The Eye of the Chained God

by Bassingthwaite, Don

  “A demon.” He fixed his gaze on a suspicious shadow, waited until the moonlight caught it, then cursed when it did. “Another one.” The tips of his ears prickled. “There won’t be just two of them. They’re out there.”

  “Do we call the alarm or just hope they leave us alone like the ones in the Cloak Wood?” asked Splendid from his shoulder.

  “We call the alarm. It isn’t just about us tonight.” He looked around for the other watcher on his section of the wall, an older merchant named Bairwin who handled a sword like he knew what to do with it and who carried a hunting horn for just this moment. Just as he did, though, the moon broke through the clouds, washing Winterhaven with cold, bright light.

  In the sudden radiance, a full two score demons stood revealed, the crystals growing from their hides glittering darkly. “Goblin kisser!” yelped Uldane.

  Albanon saw Bairwin grab his horn and raise it to his mouth, but there was no need to sound an alarm. As if the bright moonlight had been a signal, the demons howled and charged. The sound was like a sword punching through Albanon’s chest. To anyone down in the village, there could be no doubt as to what was taking place beyond the walls.

  He had no chance to look back and see, however. The horde came bounding, leaping, and running across the short distance separating them from Winterhaven. Smaller bestial demons like hounds took the lead, but one massive figure stood out in the midst of the charge: a four-armed demon larger than an ogre and twice as broad. Crimson crystals grew to form armor not just across its shoulders, but in a thick plate over its skull as well. Powerful legs thrust against the ground, propelling the demon forward—straight toward the village gate. The gate was strong and the beam bracing it heavy, but Albanon had a vision of both flying to splinters at the impact of this living battering ram.

  Along the wall, Bairwin cursed and fumbled as he tried to fit an arrow to his bow. Uldane looked down at the throwing knife in his hand, then up at Albanon, his eyes wide. The wizard clenched his jaw. “I know,” he said. “It’s going to take more than arrows or knives to stop it.”

  He darted along the wall, ignoring Splendid’s frightened leap from his shoulder, so that he stood directly over the gate and right in the demon juggernaut’s path. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of considering what might happen if he succumbed to the mad urge to expand the magic—he had enough to fear already. Holding his staff tight, he thrust it over the wall and shouted the carefully formed words of a spell. Arcane energy poured through him and through the staff, bursting from it in an invisible blast of force that betrayed itself only as ripples in the air.

  The spell slammed into the demon like the blow of a titanic hammer. The huge creature flew backward, bowling over half a dozen lesser demons. When it hit the ground, it lay still and Albanon thought he could see a long, dark crack bisecting the thing’s heavy crystal skullplate. For several heartbeats, the other demons didn’t seem to realize the big one was no longer with them. Albanon might have found the sight of them running headlong into the gates amusing if it hadn’t been accompanied by their bloodcurdling howls.

  “Well done, wizard,” said Bairwin. “Well done.” The man’s chest heaved as he struggled to calm himself. Albanon knew exactly how he felt.

  “He’s only bought us time.” Suddenly Ninaran, the elf woman, was with them. “Get busy with your bow, you idiot.”

  The other watchers had joined them as well, all of them stringing bows or madly cranking back crossbows. From below and behind, Roghar’s voice rose up, demanding to know what had happened. Albanon glanced down the wall. The paladin stood with Lord Padraig, Tempest, Belen, Immeral, Thair Coalstriker, and all of Winterhaven’s other defenders.

  “We brought down a big demon trying to ram the gates,” he shouted back. Bow strings twanged around him. Screeches of pain broke the howls of the demons. “There are a lot more, though.”

  Padraig’s face hardened. He began calling names and issuing orders. Some defenders moved to stand by the gates. Others raced up the stairs to reinforce the watchers. Albanon turned back to face the demons. They milled around outside the gates like a pack of mad dogs, snapping and clawing at the arrows that fell among them, but showing no signs of dispersing. Those that fell were trampled and shredded without care.

  “More spells would be good, eladrin,” Ninaran said between clenched teeth. “Keep them back from the gates.” She loosed an arrow and another demon screamed.

  Albanon pressed his lips together, picked his target, and gestured with his staff. Flame roared up in a golden column, leaving two demons writhing on the ground and sending two more dancing back. Ninaran raised a thin eyebrow and nodded approvingly. Albanon felt a small triumph as well. He was in control of his magic. The burned demons weren’t down yet, though. As they tried to rise, Albanon flicked his fingers and a bolt of silvery force flung one of them back to the ground—just as a blast of smoky flame engulfed the other. Albanon turned to find Tempest beside him, rod in hand.

  She smiled at him. “I’m not letting you have all the fun.” She pointed her rod into the thick of the demons and loosed another sooty blast.

  Her fun, however, seemed like it would be short-lived. The demons were already pulling back. “They’re retreating!” Bairwin said.

  A chill passed up Albanon’s spine. The demons were moving away from the walls of Winterhaven, but not as if they’d been driven back by arrows or magic. They still hissed and snapped and snarled, their fury undiminished. It was more as if they were clearing a space before the walls.

  “They’re not retreating,” he said softly. “Something is calling them.”

  “Calling them back?” said Ninaran. “What is bloody capable of calling back a pack of demons?”

  As if in answer to her question, the demon horde split, making an aisle through their numbers. The form that came drifting between them was nearly as tall as the demon that had tried to ram the gates, but thin and almost insubstantial, like the shadow of a tree brought to life. Narrow fingers on long hands and arms stroked the air. The thing’s face was strangely featureless except for a dark slit of a mouth and eyes that glittered like Voidharrow. Red and silver crystal flashed at its core, shrouded by the shadowy stuff of its body. Where it passed, the demons closed in behind it.

  Bairwin cursed quietly. “Merciful gods, what is that?”

  “A nightmare demon,” Albanon said. “We’ve fought them before. If it touches you, it can bring out your worst fears.”

  “If it touches you?” growled Ninaran. “Then unless it can fly, it’s not much of a threat.” She drew back her bow, her arrow trained on the creature’s crystal heart. The movement brought the demon’s head snapping up. Its red-eyed gaze raked the battlements.

  And Winterhaven’s defenders started screaming.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It felt to Albanon as if the village walls were crumbling underneath him and he were plummeting toward the claws and fangs of the demons below. His heart leaped into his throat. His staff slipped out of his grip and he grabbed onto the parapet—the very solid parapet—with both hands. “It’s not real,” he told himself, trying to focus past the terror. “It’s not real.”

  But it seemed real. Plague demons were all around him. One howled and swiped at him with bloodstained claws. He ducked, kicked back at the creature out of instinct, and felt his foot connect with flesh. The demon doubled over but kept clawing at him. Albanon pressed up against the parapet and tried to focus his fear-wracked mind on the arcane patterns of a spell.

  “Albanon, no!” Roghar’s voice echoed over the cries of the demons. Beyond the creature that menaced him, Albanon saw the paladin come charging up the stairs onto the wall. Roghar thrust his shield before him, the symbol of the platinum dragon shining on its surface. “Bahamut, free him from his fears!”

  The power of Roghar’s faith was like a cool breeze. Albanon’s terror wavered, then dissipated entirely. The stone was once again solid beneath his feet and the gibbering demons were onc
e more out of reach. Along the wall, many of Winterhaven’s defenders were struggling with each other while others simply curled up in fear. The creature that had clawed at him, that he had been on the verge of blasting with his spell, was Bairwin. The other man’s eyes were still wide and desperate. What had seemed like demonic howls resolved into frightened screams. “Somebody help me! They’re on the walls. They’re on the walls!”

  He threw himself at Albanon once more, but this time Roghar was behind him. The big dragonborn reached out and grabbed his collar, hauling him back and slamming him down hard. The impact knocked the wind out of Bairwin and left him gasping for breath. Roghar stepped over him. “Are you all right?” he asked Albanon.

  The eladrin nodded, then twisted around. “Tempest! Uldane!”

  “Here.” Tempest crouched below the parapet. Her face was pale and her limbs were trembling, but she had resisted the worst of the nightmare demon’s power. Albanon took her hand and helped her stand. Uldane was a little further along the wall. It seemed he’d escaped the demon’s attack entirely—his face was taut but clear, and he held his own against three fear-crazed men.

  But those who’d been affected by the demon’s attack were no longer the only ones on the wall. Other defenders followed Roghar’s example and rushed up from the courtyard to help their stricken friends. Albanon looked back out at the nightmare demon. It stood impassive, though the frenzied pack once more churned around it in a renewed assault on the gate. Its red eyes watched the activity on top of the wall. Albanon’s gut tensed. The nightmare demon was waiting, he realized. Waiting for more would-be saviors to reach the top of the wall before unleashing its terrifying gaze a second time.

  “We have to stop that demon,” he said.

  “It would be my pleasure,” said Tempest. She pulled away from Albanon and raised her rod high. A harsh and chilling invocation spilled from her lips. At the sound of it, the demon’s eyes snapped to her, but it wasn’t quick enough. A cold white light engulfed the rod—and the nightmare demon. For the first time, the shadowy creature let out a cry, a thin wail of anguish. It flailed its arms and focused its gaze intently on the trio standing on the wall. Albanon felt its power brush his mind, threatening to plunge him into terror once more, but Roghar growled and thrust his shield forward. The might of Bahamut curled around them protectively.

  Tempest spun her rod in a tight circle. The light surrounding the demon spun as well, turning into a whirlwind of radiance. The demon’s cries grew higher, more pained, as the rushing light tore at its shadowy substance. It cringed and tried to shield itself, but to no effect. The light burned it, then whirled its ashes away. Tempest’s eyes narrowed. The rod spun more tightly. The swirling light picked up speed, killing the demon little by little. Along the walls, Winterhaven’s defenders emerged from their terror as the creature’s power faded. Down below, the demon horde redoubled their frenzy. They shied away from the radiance of Tempest’s spell but otherwise paid no attention to the nightmare demon as it screamed and fought its death. All of their fury was directed with single-minded intensity at the gates.

  A nagging feeling tugged at Albanon. Something wasn’t right. The plague demons didn’t seem to care that they trampled and clawed at other members of their horde, so it shouldn’t have mattered that they ignored the brilliant death of the nightmare demon. Or should it? As the defenders of Winterhaven cheered—Roghar and Uldane among them and even Splendid emerging from whatever hiding spot she’d found to twirl overhead—Albanon tried to focus his thoughts over the chaos. They’d fought nightmare demons before, but never one that had been able to direct its power through its gaze. The creature was powerful and judging from the way the horde of plague demons had drawn back before it, it was powerful enough to command their respect. Powerful enough to be the leader of the horde, surely.

  But if it was the leader, the key demon that kept all the others focused on their goal, why wasn’t the horde’s attack falling apart?

  Even as he thought it, Tempest’s spell crushed in on the demon. Its shriek rose and broke, then vanished entirely along with the light. A scarred husk collapsed to the ground. Tempest lowered her rod and turned around. Her teeth flashed white. “One demon stopped,” she said.

  “No.” Albanon bent down and snatched up the staff he had dropped, gripping it tight. “We’re not done. There’s another demon somewhere, one more powerful than the nightmare demon. It’s the one commanding the horde.”

  Roghar let out a curse unbecoming of a paladin. “Where is it, then? It seems like we already have the entire pack right here.”

  Albanon stared out into the darkness. Beyond the churning melee before the gates, nothing moved. If another demon lurked in the shadows, it was well-hidden. He searched the horde as it hammered at the gates and scrabbled at the walls, but none of the demons seemed powerful enough to dominate the others. Another of the great juggernauts had appeared, yet this one, though towering tall and lanky, wasn’t as massive as the other that had charged the gates. In fact, the defenders of Winterhaven appeared to be gaining the upper hand. The wall was crowded with men and women thrusting down with long pikes and leaning out over the parapets to loose arrows and bolts into the massed creatures below. Albanon could hear Lord Padraig calling for people to return to the defense of the gate. It was so crowded that, when a lithe demon jumped up onto the tall juggernaut and swung itself high, three pikes clashed together as their wielders tried to skewer it. The demon fell short anyway, but it might have made the wall if the pikemen had not been there, or if the towering juggernaut had offered it actual assistance.

  A sudden sickening certainty made the tips of his ears crawl. Where had the second juggernaut come from? What had it been doing during the first part of the attack? “Mercy of the gods,” he whispered. “The lead demon isn’t outside. We’ve let it get inside the village.”

  If he’d had wings, he would have flown high and simply dropped into the middle of Winterhaven. But he didn’t—though sometimes his memories of the sensation were so vivid he might have fooled himself into believing that he did—so he built his plan around the next best alternative. Among the minions he had gathered was a demon of particular height and strength. Not so strong as others of its kind or so tall as to be able to reach the top of Winterhaven’s walls directly, but both strong and tall enough to enable another to reach the parapets.

  It had only been a matter of waiting until the right moment, when the moon broke through the scudding clouds. Not because the demons needed light to see, but because those on the wall would be sure to see their attackers. The moonlight came and it only took a whisper through the connection of the Voidharrow to launch the attack. On the other side of Winterhaven, howling demons rushed the gate. He’d waited the few moments it took the humans patrolling his stretch of wall to rush away, then ordered his tall minion into position against the stones. His pride wouldn’t permit him to be lifted or carried, so he scaled the demon like a tree, his talons gouging its tough hide. A leap from its shoulder and he had caught the parapet, then swung himself over.

  The walls of Winterhaven had been breached.

  He dismissed his minion below with a gesture and it moved away. From the direction of the gates came the shouts of villagers and the howls of demons. He guessed the massive creature he had set to lead the attack by ramming the gates had failed. He wasn’t surprised. His prey was in Winterhaven. He had seen the eladrin, Albanon, on the walls. The others would be close to him. Those who had slain Raid and Nu Alin wouldn’t fall to any lesser demon.

  “This one prepares,” he growled to the night.

  This one is eager, came the reply through the Voidharrow.

  He bared his teeth and dropped lightly into the shadows below the wall. His goal lay across the village—not his prey, but the gate. It was possible that the small horde he had assembled would be able to break it down from outside, but not likely. He wanted them inside Winterhaven’s walls. The warning he had delivered earlier would keep them fr
om his prey, but their presence, their slaughter of the villagers, would be a distraction. He’d learned from the destruction of Nu Alin and Raid. He would not allow his prey the advantage of numbers. He would divide them and take them one by one.

  Screams from the wall heralded the attack of the nightmare demon and the second wave of the horde’s assault. He paused to look for his prey. The wizard reeled on the wall, the tiefling and the halfling alongside him, as the dragonborn paladin rushed to their aid. All of his enemies accounted for, but all in one place. His eyes narrowed. They would need to be separated.

  A door in the building behind him opened.

  He turned instantly and caught a glimpse of an old human woman peering out, her urge for safety probably overcome by curiosity at the screams. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, then he was on her. The great talon on his right hand stabbed up through the woman’s belly and under her ribs. Her wide eyes grew wider. A dry croak emerged from the woman’s throat.

  He felt disgust. “This one was made to kill greater creatures than you,” he said and twisted his hand. Life shuddered from the woman’s body. He let her fall inside the door and listened for the noise of others in the house. There was only silence. Stealth was not his primary concern, but the closer he was able to get to Winterhaven’s gate without being detected, the better.

  The screams of villagers were replaced by the wail of a demon before he had passed two more houses. On the wall, the tiefling warlock stood with her rod raised and glowing, her attention fixed on a cold, white light that lit the darkness beyond. He felt the dying of the nightmare demon through the Voidharrow and quickened his pace. The creature had done its work, both with its attack and with its destruction. Almost all of Winterhaven’s defenders had rushed up onto the wall to battle the demons on the other side. A man in better armor than most was trying to call some of them back. The lord of the village, perhaps. The commander of its forces, certainly.