by James Wyatt
Kri did not recoil from the Prince of Thorns’s anger. In fact, he presumed to step forward as he tried to argue. “But the fate of the world—”
“The fate of your world is not my concern.”
Albanon swallowed. He had to try to calm both men before the argument turned into something worse. He put a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Kri, there is no need to cast blame for what has already happened. The Order of Vigilance took up my grandmother’s burden after her death, and that is all that matters. Perhaps it was meant to happen that way—after all, isn’t it fitting that the knowledge needed to save the world should lie with the humans of the world, and not hidden away in the Feywild?”
Kri’s gaze stayed fixed on the Prince of Thorns, but he took a slow breath, and the palpable aura of anger around him diminished slightly. “No doubt Ioun saw to the preservation of that knowledge,” he said.
“And Father, whether you knew it or not, you acknowledged our family’s role in preserving that knowledge when you allowed me to study with a wizard of the order.”
The Prince of Thorns also seemed to diminish slightly, and he let his eyes stray to Albanon. “Of course I knew it, my fool of a son.”
Albanon blinked. “You did?”
A hint of a smile crossed his father’s face, and he settled back into his throne. “And so with you, the legacy of the Order of Vigilance passes once more into Sherinna’s family.”
“You intended that all along?” Albanon said. “Then what are we arguing about? Why not just grant us permission to visit the tower and be done with it?”
“You still have not told me what you seek in the Whitethorn Spire.”
Kri smiled and leaned on his staff, suddenly seeming old and harmless once more. “I believe, Majesty, that the knowledge passed down through my order is incomplete. Moorin knew more than he was able to pass on to Albanon, and his knowledge might have complemented my own. We hope to find records in Sherinna’s tower, writings or artifacts or … or anything that might help us face the threat my order was founded to combat.”
The Prince of Thorns scowled and stroked his chin. “First you blame me for shirking my duty, then you admit that your order failed in its sacred trust to preserve and transmit what Sherinna learned.”
For a moment, Albanon thought that Kri was going to erupt in wrath again, but instead the old man’s shoulders slumped. “You are correct,” he said. “I am sorry that I cast blame before admitting my own failing.”
The prince regarded Kri for a long moment, then turned his gaze to Albanon. “I cannot deny you your birthright, my son. But heed my warning—my huntmaster has reported strange creatures in the vicinity of the Whitethorn Spire. I was not speaking idly of the place being infested with monsters.” His face softened, to Albanon’s amazement. “Be careful.”
“I will, Father.” He fell to one knee again, and Kri followed suit. “Thank you.”
“I hope you find what you seek,” the Prince of Thorns said. He waved a hand to dismiss them, and Albanon and Kri stood and left the palace.
CHAPTER FIVE
Get behind me,” Shara said, and she turned to face the demons. She and her greatsword could almost completely block the passage, so a demon that tried to get past her to Uldane would pay for it in blood.
“Do you have a plan?” the halfling asked.
“Step one,” Shara grunted as her sword bit into a demon’s shoulder. “Don’t die.”
“Sounds good so far.”
Another beast pounced, sailing over the demons closest to Shara and hurtling at her face. She brought her sword up just in time for the creature to impale itself on the blade. Shara staggered back under the sudden weight and almost tripped over Uldane, and then the demon nearly wrenched the sword from her hands as it fell lifeless onto its companions. Another one took advantage of her lowered defenses to lunge in, raking her leg with its claws before she could twist her body out of its way. She yanked her sword free and smashed the pommel into the demon’s face, driving it back.
“I don’t know what step two is,” she said. Her breath was coming harder and faster, and she finally had to acknowledge the doubt nagging at her mind, questioning whether she and Uldane could get through this alive.
“I figured as much,” Uldane said. He threw a dagger past Shara’s hip to sink into a demon’s eye. The enchanted blade wrenched itself free and sailed back to Uldane’s hand, trailing pale red blood. “How about this? We make our way down the hall until we find either Quarhaun or a strong door we can put between us and these demons.”
“What if we find more demons?”
“That’s not part of the plan.”
“I like this plan. Stay close.”
Shara lunged forward and swung her sword in a barrage of cuts that belied the weight of the blade, driving the demons back. Then she countered with several quick steps back—and stepped hard on Uldane’s foot. The halfling yowled and Shara stumbled, nearly dropping her sword as she flung her arms out to keep her balance. One of the demons darted in and clenched its jaws around Shara’s leg, piercing armor and skin right below her wounded knee. Shara gritted her teeth and brought her sword around to cut into the creature’s shoulder, even as Uldane slipped around her and drove his dagger into its throat. It released Shara’s leg, she found her footing, Uldane got behind her, and they were more or less in the position they’d started in. Except that blood was trickling down Shara’s calf and jolts of pain shot up her leg with every step.
“Let’s try this again,” she said. “But this time, stay a little less close.”
“Sorry,” Uldane said.
Shara gave up on the idea of driving the demons back and concentrated on keeping their teeth and claws away from her body as she and Uldane shuffled backward down the hall. Uldane kept a safe distance from her feet but still managed to throw his little blade past her to harry their foes. She focused her attention on the demons, trusting that Uldane was keeping at least one eye on the hall behind them.
A long moment later, Shara could no longer see the mouth of the tunnel in their circle of light. Four more corpses littered the hallway in her wake, and they still had not found either Quarhaun or a door. Or more demons—which was good, since their plan didn’t account for that possibility.
“How long is this hall?” Shara asked.
“I can’t see the other end,” Uldane said.
“And I can’t see where we started. So apparently it’s endless.”
“Maybe we’re already dead and this is our eternal fate,” Uldane said. “Fighting demons in an endless hallway.”
“In that case, we might need to switch places for a little while. My arms are getting tired.”
Uldane laughed. The sound made her smile, and she imagined that it made the demons pause. Uldane amazed her—his ability to find joy and humor in the worst of situations was inexplicable, sometimes infuriating, but more often than she would admit it was a comfort.
They retreated a few more paces down the hall, then Uldane swore under his breath.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Shara said.
“Well, there’s one good thing. I found a door.”
“And how many bad things?”
“I only see two right now, but they’re at the edge of the light. There’s probably more behind them.”
“More demons?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Shara reminded him.
“I guess it’s time for a new plan.”
Shara risked a glance over her shoulder and spotted the door Uldane had mentioned. It was a heavy wooden door bound with iron, but that was no guarantee of its strength. After uncounted years buried beneath the Witchlight Fens, the wood might be all but rotted through. Shara decided it didn’t matter.
“Run for the door,” Shara said, driving back a beast that lunged at her injured leg. “We have to get there before those demons.”
Uldane took off down the hall. As soon as he was cl
ear, Shara took a few quick steps backward, then turned and followed him at top speed. Her injured leg sent jolts of pain through her with every step, and for a moment she was afraid it would give out beneath her. She heard the demons snarling and scrabbling on the stone floor behind her. Ahead, Uldane was racing toward the door as the other group of demons stalked forward. Fortunately, those demons saw no reason to rush forward when their prey was apparently running right into their waiting jaws.
Uldane reached the door, pushed it open, and looked inside, then planted himself in the doorway. His eyes widened as he looked back at Shara, and before he could shout a warning Shara dived into a roll. A demon sailed over her, jerking in midair as Uldane’s dagger bit into it. Shara somersaulted to her feet and sliced the demon half open before it hit the ground. She vaulted over its corpse, then she was in the doorway with Uldane.
“Thanks,” she said, panting.
“Uh …”
“Check out this door,” Shara said. “I’ll hold them back.”
The halfling stepped back as the first wave of demons crashed upon her. She lost herself in the rhythm of slaughter, no longer feeling any pain, though her sword seemed to grow heavier with each swing. The demons that had been at the other end of the hall reached the doorway as well, and Shara was pleased to see some of them batting claws at demons from the other group, as if competing for this choice prey.
“It’s strong,” Uldane said. “There’s a bar on this side, and a heavy table and some other things we can pile against it.”
“Is there any other way out?”
Uldane paused, swallowed hard, and said, “No.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shara said. “It’s all we have. Get ready to close it.”
She hacked around at the arc of demons in front of her, causing just enough pain and confusion to buy the space she needed. Then she stepped back and leaped to the side, and Uldane pushed the door closed with a solid slam. She heard claws scrabble against the wood as she helped Uldane maneuver the bar into place, but the door held.
She rested the point of her sword on the floor and allowed herself a deep breath as she looked around the little room. It had evidently once been an office or study, with a large work table and a couple of low bookshelves, now empty. A tapestry hung on the wall, so discolored with mildew and stains that she couldn’t tell what it depicted. Uldane was making a circuit of the room, checking the walls for any secret doors and gingerly lifting the tapestry to make sure it didn’t hide another door.
A heavy body slammed against the door, and it buckled slightly. With a glance at Uldane, Shara went to the table and started shoving it toward the door. It was heavy, and she was more tired than she’d been willing to admit, but with Uldane’s help she managed to tip it across the doorway, and the next time a demon slammed into the door the table kept it from buckling at all.
“I need to rest,” Shara said. Without waiting for a response from Uldane, she slid her sword into the sheath on her back and slumped to the floor. She shrugged out of her backpack and rummaged inside until she found a roll of bandages, then she gingerly removed the armor that covered her injured leg.
“We need a new plan,” Uldane said. He started shoving against one of the low bookcases, inching it toward the door.
“Saving Quarhaun seems to be off the table.” She frowned. The thought stung more than she thought it should.
“It does seem a little less urgent than saving ourselves.” Uldane scowled at the bookcase, which was about as tall as he was. “I think I’ll wait until you can help me with this.”
Shara cleaned the blood away from the wounds on her knee and lower leg and examined them carefully. There was an angry redness to her skin around each cut that caused her some concern. She remembered Vestapalk commanding his demonic minions to go forth and spread the abyssal plague, and she washed the wounds again, wincing in pain as she scrubbed at the torn flesh. But for all the wounds hurt, they weren’t going to kill or cripple her.
So I’ll be able to stand when the demons finally get through the door, she thought.
She looked around the little room again. “I don’t want to die here,” she said. “I’m not ready.”
“Shara—”
“Not while that damned dragon is still alive. If I don’t kill him, who’s going to? How many more people is he going to kill?”
A look of terrible pain contorted Uldane’s face, but it passed quickly, as it always did. The halfling seemed immune to grief, sadness, and anger—no negative emotion could hold him for long. “You know,” he said, sitting down next to Shara, “I keep thinking about that day. The fight with the dragon was horrible. But the part I like to remember is the time just before the fight. When we knew we were getting close. I remember you teasing Jarren, making light of the danger. I remember the way he looked at you, the love in his eyes. Borojon chided you two for dawdling on the path, and scolded Cliffside for making so much noise.”
Tears ran down Shara’s face. She had thought of that day countless times, but all she could remember was the horror; the dragon’s jaws clamped on her father’s shoulder; the sickening sound as the dragon literally tore Cliffside apart; the sight of Jarren, her love, looking over the cliff as she and Uldane fell toward the river; the dragon looming over Jarren’s shoulder. Vestapalk might as well have torn out her heart that day, and the only joy she’d felt since had been when she thought the dragon was dead.
But Vestapalk wasn’t dead. And the thought that a swarm of demons might prevent her from killing him was more than she could bear.
“I guess what I’m saying,” Uldane said, “is that maybe you’d feel better if you try to think about the good times that you and Jarren spent together, instead of dwelling so much on the pain of having lost him.”
Shara wiped her eyes. “It’s been so long, Uldane. Sometimes I can barely remember the good times—as though my pain is all I have left of him.”
“Don’t do that, Shara. He was a good man, a good friend. He deserves better memories.”
Shara wrapped a bandage around her knee in silence, trying to dredge up happier thoughts of Jarren.
“I remember the first time I snuck his lucky coin from his pouch,” Uldane said. “He got so mad he could hardly speak, and his face was so red I couldn’t help but laugh!”
Shara smiled. “He got used to it soon enough.”
“I made sure he did.” Uldane’s laughter bubbled out again, high and infectious.
A renewed scrabbling at the door wiped the smiles from their faces. “Let’s get that bookcase to the door now,” Shara said.
The scratching sounds continued this time, as if the demons were determined to dig through, or under, the door. With Uldane’s help, Shara got one of the bookcases—made from hard, heavy wood—in place behind the table, strengthening their barricade. As they started toward the next bookcase, though, the sounds on the other side of the door changed. Yowls of fury or pain started up, then the scratching at the door stopped. The howling grew louder, and Shara heard the ring of steel and a blast of fire.
“Perhaps we’re not going to die here after all,” she said.
“Is it Quarhaun?” Uldane asked brightly.
“I don’t know.” She went to the door and pulled at the bookcase they’d just put in place. “But someone’s fighting out there, and now that I’ve caught my breath I think I’d like to be a part of that.”
“You never put the armor back on your leg.”
“It’s full of tooth holes anyway.” She dragged the table a few feet back, walked around it, and pressed her ear to the door.
A fight was definitely going on. She heard weapons thudding into flesh, the snarls and howls of the demons, and what might have been speech in a language she didn’t understand, full of sibilant sounds and low rumbling vowels. More sounds of erupting fire and a crack of lightning suggested that at least one spellcaster was present at well. “It might be Quarhaun,” she said, half to herself, and she lifted the bar from the d
oor and opened it just enough to peek out.
Quarhaun was there, his black eldritch blade crackling with lightning in his hand. His newfound allies were lizardfolk—tall and burly warriors with reptilian heads and long tails, wielding mostly clubs and maces of bone and stone. Angry orange crests adorned the tops of their heads, and their bodies were covered with fine green scales.
“Shara!” the drow warlock called.
Something like joy surged through her as she flung open the door and waded back into battle.
CHAPTER SIX
Roghar scratched his head. “So whatever we’re dealing with is preying on gnolls as well as humans,” he said.
“Well, it makes sense, in a way,” Travic said.
“How so?”
“I mean, the idea that gnolls had dragged Gaele and Marcan away without leaving signs of a struggle was unlikely. I was trying to come up with a theory that fit, and it becomes easier if we abandon the idea that gnolls were the captors.”
“Perhaps there’s some kind of mind control at work,” Roghar said. “Someone enchanting them, luring them away.”
“That opens a whole world of unpleasant possibilities. The best is that it’s some rogue enchanter, more or less a common criminal with magic at his disposal.”
“While the worst is … a lot worse.”
Travic nodded. “A vampire or succubus, maybe even a mind flayer.”
Roghar glanced at Tempest, who had turned away to look out at the ruins again. “Or some kind of possessor,” he whispered to Travic.
The priest’s eyes widened and shot to Tempest as well. Roghar had told him about Tempest’s experience with the possessor demon, and warned him that it was a painful memory for her. “Should we turn back?” Travic said, keeping his voice low. “I can find other help—”
Roghar shook his head. “It’ll be all right.”
“What will?” Tempest asked, turning back to face them. “What are you two whispering about?”
