz of Hardbuckler.' She never changed the aim of her crossbow. 'Fancy encountering you here.'
'Charmed, sweet lady,' he said, tipping his red tricorn. 'So good to speak with you at last.'
'I take it this isn't the first time we've met.'
'Met, maybe,' Moritz said with a chuckle.
'Now comes the part where you make a portentous threat before vanishing on the spot?' asked Ardeth. 'Geildarr forewarned me. The feathers were a nice touch.'
'Rather, I wanted to commend you on securing the death of Mythkar Leng for Sememmon and myself,' Moritz told her, taking a step closer to the quick-running stream.
'He was a most inconvenient enemy.'
'I wasn't aware he was your enemy,' Ardeth answered. 'And I'm quite sure I didn't do it for Sememmon's sake.'
'All Zhentarim are Sememmon's enemy,' said Moritz. 'At least all those faithful to the Keepers.'
'Does that include Geildarr?' Ardeth asked. 'Why doesn't Sememmon kill him?'
'Is that your answer to everything? Why shouldn't I kill you, then?' Moritz shrugged. 'You find it easier to kill a man than to let him live. Isn't that so?' He reached into his robes and produced a bone dagger, the same one she had used to kill Arthus Tyrrell. He tossed it into the stream and it gave a small splash. 'He wasn't lying about his wife and children—but I don't expect that moves you any. Did you kill him to silence him? Surely not. Who would have known about your visit? The Thunderbeasts? Or was it only because you knew you could? I bet you'd slaughter the surviving Antiquarians and that great beast who carries the axe, if only you didn't need them.'
Ardeth glowered at the gnome. 'Where does a weakling get the nerve to lecture me on the evils of violence?'
'You intrigue me. You intrigue Geildarr, too. But unlike him, I'm not blind to what you truly are.' Moritz stood straighter. 'Perhaps I should bring him up to date.'
Ardeth's eyes darted about uncertainly.
'What do you want from me?' she asked, staring down at the primitive bone dagger lying in the stream.
'If you find what you're looking for at this Sanctuary,' he said, 'whatever powerful remnant of fallen Netheril it may be, it cannot be allowed to enter the desert.' He spoke blandly, for he did not need to put his threat into words. When she looked up, he was gone.
Ardeth thought about the ancient dagger. Made of bone, it probably had a long history, but what did that
