found that he directed the creature. His human mind remained in control, yet he felt a strange familiarity with the behemoth's body.
Controlling this animal as if he walked in its skin, Vell rushed to intercept the woman in black, sending great sprays of water up from the marsh. The water slowed her, and Vell had no trouble getting ahead of her. He let out a reptilian cry from his behemoth throat. Her pale oval face wore a determined look.
A crossbow bolt zipped past Vell's head but missed and flew off into the marsh. Fired from a great distance, its aim had gone wildly astray.
Then the woman opened an outstretched hand. A number of black bolts zipped forth and pelted Vell all along his lizard form. He braced himself and let out a tremendous moan. His mind was unaffected, for it was many miles away, but his body succumbed to tremendous inertia. Vell strained to move his torpid legs. He was all but rooted to the spot.
Springing across the water, the woman in black unsheathed her sword and ran close to Vell, using the weapon to rake his behemoth form as she ran, drawing blood from both front legs. Not caring to make a kill, she ran past him, bound for the menhir.
Vell focused harder, pushing away the pain and the paralysis from her magic, and managed to turn and pursue her. He leaped into the air, his forelegs leaving the marsh and sending a cascade of water down on the woman. She lost her footing and tumbled into the swamp face first, losing her sword in the muck, not more than a dozen feet from the menhir with its glowing red light. With a silent scream of success, Vell pushed his massive form onto her, landing a foot on her body, pressing her into the water and pinning her there. She squirmed and struggled against him
Then Vell felt a sharp pain on his backside, and, in an instant, his mind was thrown back to his own body.
* * * * *
Ardeth surfaced in the marsh on all fours and gulped air furiously as the behemoth vanished above her. She was soaked from head to foot. The marsh muck penetrated her leather clothes, and she threw her honey hair back, a slimy weight on her shoulders. The marsh was strangely quiet—perhaps Royce had succeeded in sending away all of the remaining behemoths. She groped for her sword before looking up at the rune-covered menhir towering above her.
Standing at the foot of it was a man. Dressed in pristine white robes, unstained despite the water and muck all around them, he was old—far older than even the ancient Uthgardt shaman she'd battled in the Thunderbeast camp. His face was chalk white, yet his hair was jet black and straight, like that of an Uthgardt. He spoke in the dialect of Illuskan that Gan had used, and had the same voice.
'Why have you come?' he asked. His voice was full of anger and sadness. 'Why did you think to test a place that has stayed hidden for so long?'
Ardeth's hand found the pommel of her sword under the water.
'You hide powerful magic,' she said. 'Magic from Netheril. Did you think you could keep it secret forever?'
'Yes,' said the man. 'We did.'
Ardeth burst from the water, swinging the sword around in a long, graceful slash. The ancient man made no move to resist her as the blade sliced through his middle. She gave him a quick, clean death, and he uttered not a sound until his body fell at the base of the standing stone. He seemed almost glad to die, weary from his centuries as a guardian.
Ardeth sheathed her sword. Planting a foot on the dead man's head, she climbed up the side of the menhir with the grace of a squirrel. Standing at the top, she stared into the source of the red light: a glowing stone object the size of a fist, and vaguely resembling a human heart. It rested in a small indentation at the top of the menhir. Ardeth leaned closer, the light bathing her pale features in crimson. She could feel the energies pouring out of it, washing over her. Ancient magic. Magic from Netheril.
Smiling, she reached down, plucking the stone from its resting place. She heard an audible hiss as she removed it—how many centuries had it laid there, undisturbed? It felt warm in her hand.
The runes on the menhir beneath her ceased glowing.
Ardeth could see Gunton, Gan, and Royce looking toward her from the edge of the Sanctuary, afraid to step deeper into the marsh. The area was missing its behemoths, but Ardeth knew guardians must be near. The man she had slaughtered had said 'we.'
She would have to finish this quickly.
Ardeth held the stone high in the air within her hand, its light glowing through her pale fingers. She saw Gan raise the greataxe in response. With her other hand, she reached into her soaked leathers and pulled out a crossbow bolt she had held in reserve. Never taking her eyes off her three unfortunate companions, she gripped the bolt and drove it into her palm.
* * * * *
'No!' Royce screamed as he watched Ardeth vanish from atop the menhir, but he was not surprised. He paced for a moment, then took Ardeth's empty crossbow and smashed it against the rocks outside the Sanctuary's edge.
'What happened?' asked Gan.
'You should appreciate this,' said Gunton. 'She betrayed us.'
'No,' the hobgoblin said. 'No, that can't be.'
Human figures appeared all around the Sanctuary. Eight men and women, each of them old and black-haired, made their tentative way through the marsh, bound for the three outsiders. Each was dressed in white robes that became neither stained nor wet as they progressed through the muck.
'We are not without resources, even with the Heart of Runlatha stolen,' the nearest of them said in a weak rasp that was somehow projected across the marsh. 'You will not be allowed to escape.'
Gunton watched them draw closer. 'Do we run, or do we try to bargain with them?'
'She would not betray us,' Gan said, bewildered.
'Wake up!' Royce shouted. 'She has done nothing but betray us! All of our deaths are on her head. That Zhentarim bitch has left us here to die and teleported back to Llorkh with her treasure!'
Gunton raised his short spear, alternating nervous glances between the folk of the swamp and the hobgoblin. 'Must we argue, while...'
'Why don't you kill me, Gan?' cried Royce. 'Ardeth isn't here to stop you now!'
Gan flashed back to the Fallen Lands, when he had first found the axe. He knew that it was a leader's weapon from the moment he saw it, as surely as he knew that he was no leader. Neither was Dray, that stupid Lord's Man he slaughtered on the plain of dirt. It belonged with Geildarr.
Such a weapon! Though he didn't understand all of what Geildarr had told him about its origins, he understood enough to confirm what he had always felt. This was a hero's weapon. What a privilege to wield it on a hero's behalf!
Doing Geildarr's work, he boldly brought the axe down on Royce. Like Dray, he struck the warrior in the shoulder, and drove the axe downward until the head was embedded deep in his chest. In the last flicker of his companion's eyes, Gan saw not the anger he expected, but sadness.
What have I done? he asked himself.
The hobgoblin's hand went out to stroke Royce's face. Gan felt a pain in his own chest and looked down to see the point of Gunton's spear protruding from it, driven through from behind. He stumbled, turning about. The axe ripped free from Royce's body and fell from Gan's hands, landing with a splash in the marsh.
Gan tumbled backward onto Gunton's spear, which snapped under his weight. The bloody spearhead emerged from his chest. He reached out to grasp it as his body twitched and rattled.
* * * * *
