Vheod stared in surprise, taking in everything she said. "But, why?"
She smiled slyly. "If you use this, then I can take back this horse to where you got it." "What? How did you-"
"I'm sorry, Vheod, but it's obvious that you just arrived here at the edge of the Dales, let alone Faerun and even Toril. Judging by your ride, the steed's demeanor, and the fact that you have no riding tackle, it becomes fairly obvious how you came on your mount.
"Further, I am a bit of a seer when it comes to people. You-at least a part of you-didn't want to take the horse. I can return him, if you'll tell me where he comes from."
Vheod's mouth hung agape as wide as the young boy in the doorway earlier that morning. He quickly closed it, feeling quite the fool, but remained entranced by Tianna and her kindness. Without a word, he slid down off the horse's back and stepped toward her. Tianna urged her mount ahead a few-steps until she reached him. She held out the silver charm.
"It only works once," she reminded him.
"Thank you," Vheod said as he grasped the tiny charm in his weathered hand. "How can I repay you?" "You cannot, to tell the truth," Tianna said, "but that's not the point. I want to help you."
She looked deeply into his dark eyes and leaned down close to his face. "I just thought that you probably needed to see a little of the good in the world. You needed some kindness. My gift is really a minor one." "But there you are wrong," Vheod returned her look with a slow shake of his head. "This is a great gift, one I will remember for all my years."
"May there be many of them," she said, straightening in her ornate saddle.
Tianna rode over to Vheod's grazing horse, and drew an extra bridle from her saddlebag. The horse looked at her with calm, welcoming eyes. It nuzzled her thigh with its nose. She placed the bridle on the beast and readied to lead it away, then turned back to Vheod.
"The village lies almost directly in your path, at the edge of the woods to the west." Vheod gripped the charm even tighter in his sweaty palm. "They may have unkind things to say of me," he told her. "They may not welcome you if you claim to be my friend."
"Do not concern yourself with such things. I can take care of everything. Safe journey, Vheod, and be well."
"Yes, ah… safe journey to you as well, Tianna." Vheod was unused to pleasantries. Tianna turned to leave.
"Wait," Vheod called out.
Tianna turned to look back at him. She kept her smile.
"You said you are a seer when it comes to people. Can you tell me-is it possible for a place to change a person? Can this world be changing me?"
Tianna shook her head gently. "No, Vheod, only you can change yourself." She turned again, whispered something to her horse that Vheod couldn't hear, then rode off in the direction Vheod had come.
He turned southward, in the direction he understood Tilverton to be. He opened his hand to look at the silver, arrow-shaped charm in his palm. Its shape beckoned him to look back at the Taint, still on the other side of his hand. It remained in its arrow shape, and still pointed, as if directing him where it wanted him to go. It pointed south, toward Tilverton.
Chapter Six
No wind blew through the hot summer air. The stillness made for a stiflingly hot ride through the grass-covered hills. Whitlock and Melann could see the Thunder Peaks rise higher and higher before them as they approached, yet no pace they kept could satisfy their desire to reach their intended destination. Melann was quiet, but she gave Whitlock the impression she was very pleased with all that had happened. Obviously she was still confident that her god was guiding them.
Whitlock, however, grew ever more pensive as he rode. The mountains ahead would be dangerous-he remembered clearly what they had heard about an amassing of gnolls. Further, who could guess what other sorts of dangers might lie there? He knew he was up to the challenge, but he also knew that the coming days might require him to use every bit of his skill and experience to insure that both he and his sister survived.
The sea of green and brown grasses occasionally broke on rocky islands that seemed to grow in frequency as they approached the mountains. Birds occasionally flew across the virtually cloudless blue sky. By midday on their first day out from Tilverton, they were covered in sweat as they stopped for a noon meal. They ate dry bread and even drier venison purchased way back in Essembra. The harsh sun would soon scorch their skins, so Melann took the time to mash some herbs she brought, mixing them with water to create a thin paste to spread over their exposed flesh.
"We should have remained in Tilverton, at least long enough to obtain more information about where we're headed," Whitlock said between careful swallows from his waterskin to wash down the dry lunch.
"And waste valuable time?" Melann countered, finishing her herbal mixture.
"We could have at least confirmed what he told us," Whitlock said. "Further, we could have restocked our supplies a bit." He tore at the dry bread with his teeth like a dog, shaking his head back and forth before gaining a crusty mouthful. "Not that we have much in the way of gold left."
"Once we get into the mountains, there will be wild game, and Our Mother will provide berries, roots, and other things to collect. I'm not worried."
"Of course you're not worried!" Whitlock suddenly-exploded. "I have to worry for the both of us. You're so busy praying and thinking about your god that I have to work twice as hard to keep us safe, provide food, and find our way. Don't you realize the responsibility that is placed on me? The burdens I must face?"
Melann sat in stunned silence, staring at her brother, which made him feel guilty and self-conscious. He brushed bread crumbs out of his beard and took a drink of water-anything to divert his gaze from his sister's wide-eyed stare.
"Is that really what you think?" Melann asked quietly.
Whitlock said nothing.
"You think I don't worry?" Melann asked.
“All I do — worry. I worry that when I spend all my time used on my religious duties I neglect you, and Mother, and Father, and even myself. I worry that then I do what I personally feel compelled to do what I am not truly as devoted as I should be to Chauntea. I worry that I'm not worthy to be a priestess, or that as a priestess, I make a poor daughter-or sister. Don't tell me I don't worry. If it seems I let you take care of things like navigation or keeping watch at night, it's because I trust you and now how capable you are."
She added, after a moment's thought, "Besides, if we need food, the Mother of All can grant me the spell to create it. You know that."
Whitlock wasn't an eloquent man. So many things jumped to his mind to say, but the words to explain them escaped him. Instead, he stood and began to gather up what they had unpacked for their meal.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, glancing only momentarily at his sister.
Melann sighed softly. She smiled a little and helped him pack their things into saddlebags so they could continue their journey.
By nightfall, Whitlock and Melann were well into the rocky, mountainous region known as the Thunder Peaks. Night in the mountains came quickly once the sun disappeared over the mountains, and it came with an utter darkness for which neither Whitlock nor Melann was really prepared. Tall peaks to all sides blocked out even most of the starlight, which encouraged them both to huddle even closer to their campfire. The darkness carried a chill with it, as well as an utter silence.
Neither sibling spoke. Instead they simply ate their small meal absorbed in their own thoughts. Whitlock's heavy eyelids bade him to lay back on his bedroll as he ate. His sister stood, mumbling softly something about checking on the horses before going to sleep.
Thunderous sounds rent the silence of the cool evening, and Whitlock sat up only to see two large shapes looming out of the darkness toward him. He grabbed his broadsword and held it in front of him as the two figures-massive, hairy creatures standing upright like men-lunged at him. One carried a short spear and a shield. The other wielded a huge flail in both of its hispid claws. The musky, animal scent that clung to these intruders brought visions of kennels and caged animals to Whitlock's mind.