Don Bassingthwaite - The Eye of the Chained God

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.

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 once 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.