Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [100]
But Sungar was smiling as they led him away. Gundar vanished into nothingness but left Uthgar's grace behind, and Sungar awaited his captors' comeuppance with giddy anticipation.
* * * * *
A few days' march south of the Sanctuary, the Thunderbeast party continued to make its way through the High Forest. They kept a discreet distance from the Unicorn Run and slipped through the deep woods without incident. As they walked, golden and red leaves cascaded down on them and formed a carpet stretching forward, guiding them to victory or ruin. But the leaf fall was coming to an end, and all around trees stood leafless, their bare branches reaching out and grasping like the thin arms of desperate men.
They spoke very little. Thanar and Rask at first attempted to keep the mood light, though they swiftly realized that this was futile and joined the silence. The Shepherds' revelations had cast a shadow over the Thunderbeasts' entire history. Now, to be doing the work of these loathsome tokens of the past rankled especially. And whenever Vell and Kellin's dark eyes met, they knew without speaking that her thoughts concerned her father-another idol fallen, and another dark secret of the past unearthed so unwelcomely.
Thluna carried the axe, though it was heavy for his lean stature. It was his tactile reminder of their real purpose. It kept his focus on Sungar. He bade Rask carry the oaken club given as a gift by Chief Gunther.
At a quiet, grassy clearing at the forest's edge, next to the quick-flowing Delimbiyr, they came upon a figure standing in the half-light of evening, staring into the distance, robed in rothehide. They recognized him instantly, even before they saw his face. Thluna yelped when he saw the man. "Keirkrad!"
He turned to face them. A festering red wound crawled across Keirkrad's cheek. His eyes were frozen oceans of blue streaked with lines of bright crimson.
Keirkrad smiled a warped, feral smile, his teeth glistening with saliva.
"The champions come," he said, his distinctive rasp familiar but somehow infused with malice. "Uthgar's champions come marching from the wood of their ancient home." He extended a finger in Vell's direction. "The blessed one," he hissed, "the brown-eyed one-Uthgar's favorite."
"No," said Vell. "No, Keirkrad. You must understand. Uthgar did not choose me."
"No?" Keirkrad's lined brow furrowed. "No? He did not pluck you for glory on Runemeet, on the site of his own death, the most sacred Morgur's Mound? He did not invest in you all the power he denied me?"
Vell shook his head firmly. "I am not of Uthgar's choosing, and this is not glory. This is a curse."
"Again you spurn the honor!" Keirkrad shouted to the sky. "Again you turn away from your god's calling! Is there no end to your gall? I will do his work in destroying you, though I have found a more potent master than Tempus's son could ever be. As a child, Uthgar granted me a glimpse of Morgur's Mound, but cruel and capricious he was, revealing to me the place where I would be undone and betrayed. Now the Beastlord has granted me what Uthgar would not."
Keirkrad snarled, and the red in his eyes spread till his eyes swam in crimson. Huge leathery wings unfurled from his sides and his face twisted and distorted into a drooling werebat. Heskret had inflicted lycanthropy, the ultimate punishment, on an enemy of old. He had not foreseen how the blessing of Uthgar resident in Keirkrad would manifest in his new form. With Keirkrad's mind wrested from his old form, he served his new master with devotion far exceeding that which he had lavished on Uthgar, and Malar responded to this fervor. Keirkrad was no simple werebat, but a nightmare of strength and power.
He was quickly a mass of fur and vast wings. Sharp claws spouted from his hands and feet, his ears grew huge and cupped like a bat's, and his teeth lengthened into glistening white fangs. Most terrifying of all was that he was still Keirkrad. Something