by James Wyatt
“Don’t count a dragon as a drake, Shara.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re a dragon. You’re the greatest warrior I’ve ever seen. The swordmasters of my house wouldn’t last a minute in a duel with you. But you think you’re a drake-you think you’re weaker than you are. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
Shara looked at the floor. “You’re too kind.”
“And what human has ever before spoken those words to a drow? My people don’t give empty compliments-well, unless there’s something to be gained by it.”
“So you’re not hoping to gain something by flattering me?”
“Not in this case, no.” He smiled. “So tell me about Jarren. Was he anything like me?”
Shara felt tears well in her eyes, and turned her head so Quarhaun wouldn’t see. “Jarren was my best friend,” she said. “He made it all mean something-all our adventures, all the excitement and bloodshed, all the pain we endured, all the treasures we won-he made it worthwhile. He made me feel like the greatest treasure of all. He made me laugh, and then he could be so sweet that he made me cry. He made me feel desirable when most men were afraid of me.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she no longer cared what Quarhaun thought. She looked at him, met his eyes, and shook her head. “He was about as different from you as I can imagine. He was a summer day, full of life and heat and passion. And you’re a winter night, cold and dark.”
Quarhaun looked away, disappointment plain on his face.
Shara leaned over him, cupped his cheek in her hand, and turned his face back toward her. She searched his eyes for a moment, then kissed his lips-a long, hungry kiss. When she finally drew back, her face was flushed, but not with shy embarrassment.
“And what better way to enjoy a winter night,” she said, “than to huddle under a pile of furs before a raging fireplace, safe from the chill?”
A cloaked traveler made his way into the common room of the Silver Unicorn Inn. He shouldered up to the bar, ordered a glass of the finest wine, paid in gold, and took the glass to a table in the corner.
The man was well muscled from years of farm work, and Nu Alin enjoyed the feeling of strength in the body-strength and health that he knew would slowly ebb, the longer he retained control. In these first hours after taking a new body, he always felt so alive.
He adjusted the hood of his cloak, ensuring that his face stayed in shadow. As fresh as this body was, he could already feel the skin around the eyes cracking, revealing some of his true substance. It was always the first sign that he was not the pathetic human creature he appeared to be, which meant he had to take such precautions when he wished to move around undetected. But the benefit-the terror his eyes inspired when he revealed himself in a conflict-outweighed that minor inconvenience.
He made the body as comfortable as the hard wooden chair would allow and pretended to sip the wine as he scanned the room. Only nine other people were gathered in the common room-most citizens of the doomed town were too frightened to venture from their homes at night with his demons running wild through the lower part of the settlement. Their fear pleased him, as did the serious expressions on the faces of most of the people around him. The demons had people concerned, and as Nu Alin focused his own senses-which were much more sensitive than those of his host body-he could hear their frightened whispers and conspiratorial muttering. He and his demons had nothing to fear from these people.
Then his eyes came to rest on the farthest table from his seat, where a hulking dragonborn and a diminutive halfling sat behind a dozen mugs and glasses. They were laughing-Nu Alin could not stomach the audacity of it-and telling stories to a tight circle of very interested listeners. And then he recognized them.
The dragonborn had pursued Nu Alin as he chased the Voidharrow and its thief from this town to the place where the trail of the Voidharrow had disappeared. He had traveled then with his wizard friend and the tiefling, who had proven a most disappointing host. After Nu Alin had taken the tiefling, the dragonborn and halfling both had been among those who confronted him in the depths of the Labyrinth, forcing him out of the tiefling’s body and bringing his search for the Voidharrow to a premature end.
Nu Alin believed he was above the petty and tumultuous emotions that seemed to drive his hosts, but he could appreciate what they called hatred or loathing when he considered the two adventurers across the common room. Without question, they were the greatest threat, in the room or anywhere else in the pathetic town, to his plans-and to Vestapalk’s plans. He set his glass down and focused all his attention on listening to them.
Their stories were full of improbable boasts and unlikely twists of fate, but Nu Alin recognized the danger represented by their laughter and the smiles that slowly spread out from their table through the other patrons. They represented hope for the people of Fallcrest-hope that could not be allowed to blossom into resistance.
Nu Alin was so focused on the pair of adventurers that he almost didn’t notice a new figure appear in the doorway and start toward their table. He glanced in the newcomer’s direction and recognized the tiefling woman he had taken-Tempest. He could still taste her delicious fear, her fury at his possession, and her determination to resist him.
“He’s here!” she suddenly cried.
The dragonborn and the halfling whirled to look at her, and the room fell silent.
“Who’s here, Tempest?” the dragonborn said.
“Nu Alin!” A note of hysteria tinged her voice. “I can feel him!”
The dragonborn and the halfling leaped to their feet, and it was their panic that gave Nu Alin the opportunity to escape. When the others in the room saw the two adventurers’ reaction, their faint hope dissipated, replaced at once by fear. The room erupted in a clamor of confusion. Others sprang out of their chairs and milled around the room or made their way out, and it was a simple matter for Nu Alin to weave his way through the chaos to make his escape.
As he slipped out through the door, he heard the dragonborn trying to calm Tempest, assuring her that she was suffering the effects of a nightmare. Further proof, if any was needed, of the boundless capacity these mortal creatures had for self-delusion. Some part of him, perhaps tied to the emotions of his host body, wanted to laugh.
“Damn it,” Tempest said, “why won’t you listen to me? Yes, I had a nightmare. I woke up. I came down here to find you. And then I felt his presence.”
Roghar nodded. “All right. Is he still here?”
Tempest closed her eyes and tried to relax, but Roghar could see that her whole body was shaking. He wanted to kick himself for not taking her seriously sooner.
“No,” she said at last. “He must have slipped out in the confusion.”
“Then he can’t have gone far,” Roghar said. “Let’s look outside.”
“I’ll get Shara,” Uldane offered, heading for the stairs.
Roghar took Tempest’s arm and led her out onto the crowded street. He scanned over the crowd, looking for … for what? He wasn’t sure. When they had faced the demon in its halfling body, the shimmering crimson of its true substance had shown through a number of gaping wounds in the halfling’s flesh. By the time they caught up with the demon in Tempest’s body, the only sign of its presence inside her was around her eyes. He had to assume that, if the demon had been lurking in the common room of the Silver Unicorn, it had taken pains to conceal its presence in whatever host body it was using. He decided to look for hooded figures moving quickly away from the inn.
At first glance, he counted seven people that fit that simple description. He picked the nearest, ran to catch up to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said.
The person wheeled around and the hood fell away from his face. A middle-aged human man with a neat salt-and-pepper beard and dark brown eyes frowned at him. “What do you want?”
Roghar stared at the man’s eyes, searching the shallow wrinkles at the corners for any sign of glowing red crystal liquid. He slumped. “Sorry,
” he mumbled. “I thought you were someone else.”
Tempest caught up to him, looking around the crowd helplessly. “He could be any of these people.”
“Can you feel him now? Is he still nearby?”
“I’m not a bloodhound, Roghar! It’s not like I can track his scent.”
“Well, I just thought …”
“I know. But it was just a sudden impression, overwhelming for that moment, then gone.”
“Let’s walk a bit,” Roghar said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe it’ll come again and we can do something about it, and maybe it won’t.”
Tempest nodded, and Roghar chose a direction and started walking.
Tempest walked beside him in silence for a while. They passed the House of the Sun and then the Temple of Erathis before she spoke again. “What do we do if we find him?” she said.
Roghar shrugged. “Kill him.”
“How?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when he’s in a body, he’s so terribly strong. I’m not sure the two of us can defeat him alone. And even if we do, if we kill the body he’s in, he just slips out-the way he did when Erak stabbed me. Then what?”
“Well, I’ve thought about that some,” Roghar said. “You didn’t see it, but when the demon was trying to take Falon’s body, it recoiled from divine light. I figure that’s the way to destroy it. Bahamut’s light will consume it.”
“It could be anywhere, Roghar. It could be in any of these people.”
“No more overwhelming impressions?”
Tempest shook her head.
“Then let’s get back. Shara and Uldane will be wondering what’s going on.”
“You want to just let him go?”
“I don’t see any other choice. But listen-we’ve gained some useful information. We know he’s here, moving around in the town, and we know that we have at least one way to detect his presence. He won’t be able to spy on us again. And next time, we’ll get him.”
“But he’s gained useful information, too. He knows we’re here, and he knows that I sensed him. He’ll keep his distance now-there might not be a next time.”
“We’ll get him, Tempest,” Roghar said. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Albanon knelt beside Kri and put both hands on the old priest’s shoulders. “It’s this place, Kri,” he said. “The taint of the Chained God fills the whole tower. You can hear the maddening whispers if you listen too closely.”
Kri nodded, covering his face with his hands.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Albanon shifted around to Kri’s side and lifted him to his feet. “Come on, one foot in front of the other.”
Kri’s arm lashed out, striking him in the abdomen and breaking free of his grip. “I know how to walk, damn it!”
Albanon stared at him, trying to catch his breath while Kri glared wildly back. “Fine,” he said at last. “Walk yourself. Follow me, or don’t. I’m getting out of here.” He didn’t wait for a response, but turned to the stairs and started up.
Kri called after him, fury still seething in his voice. “But the demon-what about Nu Alin?”
“He’s not here. And while we wander around here, other demons are overrunning the town I call home. I mean to stop them.”
“Yes!” Kri hurried up the stairs behind him. “Yes! They must be stopped! But Nu Alin-we have to find the last disciple.”
Albanon didn’t look back. “We need to get out of here and far enough away that you can speak calmly and sensibly again.”
“Wait!”
Albanon shook his head and continued up the stairs. Kri’s voice seemed lined with sinister echoes, harsh whispers that conveyed what the priest wasn’t saying-dire threats and fell omens. Albanon started counting stairs again so he could block out the madness.
“Albanon, I command you to stop and look at me!”
Before he could stop himself, Albanon had turned around and sat on a step facing Kri. He scowled at the priest, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “You used magic on me?”
“You weren’t listening!”
“That’s because you’re speaking nonsense or screaming at me. I’m not your apprentice, and I’m not a slave. I won’t take this from you.” He stood up again, though his feet and his head felt shaky. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself.
The wall beneath his fingers was thrumming with power. The whispers became a chorus of voices in his mind, and he had to sit down again or risk toppling down the stairs. His vision was swimming, but he saw Kri staring up at him, one hand on the wall, a look of triumph on his face.
Albanon put his fingers to his temples and drew a slow breath, a simple technique for focusing his mind that he’d learned in the first weeks of his apprenticeship. He blinked several times and looked again at Kri. The priest’s face was creased with concern, not gloating in triumph as he’d first thought. Not only were the voices bedeviling his mind, they’d fooled his eyes as well.
“Kri, listen,” he said. “This place is full of madness. It’s in the air, in the walls, probably in the stairs beneath our feet. We can’t stay here, not even to look for Nu Alin. If we tried to face him here, he’d destroy us, use our own minds against us. We must leave now.”
He stood up again, wavering slightly but steadying himself without touching the wall, turned carefully, and started up the stairs again.
“Albanon,” Kri called behind him.
“I’m not going to stop, Kri. Come on. We have to leave.”
“Don’t you want to know about the Voidharrow?”
Albanon glanced over his shoulder but kept climbing the stairs. “Why are you asking me now?” he said. “It’s not the best place-you said it yourself. And far from the best time.”
“I want to tell you now, Albanon. I want you to understand.”
Kri’s voice sent a chill through his spine. The priest was not himself, and there was a threat in his tone that made Albanon want to run as fast as he could up the stairs. He quickened his pace but held himself back from an outright run.
“I don’t think I want you to tell me right now, Kri,” he said quietly.
“Ingrate!” Kri screamed. “First you come begging for knowledge and chide me for my reluctance to give it, then you refuse it when I offer it freely! No wonder Moorin hated you-you must have driven him mad! Just as you’re driving me mad!”
“No!” Albanon shouted back, still climbing the stairs.
“Always whining about how he mistreated you-What did he say about you?”
“Kri, be still!”
“I will not! You need to hear this! You need to understand!”
“You’re not yourself,” Albanon said, holding back a shout.
“Oh, but I am,” Kri said, his voice deep and hollow. “Never have I been so much my true self.”
Albanon turned to look at Kri again, his eyes wide with terror. He half expected to see a demon where the priest stood, or some visible sign of whatever being had seized control of Kri’s body. But Kri looked perfectly normal, which struck Albanon as much, much worse.
“What is happening?” Albanon whispered.
Kri advanced up the stairs, smiling. Albanon tried to back away, but found himself sitting on the stairs again as Kri drew closer.
“Listen, Albanon. Listen, and learn the truth.”
Cold despair clutched at Albanon’s mind, sapping his will and draining his strength. He thought of protesting, or getting back on his feet to continue up the stairs, but it all seemed futile. The stairs were endless and Kri was unrelenting-there was no escape.
“Remember the mural, Albanon? In Sherinna’s tower. I told you the story of the adventurers who interrupted the ritual and destroyed the Vast Gate. What I have since learned is Albric’s story.”
“Albric the Accursed.”
“So he is called. Albric was a dreamer who heard the voice of the Chained God and obeyed his commands. The Chained God instructed him to
find the shard of the Living Gate and take it to Pandemonium. Albric used that shard to open a tiny channel into the prison of the Chained God.”
“Kri, how do you know this?”
“The Chained God sent the Voidharrow through that channel. It is the distilled essence of entropy and decay, all that remains of a universe consumed by demons, and it is infused with the Chained God’s will. Albric sought to do his will, but the Voidharrow spoke lies and betrayal, and Albric’s acolytes were seduced. The Voidharrow defied the Chained God and transformed the acolytes into agents of its own will. Just as it transformed Vestapalk.”
Albanon’s mind raced, trying to absorb the information Kri was telling him and make sense of Kri’s transformation at the same time.
“Then Sherinna and her friends arrived and sent the disciples into chaos. Most were slain. Some passed living through the Vast Gate into other worlds, other planes. Of all the disciples, only Albric stayed faithful to the Chained God, clinging to his purpose even as the Voidharrow transformed him.”
“But he’s Nu Alin,” Albanon whispered.
“Yes. Nu Alin is Albric, the last true disciple of the Chained God. With the power of Tharizdun, he is the key to defeating the Voidharrow.”
Albanon’s desperation fueled one last attempt to break through the madness that had gripped his friend. “Kri, listen. Just moments ago you were telling me of Ioun’s will, what she wishes for the Order of Vigilance. You are her priest, Kri-a priest of Ioun. She can heal your mind, restore you to right thinking-”
Kri laughed. “I did not know what right thinking was until I glimpsed the mind of the Chained God,” he said. “The Chained God’s will is the same as ours. Albric has been steeped in Tharizdun’s thought and will. He knows what must be done.”
“He serves Vestapalk!” Albanon cried. “He is a demon of the Voidharrow now!”
“You lack understanding, Albanon. The Chained God’s touch has brought me a clarity of purpose and vision like I have never known.” He climbed one stair closer to Albanon. “He can do the same thing for you, my apprentice.”