“Name them,” said Roghar without hesitation.
A raised eyebrow joined Padraig’s twitching lip. “Nothing heroic, paladin. I just ask that before you leave us, you take a turn on the walls to give some of my people a chance to rest. As you can see, we’re stretched thin.”
“You seem to have done a good job of defending Winterhaven so far, my lord,” said Belen.
“Luck more than anything else.” Padraig held up a hand to forestall Thair’s protest. “The plague demon attacks have waned lately. Either they’ve gone in search of easier prey or they’ve decided it’s not worth trying to break down walls to get the few of us who are left. Possibly both.”
“We noticed that some of the farms outside the village looked like they’d been scavenged, and not by demons,” Roghar said. “Are there others in the region? Bandits living off the land?”
Thair grimaced. “Tigerclaw barbarians from Winterbole. Rare enough to see them here, but these didn’t even act like themselves. Usually Tigerclaws come in bands of roaring raiders that try to overwhelm a place. These were more like thieves, slipping by silently. They didn’t even make an attempt on Winterhaven.”
“Scouts?” suggested Immeral.
“Scouts do their best not to be seen,” said Padraig with a shrug. “These Tigerclaws didn’t seem to care if we saw them or not. They scavenged the farmsteads for a few days, then disappeared again.”
“Are they still in the area?”
“They could be two valleys over and we wouldn’t know it. But that’s the other favor I ask travelers.” Padraig leaned over the table. “Tell what you’ve seen on the road. Tell me what’s happening in Fallcrest or anything beyond the Vale you know of. We’re starved for news. Anything you’ve seen or heard, tell me-no matter how small or worrisome. If we’re going to hold out here, we need information. Tell me, then go seek your rest.”
Albanon glanced at the others, lingering on Roghar. There didn’t seem to be any point in telling Padraig about their own quest into the north-or their very direct involvement with Vestapalk and the plague-but there were other things they could tell him. Roghar gave him a slight nod. Albanon looked back to Padraig. “Let’s start with the Cloak Wood. The plague demons may have left Winterhaven, but they haven’t gone very far.”
Night crept closer. It wasn’t necessary to wait until dark blinded those-or most of those at least-within the walls, but it would be easier.
He kept those he had selected to fight with him quiet and still. They were his weakness, the thin scale in the hide of his intentions. He would have done without them if he could have. But then if he could have, he would have descended on the village in a great rush of glittering wings, smashing buildings and scattering villagers in search of his prey. He ran a tongue along his muzzle at the thought of such mayhem and dug his claws into the soft ground as if into flesh.
Anticipation weakened his control for a moment. Around him, demons growled and stirred.
“Silence,” he hissed. “This one orders you to silence.”
The demons subsided, unwillingly it seemed. They anticipated blood and destruction now. Holding them within his will was more difficult.
He made them an offering. “Tonight, there will be no restraint. Tonight, you kill”-he felt their attention, his promise bringing them to rein-“ except for these. Their deaths belong to this one.”
He forced the images of his prey once more onto what passed for the demons’ minds. The eladrin wizard. The tiefling. The halfling. The dragonborn. Along with the images, he impressed threats of what would happen if he was disobeyed.
The demons went still and he felt their submission. Once again, everything grew quiet. He watched the sun sink, red as the Voidharrow, beyond the walls of Winterhaven.
Albanon took the first of two watches over the night. With the sky clear except for a few swift-moving clouds and the moon rising bright, he could see almost as well as he could during the day. An elf woman of Winterhaven, Ninaran, walked the walls opposite him, and Tempest and Immeral would take the second watch. Two people to see in the dark at any time-most of the villagers remaining in Winterhaven were humans and halflings, dependent on torches and lanterns to get by in the night. If he and the others hadn’t arrived, Thair would have had to pull a second watch duty. Small wonder the dwarf had been happy to see them, Albanon thought.
There were six others on the walls with him and Ninaran. Seven if Splendid, perched in her usual spot around his neck, counted. If anything happened, an alarm would bring the full force of the village charging to the rescue. To Albanon that still seemed like a feeble response to whatever might come knocking in the night. He paused by the gates and peered out into the darkness.
The countryside lay quiet and still, a deceptively peaceful landscape broken by abandoned farmsteads and thick copses of trees. Above it, the night sky went on and on. It was intimidating in its vastness. The scattered clouds served only to emphasize how huge and deep it was. Philosophers and sages wondered what mysteries and secret powers lay beyond the multitude of cold, distant stars. Albanon felt like he already knew. The draw to the north was a physical ache inside him. He raised his eyes to the vault of the night.
The eye of Tharizdun looked back at him. The Chained God’s gaze was merciless and heavy, a void that consumed the stars themselves. Go, it seemed to command him. Go now and find what waits for you.
Albanon squeezed his staff in his hands and clenched his teeth until they hurt. “No,” he snarled. “I go at my own pace by my own will, not by yours!”
Something brushed his cheek, dry and scaly. “Have you fallen asleep?” demanded Splendid’s acid voice. “It’s cold. Keep moving.”
The weight of Tharizdun’s gaze vanished. Albanon opened eyes he didn’t remember closing and took a slow breath. The night was only the night. The stars were only the stars. He forced his cramped hand off his staff and reached up to scratch Splendid under her chin.
She twitched back for a moment before leaning into the scratch. “Ahhh,” she said. “That’s more like it.” The pseudodragon rubbed her body against his neck and shoulder, her scales rubbing almost-but not quite-painfully. “You need to do that more often.”
Albanon chuckled. Splendid loved her simple pleasures. “If you had your way, I would wear my fingers down and you’d want me to keep going.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She wriggled around, stretching her neck out to look at him. “Moorin knew how important it was to stop and relax sometimes.”
His fingers slowed. “Moorin didn’t face what I do, Splendid.”
“Didn’t he? Moorin was a member of the Order of Vigilance, training you to take his place. He was the guardian of the captive Voidharrow, something so secret he didn’t even tell me about it. He still found time to forget his responsibilities and enjoy life.”
“I don’t remember that.”
Splendid snorted and pulled away. “Apprentices never remember the good times. Ungrateful wretches.”
Albanon smiled. “I like you too, Splendid.” She sniffed and turned her head away, but her forepaws kneaded his chest affectionately.
A boot scraped on the stone behind Albanon. The wizard knew who it was before he turned around. Only one person deliberately dragged his foot that way to announce his presence. “Uldane,” he said, “you don’t have to be up here until later. We couldn’t find you, so we put you on the second watch with Tempest and Immeral.” He turned around.
The halfling looked miserable. He also looked dusty, as if he’d just crawled out of some long neglected hiding hole. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Albanon, do you think I was right to tell Shara she betrayed Jarren by taking up with Quarhaun?”
It seemed like it was going to be a night for hard questions. Albanon leaned on his staff and thought before he answered. “How exactly is Shara betraying Jarren?”
“She can do better than Quarhaun!”
Albanon gave Uldane a level look. “That doesn’t sound like betraying J
arren. What’s wrong with Quarhaun?”
“He’s arrogant. He’s rude. He uses people.” Uldane began pacing back and forth on the narrow walkway. “He doesn’t give a muskrat’s whisker about anyone!”
“Except Shara.”
The halfling glared at him. “Quarhaun’s a typical drow,” he said. “You’ve never heard his stories about growing up in the Underdark, have you? Lies, treachery, assassination-it’s enough to scare the smallclothes off you, and he acts like it’s all normal.”
“Shara sees something in him, though.”
Uldane’s expression twisted and he spat on the stones at Albanon’s feet. “You sound like Thair.” He turned toward the stairs down from the wall. Albanon grabbed his shoulder.
“Wait,” he said, holding tight as Uldane tried to shrug him off. “How would you describe Immeral?”
Uldane raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled at the turn in questioning. “Brave. Loyal. Respectful.”
“Not to his face,” said Albanon. He turned Uldane loose. “What if you were talking about him behind his back.”
“I wouldn’t-” This time Albanon raised an eyebrow. Uldane shrugged. “Formal,” he said. “Stiff. Cold. Distant.”
“So a typical eladrin.”
“Yes,” Uldane agreed, then winced as he remembered who he was talking to. “You’re not like that.”
“I know,” Albanon said, “but it took some time living away from the Feywild before I was comfortable with it. Maybe Quarhaun needs time away from the Underdark with people he knows he can trust.”
Uldane made a face. He fidgeted where he stood, walked back and forth a couple of times-then stepped up to the parapet and punched it. Albanon turned to look at him in surprise. The halfling’s face deepened into a scowl and he shook a hand with blood oozing from split knuckles. “I still don’t like him,” he said harshly.
“I don’t think you have to,” said Albanon, but he froze even as the words left his mouth.
Out in the dark countryside, something flashed in the moonlight. He moved to the parapet and leaned out, peering into the night.
“What?” said Uldane, turning to stand alongside him. “Do you see something?”
“Maybe.” The shifting clouds gave the illusion of movement to every shadow. The pale moonlight erased color at a distance, but the flash had seemed distinctly and disturbingly crystalline. He stared at the place he had seen it. Or thought he had seen it. When the flash came again, he realized it was much closer than he’d believed. A plague demon, one of the big four-armed kind, stood half-hidden beside the trunk of a tree only a little more than a bowshot beyond the wall. Fear made a sour taste in his mouth. He cursed under his breath and searched for more.
“What do you see?” asked Uldane.
“A demon.” He fixed his gaze on a suspicious shadow, waited until the moonlight caught it, then cursed when it did. “Another one.” The tips of his ears prickled. “There won’t be just two of them. They’re out there.”
“Do we call the alarm or just hope they leave us alone like the ones in the Cloak Wood?” asked Splendid from his shoulder.
“We call the alarm. It isn’t just about us tonight.” He looked around for the other watcher on his section of the wall, an older merchant named Bairwin who handled a sword like he knew what to do with it and who carried a hunting horn for just this moment. Just as he did, though, the moon broke through the clouds, washing Winterhaven with cold, bright light.
In the sudden radiance, a full two score demons stood revealed, the crystals growing from their hides glittering darkly. “Goblin kisser!” yelped Uldane.
Albanon saw Bairwin grab his horn and raise it to his mouth, but there was no need to sound an alarm. As if the bright moonlight had been a signal, the demons howled and charged. The sound was like a sword punching through Albanon’s chest. To anyone down in the village, there could be no doubt as to what was taking place beyond the walls.
He had no chance to look back and see, however. The horde came bounding, leaping, and running across the short distance separating them from Winterhaven. Smaller bestial demons like hounds took the lead, but one massive figure stood out in the midst of the charge: a four-armed demon larger than an ogre and twice as broad. Crimson crystals grew to form armor not just across its shoulders, but in a thick plate over its skull as well. Powerful legs thrust against the ground, propelling the demon forward-straight toward the village gate. The gate was strong and the beam bracing it heavy, but Albanon had a vision of both flying to splinters at the impact of this living battering ram.
Along the wall, Bairwin cursed and fumbled as he tried to fit an arrow to his bow. Uldane looked down at the throwing knife in his hand, then up at Albanon, his eyes wide. The wizard clenched his jaw. “I know,” he said. “It’s going to take more than arrows or knives to stop it.”
He darted along the wall, ignoring Splendid’s frightened leap from his shoulder, so that he stood directly over the gate and right in the demon juggernaut’s path. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of considering what might happen if he succumbed to the mad urge to expand the magic-he had enough to fear already. Holding his staff tight, he thrust it over the wall and shouted the carefully formed words of a spell. Arcane energy poured through him and through the staff, bursting from it in an invisible blast of force that betrayed itself only as ripples in the air.
The spell slammed into the demon like the blow of a titanic hammer. The huge creature flew backward, bowling over half a dozen lesser demons. When it hit the ground, it lay still and Albanon thought he could see a long, dark crack bisecting the thing’s heavy crystal skullplate. For several heartbeats, the other demons didn’t seem to realize the big one was no longer with them. Albanon might have found the sight of them running headlong into the gates amusing if it hadn’t been accompanied by their bloodcurdling howls.
“Well done, wizard,” said Bairwin. “Well done.” The man’s chest heaved as he struggled to calm himself. Albanon knew exactly how he felt.
“He’s only bought us time.” Suddenly Ninaran, the elf woman, was with them. “Get busy with your bow, you idiot.”
The other watchers had joined them as well, all of them stringing bows or madly cranking back crossbows. From below and behind, Roghar’s voice rose up, demanding to know what had happened. Albanon glanced down the wall. The paladin stood with Lord Padraig, Tempest, Belen, Immeral, Thair Coalstriker, and all of Winterhaven’s other defenders.
“We brought down a big demon trying to ram the gates,” he shouted back. Bow strings twanged around him. Screeches of pain broke the howls of the demons. “There are a lot more, though.”
Padraig’s face hardened. He began calling names and issuing orders. Some defenders moved to stand by the gates. Others raced up the stairs to reinforce the watchers. Albanon turned back to face the demons. They milled around outside the gates like a pack of mad dogs, snapping and clawing at the arrows that fell among them, but showing no signs of dispersing. Those that fell were trampled and shredded without care.
“More spells would be good, eladrin,” Ninaran said between clenched teeth. “Keep them back from the gates.” She loosed an arrow and another demon screamed.
Albanon pressed his lips together, picked his target, and gestured with his staff. Flame roared up in a golden column, leaving two demons writhing on the ground and sending two more dancing back. Ninaran raised a thin eyebrow and nodded approvingly. Albanon felt a small triumph as well. He was in control of his magic. The burned demons weren’t down yet, though. As they tried to rise, Albanon flicked his fingers and a bolt of silvery force flung one of them back to the ground-just as a blast of smoky flame engulfed the other. Albanon turned to find Tempest beside him, rod in hand.
She smiled at him. “I’m not letting you have all the fun.” She pointed her rod into the thick of the demons and loosed another sooty blast.
Her fun, however, seemed like it would be short-lived. The demons were already pulling back. “They’re ret
reating!” Bairwin said.
A chill passed up Albanon’s spine. The demons were moving away from the walls of Winterhaven, but not as if they’d been driven back by arrows or magic. They still hissed and snapped and snarled, their fury undiminished. It was more as if they were clearing a space before the walls.
“They’re not retreating,” he said softly. “Something is calling them.”
“Calling them back?” said Ninaran. “What is bloody capable of calling back a pack of demons?”
As if in answer to her question, the demon horde split, making an aisle through their numbers. The form that came drifting between them was nearly as tall as the demon that had tried to ram the gates, but thin and almost insubstantial, like the shadow of a tree brought to life. Narrow fingers on long hands and arms stroked the air. The thing’s face was strangely featureless except for a dark slit of a mouth and eyes that glittered like Voidharrow. Red and silver crystal flashed at its core, shrouded by the shadowy stuff of its body. Where it passed, the demons closed in behind it.
Bairwin cursed quietly. “Merciful gods, what is that?”
“A nightmare demon,” Albanon said. “We’ve fought them before. If it touches you, it can bring out your worst fears.”
“If it touches you?” growled Ninaran. “Then unless it can fly, it’s not much of a threat.” She drew back her bow, her arrow trained on the creature’s crystal heart. The movement brought the demon’s head snapping up. Its red-eyed gaze raked the battlements.
And Winterhaven’s defenders started screaming.
CHAPTER SIX
It felt to Albanon as if the village walls were crumbling underneath him and he were plummeting toward the claws and fangs of the demons below. His heart leaped into his throat. His staff slipped out of his grip and he grabbed onto the parapet-the very solid parapet-with both hands. “It’s not real,” he told himself, trying to focus past the terror. “It’s not real.”
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