Authors: Thomas M. Reid
Before long, the gates came into view at the ena of a long path that wound its way toward the bottom of the hill, and it seemed that the group was in the clear. Horial actually sighed in mild relief, thankful for the small favors of both Waukeen and Tymora, when Edilus suddenly stopped and cocked his head as if listening.
“What is it?” Grolo asked, stopping beside the druid. “What’s wrong with you?”
In answer, Edilus darted off the pathway and into the nearby bushes, disappearing into the undergrowth.
“What the?” Horial groaned, and he dashed after the druid. “Edilus, no! We can’t go that way!” As he neared the spot where Edilus had vanished, though, he heard a grunt and a sudden rustling, and someone gave a muffled shout.
Eternal damnation, Horial thought, grabbing for his blade as he carefully shoved through the outer layer of foliage. What’s he unearthed in there?
There was another muted shout, and someone cursed, a string of expletives favored among mercenaries. Horial swore in return and pushed deeper into the greenery, aware that Adyan was right behind him. He spotted a break in the growth ahead of him and detected movement, so he forced a path that way, stumbling through just as Edilus popped up on the other side, yanking another figure along with him. The druid shoved the figure forward and Horial was startled to see a second form down on the ground, a man who was rubbing his head gingerly. As the first one dropped down beside the second, Horial noted that he was dressed as a Waukeenar, an Abreeant, in fact.
“Ow!” the figure cried as he landed on his hands and knees. “By Brightwater, you’re strong!” he said, rubbing his wrist where Edilus had gripped him. Then the Abreeant looked up at Horial with a look of both recognition and concern upon his face. “Who are you?” the priest asked, a fellow a few years younger than the sergeant. He sounded fearful.
Instead of answering the priest, Horial turned on Edilus. “What the blazes are you doing?” he demanded. “We were almost to the gate!”
“I could smell these two hiding in here,” the druid replied. “And I suspected they were doing something untoward.”
Horial had to clench his hands together to keep from reaching up to grab the druid by his collar. “First of all, it’s none of our business why they are hiding in here. We were hiding in the bushes a few moments ago, too, remember?” When the druid merely scowled, Horial continued. “And second of all, even if they are up to no good, it’s not our fight tonight. We have more important things to deal with.”
“Horial?” the young priest asked, startling the sergeant out of his admonition.
The mercenary looked down, surprised. “Do I know you?”
The Abreeant shook his head. “No, but I’m in contact with someone who knows you, and she’s very glad to see you. You know Hetta Matrell?”
Horial nearly choked, then he sank down and pressed his finger against his mouth, signaling for the younger man to speak quietly. “Gods and demons, boy! How in the Nine Hells do you know Hetta Matrell?” he asked in a near-whisper.
The young man might have smiled, though it was hard for Horial to be sure in the dim light. “That’s a very long story, but suffice it to say that we’re on the same side tonight.”
Horial’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re speaking straight with me?” he demanded.
The Abreeant didn’t reply for a long moment, and he said, “Hetta tells me to remind you of all the times she had to swat your fanny for crushing her hoplilies when you, Adyan, and Vambran would use her garden wall as a shortcut.”
Horial stood there for a long moment, stunned. No one but Hetta, Adyan, and Vambran himself would have remembered something from his childhood.
He threw his head back then and just laughed, and Adyan was chortling too, right beside him. He tried to keep his laughter quiet, and for the most part he succeeded, but the whole situation was too comical for him to control his mirth. Finally, wiping a tear from his cheek, Horial caught his breath. “You sold me,” he said, still chuckling. “Where is darling Hetta?”
At that question, the Abreeant seemed to wilt slightly. He held out his hand, offering something to Horial. The sergeant caught a glint of red, and he reached out and clutched at a jeweled ring.
, Well, you’re a fine sight, Horial Rohden. Where is Vambran?
Horial nearly dropped the ring. Grandmother Hetta? he asked, unsure of where the voice was coming from. Are you at House Matrell? Vambran said you were in trouble.
Yes, trouble is the short way to sum it up, Hetta’s voice replied. And no, I’m not at the house. I’m in here. Now where’s Vambran?
Horial stared at the ring in the moonlight, aghast. He is still in Reth, trying to save the rest of the men, the sergeant answered. He sent us back to help Emriana after she called to him.
Well, good, Hetta said, and relief radiated from the disembodied voice. Pilos and Quill need your help. There’s too much to explain right now, but Emriana and Xaphira are in trouble. We all have to get out of the Generon, and quickly, before Junce and the palace guards catch us. Can you help them?
Horial nodded, then thought, That’s why Vambran sent us back here, Grandmother Hetta. Just tell us what you need.
Pilos will explain it all to you. For now, just pass me back to him. Oh, and Horial?
Yes?
Thank you for coming. You and Adyan are both good men, and Vambran is lucky to have you as friends.
Horial grinned as he handed the ring back to the young priest. “All right,” he said, turning to look at everyone in turn. “Hetta says we’ve got to get out of here. Pilos?” he said, looking at the priest. When the Abreeant nodded, Horial said, “Tonight we’re at your disposal.” He made quick introductions and they set out, and he noted that the first pink light of morning was beginning to brighten the eastern sky. Their intentions were to proceed as before, strolling toward the front gates and out as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
That plan lasted for perhaps ten paces before someone began to shout from a distance.
Horial spun around to see a contingent of Generon guards running toward them. When he turned back, a second collection of soldiers was assuming a formation to block the way out.
“I guess they know we’re here,” the sergeant said. They ran.
III
The sun was well above the horizon when Arbeenok woke Vambran. The lieutenant felt refreshed and immediately got to his feet, but Elenthia groaned and coughed. Arbeenok frowned and pulled the mercenary aside. “She is too weak to go with us,” he said. “My magic is holding, but the disease has still taken most of her strength.”
Vambran nodded. “Then we take her to her father before we depart,” he said.
Arbeenok shook his head. “No. She is a carrier. She will infect those around her, even though she is not growing sicker. Do you see?”
Vambran rocked back on his heels, then, understanding at last. He looked over at Elenthia, who was staring at both of them as they whispered together, shifting her gaze back and forth, worried. She knew they were speaking of her. “We’ll find you a safe place,” the mercenary said.
Elenthia’s eyes widened in fear. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?” she asked, a nervous edge -,to her voice. She didn’t really want the answer to her question. “You can’t leave me here!” The exertion brought on a coughing fit, and she doubled up in pain.
Vambran dropped down beside her and held her, then held a water skin to her mouth, waiting for her to drink when she was able. Finally, after she had caught her breath, he said, “You’ll be all right. You’re strong. If you don’t let all the scheming society folk get the best of you, you won’t let this beat you, either.” He smiled at her kindly. Inside, he was in agony. How can I do this to her? I left my men behind, too.
Elenthia understood his little jest, though, and a faint smile played across her face. “You always know just the right thing to say to a girl,” she said. Then her face turned a bit stony. “Even if you do cavort with druid women,” she said, giving the lieutenant a ferocious glare.
Vambran started at her comment, then glanced up at Arbeenok, who was looking on as though he had no idea what the discussion was about. When Vambran looked back at Elenthia, he could see the faintest of smiles curling at the corners of her mouth. He rolled his eyes at her and gave her a reassuring pat, then
looked at Arbeenok. “Is there anything else you need to do?” he asked, not wanting to delay the departure any more than necessary.
The druid seemed to consider, then nodded. “We should both have another dose of my powder,” he said, producing two more earthen urns like the one he had administered to the lieutenant the previous evening. “We do not want to become sick before we find a cure,” he added. After the druid had sprinkled the contents on both of them, they were ready.
“Then let’s get moving,” Vambran said, rising. “The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be back.” They left plenty of provisions with Elenthiafood and water they had procured from the pantry. She sat in a chair and watched them go, a brave smile on her face. At the door, Vambran turned to look back at her one last time, raising his hand in farewell. “Rest,” he said, not knowing what else he could say.
“Come back,” she said, her voice soft but earnest. He only nodded then turned away.
Outside the room, beyond the woman’s hearing, Vambran stopped and hung his head. “I can’t believe I just left her there,” he said, feeling the burden of failure wash over him. “Waukeen forgive me.”
“It is the right choice,” Arbeenok said, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s her best chance of surviving.”
Vambran sighed. “I feel like I’m leaving everyone to their deaths, lately.” Then he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, “Let’s do this thing.” And he walked out of the house, through the garden, and out into the street.
Arbeenok was close behind.
The streets of Reth were littered with the dead. Many were the destroyed remains of those unfortunates who had died, animated, and died again, but
a small few had simply perished by other means, somehow avoiding the terrible affliction that would have turned them to unlife.
For a long while, as the two of them walked, no signs of the living were to be found. The morning was filled with haze, smoke from fires that still smoldered. It blew across their path, acrid and hot. Whenever they got near a particularly thick cloud, Vambran grew cautious, unhappy at the thought of something lurking inside it.
After a while, Vambran began to hear something. ‘A commotion, perhaps, but definitely the voices of many people mixed together. As the pair neared the docks, the lieutenant could make it out more plainly.
“Do you hear that?” Vambran asked. “Something’s going on up ahead. Let’s go see.”
But Arbeenok hesitated. “I will not be welcome,” he said. “I am too different.”
Vambran stopped and looked back, surprised for a moment at his companion’s words. He had stopped thinking of Arbeenok as a strange creature. The alaghi was just a trustworthy friend to him. “You have a point. Can you transform into a dog again?”
“I could,” the druid replied, “and I will if that is the best course. But perhaps we should use my abilities more thoughtfully.”
Vambran cocked his head to one side and looked at the druid quizzically. “What do you have in mind?”
“We only waste time dealing with the people of this city right now,” Arbeenok explained. “They do not understand our purpose, and they might fear that we carry the plague.”
“I think it’s pretty clear we don’t,” Vambran replied, frowning.
“But why waste time in proving it?” Arbeenok asked. “Our goal is to reach the water. Why do we want to mingle with the people?”
“Well, unless you have a better idea,” Vambran said wryly, “walking to the docks is the only way I know of to get to the Reach. And in order to walk to the docks, we have to see what’s happening.”
Arbeenok smiled then. “I do, as you say, have a better idea,” he replied. And he drank deeply of the morning air, sighed, and began to change.
The druid’s arms snaked out, elongated and lightened, sprouting feathers. His face shifted and changed, rounding and enlarging, producing a beak where his mouth and nose had been before. His feet shortened and grew talons. His weight adjusted, redistributed, and his belongings vanished, melding into himself, becoming rich brown feathers. When the transformation was complete, Arbeenok regarded Vambran with a critical and very piercing eye.
The mercenary gaped for a moment, shocked once more by the feats Arbeenok was capable of. Then he smiled and said, “You’re one damned large hawk.”
Arbeenok squawked once in reply and leaped upward, beating his wings to gain speed and altitude. Swooping forward, the druid reached down and grasped Vambran by the shoulders, squeezing his talons together just enough to take hold of the man’s armor without puncturing it and piercing his flesh.
Vambran gave a tiny yelp of surprise, but he did not struggle as they soared together skyward, Arbeenok beating his new wings furiously, hauling the extra weight up beneath him. For a moment, Vambran was aghast, but once he convinced himself that the druid would not drop him, he began to enjoy the moment for what it was.
The feeling of flying was exhilarating, and he reveled in it. The morning air was crisp as it whistled past him, cooling after the heavy smoke. Still, it was a long way down, and Vambran swallowed hard a couple of times, especially when the druid shifted and turned. He did not like to imagine dying such a death. Arbeenok circled about a few times, allowing Vambran a chance to study the ground as they rose higher and higher.
“This is incredible!” the mercenary shouted from below the druid.
The buildings of the city dwindled below them, and quickly, the pair was high above, able to see most of the settlement spread out below. Even the highest structure, the great tower of the Palace of the Seven, shooting upward near the center of the city, shrank beneath them. Much of Reth had burned in the night, and many fires still smoked. Bodies were strewn everywhere.
“There,” Vambran said, pointing to the docks, and Arbeenok had to arch his head downward to see where the man pointed. “All those people. What’s going on down there?”