leaned over the table. “Tell what you’ve seen on the road. Tell me what’s happening in Fallcrest or anything beyond the Vale you know of. We’re starved for news. Anything you’ve seen or heard, tell me-no matter how small or worrisome. If we’re going to hold out here, we need information. Tell me, then go seek your rest.”
Albanon glanced at the others, lingering on Roghar. There didn’t seem to be any point in telling Padraig about their own quest into the north-or their very direct involvement with Vestapalk and the plague-but there were other things they could tell him. Roghar gave him a slight nod. Albanon looked back to Padraig. “Let’s start with the Cloak Wood. The plague demons may have left Winterhaven, but they haven’t gone very far.”
Night crept closer. It wasn’t necessary to wait until dark blinded those-or most of those at least-within the walls, but it would be easier.
He kept those he had selected to fight with him quiet and still. They were his weakness, the thin scale in the hide of his intentions. He would have done without them if he could have. But then if he could have, he would have descended on the village in a great rush of glittering wings, smashing buildings and scattering villagers in search of his prey. He ran a tongue along his muzzle at the thought of such mayhem and dug his claws into the soft ground as if into flesh.
Anticipation weakened his control for a moment. Around him, demons growled and stirred.
“Silence,” he hissed. “This one orders you to silence.”
The demons subsided, unwillingly it seemed. They anticipated blood and destruction now. Holding them within his will was more difficult.
He made them an offering. “Tonight, there will be no restraint. Tonight, you kill”-he felt their attention, his promise bringing them to rein-“ except for these. Their deaths belong to this one.”
He forced the images of his prey once more onto what passed for the demons’ minds. The eladrin wizard. The tiefling. The halfling. The dragonborn. Along with the images, he impressed threats of what would happen if he was disobeyed.
The demons went still and he felt their submission. Once again, everything grew quiet. He watched the sun sink, red as the Voidharrow, beyond the walls of Winterhaven.
Albanon took the first of two watches over the night. With the sky clear except for a few swift-moving clouds and the moon rising bright, he could see almost as well as he could during the day. An elf woman of Winterhaven, Ninaran, walked the walls opposite him, and Tempest and Immeral would take the second watch. Two people to see in the dark at any time-most of the villagers remaining in Winterhaven were humans and halflings, dependent on torches and lanterns to get by in the night. If he and the others hadn’t arrived, Thair would have had to pull a second watch duty. Small wonder the dwarf had been happy to see them, Albanon thought.
There were six others on the walls with him and Ninaran. Seven if Splendid, perched in her usual spot around his neck, counted. If anything happened, an alarm would bring the full force of the village charging to the rescue. To Albanon that still seemed like a feeble response to whatever might come knocking in the night. He paused by the gates and peered out into the darkness.
The countryside lay quiet and still, a deceptively peaceful landscape broken by abandoned farmsteads and thick copses of trees. Above it, the night sky went on and on. It was intimidating in its vastness. The scattered clouds served only to emphasize how huge and deep it was. Philosophers and sages wondered what mysteries and secret powers lay beyond the multitude of cold, distant stars. Albanon felt like he already knew. The draw to the north was a physical ache inside him. He raised his eyes to the vault of the night.
The eye of Tharizdun looked back at him. The Chained God’s gaze was merciless and heavy, a void that consumed the stars themselves. Go, it seemed to command him. Go now and find what waits for you.
Albanon squeezed his staff in his hands and clenched his teeth until they hurt. “No,” he snarled. “I go at my own pace by my own will, not by yours!”
Something brushed his cheek, dry and scaly. “Have you fallen asleep?” demanded Splendid’s acid voice. “It’s cold. Keep moving.”
The weight of Tharizdun’s gaze vanished. Albanon opened eyes he didn’t remember closing and took a slow breath. The night was only the night. The stars were only the stars. He forced his cramped hand off his staff and reached up to scratch Splendid under her chin.
She twitched back for a moment before leaning into the scratch. “Ahhh,” she said. “That’s more like it.” The pseudodragon rubbed her body against his neck and shoulder, her scales rubbing almost-but not quite-painfully. “You need to do that more often.”
Albanon chuckled. Splendid loved her simple pleasures. “If you had your way, I would wear my fingers down and you’d want me to keep going.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She wriggled around, stretching her neck out to look at him. “Moorin knew how important it was to stop and relax sometimes.”
His fingers slowed. “Moorin didn’t face what I do, Splendid.”
“Didn’t he? Moorin was a member of the Order of Vigilance, training you to take his place. He was the guardian of the captive Voidharrow, something so secret he didn’t even tell me about it. He still found time to forget his responsibilities and enjoy life.”
“I don’t remember that.”
Splendid snorted and pulled away. “Apprentices never remember the good times. Ungrateful wretches.”
Albanon smiled. “I like you too, Splendid.” She sniffed and turned her head away, but her forepaws kneaded his chest affectionately.
A boot scraped on the stone behind Albanon. The wizard knew who it was before he turned around. Only one person deliberately dragged his foot that way to announce his presence. “Uldane,” he said, “you don’t have to be up here until later. We couldn’t find you, so we put you on the second watch with Tempest and Immeral.” He turned around.
The halfling looked miserable. He also looked dusty, as if he’d just crawled out of some long neglected hiding hole. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Albanon, do you think I was right to tell Shara she betrayed Jarren by taking up with Quarhaun?”
It seemed like it was going to be a night for hard questions. Albanon leaned on his staff and thought before he answered. “How exactly is Shara betraying Jarren?”
“She can do better than Quarhaun!”
Albanon gave Uldane a level look. “That doesn’t sound like betraying Jarren. What’s wrong with Quarhaun?”
“He’s arrogant. He’s rude. He uses people.” Uldane began pacing back and forth on the narrow walkway. “He doesn’t give a muskrat’s whisker about anyone!”
“Except Shara.”
The halfling glared at him. “Quarhaun’s a typical drow,” he said. “You’ve never heard his stories about growing up in the Underdark, have you? Lies, treachery, assassination-it’s enough to scare the smallclothes off you, and he acts like it’s all normal.”
“Shara sees something in him, though.”
Uldane’s expression twisted and he spat on the stones at Albanon’s feet. “You sound like Thair.” He turned toward the stairs down from the wall. Albanon grabbed his shoulder.
“Wait,” he said, holding tight as Uldane tried to shrug him off. “How would you describe Immeral?”
Uldane raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled at the turn in questioning. “Brave. Loyal. Respectful.”
“Not to his face,” said Albanon. He turned Uldane loose. “What if you were talking about him behind his back.”
“I wouldn’t-” This time Albanon raised an eyebrow. Uldane shrugged. “Formal,” he said. “Stiff. Cold. Distant.”
“So a typical eladrin.”
“Yes,” Uldane agreed, then winced as he remembered who he was talking to. “You’re not like that.”
“I know,” Albanon said, “but it took some time living away from the Feywild before I was comfortable with it. Maybe Quarhaun needs time away from the Underdark with people he knows he can trust.”
Uldane made a face. He fidgeted where he stood, walked back and forth a couple of times-then stepped up to the parapet and punched it. Albanon turned to look at him in surprise. The halfling’s face deepened into a scowl and he shook a hand with blood oozing from split knuckles. “I still don’t like him,” he said harshly.
“I don’t think you have to,” said Albanon, but he froze even as the words left his mouth.
