The Eye of the Chained God (23 page)

“I’ve just been talking to them. The Tigerclaws are holding them captive in a tent over there!” Uldane pointed. “They’ve been here for days.”

Words failed the wizard. He twisted around and stared at Turbull. The shifter, though, seemed as surprised as him. “You know the drow and the human?” Turbull’s eyes narrowed before Albanon could respond. “No, don’t answer.” He raised his voice, speaking for the benefit of those round them. “These are matters to discuss beneath the hide of a tent. Come with me and we will speak. Cariss and Hurn, you will be my witnesses—”

“Oh, no,” said Uldane. “We can discuss this right here. I want answers and I want them now!” The halfling grabbed Turbull’s wrist as if he could hold him in place.

At the same time, Belen seized Albanon’s arm. “Do something to keep him quiet!” she said. “Turbull is trying to save face. If he loses control of the situation, we’re all dead.”

Albanon glanced around the camp. The Tigerclaws were starting to recover from their surprise. Confusion
was giving way to ugly glares, and not just among the warriors. Those beyond the inner circle were also growing restless. Albanon threw a quick look to Tempest and received a sharp nod in return. The eladrin clenched his jaw and stood up, stepping forward to stand by Turbull and Uldane.

“We will listen,” he said loudly and with deliberate formality. “If there is a misunderstanding we can resolve it in private.”

Gratitude flickered in Turbull’s eyes, but Uldane looked shocked. “Albanon, did you hear what I said? They’ve got Shara and Quarhaun—”

“We’ll deal with it, Uldane,” Albanon said under his breath. “Let Turbull go.”

“But—”

“Let him go!”

With a grumble and a curse, Uldane released his hold on Turbull, but glared up at the chief. “If we’re going to talk,” he said just as loudly as Albanon as had, “we’re going to do it in front of your prisoners.”

Turbull’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “If you demand it.” He looked out at the Tigerclaws. “The feast continues. We will return.”

He strode off so abruptly that Albanon was left uncertain if he should follow or not. The looks on the faces of Cariss and Hurn as they stepped out from among the other warriors made up his mind. Albanon grabbed Uldane—not very gently—and hustled him after Turbull as Tempest, Belen, and Roghar followed behind.

“What did you think you were doing wandering away like that?” he said. “We had to cover for you when Cariss and Hurn came for us. We could have been in trouble.”

“More trouble than Shara and Quarhaun are in?” Uldane snapped back at him. He shook off Albanon’s hand. “If I hadn’t gone exploring, I wouldn’t have noticed that there was a tent under guard and I wouldn’t have found them. We wouldn’t even have known they were here. What about that?”

Albanon started to answer, then stopped. Uldane was right. If Uldane hadn’t snuck off, they might have left the camp without knowing how close they’d come to their lost friends. “You talked to them?” he asked instead. Uldane nodded. “How are they? How did they end up here?”

“They ended up here,” said Cariss abruptly from Albanon’s other side, “because we caught them in our camp at night, skulking like thieves. It was a hard fight to capture them alive. If you’d been in the camp when we’d caught you, you’d be with them right now.”

Albanon met her eyes. “I thought Tigerclaws killed trespassers.”

“You expected them to be dead?” Cariss stretched out fingers tipped with sharp claws—claws that actually seemed to grow as Albanon stared at them. “It can be arranged.”

“Cariss!” said Turbull harshly and the warrior lowered her hand. Turbull glared at Albanon over his shoulder. “You are in a precarious position, eladrin.”

The threat raised Albanon’s anger just a bit. “Your position doesn’t seem so safe, either,” he said. “You got
us away from the feast pretty quick. What don’t you want your clan to hear?”

Turbull swung around fast and bared his teeth in Albanon’s face. Cariss jerked away from her chief’s anger. Albanon braced himself for a blow or at the very least a roar of fury. Turbull, however, did neither. He closed his mouth, glared at Albanon for a moment, then turned away again.

“I do what I must for my clan,” he said. “Even when I must go against our customs.”

Hurn and Cariss remained silent, their faces troubled. Whatever Turbull was up to, Albanon realized, they were in on it. The wizard looked back at Belen but she only raised her eyebrows in surprise and shook her head. Albanon left Uldane and jogged ahead to catch up with Turbull. “This has something to do with the valley, doesn’t it?”

“I will not talk of these things beneath the sky,” the shifter said.

They were approaching a small tent. A Tigerclaw squatting outside its door looked up sleepily, then jumped to his feet, fully alert at the sight of his chief. Turbull dismissed him with a curt gesture. When the guard had gone, he looked at Albanon. “You enter first. If the halfling has untied your friends, I will not be the victim of an ambush.”

Albanon nodded. The door flap had been tied down with leather thongs. He started to undo them, but Turbull growled and swiped a hand across them. The thongs fell
away, sliced clean by his claws. He stepped back again. Albanon pulled back the edge of the flap just a bit.

“Shara? Quarhaun?” he called. “It’s Albanon. I’m coming in.”

He pushed the door aside and went inside.

Seated on the ground, her back against a thick post driven into the ground with her arms still tied behind it, Shara looked up at him. “How’s the food at the feast?”

He couldn’t help smiling. Even bound as a prisoner, Shara held onto her brazen appearance. Thick red hair curled over her shoulders and fell down her back. The Tigerclaws had taken the greatsword that was usually strapped across the warrior woman’s back, but she still wore the light armor she preferred. Albanon turned to Quarhaun. The drow warlock was bound as Shara was with the addition of a hood to cover his head, a common arrangement intended to prevent the effective casting of spells. His head was up now, but he hadn’t spoken. “Quarhaun,” Albanon asked, “are you gagged under—Ow!”

His question was cut off violently as Cariss and Hurn burst through the door, shoving him to the ground. Shara cursed and jumped up—her bonds had been a ruse after all. Quarhaun followed suit, dragging the hood from his head and snatching a handful of dark, crackling energy out of the air. For a moment, human and drow faced the two shifters over Albanon where he lay.

Then Turbull growled a command from outside the door. “Peace! We’re here to talk. Your friends have demanded it.”

“You’ll let us go?” asked Shara.

“We’ll talk,” said Turbull. “Hurn, Cariss, step back.”

The two Tigerclaws relaxed—slowly. After a moment, so did Shara. Quarhaun, however, kept the dark energy playing around his hand. Albanon rolled to his feet. “Easy, Quarhaun,” he said. “They’ve treated us fairly so far.”

“They haven’t been so kind to us.” The drow’s Common carried an accent.

“You came into our camp as thieves,” said Turbull, entering the tent. He stepped to one side of the door. Tempest and the others followed him in. The tiefling, Roghar, and Belen moved to the other side of the door. Uldane, of course, went to stand with Shara and Quarhaun. It occurred to Albanon that he’d seldom seen the halfling look more certain or serious. The argument that had driven him and Shara apart and that had tormented Uldane in Winterhaven had clearly been mended. Albanon could see how finding and saving even the most estranged friends in a camp surrounded by potential enemies might have that effect. They could discuss it later, but for now he was glad they had reconciled.

He rose to his feet, then paused. Three groups had formed inside the tent: the Tigerclaws to one side of the door; Shara, Quarhaun, and Uldane in the middle; and Tempest, Roghar, and Belen on the door’s other side. Which group he joined would send a message to Turbull and might affect how discussions within the tent proceeded. Quarhaun still held onto the dark energy, Roghar had his hand on his sword hilt, and Hurn and Cariss looked
ready to fight the first person to make a move. Albanon bit his lip—then went to stand before Turbull.

“I’ve been told,” he said, “that Tigerclaws deal harshly with those who cross them, yet you’ve kept our friends alive. I’ve been told that Tigerclaws honor their guests, but you’re trying to manipulate us. Tradition is important to you, but you’re willing to go against it for the sake of your clan.” He gestured at his friends. All of them. “We’d like to continue on our way, but there’s something you know about this valley. Everything ties back to it. What is it? What’s there?”

Turbull studied him in silence. Cariss’s face tightened and she seemed about to say something, but Turbull shook his head and she held her tongue.

Hurn didn’t. “I don’t like this,” he growled. “I don’t like dealing with outsiders. Especially thieves.”

“You were keeping us alive for something,” said Shara. “I know Tigerclaws. I know what they do.”

“These are unusual times. Desperate times.” Turbull looked back at Albanon. “Answer me this: Were you deliberately trying to deceive us about your destination? Did you really lie about the valley?”

“When Cariss found us, we knew the direction we had to go, but not where we were going. I didn’t think you would appreciate outsiders wandering at random through your territory, so I picked a destination that I thought would be common in the mountains.” Albanon spread his hands. “I didn’t realize that the valley I described would be unique—or that it would have any significance. For either of us.”

“Then there was more than coincidence behind your choice of words.” Turbull gestured. “Sit with me. The others can stand if they wish, but we will speak as men of wisdom.”

He lowered himself to the ground. Albanon gathered his robes and did the same. There was something about sitting that eased the tension between them. Even the others seemed to sense it. Hurn, Cariss, and Roghar relaxed somewhat. Shara nudged Quarhaun and the drow finally released the magic that had been crackling in his hand. Tempest gestured for Belen and the two women came to sit behind Albanon. Turbull nodded slightly in approval, but his eyes remained on Albanon.

“You were right to guess that we are interested in claiming the valley as our territory,” he said. “There is a spring and game in the hills. If the plague spreads, the mouth of the valley can be defended easily. The Thornpad clan will survive.”

“But …” said Albanon.

Turbull nodded and added, “But the valley isn’t empty. Perytons lair on the ledges of the mountain face.”

Shara muttered an oath of disgust. Albanon felt his stomach knot. The others shifted uneasily. Only Quarhaun seemed uncertain. “Perytons? Some kind of monstrous bird?”

“Monstrous, yes,” said Shara. “Birds, no. They’re at least as big as a human and often bigger, with the body of a bird of prey and the head and antlers of a stag.”

The drow snorted. “They sound ridiculous.”

“They eat people,” said Albanon. “Especially their hearts. Over time a nest of perytons can strip a village.” He turned back to Turbull. “You said the valley is less than a day’s journey from here. Don’t they attack your camp?”

“They’ve tried. The first time, we fought them off with spears and arrows. But they’re wily. Every few days, a hunter will spot one circling high overhead or sometimes just perched in a tree, watching us.”

“And why haven’t you gone to the valley and wiped them out?” asked Quarhaun.

Turbull frowned and tipped his head toward Hurn and Cariss. “I said they’re wily. When we came here I had three strong warriors that I trusted. Then I decided to try attacking the perytons. Now I have two.” He bent forward and scratched a crude map in the hard dirt of the tent floor with his claw. “We can’t reach their nests and when they see us, they attack with stealth. They dive with the sun behind them, strike fast, and fly away again. They’re larger than most perytons I’ve seen and there are more of them than usual. I think it’s an older nest, well-established and successful. There are orcs and goblins on the other side of the mountains—plentiful prey, but I can’t imagine they’ll continue to fly so far when a new source of food is closer. It may even get worse. Over the last two days, my scouts say they seem more active and angry, as if something has disturbed them.”

“So they keep you out of the valley, but if you stay here, they’ll eventually start preying on you,” said Albanon. “Why not keep moving? Find another place to take refuge from the Abyssal Plague?”

Hurn snarled at the suggestion. Cariss grunted and said, “The Thornpads will run no further.”

“As you say, eladrin, my position is not so safe,” said Turbull with a shrug. “I have bent tradition as far as it can be bent. More and there will be warriors who will challenge my leadership.”

“So what about us?” asked Tempest. “Why were you being evasive about the valley when we asked?”

Roghar snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? He hoped that by letting us go into the valley we would kill or weaken the perytons so that his people didn’t have to face them.”

A look of shame crept over Turbull’s face. “It is not the way to treat guests, but at first I hoped that if you were seeking the valley, you might already have some plan or magic for dealing with them. But then yes, I hoped you would deal with the perytons for us.” He swept a hand around to all of them. “There are only a handful of you, but you’re fighting the dragon who spreads the plague. You’re either mighty or mad.”

Albanon couldn’t argue with that, although he might have decided on “mad” over “mighty.”

“What about us?” Shara said, nodding to Quarhaun. “You had no idea we were Vestapalk’s enemies. What did you want with us?”

“Ah,” said Turbull. He sat back. “We had been considering trying to lure the perytons into the open so we could attack them on the ground. Obviously, I didn’t want to risk the lives of my people as bait in the trap.”

He spoke with such casual bluntness that for a moment it took Albanon’s breath away.

Shara’s eyes went wide. Her entire body tensed. “Bait? We were going to be
bait
?”