Son of Thunder - Murray J. D. Leeder [84]
Halzoon scratched his head, uninterested.
"And you know exactly where we're going?" asked Gunton.
Halzoon nodded. "I scouted these tunnels for Bloodmaster Heskret. I know the way."
"I can only hope that a werebat will have good senses underground," said Ardeth.
"We Antiquarians have experience in tunnels as well," boasted Royce, but Halzoon soon humbled Royce and Gunton. He led the foursome through a maze of ancient tunnels, shored by the occasional stone pillar. The werebat frequently stopped to sniff the air or turn an ear to a vacant passageway, apparently navigating on sheer instinct. Some of the tunnels were coursing with wind from the outside, while others were silent as if they'd not been visited in millennia.
Halzoon was a strange creature. He was more bat than elf, clearly. His posture was stooped, and he was a mass of tics-he could not keep still for a second, scratching, twitching, and sniffing.
"You said there are harpies here," said Ardeth as they climbed down a twisting staircase deep into the bowels of the mountains.
"No," Halzoon answered.
"But you said…"
"Harpies lived here, but no more. Scared off, they left and are all gone."
"What scared them off?" asked Gunton.
"The dragon."
"Dragon?" Royce said. "You mean Elaacrimalicros?"
"No!" Halzoon insisted. "Onskarrarrd."
"Who?"
"Deep dragon. He moved here after the fall of Ched Nasad last year. Onskarrarrd lairs down below."
"Tremendous," said Royce, dropping his voice to a whisper. "We're evading one dragon above, only to intrude on another one below. You might have mentioned that."
"No worry," said Halzoon. "He is sleeping now."
"How do you know that?" asked Ardeth.
Halzoon pressed an ear to the wall. "Can't you hear?" he asked. "He's snoring!"
"You should have mentioned this," Royce said, new anxiety in his voice.
"Why, human?" asked the werebat. "Would you have preferred to stay out there?" He squeaked with laughter.
* * * * *
The Uthgardt pushed their way through the High Forest with new urgency. The Star Mounts drew ever closer, cold and forbidding, and their clouds spread out to douse them all with hard rain.
No one said much since Keirkrad had been taken. They wondered whether the werebats had been hired-most likely by the Zhentarim-to capture one of them for interrogation, perhaps to learn where they were going.
"Malar," spat Thluna. "Blast his hide."
As they pushed through the pouring rain, Thluna vividly remembered a single day on the cracked earth of the Fallen Lands. All their troubles seemed to stem from that day. The wizard Arklow had spoken of creatures called the phaerimm, monsters of magic who could ensnare the mind of any creature. Thluna had feared that would be their fate-the Thunderbeasts would be made vassals to another foul power.
But with Arklow's help and directions, the Thunderbeasts had slaughtered the dark naga who led the phaerimm forces and fled as a massive orc army fell into infighting. Their victory was swiftly tangled with defeat, as Arklow revealed that magic lay in many of the tribe's weapons, including Sungar's ceremonial axe. The Thunderbeasts responded by leaving those weapons in the Fallen Lands.
Thluna looked at the oaken club he now clutched, given to him by Gunther Longtooth. It had hurt the werebats when other weapons had not. Thluna knew that the club must be magical, just like the axe. But he would not dream of disposing of it. It was a gift. Moreover, it was an outstanding weapon.
"When we were seeking out Grandfather Tree," Rask told Thluna as they walked together, "we knew that the Blue Bears were doing the same. We did our best to give them false leads, lure them into traps, counter them wherever we could. And, thanks be to Uthgar, we reached the Tree before they did. But at the same time, our enemy helped legitimize our quest."
"What do you mean?" asked Thluna.
"Think of what we're doing now. You quest for your living behemoths. This might seem foolhardy to outsiders, something important only to your tribe. But clearly, this is not the case. If the Zhentarim