The two stopped when they were a few paces apart. Smells Strong snarled to display the keenness of his teeth, and stretched to show his size and strength. For a moment, the stranger stood still, not responding to the display. Then, keeping his eyes locked on his opponent, he took a deliberate step forward. This was too much. Smells Strong charged with a mighty roar.
As fast he was, the stranger was faster. He stepped aside from the raking claws, striking a blow to the jaw that sent his opponent reeling back, spitting out splintered teeth. Smells Strong shook his head and snarled again, bracing as the stranger leaped forward. A crushing blow smashed his chest, sending him sprawling. As he climbed back to his feet, the others could see broken ribs sticking out through his skin.
Smells Strong stood unsteadily, glaring at the stranger as he circled slowly around him. He picked up a long bone from the ground, and wielded it in both hands like a club, waiting for the stranger’s next move.
When that move came, it was almost too fast to see. Grasping the bone club in one hand, the stranger lifted Smells Strong off his feet. He drove his hand into the ghast’s midsection, ripping it open. Smells Strong stood for a moment and then collapsed, the light fading from his eyes.
The ghouls huddled together, preparing to fight if the stranger attacked them. Instead, he reached down to the ghast’s body, pulled off his head with a single wrench, and threw it to the carcass eaters that were skulking on the edges of the site. One of them picked it up in its wide jaws, and trotted off among the rocks.
Then the stranger looked down at the ghouls.
“I am your leader now,” he said in a dry, rasping voice.
“Well,
Mordan, Brey, and Tarrel stood and looked down into the chasm. It plunged for hundreds of feet, and a faint glow of molten lava could be seen at the bottom. Sulfurous fumes wafted up from the depths. It was only about forty feet wide, but it extended as far as they eye could see in either direction.
“That’s the Mournland,” said Mordan, “always changing.” Another draught of the goodberry wine had revived him, but he was still pale.
“I could get across,” said Brey, “but I don’t know about you two.” Tarrel dug around in his sack, and brought out a long coil of rope.
“There’s nothing to tie it onto,” said Mordan. He was right; the ground on each side of the chasm was strewn with boulders, but there were no trees or anything else that could be used to anchor a rope.
“Don’t worry,” replied Tarrel. “I’ve got that covered.” He uncoiled the rope and offered one end to Brey.
“Just a minute,” she said. She closed her eyes and concentrated, and her form shifted. Her arms and legs grew shorter. Her chest broadened, and her fingers extended, growing thin membranes of skin between them. A huge bat crouched on the ground where the woman from Thrane had been standing.
The bat took the rope in its taloned feet and launched itself into the air, crossing the chasm with a few beats of its powerful wings. Once on the other side, it changed back into Brey. She took the rope in a firm grip and signaled that she was ready.
Tarrel wrapped the other end of the rope around his body and tested the ground with his heel until he was sure he had a secure footing. Then he turned to Mordan.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.
“How are you going to get across with no one to hold the rope?” asked Mordan.
Tarrel grinned. “Trust me,” he said, leaning backward to take up the slack.
Mordan hooked his left elbow around the rope, held on with his right hand, and swung his legs up and over. Tarrel leaned back further to take his weight, and gave him a nod of encouragement. Slowly. Mordan began to inch his way along the rope. He’d done it often enough as a cadet at Rekkenmark—although he’d had both hands then—and it wasn’t long before he reached the other side. He dropped to the ground beside Brey, and saw Tarrel straighten up.
“So what’s he going to do now?” he wondered.
As if in answer, Tarrel shouted across to them. “Get ready to pull!” he called.
Mordan and Brey looked at each other, then Mordan took hold of the rope.
“Ready?” yelled Tarrel. Brey waved an acknowledgment. Then, to their surprise, the half-elf ran toward the edge of the chasm and threw himself off.
Instead of dropping like a stone, Tarrel floated gently down. Brey and Mordan pulled on the rope, reeling him in. His feet hit the side of the chasm a few feet below the edge-much more gently than if he had fallen at normal speed—and they hauled him up the rest of the way.
“How did you do that?” asked Mordan when they had pulled him up. Tarrel grinned and folded back the lapel of his coat. Stuck into the back was a small gold pin, cast in the shape of a feather.
“These are popular in Sharn,” he said. “It is the City of Towers, after all—and falling all the way from Palatinate can ruin your entire day.”
