“I want to tell you now, Albanon. I want you to understand.”
Kri’s voice sent a chill through his spine. The priest was not himself, and there was a threat in his tone that made Albanon want to run as fast as he could up the stairs. He quickened his pace but held himself back from an outright run.
“I don’t think I want you to tell me right now, Kri,” he said quietly.
“Ingrate!” Kri screamed. “First you come begging for knowledge and chide me for my reluctance to give it, then you refuse it when I offer it freely! No wonder Moorin hated you-you must have driven him mad! Just as you’re driving me mad!”
“No!” Albanon shouted back, still climbing the stairs.
“Always whining about how he mistreated you-What did he say about you?”
“Kri, be still!”
“I will not! You need to hear this! You need to understand!”
“You’re not yourself,” Albanon said, holding back a shout.
“Oh, but I am,” Kri said, his voice deep and hollow. “Never have I been so much my true self.”
Albanon turned to look at Kri again, his eyes wide with terror. He half expected to see a demon where the priest stood, or some visible sign of whatever being had seized control of Kri’s body. But Kri looked perfectly normal, which struck Albanon as much, much worse.
“What is happening?” Albanon whispered.
Kri advanced up the stairs, smiling. Albanon tried to back away, but found himself sitting on the stairs again as Kri drew closer.
“Listen, Albanon. Listen, and learn the truth.”
Cold despair clutched at Albanon’s mind, sapping his will and draining his strength. He thought of protesting, or getting back on his feet to continue up the stairs, but it all seemed futile. The stairs were endless and Kri was unrelenting-there was no escape.
“Remember the mural, Albanon? In Sherinna’s tower. I told you the story of the adventurers who interrupted the ritual and destroyed the Vast Gate. What I have since learned is Albric’s story.”
“Albric the Accursed.”
“So he is called. Albric was a dreamer who heard the voice of the Chained God and obeyed his commands. The Chained God instructed him to find the shard of the Living Gate and take it to Pandemonium. Albric used that shard to open a tiny channel into the prison of the Chained God.”
“Kri, how do you know this?”
“The Chained God sent the Voidharrow through that channel. It is the distilled essence of entropy and decay, all that remains of a universe consumed by demons, and it is infused with the Chained God’s will. Albric sought to do his will, but the Voidharrow spoke lies and betrayal, and Albric’s acolytes were seduced. The Voidharrow defied the Chained God and transformed the acolytes into agents of its own will. Just as it transformed Vestapalk.”
Albanon’s mind raced, trying to absorb the information Kri was telling him and make sense of Kri’s transformation at the same time.
“Then Sherinna and her friends arrived and sent the disciples into chaos. Most were slain. Some passed living through the Vast Gate into other worlds, other planes. Of all the disciples, only Albric stayed faithful to the Chained God, clinging to his purpose even as the Voidharrow transformed him.”
“But he’s Nu Alin,” Albanon whispered.
“Yes. Nu Alin is Albric, the last true disciple of the Chained God. With the power of Tharizdun, he is the key to defeating the Voidharrow.”
Albanon’s desperation fueled one last attempt to break through the madness that had gripped his friend. “Kri, listen. Just moments ago you were telling me of Ioun’s will, what she wishes for the Order of Vigilance. You are her priest, Kri-a priest of Ioun. She can heal your mind, restore you to right thinking-”
Kri laughed. “I did not know what right thinking was until I glimpsed the mind of the Chained God,” he said. “The Chained God’s will is the same as ours. Albric has been steeped in Tharizdun’s thought and will. He knows what must be done.”
“He serves Vestapalk!” Albanon cried. “He is a demon of the Voidharrow now!”
“You lack understanding, Albanon. The Chained God’s touch has brought me a clarity of purpose and vision like I have never known.” He climbed one stair closer to Albanon. “He can do the same thing for you, my apprentice.”
“I’m not your apprentice, Kri.” Albanon scrambled backward up two more stairs, but Kri followed. “And I think my mind is perfectly clear.”
Kri stretched his bony fingers toward Albanon’s head. “You cannot fight until you understand. Just let him touch your mind.”
Albanon’s vision swam as he felt a pressure on his thoughts, like the feeling of having forgotten something important that was struggling to be remembered. He drew in a surge of arcane power and used it to fortify the barriers of thoughts and discipline that protected his mind, but instantly recognized his very serious mistake.
Madness was everywhere around Albanon, flowing like water through the stone of the dungeon beneath the tower. It was intertwined with the flow of magic in the place, and when Albanon drew on that magic he allowed in a touch of the same madness he was trying to resist. An absurd, barking laugh escaped his mouth as he tried to correct his mistake and muster his will to drive back Kri’s assault.
Kri stepped closer, and his fingers touched Albanon’s forehead, sending a lance of pain searing through his head. Albanon reacted from pure instinct, recoiling from Kri’s touch and lashing out with his magic. A clap of thunder exploded in the stairway, sending Kri stumbling backward. Kri lost his footing and rolled down the steps. He cried out as he fell, a sound so lost and helpless that Albanon was overcome with remorse; then he landed in a heap a half turn down from where Albanon stood.
“Kri?” Albanon asked tentatively.
The old priest groaned and stirred, starting to untangle his limbs and lift his head from where it rested against the stone wall.
“Kri, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Kri’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on Albanon as the young wizard hurried down the stairs. Kri opened his mouth and Albanon slowed, expecting a moan or quiet words.
Instead, Kri shrieked, a long, tortured note too high and loud to be his natural voice, and laden with the undertones of madness Albanon had been hearing in whispers and echoes. The barrage of sound slammed him backward and tore at his mind, snatching away his senses until the scream was all that remained.
In the face of that howling storm, Albanon was a worm writhing on the stone. The whispering voices in the walls surrounding him became leering faces staring down at him, then emerged as hungry birds jabbing their beaks at him. Agony shot through him as their beaks struck him and pulled away, trailing wispy tendrils of shining silver smoke. He looked up in his torment and saw the sun burning down on him, black but ringed in angry scarlet, pulsing with life and malevolence. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
One of the birds lifted him from the ground and impaled him on a thorn, but he kept staring up at the angry red corona, noticing the flecks of gold and veins of silver pulsing within its brilliance. He was only vaguely aware of more silver smoke pouring forth from him where the thorn pierced his body, streaming up toward the sun.
Then Albanon was no longer a worm, no longer a creature with a merely physical body. He was wisps of silver smoke and coiling tendrils of thought, a throbbing heartbeat that came from no fleshly organ, a hunger that knew nothing of food or digestion. He saw without eyes, and all he saw was the burning black sun, the Elder Elemental Eye, the unblinking gaze of the Chained God. He had no ears, but the howling scream remained, blowing over him like a gale.
Some scrap of his mind was aware of a fleeting thought. “I’ve gone mad.”
And then he was nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Shara heard the handle of the door rattle, stopped by the lock. She sat up, pulling a blanket around her
