The Eye of the Chained God tap-3

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “Not the time,” she told him, but she couldn’t help smiling. The tide of battle had definitely turned against the perytons. The air was filled with spears and spells, savage shouts and monstrous shrieks. Tigerclaws and Belen finished off the peryton she’d wounded and brought down another. Two more of the monsters, unable to fly but still dangerous, struck out with their antlers. Roghar and Hurn tried to get close enough to land killing blows while Uldane-the rope slipped from his leg-danced around and flung daggers at the creatures. Other perytons flapped desperately for the open sky as Albanon and Tempest threw silvery bolts and fiery blasts after them. Albanon’s hand swept across the sky, tracking the flight of one, then he flicked his fingers. The air shimmered with invisible force and the peryton dropped out of the sky as if it had been struck by a huge, unseen hammer. Blue-black feathers drifted down after it.

  Shara spun around, searching for the elder, and found her circling overhead with two other perytons, the last of their flock. The monsters were screaming, a frightening blend of eagles’ cries and stags’ booming bellows. Those below spread out warily, all faces turned skyward. Turbull came over to Shara. “First blood is yours,” he said, and slid a bloody quill into her hair.

  She left it there for the moment. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait,” said Turbull grimly. “Any other beasts would flee, but these perytons seem capable of-”

  A warning cry from one of the Tigerclaws cut him off. Turbull’s head snapped up. Shara followed his gaze just in time to see two dark forms plummeting down from above-one of them coming right at her. She glimpsed red eyes that shone with vengeful fury.

  Then Quarhaun stepped in front of her. He’d drawn his sword, the eerie black blade that focused his warlock magic as Tempest’s rod focused hers. Quarhaun shouted a word and slashed the sword through the air.

  The peryton vanished in a sudden burst of shadows, only to reappear in a similar burst about a dozen paces to Shara’s right, much closer to the ground and going just as fast. Shara didn’t think it even had time to spread its wings before it hit the ground with bone-splintering force.

  The second peryton spun and turned as it dived, evading spears flung by the Tigerclaws and fiery spells thrown by Tempest. It leveled out, skimming the ground as Tigerclaw warriors leaped out of the way-except for Cariss. The shifter woman stood with her warpick ready and whirled just as the peryton reached her.

  It was faster than her. Wings twitched, the feathered body rose sharply, and talons locked around Cariss’s shoulders. Warrior and monster both screamed at the same time, then the peryton was flapping hard and climbing fast.

  Turbull howled like an animal and snatched a spear from the nearest Tigerclaw. Taking three long steps, he hurled it after the peryton. The spear flew as fast and true as if it were propelled by magic. The weapon buried itself in the peryton’s body just behind its wings. The peryton’s scream of triumph ended suddenly and the creature dipped in its flight-then recovered and kept climbing.

  “Another spear!” bellowed Turbull. “Bring it down!”

  “I don’t think it’s going to get much farther,” Shara said. The spear had weakened the peryton. Its wings slowed and it dipped again, fighting to both stay aloft and keep its grip on the struggling shifter beneath it. A moment later, its entire body sagged.

  Its talons opened. High over the trees, Cariss cried out as she tumbled free.

  “No!” Turbull roared. All around him, the other Tigerclaws were shouting. One voice, however, rose above the tumult-Albanon’s voice, yelling a single, ringing arcane word.

  The air around Cariss seemed to flicker, then the warrior was no longer plunging toward the trees but drifting as light as a piece of fluffy down. Shara turned to find Albanon lowering his upthrust staff. Most of the Tigerclaws ignored him in favor of rushing to catch the slowly falling Cariss, but a few slapped the eladrin as they raced by. A slow smile of success blossomed on Albanon’s face. Shara smiled back at him.

  She didn’t see the peryton elder until it was too late.

  One moment, Albanon was smiling at her. The next, a shadow had fallen over him. And the next, a feathered blur had dropped out of the sky to snatch him up. The attack was so swift and caught Shara so completely off guard that she almost didn’t recognize the monster. It was only when the creature paused, struggling to fly off again, that she recognized the elder’s five-point rack of antlers and brownish plumage. It took her another instant to realize why the peryton was struggling: Albanon, stunned by the ferocity of the attack and unable to resist, was still tied to the stake.

  “Spears!” she cried, but at the same time the elder gave a deep bellowing cry and pulled up hard with her legs.

  The stake-the last of the three to be driven in-jerked free of the stony ground. Albanon’s staff tumbled to the ground as the elder shot up with the wizard hanging limp beneath her. Quick-thinking Tigerclaws lofted spears toward the creature. Quarhaun and Tempest flung blasts of magic from sword and rod. The peryton elder didn’t try to gain height as the one that had seized Cariss had, though. Instead, she angled up just enough to skim above the top of the trees, momentarily out of sight. When she climbed into view again, she was halfway across the valley and far out of range. Another bellow echoed back on the wind.

  For a long moment, that was the only sound, then Tempest whirled on Turbull. “Where is it taking him? We have to follow!”

  “It’s taking him to its nest,” the shifter chief said tersely. “It may keep him alive. It may not. We can follow to the base of the cliff, but after that…”

  “I’ll climb,” said Uldane as he and the others joined them. He retrieved Albanon’s staff and gripped it tight. “Whether he’s alive or not, I’ll climb. I’m good at that.”

  Shara didn’t take her eyes off the elder. The big peryton flew with a speed and strength that none of the others had matched. Did she see Albanon struggle in the monster’s grasp? It was hard to tell. It might just have been the wind jostling his body. She watched intently as the peryton wheeled and dropped down to a shadow that marked one of the larger ledges on the stone face. “There. That’s where the nest is,” she said, pointing.

  At exactly the same time, light flashed on the ledge. It might have been sunlight on a mirror or a piece of polished metal, except that it seemed too bright and the white color of the reflected light was wrong. Shara lowered her arm.

  “What was that?” asked Quarhaun. “Was it Albanon?”

  “Maybe,” Tempest said, shading her eyes to peer at the cliff. “But that didn’t look like fire or lightning. I don’t know what-”

  The light flashed again-but this time it burst from the distant ledge in a flare so intense that Shara jerked her head away. Some of the shifters cried out. When Shara looked back, bright spots danced in front of her eyes. The shadow that marked the ledge had been joined by another shadow-a tall black scorch mark on the stone. Nothing moved on the cliff face.

  “That wasn’t Albanon,” said Tempest.

  The blow from behind was so sharp and so sudden that it drove both breath and wits from Albanon’s body. For a moment, he was only aware of light and shapes rushing around him. Strange pressures pushed against him, almost like falling up if that were possible. The movement seemed to drive hot nails into his chest and shoulders, sending searing pain deep into him.

  The pain snapped him back to alertness. He found himself staring down, his head lolling against his chest, and the top of trees flashing beneath him. He jerked at the sight-and more pain seared through him. Then he saw the talons gripping his shoulders, heard the thrum of beating wings and the rasp of labored breath. Smelled the stink of a carnivore-and realized what was happening.

  He looked up at the belly and breast of the biggest of the perytons.

  Albanon’s first instinct was to struggle, but the peryton felt that and tightened its grip until he gasped. His second instinct was to blast the creature with a spell, but his sudden gasp and the rushing air had stolen his b
reath again-which fortunately gave him a moment to recognize what a spectacularly stupid idea that would be. The spell of gentle falling he’d used to save Cariss was complex and the effort of casting it had scoured its patterns from his mind for a time. If he were to blast the peryton, he’d fall even farther than the shifter had. Plus the landscape below looked completely unfamiliar. The knoll where’d they’d ambushed the flock was far behind him.

  Panic leaped inside him. Were they even still in the valley?

  But the peryton banked suddenly-sending another sharp wave of pain through Albanon-and a new but familiar vista presented itself: the stone face of the mountain above the valley. With it, however, came new and horrific sights. There were half a dozen ledges across the stone face, each of them bearing one or two or even three messy heaps of sticks and branches. Nests. Black dung caked the ledges. White bones, cracked by powerful jaws, were scattered among the sticks. Perytons had been nesting on the cliffs for a long time.

  Albanon’s captor angled toward the biggest of the ledges, a broad shelf of rock partly sheltered by a high overhang but containing only a single, if very large, nest. The peryton’s wings spread wide and scooped against the air, slowing it and bringing an explosion of new pain to Albanon. The pain lasted only a moment, however, before the peryton opened its claws and let him fall.

  He was lucky. He crashed into the piled branches of the thing’s nest and intertwined wood broke his fall. Still, the air went out of his much-abused lungs, and Albanon struggled to draw a breath as he thrashed in the nest.

  The peryton loomed over him. Its bulk blotted out the light. Bloodstained talons slammed down across his chest, pinning him. The great, antlered head dipped toward him. Its muzzle peeled back to expose sharp teeth.

  Somewhere behind Albanon, white light flashed, drawing the peryton’s attention. “Get away from him,” said an imperious voice.

  The peryton’s head snapped back and up to glare at something Albanon couldn’t see. A frightening growl rose in its throat, so low and deep that Albanon could feel it vibrate through him.

  “No?” said the voice. “Good.”

  The light flared again, a brilliant and blinding storm that washed over Albanon and the peryton alike. The light was at once scorching hot and freezing cold-Albanon felt like it was scouring the flesh from his bones. He heard two screams, one his and one the peryton’s. The monster fell away from him and he could breathe again.

  He could do more than breathe, in fact. The deep agony where the peryton’s talons had pierced his shoulders faded. As the scouring light sank into him, it felt as if it was knitting his injured flesh back together. When it faded an instant later, he was whole again. The same couldn’t be said for the peryton. It lay still with wisps of stinking smoke rising from its feathers.

  Albanon had experienced that searing, painful healing before. He flipped around in the remnants of the demolished nest and pushed himself to his feet. At the back of the ledge, just in front of a low door that opened out of the rock wall, bright eyes set in a wrinkled, dark-skinned face watched him.

  “You weren’t what I was expecting,” said Kri, “but I should have known it would be you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Albanon reeled. A spell leaped into his mind, but in his surprise the best he could manage was a strangled croak and a couple of feeble gestures. Kri’s mouth pursed impatiently.

  “Stop that. I just saved you. If I wanted you dead, I could have let the peryton rip your heart out. Come inside. We need to talk.”

  He turned away. Albanon stared at the old man. Kri still wore the same clothes he had when Albanon had last seen him in Fallcrest, but now they were dirty and stained. They hung on his frame. Kri was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, even if his eyes were bright and sharp.

  Breath finally came back to Albanon. The first words to pass his lips weren’t a spell, though maybe they should have been. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “The last time I saw you, you were-”

  “Fleeing after you defeated my attempt to free Tharizdun from his prison?” the priest said. “Yes. But Tharizdun brought me here. He has a task for me. And for you.” Kri raised an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You felt his gaze. What did you expect to find?”

  Aid in the fight against Vestapalk, Albanon started to say, then he stopped himself. Why reveal that to Kri? “You betrayed me,” he said through his teeth. “You betrayed the Order of Vigilance. You drove me mad before and you’re trying to do it again.”

  “Trying?” Kri snorted faintly. “I don’t have to try. The eye of the Chained God has fallen on you, Albanon. You’ll never be entirely sane again. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” He turned away, walking through the door. “Come inside. You’ll understand.”

  Defiance came over Albanon like a haze. He turned and marched to the edge of the ledge. The valley lay spread out before him-a long, long way down. He closed his eyes as a dizziness he hadn’t felt in the panic of the peryton’s flight made his head spin.

  A hand came down on his shoulder. “Jumping would be the greatest madness of all,” said Kri. “You must have come here with Shara and Uldane, at least. I’m sure they’ll try to rescue you. Aren’t you even going to try and fight?”

  “I wasn’t going to jump,” Albanon snarled.

  “No? Then come away from the edge before you fall over, you fool idiot.” Kri’s hand bunched in the talon-shredded remains of his shirt and dragged him backward several paces. Albanon was reminded that while the priest might be old, he was still strong.

  He pushed Kri’s hand off and turned to face him. “What do you want from me?”

  “It’s not what I want-it’s what Tharizdun wants,” said Kri with surprising calm. “Believe it or not, you saved him. You saw the Voidharrow that came pouring out of the Vast Gate as Tharizdun tried to pass through. You saw the binding forms that it was taking and you destroyed it. You, Albanon, prevented Tharizdun from being absorbed by the Voidharrow.”

  Albanon blinked. “I saved a god?”

  Kri waved a hand. “Well, you saved a god that all the other gods despise. And you forced him back into his eternal prison, so he’s not too happy about that. But you did draw his attention. He’s chosen you as part of his vengeance.”

  “Vengeance?” Albanon’s belly clenched.

  “His vengeance on the Voidharrow. Tharizdun has given me the key. He told me that one would come to help turn it and here you are. Now come inside.” Kri smiled, but not kindly. “You swore the oath of vigilance. You came here looking for a way to end the threat of Vestapalk and the Voidharrow. Don’t you want to know what that is?”

  Once more, Kri turned and walked for the door in the back of the ledge. Albanon hesitated, but this time he followed.

  Kri had left the purple lantern just inside the door. He retrieved it, then tripped the switch that closed the door. Albanon started and grabbed for the edge of the door, but it closed too quickly for his fingers to catch hold. Kri held the lantern high so its pale illumination fell over the eladrin. “Are you afraid I’m going to try to trick you?”

  Albanon made a visible effort to regain his composure, lifting his head and straightening his tattered robe. “You’ve done it before,” he said bluntly. “You had a sample of the Voidharrow the whole time we were fighting Vestapalk. You always intended to betray the Order of Vigilance and recreate the Vast Gate.”

  The words actually stung a little bit. “Not always,” said Kri. “But Tharizdun is a patient god.” He turned and led the way out onto the great spiraling staircase. He heard Albanon’s gasp as his silent recriminations gave way to sudden awe.

  “Where are we?”

  “A dwarven cloister built to honor the Chained God. His memory has not been as forgotten by the world as the other gods would like us to believe.” Kri turned, letting the light fall up and down the stairs. Albanon’s eladrin sight would make the most of its meager glow. “When I first woke here, I believed Tharizdun had buried me
deep in the ground. Then he revealed the truth. We are underground, yet high above the world, isolated in every way. What more perfect place for the servants of an imprisoned god?”

  “I’m no servant of Tharizdun!”

  Kri laughed, the first time he could remember doing so in many days. “Hold to that belief,” he said. “But I meant the dwarves. The original inhabitants of this place.”

  “What did you do to them?”

  Kri turned to face him. “Use your senses. Smell the air. Do you think I massacred them? Sacrificed them in some insane ritual? They’re long gone, dead by their own hands. We are the only ones here now.”

  “They… died here?”

  “I suspect some were born, lived, and died here. I’ll show you their tombs. They’re very well preserved.” He started down the stairs again, but Albanon grabbed him.

  “How did they get in and out?” the eladrin asked.

  “I don’t think they did,” said Kri with a smile. “The ledges are the only way to the outside world that I’ve found. I suspect the cloister was largely self-sufficient and self-contained. The dwarves were devoted to Tharizdun.”

  “How do we get out?” Albanon’s voice actually cracked in panic. Kri smiled wider and patted Albanon’s cheek.

  “Tharizdun will show us the way when it’s time.” He paused and considered another option. “Unless it’s possible for us to bring about his vengeance against the Voidharrow from in here.”

  “No,” Albanon said tightly. “No, it can’t be. We know already where Vestapalk is. After we’d come here, we were going to take whatever we found to fight him.”

  “Then maybe the Chained God has already sent us a message. You have found me. It can only be a matter of time before he sends us on our way.” He thrust the lantern into Albanon’s hands. “Carry that. Hold it up so I can see.”

  Albanon looked down at the lantern-and almost dropped it as he stared at the blasphemous carvings on the crystal globe. Kri grabbed his hands and wrapped them tight around the lantern. “Study them later. You might learn something,” he told the wizard. “Do you read Davek?”