them. Albanon was fairly certain that more conversations would follow once Thair was done with them.
“It’s been hard everywhere lately,” Belen pointed out.
“Aye, I’ve heard that,” Thair said with a nod. “But it seemed like this cursed plague took hold around Winterhaven earlier. When there were only rumors in Fallcrest, there was near panic here. People were disappearing from the more isolated farms and hunting lodges.”
Albanon held back a wince. That had been Hakken Raid, spreading the beginnings of the Abyssal Plague for Vestapalk while the dragon laired at the Temple of Yellow Skulls. He and Kri had used that time to try and plan a trap for Raid-a trap that had ended in Albanon’s own capture by Raid. How many lives might they have saved by acting swiftly and warning Winterhaven instead?
How many more lives might he have saved by not hiding in Fallcrest for the last week?
Thair seemed oblivious to his unease, however. His eyes had taken on a distant look, as if he stared at horrors he’d rather forget. “We pulled back inside the village walls, of course, but it was too late. Some were already infected with the plague-we didn’t realize then that it passes through the wounds inflicted by the demons- and they transformed among us. We had to kill them, but they weren’t the folk we knew anymore. The people they wounded before they were put down, though…”
He sighed, reached for his tankard, and took a deep swallow of thin beer, the best Salvana had been able to set before them. “We still knew them.”
“You had no priest among you?” asked Roghar. “The holy light of the gods can sometimes purge the plague from the infected.”
Thair’s chuckle was bitter. “We haven’t seen Sister Linara in weeks. She didn’t spend much time in Winterhaven to start with. She loved ministering to those on the outlying farms. We think the demons got her early.” Thair sipped again, then set the tankard down. “At first we only saw the demons at night, so we thought it was safe to leave the village during the day. We found out that wasn’t true. After that, we went out in squads, gathered all the crops we could and drove any livestock we could find back into the village. We’ve been living well enough, but it’s not much of a life.”
“If that’s the case,” said Uldane quietly, “it seems like there should be more people around.”
“Not everyone wants to live under siege.” Thair gestured around the inn. “We’re the ones who are too stubborn to leave what we’ve built-or too weak or too stupid. Everyone else fled in various groups to look for sanctuary in Fallcrest.” He dropped his voice. “If Salvana asks whether you’ve seen anyone safe in Fallcrest, I suggest you lie.”
Albanon nodded numbly along with the others. Had he heard of any refugees from Winterhaven in Fallcrest? Granted there had been other things on his mind, but the town was so packed with people that there must been some from Winterhaven.
On the other hand, he hadn’t heard Uldane mention any and surely the halfling would have.
Nor did he now. Instead, all he asked was “Shara?”
“She stopped for a night about three days ago, like I said. It looked as if she’d been travelling and sleeping rough-not that that’s anything to worry about with her. Borojon taught his daughter well. It seemed like she was just looking to take a night indoors.” Thair’s face tightened. “Her and her… friend.”
“Quarhaun,” Uldane said. His voice turned hard. “The drow.”
“Aye,” said Thair. “There were a lot of strange looks when that one came walking through the gate behind her. Some of us remember the drow raids. Shara vouched for him, though. Said he was a friend and could be trusted.”
“She’s taken up with him.”
“That was obvious. They were acting like first loves. The two of them together got even more strange looks than the drow alone.” The dwarf shook his head. “Jarren hasn’t been gone that long.”
Uldane gave a bitter, angry smile. “That’s what I tried to tell her.”
“He was a good man,” said Thair. “Drow are… drow.”
Albanon glanced at Tempest. None of the rest of them had known Jarren, Shara’s betrothed. Vestapalk had slaughtered him along with her father, and their deaths were the source of her single-minded desire for revenge against the dragon. In truth, she didn’t talk much about him. It seemed as if she preferred to keep her grief to herself, expressing it through her rage. The revelation that the relationship between her and Quarhaun had become romantic-as well as physical-had been a surprise to them all. To Albanon it seemed almost natural in some ways. The drow wanted revenge on Vestapalk as well, partly for the death of a number of his people, but mostly for Vestapalk’s attempt to transform him into a demon.
Albanon didn’t think much of the way Shara had run off with Quarhaun, leaving the rest of them behind, but it was her life, not his. Uldane, however, took a more personal view of it. And it seemed like he’d find matching views in Winterhaven.
Or perhaps not. Thair shrugged and reached for his tankard again. “But I’ll say this for that drow: he treated Shara well. Everyone can change. Maybe she changed him. She looked as happy as I’d ever seen her with Jarren.”
The angry smile froze on Uldane’s face. For a long moment, he didn’t move at all. Then he got up and walked out of the inn. “Uldane?” Thair called after him. “Uldane!” He looked to Albanon and the others. “What was that?”
“Uldane had words with Shara before she left Fallcrest,” said Tempest. “About Quarhaun and Jarren.”
“Ah,” said Thair. He took another swallow of beer. “I suppose that would explain why Shara didn’t mention him at all. Everyone thought it was strange that they weren’t together. After Borojon and Jarren were killed, Uldane was the one who saw her through the rough times. We always thought they were inseparable.”
“Trust a drow to make problems,” Roghar said. “Thair, where did Shara and Quarhaun come from?”
“They came out of the east,” the dwarf said promptly. “I saw them arrive. I asked Shara about it, too. She said they’d been travelling along the southern edge of the Winterbole Forest. Still looking for that dragon. We were just a stop on their search.”
The friends glanced at each other. “Which way did they go when they left?” asked Roghar. “West? Southwest toward the Ogrefist Hills?”
“Northwest to the Cairngorm Peaks. When Vestapalk first appeared in the Nentir Vale, that’s where he came from.” One of the men who had been standing around the bar sat down in Uldane’s vacated space. “Pardon the intrusion. I’m Ernest Padraig.”
“ Lord Padraig,” said Thair somewhat indignantly. “You’re still the ruler of Winterhaven, my lord.”
Padraig’s lips twitched. “Desperate times, Thair,” he said. “A lord whose rule doesn’t extend beyond the village walls doesn’t inspire much respect.” He looked at the rest of them with sharp, if weary, eyes. “I apologize for not speaking to you earlier-Uldane I know, but I wanted to take the measure of the rest of you while you talked to Thair. There are two favors I ask of all decent travelers coming to Winterhaven in these times.”
“Name them,” said Roghar without hesitation.
A raised eyebrow joined Padraig’s twitching lip. “Nothing heroic, paladin. I just ask that before you leave us, you take a turn on the walls to give some of my people a chance to rest. As you can see, we’re stretched thin.”
“You seem to have done a good job of defending Winterhaven so far, my lord,” said Belen.
“Luck more than anything else.” Padraig held up a hand to forestall Thair’s protest. “The plague demon attacks have waned lately. Either they’ve gone in search of easier prey or they’ve decided it’s not worth trying to break down walls to get the few of us who are left. Possibly both.”
“We noticed that some of the farms outside the village looked like they’d been scavenged, and not by demons,” Roghar said. “Are there others in the region? Bandits living off the land?”
Thair grimaced. “Tigerclaw barbarians from Winterbole. Rare enough to see them here, but these didn’t even act like themselves. Usually Tigerclaws come in bands of roaring raiders that try to overwhelm a place. These were more like thieves, slipping by silently. They didn’t even make an attempt on Winterhaven.”
“Scouts?” suggested Immeral.
“Scouts do their best not to be seen,” said Padraig with a shrug. “These Tigerclaws didn’t seem to care if we saw them or not. They scavenged the farmsteads for a few days, then disappeared again.”
“Are they still in the area?”
“They could be two valleys over and we wouldn’t know it. But that’s the other favor I ask travelers.” Padraig
