The ranger stared at the black hulk of the mountain, his memories still locked onto that grim night. Footsteps through the grass woke Tharn from his reverie. A pilgrim approached and offered him a warm mug. Tharn nodded thanks and sipped the thin broth, but its warmth eluded him.
The scene played through his mind with amazing clarity. In slow motion, he saw the shopkeeper�s hand spasm open, blood erupting from the palm. The scarab was pulsing red, and what looked like insect legs clawed at the open hand. The old man rose from his chair, his mouth silently open as he tried to throw the thing from his hand.
Tharn leapt up, knocking his chair back. A scream erupted from the shopkeeper as both men saw the scarab dig under the flesh and into his hand. Tharn�s chair hit the floor as he reached for the outstretched arm. The lump under the skin twitched and moved to the wrist as the old man�s legs collapsed, blood pouring from his open hand. Tharn�s teeth were clenched in silent horror, as the old man screamed again, the thing tearing further up the inside of his arm and leaving a mottled purple trail where skin was ripped from muscle.
Tharn clamped his hands around the man�s forearm, but the creature was slowed only briefly. He felt the purple lump wiggle and squeeze under his grasp. The thing continued, now nearly to the crook of his arm. Tharn�s mind was numb, but his body moved on instinct. He pulled out his knife and sliced sharply across the man�s inner arm, blocking the thing�s path. He pushed behind the lump, trying to force it out, but it turned and slipped around the cut, moving underneath the arm. The old man still screamed but held his arm up, staring wildly at Tharn as blood splashed heavily on the floor. The knife slashed again, but the scarab twisted and spun under the skin with a grim purpose. The purple trail arrowed into the armpit and stopped as the creature burrowed deep into the shopkeeper�s chest.
He fell backwards clutching at himself. His scream bubbled and choked as blood sprayed from his lips. The body went rigid and arched backwards and held there for a moment, nearly off the floor. Then he collapsed, quivering slightly with wide sightless eyes. Then silence.
Tharn stared into the dead man�s eyes, still not registering what had happened. The horrific scene had been over in less than a minute. He stood swaying, staring at the carnage on the floor.
The silence was pierced by another scream. Tharn looked up wildly and saw the old woman in the doorway. He suddenly realized what she saw �� a blood-soaked maniac holding a knife, her husband sliced and dead at his feet. He shook his head in denial and took a step towards her, but she staggered back, then turned and ran screaming with her arms in the air.
Panic engulfed him and he dropped the knife, leapt over the body and wrenched open the door. He burst into the dark street and ran, the scream still echoing behind him.
He turned corners blindly, running down alleys and across traffic. Shouts and curses followed from people he bounced off of. He turned up another alley and ran until he collapsed behind a pile of empty barrels. He gasped and wheezed as he looked frantically up and down the alley, realizing finally that no one was chasing him. A few people were farther up the alley, but gave him little more than a glance and turned away. He forced himself to sit and breathe and think.
Tharn looked at his trembling, bloodied hands and willed himself to be calm. He knew what had happened. No one would believe he hadn�t attacked the old man. The Death Scarab had been a childhood fable, but it was now all too real. If for whatever reason they opened the old man�s chest, he knew the gem would be found nestled in the remains of his heart. Even then, no one would believe that he hadn�t done it on purpose. But they wouldn�t cut his chest open. They would never think of that. The old man had a heart attack during a savage robbery, they would say. The old lady had seen him over the body. The woman who was in the shop--she could also identify him. He needed to get out of the city.
Tharn forced himself to walk. He skirted a puddle of mud and sewage, then went back and fell into it as nonchalantly as possible. The stench was nauseating, but the muck covered the blood and it pretty much guaranteed to keep people from looking too close. He reached the end of the alley, got his bearings, and headed for the edge of the city.
The great gates were closed. Soldiers lounged under the wall and the street in front was filled with carts and animals and people, all waiting for dawn so they could leave and be replaced by the merchants and visitors waiting outside.
Tharn watched the crowded street and soon made his choice. A group of about twenty men and women were clustered around two wagons. They wore ragged brown robes, but the wagon fittings seemed new and they all looked fairly clean. He approached them, trying to look casual as several of the people looked at him. One stepped forward as the others waited expectantly. This man was tall and thin with a sparse beard. His deep-set eyes peered from under enormous eyebrows. He wore a dark brown cowled robe like the others, but his belt had a golden weave. He stopped abruptly at Tharn�s scent.
�Excuse me,� said Tharn. �Please pardon my appearance, I had an accident. Could you tell me, sir, where you and your people will be traveling tomorrow?�
The tall man�s nose twitched as he stared back. His voice was soft and surprisingly deep. �We are on a pilgrimage. We�re traveling west to the holy mountain of our lord, where earth and fire have risen into the sky. We are answering our lord�s call and go to bring him gifts and sacrifice. Why do you ask?�
News of the new volcano was all the rage in Roystille. Tharn answered quietly, �I am looking to travel west, too. I�d like to make you an offer. If you would allow me to travel with you, I will act as guard for your group. I think my skills could help make your journey easier.� He held his cloak open to show his sword. �You don�t seem to have guards. The road to the west is not well maintained and these lands are still fairly wild. You might meet bandits or wild creatures. I know I can be of help to you.�
The man�s eyes narrowed and he looked at Tharn�s stained clothing.
�I, um, had a little trouble in an alley.�
The tall man suddenly smiled, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth. �A wonderful idea. Why, we were just discussing the need for one such as you. I am Faerun, the chosen guide for our following. Please, come this way.� He led Tharn to where the rest were grouped and watching.
�We will get you something less�offensive to wear. You don�t mind parting with these?� He gestured at Tharn�s clothes.
�Not at all, thank you.�
Faerun gestured, and shortly Tharn was presented with a thin brown robe and a bucket of water. As he washed, he thought it was all working out rather well. He would be able to pass as one of the pilgrims and get out of this cursed city at dawn.
The other men and women were openly friendly to him and offered him hot food. Tharn didn�t recognize their deity�s name but wasn�t concerned. The group seemed harmless enough and he felt they were kind of foolish to go off on a trip by themselves. Maybe they felt there was safety in numbers. Tharn didn�t feel like thinking much. He was exhausted, and the plain food was warm and good. Faerun offered him a straw mattress in the back of a wagon and he felt himself falling asleep quickly. He thought idly that he would travel to the volcano or near it, and then let them complete their journey while he continued on to the west. It didn�t seem safe to travel back home right now. He certainly didn�t want to get his family involved in this mess. Tharn knew little about the western lands, but had heard that there were many elves. He dreamed of elves chanting around a fire and of eyes peering closely with whispered words.