Son of Thunder (36 page)

Thluna shook his head. “I am not the chief of the Thunderbeasts. I played that role in your absence, wielding this axe with pride, but only because I knew it was in your stead. This axe belongs to you. Besides, I have my own weapon now.” He reached to his belt and drew up the heavy oaken club. “This was a gift from Chief Gunther Longtooth of the Tree Ghosts.” He paused a moment before adding, “It, too, is a magical weapon.”

Sungar breathed heavily, looking at the axe in his hands. It seemed so long ago since he threw it away on that desolate plain in the Fallen Lands. It felt so good to have it in his hands again. It felt like a part of himself long missing, now restored.

Sungar’s strength rose in him again. “To war!” he cried, and together once again, the two Uthgardt dashed through the halls.

Sungar and Thluna raced up two flights of stairs to a small anteroom. Another stairway led up to a heavy iron door, guarded by a massive metal statue—the top of its head almost scraped the ceiling. The figure was depicted in a suit of night-black armor, with a skull within a sunburst—the emblem of Cyric—etched into its chest.

“This is where we’ll find Geildarr,” said Sungar.

“How do you know?” asked Thluna.

Sungar pointed up at the statue’s face, chiseled, youthful, and as beautiful as a god, but recognizable as Geildarr all the same.

Thluna allowed himself a slight chuckle. But when he reached for the door, the statue lurched into life. Purple fire lit up within its eyes, and it turned to face Thluna. Thluna ducked fast. The statue’s arm swung about and slammed against the door behind him with a loud clang. He rolled backward, barely avoiding the golem as it brought its foot down hard, setting the walls trembling.

Sungar swung the axe, striking its left shoulder with a metallic ring and digging a dent in the iron body. The golem swept out with its iron arms, but Sungar jumped beyond their reach. Thluna struck the automaton with his club, denting the metal, but the golem showed no reaction to the blow.

“Strong and physical,” said Sungar, dodging another blow from the golem. “No wonder Geildarr gave it his face. It’s everything Geildarr himself is not.”

The sounds of battle rang through Geildarr’s private floor, reaching his study. “Fighting on our threshold, Geildarr,” said Ardeth. “It’s time you made a decision.”

“Very well.” Geildarr tossed down his wand and turned his back on his balcony. Much of the city was lost in a haze of dust from so many destroyed buildings. “The secret passageway, then,” he said, looking toward one of his bookcases. “We can slip out of the keep, then…”

“Then what, Geildarr?” Ardeth demanded. Her white face was flushed with anger. “Explain to Fzoul that you were chased from the Lord’s Keep by an enraged barbarian?”

“The Heart of Runlatha may hold power worth a dozen Llorkhs. I will not turn it over to Sungar, even to save the city.” He looked at the artifact, resting on a table. It glowed so serenely and peacefully, even as the world shattered around it. It had survived the fall of Netheril, and it would survive the fall of Llorkh, too. Geildarr extended his hand.

Ardeth reached out to stop him from touching it. “It’s not yours, Geildarr,” Ardeth said. “I stole it from the Sanctuary, but that didn’t make it mine. It’s not yours now—it never was.”

Geildarr reached out and placed his hand over the Heart, not to clutch it, but to touch it, one last time.

The golem wearing Geildarr’s face struck Thluna with the back of its hand, sending the young barbarian sailing. Thluna hit the wall hard, and the wind was knocked from him, but he held on to his club.

Sungar drove the axe into the golem’s shoulder, widening the crevice he was carving into its neck. Its stony face pivoted on its shoulders toward Sungar, and its mouth opened wide. A thick greenish haze flowed out that quickly settled over the anteroom. Sungar raised the axe, but the gas crept into his nostrils and turned his stomach. His eyes watered, and he felt his throat burn as the acid from his stomach climbed into his mouth. The poisonous green smoke filled Sungar’s lungs, and he stumbled backward before collapsing at the foot of the stairs. The axe clattered to the floor. His eyes swam with the poisonous taint.

Thluna choked back vomit as the stinking vapors reached him. He buried his face in his sleeve. This was worse than anything he had ever smelled in the forests—worse than a skunk, and far worse than a decaying carcass. Soon the room was lost in the haze, and Thluna heard only silence, broken by the golem’s steps as it marched across the room.

Out of nowhere, a powerful wind erupted near the ceiling, sending wild, green swirls through the fog. The haze began to dissipate under the strong breeze, and Thluna could see his surroundings again, just in time to watch the golem step forward, its thick arms ready to pummel the incapacitated Sungar. As he spat the sick taste from his mouth, Thluna saw Kellin pounce down the stairway, her sword catching the golem against its neck.

“Good to see you, Thluna,” said Kellin as she slashed at the golem. Her sword ripped slashes in its armor, but the golem was unfazed. Wisps of gas still hung in the air but soon dissolved.

“Likewise, daughter of Zale,” said Thluna, smashing his club against the golem’s iron with a noise like the ringing of a gong.

Thanar and Lanaal ran down the stairs, grasping Sungar’s helpless form to drag him to safety. The golem reached out a thick iron arm and caught the druid around his middle. It pulled him against itself, crushing Thanar between its arm and its body. Lanaal let out a cry as she heard bones snapping. To her surprise, the automaton focused its purple eyes on her and Sungar, then turned away. Ignoring the intruders outside its room, it confronted Kellin and Thluna, releasing Thanar’s shattered form. The druid crumpled to the foot of the stairs next to Sungar.

Thanar’s head struck a stair as he landed. “By the Winged Mother, Thanar,” said Lanaal, her tears flowing. His entire middle section was collapsed and twisted sideways. Broken ribs pierced his lungs, and a pool of blood spread beneath him. Lanaal reached out a hand to grasp his, but he pulled away.

“Oakfather,” he said through gasps, “one last request.” He placed his hands on Sungar’s unconscious form. “Restore my chief to health and strength. Take his poison and give him vigor. Grant me this, then I’ll be no more trouble to you.”

His god heard his prayer. White radiance flowed from Thanar’s hands and coursed through Sungar’s body. Contentment and satisfaction spread across the druid’s face as he expired. He died a Thunderbeast.

The deathly pallor slipped away from Sungar’s face, and he sat up. He shrugged in puzzlement at the elf maiden standing next to him, but she was scarcely the strangest thing he had witnessed that day.

Sungar looked to Thanar’s mangled corpse. Whispering a few words to his fallen brother, Sungar stood and snatched up the axe, dashing toward their metal enemy with restored vigor. Even the wounds of his imprisonment had faded to smooth scars. He buried the axe head into the golem’s features and twisted the weapon, ripping apart the ridiculous parody of Geildarr’s face.

“Take it,” said Geildarr, looking at the Heart of Runlatha. His voice was full of regret. “Get it out of here.”

“Where shall I take it?” asked Ardeth.

“Take it to Zhentil Keep. Don’t rest until it’s in Fzoul’s hands, and tell him what brought all of this about.”

Geildarr detected a faint trace of glee in Ardeth’s voice as she said, “As you command.” Ardeth picked up the Heart of Runlatha in both hands. She took a step toward the bookcase that concealed a secret passage out of the keep, but found a red-clad gnome standing in her path, the tricorn atop his head slightly askew.

For a moment all were still, nobody knowing what to say. Moritz smiled at Geildarr.

“So, my friend,” Moritz said. “You reveal your true colors at last.”

With a burst of speed, Ardeth spun backward and dived, the Heart of Runlatha still within her grasp. She tried to pull herself into the shadow under the zalantarwood table, but Moritz gestured and the table vanished, its shadow disappearing with it.

Catlike, she fell into a crouch and stared at Moritz—or more precisely, at the small shadow he cast. A determined look from the gnome told her not to bother. Ardeth backed away from him, easing up against a bookcase along the far wall, breathing heavily. Her eyes darted to the corners of the room and to Geildarr—not to him, but to his shadow, barely visible in the filtered light of the keep. Then her eyes darted to the hallway beyond the door, from which sounds of battle still rang.

“Moritz!” shouted Geildarr. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I wondered if you might be disloyal,” said Moritz to Geildarr, taking a few steps toward Ardeth and twirling his wooden cane. “But no—you have kept the faith. To Fzoul. Whereas Ardeth… she knows to whom Netherese artifacts truly belong. Isn’t that so?” He flashed her a venomous smile. “Uncloud your eyes, Geildarr. See the truth.”

Moritz cast another spell. Before Geildarr’s unbelieving eyes, Ardeth’s pretty face turned from white to a dusky tone, like that of a Calishite. Her honey-colored hair darkened to a coal black shade. Then even this illusion was stripped away, and Ardeth was laid bare as a pillar of shadow in the shape of a girl. Darkness wafted from her, smoky tendrils snaking from her into the air. The Heart of Runlatha glowed even brighter in her hands—its light against her veil of shadows shining like a red star over her chest.

The shadows reached out to stroke the artifact, enveloping it in a cold caress. It sank inside Ardeth’s body, coming to rest where her heart should be. The strength of its glow diminished only slightly. The Heart’s red light shone from within its cage of shadows.

“I would’ve preferred to act earlier,” Moritz told Geildarr. “But Sememmon wanted me to confirm your loyalties.”

Geildarr’s doughy face turned red as anger mixed with embarrassment. She had manipulated him so completely, deceived him so utterly. Geildarr wanted to look away from her but he could not. How did she keep this hidden for so long? She was a shade. A shade! A spy in his midst all this time, a spy from the Empire of Shadows.

No wonder his troops had been unable to surprise the Shadovar in the Fallen Lands.

He had thought she was his new Ashemmi, the creature he could trust in everything. She bought his confidence with the head of a dwarf, and kept it by skillfully accomplishing every task Geildarr assigned to her.

What a fool she had made of him. No, he corrected himself, what a fool she had revealed him to be.

Geildarr raised a hand and an arrow burst forth, sailing through the air at Ardeth. She leaped toward the hallway, the arrow splintering the bookcase behind her, acid spraying from it and singeing tomes and floor. Geildarr bellowed a magical word that locked all the doors on his private floor.

As Geildarr ran after her, Moritz called him back.

“Here. Sememmon’s regards.” He tossed Geildarr a dagger. Geildarr caught it in midair and realized it was the ancient bone dagger from the Great Wyrm’s hoard, the very same dagger he had given Ardeth before sending her after Arthus Tyrrell.

She’d be seeking out deep shadows, Geildarr knew, that would allow her to step into the Plane of Shadow and walk away with the Heart, probably back to Anauroch and the City of Shade. Then the Heart would be lost forever.

Ardeth ran through the hallway, little more than a black streak trailing tendrils of smoke. Pedestals toppled as she passed, Geildarr’s precious relics smashing on the floor. Geildarr bounded after her, hopping over each fallen treasure, naked anger compelling his sluggish form to faster and faster speeds. The light of the Heart shone faintly from inside Ardeth—a beacon for his fury. Ardeth didn’t bother to exit through any of the doors along the hallway, but kept up her sprint all the way to the hall’s end.

Ardeth reached the iron door, her shadowy fingers playing on the lock as Geildarr bore down on her, dagger in hand.

Who am I?

What am I?

Rage was such an utterly pure state. Vell understood everything—the limits of the world were no further than his own perceptions. There was nothing in the universe but what he saw and what he felt. When his human mind floated to the surface for a moment, a wave of confusion overtook Vell that was quickly silenced by the simplicity of rage. The behemoth anger swelled and grew till it encompassed all things, and Vell was pushed down beneath.

A chorus sang inside Vell. Every behemoth was there in his mind along with him, fighting in the streets of Llorkh and leaving a trail of destruction. When another of them fell, he felt the death as if it were his own.

Who am I?

Did I ever really know?

Thluna, Kellin, and Sungar battered the iron golem with club, sword, and axe, chipping away at the powerful construct. Lanaal, helpless against its power, kept out of the way on the stairs.

Kellin chopped at the crevice that Sungar had cloven into the golem’s shoulder, and the statue’s left arm fell off, landing on the floor at the top of the staircase. Sungar could see the golem’s purple lights flickering and fading inside its eye sockets, and he let it follow him to the downward stairs.

“Now!” he shouted. He dived out of the way just as Thluna slammed his club against the golem’s back. Unable to balance properly without its arm, and with its magical animation failing, the golem tumbled forward down the stairs with a metallic racket. Sungar leaped over it and came to rest on the landing below. Kellin patted Thluna’s back as Sungar and Lanaal approached the heavy iron door leading to Geildarr’s private chambers.

Before they could examine the door, it swung open with great force. A rotund, purple-robed mage tumbled out, locked in combat with something dark and vaporous. The wizard struggled with a creature that seemed forged out of pure darkness, yet held the shape and solidity of a human woman. As its dark face howled at them, Sungar and Kellin recognized it as Ardeth, shadows writhing across her face.