“You’re sure?” asked Albanon.
Turbull blinked as if waking and some of the awe faded. He bared his teeth. “Keep it,” he confirmed gruffly. “If nothing else, we’ll move faster if the day-eyes can see where they’re going.” He turned away, then glanced over his shoulder. “Paladin, if you can offer a blessing before the battle, we’ll take it.”
“What I have to offer is yours as long as I have it to offer,” Roghar said. He nodded to Albanon. The eladrin, looking relieved, moved up to where Belen and Uldane were waiting. Shara would have gone too, but Quarhaun kept hold of her.
“Have I told you the drow saying about never trusting the word of devils or dragons?” he asked quietly.
“No, but why? Roghar might be a dragonborn, but he isn’t a dragon.”
“That’s not what I meant. Dragons and devils never tell the whole truth. They always speak in conditionals. Why didn’t Roghar just tell Turbull yes?” Quarhaun moved close. “Don’t say anything to the others. Maybe I’m wrong. Watch your friend, my love. Something isn’t right and sometimes it takes someone who has been away to see that.”
A shiver crawled up Shara’s back.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They reached the valley while dawn was still only a pale glow in the east. Albanon paused at the height of the narrow trail-little more than a deer trail, really-and looked down into the lush bowl. The trees that filled most of it had turned from green to a mix of red, yellow, and brown with autumn, but still retained enough leaves to partly hide the few open clearings. Water splashed and gurgled in a broad, spring-fed pool off to his right.
In the distance to his left rose a tall, stern rock face, exactly what he had imagined when he’d so casually dropped it into his lie. Or what he thought he had imagined. During the night’s long, dark march, he had started to wonder if that detail hadn’t been so random or casual after all. If Tharizdun’s influence had drawn him north, perhaps the thought of the rock face had been the Chained God’s doing as well. A way of making sure they found this place.
“What are you thinking?” Tempest asked, stopping beside him.
“I thought I’d feel something,” he said. “We followed the urge. We’ve made the journey. I thought there would be something more. A sense of completion. A feeling of familiarity.”
“Shining lights? An ethereal choir?” she said with a slight smile. He wrinkled his nose at her. The smile grew wider. “What do you feel?”
“Uneasy. I don’t like this place.”
“What about the urge?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “Still there. This isn’t over yet.” He lifted an arm and pointed right at the cliff. “There.”
“If you look closely, you can see the peryton nests,” said Hurn from behind them. He reached past and pointed. “Those dark shadows high up on the rock? Those are the ledges on which they perch.” The shifter gave them both a shove. “Now move. We need to be in position before the sun comes up.”
Their position turned out to be in one of the wider clearings in the valley, a low, rock-strewn knoll. Turbull and most of his warriors were already there. The Tigerclaws stayed under the cover of the trees for the most part, hiding their numbers in case the perytons happened to rouse earlier than expected. Three shifters at a time would break from cover, dashing out onto the knoll to labor with swift intensity before running back so another group could take their place. Curious, Albanon watched their activity as he and the others skirted the clearing to join Turbull. A small fire ring had been assembled from stones picked off the ground and wood laid for a fire by a shifter who always kept one eye on the looming cliff. The other two shifters labored at something like a giant auger, twisting a stout shaft of wood into the ground between them. One shaft was already embedded in the ground with roughly a double handspan still exposed. The Tigerclaws finished planting the second shaft as the wizard watched, pulling a double-ended handle off the shaft and passing it to a new team who carried a third shaft.
The second shaft wasn’t as deep into the ground as the first. Turbull grunted as they approached him. “The ground is too rocky,” he said. “Too late to move now, though. We won’t get another chance.”
“What is that?” asked Quarhaun.
“A stake-bore,” Belen answered. “The Tigerclaws use it when they put up their tents.”
Turbull glanced at the human woman. “You learned that from Scargash’s emissaries?”
Albanon saw Belen’s face tighten as she tried to conceal the secret of her knowledge. “One of the younger warriors took me hunting and showed me how to put up a tent.”
That earned a leer from Hurn. “I bet he did.”
Cariss slapped the hunter across the back of the head. Turbull just shrugged and turned back to the clearing. “Why are you setting up a camp?” Albanon asked him.
“We’re not setting up a camp. We’re setting up a trap.” The chief pointed. “The stakes aren’t for a tent. They’re for tying people to the ground.”
Uldane yelped a little. “Why would you want to do that?”
Albanon guessed. “To keep them from being carried away,” he said. “A peryton is strong enough to lift a person up in its talons. If this looks like a camp with sleeping people, the perytons will investigate-but they might just as easily try to snatch someone up.”
“So whoever is out there gets to be the worm on the hook?” Uldane made a face. “I don’t like this plan.”
“The stakes are a safeguard,” said Turbull defensively. “That’s why they have to be in deep enough that they can’t be pulled out. The rest of us will hide around the edges of the clearing. As soon as the perytons come in, we attack.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “We pin them down and slaughter them.”
Shara regarded him with a hard expression. “And would you have been so quick to attack if Quarhaun and I were your bait?”
The smile wavered. “The situation has changed. You’re not our prisoners. The ones who sit in the open to draw the perytons will gain much respect.”
She snorted in disbelief. “So it will be some of your Tigerclaws?”
Turbull’s smile closed and compressed into a thin, hard line. “If necessary. But I said the perytons are wily. If we want them to come close, we need to use something that will attract and hold their attention. They’re supposed to have a favorite prey.”
“Let me guess. Young women?”
“No.” Turbull turned and looked at Albanon, then at Quarhaun. “Elves.”
Quarhaun scowled. “I’m not an elf. I’m a drow. And Albanon is an eladrin. If you think we’re going to risk our lives-”
“I’ll do it,” said Albanon. He took a deep breath and met the gazes around him. Quarhaun looked startled. Tempest looked frightened. Roghar looked at him with pride and approval-naturally the paladin would approve of a selfless act. Albanon carried on before he lost his nerve. “Eladrin are cousins to elves. If I’m the best choice to draw the perytons down, I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” asked Shara. “Roghar and I are better equipped to defend ourselves. Wouldn’t you be better off staying back and using your spells from a distance?”
“If the perytons really are that wily, they may recognize your sword or Roghar’s armor. I don’t need either of those things. My magic is just as effective close up.”
“But can you control it?” said Tempest.
The question put a knot in his stomach. “Yes,” he said. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to give in again.” He turned to Quarhaun. “But I wouldn’t mind some help, and two ‘elves’ would be a more effective lure than just one.”
The drow’s eyes opened wide, baring white orbs in his jet black face. “Unlike you, I’m not suicidal. Besides, if the perytons are smart enough to recognize swords and armor, they’re smart enough to recognize I’m no elf.”
“You hadn’t heard of perytons before. I’m reasonably certain they’ve never seen a drow. At the very least you’ll confuse them and give t
he others a better opportunity to attack.”
“ ‘At the very least,’ ” Quarhaun repeated drily. “You make it sound so noble. No.”
“I think Albanon’s right, Quarhaun,” said Shara. “You can defend each other-and this is going to get us closer to defeating Vestapalk. We spent weeks wandering around the north when Belen had the clue to finding him all along.” She stepped closer to the drow. “We can’t keep working alone.”
Quarhaun’s expression wavered, but he still didn’t answer. Albanon decided to try one last appeal. In Elven, he said, “Do you remember the Temple of Yellow Skulls, when Vestapalk had infected us with the Voidharrow so he could turn us into two of his demon exarchs? We were both almost lost until Kri came. I’m the one who made him use his prayers and the light of the gods to purge the Voidharrow from both of us. Without me, you wouldn’t be here.”
Quarhaun gave him a narrow glare before replying in the same language. “You’re trying to call in a debt from a drow?”
“No. I’m calling in a debt from you. You say you’re different. I thought maybe you’d like the opportunity to prove it.”
“I don’t think I need to prove myself. I could still say no.”
Albanon smiled slightly. “But you won’t,” he said. “If you were going to, you would have already done it. You are who you are.”
“May spiders nest in your scrolls,” Quarhaun growled at him in Common. He turned to Turbull. “You have more bait for your trap,” he said sourly. Turbull nodded. Shara gave the drow a smile and took his hand. Quarhaun turned his scowl on her, but Albanon saw his fingers grip tight around hers.
Then Uldane stepped forward. “There are three stakes,” he said. “I’ll go out with Albanon and Quarhaun.”
All of them looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to do that,” said Turbull. “One of my warriors can go.”
“Bundle me up in a cloak and I can pass for an elf more easily than a shifter can,” Uldane insisted. “Besides, if Quarhaun is willing to do it, I should, too.” He looked at Shara and Quarhaun. “I still feel like I owe you after driving you away.”
“You don’t owe us anything,” Shara said. “You’ve already apologized.”
“Then let’s say I feel like I owe myself.” He picked up the light pack he had carried from the Tigerclaw camp and pulled his cloak out of it. “The sun’s coming up. What are we waiting for?”
It didn’t take long to draw the perytons’ attention.
As soon as Albanon, Quarhaun, and Uldane were settled on the ground as if asleep-cloaks covering each of them and hiding the ropes that bound one leg to the stakes-one of the Tigerclaws started the fire, then sprinted for cover. Green wood laid over the tinder sent a thin but solid thread of smoke up into the morning air, a convincing imitation of a night’s fire dying out. Stretched out beneath the trees and bushes with Turbull to one side of her and Tempest to the other, Shara watched the bare rock of the mountain face intently. The rising sun made the shadows of the ledges darker, but she thought she could make out movement.
The first of the perytons took to the air and rose into the dawn light. She caught her breath. Even at a distance, the creatures looked to be the size of horses and in spite of their ungainly antlered heads, they flew like hawks. And they were fast. One moment there was one peryton beating blue-black wings as it flapped skyward. The next there were eight, all of them climbing to circle high above the valley. Shara imagined she could hear the beating of their powerful wings.
She glanced away, back to the three figures on the knoll. Two of her best friends and her lover lay vulnerable. Tempest patted her arm. “I know,” she said. “But they’ll be fine.” Shara nodded, wishing she could be as certain as the tiefling.
Turbull growled softly. “Look at them,” he said, his eyes on the perytons. “They’re magnificent.”
“I thought you wanted them dead.”
“I can still appreciate them.” Raising his hand just a little, he pointed. “See the biggest of them? The female with five-point antlers flying higher than the others? That’s the eldest of the flock-you can tell she’s female from the brown chest feathers. She’ll be the one to assess the situation and decide when-or if-to attack.”
Shara followed his gesture. She had to take the shifter’s word on the color of the big peryton-other than flashes of dark green or blue feathers in the sunlight, the monsters were too far away for her eyes to pick out details-but it certainly seemed as if the creature was studying the situation below. “How long will she wait?” she asked.
“If you suspected an ambush, how long would you wait?” He settled himself more comfortably against the ground. Out on the knoll, Albanon shifted his fingers to let a scrap of red cloth flutter out, a signal that he and the others had seen the circling perytons. She settled herself down as well, but kept her eyes on the high-flying monsters.
When the perytons descended, they came down fast. All of them dropped together in silent grace, but about half-the big elder among them-broke away to remain airborne just above the treetops. The others landed almost softly just beyond the false campsite.
“Down!” murmured Turbull and both Shara and Tempest pressed themselves against the ground. The Tigerclaws had provided them and the others with cloaks stitched from a multitude of variously hued brown patches for camouflage. Shara pulled hers tight around her face, leaving just the smallest opening to peep out of.
For long moments, the perytons on the ground stayed where they had landed. Red eyes slid over their potential prey-she didn’t know how Quarhaun, Albanon, and Uldane managed to keep up the pretense of sleeping-and around the clearing. The monsters moved strangely. Shara had expected them to make quick, darting movements like curious crows or perhaps to throw their antlered heads like wary stags. Instead, they hunkered down like wolves picking out the weak members of a herd. They held their wings partly spread with their powerful legs tensed, ready to propel them into flight. They thrust their heads and necks forward eagerly, and Shara saw something she hadn’t noticed from a distance: sharp teeth, made for tearing flesh, flashed in the perytons’ staglike muzzles. Her fingers curled and bunched the fabric of the camouflage cloak.
One of them took a slow, ungainly step toward the sleepers.
“Now?” Shara breathed to Turbull. None of the Tigerclaws would attack until he gave the signal.
“We want the elder,” he murmured back.
Shara braced herself against the thunder of her heart.
Pace by slow, stalking pace, the perytons moved closer to Quarhaun and the others. They paused frequently, checking the trees as if expecting an ambush. A human might have been more suspicious that their prey was still asleep, but the perytons just looked hungry. Glistening threads of saliva dripped from the jaws of the one in the lead. Less than ten paces from the sleepers, it paused and looked up at its kin circling overhead.
The elder flapped her wings twice and soared a little higher. Shara’s heart skipped. She was leaving. They were losing their chance!
Turbull must have sensed her tension. “Hold!” he said softly. “She’s getting ready to dive.”
Shara’s heart skipped a second time. “Dive? Shouldn’t we attack?”
“Wait for her to commit to it. The others will follow her lead.”
And Shara had thought waiting as a captive in the Tigerclaw camp had been hard. It was all she could do not to spring out as the big peryton spiraled up against the sky. She could hear Tempest whispering next to her-probably not a prayer from the warlock, but very possibly an invocation.
In an instant the elder turned and plummeted toward the ground. The dive was silent. No calls, no wild screeches, just a sudden, sharp descent. The other airborne perytons rose as the elder came down. Shara would have leaped to her feet right then, but Turbull seized her wrist under her cloak. “Hold!” he commanded as instinct checked her movement.
Fortunately the trio out on the knoll didn’t hold back. The false campsite exploded in a whirl of act
ion as Albanon and Quarhaun threw aside their cloaks and jumped up. With a scream of fury, Quarhaun hurled a blast of crackling black energy at the diving beast, while Albanon thrust up his staff and sent a spray of fire toward the perytons on the ground.
The elder screeched as she twisted aside. Quarhaun’s blast missed her by less than a swordslength. The grounded perytons likewise threw themselves away from Albanon’s fire. He only managed to catch one, the edge of its wing trailing through the flame. Feathers singed and smoking, the monster whirled up into the air with an angry scream.
Even if they were startled by the counterattack, none of the perytons fled. They spun around Quarhaun, Uldane, and Albanon in an angry, bloodthirsty storm, forcing them apart with darting feints and buffeting wings. The ropes and stakes that were intended to keep them safe hampered them as they tried to dodge. Quarhaun loosed another blast without hitting anything. The peryton he had been aiming at turned in the air and plunged for him-
Turbull’s grasp vanished and he rose with a shout. “ We are the predators! ”
Around the clearing, the Tigerclaws came to their feet with answering shouts, but Shara was on her feet and charging across the knoll before Turbull had even finished shaping his words. Her greatsword flashed as she raised it. “Down!” she screamed.
Quarhaun saw her actions-and dropped. The diving peryton passed over him, its claws snatching nothing but air. The monster dipped awkwardly, then it saw Shara, too. She felt the blast of its wings as it tried to straighten its flight and regain its speed and height.
Shara didn’t let it. She roared and twisted her body around between one running stride and the next. Her sword caught the wing of the peryton and sheared through it.
The momentum of the creature spun it around. Shara had to roll to avoid being caught under its bulk as it plowed into the ground, but she came up running. Quarhaun was grinning when she reached him. “Beautiful and deadly,” he said.
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