The Eye of the Chained God tap-3

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “Kill them!” roared Vestapalk, and Roghar felt as if an icy hand had gripped his soul. How close had he come to becoming one of the demons obeying that command? Could Vestapalk have turned him against his friends? He’d already betrayed them once. The others might have believed Kri’s lie about how Vestausan and Vestausir had found them, but Roghar knew the truth. It had been his infection that had guided Vestapalk’s creature to them in the mountain valley.

  A new loathing came over him-and only part of it was for Vestapalk. He couldn’t have prevented the scrape from Vestagix’s tail that had exposed him to the Abyssal Plague. That had been an accident. But how he had acted afterward? That had been his fault. He’d lied to his friends and kept them in danger because he was too afraid to reveal the truth. He was weak. He’d turned his back on Bahamut and accepted the healing offered by Kri. And he’d left himself open to betraying his friends yet again. Every day since Kri had burned the plague out of him, he’d secretly dreaded what the priest might ask him to do. No matter what Kri promised, Roghar knew the command, when it finally came, wouldn’t be kind.

  It left him with a vile choice: keep his word to Kri and risk putting his friends in danger, or hold true to his friends and break the vow he had made in Bahamut’s name.

  Or perhaps, he realized, there was another option.

  Claws scraped on stone. Up from the edge of the Plaguedeep, a pack of demons came crawling-all of them tough, four-armed brutes with thick crystal carapaces. Shara cursed softly and drew her greatsword. Uldane cursed loudly and drew a pair of throwing knives. “I’ll hit what I can,” the halfling said, “then I’m going for their knees. Try to keep them from falling on me.”

  Roghar looked down at both of them fondly. “It’s been an honor to fight with you,” he said. “Tell Tempest I’ll miss her.”

  Shara glanced at him sharply, perhaps suspecting something of what he intended, but Roghar was already past her and gathering speed as he charged the demons. “For Bahamut!” he shouted, lowering his shoulder and raising his shield.

  “Kill them!” ordered Vestapalk, and his roar seemed to shake the stone of the mountain. On the highest portion of the former passage, Belen’s hand tightened on her sword and she braced herself for the wave of plague demons that would finish her, Cariss, and Quarhaun.

  It didn’t come. The demons of the Plaguedeep stayed where they were, caught up in Vestapalk’s domination and watching events unfold with the same intensity as their master. From her high vantage point, Belen could see everything that happened to those below. She saw the fire demons-the same creatures who had destroyed much of Fallcrest-leap from on high and lash out at Albanon, Tempest, and Kri with ribbons of flame. She saw the four-armed brutes climb up to confront Shara, Uldane, and Roghar, and she stared in amazement as Roghar charged into the thick of them. The maneuver bashed one of the demons right back over the edge, but left the dragonborn surrounded. Roghar turned and crouched like a lion at bay, his sword and shield raised, ready to face his attackers.

  Belen’s stomach clenched. After the chaos of that terrible night in Fallcrest when plague demons had entered the town and the bodystealer had possessed her, Roghar and the others had been her friends and mentors. They understood what she had been through. Understood her anger.

  She’d never spoken the thought aloud, but she knew they hadn’t needed to bring her along on their journey. They could have found the volcano and Vestapalk’s lair on their own. But they had brought her. They’d given her a target for her anger. If she’d had to stay in Fallcrest, she might have gone mad.

  “We have to help them,” she said, staring at the battles below. “There must be something we can do!”

  “We’ve got our own problems now,” said Quarhaun from behind her. “Vestapalk’s assassins have come for us.”

  Belen turned as three shadowy figures came gliding out of the broken passage. So tall they had to bend to pass through the tunnel, they were wispy and insubstantial-looking, with long, narrow hands and fingers that continuously stroked the air. Their eyes flashed with the Voidharrow and crystals pulsed in their thin, nearly transparent chests.

  Cariss took a step back and raised her warpicks. “What are those?”

  “The stuff of nightmares,” said Quarhaun. “Don’t let them touch you.” He flicked the black blade of his sword and a crackling blast of dark energy flew at the first one out of the tunnel.

  Faster than Belen would have thought possible, the creature slipped aside. The blast hissed harmlessly past. Quarhaun cursed through clenched teeth and tried again, this time making a circling gesture with his free hand. Shadows writhed around the creature’s head and it hesitated in its advance-but just for a moment. It seemed to Belen that the thing actually smiled at whatever magic the drow warlock had attempted to use against it.

  Then it darted in at Quarhaun and he abandoned magic for sword play. The other two demons flitted past them. Long arms stretched out and shadowy fingers raked the air. Belen ducked away, trying to keep her back to the cave wall. Two sides of the broken passage lay open to long drops, and enough debris littered the ground to make footing treacherous. She didn’t want to avoid the demon only to fall victim to her own clumsiness. The demon clawed at her again. She dodged a second time, then responded with a slash from her sword.

  The thing’s wispy, hazy form made it even more difficult to hit than its speed alone. She thought she struck at its side, but the demon twisted and her sword whisked almost right through it. Almost but not quite. She felt the blade slice into flesh. The nightmare demon pulled back, an oozing shallow wound lending solidity to its torso, and circled her warily. The wound didn’t slow it down at all.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Cariss struggling against another demon. The cramped quarters hampered the shifter’s whirling style of fighting and the demon was able to avoid her warpicks with little effort. Her back precariously close to the edge of the passage, Cariss snarled and tried to catch her opponent between the points of her warpicks with a great sweeping attack.

  The demon ducked, twisted, and came up behind her. Its long fingers closed almost tenderly on her head. Cariss’s eyes went wide, then she screamed in terror. “Cariss!” Belen shouted.

  “Ignore her!’ Quarhaun commanded. “Focus on your own battle!” His sword play was keeping his demon at bay but the creature wasn’t reacting to his attempts to draw it off balance. He lunged.

  The demon turned. Before Quarhaun could recover, it had reached out and laid its hand alongside his face. The drow stiffened. He didn’t cry out, but the sword dropped from his fingers. The demon pressed its other hand against his head. He started to tremble.

  And Belen was the only one left. No wonder Vestapalk had only sent three of the things instead of overwhelming numbers. He hadn’t needed to send more. She pressed her back against the wall. The demon facing her drifted closer, but stayed out of range of her slashing sword. It could afford to toy with her. She’d need a solid strike to kill it or drive it off. All it needed to do was touch her and she’d plunge into her worst fears.

  At least she already knew what that fear would be. It had haunted her dreams ever since the night of the attack on Fallcrest.

  A desperate idea came to her. Belen prayed that it might work. It had to work. Gripping her sword tight, she stamped forward suddenly, as Quarhaun had. Her thrust was low and deliberately wide. The demon didn’t even have to dodge it. Its hands shot out and it seized her by both sides of her face. Its touch was cold.

  The Plaguedeep seemed to vanish.

  She was back in Fallcrest. The town burned around her. Belen could smell the smoke and feel the heat. She heard the screams of the townspeople, the shouts of the other guards. The taunting shrieks of the attacking plague demons. But she couldn’t move or call back in response. Fear held her fast.

  She faced herself. Or rather, she faced the version of herself she saw in her nightmares: Belen possessed by Nu Alin.

  Her face was hard and tight.
Around her eyes, the skin was broken and cracked like a mask of old, dry leather. Red crystal shot through with streaks of silver and flecks of gold showed through the cracks. As Belen stared at herself, the stuff spread. It filled her eyes entirely. It pushed at her skin from the inside, forming massive boils that grew until they burst to expose decayed flesh and bones like worm-eaten wood.

  “You are mine, Belen,” said a rasping voice. The silver-red crystal that was Nu Alin’s substance filled her mouth when she spoke. “Your friends have failed. There’s no one to rescue you this time.”

  “You’re dead,” Belen said. She tried to speak with confidence but the words came out a whisper. “Tempest and Albanon destroyed you.”

  Nu Alin laughed, forcing her corpse’s face into a grin. “You’re the one who’s dead. I can’t die! I just move on to a new body, wear it out, then move on again.” Nu Alin leaned her body close. “But I think I’ll keep your body longer. I like it.”

  “You dried up and turned to dust when Albanon and Tempest forced you out of me.” Belen fought against her fear. This wasn’t really Nu Alin, just a nightmare demon. “You can’t exist without a body to inhabit.”

  “Yet you were kind enough to bring me a new one,” said Nu Alin.

  His substance bulged out of her corpse’s mouth and groped toward her. Belen remembered how it had felt when the bodystealer had first attacked her, his flowing form forcing its way into her mouth and up her nose. He had reached down her throat and into the cavities of her body, wrapping himself around bones and organs until he was in complete control of her. Terror rose in her again. Nu Alin’s tentacle touched her cheek.

  She jerked her head around, the first movement she’d been able to make. Nu Alin hissed in annoyance. “Stop struggling! You’ve already lost. I have destroyed you!”

  Belen ground her teeth. “No,” she said. “You didn’t destroy me. You’re the reason we’re here. Because of you, I knew where to find Vestapalk.” She turned her head back to glare at Nu Alin. “We can still win.”

  Her sword was still in her hand. She thrust it up into her corpse. Into Nu Alin.

  Into the nightmare demon.

  Cold hands fell away from Belen’s face. Fallcrest vanished, replaced by the Plaguedeep. Her legs felt like they might collapse. She forced them to stay straight. The nightmare demon’s face was stretched out in shock only a handsbreadth from hers. Belen drew her sword back a bit, wrenched it up to a sharper angle, and thrust it in again.

  The nightmare demon jerked and went limp. Its corpse was so light, it was almost weightless. Belen shoved it off her sword and stepped quickly over to the demon clutching Quarhaun. The creature seemed almost as lost in the drow’s fear as Quarhaun himself. It didn’t even look up as she drove her sword down between its shoulders. Quarhaun fell away from it with a gasp to lie panting on the ground. Belen whirled to Cariss.

  The death of the first two demons must have gotten through to the third somehow. Its crystal eyes blinked. It let go of Cariss’s head and grabbed her shoulders, trying to turn the shifter’s moaning body between it and Belen like a shield. But it was too slow. Belen twisted around and thrust her sword through its side. The nightmare demon gave a high, keening cry and pushed Cariss away to reach for Belen.

  She ducked the grasping hands and ripped her sword sideways out of the demon’s belly. Cut nearly in half, it let out one more cry, then toppled backward and over the broken edge of the passage. Belen let her sword fall and grabbed Cariss before the staggering shifter could plunge after it. Still half in a panic, Cariss tried to push her away, but Belen held on.

  “Easy,” she said. “It’s over. It’s over.”

  Cariss sucked in great gulps of air, breathing hard. “Thank you,” she gasped between breaths. “Thank you. I will tell Turbull that you are worthy!”

  Belen frowned. “What?”

  Cariss stiffened a little and pulled away. “I shouldn’t have-” she began, then she scowled. “You are Riven,” she said bluntly.

  Real fear raced through Belen and she opened her mouth to deny it, but Cariss shook her head. “Don’t shame me with lies. Turbull saw it. No outsider embraces Tigerclaw traditions the way you embrace them. Turbull believes you are a generation Riven from the tribe, maybe two.”

  “My mother,” Belen said tentatively. “She taught me.”

  “Turbull saw the way you fought alongside us in the valley. He told me to watch you on this journey and if you proved yourself worthy, he would invite you to join the Thornpad clan.”

  After the terror of the nightmare demon attacks, the suggestion was like being drenched with cold water. For a moment, Belen didn’t know what to say or how to react-all she knew was that there was a new warmth growing inside her, something that might even erase the scars Nu Alin had left. “Cariss, I never thought something like that would be possible.”

  “Turbull is not like any other clan leader,” said Cariss. “He believes you could bring new ideas to the Thornpads without sacrificing tradition. He sees ahead-sometimes even further ahead than Chief Scargash.” She grasped Belen’s forearm above the wrist. Belen recognized a Tigerclaw oath grip and returned it. That brought a smile from Cariss.

  “If I don’t escape this place,” the shifter said, “go to Turbull and tell him what I told you.”

  “If I don’t escape,” said Belen, “tell Turbull I would have accepted.”

  “I hope you realize there’s a good chance none of us will escape,” said Quarhaun harshly. The drow was back on his feet, his face a little drawn, but otherwise recovered. He had his sword in his hand and used the tip of it to flip Belen’s sword back to her.

  She caught the weapon but kept it out and ready to use as she looked around, assessed their situation, and found it most… unexpected.

  Their triumph over the nightmare demons seemed to have gone completely unnoticed, at least by Vestapalk. A few of the nearest plague demons watched them and shifted restlessly, but all of the dragon’s attention was on the battle still being waged on the lower portion of the broken passage. Magical energy of all kinds flashed as Albanon, Tempest, and Kri traded spells for flaming strikes by the fire demons. A few burned-out husks of demons lay on the ground, but they were the only casualties. Except for scorches on Tempest’s robes and a burned patch in Albanon’s long silver hair, their friends seemed to be holding their own.

  The battle on the middle portion seemed to have turned in their favor as well. In spite of his mad rush against the brute demons, Roghar still lived. He and Shara fought back to back, while Uldane danced around the perimeter of the fight, stabbing and crippling the big crystal-armored demons wherever he could. In fact, there were only three of the demons left standing, and even as Belen watched, another went down with its head cleft in two by Shara’s greatsword.

  “I don’t understand,” said Cariss with surprise in her voice. “We’re winning. Why isn’t Vestapalk doing more?”

  Belen frowned and looked at the passage behind them. One of their sunrods lay just inside its the mouth. Nothing stirred within the shadows as far down the passage as she could see. No more nightmare demons. No more demons of any kind. Yet with all the demons of the Plaguedeep under his control, Vestapalk could have destroyed their entire group easily. “What’s he waiting for?” she asked. “He could smother us and be done!”

  “He’s playing with us,” Cariss growled.

  Quarhaun muttered a quiet curse. “He’s wearing us down! You heard what he told Kri. He says he knows our secrets, and that we came to destroy the Voidharrow. Look at how he’s watching Albanon and Kri-if he knows how they destroyed Vestausan and Vestausir, he knows they’re the real threat.”

  “But why wear us down? Why pick at us with small bands of demons?”

  “Probably for the same reason Shara wants to kill him personally,” said the drow. “Pride. Vengeance. He wants to destroy us himself, but we’ve also defeated his creatures every time we’ve encountered them. He wants us tired, not fresh.”


  “There’s no honor in an uneven fight,” said Cariss.

  “Honor?” Quarhaun laughed. “No drow matriarch would try to destroy a rival House without making sure it was first weakened from within. I think Vestapalk wants to make sure this is a fight he can win. That’s why he split us up.”

  Belen stared down at the rest of her friends. “So when Albanon and Kri defeat the fire demons, Vestapalk will attack?”

  “I would if I were him.”

  Cariss bared her teeth. “Then what can we do?”

  Belen’s stomach tightened. “We still have rope, don’t we? Maybe Vestapalk wants us split up, but I don’t. First we get down and join Shara, Roghar, and Uldane, then we do what we planned to all along: we give Albanon and Kri time to work their magic.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The stink of burned hair filled Albanon’s nostrils. Given the many possible stenches of battle, it wasn’t the most awful smell, but it made him want to cough with every drawn breath and every shouted spell. Worse, it came over him in a fresh wave each time he turned his head-and with every fresh wave came the thought that he hadn’t had short hair since he was a child.

  It was a completely inappropriate thought for the middle of a life or death battle. Albanon might have suspected he was going mad if he didn’t already know what that felt like.

  He flicked his hand and hurled a silvery bolt of force at one of the remaining fire demons. The demon shifted slightly and the bolt tore through its shoulder. It barely left a trace on the flames, just a dark spot that lingered briefly and vanished entirely a moment later. Albanon cursed and brought his staff up to block a fiery arm as it slapped at him. The tendril tip wrapped around the staff, then dissipated, leaving another charred black ring among the many already scarring the stout wood. The demon raised its arm for yet another lashing blow.

  Tempest’s voice rose in a scream and a twisting ribbon of darkness rushed past Albanon to strike the demon under its upraised arm. Where it struck, flames withered and were extinguished. It seemed to Albanon almost as if they were sucked back along the stream of darkness. The demon stumbled and dropped to one knee, then its fire winked out altogether. All that remained was a crumbling husk of ash with a sooty crystal, now dark, at its heart. Albanon spared a glance over his shoulder at Tempest. She smiled at him.