The army wound its way along the dirt roads that cut through the citrus groves. North of Amruthar, the groves were vast, well established, and had many crews of slaves. As the undead marched by, guards and slaves hid behind the largest trees and watched nervously.
The sun had begun to set as Galvin, Wynter, and Brenna passed a row of tall birches, which marked the end of one grove and the beginning of another. The precise rows of citrus trees, all carefully pruned, had begun to look monotonous.
When the sun edged below the distant tree line, the shadows and wraiths joined the assembly, the latter beginning their incessant, haunting banter. As the miles went by, Galvin studied Brenna. The enchantress had pulled about her a woolen cloak that Wynter had purchased in the market. The druid was uncertain what to do about her. If they lived through whatever awaited them and were able to leave Thay, she would likely return to Aglarond. He knew he would miss her, but he realized she wouldn’t want to stay in the wilderness with him and Wynter. He also knew he could never stay in a city. Although he had proved to himself he could function within their confining walls, he had no desire to live in one. Her nearness was making all of it considerably more difficult to figure out.
“I’m going to scout ahead for a while,” he told her. “It looks like there are a few lights up there.”
“No, human,” a wraith protested, floating to Galvin’s side. “You will stay with us. The master wishes it.”
“I’ll be back soon,” the druid said firmly.
“If you leave, we will go with you. Death will travel at your side.”
“Only if ‘death’ can keep up,” the druid said, scowling. He glanced at the distant lights on the horizon. The druid knew it would take the undead quite a while to reach them. Dropping the big mare’s reins, he handed Brenna his close helm and pulled off his chain shirt. Laying it across the front of his saddle, he held his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes.
“Human! What are you doing?” the wraith demanded.
Galvin ignored the undead creature and willed himself to transform. Feathers quickly sprouted on his chest and spread like fire to cover his body. His mare became skittish as wings formed underneath the druid’s arms, but Galvin, still retaining his human visage, made neighing and whinnying sounds until the horse answered and calmed down. Then the druid’s body shriveled, his legs becoming muscular hawk legs, and his feet yellow claws with curved talons. His head shortened, and his nose grew into a curved beak. The green-eyed hawk cried and leapt from the mare’s back, flying toward the lights.
The druid relished the sensation of flight, the wind ruffling the feathers about his face and the cool air flowing beneath his wings. His hawk form was sleek and made for speed, and the miles sped away beneath his wings. In this form, the druid knew he could have reached the mines in a day, but he also knew that going there alone might not accomplish anything. Nor would he find any comfort in leaving Wynter and Brenna behind with the undead.
The lights grew larger as he neared them. Ahead was a hamlet, a collection of wood and stone buildings, likely the homes of some of the citrus workers or nearby farmhands. Lanterns were set on tables in kitchens or hanging from front porches. Swooping low, the hawk skimmed through the town and saw a few families gathered inside the buildings. The hamlet’s residents were apparently oblivious to the presence of Szass Tam’s undead army. No one seemed armed or nervous.
The hawk made another pass through the area, then soared back to rejoin the undead. Hovering above the saddle of the big mare, Galvin transformed once again. His claws lengthened, the yellowed skin turning to boots that fit neatly into the stirrups, the feathers melting away to reveal skin and his chain shirt. The horse began to bolt, but the hawk-man’s wings receded, and human hands shot forward to grasp the reins and calm the skittish beast.
“There’s a small hamlet ahead,” Galvin said as he put on his chain shirt. He turned to Brenna and extended his hand for his close helm. The enchantress ignored his gesture and leaned over to place the helmet on his head herself. “Everything appears normal.”
“Are we going to stop there and rest?” Wynter asked, overhearing the druid.
“No. We’re going around it. No use upsetting the villagers. And no use alerting people who might be sympathetic to Maligor. It’s bad enough to be by guards when we pass the orchards.”
Galvin directed the undead in a broad arc around the settlement. It was nearly midnight by the time the army had circumvented the hamlet and was again on the road to the hills. For several more hours, the force continued to plod onward, the clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves mingling with the tinkling of skeletal bones.
Shortly before dawn, the army reached the edge of a lime grove. The druid decided to camp here, since he, Wynter, Brenna, and the horses needed to rest. As the first rays of the sun peeked through the trees, the trio watched incredulously as the wraiths huddled near the ground, then appeared to seep into the very cracks in the earth. The druid wondered if the undead would stay there until dark or could travel underground.
Shortly before noon, the army started north again. The breeze had picked up and was coming from the direction of the far hills, carrying with it billowy clouds and the fragrant scent of lime blossoms. The druid sniffed the air.
“It’s going to rain today, maybe in a few hours—sooner if the wizards decide to tamper with the weather,” Galvin announced.
“What do you think we’ll find at the mines?” Brenna posed. “Maligor may have been there for a day already.”
“Maybe he’s dead,” Wynter speculated. “The mines are well guarded. The tharchion in charge is a man to be reckoned with.”
“Maligor’s alive,” Galvin said finally. “I think Szass Tam would know if his rival was dead.”
The centaur glanced back at the columns of zombies and skeletons. “In any event,” Wynter said, “we’ll know in another two or three days.”
The Harpers and Brenna passed most of the day in silence, tolerating the midafternoon downpour and staring at the lush countryside, where apple orchards and groves of citrus trees dominated. In the distance, to the east and west, and in between the rows of fruit-laden trees, they saw farmland.
By sunset, the orchards were behind them, and they found themselves on a prairie dotted with waist-high wild flowers. Far to the east, Galvin saw a complex of buildings, which had to be immense considering they could be seen from so far away. Wynter explained that it was a slave plantation and most of the buildings were barracks for the slaves.
The army marched until dusk, when the buildings were lost from sight. After resting for several hours, they resumed the trek shortly before midnight, and by morning they were in the foothills.
“We’ve been making good time. Do you think we’ll reach the mines by nightfall?” Brenna asked Galvin.
The druid was eager to find Maligor and finish Szass Tam’s task. He pulled out the crude map, then glanced at it and the hills.
“I doubt it,” Wynter interposed before Galvin could speak. The centaur had also been eyeing the hills. “We probably won’t even make it by tomorrow morning—and that’s provided the map is reliable. These hills, if I remember correctly, are riddled with caves. Finding the mine might not be easy. Then we have the undead to consider.”
The enchantress looked at Wynter quizzically.
The centaur laughed and waved his arm, indicating the skeletons and zombies. “As difficult a time as I have dealing with obstacles and hills, they’ll have a worse time. Their bony feet might have trouble finding purchase.”
Brenna scowled. “It shouldn’t be a problem in the low hills,” she decided, pointing at the foothills, “but when we get farther up, maybe we’ll have to leave some of them behind. Or maybe we can find a path with better footing. There’s got to be a path or road leading to the mine.”