"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."