Don Bassingthwaite - The Eye of the Chained God

Shara glared at him. “You’re insane and a traitor. That’s not telling stories, that’s warning people.”

“Be civil,” said Albanon to both of them. The wizard was trying his best to appear calm, but Kri could see the conflict in him. Albanon might attempt to deny it, but the power he had embraced in shattering the sealed doors of the cloister was his already. “At least for tonight. Shara, we need Kri to defeat Vestapalk. Kri, the Tigerclaws don’t like Tharizdun-”

“Who does?” muttered Shara.

Kri took a certain satisfaction in seeing Albanon wince and elbow her before continuing, “We’ve earned their respect, but it’s precarious. No preaching.”

He smiled in his best fawning manner. “Of course. You know, you sound exactly like Moorin when you say that.”

Albanon’s scowl joined Shara’s.

Still, Kri did have to admit that the Tigerclaws treated them all with more respect than he’d ever experienced in previous encounters with the barbarians. Their hunters caught food for all of them-an excellent change from peryton eggs-and as the temperature dropped, one of them gave him a cloak left by warrior killed by Vestausan and Vestausir. Kri sat around a fire with the others, Turbull, and some of the remaining Tigerclaws, feeling content for the first time in a very long while. He had pleased his god, or at least it seemed as if he had. With Albanon’s aid, he would be the Chained God’s instrument of vengeance on the Voidharrow. Shara and Uldane’s open glares couldn’t bother him, nor could Tempest and Quarhaun’s mistrustful wariness or the Tigerclaws’ whispering when they didn’t think he could hear them. Even Albanon’s butchered explanation of the nature of the Voidharrow and of how extracting Tharizdun’s will was the key to destroying it failed to grate on his nerves.

Much, anyway. By the gods, the wizard’s old mentor had been sloppy in his training.

When the bulky Tigerclaw named Hurn asked-the third person to do so-exactly what had happened to the dragon after it had been “melted,” Kri couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up.

“Vestausan and Vestausir weren’t ‘melted’ or ‘evaporated,’ ” he said. “The creature was formed out of the Voidharrow and when the will of Tharizdun was removed, there was nothing left to protect it. The stuff of our world attacked and destroyed it. To answer the question I think you’re really trying to ask, it is completely gone. There is no residue of it drifting around the valley, waiting to condense with the morning dew. If your tribe wishes to attempt to hide from the Abyssal Plague in the valley, you won’t be troubled unless more plague demons come.”

The blunt answer earned him a growl from Hurn and a wince from Albanon. “Kri!”

“You said no preaching. I offered an explanation that was clearer than what you attempted.” Kri turned back to Hurn. “Any further questions?”

Hurn looked to Turbull with an angry expression but the shifter chief waved him to silence and said instead, “The Thornpad won’t return here. We’ll seek another refuge.”

“Why?” asked Albanon. “The perytons are gone.”

“And we thank you, but I won’t expose my people to a danger almost as great as the Abyssal Plague.”

Kri snorted. “I told you, there’s nothing to fear in the cloister.”

“The Elder Eye watches,” said Turbull, his catlike eyes narrowing and a trace of a snarl creeping into his voice. “I have no desire to remain under its gaze.”

The cracks in his mask of a wise and calm leader were beginning to show. Kri was tempted to push him, to show him just what Tharizdun’s freedom could offer, but Turbull turned his back on him and spoke to Albanon. “Return to our camp with us and reclaim your horses and the gear you left. We will share what provisions we can.”

“If we’re successful, you won’t need to fear the plague,” said Albanon.

“You know where to find Vestapalk?”

“West and south from here, past the Ogrefist Hills.”

“A hard journey. Harder if Vestapalk sends demons to stop you. You say he can take possession of any plague demon? He sees and speaks through them?”

Albanon nodded. “The Voidharrow connects them. Maybe if we can avoid plague demons, we can keep him from finding us. That might make the journey easier.”

“I know woodcraft,” said Shara. “I can keep us hidden.”

“You?” asked Cariss. “You crashed through the forest like a raging boar last night. If you need to hide, it will take more woodcraft than you have.” She stood up. “Turbull, I will go with them. I owe Albanon my life. I haven’t paid that debt yet.”

The eladrin looked startled and sputtered something about how she owed him nothing, but his protest was drowned out by a curse from Hurn. “Leave the tribe? You will be Riven!” He spat.

Cariss spat back at him. “I’ll return!”

“Hurn, not every Tigerclaw who ventures beyond the tribe has to be declared Riven,” said Turbull. “And not every Riven is a feral monster. They can redeem themselves.” The chief raised his hand to Cariss. “Go. Do what you must.”

Albanon still looked like he wanted to protest, but Belen grabbed him and whispered something to him. He frowned, but then bent his head to Cariss. She nodded back to him somberly.

Hurn still didn’t seem happy. “Vestapalk’s creature found them here, didn’t it?” he said. “How? We’ve seen no plague demons since we came to the mountains.”

“Luck,” said Roghar, speaking up for the first time. The dragonborn sat a little apart from the others, still wearing full armor. “Chance. Maybe it followed us from Winterhaven.”

“We would have seen it,” pointed out Uldane. “It didn’t seem like subtlety was its strong point. I don’t think it would have waited to attack us. Maybe your patrols haven’t been as thorough as you thought, Hurn. Maybe there is a plague demon-it would only take one, right?”

The shifter bared his teeth at the suggestion. The other Tigerclaws looked uneasy. So, Kri noticed, did Roghar. He smiled to himself, then said calmly, “Perhaps a bit of both. Plague demons may have seen you travelling north, then Vestapalk could have dispatched Vestausan and Vestausir to search the region for you. If the beast was spawned in the Plaguedeep, it would have taken time for it to get here.”

The others stared at him. “That seems… reasonable,” said Albanon.

“Of course it’s reasonable,” Kri said, lifting his head proudly. “You don’t need to act surprised. I’m only mad some of the time, you know.”

The stares got a little wider. Those around the fire shifted uncomfortably. Kri rolled his eyes and sighed. “That was a joke.” No one laughed. He shrugged and sat back. “Perhaps not. But then, I imagine you’re all worried about your camp anyway. If Vestausir and Vestausan circled the area before they found us, they likely saw your camp first.”

That provoked a reaction. Hurn jumped to his feet with a howl and cries of dismay erupted from other Tigerclaws around the fire. Turbull looked stricken. Even Tempest and Belen seemed worried. Kri almost chuckled out loud.

Albanon spoiled his fun. “Kri, stop,” he said. “Turbull, he’s manipulating you. If your camp had been attacked, we’d have seen some sign, right? Vestausan and Vestausir probably would have taunted you with it.”

Turbull’s face tightened. “You may be right,” he said. “You may not. Hurn, take a few warriors. Go back to the camp tonight.”

The big shifter left the circle around the fire and raced around the campsite, picking others to go with him. Turbull glared at Kri. “You would find a place among the Riven, Kri Redshal.”

Kri smiled. “Maybe when I’m finished with Vestapalk.”