Don Bassingthwaite - The Eye of the Chained God

Some distance behind the running figures, more shapes came bounding over the rubble of what had been a gate in the wall of the lower town. Where the figures in the street ran on two legs, their pursuers ran sometimes on two, sometimes on four. The afternoon sunlight flashed on red crystal as the creatures ran and a shift in the wind brought a faint, inhuman shriek to Roghar’s ears.

“Plague demons!” he spat. “Uldane, you said Albanon and Tempest were close? Get them!” He whirled and leaped off the wall, drawing cries of surprise from startled workers.

“You’re going down there?” Uldane called after him. “Armed with what?”

“Bahamut’s warriors may set aside their weapons, but they never leave them.” Roghar reached into a niche and pulled out a canvas-shrouded bundle. The wrapping fell away as he lifted the bundle, revealing his sword and a shield emblazoned with the dragonhead crest of his god. He looked back up at Uldane. “Hurry and I’ll let you come with us!”

“Like you could leave me behind.” The halfling sprinted off along the wall.

Around Roghar, townsfolk were reacting as others caught sight of the pursuit below. Some screamed in fear that the refugees might lead the demons straight into their haven. Hardier souls shouted for members of the guard to go to the refugees’ aid, but the few guards close to the scene only looked at each other in confusion. They would never organize themselves to reach the lower town in time. Roghar slid his arm into the familiar straps of his shield and touched the fingers of his other hand to the holy symbol on the shield’s face.

“I answer your call, O Bahamut,” he growled. “Put speed in my feet and strength in my arm.” He snatched up his sword, flicked away the scabbard, and charged through the half-finished gate. “ For Fallcrest! ”

“Bless you, eladrin.” The old woman’s gnarled fingers fastened on Albanon’s hand before he could draw away and she looked up at him with weary, but grateful eyes. “May all the gods smile on you.”

Albanon stiffened, but forced himself to answer kindly. “May the gods of light smile on us all,” he answered and slid his hand away, leaving a fat wedge of cheese from the basket he carried in the woman’s grasp. She turned, breaking the cheese in two to share with an even older man.

“You get blessings,” murmured a voice in his pointed ear, “I’m lucky if I get a surly look, although there was one charming child that spit at me by way of saying thank you.”

He answered without thinking. “Maybe some kind of mask or a hood. Or a bag over your head.”

The air seemed to warm around him and he caught a distinct whiff of smoke and sulfur. “You’ve been around Uldane too long.”

Albanon blinked, shook his head, and turned to Tempest. The tiefling stood behind him with her eyebrows arched so high they almost merged with the curled horns on her head. Her thick, fleshy tail lashed the air and her dark red eyes glared at him. A hint of the infernal power she wielded both by heritage and by bargain rose from her.

“Sorry,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean that. I think it’s Uldane and Splendid both.”

“ Pfft.” The little pseudodragon that curled around his shoulders raised her head. “I would never say such a thing.”

“Thank you, Splendid,” said Tempest, her voice as icy as her gaze was fiery.

“A bag wouldn’t cover your tail.” Splendid stretched grandly and rearranged herself.

Tempest’s eyebrows rose even higher. Her lips tightened until they were almost white. Albanon felt himself shrivel under her gaze-until she laughed abruptly, genuine amusement putting a smile on her face.

“You should see yourself,” she said. “Albanon, I’m a tiefling. If I worried about people judging me by my appearance, or what they think of me, I’d never go out my door.”

A flush warmed Albanon’s cheeks. “But friends aren’t supposed to say things like that.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.” Tempest regarded Splendid. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.”

The pseudodragon let out a derisive snort but didn’t stir from the comfort of her new position. Albanon allowed himself a tentative smile as well. “Still-”

“Still, nothing,” said Tempest, moving on along the street. “Let it go. I’m just glad you agreed to come out of that study. You look like you’ve hardly slept lately. We may need all the help we can get when we face Vestapalk, but too much study has its dangers.” She looked back at him. “I think we can learn that lesson from Kri.”

Albanon’s belly tightened. “That’s not a lesson I’m going to forget,” he said immediately, and perhaps a little too harshly. Tempest glanced at him.

“I’m almost sorry I never met the old priest,” she said. “To come here and win your trust, then to turn on you and his god… you might say it wasn’t his fault, that something he found drove him mad and made him renounce Ioun, but I’ll tell you this.” She paused and faced him, dropping her voice. “In my experience, anyone who has ever been seduced by power gave it the first toehold willingly.”

“I understand what you mean,” Albanon told her.

“Do you? Kri turned to Tharizdun, Albanon. The god of madness and annihilation. The Chained God, imprisoned by the other gods for creating the Abyss. Kri may have started looking for a way to defeat Vestapalk and the Voidharrow, but he ended up trying to set Tharizdun free.”

“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.