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The Star Mounts were dimly visible, hints of their fog-shrouded majesty hiding in the distance. Gan could tell that even the Antiquarians, for all they had experienced and all the places they had visited, held them in particular regard.

"Perhaps the mystery of all mysteries in the North," Royce called them, adding, "and we're in the business of seeking out mysteries." But Gan also noticed the fear they showed as they pressed ever closer to the legendary peaks.

A mystery unto herself was Ardeth, who showed no fear, little wonder, and none of the relish for cruelty that Leng displayed. Gan, unfamiliar with the conventions of human beauty, thought her ugly with her pale flesh, slight form, and her narrow hips that were grossly unsuitable for childbearing. Still, he recognized the effect she had on the human men.

Gan had some sense of the politics in the group, even without being told. He knew that they wanted Leng dead-Ardeth primarily, and now the Antiquarians seemed to be wordlessly supporting her. He could see it in their eyes and detect it in their manner. But they couldn't kill him openly. Leng and Geildarr had masters, and they would be displeased. The particulars of their plan were lost on Gan's brain, but he resolved to play his part nevertheless, and he took pride in what he was about to do on Ardeth's behalf-a most delicate task.

Mythkar Leng had disappeared into the woods quite some time earlier to attend to nature's call, and eventually the group dispatched Gan to check on him. He did so, axe in hand. When Gan found him, the priest's back was to Gan and he was bathed in a sepulchral green light.

"What are you doing?" the hobgoblin asked.

Leng spun about, only mildly perturbed by the interruption. Dangling from his finger was a skeletal green cage. Within, a small creature with blue flesh and cricket wings silently screamed as it cowered in the center. Leng smiled a sadist's smile as he brought it closer to the hobgoblin.

"What is this?" asked Gan.

"A grig," Leng explained. "One of the many varieties of fey that clog this part of the forest. Or rather, it was a grig not long ago."

Within the cage, a change overtook the fairy. Its wings turned to those of a bat and its flesh churned and boiled, sprouting coarse fur. Leng lifted his finger and the magical cage vanished. The creature sprinted off into the woods, a foul parody of what it once was. Moss withered and died where it passed.

"Your power must be very great," said Gan.

"I serve a most powerful god," Leng told him. "Far beyond whatever monstrous deity you venerate."

"Maglubiyet," Gan said quickly. "Maybe a human god would be more powerful."

Leng chuckled. "It's odd that your kind are so inherently servile. You need to be led, and you look for the most powerful leader available. This is commendable, but shortsighted. Tell me, Gan, does it bother you that your function on this mission is simply to carry something?" He poked a finger against the axe head. "You're the most hideous butler I've ever laid eyes on."

Not understanding the insult, Gan said, "I offered my service to Geildarr, and this is the task he assigned me. He is a great leader, and I shall not question."

This provoked a roar of laughter from Leng. "Such loyalty! My advice to you, hobgoblin, is to forget about Geildarr. He is a mediocre man of earthbound ambitions. Many years ago he confessed to me a desire to become part of the Zhentarim's Inner Circle. And he never did anything to make that happen. He is more an administrator than a true leader."

"What do you mean?" asked Gan.

"He is weak. This very expedition is a sign of his weakness. The magic we're looking for-he doesn't want to keep it for himself, but wants to give it away to his superiors. A great man would not perform such errands at the behest of those he hates. A greater leader would remake the world in his image, not hold onto the inglorious scrap of ground he calls his own."

"Are you such a man?" asked Gan.

Leng said nothing.

"Your magic remade that grig," asked Gan. "Why did you do it?"

Leng