Son of Thunder (21 page)

“Isn’t it reason enough,” began the priest. “To accomplish what even Fzoul would never dare?” He turned to face the waterfall again, and dipped into a pocket deep in his robes. He produced a small crystal vial filled with viscous liquid. He tossed it in the direction of the waterfall and with its own speed it flew, vanishing into the waters.

“It is said no force can pollute the Unicorn Run,” said Gunton.

The claws vanished as Leng folded his arms over his chest. “We shall see. Now you shall see what I made of that unicorn’s horn.”

Before their eyes, the crystalline purity of the waters became specked with spots of brown that coursed around the bend like a patch of filth, spreading its disease downstream. A fetid cesspool stink filled the air. Nithinial bent over and retched on the rocky shore.

Leng chuckled at this. “Your elf blood is showing, cur,” he said.

A churning brown-green sludge manifested at the foot of the waterfall, its oily menace spreading across the river. What this substance was, none of them knew, but it bubbled and crawled on the surface of the Unicorn Run like a sheet of pain. Dead fish floated to the surface, their flesh rotting away on their bones.

“I hope this pleases you, Leng,” Ardeth said. “You’ve taken a place famous for its beauty and serenity, and you’ve remade it in your own image.”

Leng spun back to cast her an acid glare, but as he did so, the slime parted on the river like a curtain. Fresh water bubbled up, neutralizing the black putrescence. The thick bog of sludge weakened, and soon patches of blue broke through the inky ooze, then whole streams of clear water.

The Antiquarians breathed sighs of relief.

“Are you satisfied now?” Ardeth asked. “It seems, sometimes, the legends speak true.”

Leng snorted, his pale skin flushed red, and his muscles tensed. He swung his flail down on the dead dryad at his feet, again and again. Brittle bones were smashed and rivulets of amber blood flowed down the Run.

At last, Leng swung the flail, dripping with fey blood, high into the air.

“Does this place hold nothing but disappointment?” he shouted, his voice hoarsening as he projected it over the waterfall. “Show yourselves! Where is the godly might? They say the nature gods walk here, but where are they now? Mielikki, Eldath, Shiallia, Lurue, and all the fey gods whose names I never bothered to learn—will you let me march into your domain unopposed? And where are the Unicorn Queen’s children? Do you fear me so much that you must hide away? If you want to fight me, fight me now!”

A whinny was heard from the forest. As the group looked around at both banks, they could see hints of movement within the woods and patches of white—were they the unicorns, or was it just a trick of the light? Then the sound of trotting hooves came from both sides of the river, quickly growing louder.

The Antiquarians drew their weapons and tried to follow the sounds and movements in the forest. As soon as they caught a flash of white horn, they were distracted by a neigh or a clomp from elsewhere.

“There must be dozens of them,” said Gan.

“Do not attack,” Ardeth said tersely, her eyes darting to each Antiquarian and to Gan. “Do not help him.” Leng ignored her. Perhaps he could not even hear her. His eyes and face were red with anger and hate, and he stared into the wall of water before them.

The low roar of the water increased to a scream like a hurricane. The spray from the waterfall intensified, hitting them like hailstones. Storm clouds gathered overhead where the sky had been blue moments before, electricity dancing from cloud to cloud. The Run flowed higher, faster. A wind began to howl, a mix of anguish and a war cry. They felt something whirl around them, some presence, some intelligence.

“Nature is in revolt,” Nithinial whimpered to himself. The half-elf drew his dagger from its sheath and ran it along his palm, drawing blood. The pain helped him focus.

With a mighty clap, a lightning bolt coursed down from the clouds above, aimed at the spot where they all stood. But the energy could not penetrate Leng’s layers of defenses, and danced like a wreath of fire above their heads before dissipating harmlessly.

Inside the waterfall, something large began to move. The surface of the falling water rippled and changed, slowly taking shape.

“At last!” Leng cried through gritted teeth. “It has come to face me!”

A creature stepped out of the moving curtain, as tall as the waterfall itself and composed entirely of the rushing water, bound in place by some great force of magic. With slow, stately steps it walked out of the waterfall, inexorably moving toward them. It rippled and changed, taking shape.

A gigantic unicorn.

“Obvious choice,” Leng said through gritted teeth.

“What is it?” asked Gunton. It splashed forward, its aqueous horn nodding up and down with each step.

“It is the Unicorn Run,” Leng said. “The fey spirit of this place—all of its power embodied in a single form.”

“How do you fight such a thing?” asked Royce.

“You don’t,” Ardeth supplied, watching as it came closer.

Leng pulled down a column of flame from the sky, just as he had done to the treant. The fire met the water and coursed along the liquid surface of the unicorn, drawing sharp hisses and releasing a vast plume of steam that rose into the air. The great unicorn shrank back under the attack, clearly harmed in some way, but still came closer.

“What do we do?” shouted Royce to Ardeth. His eyes darted to the banks—everywhere he looked, a unicorn seemed to emerge, showing that the way was barred. “I doubt that this matter is open to discussion, and the unicorns will kill us easily!”

“Don’t fight,” Ardeth repeated, never taking her eyes off their vast foe.

Their enemy transformed. Its flesh morphed from water to stone, becoming a huge living cliff of brown and red rock, casting a long dark shadow. Its four feet seemed to be planted directly into the ground beneath it. The ground did not shake as it walked; rather, the earth seemed to swell up to embrace it when it stepped on the shore, as the water had when it stepped in the river. All the elements of nature were the same to this creature—its mastery over them was equal.

Leng drew out hidden wands from inside his robes and blasted the rocky beast with bolts of magic. It withstood each strike. The rocks beneath the Antiquarians’ feet changed to soft clay, swelling up around their boots. At once, the waters of the river rose until the group was standing ankle deep in the cold water, sending shocks to their brains.

Bessick cursed, turning to Ardeth. “Just what should we do?” he thundered. “If you have all the answers, tell us!”

Ardeth answered with a single word. “Wait.”

An unholy purple radiance surrounded Leng’s hands, and he cast the energy forward against the stone unicorn. It struck its horn, which trembled under the impact, the tip cracking through and hitting the ground hard. It melted away, sucked back into the earth.

But the creature was undeterred and still walked forward, its shadow creeping ever closer. Ardeth stepped back, water swirling about her ankles, and stood close to Gan, who hadn’t even raised the axe that now seemed like a part of him.

“I will protect you, mistress,” the hobgoblin said.

“I’m afraid the opposite is true,” Ardeth replied.

Leng did not notice—or did not care—that no one aided him in his battle as he spent his magical might on this monumental foe. He was someplace else, feeling his god’s full power coursing through him as never before. A lightning bolt crackled out, this time originating from one of the stone eyes of the unicorn, bound directly for Leng’s face. It never reached him, however, instead bouncing off an unseen barrier and into the sky. Whatever resistance Leng used against the creature’s magic, though, would no longer be effective once the unicorn reached him, and its magical attacks would no longer be needed.

Nithinial sprang into action. Something inside his tortured mind snapped, and he leaped into the air, his dagger clutched in his hand. He sank it into Leng’s left shoulder, driving it through bone and flesh.

The priest let out a wail of agony louder than the roaring waterfall. The spell he had been preparing was demolished and his concentration was ruined. Instinctively Leng plucked the dagger out of his shoulder, causing a plume of blood to squirt into the air, flow down his purple robes and spray onto his face.

Racked with pain, Leng spun to face his attacker. “You, elfspawn,” he cursed Nithinial, bloody spittle flying from his mouth, “have just killed us all.” With one hand he grabbed Nithinial’s arm and pulled him forward, and with the other he drove the dagger, slick with his own blood, into the half-elf’s neck. The blade slid into place, hilt deep. Nithinial gurgled blood and collapsed.

A fist struck Leng on the side of his head. The priest lost his balance. He kept his footing for a moment, but stumbled backward into the rushing river. The fist was Bessick’s, and the blow was meant to push him to a proper distance for the move that would finish him. But when Bessick’s chain lashed out, Leng, standing waist-deep in the fast running water, reached out and gripped the chain, its spikes driving through his hands. He pulled with all of his magically-enhanced strength, ripping Bessick from his place to join Leng in the Run.

The great stone unicorn kept coming toward them, undeterred.

Bessick took a lungful of cold water and scrambled to regain his footing, but he could not get back on his feet. Leng stepped forward, plucking his hands from the spikes on Bessick’s chain, the blood tingeing the water crimson. He pushed Bessick’s head down to the river’s muddy bottom with his foot, then let the heavy chain go, pinning him in place. Bessick’s struggling soon ceased.

Two bolts hit Leng, one bouncing off the bracer on his left arm, the other burying itself in his chest. He looked up at the remaining four—Gan, Gunton with his spear, and Ardeth and Royce with their crossbows held ready. And Mythkar Leng, High Priest of the Dark Sun, standing waist-deep in cold water, blood coursing out of his body, found himself without any further tricks.

“You would kill me to protect that thing?” he growled, waving a weak hand in the stone unicorn’s direction.

“No,” Royce said. “Because we want you dead.”

“We’re only here because of Geildarr!” he protested. “He wanted me dead, and…”

“Please,” Royce protested. “You’ve given us plenty of reasons to hate you.”

“You would murder a priest of Cyric?” he asked, blood dribbling from his mouth down his chin. He raised his shoulders in a pathetic gesture of contrition.

“Somehow,” Ardeth said, “I doubt the Lord of Murder will mind.”

Royce released another crossbow bolt, this one hitting Leng through his cheek and driving into his brain. Whether it killed him on impact or not they did not know, but he fell back into the fast-flowing water and was swept away by the current, carried off by its fury. The last they saw of Leng was a flash of his purple robes as the Unicorn Run dragged him around a bend.

The four survivors spun to face the stone unicorn, the spirit of the Run, which seemed unaffected by Leng’s destruction. It was almost upon them.

“Shall we run?” asked Gunton. “Downstream, perhaps?”

“What good would it do?” asked Royce. All around them, unicorn heads now poked out of the forest—they were utterly surrounded, as well as outnumbered.

“We must stand our ground,” Ardeth said.

“What?” asked Royce.

“We must link hands,” she said, reaching out to Gan. The hobgoblin took her small hand in his massive one.

“This is how we face death?” asked Royce, his brow furrowed.

“It’s how we survive,” said Ardeth, hanging her crossbow at her belt and grabbing Royce’s hand. Shrugging, his head shaking, he took Gunton’s hand as well. The four of them anxiously watched each step of the creature until it was almost upon them. “Patience,” said Ardeth, and its shadow fell on them, blacking out the sun like an eclipse. “And don’t let go.”

There, in that deep black shadow, they vanished, borne away as if on a swift breeze.

The spirit dissipated, shedding its material form. It rejoined the rocks, waters, trees, and air. The woods grew silent as the unicorns slipped away, the threat gone.

And the river kept on flowing, clean and pure.

“We can relax now,” Ardeth said. All the beautiful colors around them bleached away from the land, replaced with pallid blacks, grays, and whites. The Unicorn Run was transformed to a literal shadow of itself—ripples of dark mingling with flashes of white. The forest around them trembled with gray leaves.

“What happened to the world?” asked Gan.

“It’s still there, but we’re not,” Gunton supplied. “This is the Plane of Shadow.” He turned to Ardeth. “You’re more of a wizard than you let on.”

“I am just an initiate,” Ardeth said. “But I have a trick or two. This place isn’t safe either. We should get moving. Do not lose hold of me, or you could all be stranded in this place, or lost in one of a thousand worlds.” She led the others north, in the direction of the Star Mounts, or rather the massive white peaks that stood in their place, wavering and trembling against a starless black sky.

The experience was unnerving for Gan, as a trembling world shorn of color zipped by them. They moved faster than they possibly could on Faerun, traveling up the rising hills. Soon the smoky spires towered around them on all sides. Ardeth told the others to be still, and soon the darkness melted away as light and color broke through.

They found themselves standing in a high alpine valley, disturbing a family of curly-horned sheep that dashed away over jagged rocks. The sudden blast of sunlight was an assault on their senses. The ground was rocky with generous vegetation—mosses, lichens, and fragile cedars sprouting from every free spot—and great mountains soared all around. These weren’t just any mountains, but the fabled Star Mounts. High on the cliffs they could glimpse blue-purple shapes, like vast crystals.

It took the group several long breaths to admire the place and to let their eyes adjust to the bright light. Winds whistled high above them, but they could feel barely a breeze. The tallest mountains, those that could be viewed even from vantages outside the High Forest, were stern giants reaching up for the gray sky, their snow-capped heights vanishing into the haze. Less apparent from a distance were the smaller mountains that filled the spaces between them, each on par with the Graypeaks around Llorkh. The lower slopes were alive with streams and waterfalls that flowed down into the valleys and eventually became the Unicorn Run.