"I am not paid to fight," Halzoon rasped. "And you, goblinoid?"
"There is more to life than wealth," Gan answered.
Halzoon shook his head in confusion. "You, goblinoid, are here for the same reason as I, surely. Zhentarim hired your people..."
"I serve Geildarr out of honor, not for profit. Serving for profit ruined my people, and it will ruin yours." Gan angrily slammed the shaft of the axe onto the rock at his feet.
"Then why do you serve him?" Halzoon's hazel eyes looked up at the hobgoblin. "You admit that the destruction of your tribe is on his head. So what has he done to make himself worthy of your loyalty?"
Snorting, Gan twisted the axe sideways. The blade caught the light and flashed directly into the werebat's eyes. Halzoon's hands went up instinctively to cover his eyes, and Gan delivered a quick blow to Halzoon's knee. With a yelp of pain, Halzoon fell forward. Gan sank the axe into his back. The werebat twitched a moment then expired, lying face down on the rock.
"Gan?" demanded Royce. "Why did you do that?"
"He was disloyal," the hobgoblin said calmly as he pulled the axe free and began cleaning the blade.
"It's the axe." Royce turned to Ardeth, while casting a nervous glance at Gan. "It has a strange effect on him. Its influence is probably getting stronger as we approach the Sanctuary. Ardeth, did you mean to do this?"
"What do you mean?" Ardeth demanded.
"You deprived us of a fighter. I think you know the effect that axe has on Gan. Even if Halzoon didn't want to fight with us, he certainly did not deserve death," said Royce. "Only the vaguest suggestion of disloyalty, and Gan killed our guide."
"Then we'd best get there quickly, lest Gan hack the two of you into little pieces," said Ardeth with a self-satisfied smile. "Wouldn't you agree?" Hopping over the dead werebat, she led them down the mountain path.
* * * * *
There was no mistaking the phandar trees that they sought. The group could see their destination long before they reached it. Each tree was taller than a temple spire, far larger than phandars usually grew, with huge masses of tangled branches and green leaves paling to golden. The lonely phandar trees were indeed growing in a triangle straddling the deep blue Heartblood River, two on one side and another opposite. They delineated a large area, perhaps not the size of Llorkh, but certainly equal to a smaller town. No trees or features of any kind lay within their boundary. Between them, the Heartblood flowed down from the mountains and into the forest. Somewhere on its path, it entered the Dire Wood and emerged with a red tint. But here, it was pure, cold, and fresh.
"In Vision's shadow," Ardeth muttered as they looked down on it from their high pass. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the mountain, covering the whole valley in darkness. "Just as Geildarr's divination said. We have found the Sanctuary."
"Something is here," said Gan. "I can feel it. We are very near now."
The light was beginning to fade as they reached the foot of the mountain. Gan's hands clenched the axe so tightly that his knuckles were pale. A steely single-mindedness shone in his eyes. He did not shift his focus off the triangle of land below them.
"What do you feel, Gan?" asked Gunton. "What's it like?"
"Like I'm going home," Gan answered. Without warning he stood up straight and spoke in a voice not his own. Clutching the axe to his breast, he rattled off several sentences.
"What was that?" asked Royce. "Gan, did you understand that?"
The hobgoblin dropped the axe, which clanked to the ground before him. He was white as a ghost, and he could only shake his head in the negative.
"I think I recognize some of the words," said Gunton. "I think it was the Netherese tongue. My spoken Netherese isn't as strong as..."
"What did it mean?" demanded Ardeth.
"Like I said, I only know a few words," Gunton answered. "But I'm fairly sure it was some sort of warning. I wonder if it is an automated ward, or if there's someone or something alive in there." He pointed down at the area between the phandars.
Ardeth put her hand on Gan's side. "Gan," she asked. "Can you continue?"
The hobgoblin snorted and bent over to pick up the axe. He raised it high and bolted down the mountainside in the direction of the Sanctuary, so fast that the others could barely keep up.
* * * * *
Like an arrow from on high, an image struck Vell's brain and split it open. Amid the peacefully swaying trees, the Star Mounts closer than ever, Vell dropped to his knees and let out an agonized scream.
The others rushed to him, but they could do nothing to console him.
"What are you feeling?" asked Kellin, kneeling before him.
"There are so many of us," he said, staring right through her face as if she weren't there. "So many in one place, and so close. We are afraid. They are coming close. We will try to trample them when they arrive. The Shepherds have willed it."
"What do you see, Vell?" asked Thluna.
"A marsh. Trees. And a red light." He spoke quickly, fervently. "So many perspectives at once. Too many!" he cried, clasping his temples. He blinked the vision away, and his eyes locked with Kellin's. "Make it go away," he whispered. "Help me."
"He must be seeing through the eyes of the behemoths," Thanar said. "He said 'we'—he thinks he's one of them."
"We should be moving," said Thluna. "If it's so close he can feel them, it can't be far. We need to get there ahead of this threat."
"Vell," said Kellin. "What else can you tell us? Where is it?"
Vell pointed in the distance, directly at one of the Star Mounts. "There. On the other side of that mountain."
"It will take us days to reach it," said Rask.
"Vell," said Thluna. "Can you go back into the vision? Can you tell us more about it?"
Vell shook his head furiously. "Too many minds," he said. "Lanaal spoke of this—how she can sense the feelings and thoughts of birds."
"Can you focus on one of them?" asked Kellin, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Maybe you're having trouble because you're taking in all of their thoughts at once."
Vell's face was a mask of fear, but Kellin's touch helped steady him.
"Let me try," he said, and he went back inside his mind. He found himself wading through the marsh amid the massive behemoths, perhaps two dozen in all, grazing from the trees—all except three tall phandar trees that they never touched. They knew never to go beyond the phandars. It was not safe there. They had no reason to go there, anyway.
Vell's fear left him, and he pressed on with a sense of wonder and curiosity, pushing more and more of his human mind aside. He bathed in the sensations of the behemoths instead—the taste of the leaves they plucked from the treetops, the warmth of the water around their legs. What trees—like none he had ever seen, thin and tall, swaying in the breeze.
But he also felt a different kind of fear—fear of an approaching enemy.
He loved the behemoths. They were his kind. Part of him was amazed to see these animals that he had never laid eyes on before. But part of him saw them every moment of every day.
In the center of the hidden Sanctuary stood a small menhir marked with ancient runes, rising from the marsh water. Atop it, a bright light gleamed, dabbing the whole Sanctuary in streaks of red. The runes, too, glowed faintly. The behemoths ignored it, but Vell could not.
Magic. The magic that sustained this place.
They mean to steal it.
That's the reason for all of this.
But the Shepherds? Where were they? How would they protect their flock?