by James Wyatt
Aerin’s Crossing was the beginning of the town of Fallcrest, more or less. If nothing else, it was distinguished from the more southerly farms by the fact that it usually appeared on maps of the town. A half dozen smaller farms clustered around the crossing where River Road met the Old Ford Road, which ran through all of Lowtown on the other side of the river, then wound up the bluffs, passed the stables in Hightown, and left the Wizard’s Gate to the east.
If Aerin’s Crossing lies in ruins, Shara thought, then we know there’s trouble.
They walked through the woods with as much caution as if they’d been exploring a monster-filled dungeon. Shara kept listening for any sound of the normal animal life of the forest, but the silence held, broken only by their own footsteps and Quarhaun’s ragged breathing.
She smelled the smoke just a few paces before the forest fell away and gave her a clear view of the ravaged farms around Aerin’s Crossing. Scattered fires still smoked on the fields nearby and the orchards on the north side of the crossroad. The houses were marked by plumes of black smoke rising to darken the sky, while no wall of the structures remained intact.
“Oh, no,” she breathed.
“I can’t believe it,” Uldane said. “What could have done this?”
“What else? Vestapalk and the demons.”
“I don’t know,” Quarhaun said. “We haven’t seen the demons burning things before. It’s easy to blame catastrophe on the evil you know. But the longer you keep yourself in that delusion, the longer the unknown evil has to plot against you.”
“What is that, a drow proverb?” Shara asked.
Quarhaun shrugged. “Loosely translated.”
“Well, there are plenty of evils we know of. But it’s a fair point—there might be a new player on the scene, a red dragon or a fire giant.”
“Or a marauding army of orcs or gnolls,” Uldane added.
“A crazed cult of the Fire Lord,” Quarhaun suggested with a sidelong grin at the halfling.
“So we stay alert and ready for anything,” Shara said. “No delusions, no surprises.”
“There’s always surprises,” Uldane said brightly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With Captain Damar’s permission, Albanon led Kri out of Moorin’s Glowing Tower and into the streets of Fallcrest. Though the sky was only hinting at the approach of dawn, frightened and desperate looking people were everywhere. Families huddled together for warmth against the autumn chill, taking shelter under the eaves of the larger buildings as they snatched at sleep. A few people just stumbled around, wide-eyed with shock, oblivious to the cold and dark.
“The Tower of Waiting,” Kri said, for the fourth or fifth time. “It’s on an island, yes?”
“Correct. We’ll go to the Upper Quays and find a boat to take us over to the island.”
“How far to the quays?” Kri asked.
“Across town,” Albanon said. “A quarter of a mile, perhaps?”
“Quickly!”
Albanon quickened his pace, striding along the Bluff Ridge Road toward the river. Fear and anxiety welled in his chest and gripped his stomach. The town was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, the fear of its people hanging over the streets like smoke. Moorin had occasionally shared stories from his childhood, in the dark decades after the fall of Nerath and the Bloodspear War, that suggested such horrors as Fallcrest was now experiencing, but to Albanon they had been nothing more than stories, coated with the romance of memory of the distant past.
As he walked, his eyes met the despairing gaze of so many refugees—people, citizens of the town, who had lost family members, their homes, all their worldly possessions in this attack. Here and there he saw people laid low with illness, sleeping in alleys for lack of a safe sickbed. Some had great sores on their skin, and on one young man he saw a distinctive crust of red crystals growing around the sores.
For seven years, Fallcrest had been Albanon’s home as he studied with Moorin, and he felt their pain. It wasn’t the same town he had left behind in such a hurry, and it might never be the same even if the demons were driven off or destroyed.
“If the demons are all over Lowtown,” Albanon said, “what’s Nu Alin doing in the Tower of Waiting? Commanding Vestapalk’s troops?”
“You saw the demons at the Temple of Yellow Skulls,” Kri said. “Calling them troops implies some kind of order in the horde. Most of them are stupid brutes. I expect they have pack leaders, but I think Nu Alin has other purposes in the tower.”
“But won’t the tower be crawling with demons? What makes you think we can even get to it?”
“I suspect most of the demons are busy spreading chaos and destruction in Lowtown,” Kri said. “A stealthy approach should serve us well, and if that fails, well, they should not underestimate our power.”
“There’s only the two of us,” Albanon said. “And no one to keep the demons from getting too close.”
“The demons that frighten the Fallcrest guard pose no such great threat to the likes of us.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m right,” Kri said. “Now walk faster!”
Albanon quickened his steps again, though he was getting short of breath. “Why such a terrible hurry?
“My divination revealed that Nu Alin was in the Tower of Waiting, but that was nearly five hours ago. He could be anywhere now, but the quicker we get to the tower, the less likely it is he’ll have moved by then.”
“I see.” Talking was becoming too much of an effort, so Albanon concentrated on keeping up his pace and finding the quickest path to the Upper Quays.
He turned off the Bluff Ridge Road onto the Tombwood Road, which ran along the ancient forest that cloaked the southern slopes of Moonstone Hill, the site of the Lord Warden’s estate. Before long, the forest crowded close to the road on their right, and the temple of Erathis stood proud on the left. The temple was brightly lit, and Albanon suspected that many of the plague-struck had found beds and care in the massive stone structure, the town’s largest temple.
“There’s a shrine to Ioun in the temple,” he told Kri. “Do you feel the need to pause for prayer?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Kri growled.
Albanon’s face flushed and he hung his head, pushing himself to a still faster pace. Kri’s words stung. As harsh a master as Moorin could be at times, he was never so outright insulting. I was just trying to be helpful, he protested in his mind.
The House of the Sun was the next major landmark along the road, an old temple of Pelor that lay abandoned for many years after the Bloodspear War. Moorin had always spoken with amusement—and a fair amount of appreciation—of the new priest who had reopened the temple, a firebrand dwarf named Grundelmar. Grundelmar’s zeal for searching out the evil that lurks in the dark places of the world had appealed to Moorin’s adventuresome past, and the few times that Albanon had heard the dwarf speak, he’d always come away longing for adventure.
I think maybe I’ve had enough adventure now, he thought. Let me spend a few years in Sherinna’s library when this is all over, and then maybe I’ll be ready for another adventure.
“We’re almost there,” he told Kri as they passed the House of the Sun. “See the warehouses ahead? The Upper Quays are just past them.”
Kri nodded. In the predawn stillness, Albanon could hear the river rushing and the roar of the falls farther downstream. Firelight filled the sky behind the warehouses, and as he rounded a warehouse, he saw the bonfires and bright torches lining the quays. Soldiers stood by every fire, peering into the darkness and clutching their spears.
“Forget the demons,” Albanon muttered. “Can we get past Fallcrest’s defenders?”
“They’ll let us through,” Kri said. “But we need a boat first.”
“Right. Follow me.” Albanon turned to the right and made for the quay near the town’s north wall. Fishers tended to gather there, where they could venture onto the river at a safe distance from the falls, and Albanon had hea
rd adventurers in the Blue Moon Alehouse talk about hiring a fisher to ferry them out to explore the Tower of Waiting.
That seems like ages ago, he thought. I wonder what happened to them at the tower.
“No one is on the river,” Kri observed.
Albanon followed the old priest’s gaze out to the water. It was hard to see into the dark past the watchfires on the quay, and he couldn’t make out any sign of boats on the river. He shrugged. “It’s early yet.”
But when they reached the place where Albanon expected to find fishers readying their gear and launching their boats, the water was just as deserted. He did spot a cluster of sun-weathered men and women, mostly humans and halflings, sitting around a table near the water and looking out at the river.
“Pardon me,” he said, hurrying closer to the group. “My friend and I are looking to hire a boat.”
The table erupted in laughter. “Are you mad?” a halfling woman asked. “No one is leaving Hightown.”
“We just need to get to the Tower of Waiting.”
“Is the guard at the Tower of Waiting?” a human man said. “Are they patrolling the river?”
“I don’t understand—”
“The guard is keeping Hightown safe,” the halfling woman said. “Beyond Hightown—that’s where the monsters are.”
Kri huffed impatiently. “Is there anyone here who will ferry us to the tower or not?” he said.
The fishers looked around at each other, then the halfling woman turned back to Kri. “Not,” she said.
“Thank you. Come, Albanon, let us find someone who will.”
“Good luck,” someone called after them. Albanon started to look back, but Kri grabbed his arm and yanked him on.
“We have no time to waste with such impertinent oafs,” the priest said.
“But, Kri, if the fishers aren’t even going out on the river—”
“We’ll find a way. We must.”
Albanon sighed and followed Kri down the quay, scanning the wharves for anyone who might be able to help them. The sky was lightening with dawn’s approach, and he started to be able to make out the shape of the island and its crumbling tower out in the middle of the river. No lights shone from inside the tower, but that didn’t mean much. Local legend held that the tower had been used at the empire’s height as a prison for the members of noble families who fell on the wrong side of political disputes. That would probably mean the tower had extensive dungeons underground. If Nu Alin and his allies or lackeys were there, they could burn a thousand torches and not reveal a light outside the tower walls.
“You there, soldier!” Kri called, striding toward a member of the guard who stood on the quay.
The soldier jumped, obviously tightly wound by the strain of watching for attack. “What is it?” he said.
“We seek a boat to take us to the Tower of Waiting,” Kri said.
“Are you mad?” the guard answered.
Kri growled. “I tire of hearing that question,” he said. “Do you know where we can hire a boat?”
The guard scratched under the edge of his helmet. “Did you check with the fishers at the north end of the quay?”
“If you mean that listless bunch of layabouts more interested in gossip and mockery than earning a day’s wages, then yes, we spoke with them. They were utterly useless.”
The soldier looked distinctly uncomfortable, glancing first to Albanon and then to the nearby soldiers for support, but he found none. “Well, then,” he said. “I suppose you might try purchasing a boat.”
“And why would I do that? I don’t want to make a living fishing, I just want to get to the Tower of Waiting.”
Albanon stepped between Kri and the shrinking soldier. “Where might we be able to purchase a small boat?” he asked.
The soldier visibly relaxed, and he beamed at Albanon. “There’s a boatwright at the south end of the quay, near the bridge.”
“Thank you for your help.” Albanon took Kri’s arm and led him on down the quay.
“What was that about?” the priest demanded. “We don’t need a boat of our own.”
“I think we might. If things are as bad as they seem here, I don’t think we’re going to find anyone willing to risk their lives to take us out to the island.”
“Are the demons in the water?”
“I don’t know, but we do know that at least one demon is in the Tower of Waiting.”
“Or was, five hours ago.”
“Or was. In any case, I can hardly blame them for being unwilling to venture to the island. I’m not even certain I want to go there.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen Nu Alin before. You haven’t. You didn’t see what he did to Moorin, and you haven’t seen the strength he gives to the bodies he inhabits. He’s terrifying.”
Kri drew himself up with anger. “Where is the courage you showed at the Whitethorn Spire? You choose to abandon me now?”
“No, no. I didn’t say I wouldn’t go with you—just that I don’t want to. No one with any sense would want to, knowing what awaits us there. But I’m going anyway, because we have to. If we don’t destroy him, if we don’t break the siege, if we don’t drive off the demons, then who will?”
“No one will.”
“Exactly. We’re all that remains of the Order of Vigilance. And so we must stand and fight.”
Kri smiled, his anger faded. “That’s right. Our oath is all that stands between the world and its annihilation.”
Albanon looked quizzically at the old priest. “What oath?”
Kri stopped in his tracks and slapped his forehead with his palm. “Stones of Ioun, I can’t believe I forgot,” he said. “I grew too distracted in Sherinna’s tower, and neglected to teach you more about the order. I should have administered your oath while we were there.”
“What is the oath? Tell me now.”
“The Oath of Vigilance. To watch at all times for the appearance of the abyssal plague, the Voidharrow. To learn and pass on the traditions of the order. To fight against the creatures of the plague whenever and wherever they appear. And to guard against the construction of a new Vast Gate and its opening. We carry on Sherinna’s mission, as poorly as she herself understood it.”
“I swear,” Albanon said earnestly. He fell to his knees and bowed his head. “I swear the Oath of Vigilance, and promise to live up to the highest demands of the order.”
“You’re a fool, Albanon,” Kri said, but this time Albanon was sure he heard a note of pride in the old priest’s voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Shara led the way past Aerin’s Crossing, through another desolate stretch of silent woods, to the foot of the bluffs. The road wound back and forth up the bluff from there to more farms and orchards, and then to the Nentir Inn. Looking up the cliffside, she dreaded what she would find at the top. The darkening late afternoon sky had afforded her little view of the town across the river, but from what she’d seen, Lowtown seemed deserted as well. Quarhaun’s description of returning home to find his city completely destroyed kept resurfacing in her thoughts, and she started trying to imagine what it would mean if Fallcrest had been obliterated. What would it mean for trade in the Nentir Vale? For the precarious balance between civilization and the monstrous races and savage tribes of the region? And what town in the region would fall next?
“How are you holding up, Quarhaun?” she asked the drow.
He sighed. “I’m tired. That bed you were talking about earlier is sounding better and better.”
“Well, at the top of this bluff we’ll either find beds or else discover that there’s no safe place to rest left in Fallcrest. Can you make it up this road?”
Quarhaun looked up at the road. “It doesn’t look all that steep,” he said. “I think …” He frowned, staring up.
“What is it?” Shara tried to follow his gaze.
“I thought I saw something moving up there.”
“Where?”
Quarhaun pointed, and
Shara leaned in close to gain the same vantage on his pointing finger that he had.
“You see where the road bends the second time?” His breath was warm in her ear, and she had some trouble keeping her eyes and her mind focused. “There’s a bush there, see it?”
Shara nodded, speechless.
“I thought I saw movement around the bush, the branches shaking. It might have just been a rat or lizard, I don’t know.”
“But we haven’t seen any other living thing in more than half a mile of walking,” Shara said, pulling away from Quarhaun and shaking off the distracting effect of his nearness, but keeping her eyes trained on the spot he’d identified.
“I don’t see anything,” Uldane said.
Shara shook her head. “Neither do I. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. Stay on guard as we ascend. This would not be a good place to get attacked.”
“Then it logically follows that this is where we will be attacked,” Quarhaun said.
“Logically follows?” Shara said. “If you’re suspicious to the point of madness, perhaps.”
“I don’t know about the point of madness, but that kind of suspicion is what lets drow live to see adulthood.”
“How can you live like that? Expecting attack around every corner?”
“All I mean is that if there’s something here and it’s going to attack us, it makes sense that it would choose this road to launch its attack. It’s a defensible position and puts us at a strong disadvantage, particularly if the attacker is better at navigating the cliff than we are.”
“What’s your advice, then?” Shara asked, exasperated.
“Is there another way up?”
“We could ford the stream and pass through Lowtown. Two other roads lead up the bluffs, but they’re just like these.”
“In the absence of a better option, then, we climb the road here. But instead of hoping we don’t get attacked, we prepare for an ambush. That way, with luck, we stay alive.”
Shara nodded. “All right. I’m going first. I need both of you behind me with your eyes wide open—especially you, Uldane. You’ll notice any attackers long before I do. When they strike, they’ll probably come from front and back, to make sure we can’t flee down the road. So Quarhaun, you have to be ready to cover our rear. Uldane, stick to throwing your dagger, unless you can get around behind them on the narrow road.”
