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"Somewhere beyond that one, I should think."

"Probably ten days' travel at best," the hobgoblin estimated. "Assuming that passes exist."

"We'll need to keep a low profile," said Gunton.

Royce bolted to his feet. "We're still speaking about doing Geildarr's bidding? What makes you think Gunton and I will go along to find this Sanctuary now?"

"You'll still be rewarded if we succeed," Ardeth said. "All the more for your fallen comrades. And if you disobey Geildarr, you'll spend the rest of your life dodging Zhentarim assassins. Moreover, we're stranded here. Gan can survive here better than any of us. This is no time to separate."

Royce cursed, but he knew that her logic was undeniable. This time he had no choice but to do what she said.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," Ardeth admitted. "I had no desire to see Vonelh, Bessick, or Nithinial dead. I'm sad to see them so. Only Leng was supposed to die."

"So not all your plans come off perfectly," Royce said, still filled with grief. He looked up at the hobgoblin who towered over him. "She put you in danger too, Gan. She risked your life, and for what? Think about that." He could see something flicker over Gan's stern face.

"I saved your lives," Ardeth reminded Royce and Gunton. "I could have left you to be smashed by that fey juggernaut. But I saved you. Does that count for nothing?"

"It's a start," said Royce with a sneer. "But let this be a promise—if you betray us again, nothing will keep me from slitting your throat. Not the hobgoblin, and not all the lord's men."

"I believe you," said Ardeth. Royce wondered if he saw a shadow of a smile on her lips.

* * * * *

When Vell, Kellin, and Lanaal returned to the village of Ghostand, they found the rest of the Thunderbeast party equipped and ready to forge out again. Many of the Tree Ghosts and their elf guests were present to see them off.

"We know the way," said Thluna. "Faeniele has found our path." He nodded graciously toward the copper-haired wood elf.

"Toward the Star Mounts?" asked Vell.

Thluna's brow furrowed. "How did you know that?"

"I saw it in the Fountains of Memory," said Vell. "And I felt it."

"Truly, the Thunderbeast smiles on us," said Keirkrad. He stepped away from the others, directly toward Kellin. He lowered his head before her, a gesture of contrition that shocked all—not only the idea that he would do so, but that he would do so in public.

"I owe you an apology, daughter of Zale," he said. "Your father was a good man. I have not treated you in a manner befitting his memory. We must set aside our differences for the sake of this mission. I promise things will be different now."

Kellin didn't know what to say. Perhaps the tree's influence could soften even the stoniest of hearts. Even her vast knowledge of Uthgardt customs didn't suggest what to do in this situation. Her cheeks flushed, not the least because of what she now knew about her father.

"Thank you, Shaman Seventoes," she said, clutching one of his ancient, lined hands. "I can only hope that our association will be smoother from now on."

"I promise you, it shall." She looked deep into his blue eyes for any hint of deception and found none. She detected real kindness. Fancy that, she thought.

"We must move quickly," said Vell. "Our enemies are on the march. I saw them in the Fountains of Memory." He described some of his vision; the glimpse of the seven walking along a river.

"That river would be either the Unicorn Run or the Heartblood," explained Faeniele. "Either way, they're a good deal closer to your destination, which lies close to the Heartblood's headwaters. You must seek out three great phandar trees growing in a triangle, lying in a shadowed valley at the Star Mounts' eastern reaches. If this story is more than a legend, there you will find the lost swamp and your totem behemoths."

"We will leave soon and move quickly," said Thluna. "And we take with us a new guide."

Rask Urgek stepped up to join them, dressed for travel and clutching a battle-axe of his own. "Your chief has generously consented to walking with a half-orc."

"Walking with a fellow Uthgardt," Thluna corrected him.

Rask smiled, his orc fangs creating an unnerving grin. "I have a history with the Zhentarim," he said. "I was born into their service. This may be a chance to wash them from my spirit at last."

Gunther Longtooth, chief of the Tree Ghosts, spoke. "We will miss Rask's presence here, but we understand his motives. May Uthgar smile on you and speed you to your destination. We have a gift for you, Chief Thluna." He held out a sturdy wooden club with the Tree Ghosts' emblem carved onto it. "This weapon is carved of old oak that grew in Grandfather Tree's shadow. It is enchanted by the Tree Ghosts' grace. Wield it wisely."

"I am humbled by the honor," said Thluna, taking the club and feeling its weight.

Before they were ready to leave, Lanaal spoke to Vell and Kellin alone.

"I mean to help you more," she said. "I'd come with you, but I think I can help more from afar. In this forest, there are others like Vell and myself who might know more. I will seek them out, and I will find you."

"You've helped me enough already," Vell said.

"The more I learn about you, the more I learn about myself," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She turned to Kellin and said, "Take care of him for me," smiling wistfully. Then she transformed into a falcon and flew up past the treetops and away.

More good-byes waited to be said.

"If you should ever decide to visit your cousins of the wood again," Gunther told the Thunderbeasts, "know that you will be welcome."

When the Thunderbeast party forged out again, they knew they left behind a small piece of joy in the High Forest's depths. They never could have imagined keeping company with elves! Now they had accepted a half-orc as one of them. The rules of the outside world didn't apply in the forest depths. Every one of them was changed by Grandfather Tree's grandeur and the Tree Ghosts' hospitality, and it created a most curious effect: they marched into the unknown with a new sense of unity.

* * * * *

"Do you blame your gods, Hurd?" Sungar asked. Five days had passed since his last meeting with Kiev, and he felt almost entirely healed. He felt that the time would soon come for Kiev to return and strip away all of his strength again.

"Blame them?" the dwarf answered. "For what?"

"For you being here," Sungar answered, lying on his back in the center of his cell, staring at the stones of the ceiling for the thousandth time. "For your rebellion failing. Surely you thought they were on your side."

"The Morndinsamman and I have exchanged some harsh words," Hurd answered. "I don't think they mind."

"Do you hate them?" Sungar asked. "Do you think they let you down—betrayed you?"

"I can't deny having some thoughts like that. But the gods can't do everything for us. See, the god whom I feel closest to now is Gorm Gulthyn. He was Trice Dulgenhar's god—Trice was a barakor of the Lord of the Bronze Mask. Not a lot of people know what I'm about to say, and I surely shouldn't be telling you. But who are you going to tell?

"Gorm's fate is tied to the fate of dwarves on Faerun, and as our strongholds fell, he grew weaker and weaker. The fire in his eyes, it is said, grows dimmer with each fallen nation and city. To fight to reclaim them, like we fought to reclaim Llorkh, is a holy war to help reverse his fate. Or so Trice said.

"Even our gods suffer defeats, Sungar. But they endure them. So must we."