Don Bassingthwaite - The Eye of the Chained God

There were six others on the walls with him and Ninaran. Seven if Splendid, perched in her usual spot around his neck, counted. If anything happened, an alarm would bring the full force of the village charging to the rescue. To Albanon that still seemed like a feeble response to whatever might come knocking in the night. He paused by the gates and peered out into the darkness.

The countryside lay quiet and still, a deceptively peaceful landscape broken by abandoned farmsteads and thick copses of trees. Above it, the night sky went on and on. It was intimidating in its vastness. The scattered clouds served only to emphasize how huge and deep it was. Philosophers and sages wondered what mysteries and secret powers lay beyond the multitude of cold, distant stars. Albanon felt like he already knew. The draw to the north was a physical ache inside him. He raised his eyes to the vault of the night.

The eye of Tharizdun looked back at him. The Chained God’s gaze was merciless and heavy, a void that consumed the stars themselves. Go, it seemed to command him. Go now and find what waits for you.

Albanon squeezed his staff in his hands and clenched his teeth until they hurt. “No,” he snarled. “I go at my own pace by my own will, not by yours!”

Something brushed his cheek, dry and scaly. “Have you fallen asleep?” demanded Splendid’s acid voice. “It’s cold. Keep moving.”

The weight of Tharizdun’s gaze vanished. Albanon opened eyes he didn’t remember closing and took a slow breath. The night was only the night. The stars were only the stars. He forced his cramped hand off his staff and reached up to scratch Splendid under her chin.

She twitched back for a moment before leaning into the scratch. “Ahhh,” she said. “That’s more like it.” The pseudodragon rubbed her body against his neck and shoulder, her scales rubbing almost-but not quite-painfully. “You need to do that more often.”

Albanon chuckled. Splendid loved her simple pleasures. “If you had your way, I would wear my fingers down and you’d want me to keep going.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She wriggled around, stretching her neck out to look at him. “Moorin knew how important it was to stop and relax sometimes.”

His fingers slowed. “Moorin didn’t face what I do, Splendid.”

“Didn’t he? Moorin was a member of the Order of Vigilance, training you to take his place. He was the guardian of the captive Voidharrow, something so secret he didn’t even tell me about it. He still found time to forget his responsibilities and enjoy life.”

“I don’t remember that.”

Splendid snorted and pulled away. “Apprentices never remember the good times. Ungrateful wretches.”

Albanon smiled. “I like you too, Splendid.” She sniffed and turned her head away, but her forepaws kneaded his chest affectionately.

A boot scraped on the stone behind Albanon. The wizard knew who it was before he turned around. Only one person deliberately dragged his foot that way to announce his presence. “Uldane,” he said, “you don’t have to be up here until later. We couldn’t find you, so we put you on the second watch with Tempest and Immeral.” He turned around.

The halfling looked miserable. He also looked dusty, as if he’d just crawled out of some long neglected hiding hole. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Albanon, do you think I was right to tell Shara she betrayed Jarren by taking up with Quarhaun?”

It seemed like it was going to be a night for hard questions. Albanon leaned on his staff and thought before he answered. “How exactly is Shara betraying Jarren?”

“She can do better than Quarhaun!”

Albanon gave Uldane a level look. “That doesn’t sound like betraying Jarren. What’s wrong with Quarhaun?”

“He’s arrogant. He’s rude. He uses people.” Uldane began pacing back and forth on the narrow walkway. “He doesn’t give a muskrat’s whisker about anyone!”

“Except Shara.”

The halfling glared at him. “Quarhaun’s a typical drow,” he said. “You’ve never heard his stories about growing up in the Underdark, have you? Lies, treachery, assassination-it’s enough to scare the smallclothes off you, and he acts like it’s all normal.”

“Shara sees something in him, though.”

Uldane’s expression twisted and he spat on the stones at Albanon’s feet. “You sound like Thair.” He turned toward the stairs down from the wall. Albanon grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said, holding tight as Uldane tried to shrug him off. “How would you describe Immeral?”

Uldane raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled at the turn in questioning. “Brave. Loyal. Respectful.”

“Not to his face,” said Albanon. He turned Uldane loose. “What if you were talking about him behind his back.”

“I wouldn’t-” This time Albanon raised an eyebrow. Uldane shrugged. “Formal,” he said. “Stiff. Cold. Distant.”

“So a typical eladrin.”

“Yes,” Uldane agreed, then winced as he remembered who he was talking to. “You’re not like that.”

“I know,” Albanon said, “but it took some time living away from the Feywild before I was comfortable with it. Maybe Quarhaun needs time away from the Underdark with people he knows he can trust.”

Uldane made a face. He fidgeted where he stood, walked back and forth a couple of times-then stepped up to the parapet and punched it. Albanon turned to look at him in surprise. The halfling’s face deepened into a scowl and he shook a hand with blood oozing from split knuckles. “I still don’t like him,” he said harshly.

“I don’t think you have to,” said Albanon, but he froze even as the words left his mouth.

Out in the dark countryside, something flashed in the moonlight. He moved to the parapet and leaned out, peering into the night.

“What?” said Uldane, turning to stand alongside him. “Do you see something?”

“Maybe.” The shifting clouds gave the illusion of movement to every shadow. The pale moonlight erased color at a distance, but the flash had seemed distinctly and disturbingly crystalline. He stared at the place he had seen it. Or thought he had seen it. When the flash came again, he realized it was much closer than he’d believed. A plague demon, one of the big four-armed kind, stood half-hidden beside the trunk of a tree only a little more than a bowshot beyond the wall. Fear made a sour taste in his mouth. He cursed under his breath and searched for more.

“What do you see?” asked Uldane.

“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.