The Eye of the Chained God (36 page)

But Vestapalk had changed in other ways, too. He had grown larger and the red stain on his scales was almost complete. The spurs on his limbs were as big as sword blades. Strength and power flowed off him.

Deep inside Albanon, that small part of him that remembered his own near transformation into one of Vestapalk’s demon exarchs stirred. He could have served this magnificent creature. He could have been one with him.

The part of him Tharizdun had touched rose as well, sweeping over him in a flash of heat and madness. The Voidharrow had been meant to free the Chained God from his eternal prison. Instead it dared to attempt to take this world for its own! It was his enemy. He would destroy it in retribution for its arrogance.

Adoration and hatred, neither emotion truly his own, clashed within him as Vestapalk settled onto his perch. Albanon’s hand sought out Tempest’s. Fear and dread churned in his belly. Those emotions were most definitely his own.

“Welcome to the Plaguedeep,” said Vestapalk and all of his plague demons. “Welcome to your tomb.”

The dragon’s voice still had the same double quality Albanon remembered, one voice deep and rumbling, the other strange and chiming like crystal. His words brought a scream of outrage from Kri. “He knew we were coming!” The old priest turned on Albanon. His face was flushed and there was spittle at the covers of his mouth. “He knew! Those so-called sleeping demons, the two demons we found arguing in front of the tunnel entrance, the
demons that came up behind us in the passage …” Kri turned again and glared up at Vestapalk. “You guided us. You put us exactly where you wanted us!”

Kri’s voice was small in the vastness of the Plaguedeep. Vestapalk smiled at him. “Servant of the Elder Eye, this one knows all your secrets. You come to destroy the Voidharrow. This one will not give you that chance.” His double voice rose to a ringing roar. “Kill them!”

Tempest’s grip tightened on his hand. “Up there!” she cried. Albanon looked where she pointed. High on the wall above them, the dark hole that was all that remained of the passage they’d been following began to glow with flickering, reddish light. Flames appeared within that light—or rather humanoid figures of animated flame appeared, each with a red crystal at its heart.

The fire demons leaped from the hole without hesitation, plunging like streaks of light down to where he stood with Tempest and Kri. Two demons. Four. Six. Eight.

Albanon thought of the gate fragment in his pouch. Maybe he and Kri could still use it, could still work the magic to unravel the Voidharrow. He turned his head and met Kri’s gaze.

For once, the priest’s eyes were hard but calm. Kri almost looked like his old self as he shook his head.

There wasn’t time.

Albanon released Tempest’s hand. The warlock stepped away and readied her rod. Albanon raised his staff as the nearest of the fire demons lashed out at him, its arms stretching and snapping like burning whips.

“Kill them!” roared Vestapalk, and Roghar felt as if an icy hand had gripped his soul. How close had he come to becoming one of the demons obeying that command? Could Vestapalk have turned him against his friends? He’d already betrayed them once. The others might have believed Kri’s lie about how Vestausan and Vestausir had found them, but Roghar knew the truth. It had been his infection that had guided Vestapalk’s creature to them in the mountain valley.

A new loathing came over him—and only part of it was for Vestapalk. He couldn’t have prevented the scrape from Vestagix’s tail that had exposed him to the Abyssal Plague. That had been an accident. But how he had acted afterward? That had been his fault. He’d lied to his friends and kept them in danger because he was too afraid to reveal the truth. He was weak. He’d turned his back on Bahamut and accepted the healing offered by Kri. And he’d left himself open to betraying his friends yet again. Every day since Kri had burned the plague out of him, he’d secretly dreaded what the priest might ask him to do. No matter what Kri promised, Roghar knew the command, when it finally came, wouldn’t be kind.

It left him with a vile choice: keep his word to Kri and risk putting his friends in danger, or hold true to his friends and break the vow he had made in Bahamut’s name.

Or perhaps, he realized, there was another option.

Claws scraped on stone. Up from the edge of the Plaguedeep, a pack of demons came crawling—all of them
tough, four-armed brutes with thick crystal carapaces. Shara cursed softly and drew her greatsword. Uldane cursed loudly and drew a pair of throwing knives. “I’ll hit what I can,” the halfling said, “then I’m going for their knees. Try to keep them from falling on me.”

Roghar looked down at both of them fondly. “It’s been an honor to fight with you,” he said. “Tell Tempest I’ll miss her.”

Shara glanced at him sharply, perhaps suspecting something of what he intended, but Roghar was already past her and gathering speed as he charged the demons. “For Bahamut!” he shouted, lowering his shoulder and raising his shield.

“Kill them!” ordered Vestapalk, and his roar seemed to shake the stone of the mountain. On the highest portion of the former passage, Belen’s hand tightened on her sword and she braced herself for the wave of plague demons that would finish her, Cariss, and Quarhaun.

It didn’t come. The demons of the Plaguedeep stayed where they were, caught up in Vestapalk’s domination and watching events unfold with the same intensity as their master. From her high vantage point, Belen could see everything that happened to those below. She saw the fire demons—the same creatures who had destroyed much of Fallcrest—leap from on high and lash out at Albanon, Tempest, and Kri with ribbons of flame. She saw the four-armed brutes climb up to confront Shara,
Uldane, and Roghar, and she stared in amazement as Roghar charged into the thick of them. The maneuver bashed one of the demons right back over the edge, but left the dragonborn surrounded. Roghar turned and crouched like a lion at bay, his sword and shield raised, ready to face his attackers.

Belen’s stomach clenched. After the chaos of that terrible night in Fallcrest when plague demons had entered the town and the bodystealer had possessed her, Roghar and the others had been her friends and mentors. They understood what she had been through. Understood her anger.

She’d never spoken the thought aloud, but she knew they hadn’t
needed
to bring her along on their journey. They could have found the volcano and Vestapalk’s lair on their own. But they had brought her. They’d given her a target for her anger. If she’d had to stay in Fallcrest, she might have gone mad.

“We have to help them,” she said, staring at the battles below. “There must be something we can do!”

“We’ve got our own problems now,” said Quarhaun from behind her. “Vestapalk’s assassins have come for us.”

Belen turned as three shadowy figures came gliding out of the broken passage. So tall they had to bend to pass through the tunnel, they were wispy and insubstantial-looking, with long, narrow hands and fingers that continuously stroked the air. Their eyes flashed with the Voidharrow and crystals pulsed in their thin, nearly transparent chests.

Cariss took a step back and raised her warpicks. “What are those?”

“The stuff of nightmares,” said Quarhaun. “Don’t let them touch you.” He flicked the black blade of his sword and a crackling blast of dark energy flew at the first one out of the tunnel.

Faster than Belen would have thought possible, the creature slipped aside. The blast hissed harmlessly past. Quarhaun cursed through clenched teeth and tried again, this time making a circling gesture with his free hand. Shadows writhed around the creature’s head and it hesitated in its advance—but just for a moment. It seemed to Belen that the thing actually smiled at whatever magic the drow warlock had attempted to use against it.

Then it darted in at Quarhaun and he abandoned magic for sword play. The other two demons flitted past them. Long arms stretched out and shadowy fingers raked the air. Belen ducked away, trying to keep her back to the cave wall. Two sides of the broken passage lay open to long drops, and enough debris littered the ground to make footing treacherous. She didn’t want to avoid the demon only to fall victim to her own clumsiness. The demon clawed at her again. She dodged a second time, then responded with a slash from her sword.

The thing’s wispy, hazy form made it even more difficult to hit than its speed alone. She thought she struck at its side, but the demon twisted and her sword whisked almost right through it. Almost but not quite. She felt the blade slice into flesh. The nightmare demon pulled back, an oozing shallow wound lending solidity to its torso, and circled her warily. The wound didn’t slow it down at all.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cariss struggling against another demon. The cramped quarters hampered the shifter’s whirling style of fighting and the demon was able to avoid her warpicks with little effort. Her back precariously close to the edge of the passage, Cariss snarled and tried to catch her opponent between the points of her warpicks with a great sweeping attack.

The demon ducked, twisted, and came up behind her. Its long fingers closed almost tenderly on her head. Cariss’s eyes went wide, then she screamed in terror. “Cariss!” Belen shouted.

“Ignore her!’ Quarhaun commanded. “Focus on your own battle!” His sword play was keeping his demon at bay but the creature wasn’t reacting to his attempts to draw it off balance. He lunged.

The demon turned. Before Quarhaun could recover, it had reached out and laid its hand alongside his face. The drow stiffened. He didn’t cry out, but the sword dropped from his fingers. The demon pressed its other hand against his head. He started to tremble.

And Belen was the only one left. No wonder Vestapalk had only sent three of the things instead of overwhelming numbers. He hadn’t needed to send more. She pressed her back against the wall. The demon facing her drifted closer, but stayed out of range of her slashing sword. It could afford to toy with her. She’d need a solid strike to kill it or drive it off. All it needed to do was touch her and she’d plunge into her worst fears.

At least she already knew what that fear would be. It had haunted her dreams ever since the night of the attack on Fallcrest.

A desperate idea came to her. Belen prayed that it might work. It
had
to work. Gripping her sword tight, she stamped forward suddenly, as Quarhaun had. Her thrust was low and deliberately wide. The demon didn’t even have to dodge it. Its hands shot out and it seized her by both sides of her face. Its touch was cold.

The Plaguedeep seemed to vanish.

She was back in Fallcrest. The town burned around her. Belen could smell the smoke and feel the heat. She heard the screams of the townspeople, the shouts of the other guards. The taunting shrieks of the attacking plague demons. But she couldn’t move or call back in response. Fear held her fast.

She faced herself. Or rather, she faced the version of herself she saw in her nightmares: Belen possessed by Nu Alin.

Her face was hard and tight. Around her eyes, the skin was broken and cracked like a mask of old, dry leather. Red crystal shot through with streaks of silver and flecks of gold showed through the cracks. As Belen stared at herself, the stuff spread. It filled her eyes entirely. It pushed at her skin from the inside, forming massive boils that grew until they burst to expose decayed flesh and bones like worm-eaten wood.

“You are mine, Belen,” said a rasping voice. The silver-red crystal that was Nu Alin’s substance filled her mouth
when she spoke. “Your friends have failed. There’s no one to rescue you this time.”

“You’re dead,” Belen said. She tried to speak with confidence but the words came out a whisper. “Tempest and Albanon destroyed you.”

Nu Alin laughed, forcing her corpse’s face into a grin. “You’re the one who’s dead. I can’t die! I just move on to a new body, wear it out, then move on again.” Nu Alin leaned her body close. “But I think I’ll keep your body longer. I like it.”

“You dried up and turned to dust when Albanon and Tempest forced you out of me.” Belen fought against her fear. This wasn’t really Nu Alin, just a nightmare demon. “You can’t exist without a body to inhabit.”