He pushed the door aside and went inside.
Seated on the ground, her back against a thick post driven into the ground with her arms still tied behind it, Shara looked up at him. “How’s the food at the feast?”
He couldn’t help smiling. Even bound as a prisoner, Shara held onto her brazen appearance. Thick red hair curled over her shoulders and fell down her back. The Tigerclaws had taken the greatsword that was usually strapped across the warrior woman’s back, but she still wore the light armor she preferred. Albanon turned to Quarhaun. The drow warlock was bound as Shara was with the addition of a hood to cover his head, a common arrangement intended to prevent the effective casting of spells. His head was up now, but he hadn’t spoken. “Quarhaun,” Albanon asked, “are you gagged under-Ow!”
His question was cut off violently as Cariss and Hurn burst through the door, shoving him to the ground. Shara cursed and jumped up-her bonds had been a ruse after all. Quarhaun followed suit, dragging the hood from his head and snatching a handful of dark, crackling energy out of the air. For a moment, human and drow faced the two shifters over Albanon where he lay.
Then Turbull growled a command from outside the door. “Peace! We’re here to talk. Your friends have demanded it.”
“You’ll let us go?” asked Shara.
“We’ll talk,” said Turbull. “Hurn, Cariss, step back.”
The two Tigerclaws relaxed-slowly. After a moment, so did Shara. Quarhaun, however, kept the dark energy playing around his hand. Albanon rolled to his feet. “Easy, Quarhaun,” he said. “They’ve treated us fairly so far.”
“They haven’t been so kind to us.” The drow’s Common carried an accent.
“You came into our camp as thieves,” said Turbull, entering the tent. He stepped to one side of the door. Tempest and the others followed him in. The tiefling, Roghar, and Belen moved to the other side of the door. Uldane, of course, went to stand with Shara and Quarhaun. It occurred to Albanon that he’d seldom seen the halfling look more certain or serious. The argument that had driven him and Shara apart and that had tormented Uldane in Winterhaven had clearly been mended. Albanon could see how finding and saving even the most estranged friends in a camp surrounded by potential enemies might have that effect. They could discuss it later, but for now he was glad they had reconciled.
He rose to his feet, then paused. Three groups had formed inside the tent: the Tigerclaws to one side of the door; Shara, Quarhaun, and Uldane in the middle; and Tempest, Roghar, and Belen on the door’s other side. Which group he joined would send a message to Turbull and might affect how discussions within the tent proceeded. Quarhaun still held onto the dark energy, Roghar had his hand on his sword hilt, and Hurn and Cariss looked ready to fight the first person to make a move. Albanon bit his lip-then went to stand before Turbull.
“I’ve been told,” he said, “that Tigerclaws deal harshly with those who cross them, yet you’ve kept our friends alive. I’ve been told that Tigerclaws honor their guests, but you’re trying to manipulate us. Tradition is important to you, but you’re willing to go against it for the sake of your clan.” He gestured at his friends. All of them. “We’d like to continue on our way, but there’s something you know about this valley. Everything ties back to it. What is it? What’s there?”
Turbull studied him in silence. Cariss’s face tightened and she seemed about to say something, but Turbull shook his head and she held her tongue.
Hurn didn’t. “I don’t like this,” he growled. “I don’t like dealing with outsiders. Especially thieves.”
“You were keeping us alive for something,” said Shara. “I know Tigerclaws. I know what they do.”
“These are unusual times. Desperate times.” Turbull looked back at Albanon. “Answer me this: Were you deliberately trying to deceive us about your destination? Did you really lie about the valley?”
“When Cariss found us, we knew the direction we had to go, but not where we were going. I didn’t think you would appreciate outsiders wandering at random through your territory, so I picked a destination that I thought would be common in the mountains.” Albanon spread his hands. “I didn’t realize that the valley I described would be unique-or that it would have any significance. For either of us.”
“Then there was more than coincidence behind your choice of words.” Turbull gestured. “Sit with me. The others can stand if they wish, but we will speak as men of wisdom.”
He lowered himself to the ground. Albanon gathered his robes and did the same. There was something about sitting that eased the tension between them. Even the others seemed to sense it. Hurn, Cariss, and Roghar relaxed somewhat. Shara nudged Quarhaun and the drow finally released the magic that had been crackling in his hand. Tempest gestured for Belen and the two women came to sit behind Albanon. Turbull nodded slightly in approval, but his eyes remained on Albanon.
“You were right to guess that we are interested in claiming the valley as our territory,” he said. “There is a spring and game in the hills. If the plague spreads, the mouth of the valley can be defended easily. The Thornpad clan will survive.”
“But…” said Albanon.
Turbull nodded and added, “But the valley isn’t empty. Perytons lair on the ledges of the mountain face.”
Shara muttered an oath of disgust. Albanon felt his stomach knot. The others shifted uneasily. Only Quarhaun seemed uncertain. “Perytons? Some kind of monstrous bird?”
“Monstrous, yes,” said Shara. “Birds, no. They’re at least as big as a human and often bigger, with the body of a bird of prey and the head and antlers of a stag.”
The drow snorted. “They sound ridiculous.”
“They eat people,” said Albanon. “Especially their hearts. Over time a nest of perytons can strip a village.” He turned back to Turbull. “You said the valley is less than a day’s journey from here. Don’t they attack your camp?”
“They’ve tried. The first time, we fought them off with spears and arrows. But they’re wily. Every few days, a hunter will spot one circling high overhead or sometimes just perched in a tree, watching us.”
“And why haven’t you gone to the valley and wiped them out?” asked Quarhaun.
Turbull frowned and tipped his head toward Hurn and Cariss. “I said they’re wily. When we came here I had three strong warriors that I trusted. Then I decided to try attacking the perytons. Now I have two.” He bent forward and scratched a crude map in the hard dirt of the tent floor with his claw. “We can’t reach their nests and when they see us, they attack with stealth. They dive with the sun behind them, strike fast, and fly away again. They’re larger than most perytons I’ve seen and there are more of them than usual. I think it’s an older nest, well- established and successful. There are orcs and goblins on the other side of the mountains-plentiful prey, but I can’t imagine they’ll continue to fly so far when a new source of food is closer. It may even get worse. Over the last two days, my scouts say they seem more active and angry, as if something has disturbed them.”
“So they keep you out of the valley, but if you stay here, they’ll eventually start preying on you,” said Albanon. “Why not keep moving? Find another place to take refuge from the Abyssal Plague?”
Hurn snarled at the suggestion. Cariss grunted and said, “The Thornpads will run no further.”
“As you say, eladrin, my position is not so safe,” said Turbull with a shrug. “I have bent tradition as far as it can be bent. More and there will be warriors who will challenge my leadership.”
“So what about us?” asked Tempest. “Why were you being evasive about the valley when we asked?”
Roghar snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? He hoped that by letting us go into the valley we would kill or weaken the perytons so that his people didn’t have to face them.”
A look of shame crept over Turbull’s face. “It is not the way to treat guests, but at first I hoped that if you were seeking the valley, you might already have some plan or magic for dealing with them. But then yes, I hoped you would deal with the perytons for us.” He swept a hand around to all of them. “There are only a handful of you, but you’re fighting the dragon who spreads the plague. You’re either mighty or mad.”
Albanon couldn’t argue with that, although he might have decided on “mad” over “mighty.”
“What about us?” Shara said, nodding to Quarhaun. “You had no idea we were Vestapalk’s enemies. What did you want with us?”
“Ah,” said Turbull. He sat back. “We had been considering trying to lure the perytons into the open so we could attack them on the ground. Obviously, I didn’t want to risk the lives of my people as bait in the trap.”
He spoke with such casual bluntness that for a moment it took Albanon’s breath away.
Shara’s eyes went wide. Her entire body tensed. “Bait? We were going to be bait?”
Before she could say anything more, Quarhaun put a hand on her arm. Shara turned to look at him and,
