The Fighters: Son of Thunder Read online

  "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 b
ack 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.