Vell's face went blank. Could this be? The Shepherds would surely have mentioned such a thing, unless they didn't know of it, and why would they? How often, in all of their centuries, would they have tried to bestow their powers upon mere humans?

"If true, this could be our answer," said Thluna.

"I could not ask this of you," said Vell. "Even if it is true, and even if I am capable of it, how can I ask any of you to..."

"I will accept it," said Hengin unblinkingly.

"I cannot ask you to share my curse," Vell told the warrior, "and neither can Thluna command it..."

"We are able to choose, Vell the Brown," said Draf. "We choose this."

"It shall be only for a short time, Vell," said Thanar. "It is the only way."

Rask Urgek smiled, widely enough to show his orc fangs. "I, for one, look forward to bringing as much of Llorkh crumbling down as I can."

* * * * *

A cold autumn wind passed through the silent streets of Llorkh in the dark of night. It chilled the bones of the city's most unwilling residents, the behemoths, who shuddered in the square where they stood imprisoned. A quiet moan of protest from one grew to a low, mournful symphony, as more and more voices joined in, filling the night with the tones of their sadness.

Throughout Llorkh, the poor townsfolk awoke and lay in their beds, hearing this unearthly choir. They had gawked at the behemoths when they had walked the streets of the town, and were sympathetic, for they knew fellow prisoners when they saw them. Some townspeople were old enough to remember the murdered mayor Phintarn Redblade, and the days before Geildarr and the Zhentarim, when Llorkh was an honest mining town down on its luck—a place where dwarves and humans lived together in peace. Their sobs joined the cries of the behemoths.

That night, no soldier slept soundly in the barracks. Halfhearted rumbles were shared about orders to silence the inconvenient beasts, but none could bring themselves to do it. A profound unease they could not name settled into their spirits. Even Geildarr woke in his bed high up in the Lord's Keep, wandered to his balcony, and stared down on the Central Square and his unfortunate pets. His hands trembled as he gripped the railing, and he soon turned away and shut himself back into his room. He fetched the Heart of Runlatha, felt its warmth, and let its red glow wash over his hands. Clutching it to his breast, he settled back into his bed and tried hard to get back to sleep.

So many floors below, Sungar and Hurd shared no words, for none were required. They were ready. The time was upon them—if they had any doubts, they were settled for good once the cries of the behemoths ceased, and suddenly, a signal if ever there was one: a mind many miles away reached out and touched them, soothed them, making them ready for the battle to come.

The two prisoners in the dungeon imagined the warrior gods of their esteem—Uthgar and Gorm—standing together, armored and prepared for war.

An expectant mood settled over the scarred town of Llorkh. At long last, it was on the brink of something new.

CHAPTER 19

The sun was just rising over the vale as Thluna and his tiny army made their final preparations for the impending siege. The Thunderbeasts knew the effectiveness of an early morning attack. The famous siege Gundar led on Raven Rock was waged at dawn, when the watch guards were most weary, and an attack was unexpected. Still, the potential for surprise in this battle was remote.

The success or failure of this attack depended on whether Vell could impart his powers of transformation on the others.

"I can transform myself, I'm sure. But how do I change the others?" asked Vell.

"You voluntarily changed into a behemoth to fight Keirkrad, did you not?" asked Lanaal.

Vell nodded, and swallowed hard. "I know that this should be no different. But what if I simply don't have the power? Your hermit may have been lying. Even if he is capable of this, that is no guarantee that..."

"Then we will try something else, Vell," said Thluna. "We have a dozen potent allies imprisoned in Llorkh. You are in contact with them."

"I am. Contact of sorts, that is." Vell could feel the behemoths' every sensation when he let himself probe their minds. From their eyes, he could survey much of Llorkh. Alongside the misery of their containment, he found in them an animal excitement at the potential of liberation. In his mind, he received images of the place they wanted to be—the peaceful idyll of the Sanctuary where they had spent their entire lives. They had never imagined being anywhere else, had never realized there was anywhere else to be. And the Shepherds. They loved the Shepherds. They loved Vell because they thought he was one of them.

"They are ready to fight?" asked Kellin.

Vell nodded in affirmation. They chafed in their bondage, as any creature would.

"So are we," said Hengin. "In whatever body is necessary." He, Ilskar, Draf, Thanar, and Rask stood waiting for Vell to attempt the impossible and make behemoths of them all.

"If it does work," Vell warned them all, "you will find your senses much changed. It may be difficult to keep the consciousness necessary to do your job." He looked to Thanar. "I cannot know how this compares to a druid's wildforms. It's possible that your skills will not prepare you for this."

"I understand that," said the druid.

"I fear that all of you may become what I was the first time," said Vell. "A mindless, rampaging beast. We all know the blood rage. You know what it is like to lose yourself. The purity of that emotion is enticing. This transformation will be just as much, and a thousand times more." He surprised himself with his own eloquence.

"But we must try to lock up our rage. There are innocents in Llorkh. We must fear for them. Our tribe has killed enemy innocents before, but that is not something we remember as glory. Fear for your own minds too. It may be hard to come back. You might forget you were ever human."

A disquieted hush fell over the five as they absorbed Vell's speech.

"Do you still choose this?" asked Vell. They all nodded, but with less enthusiasm. "Keep whatever part of yourself you hold most dear foremost in your mind. That, I hope, will help you keep a level head."

The sun's early rays crawled across the sky, tracing the edges of the mine-scarred Graypeaks. The world seemed so peaceful, as if all of its troubles were vanishing just as the light dabbed the clouds in tones of gentle pink.

"To Llorkh," Thluna said. "To glory or ruin. We have come so far to do Uthgar's will. I can only hope, if we die, that we will die pleasing him." Rather than trumpeting his cry to battle across the plains, as he might when leading a throng of warriors, he whispered it. The moment was private and intimate. His eyes fell on each of his companions: this strange assembly of a bird-souled elf, a southern sorceress, a half-orc Tree Ghost, a druid exile, stalwart Thunderbeast warriors, and this strangest of creatures, Vell the Brown. His eyes shone with love and respect.

Vell's hands trembled as he extended them, one to Rask, the other to Hengin. With Draf, Thanar, and Ilskar they formed a circle of linked hands and sank into concentration. Something rose into his mind unbidden. He thought of Kellin, of the True Name the priests of Oghma had given her. All of her soul-searching could not tell her its meaning, but she said the search had meaning in itself.

Vell delved deeper into his lizard-tainted soul, and found a place he had never imagined.

* * * * *

Clavel Foxgray stood on the city walls of Llorkh surveying the terrain, holding his hand above his eyes as shelter from the cold wind. His purple robe fluttered in the breeze. Clavel avoided looking down at the ditch, the ugly scar on the earth that encircled the city, all the more terrible for anyone who had spent a night sleeping in it.