The Eye of the Chained God

CHAPTER TWELVE

They reached the valley while dawn was still only a pale glow in the east. Albanon paused at the height of the narrow trail-little more than a deer trail, really-and looked down into the lush bowl. The trees that filled most of it had turned from green to a mix of red, yellow, and brown with autumn, but still retained enough leaves to partly hide the few open clearings. Water splashed and gurgled in a broad, spring-fed pool off to his right.

In the distance to his left rose a tall, stern rock face, exactly what he had imagined when he’d so casually dropped it into his lie. Or what he thought he had imagined. During the night’s long, dark march, he had started to wonder if that detail hadn’t been so random or casual after all. If Tharizdun’s influence had drawn him north, perhaps the thought of the rock face had been the Chained God’s doing as well. A way of making sure they found this place.

“What are you thinking?” Tempest asked, stopping beside him.

“I thought I’d feel something,” he said. “We followed the urge. We’ve made the journey. I thought there would be something more. A sense of completion. A feeling of familiarity.”

“Shining lights? An ethereal choir?” she said with a slight smile. He wrinkled his nose at her. The smile grew wider. “What do you feel?”

“Uneasy. I don’t like this place.”

“What about the urge?”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “Still there. This isn’t over yet.” He lifted an arm and pointed right at the cliff. “There.”

“If you look closely, you can see the peryton nests,” said Hurn from behind them. He reached past and pointed. “Those dark shadows high up on the rock? Those are the ledges on which they perch.” The shifter gave them both a shove. “Now move. We need to be in position before the sun comes up.”

Their position turned out to be in one of the wider clearings in the valley, a low, rock-strewn knoll. Turbull and most of his warriors were already there. The Tigerclaws stayed under the cover of the trees for the most part, hiding their numbers in case the perytons happened to rouse earlier than expected. Three shifters at a time would break from cover, dashing out onto the knoll to labor with swift intensity before running back so another group could take their place. Curious, Albanon watched their activity as he and the others skirted the clearing to join Turbull. A small fire ring had been assembled from stones picked off the ground and wood laid for a fire by a shifter who always kept one eye on the looming cliff. The other two shifters labored at something like a giant auger, twisting a stout shaft of wood into the ground between them. One shaft was already embedded in the ground with roughly a double handspan still exposed. The Tigerclaws finished planting the second shaft as the wizard watched, pulling a double-ended handle off the shaft and passing it to a new team who carried a third shaft.

The second shaft wasn’t as deep into the ground as the first. Turbull grunted as they approached him. “The ground is too rocky,” he said. “Too late to move now, though. We won’t get another chance.”

“What is that?” asked Quarhaun.

“A stake-bore,” Belen answered. “The Tigerclaws use it when they put up their tents.”

Turbull glanced at the human woman. “You learned that from Scargash’s emissaries?”

Albanon saw Belen’s face tighten as she tried to conceal the secret of her knowledge. “One of the younger warriors took me hunting and showed me how to put up a tent.”

That earned a leer from Hurn. “I bet he did.”

Cariss slapped the hunter across the back of the head. Turbull just shrugged and turned back to the clearing. “Why are you setting up a camp?” Albanon asked him.

“We’re not setting up a camp. We’re setting up a trap.” The chief pointed. “The stakes aren’t for a tent. They’re for tying people to the ground.”

Uldane yelped a little. “Why would you want to do that?”

Albanon guessed. “To keep them from being carried away,” he said. “A peryton is strong enough to lift a person up in its talons. If this looks like a camp with sleeping people, the perytons will investigate-but they might just as easily try to snatch someone up.”

“So whoever is out there gets to be the worm on the hook?” Uldane made a face. “I don’t like this plan.”

“The stakes are a safeguard,” said Turbull defensively. “That’s why they have to be in deep enough that they can’t be pulled out. The rest of us will hide around the edges of the clearing. As soon as the perytons come in, we attack.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “We pin them down and slaughter them.”

Shara regarded him with a hard expression. “And would you have been so quick to attack if Quarhaun and I were your bait?”

The smile wavered. “The situation has changed. You’re not our prisoners. The ones who sit in the open to draw the perytons will gain much respect.”

She snorted in disbelief. “So it will be some of your Tigerclaws?”

Turbull’s smile closed and compressed into a thin, hard line. “If necessary. But I said the perytons are wily. If we want them to come close, we need to use something that will attract and hold their attention. They’re supposed to have a favorite prey.”

“Let me guess. Young women?”

“No.” Turbull turned and looked at Albanon, then at Quarhaun. “Elves.”

Quarhaun scowled. “I’m not an elf. I’m a drow. And Albanon is an eladrin. If you think we’re going to risk our lives-”

“I’ll do it,” said Albanon. He took a deep breath and met the gazes around him. Quarhaun looked startled. Tempest looked frightened. Roghar looked at him with pride and approval-naturally the paladin would approve of a selfless act. Albanon carried on before he lost his nerve. “Eladrin are cousins to elves. If I’m the best choice to draw the perytons down, I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” asked Shara. “Roghar and I are better equipped to defend ourselves. Wouldn’t you be better off staying back and using your spells from a distance?”

“If the perytons really are that wily, they may recognize your sword or Roghar’s armor. I don’t need either of those things. My magic is just as effective close up.”

“But can you control it?” said Tempest.

The question put a knot in his stomach. “Yes,” he said. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to give in again.” He turned to Quarhaun. “But I wouldn’t mind some help, and two ‘elves’ would be a more effective lure than just one.”

The drow’s eyes opened wide, baring white orbs in his jet black face. “Unlike you, I’m not suicidal. Besides, if the perytons are smart enough to recognize swords and armor, they’re smart enough to recognize I’m no elf.”

“You hadn’t heard of perytons before. I’m reasonably certain they’ve never seen a drow. At the very least you’ll confuse them and give the others a better opportunity to attack.”

“ ‘At the very least,’ ” Quarhaun repeated drily. “You make it sound so noble. No.”

“I think Albanon’s right, Quarhaun,” said Shara. “You can defend each other-and this is going to get us closer to defeating Vestapalk. We spent weeks wandering around the north when Belen had the clue to finding him all along.” She stepped closer to the drow. “We can’t keep working alone.”

Quarhaun’s expression wavered, but he still didn’t answer. Albanon decided to try one last appeal. In Elven, he said, “Do you remember the Temple of Yellow Skulls, when Vestapalk had infected us with the Voidharrow so he could turn us into two of his demon exarchs? We were both almost lost until Kri came. I’m the one who made him use his prayers and the light of the gods to purge the Voidharrow from both of us. Without me, you wouldn’t be here.”

Quarhaun gave him a narrow glare before replying in the same language. “You’re trying to call in a debt from a drow?”

“No. I’m calling in a debt from you. You say you’re different. I thought maybe you’d like the opportunity to prove it.”

“I don’t think I need to prove myself. I could still say no.”

Albanon smiled slightly. “But you won’t,” he said. “If you were going to, you would have already done it. You are who you are.”

“May spiders nest in your scrolls,” Quarhaun growled at him in Common. He turned to Turbull. “You have more bait for your trap,” he said sourly. Turbull nodded. Shara gave the drow a smile and took his hand. Quarhaun turned his scowl on her, but Albanon saw his fingers grip tight around hers.

Then Uldane stepped forward. “There are three stakes,” he said. “I’ll go out with Albanon and Quarhaun.”

All of them looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to do that,” said Turbull. “One of my warriors can go.”

“Bundle me up in a cloak and I can pass for an elf more easily than a shifter can,” Uldane insisted. “Besides, if Quarhaun is willing to do it, I should, too.” He looked at Shara and Quarhaun. “I still feel like I owe you after driving you away.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Shara said. “You’ve already apologized.”

“Then let’s say I feel like I owe myself.” He picked up the light pack he had carried from the Tigerclaw camp and pulled his cloak out of it. “The sun’s coming up. What are we waiting for?”

It didn’t take long to draw the perytons’ attention.

As soon as Albanon, Quarhaun, and Uldane were settled on the ground as if asleep-cloaks covering each of them and hiding the ropes that bound one leg to the stakes-one of the Tigerclaws started the fire, then sprinted for cover. Green wood laid over the tinder sent a thin but solid thread of smoke up into the morning air, a convincing imitation of a night’s fire dying out. Stretched out beneath the trees and bushes with Turbull to one side of her and Tempest to the other, Shara watched the bare rock of the mountain face intently. The rising sun made the shadows of the ledges darker, but she thought she could make out movement.

The first of the perytons took to the air and rose into the dawn light. She caught her breath. Even at a distance, the creatures looked to be the size of horses and in spite of their ungainly antlered heads, they flew like hawks. And they were fast. One moment there was one peryton beating blue-black wings as it flapped skyward. The next there were eight, all of them climbing to circle high above the valley. Shara imagined she could hear the beating of their powerful wings.

She glanced away, back to the three figures on the knoll. Two of her best friends and her lover lay vulnerable. Tempest patted her arm. “I know,” she said. “But they’ll be fine.” Shara nodded, wishing she could be as certain as the tiefling.

Turbull growled softly. “Look at them,” he said, his eyes on the perytons. “They’re magnificent.”

“I thought you wanted them dead.”

“I can still appreciate them.” Raising his hand just a little, he pointed. “See the biggest of them? The female with five-point antlers flying higher than the others? That’s the eldest of the flock-you can tell she’s female from the brown chest feathers. She’ll be the one to assess the situation and decide when-or if-to attack.”

Shara followed his gesture. She had to take the shifter’s word on the color of the big peryton-other than flashes of dark green or blue feathers in the sunlight, the monsters were too far away for her eyes to pick out details-but it certainly seemed as if the creature was studying the situation below. “How long will she wait?” she asked.

“If you suspected an ambush, how long would you wait?” He settled himself more comfortably against the ground. Out on the knoll, Albanon shifted his fingers to let a scrap of red cloth flutter out, a signal that he and the others had seen the circling perytons. She settled herself down as well, but kept her eyes on the high-flying monsters.

When the perytons descended, they came down fast. All of them dropped together in silent grace, but about half-the big elder among them-broke away to remain airborne just above the treetops. The others landed almost softly just beyond the false campsite.

“Down!” murmured Turbull and both Shara and Tempest pressed themselves against the ground. The Tigerclaws had provided them and the others with cloaks stitched from a multitude of variously hued brown patches for camouflage. Shara pulled hers tight around her face, leaving just the smallest opening to peep out of.

For long moments, the perytons on the ground stayed where they had landed. Red eyes slid over their potential prey-she didn’t know how Quarhaun, Albanon, and Uldane managed to keep up the pretense of sleeping-and around the clearing. The monsters moved strangely. Shara had expected them to make quick, darting movements like curious crows or perhaps to throw their antlered heads like wary stags. Instead, they hunkered down like wolves picking out the weak members of a herd. They held their wings partly spread with their powerful legs tensed, ready to propel them into flight. They thrust their heads and necks forward eagerly, and Shara saw something she hadn’t noticed from a distance: sharp teeth, made for tearing flesh, flashed in the perytons’ staglike muzzles. Her fingers curled and bunched the fabric of the camouflage cloak.

One of them took a slow, ungainly step toward the sleepers.

“Now?” Shara breathed to Turbull. None of the Tigerclaws would attack until he gave the signal.

“We want the elder,” he murmured back.

Shara braced herself against the thunder of her heart.

Pace by slow, stalking pace, the perytons moved closer to Quarhaun and the others. They paused frequently, checking the trees as if expecting an ambush. A human might have been more suspicious that their prey was still asleep, but the perytons just looked hungry. Glistening threads of saliva dripped from the jaws of the one in the lead. Less than ten paces from the sleepers, it paused and looked up at its kin circling overhead.

The elder flapped her wings twice and soared a little higher. Shara’s heart skipped. She was leaving. They were losing their chance!

Turbull must have sensed her tension. “Hold!” he said softly. “She’s getting ready to dive.”

Shara’s heart skipped a second time. “Dive? Shouldn’t we attack?”

“Wait for her to commit to it. The others will follow her lead.”

And Shara had thought waiting as a captive in the Tigerclaw camp had been hard. It was all she could do not to spring out as the big peryton spiraled up against the sky. She could hear Tempest whispering next to her-probably not a prayer from the warlock, but very possibly an invocation.

In an instant the elder turned and plummeted toward the ground. The dive was silent. No calls, no wild screeches, just a sudden, sharp descent. The other airborne perytons rose as the elder came down. Shara would have leaped to her feet right then, but Turbull seized her wrist under her cloak. “Hold!” he commanded as instinct checked her movement.

Fortunately the trio out on the knoll didn’t hold back. The false campsite exploded in a whirl of action as Albanon and Quarhaun threw aside their cloaks and jumped up. With a scream of fury, Quarhaun hurled a blast of crackling black energy at the diving beast, while Albanon thrust up his staff and sent a spray of fire toward the perytons on the ground.

The elder screeched as she twisted aside. Quarhaun’s blast missed her by less than a swordslength. The grounded perytons likewise threw themselves away from Albanon’s fire. He only managed to catch one, the edge of its wing trailing through the flame. Feathers singed and smoking, the monster whirled up into the air with an angry scream.

Even if they were startled by the counterattack, none of the perytons fled. They spun around Quarhaun, Uldane, and Albanon in an angry, bloodthirsty storm, forcing them apart with darting feints and buffeting wings. The ropes and stakes that were intended to keep them safe hampered them as they tried to dodge. Quarhaun loosed another blast without hitting anything. The peryton he had been aiming at turned in the air and plunged for him-

Turbull’s grasp vanished and he rose with a shout. “ We are the predators! ”

Around the clearing, the Tigerclaws came to their feet with answering shouts, but Shara was on her feet and charging across the knoll before Turbull had even finished shaping his words. Her greatsword flashed as she raised it. “Down!” she screamed.

Quarhaun saw her actions-and dropped. The diving peryton passed over him, its claws snatching nothing but air. The monster dipped awkwardly, then it saw Shara, too. She felt the blast of its wings as it tried to straighten its flight and regain its speed and height.

Shara didn’t let it. She roared and twisted her body around between one running stride and the next. Her sword caught the wing of the peryton and sheared through it.

The momentum of the creature spun it around. Shara had to roll to avoid being caught under its bulk as it plowed into the ground, but she came up running. Quarhaun was grinning when she reached him. “Beautiful and deadly,” he said.

“Not the time,” she told him, but she couldn’t help smiling. The tide of battle had definitely turned against the perytons. The air was filled with spears and spells, savage shouts and monstrous shrieks. Tigerclaws and Belen finished off the peryton she’d wounded and brought down another. Two more of the monsters, unable to fly but still dangerous, struck out with their antlers. Roghar and Hurn tried to get close enough to land killing blows while Uldane-the rope slipped from his leg-danced around and flung daggers at the creatures. Other perytons flapped desperately for the open sky as Albanon and Tempest threw silvery bolts and fiery blasts after them. Albanon’s hand swept across the sky, tracking the flight of one, then he flicked his fingers. The air shimmered with invisible force and the peryton dropped out of the sky as if it had been struck by a huge, unseen hammer. Blue-black feathers drifted down after it.

Shara spun around, searching for the elder, and found her circling overhead with two other perytons, the last of their flock. The monsters were screaming, a frightening blend of eagles’ cries and stags’ booming bellows. Those below spread out warily, all faces turned skyward. Turbull came over to Shara. “First blood is yours,” he said, and slid a bloody quill into her hair.

She left it there for the moment. “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” said Turbull grimly. “Any other beasts would flee, but these perytons seem capable of-”

A warning cry from one of the Tigerclaws cut him off. Turbull’s head snapped up. Shara followed his gaze just in time to see two dark forms plummeting down from above-one of them coming right at her. She glimpsed red eyes that shone with vengeful fury.

Then Quarhaun stepped in front of her. He’d drawn his sword, the eerie black blade that focused his warlock magic as Tempest’s rod focused hers. Quarhaun shouted a word and slashed the sword through the air.

The peryton vanished in a sudden burst of shadows, only to reappear in a similar burst about a dozen paces to Shara’s right, much closer to the ground and going just as fast. Shara didn’t think it even had time to spread its wings before it hit the ground with bone-splintering force.

The second peryton spun and turned as it dived, evading spears flung by the Tigerclaws and fiery spells thrown by Tempest. It leveled out, skimming the ground as Tigerclaw warriors leaped out of the way-except for Cariss. The shifter woman stood with her warpick ready and whirled just as the peryton reached her.

It was faster than her. Wings twitched, the feathered body rose sharply, and talons locked around Cariss’s shoulders. Warrior and monster both screamed at the same time, then the peryton was flapping hard and climbing fast.

Turbull howled like an animal and snatched a spear from the nearest Tigerclaw. Taking three long steps, he hurled it after the peryton. The spear flew as fast and true as if it were propelled by magic. The weapon buried itself in the peryton’s body just behind its wings. The peryton’s scream of triumph ended suddenly and the creature dipped in its flight-then recovered and kept climbing.

“Another spear!” bellowed Turbull. “Bring it down!”

“I don’t think it’s going to get much farther,” Shara said. The spear had weakened the peryton. Its wings slowed and it dipped again, fighting to both stay aloft and keep its grip on the struggling shifter beneath it. A moment later, its entire body sagged.

Its talons opened. High over the trees, Cariss cried out as she tumbled free.

“No!” Turbull roared. All around him, the other Tigerclaws were shouting. One voice, however, rose above the tumult-Albanon’s voice, yelling a single, ringing arcane word.

The air around Cariss seemed to flicker, then the warrior was no longer plunging toward the trees but drifting as light as a piece of fluffy down. Shara turned to find Albanon lowering his upthrust staff. Most of the Tigerclaws ignored him in favor of rushing to catch the slowly falling Cariss, but a few slapped the eladrin as they raced by. A slow smile of success blossomed on Albanon’s face. Shara smiled back at him.

She didn’t see the peryton elder until it was too late.

One moment, Albanon was smiling at her. The next, a shadow had fallen over him. And the next, a feathered blur had dropped out of the sky to snatch him up. The attack was so swift and caught Shara so completely off guard that she almost didn’t recognize the monster. It was only when the creature paused, struggling to fly off again, that she recognized the elder’s five-point rack of antlers and brownish plumage. It took her another instant to realize why the peryton was struggling: Albanon, stunned by the ferocity of the attack and unable to resist, was still tied to the stake.

“Spears!” she cried, but at the same time the elder gave a deep bellowing cry and pulled up hard with her legs.

The stake-the last of the three to be driven in-jerked free of the stony ground. Albanon’s staff tumbled to the ground as the elder shot up with the wizard hanging limp beneath her. Quick-thinking Tigerclaws lofted spears toward the creature. Quarhaun and Tempest flung blasts of magic from sword and rod. The peryton elder didn’t try to gain height as the one that had seized Cariss had, though. Instead, she angled up just enough to skim above the top of the trees, momentarily out of sight. When she climbed into view again, she was halfway across the valley and far out of range. Another bellow echoed back on the wind.

For a long moment, that was the only sound, then Tempest whirled on Turbull. “Where is it taking him? We have to follow!”

“It’s taking him to its nest,” the shifter chief said tersely. “It may keep him alive. It may not. We can follow to the base of the cliff, but after that…”

“I’ll climb,” said Uldane as he and the others joined them. He retrieved Albanon’s staff and gripped it tight. “Whether he’s alive or not, I’ll climb. I’m good at that.”

Shara didn’t take her eyes off the elder. The big peryton flew with a speed and strength that none of the others had matched. Did she see Albanon struggle in the monster’s grasp? It was hard to tell. It might just have been the wind jostling his body. She watched intently as the peryton wheeled and dropped down to a shadow that marked one of the larger ledges on the stone face. “There. That’s where the nest is,” she said, pointing.

At exactly the same time, light flashed on the ledge. It might have been sunlight on a mirror or a piece of polished metal, except that it seemed too bright and the white color of the reflected light was wrong. Shara lowered her arm.

“What was that?” asked Quarhaun. “Was it Albanon?”

“Maybe,” Tempest said, shading her eyes to peer at the cliff. “But that didn’t look like fire or lightning. I don’t know what-”

The light flashed again-but this time it burst from the distant ledge in a flare so intense that Shara jerked her head away. Some of the shifters cried out. When Shara looked back, bright spots danced in front of her eyes. The shadow that marked the ledge had been joined by another shadow-a tall black scorch mark on the stone. Nothing moved on the cliff face.

“That wasn’t Albanon,” said Tempest.

The blow from behind was so sharp and so sudden that it drove both breath and wits from Albanon’s body. For a moment, he was only aware of light and shapes rushing around him. Strange pressures pushed against him, almost like falling up if that were possible. The movement seemed to drive hot nails into his chest and shoulders, sending searing pain deep into him.

The pain snapped him back to alertness. He found himself staring down, his head lolling against his chest, and the top of trees flashing beneath him. He jerked at the sight-and more pain seared through him. Then he saw the talons gripping his shoulders, heard the thrum of beating wings and the rasp of labored breath. Smelled the stink of a carnivore-and realized what was happening.

He looked up at the belly and breast of the biggest of the perytons.

Albanon’s first instinct was to struggle, but the peryton felt that and tightened its grip until he gasped. His second instinct was to blast the creature with a spell, but his sudden gasp and the rushing air had stolen his breath again-which fortunately gave him a moment to recognize what a spectacularly stupid idea that would be. The spell of gentle falling he’d used to save Cariss was complex and the effort of casting it had scoured its patterns from his mind for a time. If he were to blast the peryton, he’d fall even farther than the shifter had. Plus the landscape below looked completely unfamiliar. The knoll where’d they’d ambushed the flock was far behind him.

Panic leaped inside him. Were they even still in the valley?

But the peryton banked suddenly-sending another sharp wave of pain through Albanon-and a new but familiar vista presented itself: the stone face of the mountain above the valley. With it, however, came new and horrific sights. There were half a dozen ledges across the stone face, each of them bearing one or two or even three messy heaps of sticks and branches. Nests. Black dung caked the ledges. White bones, cracked by powerful jaws, were scattered among the sticks. Perytons had been nesting on the cliffs for a long time.

Albanon’s captor angled toward the biggest of the ledges, a broad shelf of rock partly sheltered by a high overhang but containing only a single, if very large, nest. The peryton’s wings spread wide and scooped against the air, slowing it and bringing an explosion of new pain to Albanon. The pain lasted only a moment, however, before the peryton opened its claws and let him fall.

He was lucky. He crashed into the piled branches of the thing’s nest and intertwined wood broke his fall. Still, the air went out of his much-abused lungs, and Albanon struggled to draw a breath as he thrashed in the nest.

The peryton loomed over him. Its bulk blotted out the light. Bloodstained talons slammed down across his chest, pinning him. The great, antlered head dipped toward him. Its muzzle peeled back to expose sharp teeth.

Somewhere behind Albanon, white light flashed, drawing the peryton’s attention. “Get away from him,” said an imperious voice.

The peryton’s head snapped back and up to glare at something Albanon couldn’t see. A frightening growl rose in its throat, so low and deep that Albanon could feel it vibrate through him.

“No?” said the voice. “Good.”

The light flared again, a brilliant and blinding storm that washed over Albanon and the peryton alike. The light was at once scorching hot and freezing cold-Albanon felt like it was scouring the flesh from his bones. He heard two screams, one his and one the peryton’s. The monster fell away from him and he could breathe again.

He could do more than breathe, in fact. The deep agony where the peryton’s talons had pierced his shoulders faded. As the scouring light sank into him, it felt as if it was knitting his injured flesh back together. When it faded an instant later, he was whole again. The same couldn’t be said for the peryton. It lay still with wisps of stinking smoke rising from its feathers.

Albanon had experienced that searing, painful healing before. He flipped around in the remnants of the demolished nest and pushed himself to his feet. At the back of the ledge, just in front of a low door that opened out of the rock wall, bright eyes set in a wrinkled, dark-skinned face watched him.

“You weren’t what I was expecting,” said Kri, “but I should have known it would be you.”