"You expect me to discipline you for letting the Antiquarians die," Geildarr told Ardeth as he met with her in his study. "But I will not. I was very fond of them—I know you were, too. I will miss having them crawl through ruins on my behalf. They were useful. But your success—" he gripped the red hunk of magic, its scarlet glow escaping through his fingers, "—does much to counterbalance that loss."
"I'm glad you think so," said Ardeth. "But what is that thing?"
Geildarr smiled and answered, "Nothing less than our redemption."
"You will deliver it to Zhentil Keep, then?" Ardeth asked.
"In time," said Geildarr. "I want more time to study it first—to see what it truly is. It's clearly capable of weaving powerful illusions, from what you report. Perhaps it even extended the lifespan of the Shepherds you encountered in the Sanctuary." The excitement rose in his voice. "Netherese magic, Ardeth! I've never before had my hands on a piece of magic from before Karsus's folly. I wonder how it survived. This could be magic of the sort Mystra now denies to Faerun!"
"Fzoul and Manshoon will be very pleased with it, then," said Ardeth. She watched Geildarr's crestfallen reaction to that statement.
"Truly," he said. "It's a shame that the Heart should only be ransom for my preservation as mayor."
"Is not your reign more secure now?" asked Ardeth. "Or did I kill Mythkar Leng for nothing?"
"His death pleases me, for certain." It's a shame the Antiquarians needed to die also, he silently added. He would save that issue for another time, a future blackmail.
"I'm afraid this accomplishment is only delaying the inevitable," Geildarr said. "So long as I answer to Lord Chembryl, my position here in Llorkh is in jeopardy."
"Is there not another option?" asked Ardeth. "What of Sememmon?"
Geildarr sighed heavily. "You give voice to my darkest thoughts. I never liked him, even when he was master of Darkhold, and I answered to him directly."
"Perhaps because of that reason," Ardeth suggested with a coy smile.
Geildarr patted her shoulder. "That could be. But I understood when he fled the Zhentarim, even sympathized. Fzoul has consolidated power to a terrifying degree. The Inner Circle used to battle among itself mercilessly, and that system worked—it kept any one of them from gathering too much power. But the new Manshoon appears to be thoroughly under Fzoul's thumb, and Sememmon is gone. Bane's vision is being stamped on the whole Network. Cyricists like myself will be an increasingly rare breed."
"Sememmon was a coward for fleeing Darkhold," said Ardeth.
"No," said Geildarr. "He was smart." He looked sadly at the Heart of Runlatha, still gleaming in his clenched hand. "This could only buy me a reprieve. I serve as mayor of Llorkh at Fzoul's pleasure."
The golden bird on the balcony chirped, but somehow its song didn't seem as happy as before.
"Do you think Sememmon would be a better option?" asked Ardeth.
"He has kept himself hidden from Fzoul," Geildarr acknowledged. "No minor feat even for a wizard of such resources and power. But I am not interested in living out my days lurking in dark shadows. Moritz would like me to think Sememmon has some plan for overthrowing Fzoul, or destroying the Zhentarim, or carving out some kingdom for himself. Only the gods know if he does, or if he has a prayer of seeing it to reality. He is certainly amassing magic and allies for some purpose."
"He would like the Heart of Runlatha," said Ardeth.
"Certainly." He looked down at the artifact and sighed. "I'm afraid he might try to take it by force, and I mean to be ready for him if he does. But enough of this doom and gloom. A guest of mine must be made acquainted with our new arrivals." He smiled at Ardeth. "He is an old friend of yours. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me?"
* * * * *
The sunlight seared Sungar's eyes as guards led him through the streets of Llorkh. After so many tendays in a dark hole, the outdoors were no longer his friend. He'd never been in a city before, not Everlund, or Mirabar, or any other. If they all were like this one, he couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to live within city walls. Llorkh stank of desperation and decay. It was drab, and its streets were littered with garbage. From the windows of cottages, common people looked out, their eyes sunken in despair. Armored orcs walked the streets.
Sungar was weak from another beating, his hands bound with iron once again. Two dungeon guards marched him from the Lord's Keep, across Llorkh to the Central Square, but a few blocks away, they put a blindfold on him.
"The mayor's orders," one of them explained. "Geildarr says he wants to be there to see your expression." Sungar did his best not to show any reaction, but when the blindfold came off, he could not help himself.
Geildarr laughed at the chief's surprise and sorrow. "Priceless, priceless, Sungar!" He gestured at the wide square before them. "Thunderbeast, meet the thunderbeasts!"
Sungar wept. These were the living totems that he revered, and like him, they were Geildarr's prisoners. They were myths that were never meant to be real. He would have been overcome with wonder had he seen the beasts in a forest's depths, grazing and roaming, but now, interred like living statues in this square, the sight was a tremendous blow to Sungar. Incomprehensible sadness showed in their massive eyes. Sungar tried to make a fist, but his fingers were too weak.
A young woman stepped up to Sungar. Small and dark-eyed, she wore a smug smile, and she strode up to him flaunting her lack of fear.
"I brought them here," she said. "Just like I brought you here."
Sungar knew her name and spat it. "Ardeth." The traitor to Hurd's conspiracy.
She was surprised. "You know me? Oh yes—you learned it from the dwarf."
"Uthgar will destroy you," Sungar said. An unexpected feeling of peace flooded up inside him.
"Will he?" she asked. "Trice Dulgenhar said that Gorm would do the same, just before I chopped his head off. Why is it that only the most obscure gods have it in for me?" She giggled.
"And you, Geildarr," Sungar said. "You will fall. This precious city of yours will fall." He nodded toward the behemoths. "The buildings will topple under their strength."
He did not feel as if the words were his own any more.
They flowed from his chest unbidden. Across the square, amid the enslaved behemoths, a ghostly figure flickered—King Gundar.
"Vague proclamations of doom from a barbarian chief," Geildarr said. "What a shock."
"You have stolen our birthright," Sungar went on. "This theft will not be tolerated. My tribe will arrive to reclaim them." And he believed it. He knew it.
Geildarr leaned close to him, so Sungar could feel the mayor's breath on his cheeks. "We took more than just these dumb beasts. Ardeth claimed for me an object of power from before the Fall of Netheril."
Geildarr was so close—if Sungar were less weak, and he not been bound, he could have killed him with his bare hands. But he felt no compulsion to do so. His anger left him. The specter of King Gundar in his vision smiled widely.
"I will watch your fate unfold," he told Geildarr. "And it will be soon."
Geildarr took a few steps back. "The dungeon usually drives its residents insane," he said, "but not this swiftly."
Ardeth spoke to the guards who stood around Sungar. "Instruct Kiev to step up the torture. This pathetic man must be brought to his lowest point."
But Sungar was smiling as they led him away. Gundar vanished into nothingness but left Uthgar's grace behind, and Sungar awaited his captors' comeuppance with giddy anticipation.
* * * * *
A few days' march south of the Sanctuary, the Thunderbeast party continued to make its way through the High Forest. They kept a discreet distance from the Unicorn Run and slipped through the deep woods without incident. As they walked, golden and red leaves cascaded down on them and formed a carpet stretching forward, guiding them to victory or ruin. But the leaf fall was coming to an end, and all around trees stood leafless, their bare branches reaching out and grasping like the thin arms of desperate men.
They spoke very little. Thanar and Rask at first attempted to keep the mood light, though they swiftly realized that this was futile and joined the silence. The Shepherds' revelations had cast a shadow over the Thunderbeasts' entire history. Now, to be doing the work of these loathsome tokens of the past rankled especially. And whenever Vell and Kellin's dark eyes met, they knew without speaking that her thoughts concerned her father—another idol fallen, and another dark secret of the past unearthed so unwelcomely.
Thluna carried the axe, though it was heavy for his lean stature. It was his tactile reminder of their real purpose. It kept his focus on Sungar. He bade Rask carry the oaken club given as a gift by Chief Gunther.
At a quiet, grassy clearing at the forest's edge, next to the quick-flowing Delimbiyr, they came upon a figure standing in the half-light of evening, staring into the distance, robed in rothehide. They recognized him instantly, even before they saw his face. Thluna yelped when he saw the man. "Keirkrad!"