shoulders.
“Shara?” Uldane’s voice called through the door. “Are you in there?”
She jumped to her feet, trailing the blanket, and padded to the door, feeling her face flush. She glanced over her shoulder to where Quarhaun lay in the bed, smiling at her, his white teeth gleaming against his black lips.
“What is it?” she said at the door.
“Shara! Open up!”
The urgency in his voice overrode her embarrassment, and she flipped the lock and let the door swing open. Uldane’s face was lit with excitement tinged with a hint of fear, but his smile fell as his eyes took in the scene.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“Um … oh! Nu Alin! Tempest thinks he was here. She and Roghar have gone to look for him.” Uldane looked like he was going to say something else, but his eyes went back and forth between Shara and Quarhaun one more time and he turned away. “That’s all,” he added.
He started stomping back down the hall, and Shara went after him. “Uldane, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you so angry.”
“Probably not.”
“Why are you angry at me?”
Uldane wheeled on her then. “Look at you!” he said. “And him! Both of you! Back in the Blue Moon you lectured me about choosing my allies more carefully. And yeah, I’ve made some mistakes and I paid for them. But now you’re with
The fury of his outburst came as such a surprise that she took a step back from him. “Watch it, Uldane,” she said, feeling her own anger rise. “Quarhaun saved your life in the Witchlight Fens.”
“And I’m grateful, but that doesn’t mean he’s good for you. He’s a
“Jarren would want me to be happy.”
Uldane folded his arms. “And are you?”
“I’m trying to be.” She spun around, adjusting the blanket, and hurried back to Quarhaun’s room to get her sword and armor.
By the time Shara and Quarhaun came downstairs, Roghar and Tempest had already returned from their hunt, despairing of finding the demon. Uldane sat at a large table in uncharacteristic silence, avoiding Shara’s eyes as the rest of the group settled into chairs.
“We need a plan,” Roghar said. “We’ve got to drive the demons out of Fallcrest. And destroy Nu Alin, if we can.” He gave Tempest a lingering glance.
“A couple times in the last few weeks,” Shara said, “we found demons in larger groups like this. And there was always one demon in charge, a pack leader or commander or whatever. And when we killed that leader, the rest of the demons scattered. Driving the demons out should be as straightforward as finding their leader and killing it.”
“Cut off the head and the body dies,” Quarhaun said, nodding.
“Yes,” Roghar said, “but we don’t know much about this leader. It might be Nu Alin, and that presents special difficulties.”
“What difficulties?” Quarhaun asked.
“We don’t really know how to kill him.”
“He possesses mortal bodies,” Shara explained, glancing at Tempest. The tiefling’s face was a mask of indifference. “If you kill the body he’s in, he just tries to take another body.”
“It seems possible to destroy him while he’s not in a body,” Roghar said, “but his natural form is like a liquid serpent, made of the Voidharrow. The last time we encountered him, that form proved very elusive.”
Quarhaun leaned forward on the table, evidently interested in the topic. “So when his host body is slain, this liquid serpent, as you call it, comes out of the corpse?”
“Exactly,” Roghar said, glancing sidelong at Tempest.
“Why does everyone keep looking at Tempest?” the drow asked.
“The demon possessed me,” Tempest said. “And they’re all worried that I’m going to fly into a hysterical rage or crying fit as we discuss how to kill the damned thing.”
Quarhaun laughed out loud. Shara kicked his leg under the table, but then she saw that Tempest was smiling. Then Roghar laughed as well, and Shara allowed herself a smile. Only Uldane was still scowling.
“One of our companions at the time stabbed me,” Tempest explained. “As I lay dying, the demon snaked out. I’m afraid I don’t remember much after that point. But I am glad that Erak had just enough heartless bastard in him to actually do the deed, and I’m counting on you all to do the same if the demon manages to take me again.”
Roghar nodded slowly, staring into his ale.
“We will,” Shara said.
“I’m nothing but heartless bastard,” Quarhaun added. “I’ll stab you now, if you like.”
“Thank you, no,” Tempest said.
Roghar gave Quarhaun a nervous glance and tried to restart the conversation. “After it left Tempest, it tried to go into Falon, our cleric friend. It climbed up his body toward his face.”
“But it didn’t get there?” Quarhaun asked.
“It started flowing into his mouth and nose,” Roghar said, making Tempest shudder slightly. “But I had noticed that it seemed particularly averse to divine radiance, so I blasted it and it withdrew long enough for Falon to hit it harder. That’s when it fled.”
The drow stroked his chin. “Divine radiance, you say? Well, we have you. I can muster some radiance, though it’s not exactly divine. Tempest, have you mastered the third invocation of Hadar?”
Tempest blinked at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said slowly.
“Perhaps you learned different terminology. Do you know the invocations of Hadar? The spells that draw on the light of the dying star?”
Tempest’s face showed no sign of recognition, and Roghar shifted uncomfortably.
“Gibbeth’s shadow, woman, did your teacher tell you nothing of the baleful stars?”
“I had no teacher,” Tempest said.
Quarhaun arched an eyebrow. “You made an infernal pact with no one to guide you?”
“Not everyone has the luxury of a life of study,” Roghar said, the hint of a growl in his voice warning the drow to back off.
“Certainly, but those without learning shouldn’t dabble with powers beyond their understanding.”
Tempest’s eyes smoldered with anger, and Roghar drew himself up in his seat. “She is no mere dabbler,” Roghar said. “I’ve fought alongside her for years, and I dare say her power surpasses yours.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Quarhaun said. “If I recklessly seized all the power I could without regard for the consequences, out of ignorance or desperation, I suspect I’d be more powerful than you can even imagine. But I choose a more moderate path. I’d like to survive long enough to enjoy my power.”
Shara looked between Quarhaun and Tempest, realizing for the first time how her experience of Tempest had colored her impressions of the drow warlock. They were different in many ways, starting with the eldritch blade Quarhaun wielded to channel his power. Tempest preferred standing back from her enemies, sending her spells coursing through her rod to blast them from afar. But some part of her, Shara realized, had figured that Quarhaun’s power was more or less accidental, the way Tempest’s was. To think that he had sought out the infernal power he wielded was a bit disturbing.
Tempest’s anger burst its banks and she stood up, leaning over the table to glare at the drow. “We are both thieves, Quarhaun, wielding power that isn’t ours. You can pretend you’re a wizard if you like, couching it all in the language of academic study, but it doesn’t change that fact. Sooner or later, our crimes will catch up with
