Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [0]
The Fighters 03 - Son of
Thunder
By
Murray J.D. Leeder
Proofread and formatted by BW-SciFi
Ebook version 1.0
Release Date: July, 10th, 2008
Dedication
To Campbell, Roy, and my sister what's her name (and Alastair too!), for putting me up and putting up with me in Bournemouth for a large portion of the time during which this book was written.
Acknowledgements
Thanks must go to my editors, Phil Athans and Susan Morris. Also to Steven Schend, Eric L. Boyd, and Ed Greenwood for their enthusiastic furnishing of Realmslore-published and otherwise-when I asked for it; to Jesse Decker for the loan of Rask Urgek (a definite case of borrowing the car and failing to bring it back in one piece); and also to Elaine Cunningham for all her help and advice. And finally, thanks to Paul Jaquays, the creator of the Uthgardt, and all the other game designers who have detailed them over the years, without whom I'd have had nothing to play with.
PROLOGUE
Another bone cracked beneath Gan's foot.
"Ours wasn't the first army massacred in this place," the big hobgoblin growled at Thagalan Dray, one of the few humans sent on the most recent, ill-conceived expedition. Wearing a purple cloak over his scale mail, Dray was one of the Lord's Men of Llorkh, Zhentilar in all but name. So far as they knew, the two of them were the only survivors.
Dray ignored Gan and bent over to pick up one of the bones.
"Orc," he said, inspecting a thigh bone. He tossed the bone away and it clattered as it struck another one, half buried in the dirt. "This answers much."
"What do you mean?" Gan rumbled.
"This place used to crawl with orcs. Sometimes they'd come down and harass our caravans near Parnast. But in recent years the activity has ceased. I think we've found the reason." The whole plain around them was covered with similar bones and rusted scraps of armor and weapons. A massacre had occurred here.
"The shades?" asked Gan.
"As likely a candidate as any," Dray said grimly. "But there are more than enough threats in this awful place."
The shades were the reason that Dray and Gan walked the battlefield on the western rim of Anauroch. Lord Geildarr had sent a force of Zhentilar troops into this gods-forsaken strip of moor-a place called the Fallen Lands. Their orders were to locate a Netherese ruin where the Empire of Shadow was encamped, and to excavate the site to discover ancient artifacts.
But Geildarr refused to commit his own men, beyond a few out-of-favor Lord's Men to serve as consultants. Instead he recruited humanoids-a local hobgoblin tribe that laired along the Dawn Pass, and some gnolls from the Southwood. This patchwork army never reached the ruin. The Shadovar forces attacked at night when they had all the advantages, and their smoky magic overwhelmed Llorkh's troops in no time.
So Dray and Gan found themselves trotting through endless dead fields of the Fallen Lands, facing an uncertain future back in Llorkh.
"What will Geildarr do when we return?" asked Gan.
Dray chuckled. "Return? We'd be mad to go back like this. He'll want explanations, and he'll want examples. We'll be hanging from a noose in front of the Lord's Keep the moment we set foot back in Llorkh."
"I could return to my tribe," said Gan, more ore bones cracking beneath his feet.
"And are tribal hobgoblins more tolerant of failure than Zhentarim?" asked Dray. "Perhaps this place is the answer," he said, looking over the dead plains. "Everyone knows that the Fallen Lands are full of lost magic. If we could stay alive long enough to find some of it, that is. But if we could provide Geildarr with something new, he might forgive us."
"You say 'we,' human," the hobgoblin said. "If you find magic of such power, why not wield it yourself?"
"The truly useful magic can be unlocked only by mages like Geildarr. Such power would be lost on us. This battle didn't happen so long ago. Perhaps there's something here worth salvaging. Geildarr sponsors groups of adventurers to search lost ruins and dungeons for old magic-jobs that he doesn't trust to Lord's