The Eye of the Chained God

CHAPTER TEN

I will kill him,” snarled Belen. “I will chop him up into little pieces and make halfling sausages.” She stomped-again-on the empty blankets that should have been wrapped around Uldane.

“Quietly,” Tempest reminded her. The tiefling was all for an angry rant but as Belen had said, a tent was not a cottage. Tempest peered through the narrow gap of the tent door. Twilight had fallen and the busy camp had become restless again as the Tigerclaws waited for the feast to begin. Her tail flicking, she scanned the gathering shadows and the half-concealed hiding spots for any sign of Uldane. “Still nothing,” she said.

Belen ground Uldane’s blanket under her heel. “I shouldn’t have trusted him. If he gets caught…”

“He won’t get caught,” said Albanon. “He’s better than that.”

Belen’s response was less of a word and more of an indelicate body noise. Albanon twitched slightly, but kept a calm expression. His thumbs, however, folded and unfolded rapidly. Tempest knew him well enough to recognize the signs of strain. She let the flap of the door fall and turned back. “We all should have known better than to trust him,” she said. “But Albanon’s right. Uldane won’t get caught. He’ll come back. He’s not entirely stupid-he knows the danger.”

“I’m not certain he does,” said Belen. “The Tigerclaws pride themselves on creative punishment. Ferocity is just one side of their totem spirit.”

“If the Tigerclaws try anything, we can defend ourselves,” Roghar said. He had his sword out, and was occupying himself by polishing the blade.

“Really? Against the whole tribe? Because that’s what we’d be fighting.”

Roghar gave the sword a final buff and slid it back into its scabbard. “If we have to,” he said.

Tempest’s tail twitched again as the conversation she’d had with Albanon just before they’d stumbled across the barbarian camp came back to her. There was definitely something wrong with Roghar. She’d never known the dragonborn to run from a fight, but she’d never known him to seek one out either. “I don’t think we want to do that if we can help it,” she said. “We’re not in trouble yet.”

The words had barely left her mouth before Albanon raised his head and said sharply, “We might be. Listen.”

All four of them paused. In the quiet, Tempest could hear women’s voices raised in song. Belen’s breath hissed. “I know that song. It’s a serving prayer. The feast will start soon.”

Tempest risked another glance through the tent flap-and jerked back. Uldane had run out of time. Outside, Cariss and Hurn were striding together through the camp toward their tent. “The Tigerclaws are coming for us!” she whispered.

Roghar growled and grabbed for his shield as he surged to his feet. Belen cursed. Albanon’s face tightened, but he leaped across the tent and snatched Uldane’s blanket from under Belen’s feet. He shook it, throwing a cloud of dust into the air, then quickly tucked it into the same bundled shape that the halfling had used to trick them. “We tell them Uldane is sick,” he said, standing up.

“That’s not going to fool anyone,” said Roghar.

Albanon’s eyes narrowed in concentration and the long fingers of one hand flicked in the pattern of a simple spell. The blanket began to rise and fall as if a small figure within was breathing. The fingers of his other hand sketched another sign and a piteous moan emanated from the blankets. Albanon looked to Roghar. The dragonborn wrinkled his snout and gave a grudging nod.

And just in time. “Guests of Turbull!” came Hurn’s gruff voice from the other side of the tent door. “Come out!”

Cariss didn’t seem interested in waiting for a response. The tent flap jerked as she pulled it aside. Tempest found herself staring eye to eye with the shifter. Cariss bared sharp teeth. “Try something, tiefling.”

It took effort, but Tempest swallowed her instinct to meet aggression with aggression and stepped back. Cariss scanned the interior of the tent. “Leave your shield,” she said to Roghar. “You won’t need it.” Her gaze came to rest on Uldane’s twitching, moaning blankets. “What’s wrong with the halfling?”

Relief rolled through Tempest. “He’s sick,” she said. “Something he ate didn’t agree with him. Can he just stay here?”

Cariss frowned and started into the tent. Tempest’s relief turned into panic and she glanced at Albanon-just in time to see the wizard narrow his eyes again and twitch his nose. The phantasmal moaning rose to a pained gasp before giving way to the loud and sudden breaking of wind. A horrific stench billowed through the tent, strong enough to make Tempest’s eyes water. Cariss recoiled.

“Maybe a guard to stand watch,” Tempest suggested, trying not to choke on the stink. “Unless it would offend Turbull if Uldane didn’t attend-”

Cariss shook her head hastily and stepped back out of the tent. Tempest was only too glad to follow her. Outside, Hurn was actually grinning. Cariss snarled at him, then gestured for Tempest and the others to follow. Tempest managed to get close enough to Albanon to whisper, “That was foul. Moorin actually taught you that?”

“A child’s trick in the Feywild. Moorin tried his best to make me forget it,” Albanon murmured back. “Where could Uldane have gone? Even if he went to explore the camp he should have come back.”

Tempest could only shake her head.

Roaring fires marked the site of the feast and drove back the chill of the falling night. Once again, Turbull waited to greet them. This time, however, they were shown to a place where they could sit together, still close to the Tigerclaw chief but apart from, rather than mingled with, the barbarian warriors. This time as well, the entire clan was gathered around them. Tempest would have been lying to herself if she tried to claim she wasn’t intimidated.

And yet it seemed to her that there was tension among the Tigerclaws as well. As platters and bowls made their way first around the inner circle, then out to the rest of the clan, the noises of celebration she associated with a feast were subdued. More than once she caught members of the clan tucking away chunks of meat as if hoarding them against lean times. Others, she noticed, ate with abandon, as if knowing that this might be the last great feast for some time. As the meal progressed, the Tigerclaws squatting beyond the inner circle seemed to lose interest in the outsiders that had come among them, focusing instead on the primal act of eating.

The warriors that sat closer to the chief, however, did not. Just as she’d slipped furtive glances at the Tigerclaws, Tempest found that the warriors were glancing frequently at her and the others. She’d look down at her food, then up again to find half a dozen eyes turning quickly away from her.

If the bulk of the clan was concerned about where their next meal would come from, the warriors had something else on their minds. Tempest couldn’t quite tell what that might be, but it certainly had something to do with them.

Turbull himself remained inscrutable. Again, Belen took the lead in speaking with him, but her attempts to turn the conversation to anything more meaningful than the weather, hunting conditions, and apologies for Uldane’s “illness” were rebuffed. Tempest could see that Roghar was getting impatient. Albanon looked uneasy as well-she guessed that Uldane was on his mind. Even Belen had started to look annoyed with Turbull’s evasiveness, though that only made her push harder. Tempest was beginning to feel frustrated herself. Turbull was playing games with them. The shifter wanted something from them, but why didn’t he come right out and ask it? She took her anger out on the roasted leg of a rabbit, sinking her teeth into the dark flesh and tearing it off the bone.

As usual when she glanced up, she caught eyes turning away. This time, however, the eyes belonged to Turbull and they hadn’t been looking at her.

Turbull had been looking at Albanon.

Realization of what the chief had been waiting for struck her. Tempest elbowed Albanon. “You need to talk to Turbull,” she said in his ear. “Belen said the Tigerclaws would respect you for pushing your request for information. I think he’s waiting for you to talk.”

Albanon blinked. His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t question her. She appreciated that intelligence in him. When the conversation between Turbull and Belen lapsed into a moment’s silence, he leaned forward.

“Before we took our ease,” he said, “we were discussing the land ahead. What do you know of it?”

All movement among the warriors stopped for a moment. Belen glanced sharply at Albanon. Turbull paused, too, but only long enough to sip from a goblet. As he raised the cup, Tempest thought she saw his lips curve in a smile, but when it came down, his face was calm and placid. Tempest felt a quick thrill, knowing she’d guessed right. Turbull’s words confirmed it.

“We appreciate those who honor our customs, but customs without words are a mask without eyes behind it.” He sat back a little. Movement resumed among the warriors, but all of them watched Albanon warily. Turbull gestured with his goblet and a server stepped forward to refill it. “You seek a valley that lies below a mountain’s pale cliff.”

Albanon hesitated, as if about to ask confirmation from the others. Tempest held back a wince. Turbull had waited to talk to Albanon, not the rest of them. The eladrin was on his own.

Maybe Albanon realized the same thing. He stopped himself and looked back at Turbull with confidence. “It’s what I see in my vision. If you could tell us more about what lies beyond your camp, we’d appreciate that as much as we appreciate your hospitality.”

“As it happens,” said Turbull, “just such a valley is exactly what lies beyond our camp. Less than a day’s travel from this spot, a mountain’s stone face looks down on a fine, rich valley.” He nodded into the darkness. “Does your vision guide you in that direction?”

Albanon stiffened. “Yes.”

Among the warriors, Cariss cursed. Tempest saw both her and Hurn look at each other. Turbull’s face was expressionless. “Our scouts have explored the mountains for four days’ journey in all directions. There is no other similar valley in that direction.”

“What do you know about it?” asked Roghar. Tempest couldn’t blame him. Could Albanon’s random lie about their destination actually lead them to something? Albanon put up a hand, urging Roghar and the rest of them to silence, then raised an eyebrow at Turbull.

“Why are you interested in this valley?” he said.

“I didn’t say we were interested in it,” Turbull answered. “We know about it. The hunting is good there.”

Albanon lowered his hand slowly. “When I first told Cariss we were looking for a valley below a stone face, it completely changed her mood. I don’t think we’d be eating and talking if I hadn’t. Since then, every time we’ve brought up that valley, your warriors react. I think you are interested in the valley. Furthermore, I think there’s more to it than you want to say. You’ve said you’re looking for a better place in which to make your camp. If this valley is fine and rich with good hunting, why aren’t you there already?”

Across from them, Hurn’s broad face had sunk into a glower. His wasn’t the only one. Many of the warriors had dropped their food to grab for their weapons. Cariss had bared her teeth and leaned forward like a great cat ready to lunge. Albanon’s comments had struck close. Tempest shifted her own food to one hand and let the other fall down closer to her warlock’s rod.

Turbull remained calm, at least on the surface. His attention stayed on Albanon. “What do you know of the valley?” he asked.

“Only what we’ve told you: that something waits for us there that might help put an end to the Abyssal Plague.” He paused, then added, “In fact, I’ll be fully honest with you if you’ll be honest with me. Something has been guiding us north, but it wasn’t a vision. Until just now, I wasn’t even sure we were looking for a valley. I just made that up.”

Tempest was sure the reaction to Albanon’s announcement was not the one he wanted. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Belen cursed loudly. The warriors erupted into howls of outrage. Beyond Turbull’s inner circle, the Tigerclaws twisted around as one, startled by the sound. Hurn leaped to his feet. Roghar did the same. “They lied to us!” snarled Cariss. “They’ve broken the faith of guests!”

“ Be silent! ” roared Turbull. The warriors all froze where they were and an eerie quiet descended over the camp. Hurn and Roghar faced each other across a frighteningly small patch of ground. Tempest could see the nostrils of both shifter and dragonborn flaring with each breath they took. Turbull rose and looked around at all of them. “Faith has not been broken-the truth has been offered willingly and truth demands truth.” The barbarian chief looked at Albanon. “You are correct. We have held something back from you as well.”

“I’ll say!” Uldane’s voice rang out of the darkness. The halfling came striding in between the feasters. Ignoring all of them, he walked right up to Turbull. “You’re holding our friends captive.” He turned to Albanon. “Shara and Quarhaun are prisoners here in the camp!”

The first thought to pass through Albanon’s mind was Not now, Uldane! Then Uldane’s words actually sank in. His second thought, and the one that made it out of his mouth was, “What? Are you serious?”

“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?”

Before she could say anything more, Quarhaun put a hand on her arm. Shara turned to look at him and, somewhat to his surprise, Albanon saw the tension in her body ease as she calmed down. It didn’t go away entirely but it no longer seemed as if she might attack Turbull with her bare hands. Quarhaun looked to Turbull. “It is the practical choice. Why sacrifice a friend when an enemy is at hand?”

The Tigerclaw chief seemed startled, but he nodded. “You are not soft, drow, but you don’t speak with the cruelty of your people, either. I may have misjudged you.”

“A lot of people do that,” Quarhaun said. Albanon thought his gaze slipped to Uldane for a moment-certainly the halfling shifted uncomfortably-but then Quarhaun glanced directly at him. “It seems you’re speaking for us, Albanon. Everyone’s motivations are out. What do we do now?”

Albanon pressed his lips together. How had people started looking to him for leadership? He was getting used to it, but it would have been better if he had more experience-or more confidence that what he decided was the proper course of action. It might not have been directly his fault that Splendid and Immeral lay dead in Winterhaven, but sometimes it felt like it.

He took a deep breath and turned his attention inward to the kernel of the urge that had brought them here. If there was something else it could show him, some hint of what they faced… but there was nothing more than the pull that had been with him for so many days, coupled with the new certainty that the valley was their destination. That was where they would find the means to defeat Vestapalk.

Albanon sighed and looked up. “We both need to get into the valley,” he said to Turbull. “Instead of trying to trick each other, why don’t we work together to defeat the perytons? Then we’ll take whatever waits for us, you can have the valley, and we may all survive the plague.”

Turbull turned to Cariss and Hurn. “You know the mood among the warriors. Do you think they’ll go along with this?”

The two shifters looked at each other. Cariss made a face. “They may fight alongside Albanon and the others, but the drow and the human are known as thieves and Uldane challenged you at the feast. They won’t like it.”

Turbull drew himself up. “But if I command it?”

“They’ll fight,” said Hurn, “but if we fail, they’ll blame you.”

“Then we won’t fail.”

Albanon twisted around to look at his friends. Their answers were already on their faces in twisted, uncertain mouths and furrowed brows, but all of them-from Roghar to Uldane to Shara-nodded. He turned back to Turbull. “We’re in. We shouldn’t wait. Do we attack tomorrow?”

Turbull gave him a sly smile. “The perytons hunt by day,” he said. “You’re rested. My warriors are fed. I was thinking of making the journey tonight.”