Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [3]
As the last light faded on Runemeet, the tribe stood within the bone boundary at the foot of Morgur's Mound. Atop the altar mound stood Sungar, just as Gundar had in Vell's memory, but without the traditional axe. Alongside him stood the ancient, thin-skinned Keirkrad Seventoes, the white-haired shaman of the tribe, and the Thunderbeasts' other priests and druids. Only with all of their combined might could they accomplish this ritual.
"Thunderbeasts!" shouted Sungar. "The beast is our guide, our light. It is our route to Uthgar, and it is our route to ourselves. It represents all that we are, and what we should be. King Gundar is with the Thunderbeast now, and I know that he will help us find the answer we seek."
A cheer went up from the assembled tribe at the very mention of Gundar. For many Thunderbeasts, Gundar and Uthgar were held in nearly the same regard. Whatever kind of leader Gundar's successor Sungar would prove to be, he would never escape Gundar's shadow.
As black clouds swirled overhead, and the residual light was finally extinguished, Sungar marched down the mound and stood with his warriors, signifying that he was one of them-a message he always tried to project. Keirkrad, dressed in ceremonial white rothehide, turned to face the assembled tribe. He was so old that he could not summon his voice beyond a weak rasp. Only those standing closest heard him call upon the tribe members to focus their attention on the mound and lend something of their own souls to the ritual of communing.
"The Thunderbeast lives in all of your hearts. Now, you must let it free," he concluded solemnly.
With that, Keirkrad turned toward the altar stone, his head bowed and his arms extended. Specks of light coursed between his outstretched fingers and those of the other priests. A greenish ring of magic flowed between them, pulsing and glowing, lighting up the night with divine energy. The assembled Uthgardt stood straight and tall as the area filled with the crackle of magic, raising the hairs on their necks and arms, and releasing strange vibrations beneath their feet. The magic drifted to the bones at the mound's edge and set them trembling, the crackling rising until its crescendo crashed like thunder off the neighboring crags. Vell clenched his palms tightly and felt them fill with sweat.
The tribal assembly murmured with wonder. A tingling anticipation electrified the crowd. They awaited an explanation of why their number declined; they waited for their path to be shown to them.
But no response came. The racket dwindled to nothing, the skies parted above, and the ring of magic binding the spellcasters together winked out. A murmur of confusion wormed through the barbarians, and Sungar's face became a mask of shame. Vell's heart leaped in his chest. The worst suspicions whispered among the Thunderbeast tribe were true. They had lost their totem's favor. Uthgar had forsaken them.
Without warning, the bones came to life. They rose from their places ringing Morgur's Mound and lifted high above the assembly, swirling in the air together, frantically trying to find the shape they had held in life. They eventually came together in the familiar form of a wingless dragon, a great bulky shape with a long serpentine neck. A collective gasp spilled from the tribe. Most had never seen the Thunderbeast before, but knew its shape well from the images that many of them tattooed on their bodies.
Vell's mouth opened wide. The Uthgardt were not trained to bow and cower in the face of their god, but to stand tall and stare in reverence. Vell felt his knees weaken and tremble at the spectacle of the totem come to life.
The skull was last to rise from its pike and find its place. Two brown lights flared into life within the