"Don't really know," said Hurd. "I'm guessin' the answer is in Geildarr's mind. As I said, he likes to feel powerful—there's no power in presiding over an empty dungeon. I was one of Trice Dulgenhar's top men. I'm a plum prize, but not one that's dangerous to keep alive. Simple as that.
"Not long ago, the dungeon was full to the gills with dwarves. One by one they just seemed to disappear. Could be Geildarr released them, but not likely. There were rumors that they were given over to a priest of Cyric, who was trying to corrupt them into groundlings."
Sungar could hear the disgust in his voice. "What are groundlings?"
"Something like a dwarf, but mixed with a giant badger. The Zhentarim breeds them as assassins. It took a nefarious mind to conceive of such a thing. A Zhentarim mind."
"How did you end up in here, then?" asked Sungar. "You've been waiting for me to ask, haven't you?"
Hurd snorted. "At one time, a lot of dwarves lived in Llorkh, and humans alongside. I lived here in those days. We mined the nearby mountains, but after they started to run dry, a lot of us left. Those who stayed behind were eventually captured by the Zhentarim.
"Those black-hearted Zhentarim murdered the old mayor, Phintarn, and put in Geildarr instead. Truth is, they weren't interested in mining but wanted this town as a caravan stop on the Black Road 'cross the Anauroch Desert. What dwarf miners were still here mostly left, especially since Mithral Hall was open for business again.
"But some of us clung to the dream of liberating Llorkh from its captors—the damned Zhentarim. We formed a circle dedicated to it, set up spies in Llorkh, and made allies among the humans living here. Our leader was Trice Dulgenhar, as great a dwarf as I've ever known.
"Then we thought we saw our chance. When the phaerimm burst out of Evereska, Llorkh was under siege from a whole army of bugbears. Even the beholder they kept in the Dark Sun died in the fighting. And better yet, since the Zhentarim was still reeling from Shade's return, they weren't rebuilding Llorkh as fast as they could. We thought that if we moved quickly we could seize Llorkh, and with help from Secomber—and maybe even the Harpers or the Lord's Alliance—we could keep it out of Zhentarim hands for good. Make it a beacon of light and good in Delimbiyr Vale, rather than the dung heap it is now."
"So you invaded the city?" asked Sungar.
"No," said Hurd, his voice trembling. "One of our human allies sold us out. A mere slip of a girl called Ardeth, the dark-hearted bitch. She brought Trice's head to Geildarr and revealed our entire plan, on the eve of us carrying it out. The Lord's Men stormed our hideaways and rooted out our allies. It was a massacre. Those of us who survived found ourselves down here, subject to Geildarr's whims."
"Why did she do it?" asked Sungar.
"Who knows?" Hurd said. "For power, coin, or Geildarr's confidence, maybe. What's for certain is that she fooled us all. We knew she was no real help to our movement, but we tolerated her for her enthusiasm. She was very pretty, very young ..." He trailed off, leaving no doubt that he considered himself personally responsible for letting all this happen.
There was no anger in his voice, which puzzled Sungar. Perhaps it had all been shorn from him by Kiev's torments. Perhaps this was why he stayed alive—not out of cowardice, but as a penance.
"You are not to blame," Sungar said. "She is."
Hurd snorted. "But what revenge is possible now? Oh, I thirst for it, perhaps with all the rage your heart could muster. But who can I blame but myself?"
Sungar made a fist and banged it weakly against the stone wall. Fragments of the wall dislodged. Who else can any of us blame? he thought.
* * * * *
The Star Mounts were dimly visible, hints of their fog-shrouded majesty hiding in the distance. Gan could tell that even the Antiquarians, for all they had experienced and all the places they had visited, held them in particular regard.
"Perhaps the mystery of all mysteries in the North," Royce called them, adding, "and we're in the business of seeking out mysteries." But Gan also noticed the fear they showed as they pressed ever closer to the legendary peaks.
A mystery unto herself was Ardeth, who showed no fear, little wonder, and none of the relish for cruelty that Leng displayed. Gan, unfamiliar with the conventions of human beauty, thought her ugly with her pale flesh, slight form, and her narrow hips that were grossly unsuitable for childbearing. Still, he recognized the effect she had on the human men.
Gan had some sense of the politics in the group, even without being told. He knew that they wanted Leng dead—Ardeth primarily, and now the Antiquarians seemed to be wordlessly supporting her. He could see it in their eyes and detect it in their manner. But they couldn't kill him openly. Leng and Geildarr had masters, and they would be displeased. The particulars of their plan were lost on Gan's brain, but he resolved to play his part nevertheless, and he took pride in what he was about to do on Ardeth's behalf—a most delicate task.
Mythkar Leng had disappeared into the woods quite some time earlier to attend to nature's call, and eventually the group dispatched Gan to check on him. He did so, axe in hand. When Gan found him, the priest's back was to Gan and he was bathed in a sepulchral green light.
"What are you doing?" the hobgoblin asked.
Leng spun about, only mildly perturbed by the interruption. Dangling from his finger was a skeletal green cage. Within, a small creature with blue flesh and cricket wings silently screamed as it cowered in the center. Leng smiled a sadist's smile as he brought it closer to the hobgoblin.
"What is this?" asked Gan.
"A grig," Leng explained. "One of the many varieties of fey that clog this part of the forest. Or rather, it was a grig not long ago."
Within the cage, a change overtook the fairy. Its wings turned to those of a bat and its flesh churned and boiled, sprouting coarse fur. Leng lifted his finger and the magical cage vanished. The creature sprinted off into the woods, a foul parody of what it once was. Moss withered and died where it passed.
"Your power must be very great," said Gan.
"I serve a most powerful god," Leng told him. "Far beyond whatever monstrous deity you venerate."
"Maglubiyet," Gan said quickly. "Maybe a human god would be more powerful."
Leng chuckled. "It's odd that your kind are so inherently servile. You need to be led, and you look for the most powerful leader available. This is commendable, but shortsighted. Tell me, Gan, does it bother you that your function on this mission is simply to carry something?" He poked a finger against the axe head. "You're the most hideous butler I've ever laid eyes on."
Not understanding the insult, Gan said, "I offered my service to Geildarr, and this is the task he assigned me. He is a great leader, and I shall not question."
This provoked a roar of laughter from Leng. "Such loyalty! My advice to you, hobgoblin, is to forget about Geildarr. He is a mediocre man of earthbound ambitions. Many years ago he confessed to me a desire to become part of the Zhentarim's Inner Circle. And he never did anything to make that happen. He is more an administrator than a true leader."
"What do you mean?" asked Gan.
"He is weak. This very expedition is a sign of his weakness. The magic we're looking for—he doesn't want to keep it for himself, but wants to give it away to his superiors. A great man would not perform such errands at the behest of those he hates. A greater leader would remake the world in his image, not hold onto the inglorious scrap of ground he calls his own."
"Are you such a man?" asked Gan.
Leng said nothing.
"Your magic remade that grig," asked Gan. "Why did you do it?"
Leng frowned in puzzlement. A high priest of Cyric did not expect to be questioned for the reasoning behind his actions, so Leng did not have an answer.
"Such creatures disgust me," Leng finally said. "They lock themselves away from the world to flit about in their pools and glades—what purpose do they serve?"
"Why not simply kill it?" asked Gan.
Shrugging his shoulders, Leng answered, "I wanted to see what would happen. What Cyric's power could do to a creature of such purity. What such corruption would yield."
"Were you satisfied?"
Leng almost beamed. "I was."
"I've heard tell of a place not far from here where the fey rule," Gan said, trying hard to sound guileless.
"The Unicorn Run," Leng spat out, as if he were speaking a vile oath. "All know that name. It's the place we're avoiding."
"What would your powers do there?" asked Gan.
Leng shook his head slightly. "I don't know," Leng said.