Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [1]
Gan snorted. "With good reason."
Dray ignored him. "There's a group of adventurers Geildarr's nicknamed the Antiquarians-he often hires them to search ruins and the like. I think they're somewhere down on the High Moor now. Geildarr's mad about ancient artifacts, especially things Netherese. Apparently the Fallen Lands were once a Netherese survivor state called Hlondath." He frowned. "I guess our whole army died to satisfy his hobby."
They spent a long time searching the battlefield. Orc skeletons by the hundreds covered the barren ground. Near the center of the field they found a small ancient ruin, little more than a few broken and fallen walls concealing nothing of value. Curiously, amid the nearby dead lay the cracked exoskeletons of two umber hulks, and what they guessed were the bones of a giant snake. But any weapons of interest were broken or rusted. Dispirited, Gan and Dray limped home.
Soon after, Gan noticed something glinting in the distance and pointed it out to Dray. "A trick of the light," Dray said, but as he studied the flash, he judged that it was the distinctive shine of metal. He and the hobgoblin raced toward it to find a most curious discovery.
"Tymora smiles today!" cried Dray. A collection of weapons and armor lay strewn across the dirt or half buried. All counted, at least twenty items awaited discovery.
"Nobody lost these weapons," Gan said, looking down warily upon their find. "They were thrown away. Probably for good reason. They're cursed, maybe."
Dray picked up a small silver helmet with an unfamiliar emblem on the side, then he dropped it into the dirt. "No, not cursed," he said.
"Perhaps they were so damaged that someone wanted to get rid of them," the hobgoblin offered. But the equipment, though covered by layers of grime, looked to be in fine condition.
"Or perhaps Cyric or some other power placed them here for us to find." Dray attacked the pile, throwing aside shields and hammers. At the bottom, buried in dirt, he uncovered a battle-axe, heavy and with a huge head of glimmering steel.
It was a weapon to inspire confidence and intimidate enemies-a leader's weapon. How many foes must have fallen to its thick blade? What battles had it seen? Gan could sense its age and its value, and he wondered what great heroes must have clutched it. Though the hobgoblin had only the faintest conception of such things, he wondered what dim forgotten age must have spawned it.
Dray anxiously rubbed off the dirt and then smiled up at the hobgoblin. "Does this look like a weapon someone would just throw away?" he asked. But as the Lord's Man went to lift it, he found the axe was beyond his strength, and he dropped it with a thud onto the ground.
Gan cast Dray a glare as he mishandled the weapon, then reached down and scooped it up himself, comfortable with its weight. A stiffness filled the hobgoblin's muscles as he held it, and a smile crossed his ugly face.
Dray inspected it closely as Gan held it up.
"Dwarven manufacture, I think. And look, it's probably been here for years, and there's no damage to the blade. I bet there's some dweomer on this."
"You think Geildarr will like it?" asked Gan.
"Well, magic weapons aren't really his favorites," Dray said, "but considering that if we stay here too long we'll probably be eaten by leucrotta or slaughtered by shades, I think this may be just the thing to save our skins."
"What kind of leader is Geildarr?" asked Gan.
"What do you mean?" asked Dray.
"Is he a strong ruler, worthy of service?"
"I suppose so," Dray said.
Gan looked at him more closely. "You say that if we give this axe to Geildarr, he will let us live? Grant me a place in his service?"
"What did I just say?"
"I just wanted to be sure," said Gan. Before Dray could react, Gan brought the axe down in the middle of Dray's head. The axe smashed his skull and cleaved deep into the soldier's chest. The purple cloak around Dray's armor snapped free from his shoulders and fluttered to the ground.
The hobgoblin dislodged the bloody axe from Dray's body and examined it. He