"I can explain it all," said Kellin, "if you will listen."
"Perhaps I do not care to hear your explanations. We do not tolerate the presence of your kind more than necessary. That you know our customs does not change this. I cannot allow you to taint my people and introduce your ways."
"I am not here to proselytize!" Kellin insisted. "I do not want to change your way of life. Far from it. To tell the truth ..." Uncertainty spread through her limbs and her posture fell, her shoulders slumping, and she dropped the formal manner of her speech. "I don't entirely know why I'm here. I had hoped you might give me some idea." Her dark eyes shone with warmth.
Glances passed between Sungar and Thluna. Sungar spoke in Common again, speaking her language almost as well as she spoke his.
"You are a new piece in a mystery which vexes our tribe at present. If the Thunderbeast sent you, if you're here to help, there must be a reason. There are many things we'd like to know right now."
"Then let us find them together," Kellin suggested. "I know much of your tribe's history—more than is recorded in your songs. I've come hundreds of miles to see you. I'd hate to think it was a waste."
Sungar leaned closer to her. "Perhaps you're a test of our strength. A temptation sent by the Thunderbeast to see if we would accept your kind of aid. We've accepted outsiders into our company before, and it has ended badly. Maybe the beast wants us to sacrifice you, the way we sacrificed outsiders in centuries past. If you know our history so well, you should know that I'm telling the truth."
Kellin trembled slightly but stood her ground and held her head high. "It's always difficult to know a god's will," she said. "Perhaps as an outsider, it's my role to make up for the failings of the past. Or perhaps it's just to teach the Thunderbeasts a lesson in humility."
"I suppose you've read that our tribe responds to strength, both of arm and of character," said Sungar. "Well, daughter of Zale, you've proven your mettle. Thluna, arrange a tent for her on the edge of camp, away from the others." Sungar looked at the sword at her belt. "I trust your weapon is not for decoration."
She grinned confidently. "I know which end is which."
Sungar had to smile at that. "Good. You may have some use for it soon."
CHAPTER 4
An the shadow of the twin stockades that dominated Newfort, Arthus Tyrrell arrived at his modest home after a hard day of work. His features were weathered and his hands were calloused, but he never wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake in coming to this inhospitable frontier town. Dwarfed by the mountains that surrounded it, Newfort was founded and largely occupied by settlers from Zhentil Keep. Now, they worked hard to carve out a life for themselves in the North.
Tyrrell closed his door behind him. He was alone; his wife and two children were not yet back from their work at Stauvin's Mill. A few steps from the door, he noticed something lying on his table—something resembling a large, white knife. He walked to it, grabbed the dagger, and held it up to the light. He gasped. He had seen it before.
"Is it true," came a voice, "that you dealt the death blow to the Great Wyrm?" Tyrrell spun around to see a pretty face smiling at him from a shadowed corner.
"Who are you?" he asked, taking a step forward. But he was silenced as she raised a crossbow from the darkness and sent a bolt zipping past his head to embed in the wall beyond. He stood very still as he looked at her—a petite woman, dressed all in black.
"My name is Ardeth. No one saw me enter your home," she said with a coy smile, "and no one will see me leave."
"Where did you get this?" he said, holding up the dagger.
"Geildarr Ithym sends his regards," the girl said.
Tyrrell sighed. This was his worst fear realized. His past with the Zhentarim had caught up with him. He had never been a member of the Black Network, but he worked for them on occasion. Years before, at the behest of Llorkh, he and his fellow adventurers had sought the Great Wyrm Cavern high in the Spine of the World. It was the most sacred site of the Great Wyrm tribe of Uthgardt, and they had to slaughter and torture a great many of the barbarians before they learned its location.
When they finally reached the cavern, they slaughtered the benign dragonlike creature Elrem—the Great Wyrm tribe's totem, shaman, and chief in one. They claimed Elrem's considerable hoard for their Zhentarim masters. The bone dagger was a mundane item of considerable antiquity, presented to Geildarr much later. Geildarr believed that it dated back to the earliest human habitation in the North, many thousands of years before even Netheril.
"I have a family," said Tyrrell. "A wife and children. Kill me and you're taking a father and a husband away. Surely even you Zhentarim have some feelings about that."
"The only thing I care about right now is the Uthgardt," Ardeth said. "Geildarr tells me you're something of an authority on the subject. If you want to live, I recommend you answer my questions."
"The Uthgardt," said Tyrrell. "You're threatening me for information on the barbarians?"
"As implausible as it may sound, yes. And unless you're willing to die to protect that information, I'd recommend telling me all you know. For instance, the significance of the name 'Berun.'"
"He's a figure in the mythology of some tribes," Tyrrell stammered, drumming his fingers on the table in his nervousness. "Sometimes he's conflated with Uthgar. There's a Berun's Hill near Neverwinter Wood, and Beorunna's Well was probably named for the same person."
"Is this just mythology?" asked Ardeth. "Is it possible he actually existed?"
"Possible. I don't know much about it, but some sages think he might have been a Netherese warrior who led an exodus to the North after the fall."
"Netherese," Ardeth repeated, savoring the word. "Geildarr will like that. Is there anything special about an axe in these legends?"
Tyrrell shrugged. "They're barbarians. There's always an axe. That or an especially large club. For the cracking of skulls."
"Such a wit you are," Ardeth said through pursed lips. "Now, what can you tell me about the Thunderbeasts?"
"Thunderbeasts?" Tyrrell thought a moment. "Thought to be the most civilized of all the tribes, though I don't recommend saying that to their faces. They hate wolves for some obscure reason—they regard them as a ritual enemy. Orcs, too. Something to do with the Gray Wolf tribe, probably. Their totem animal is something called a behemoth, or 'thunderer'—a big lizard of some sort, possibly one of those dinosaurs that live down in Chult. There may even be one of those creatures still alive closer to home—they say that the lizardmen in the Lizard Marsh ..."
"Where can I find them now?" asked Ardeth. Even though his life was under threat, she sensed a general willingness to cooperate. Perhaps the threat was unnecessary—once a Zhentarim supporter, always a Zhentarim supporter. Or perhaps this erstwhile scholar was so in love with the sound of his own voice that he welcomed any opportunity to hear it. She added, "And by 'them' I mean the Thunderbeasts, not the lizards."
"Well, for about a century they lived in a place called Grunwald, up in the Lurkwood, making a living at some sort of trade. No other tribe has ever dealt with the cities of the North so directly, except possibly the Black Lions, who've recently cast their lot with the Silver Marches wholeheartedly. Some of the other tribes hated the Thunderbeasts for settling down and wanted to destroy them, but others respected them for the power they commanded."