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 frowned in puzzlement. A high priest of Cyric did not expect to be questioned for the reasoning behind his actions, so Leng did not have an answer.

"Such creatures disgust me," Leng finally said. "They lock themselves away from the world to flit about in their pools and glades—what purpose do they serve?"

"Why not simply kill it?" asked Gan.

Shrugging his shoulders, Leng answered, "I wanted to see what would happen. What Cyric's power could do to a creature of such purity. What such corruption would yield."

"Were you satisfied?"

Leng almost beamed. "I was."

"I've heard tell of a place not far from here where the fey rule," Gan said, trying hard to sound guileless.

"The Unicorn Run," Leng spat out, as if he were speaking a vile oath. "All know that name. It's the place we're avoiding."

"What would your powers do there?" asked Gan.

Leng shook his head slightly. "I don't know," Leng said.

There was a quality to Leng's voice that Gan couldn't put a name to, but it terrified him more than all of the battlefield atrocities he had witnessed in the Fallen Lands and throughout his life. It was something that went far beyond simple malice to a deep-set desire to corrupt and to destroy.

In that moment, Gan wanted to bring the axe down on Leng, to slice him apart just as he had that Zhentilar fool in the Fallen Lands. Could he act in time? What foul magic warded this priest? To think he could accomplish all that Ardeth wanted, all that Geildarr wanted, with a single swing.

But no—it would not be right. It would upset their plans. It would be beyond his place.

Leng looked down at the hobgoblin's fingers clutching the axe's shaft. A dark chuckle rolled out of his throat as he walked past Gan and back to where the others were making camp.

* * * * *

Kellin strolled under the autumn haven of the great tree and the peacefulness put her in a reflective mood. But then, she thought, when was she not in a reflective mood? Members of the Tree Ghost honor guard were stationed at intervals beneath the tree, but she felt alone nevertheless—an island in the deep shade. She thought about everything Thluna had told her—how Sungar had acted to preserve his tribe's beliefs at such a terrible cost. Now, Thluna feared he was doing the same thing: compromising, cooperating with an outsider—even a spellcaster—and selling off what it meant to be a Thunderbeast.

Here she was, leading them down that path. Threatening to destroy everything that her father was determined to document and help preserve.

She almost jumped when Thanar approached her.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said.

"It's all right," she answered. "I was just doing some deep thinking."

Thanar cast a glance up at the leafy expanse above them. "This place can have that effect."

"It must be hard to know you have to leave it so soon."

Thanar ran a hand over his bearded face. "It's better we leave soon. The tree has its own magic. There is a danger that we all might wish to linger in its shade and never accomplish our mission."

"I feel its pull," admitted Kellin. "It's not evil, nor good. It just is. That's its appeal—it doesn't need to be understood. It exists so far from civilization's works, apart from even the Tree Ghosts. No matter how much they revere it, it would exist without them. There's a seductiveness in its simplicity. I could get lost in it if I let myself. Such a pleasant fate, to remain here forever, thinking..."

"Contemplation may turn to sloth," Thanar said. "And we cannot allow ourselves to lose time."

"Where is Vell?" asked Kellin, changing the subject.

"I believe the elf maid has taken him into the forest to explore his shapeshifting powers. Does that make you jealous?" She was taken aback at the bluntness of his question. "It is best you acknowledge such feelings..."

Kellin cut him off. "Another matter best explored at a later time. Tell me, Thanar. I sense you don't despise me the way the others do." She found it perplexing that he had left Grunwald because he thought his people had become too decadent, yet he was the most tolerant of her—the city-dwelling member of their group.

"Why should I despise my sister?" asked Thanar. He turned to the tree's great trunk. "We may be from different branches, but we are linked nevertheless. All living things are. From the deepest root to the highest bough, we are all one tree."

"I like that," Kellin answered, lowering her head. "I wish everyone thought that way. Some sages follow your line of wisdom. They think all life originated in one place and continues in what some call the Endless March—changing, adapting, and improving—in much the same way that farmers improve their livestock through breeding."