Don Bassingthwaite: The Eye of the Chained God

Kri led him through the very heart of the demon attack to the tower that had belonged to Albanon’s murdered master, Moorin. There, where Moorin had been slaughtered, Kri attempted the same ritual Nu Alin once had, utilizing a fragment of ancient crystal to open a gate to the sealed plane where Tharizdun was imprisoned. Unlike Nu Alin, Kri succeeded. The eye of the Chained God peered through the gate and for the first time in hundreds of years, his power had touched the world. Albanon barely recovered himself in time to prevent more than Tharizdun’s gaze from passing through the portal. Using his magic, he changed the gate’s focus, slamming the door on Tharizdun’s prison and opening a new one to summon allies, huntsmen from the Feywild, to fight against Kri.

The embattled priest had escaped through the gate, changing its destination once more and shattering it behind him. He might have gone anywhere, but at least he wasn’t in Fallcrest. Tharizdun remained imprisoned and the world had only the Abyssal Plague to worry about once more.

At least, that was what he had told the others…

No, he told himself before his thoughts could turn in a more dangerous direction. Do not think it. Do not remember it.

Up ahead, both Shara and Belen had lifted their faces to watch Splendid’s flight, then turned to look at him. Albanon put a sheepish grin on his face and hurried to catch up to them. “Sorry, just a little argument. You know how she is.”

Tempest grunted, too familiar with Splendid’s moods not to accept the explanation. Belen gave an uncertain nod, not familiar enough to deny it. She was a hardened woman, a soldier by training, somewhat older in human years than either he or Tempest. She looked awkward with the blankets in her arms, as if she’d rather be keeping order among the crowds of refugees than distributing comfort to them. But then, Albanon didn’t think he’d seen her look anything but awkward over the past few days. He smiled at her warmly and asked, “How are you, Belen?”

“I’m still in Fallcrest when there’s a demon-dragon to kill and I still have dreams of the world dissolving into fire and red crystal ooze. Thank you for asking,” the lieutenant said, her voice like stone. “But when are we leaving?”

He should have been prepared for her bluntness. “Soon,” he told her. This lie came harder, a deliberate falsehood rather than an omission. “I just need to find something that will help us stop Vestapalk-”

“Searching isn’t doing. I see him, Albanon.” Belen ground the knuckles of her free hand against her forehead, her voice harsh.

A burst of anger broke over Albanon. First, Tempest had pushed him, then Splendid… He caught Belen’s hand and dragged it down. “Then you don’t understand what we’re facing,” he said. “This isn’t going to be like breaking up a tavern brawl or bringing down some bandits.” He glared at Tempest. “This isn’t going to be like anything else we’ve gone against before, either.”

Belen’s face wrinkled and she twisted her hand sharply. Albanon’s wrist bent painfully and abruptly he was the one being held. Belen shoved her face into his. “Don’t try to tell me I don’t understand what we’re facing. You never had that thing inside you. How do you know what we’re going to face?”

“Belen.” Tempest’s face was hard, but her tone was calming. The warrior woman scowled, then turned Albanon loose. He stepped back, rubbing his wrist. Tempest looked at him. “Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“I think we deserve an answer. How do you know what we’re going to face? Have you found something in those books after all?”

Anger and beligerence faded sharply. “A… little,” he said, fumbling for an explanation. “Not enough to have answers, only enough to know that Vestapalk is more powerful than last time we faced him. And that the Plaguedeep isn’t like anything else in this world. What’s in the books is only a start. Combined with what you and Belen experienced…”

Belen’s eyes narrowed at that and Tempest’s lips pressed tight. There was no levity in her voice when she spoke. “I think what he’s trying to say,” she said to Belen, “is that if we’re going to do something, we have to do it right. When we confront Vestapalk, we want to make sure we end him.” The tiefling gave Albanon a hard look. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he said quickly. Belen’s face flushed with frustration but eventually she nodded.

“Soon?” she said.

“Soon.”

“It had better be.”

Tempest took the warrior’s arm and drew her on to the next clump of refugees without looking back at him. Albanon followed, feeling relieved, but unsettled. Belen and Tempest had formed a unique bond since the attack on Fallcrest-so far as any of them knew, they were the only two beings to have survived possession by Nu Alin. They were the lucky ones. They had each other to understand what they had experienced.

Albanon let his breath out slowly. That Vestapalk didn’t know-couldn’t know-that they’d learned of his location was a powerful draw to action. Belen’s information drawn from Nu Alin’s memories and the knowledge that they could reach his lair in this so-called Plaguedeep with only a week’s journey made Roghar and the others even more eager to be off after the dragon.

It was tempting to let them go. The others were strong-they’d get along without him. It might even be better for them if he wasn’t there. But he had to go. He wanted to go. He had to help stop this.

You can stop it, part of him whispered like a second voice in his head. You have the power. You know how to use it. You might not even need them.

No. He choked off the voices of doubt, desire, and duty that been swirling in his head for days. What he had to do was get back to the Glowing Tower. He needed quiet. He needed time to sort out what he was feeling. Another day. The others would believe him if he told them he needed another day of research. He opened his mouth, drew breath to tell Tempest he was returning to the tower-

“Albanon! Tempest!”

Uldane’s voice brought them all around. The halfling slid to a stop, not bothering to come right up to them. He was already jogging backward, in the direction of Roghar’s gatehouse, as he blurted, “Come with me! Plague demons are chasing travelers in the lower town-Roghar’s going after them.”

He should have kept his voice down. The mention of plague demons brought an instant panic to the refugees around them. People screamed and jostled. Belen cursed. “Get them under control,” Tempest told her. “We’ll go help Roghar.”

“Shadow take them,” the lieutenant snapped. She dropped her burden of blankets and drew her sword. “I’m coming with you.”

Tempest flashed her a sharp-toothed grin and started after Uldane, then looked back. “Albanon?”

He realized that he hadn’t moved. Doubt, duty, and desire rose again like a storm inside him. He wanted to go fight the demons, yet the idea filled him with dread. But how could he abandon his friends?

“Albanon, come on!” said Uldane, hopping from foot to foot.

Albanon clenched his jaw, thrust his basket at the nearest person who didn’t look totally panic-stricken, and gathered his robes for running.

“Let’s go,” he said through his teeth.

By the time they reached the half-constructed gatehouse, Roghar was already two turns down the snaking road that traversed the bluffs. “He left without us!” Uldane yelped. “He’s going to get to the fight before we catch him.”

Down in the lower town, the fleeing figures of travelers were halfway between the Moonwash Stream and the open expanse of the Market Green. Their bounding, sprinting pursuers had reached the water, and would catch their quarry on the green.