That provoked a reaction. Hurn jumped to his feet with a howl and cries of dismay erupted from other Tigerclaws around the fire. Turbull looked stricken. Even Tempest and Belen seemed worried. Kri almost chuckled out loud.
Albanon spoiled his fun. “Kri, stop,” he said. “Turbull, he’s manipulating you. If your camp had been attacked, we’d have seen some sign, right? Vestausan and Vestausir probably would have taunted you with it.”
Turbull’s face tightened. “You may be right,” he said. “You may not. Hurn, take a few warriors. Go back to the camp tonight.”
The big shifter left the circle around the fire and raced around the campsite, picking others to go with him. Turbull glared at Kri. “You would find a place among the Riven, Kri Redshal.”
Kri smiled. “Maybe when I’m finished with Vestapalk.”
Albanon rose and came around the fire to crouch next to him. “Kri, maybe you should go away for a little while,” he said quietly. He was trying hard to sound harsh, but to Kri he sounded almost sick-sick and weary. Kri leaned closer to him.
“Stop trying to resist,” he said, then he stood up. “It is time for my prayers. I’ll leave. I wouldn’t want my faith to… disturb you.”
Wrapping his borrowed cloak around him, he put his back to the fire and strode off into the darkness. He remembered seeing a little hollow below a thick stand of trees a decent distance from the campsite, and he headed for it. He would have brought the crystal lantern from the cloister, but some instinct told him that it belonged there, so he’d left it inside the shattered door. Besides, after two weeks in the dimness of the cloister, the pale moonlight seemed brilliant. He found the stand of trees and the hollow and settled himself into the shadows.
His visitor came sooner than he’d expected. Roghar crouched down in a creaking of leather and metal. The glint of distant firelight was visible on either side of the trees in the hollow, but the dragonborn was just a silhouette. “Kri,” he said. There was discomfort in his voice.
Kri could imagine his face, twisted and tight. He chuckled. “You don’t want to be here, do you, paladin of Bahamut? You don’t like the idea of begging aid from the Chained God. But the plague doesn’t give you a choice, does it?”
Roghar’s breath rasped in his throat. “How did you know?”
“Your insistence that Vestapalk’s creature found us by luck. Your unease when Uldane said there might be a plague demon. Your armor-what warrior retires to camp and doesn’t remove even his gauntlets?”
He knew by Roghar’s sharp inhalation that he’d struck a nerve. “How long has it been?” he asked. “How far has it progressed?”
“Since Winterhaven. The wound is on my wrist-it festers and my arm burns. Both arms. I pray and Bahamut slows the disease, but does not take it away.” A sob broke his voice. “Help me, Kri! You used the light of the gods to burn the Voidharrow out of Albanon. Burn the plague out of me!”
Kri smiled in the darkness. “There will be a price.”
Roghar stiffened. “Tell me,” he said. “I won’t betray Bahamut.”
“From the servant of one god to the servant of another, I will not ask you to do that,” said Kri. “But you will owe me obedience. Once only, but when I chose to call on you, you will obey me, no matter what I ask.”
Roghar didn’t relax. “I can’t do that.”
“Then the Abyssal Plague will consume you.” Kri rose.
Roghar’s gauntleted hand closed on his arm. “Wait.”
“Obedience,” said Kri. “Swear it. On your honor.”
Roghar swallowed, the sound audible. “I will obey you. Once only and I will not betray Bahamut, but I will obey you. I swear it in his name and upon my honor as his paladin.”
Triumph tingled up Kri’s neck and across his scalp. The contentment he’d felt earlier returned. He drew his arm out of Roghar’s grasp and put his hands on top of the dragonborn’s scaly head. “Then try not to scream,” he said. “The light I’ll be able to explain if anyone asks, but not screams.”
Once again, the Plaguedeep was silent, but this time it wasn’t Vestapalk’s doing. He had climbed out of the crystal pool and crouched next to it. The demons were hushed, huddled in groups and crammed into niches as if hiding might protect them. Even the slow, seething hiss as the bones of the world were transformed into the stuff of the Plaguedeep had stopped.
Dread consumed the Voidharrow. And because it consumed the Voidharrow, it consumed Vestapalk. And because it consumed Vestapalk, it consumed the plague demons-in the Plaguedeep most of all, but Vestapalk could sense unease and confusion in demons across the world. They wouldn’t understand why the Voidharrow was afraid, though.
Vestapalk only understood a part of it himself. Vestausan and Vestausir were gone. Simply… gone. When Roghar had killed Vestagix, Vestapalk had felt it. He experienced it through the Voidharrow. When Albanon and the priest had confronted his two-headed scion, however, the Voidharrow had recoiled. Vestapalk had seen the beginning of the priest’s invocation of the Chained God, had heard his proclamation: “What was once two shall be again. I divide you!”
He’d felt sudden agony, and then terror, a frantic wrenching that had torn him away from Vestausan and Vestausir and left him thrashing in an already silent Plaguedeep. The Voidharrow shuddered around and within him. When Vestapalk had recovered his senses and reached out to the pair again, he’d found nothing. No trace. No death echo. It was as if Vestausan and Vestausir had ceased to exist.
“What is it?” Vestapalk whispered. “What did they do?”
Tharizdun!
The name echoed through the Voidharrow and with it came a fresh surge of dread. The demons of the Plaguedeep moaned, a sound like someone dying a slow death. Vestapalk ground his teeth, and fought back the dread. “Tharizdun is nothing. This one no longer serves the Eye! Show me the source of this fear. Show me how they destroyed Vestausan and Vestausir.”
There was no response. Vestapalk growled, then roared “ Show Vestapalk! ”
The sound shook the walls of the Plaguedeep and provoked new shrieks of alarm from the plague demons. The surface of the Voidharrow pool shivered and drew back. Vestapalk didn’t let it retreat. He slid into the pool, diving down into its liquid crystal heart. Show Vestapalk! he commanded again, this time in silence but with no less force.
The Voidharrow shuddered once more-and opened itself to him. If there had been any lingering sense of where Vestapalk ended and the Voidharrow began, it vanished for several long moments. Then it pulled itself away. For some time, Vestapalk drifted in its embrace, contemplating what he had learned before allowing himself to rise.
When he surfaced, the demons of the Plaguedeep had gathered before the pool. Vestapalk reached through the Voidharrow and into them. Into all of the plague demons across the Nentir Vale.
Come, he ordered them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They found the Tigerclaws’ camp undisturbed when they reached it the next day. Those left behind had glimpsed the two-headed dragon high overheard, but the beast had paid no attention to them. Forewarned by Hurn and the warriors who had gone on ahead, the camp greeted the returning heroes with a mix of joy-which was eagerly returned by warriors finding their loved ones safe-and grief for those who had died in the valley.
Uldane and the others kept themselves apart, but Belen was in thick with the Tigerclaws, apparently enjoying every brief taste of this side of her heritage. Maybe because of her knowledge of their traditions, the barbarians seemed to accept her. At least, most of them did. Uldane saw Turbull watching the woman from Fallcrest carefully. A large number of hostile glares were also directed at Kri, presumably for his manipulation of the Tigerclaws’ fears. Uldane had been on the receiving end of similar looks often enough to recognize trouble simmering on the edge of a boil. He nudged Albanon. “We shouldn’t stay long.”
The wizard nodded and went to talk to Turbull, who in turn called over Cariss. Soon joy and grief alike had turned into leave-taking, all of
the humans and shifters of the barbarian tribe crowding around to say good-bye to Cariss. Belen, excluded once more, came back over and joined the others. Her face was set, but her eyes were sad. Uldane slipped his hand into hers. “Better that we go now,” he said. “They would have found out. Turbull already looked suspicious.”
“Maybe my mother taught me too well,” said Belen. She shook herself and stood straight. “Let’s get going. Vestapalk is waiting.”
The sun was halfway down in the western sky before they had their gear gathered and the supplies provided by the Tigerclaws loaded on their horses. No one suggested staying with the barbarians for the night, however, even though smoke from Tigerclaws’ fires was still visible in the distance as the sun set and they made camp.
“Sleep well tonight,” Cariss told them. “Our patrols still guard this area. We’ll be protected. After this, the journey will be more dangerous.”
Except that it wasn’t. In fact, if there was anything remarkable about their journey south and west from the Tigerclaw camp, it was the relative tranquility of it. When they had headed north from Winterhaven, there was no sign of plague demons either. At the time, Uldane had assumed that was due to Albanon’s routing of the horde in the village. But there had still been a sense that they were around somewhere. This time there was nothing. The land was quiet. For the first couple of days, Uldane enjoyed the peace. Then it started to wear on him. Where were the demons? They stayed west of the remains of Winterhaven as they passed from the Cairngorm Peaks into the rolling hills of the Gardbury Downs. The camps and farms in the valleys of the Downs had experienced the first ravages of the Abyssal Plague. If there were any places the demons might have been lurking, Uldane would have expected them to be hiding there. Instead, it seemed even the demons had abandoned the valleys.
He wasn’t the only one to feel that way. The others grew irritable, as well. Cariss was the worst. “Pah!” she grumbled. “Why did I even bother to come? There’s nothing to hide from.”
“There will be,” Roghar said cheerfully. “Don’t doubt it. When we reach the Plaguedeep, there will probably be so many demons, we’ll need to carve our way through.”
The dark cloud that had hung over the dragonborn had melted away overnight. By the time they’d arrived in the Tigerclaw camp that first day after their battles in the valley, Roghar had been back to himself again. Uldane wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. On the one hand, it was good to see Roghar happy again. On the other, it was odd how quickly his mood had reversed. After a day or so spent exchanging glances and shrugs with the others, Uldane raised the subject of the change with Roghar himself.
“A clean fight,” the paladin had said. “A simple victory. In Winterhaven, we won the battle but lost the village. That affected me more than I realized. In the valley, we triumphed. We killed the perytons, then Vestausan and Vestausir, and we came away with the means to destroy Vestapalk. Bahamut shows us his favor.”
“But we almost lost Albanon and now that Turbull knows about Tharizdun’s cloister, he doesn’t want the Tigerclaws in the valley,” Uldane had pointed out.
“If we hadn’t discovered the cloister, they would have lived under the Chained God’s gaze without knowing it. Another triumph!”
Uldane had almost forgotten how relentlessly optimistic Roghar could be-but then, that was another sign that he was back to normal. On the whole, Uldane was just happy to have the paladin in a good mood again. Roghar was a bright spot in the tension that had settled over the rest of them, a reminder that optimism was still possible when things looked bleak.
On the morning of the eighth day after they’d left the Tigerclaw camp, they turned the horses loose and cached the bulk of their gear near the site of the night’s camp. A bare minimum of food and tools, including ropes and spikes in case they needed to climb, went into light packs. If they didn’t come back for the rest of the gear, they’d never have need of it again. Then Albanon led them up the stony ridge that had sheltered the camp and they all stared at the wide, flat-topped mountain that rose in isolation to the west.
A thin wisp of smoke rose from its summit into the morning sky. In Albanon’s imagination, the plume glittered, as if tiny red crystals rose along with the smoke and steam.
“It doesn’t look like much,” said Uldane. His words died on the cool air.
Albanon looked at Quarhaun. “Can you get us inside?”
“Find me a tunnel or a crevice,” said the drow, “and I’ll get us to the heart of the thing.”
“That’s all we need. That and the luck of the gods.” The plan they’d worked out over the last couple of days was simple, partly by design and partly by necessity. In the memories that Belen retained from her possession by Nu Alin, Vestapalk wallowed in a pool of the Voidharrow at the bottom of the volcano’s shaft, surrounded by hordes of plague demons. If the gods were on their side, they would be able to slip into the Plaguedeep and find a sheltered spot close to the Voidharrow pool. Kri and Albanon would work the magic to draw out the will of Tharizdun, while the others held off the plague demons-and Vestapalk-by any means.
The “by any means” had produced a great deal of soul-searching among the group. Their circle around the previous night’s campfire had been a silent and somber gathering.
Albanon took a deep breath, then raised his staff as if it were a battle standard and pointed at the smoking mountain. “Let’s go.”
The land between the ridge and the volcano wasn’t impassable, but it was rough. Cracks and gullies opened unexpectedly, growing larger and deeper as they approached the mountain’s slopes. Shara and Cariss took the lead, guiding their band across or around the worst of them. Uldane, however, was the first to notice that more than just the surface of the land was changing. As they skirted one large crack, the halfling slowed. “Look at this.”
Albanon saw what he was pointing at immediately: thin veins of red crystal snaked through the dark rock that the crack exposed. Anywhere else, he might have taken it for a concentration of some unusual mineral. But so close to Vestapalk’s place of power, he knew better.
“Voidharrow,” he said.
“I told you, Vestapalk will transform the world,” said Kri. He kneeled down for a closer look at the rock, then narrowed his eyes and pulled a clump of grass up from the thin soil.
Among the roots of the grass, fine red filaments twined like some strange fungus-except that as Albanon watched, the broken filaments slowly writhed and withered. Kri grimaced and hurled the clump away.
As they walked on, Albanon began paying more attention to what was around him rather than just what was ahead. The veins of crystal exposed in the cracks became thicker and more plentiful, never entirely dominant in the rock but certainly eating away at more of its substance. The exposed rock changed in texture, too. Its sharp edges faded away, not merely as if it had experienced long weathering, but as if it had been washed around in the sea for a few hundred years. Some rocks sticking up aboveground looked as though they had been carved out of wax and left to sit in the sun.
Yes, he thought to himself, wax. Or tallow. Something soft and yielding instead of cold and hard. Something that was on the verge of turning from stone into a kind of… flesh. He lifted his staff to poke at a particularly veiny looking blob of stone.
Quarhaun caught his arm. “Best not to disturb things that may be only sleeping,” he said.
Albanon blinked, feeling like someone had just woken him from a dream. Kri’s eyes were on him, but the moment Albanon looked at him, he dropped his gaze. The wizard clenched his teeth. He let his staff fall and said to Quarhaun, “Thank you.”
“Have you noticed how quiet it is?” asked Belen. “Like the Cloak Wood when we rode through it.”
“Too much like it,” said Roghar. He drew his sword. “Shara, Cariss-watch for plague demons.”
“Where?” asked Cariss, gesturing around them. Albanon could see her point. The scattered trees had grown even more scattered. Their thin trunks provided
no cover-in fact, they drooped almost as if they were formed of the same almost-fleshy stuff as the rocks. If a plague demon had appeared in this silent, almost alien landscape, they would have seen it instantly.
Then Shara, a few paces ahead, froze on the edge of a crevice. She took a long step back before turning her head just enough to mouth a word at them: here.
Albanon crept forward and peered over the edge. The crevice was one of the deepest ones yet. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to cast its rays more than a couple of paces into the shadows, but that was enough. Plague demons, the first they’d seen in days, were packed into the crevice like bees in a hive.
They appeared to be mostly the smaller, beastlike demons, but it was hard to tell. They pressed against each other, their spindly limbs so still and intertwined so closely that they resembled the veins of red crystal in the stone walls. They could almost have been continuations of the veins, and Albanon was struck by the frightening idea that Vestapalk might be growing his demons now, spawning them like maggots from the rock.
He took a slow breath and forced himself to remain calm. The demons hadn’t grown in the crevice-they were transformed beings just like all the others. He could distinguish other body shapes among them, including a couple of the four-armed brutes. They had more likely just taken shelter there against the daylight. Their angled, crystalline eyes were all closed. Their chests moved with slow breathing. Did plague demons sleep?
Shara touched his arm. She pointed into the crevice, then made a sharp slicing motion across her throat. Albanon understood.
Kill them now.
It was tempting. Dozens of plague demons removed from the world. Dozens of demons that wouldn’t trouble them again. Coordinated spells from him, Quarhaun, and Tempest… Albanon pressed his lips together and shook his head, then pointed at the volcano looming close above and touched his eyes.
Vestapalk will see.
It was a danger they had discussed over and over again. It was inevitable that a demon would see them, and through its eyes Vestapalk would discover their presence. Albanon was determined to delay that moment for as long as possible. Shara’s face tightened but she nodded and jerked her head at a way around the crevice. They moved past the sleeping demons in silence, the others also glancing into the crevice as they slipped by. Once they were away from it, however, Tempest leaned close to him. “They were sleeping for the day?”
The Eye of the Chained God tap-3 Page 24
