"He died in his sickbed," said Kellin.
"A suitable death," Keirkrad said. "Unheroic."
"Your King Gundar died the same way, as I understand."
Keirkrad ignored her comment. "I just got back from retrieving Vell, who thought to abandon his people in their time of need. I hope his moment of weakness is over. Sungar says you will come with us into the wood. He is my chief and I will not question his wisdom. But I will not let you taint the mind of Vell or any other Thunderbeast with your ways."
"I've spent my life studying the Uthgardt, as my father did," Kellin told him. "The last thing I'd want to do is to change you."
"Have you brought books with you?" asked Keirkrad.
"Yes," she said. "Various reference works that might help me understand what's happening to your tribe."
"Let me see one of these books," said Keirkrad.
Warily, Kellin went to the corner of her tent and picked up a thick volume from her collection. Keirkrad snatched it and flipped through it, idly running his fingers over the lines of dense text. There were occasional illustrations-line drawings of costumes and tribal emblems. He found one sketch of King Gundar himself. At that he snapped the book shut.
Keirkrad looked at the leather-bound cover.
"What does this say?" asked Keirkrad, tracing the embossed title.
"It says, Customs of the Northern Barbarians." She hesitated before adding, "By Zale Lyme."
"Oh." Keirkrad looked up at her. "Your father wrote this?"
"Yes," she said.
Keirkrad tore the book to shreds. The binding snapped under his bony hands, and he ripped the pages free, tossing them to be caught by the breeze and scattered all over the camp.
"You may come with us if you want," Keirkrad concluded with a bitter sneer. "But leave your so-called civilization behind. The Thunderbeast doesn't want it."
That evening, before a roaring fire at the clan hearth, the skald Hazred sang a song of Uthgar. It went on for a long time, like most longer epics, but Hazred's voice never faltered and his memory never failed. When he concluded, Kellin stepped forward to take the skald's place before the assembled warriors, their grim faces lit by the orange flicker of the fire.
"I, too, have a story to tell," she said. "I know it is a tradition of your people for newcomers to tell a story. It does not have a song, but I would never try to usurp the place of your magnificent skald. I'm not practiced in your language, but I shall do my best.
"I'm rarely called upon as a storyteller," she said, smiling. She scanned the crowd and her eyes connected with Sungar, Thluna, Vell, and finally Keirkrad, who stared at her impassively from across the fire. Kellin had first wondered if she might tell them a story from their own history, about the figure known variously as Berun, Beorunna, and the Bey of Runlatha. But Kellin had thought of something that she hoped would work better.
"Let me tell you a story from my own life," she began. "Many of you met my father, Zale Lyme, when he visited Grunwald many years ago. He studied all the Uthgardt tribes, largely from afar, but yours was the only one that welcomed him.
"I didn't realize until after his death how little I truly knew my father. The bulk of his life was spent away on one expedition or another, and when he came back to me and my mother, he spent most of his time preparing for his next journey. But he enthralled me with stories of faraway places and all the things he learned, all the people he met. And before he died, I told him all this. With his blood and his stories inside me, what choice did I have but to follow in his footsteps?" Kellin paused a few heartbeats, gauging the interest of her listeners. Around the campfire, all was still.
"A few years ago, I went on my first expedition, to the island of Ruathym far away in the Trackless Sea. My father was there many years before, and I went to verify his findings. I was looking for information on Uther Gardolfsson, as Uthgar was called before he came to these lands. He was Thane of that distant isle before he came to the North all those centuries ago. And as I walked the place where Uthgar was born, where he was educated, I realized something. I was not only walking in Uthgar's steps, I was walking in my father's as well. And that helped me understand why he admired your people so much.
"I was born and raised amid stone walls, a world of books and learning. I'm anathema to your way of life, but I realize that makes me respect it all the more. Many civilizations rose in the North and later fell, till only scholars like myself remember their names. But through all that there were the Uthgardt, living more or less as you do today. You are the finest of survivors. Even when the Silver Marches are dead and gone, just another name on a roll of dead kingdoms, the Uthgardt will live on, living the same as you do today."
A roar of applause came up from the tribe. Sungar walked forward and stood with Kellin-a silent gesture of her acceptance by the tribe at large. She caught Keirkrad still wearing the same blank expression as before, but she discovered Vell smiling widely.
Wings beat in the night, so softly that no one below heard them. The riders on the hippogriff's back heard a dull roar of excitement rise as they made quiet circles above the barbarian encampment, lit by the flickering red and orange of its bonfire.
"I wonder what's going on down there," said the skymage Valkin Balducius, his forehead furrowing beneath his jet black bangs. He was smiling wickedly at having spent so much time with Ardeth over the last few days, even if most of it was just ferrying her around. Now to engage in this strange endeavor alongside her… it would make for a good story, if nothing else.
"They're barbarians," said Ardeth. "They're probably celebrating a new record for most spines snapped or something."
"Which one do you suppose is chief?" Valkin asked her.
"There by the fire," said Ardeth, pointing to a dimly lit figure beneath them. "With the beard. Only chiefs are allowed to wear black wolf pelts like that."
Valkin looked back at her. "Just how do you know that?"
She smiled coyly. "I know a lot of things," she said. "Now speaking of wolves, are your pets in position?"
"Ready on your word," Valkin said. "May I say, Ardeth, this mission has proved a lot more interesting than guarding caravans across Anauroch has ever been. Maybe afterward, you'll tell me the real reason we're doing this. Abducting barbarian chiefs… not standard Zhentarim activity."
"Geildarr wants him," Ardeth replied. "That's all you need to know for now."
"Hmm," Valkin said. "I spent all morning flying over the Nether Mountains finding dire wolves for this little project, and you still haven't thanked me."
She turned back to him and smiled a transfixing smile.
"Perhaps I'll thank you later," she said. He cursed himself for being so damned malleable, all the while admitting that he couldn't do a thing about it.
Wolf howls suddenly filled the night, ringing like a knell through Sungar's Camp. The festivities ceased instantly. Mugs filled with mead spilled on the ground as warriors hurried to draw weapons. No war cry and no chiefs orders could call the Thunderbeasts to arms faster. These were not the cries of normal wolves, but of the great dire wolves that wandered the wilderness.
"She has brought wolves upon us!" cried Keirkrad, pointing a finger in Kellin's direction, but he was scarcely heard among the uproar. Families were roused from their tents and ushered to the camp's center, and horses were pulled from their corral to the center of camp as well. Mothers armed themselves with bows and formed a tight circle around the children. More howls came from the west, the north, then all sides. Torches were lit, armor donned, and weapons readied.
Kellin searched for Vell, dodging huge barbarians as they rushed back and forth, trying desperately to form a perimeter around the camp before the onslaught began. But as she navigated the confusion, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and was spun backward, directly into Vell's face.