The Eye of the Chained God tap-3

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “I stopped him.”

  “But you still spend your time poring over the same books, looking for the same answers.” Tempest searched his eyes. “Let me help you,” she said. “I may not have studied under a wizard, but I’m not illiterate or stupid. Two of us working together can search twice as fast-and we can keep watch on each other.”

  “Can you read Elven?” Albanon asked. When Tempest blinked, he shook his head. “I’m careful, Tempest, and I’m searching as quickly as I can. I want to be on the road after Vestapalk as much as any of us. Don’t worry, I’m not Kri.” He smiled, then nodded along the street to a human woman in the light armor of the Fallcrest Guard distributing blankets to refugees. “There’s Belen.”

  Tempest turned away, reassured or at least distracted. Albanon let her get a pace or two ahead of him, then slumped and let out a shallow sigh of relief. A sigh that caught in his throat as Splendid murmured, “I’m astounded anyone believes your lies.”

  He flinched. He could just see the pseudodragon looking up at him from his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly.

  Her little eyes narrowed. “Twice a liar for denying it. You’re afraid. You’re afraid of Vestapalk. You’re afraid of what you’ll find in the Plaguedeep.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Three times a liar.” Splendid uncoiled herself from around his neck. “You can’t fool me, Albanon. I’ve known you since you came to the great Moorin as an apprentice. When you decide to tell the truth-to yourself if no one else-I’ll be waiting back at the Glowing Tower.”

  Her claws dug into his shoulder for a moment as she leaped, then her fine, leathery wings spread wide and beat against the air. Splendid soared up, banking against the sky and heading back along the brow of the Fallcrest bluff.

  The relief Albanon had felt for one brief moment turned into a knot in his chest. Six nights before, he and Kri had returned from a journey to the Feywild and the tower of Sherinna, one of the founders of the Order of Vigilance and Albanon’s own grandmother. Kri’s divinations in the Feywild, an attempt to locate the bodystealing demon Nu Alin, had led them back to Fallcrest and an old ruined tower reputed to be haunted. The ruins had indeed been haunted-not by ghosts, but by a cult of the Elder Elemental Eye, the common name by which Tharizdun beguiled his would-be followers. Something had happened in that dreadful place, though. They went in looking for Nu Alin, who was a priest of Tharizdun before the Voidharrow turned him into a demon, and emerged with Kri raving mad and Albanon a near helpless thrall to his power.

  Kri led him through the very heart of the demon attack to the tower that had belonged to Albanon’s murdered master, Moorin. There, where Moorin had been slaughtered, Kri attempted the same ritual Nu Alin once had, utilizing a fragment of ancient crystal to open a gate to the sealed plane where Tharizdun was imprisoned. Unlike Nu Alin, Kri succeeded. The eye of the Chained God peered through the gate and for the first time in hundreds of years, his power had touched the world. Albanon barely recovered himself in time to prevent more than Tharizdun’s gaze from passing through the portal. Using his magic, he changed the gate’s focus, slamming the door on Tharizdun’s prison and opening a new one to summon allies, huntsmen from the Feywild, to fight against Kri.

  The embattled priest had escaped through the gate, changing its destination once more and shattering it behind him. He might have gone anywhere, but at least he wasn’t in Fallcrest. Tharizdun remained imprisoned and the world had only the Abyssal Plague to worry about once more.

  At least, that was what he had told the others…

  No, he told himself before his thoughts could turn in a more dangerous direction. Do not think it. Do not remember it.

  Up ahead, both Shara and Belen had lifted their faces to watch Splendid’s flight, then turned to look at him. Albanon put a sheepish grin on his face and hurried to catch up to them. “Sorry, just a little argument. You know how she is.”

  Tempest grunted, too familiar with Splendid’s moods not to accept the explanation. Belen gave an uncertain nod, not familiar enough to deny it. She was a hardened woman, a soldier by training, somewhat older in human years than either he or Tempest. She looked awkward with the blankets in her arms, as if she’d rather be keeping order among the crowds of refugees than distributing comfort to them. But then, Albanon didn’t think he’d seen her look anything but awkward over the past few days. He smiled at her warmly and asked, “How are you, Belen?”

  “I’m still in Fallcrest when there’s a demon-dragon to kill and I still have dreams of the world dissolving into fire and red crystal ooze. Thank you for asking,” the lieutenant said, her voice like stone. “But when are we leaving?”

  He should have been prepared for her bluntness. “Soon,” he told her. This lie came harder, a deliberate falsehood rather than an omission. “I just need to find something that will help us stop Vestapalk-”

  “Searching isn’t doing. I see him, Albanon.” Belen ground the knuckles of her free hand against her forehead, her voice harsh.

  A burst of anger broke over Albanon. First, Tempest had pushed him, then Splendid… He caught Belen’s hand and dragged it down. “Then you don’t understand what we’re facing,” he said. “This isn’t going to be like breaking up a tavern brawl or bringing down some bandits.” He glared at Tempest. “This isn’t going to be like anything else we’ve gone against before, either.”

  Belen’s face wrinkled and she twisted her hand sharply. Albanon’s wrist bent painfully and abruptly he was the one being held. Belen shoved her face into his. “Don’t try to tell me I don’t understand what we’re facing. You never had that thing inside you. How do you know what we’re going to face?”

  “Belen.” Tempest’s face was hard, but her tone was calming. The warrior woman scowled, then turned Albanon loose. He stepped back, rubbing his wrist. Tempest looked at him. “Well?” she asked.

  “Well what?”

  “I think we deserve an answer. How do you know what we’re going to face? Have you found something in those books after all?”

  Anger and beligerence faded sharply. “A… little,” he said, fumbling for an explanation. “Not enough to have answers, only enough to know that Vestapalk is more powerful than last time we faced him. And that the Plaguedeep isn’t like anything else in this world. What’s in the books is only a start. Combined with what you and Belen experienced…”

  Belen’s eyes narrowed at that and Tempest’s lips pressed tight. There was no levity in her voice when she spoke. “I think what he’s trying to say,” she said to Belen, “is that if we’re going to do something, we have to do it right. When we confront Vestapalk, we want to make sure we end him.” The tiefling gave Albanon a hard look. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” he said quickly. Belen’s face flushed with frustration but eventually she nodded.

  “Soon?” she said.

  “Soon.”

  “It had better be.”

  Tempest took the warrior’s arm and drew her on to the next clump of refugees without looking back at him. Albanon followed, feeling relieved, but unsettled. Belen and Tempest had formed a unique bond since the attack on Fallcrest-so far as any of them knew, they were the only two beings to have survived possession by Nu Alin. They were the lucky ones. They had each other to understand what they had experienced.

  Albanon let his breath out slowly. That Vestapalk didn’t know-couldn’t know-that they’d learned of his location was a powerful draw to action. Belen’s information drawn from Nu Alin’s memories and the knowledge that they could reach his lair in this so-called Plaguedeep with only a week’s journey made Roghar and the others even more eager to be off after the dragon.

  It was tempting to let them go. The others were strong-they’d get along without him. It might even be better for them if he wasn’t there. But he had to go. He wanted to go. He had to help stop this.

  You can stop it, part of him whispered like a second voice in his head. You
have the power. You know how to use it. You might not even need them.

  No. He choked off the voices of doubt, desire, and duty that been swirling in his head for days. What he had to do was get back to the Glowing Tower. He needed quiet. He needed time to sort out what he was feeling. Another day. The others would believe him if he told them he needed another day of research. He opened his mouth, drew breath to tell Tempest he was returning to the tower-

  “Albanon! Tempest!”

  Uldane’s voice brought them all around. The halfling slid to a stop, not bothering to come right up to them. He was already jogging backward, in the direction of Roghar’s gatehouse, as he blurted, “Come with me! Plague demons are chasing travelers in the lower town-Roghar’s going after them.”

  He should have kept his voice down. The mention of plague demons brought an instant panic to the refugees around them. People screamed and jostled. Belen cursed. “Get them under control,” Tempest told her. “We’ll go help Roghar.”

  “Shadow take them,” the lieutenant snapped. She dropped her burden of blankets and drew her sword. “I’m coming with you.”

  Tempest flashed her a sharp-toothed grin and started after Uldane, then looked back. “Albanon?”

  He realized that he hadn’t moved. Doubt, duty, and desire rose again like a storm inside him. He wanted to go fight the demons, yet the idea filled him with dread. But how could he abandon his friends?

  “Albanon, come on!” said Uldane, hopping from foot to foot.

  Albanon clenched his jaw, thrust his basket at the nearest person who didn’t look totally panic-stricken, and gathered his robes for running.

  “Let’s go,” he said through his teeth.

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time they reached the half-constructed gatehouse, Roghar was already two turns down the snaking road that traversed the bluffs. “He left without us!” Uldane yelped. “He’s going to get to the fight before we catch him.”

  Down in the lower town, the fleeing figures of travelers were halfway between the Moonwash Stream and the open expanse of the Market Green. Their bounding, sprinting pursuers had reached the water, and would catch their quarry on the green.

  If Roghar was fast, he might reach the Market Green at the same time-but alone.

  Albanon’s belly tensed. They could catch up to the dragonborn and face the demons at his side. It would mean risking his own demons, though. He took a breath and held up an arm before Uldane and Belen could rush after Roghar.

  “Wait,” he said and stepped to the brow of the bluff. Roghar was almost directly below them, a good seventy-five paces straight down. Albanon focused his will. A spell rose in his mind and he seized it, concentrating on keeping it clear and sharp. At the back of his mind, something tugged at his attention, an urge to tinker with the magic. To alter it, just a little bit, and see what happened. He ignored the urge and used his fingers to sketch symbols in the air that only his wizard’s eyes could see.

  It took only moments. The instant the last symbol was drawn, he felt arcane energy surge through him, completing the spell. A shimmering doorway, like sunlight flashing on water, flared to life-once again, invisible to everyone but him. Albanon glanced over his shoulder. “Stand exactly where I am and follow me.”

  He turned back and stepped off the edge of the bluff into the shimmering air.

  His foot came down, however, on the solid, dusty ground of the road only a few paces behind Roghar. Albanon stumbled for a moment but found his feet and started running after the paladin. A slight grunt signaled the arrival of someone else through the portal. It was followed by another grunt, then by Uldane’s laugh of delight at the magical transport. Roghar looked back without slowing down and grinned.

  “I knew you’d make it. Those demons don’t stand a chance.” He raised his head and started to sing a deep, throaty battle hymn, the cadence of the song timed to his pounding charge.

  “Does he always do that?” asked Belen as they raced after him.

  “You get used to it,” said Tempest.

  Beyond the green, the fleeing travelers had glimpsed their rescuers. Some pointed and gestured as if in encouragement to the others, some just kept their heads down. None of them stopped running, though near the back of the group, one tall figure in an emerald cloak shortened his stride to offer assistance to a pair of slender, more stooped travelers-someone more capable and heroic helping those who needed it most. Unfortunately, it meant that those three were closest to the pursuing demons.

  And the demons were rapidly closing ground. Albanon tried to keep one eye on the creatures and the other on the ground beneath his feet. The road seemed even steeper that it usually did, his balance thrown by the speed of his descent. Except for Uldane, surefooted and agile as ever, all of them slipped and stumbled on bits of loose gravel as they ran, forcing them to slow more than they would have liked. By the time they reached flat ground, the fleeing travelers were sprinting onto the Market Green with the plague demons leaping and snarling almost at their heels.

  The demons would reach the travelers before they did.

  “Albanon!” Roghar shouted without pausing in his charge. “We need a spell to distract the demons.”

  Albanon slowed as Belen and Uldane flew past him, gauging the distance to the far side of the green. In his gut, he knew he was the best choice for such a task: Tempest’s furious magic was destructive but lacked a wizard’s carefully studied range. His racing heart, however, felt like it skipped a beat. The far side of the green was farther than he could safely throw his magic without stretching the forms of the spell almost to breaking.

  Is it really? the whisper in his head thought arrogantly. Or are you just holding back?

  He bit his tongue and picked up speed again. “I need to be closer-”

  “Do it!” Roghar pointed with this sword. “Look!”

  Across the green, the tall traveler had given his slower companions a last push to speed them on their way, then turned to face their pursuers. His sword flashed from its sheath and he threw back his cloak-revealing the fine, sharp features of not just another eladrin, but one Albanon knew.

  Immeral, the leader of the huntsmen Albanon had summoned from the Feywild to aid him against Kri, settled into a defensive stance, ready to meet the claws of the plague demons.

  Albanon stopped so sharply that Tempest, following behind, cursed as she dodged around him. He put her out of his mind, drawing energy out of the air and shaping it into a tiny, brilliant red fleck above his palm. Under the best conditions, he might be able to hurl the spell halfway across the Market Green. Immeral was half again that far, with the nearest demons even farther. Albanon pushed his will out to the limit of the spell. Then, with breath hissing between his teeth, he forced it beyond.

  He could feel the ebb and flow of the world’s magic; he could almost see it as half-glimpsed streams of light and shadow. Up close, it was crisp and more easily manipulated. Farther away, where the demons stood out like clumps of mold in old soup, it was hazier. If he concentrated, he could still manipulate it, though. The formula of the spell offered an easy, reliable path, but Albanon could see almost instantly in his mind’s eye how to improve upon it. He gathered more energy into the fleck above his hand. The heat of it sharpened into pain.

  Time seemed to slow. He drew back his hand to hurl the spell. Throw it so. Enhance the fleck’s flight thus with additional magic. Hardly thinking, he calculated angles, trajectories, velocities, the volume of space that he could fill with fire if only he dared to draw on such an amount of energy.

  The numbers and calculations closed around him like jaws, biting into his mind. Albanon screamed and flung the fleck of molten magic away even as he staggered and dropped to his knees.

  The little fleck flew past Tempest, Belen, Uldane, and Roghar. It gathered speed, turning into a streak of flame as it passed the running travelers, then Immeral, to slam into what had once been the Lucky Gnome Taphouse on the edge of the Market Green.

 
; The former tavern exploded in a vast ball of ruddy fire with a roar that made Albanon’s ears ring. The force of the explosion knocked the plague demons aside and filled the air with an angry swarm of charred wooden splinters and scorched chips of stone. The travelers screamed and stumbled. The demons screeched, their pack breaking apart. Immeral, braced for the demons’ charge, swayed with the blast and swung away to protect his face.

  When Immeral turned back, Roghar-his scaled chest heaving and his neck frills flaring-stood with his sword and shield at his left side. Belen took up a position on his right, and Uldane crouched behind them, ready to take advantage of any opening.

  Distraction accomplished.

  “Albanon?” Tempest crouched down beside him, a look of concern on her face.

  “I’m fine,” he said with a voice suddenly hoarse. “Go to the others. They need you.”

  The explosion might have thrown the demons into confusion, but it hadn’t stopped them. One, a lithe thing with a wide, distorted head and four eyes of gleaming red crystal, paused in the glare of the burning building. Those crystalline eyes darted between the frightened refugees and their determined defenders, then settled on Roghar and the others. A sound like a knife dragged across slate rose from its throat. The other demons turned to follow its gaze. The lead demon began a slow slink toward its new prey.

  Tempest didn’t hesitate. She turned and strode across the green, drawing from her belt the short, thick rod that was a warlock’s chief implement. Albanon wished he had his staff, but he’d left it in the tower that morning, not expecting to need it on a mission of handing out food to refugees.

  You don’t need it, the arrogant part of him whispered triumphantly. Look what you just did.

  Albanon forced the voice away and pushed himself to his feet. Hands grabbed his arms, helping him stand. The travelers, he realized-then he started as he realized that they were all eladrin, their faces drawn with exhaustion.