The cavernous Great Hall was of ingenious construction. Hewn by dwarven stonesmiths out of the surrounding rock, it seemed not a cavern at all, but a dusky, primeval forest. Countless columns were carved to resemble trees, their stone branches stretching to support the high ceiling. The walls were covered with lifelike leaves of copper and gold that seemed to flutter in the flickering illumination of the rushlights scattered about the hall. The floor, of mottled green-and-brown marble, added to the illusion.
Belhuar Thantarth looked up as K’shar approached. The Master Harper was holding council—hence the presence of so many Harpers in the hall—but when he spotted K’shar, he quickly dismissed the others with a wave of his hand. In moments, Thantarth and K’shar were alone in the stone forest.
“K’shar, I am glad you could come.” Thantarth’s deep voice echoed in the now-empty hall.
K’shar inclined his head slightly. “It is my duty to serve the Harpers,” he said formally, even as a part of him wondered if this was truly so. Was his duty to the Harpers, or simply to the chase?
“It is with a heavy heart that I set this task before you, K’shar,” Thantarth said somberly. “For both of those whom we ask you to seek are—or at least were, until recently—among the most exalted of Harpers.”
While K’shar listened with growing interest, Thantarth explained what had transpired. There wasn’t a Harper alive who had not heard the tale of the Shadowking in Iriaebor. The deeds of Caledan Caldorien and Mari Al’maren were heroic folklore passed down to all Harper apprentices. Thus it was all the more shocking—and intriguing—that K’shar’s new prey were none other than these two legendary figures, now turned renegade.
“Caledan’s transformation must be stopped at any cost,” Thantarth finished firmly. “Whatever his deeds of the past, the Harpers cannot allow a shadowking to walk the Heartlands once more. Mari Al’maren has forsworn her vow as a Harper, and we can assume she will attempt to protect Caledan. While your mission is to find and destroy Caldorien, you are also authorized to … dispose of Al’maren should she block your way.” Thantarth appeared troubled, but his expression was resolute. “Do you accept this mission, K’shar?”
“I accept it, Master Thantarth.” K’shar spoke the words without emotion, but inwardly his heart soared. He could not believe his luck! He had longed for a mission that would test his skills, and now Thantarth had ordered him to hunt down two of the greatest heroes the Harpers had ever known. While it was regrettable that two such extraordinary individuals must die, K’shar felt no personal sorrow. Such decisions were beyond him. He was simply a Hunter.
Thantarth handed K’shar a scroll containing details of the mission. The half-elf scanned it quickly with his sharp, golden eyes. Rumors placed Caldorien in Corm Orp five days ago, and a Harper agent dispatched to Iriaebor reported that Al’maren had vanished. No doubt she had already gone to pursue Caldorien. Last on the parchment was a warning of the perils of Caldorien’s mysterious shadow magic. This part K’shar read hastily. What did he, a creature so at home in the night, have to fear from shadows? He handed the parchment back to Thantarth.
“When will you leave?” the Master Harper asked. “With the dawn?”
“No,” K’shar said softly. “Now.”
“Very well. I’ll see to a horse and provisions for—”
But K’shar had already turned, moving swiftly from the Great Hall. He needed no mount, no food, no weapons. There was no horse that could run faster or farther than K’shar, no sustenance he needed that the land would not provide, and no weapon deadlier than his own two hands. He headed outside, quickly leaving behind Twilight Hall and the city of Berdusk. Soon the dark wall of the Reaching Woods loomed before him in the gloom. He stood on the edge of a vast, ancient forest that stretched all the way from Berdusk to the village of Corm Orp, sixty leagues to the northeast. He would be in Corm Orp by sunrise two days hence.
K’shar glanced once at the stars to fix his bearings. Then, like a stag taking flight, he plunged into the trees, running swiftly, tirelessly, and without sound. Something told him that this was going to be the hunt of a lifetime.
It was twilight on the day after their battle with the gibberlings when the companions reached the trading town of Hill’s Edge. They crested a rise and saw a small cluster of lights shining in the gloom below, next to a sinuous strip of onyx that Morhion said was the River Reaching.
“You might want to take off your Harper badge, Mari,” Cormik advised. “Hill’s Edge is near the west end of Yellow Snake Pass, which means it’s crawling with Zhentarim. The Black Network seems to think the pass is their own personal highway through the Sunset Mountains.”
Mari gave the patch-eyed man a sharp look. “Thanks, Cormik, but aren’t you forgetting something?” She gestured to the collar of her jacket, where in the past she had proudly worn the badge of the Harpers.
Cormik gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, my dear. I’m afraid I forgot.”
“Are we growing senile already?” Jewel inquired condescendingly.
He gritted his teeth. “No, we aren’t. But we are growing a trifle irritable.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jewel said with a bright laugh. “Personally, I’m having fun.”
They guided their mounts into town, searching for a place to stay the night. Cormik was right. They scouted out five inns, and each showed signs of Zhentarim occupation. While Mari no longer wore the moon-and-harp symbol, her face was known among the Zhentarim. The last thing they needed was to be delayed by an encounter with the Black Network. It looked as though they were going to have to spend the night outdoors.
“Oh, good,” Cormik grumbled. “I simply adore sleeping on the ground. I can’t tell you how much I love getting all those dry, prickly bits of moss stuck down my shirt.”
Everyone ignored him.
They rode out to the western edge of town, toward the bridge over the River Reaching. On the way, they passed one last inn—the Five Rings, according to the brightly painted sign. They almost rode by without examining the place, then stopped, more out of a sense of duty than any hope that this establishment would prove different than the others.
Mari suddenly gave an abrupt laugh. “This place will do just fine,” she told the others.
“Let me guess,” Cormik said dryly. “Either you know something we don’t, or you’ve suddenly been blessed by magical powers of prescience.”
“Er, the first one,” Mari replied glibly. She pointed to the upper left corner of the inn’s front door, where a small symbol had been scratched into the green paint. “It’s a Harper sigil,” she explained. “It means ‘friend.’ Harpers have stayed at this inn recently, which means …”
“No Zhentarim,” Morhion concluded for her.
“No mossy ground!” Cormik countered firmly.
“No more whining,” Jewel sighed thankfully.
The proprietor of the Five Rings was a red-faced man by the name of Faladar, and it was clear from the outset that he was no friend to the Zhentarim. He greeted the companions in the common room, though ‘confronted’ might have been a better word. “I hope you’ll forgive the impertinence,” he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. “These days I like to ask my guests where they’ve journeyed from.”