Elspeth maintained her isolation even in company with the other Faithful. The Faithful understood the reason why-or thought they did-and they were gentle with her. Elspeth was mute. Her tongue had been cut out. No one knew how she had come by this terrible injury, though rumors abounded. Some said she had been assaulted, and her attacker had cut out her tongue so that she could not name him. Some said the minotaur rulers of Silvanesti had mutilated her. They were known to cut out the tongues of any who spoke out against them.

The most terrible rumor, and one that was generally discounted, was that Elspeth had cut out her tongue herself. No one knew why she would do such a thing. What words did she so fear to speak that she would mutilate herself to prevent their utterance?

The members of the Faithful were always kind to her and tried to include her in their activities or discussions. She was painfully shy, however, and would shrink away if anyone spoke to her.

Valthonis treated Elspeth as he treated the other Faithful-with reserved, gentle courtesy, not aloof from them, yet set apart. A barrier existed between the Walking God and the Faithful that none could cross. He was mortal. Being an elf, he did not age as did humans, but his constant journeying took its toll. He always slept outdoors, refusing shelter in house or castle, and he walked the road every day, walked in wind and rain, sun and snow. His fair skin was weathered and tanned. He was lean and spare, his clothes-tunic and hose, boots and woolen cloak-were travel-worn.

The Faithful regarded him with awe, always mindful of the sacrifice he had made for mankind. In their eyes, he was still almost a god. What was he in his own eyes? None knew. He spoke of Paladine and the Gods of Light often, but always as a mortal speaks of the gods-worshipful and reverent. He never spoke as having been one of them.

The Faithful often speculated among themselves whether or not Valthonis even remembered that he had once been the most powerful god in the universe. Sometimes he would pause in a conversation and look far away, into the distance, and a frown would mar his forehead, as though he was concentrating hard, striving to recall something immensely important. These times, the Faithful believed, he had seen some glimmering of what he had once been, but when he tried to retrieve the memory it slipped away, ephemeral as morning mist. For his sake, they prayed he would never remember.

At such times, the Faithful noted that Elspeth always drew a little nearer to him. Any who chanced to look at her would see her sitting still, unmoving, her eyes fixed upon Valthonis, as if he was all she saw, all she ever wanted to see. His frown would ease, and he would slightly shake his head and smile and continue on.

The numbers of the Faithful changed from day to day, as some decided to join Valthonis on his endless walk and others departed. Valthonis never asked them to remain, nor did he ask them to leave. They swore no oath to him, for he would not accept it. They came from all races and all manner of life, rich and poor, wise and foolish, noble or wretched. No one questioned those who joined, for Valthonis would not permit it.

The Faithful all remembered the day the ogre emerged from the woods and fell into step beside Valthonis. Several clapped their hands to their swords, but a glance from Valthonis halted them. He went on speaking to those around him, who found it hard to listen, for they could not take their eyes from the ogre. The gigantic brute lumbered along, scowling balefully at all of them and snarling if any ventured too close.

Those who knew ogres said he was a chieftain, for he wore a heavy silver chain around his neck and his filthy leather vest was adorned with innumerable scalps and other gruesome trophies. He was huge, topping the tallest among them by chest, head, and shoulders, and he stank to high heaven. He remained with them a week and in all that time he spoke no word to any of them, not even to Valthonis.

Then one evening, while they were sitting around the fire, the ogre rose to his feet and stomped over to Valthonis. The Faithful were immediately on their guard, but Valthonis ordered them to sheathe their weapons and resume their seats. The ogre drew the silver chain from around his neck and held it out to the Walking God.

Valthonis placed his hand upon the chain and asked the gods to bless it and gave the chain back. The ogre grunted in satisfaction. He hung the chain about his neck and, with another grunt, he left them, lumbering back into the forest. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Later, when stories began to filter out of Blode how an ogre wearing a silver chain was working to ease the misery of his people and trying to bring an end to violence and bloodshed, the Faithful remembered their ogre companion and marveled.

Kender often joined them on the road, jumping about Valthonis like crickets and pestering him with questions, such as why frogs have bumps but snakes don’t and why cheese is yellow when milk is white. The Faithful rolled their eyes, but Valthonis answered all questions patiently and even seemed to enjoy having the kender about. The kender were a trial to his followers, but they strove to follow the example of the Walking God and show patience and forbearance, and they reconciled themselves to the theft of all their possessions.

Gnomes came to discuss schematic layouts of their latest inventions with the Walking God, and he would study them and try as diplomatically as he could to point out the design flaws most likely to result in injury or death.

Elves were always with Valthonis, many remaining with him for long periods. Humans were also among the Faithful, though they tended to stay for shorter periods of time than the elves. Paladins of Kiri-Jolith and Solamnic knights would often come to speak to Valthonis about their quests, asking for his blessing or forming part of his entourage. A hill dwarf traveled with them for a time, a priest of Reorx, who said he came in memory of Flint Fireforge.

Valthonis walked all roads and highways, stopping only to rest and sleep. He ate his frugal meals on the road. When he came to a town, he would walk its streets, pausing to talk to those he met, never remaining in one place long. He was often asked by clerics to give sermons or lectures. Valthonis always refused. He talked as he walked.

Many came to converse with him. Most came in faith, to listen and absorb. But there were also those who came as skeptics, those who wanted to argue, mock, or jeer at him. The Faithful had to practice restraint at these times, for Valthonis would permit intervention only if people became violent, and then he was far more concerned about the safety of those around him than he was for himself.

Day after day, the Faithful came and the Faithful went. But Elspeth was always with him.

This day, as they walked the winding roads through the Khalkist mountains, somewhere in the vicinity of the accursed valley of Neraka, the silent Elspeth startled the Faithful by leaving her customary place on the fringes of the group and, creeping close to Valthonis, fell into step behind him. He took no notice of her, for he was conversing with a follower of Chislev, discussing how to reverse the depredations of the Dragon Overlords on the land.

The Faithful noted Elspeth’s action and thought it odd, but took no further notice of her. Only later did they look back and wish, to their sorrow, that they had paid more heed.

Galdar had mixed feelings about his assignment. He was going to be reunited with Mina, and he wasn’t certain how he felt about that. On the one hand, he was glad. He had not seen her since their enforced separation at the tomb of Takhisis, when she had given herself into the arms of the Lord of Death. He had tried to stop her, but the god had torn him from Mina’s side. Even then, he would have searched for her, but Sargas had given Galdar to understand that he had more important work to do for his god and his people than chase after a silly chit of a human.