The Shepherds looked at each other then nodded to the Thunderbeasts. "This is well."
"And something further," said Vell. "You must renounce all claims on the Thunderbeast tribe and on our totem. Abandon this 'shard of the spirit' you have used to mislead us. We cannot have you interfering in our affairs any further."
This brought a violent reaction from the Shepherds. "Our claims are older than yours!" one roared. "We cannot forsake them simply because you ask it!"
"It is our price," said Thluna.
The druid Thanar added, "It is not often that fate affords the opportunity to bargain with one's own past."
"You will fail," predicted another of the Shepherds. "You have failed already, and you will fail again. Any bargain is immaterial."
"Then it should not matter if you enter one," said Thluna. "Swear. Who else will help you? Or shall we just leave you here to die?"
They sneered, then with great reluctance they relented with the slightest of nods. "May the gods speed you to Llorkh," one of them said.
"Any god but Uthgar?" asked Thluna. He turned his back to the Shepherds and led his followers away; they did not look back.
CHAPTER 17
The Central Square in Llorkh had been emptied of its usual town market, but now it held more folk than ever. Onlookers swarmed around its edges where the Lord's Men stood guard, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange newcomers. The exotic lizards, each taller than the buildings that surrounded them, were tethered by magic. Each behemoth wore an iron ring around a hind ankle, connected by a massive chain to a stone post in the middle of the square. The chains were enchanted to dissolve flesh that touched them, lest any fool try to release the behemoths. The chains were only long enough for the creatures to reach feed bins placed at the square's edges by some brave Lord's Men.
The great beasts occasionally raised their feet, pulling the chains to their tightest and lifting them off the ground, but the chains could not be broken. And as long as the lizards bore the rings around their ankles, they could not lift more than one foot off the ground at any time. The magical formulation had proven to be simple but effective, for which Geildarr was vastly proud.
From the heights of the Lord's Keep, Geildarr enjoyed stepping onto his balcony and watching the behemoths. He never tired of watching them. A honey-colored bird alighted on the balcony's rail and chirped merrily; its cheerful song echoed in Geildarr's heart.
The fate of the behemoths was an open question for Geildarr. He considered dissecting them, harvesting their organs for whatever magical value they might possess, and making armor of their hides. Naturally, the Dark Sun temple wanted the dinosaurs turned over to them, so they could explore corrupting them, perhaps turning them into beasts of Cyric. Geildarr would need time to weigh his options. In the meantime, he just enjoyed their presence. Huge creatures of living, breathing art, they were more of a monument to his success than any statue of Geildarr could ever be.
And yet, these animals were but a side show. The real bounty was the Heart of Runlatha. A piece of Netherese magic from before the fall was worth many more lives than had been spent on the expedition.
"You expect me to discipline you for letting the Antiquarians die," Geildarr told Ardeth as he met with her in his study. "But I will not. I was very fond of them—I know you were, too. I will miss having them crawl through ruins on my behalf. They were useful. But your success—" he gripped the red hunk of magic, its scarlet glow escaping through his fingers, "—does much to counterbalance that loss."
"I'm glad you think so," said Ardeth. "But what is that thing?"
Geildarr smiled and answered, "Nothing less than our redemption."
"You will deliver it to Zhentil Keep, then?" Ardeth asked.
"In time," said Geildarr. "I want more time to study it first—to see what it truly is. It's clearly capable of weaving powerful illusions, from what you report. Perhaps it even extended the lifespan of the Shepherds you encountered in the Sanctuary." The excitement rose in his voice. "Netherese magic, Ardeth! I've never before had my hands on a piece of magic from before Karsus's folly. I wonder how it survived. This could be magic of the sort Mystra now denies to Faerun!"
"Fzoul and Manshoon will be very pleased with it, then," said Ardeth. She watched Geildarr's crestfallen reaction to that statement.
"Truly," he said. "It's a shame that the Heart should only be ransom for my preservation as mayor."
"Is not your reign more secure now?" asked Ardeth. "Or did I kill Mythkar Leng for nothing?"
"His death pleases me, for certain." It's a shame the Antiquarians needed to die also, he silently added. He would save that issue for another time, a future blackmail.
"I'm afraid this accomplishment is only delaying the inevitable," Geildarr said. "So long as I answer to Lord Chembryl, my position here in Llorkh is in jeopardy."
"Is there not another option?" asked Ardeth. "What of Sememmon?"
Geildarr sighed heavily. "You give voice to my darkest thoughts. I never liked him, even when he was master of Darkhold, and I answered to him directly."
"Perhaps because of that reason," Ardeth suggested with a coy smile.
Geildarr patted her shoulder. "That could be. But I understood when he fled the Zhentarim, even sympathized. Fzoul has consolidated power to a terrifying degree. The Inner Circle used to battle among itself mercilessly, and that system worked—it kept any one of them from gathering too much power. But the new Manshoon appears to be thoroughly under Fzoul's thumb, and Sememmon is gone. Bane's vision is being stamped on the whole Network. Cyricists like myself will be an increasingly rare breed."
"Sememmon was a coward for fleeing Darkhold," said Ardeth.
"No," said Geildarr. "He was smart." He looked sadly at the Heart of Runlatha, still gleaming in his clenched hand. "This could only buy me a reprieve. I serve as mayor of Llorkh at Fzoul's pleasure."
The golden bird on the balcony chirped, but somehow its song didn't seem as happy as before.
"Do you think Sememmon would be a better option?" asked Ardeth.
"He has kept himself hidden from Fzoul," Geildarr acknowledged. "No minor feat even for a wizard of such resources and power. But I am not interested in living out my days lurking in dark shadows. Moritz would like me to think Sememmon has some plan for overthrowing Fzoul, or destroying the Zhentarim, or carving out some kingdom for himself. Only the gods know if he does, or if he has a prayer of seeing it to reality. He is certainly amassing magic and allies for some purpose."
"He would like the Heart of Runlatha," said Ardeth.
"Certainly." He looked down at the artifact and sighed. "I'm afraid he might try to take it by force, and I mean to be ready for him if he does. But enough of this doom and gloom. A guest of mine must be made acquainted with our new arrivals." He smiled at Ardeth. "He is an old friend of yours. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me?"
* * * * *
The sunlight seared Sungar's eyes as guards led him through the streets of Llorkh. After so many tendays in a dark hole, the outdoors were no longer his friend. He'd never been in a city before, not Everlund, or Mirabar, or any other. If they all were like this one, he couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to live within city walls. Llorkh stank of desperation and decay. It was drab, and its streets were littered with garbage. From the windows of cottages, common people looked out, their eyes sunken in despair. Armored orcs walked the streets.