dragon?”
“Vestapalk?” asked Kri.
There was something eager in the way he said the name. Albanon turned on him angrily. “I don’t know! Whatever it is, we have to get out there and help them. Do something!”
“The light of the gods can sear flesh and spirits, but it’s far less potent against rock,” said Kri. “I’ve seen you call forth a blast of force. That’s what we need.” The old priest raised the purple lantern high and considered the wall, then touched the stones. “Here,” he said. “It’s weakened from the other side. Strike it hard enough and you’ll bring down the wall and the door together.”
Albanon looked from Kri to the wall. The stones that had been put up to seal the door were loose enough that the spell he knew would probably bring them down, but the door was another matter. “I don’t know if I can,” he said. “The spell isn’t powerful enough.”
“ ‘Isn’t powerful enough?’ ” asked Kri. He laughed, the sound mingling with another roar from the unseen monster outside. “That’s not a problem and you know it. You’re as powerful as you need to be, Albanon. You said you drove off a horde of plague demons with a lightning storm. I’ve watched you fill rooms with fire. You defeated me while I was filled with the power of a god!”
He’s right, whispered the voice inside Albanon. You know how.
And he did. He barely had to think about it and he knew. It was simple really, easier than increasing the volume of flame or extending the power of lightning. The same amount of force in the original spell, focused into a smaller area, would have a greater impact. Feed more power into the spell, like opening the floodgates in a dam, and the force produced would increase yet again.
Albanon shook his head, trying to dislodge the knowledge that welled up in him. He held those gates closed for a reason. “No. That’s Tharizdun’s way.”
“The Chained God offers freedom from your limitations,” said Kri.
“The Chained God offers madness! I won’t do it!”
The priest shrugged. “Then listen to your friends die.”
Albanon froze, his heartbeat loud in his ears. There was another roar from outside, the loudest one yet. Kri touched the wall again in the same place, then moved away.
The power is yours, said the voice in Albanon’s head. Shape it. Give it purpose. It’s not madness without reason. It’s not madness without control.
Albanon grasped that idea and held onto it. Tempest and the others didn’t need to die. He could help them. Tharizdun taunted him with power, but he could master it. He had to master it. “I’m in control,” he told himself. The spell rose in his mind. Power came with it, his to command. He focused on the spot Kri had indicated. “I’m in control. I’m in control.”
He knew it was a lie with the first words that rippled off his tongue.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The face of the mountain exploded like rotten wood under an axe.
It happened so fast that Tempest barely felt it at first. One moment she was struggling to crush the two- headed dragon with her spell before it could kill her with its poison breath. The next, she was on her back as fragments of stone rained down around her. Roghar’s sword was stuck point down, still vibrating, in the ground close to her. Tempest remembered seeing him hurl it at the dragon in a vain attempt to distract it. Apparently that had been as successful as her desperate spellcasting. Everything seemed strangely quiet-then noise came rushing back and most of it was an agonized double roar. Tempest sat up.
Her friends and the Tigerclaws lay all around her, some still knocked flat, others struggling up like her. The dragon must have been caught by the explosion. A dark hole gaped in the cliff. The doors were open, blasted wide from the inside. Blasted off whatever clever dwarven hinges had held them. One hung askew like a broken shutter. The other was in two pieces on the ground beside Vestausan and Vestausir as the monster thrashed, bellowed, and clawed at the dirt with its forelegs. Venom unreleased before the explosion dripped and sprayed in a green froth from its jaws. Its tail and one hind leg dragged around behind it, strangely misshapen.
Crushed, Tempest realized. The massive stone door had been blown out with such force that it had struck the dragon and broken its bones. Who or what could have struck the doors with that kind of power?
Her answer came striding out through the hole where the door had been. It had tapered ears and silver hair, and for a moment Tempest felt joy. “Albanon!” she cried, and she ran to him, skirting the edge of the battlefield. The eladrin was dirty, but he was alive!
Then she saw his face. Cold. Impassive. His blue eyes were wide and bright, as if he saw things no one else could. Tempest slid to a stop a few paces away from him. A horrible realization struck her, one she should have seen immediately. Albanon wasn’t capable of the kind of magic that had destroyed the dwarven door. At least not on his own-and unlike in Winterhaven, there was no sign of regret or conflict in his expression.
“Albanon, what have you done?” she whispered.
He glanced at her briefly, then turned away, back to the dragon. “Kri,” he called over his shoulder, “it’s not Vestapalk.” He sounded disappointed.
A second figure emerged from the shadows inside the cliff, an old human man with dark, wrinkled skin and short white hair. The back of Tempest’s neck prickled. She brought up her rod, the fire of her power already licking and smoking around it. She’d never met Kri Redshal, but she’d heard more than enough about him from Albanon, Shara, and Uldane.
The traitorous priest only snorted at her. “Know your enemy, warlock.” He joined Albanon. “No,” he said with interest, “not Vestapalk, but certainly some kind of spawn.”
“Like Vestagix.”
“Indeed.”
They might have been discussing the lineage of a prize horse. Tempest looked behind her and found Shara, Uldane, and Quarhaun approaching warily. Roghar was with Turbull, while Belen had joined Hurn, Cariss, and the other Tigerclaws in circling Vestausan and Vestausir. The crippled dragon seemed to have recovered some of its wits. It snapped with both heads at its smaller foes, but the Tigerclaws kept their distance. They kept moving, forcing the monster to turn with them and wear itself down. Neither barbarians nor dragon seemed ready to commit to another close quarters fight, but they didn’t seem ready to retreat either.
Tempest clenched her jaw. There were two forces on the battlefield that frightened her now-but one of them she knew as a friend. She turned back to the priest and the wizard. “Albanon, if you can destroy that thing, do it!”
Blue eyes narrowed. Lightning crackled around Albanon’s fingers. Kri grabbed his arm before he could draw power into the spell, though. “I have a better idea. A test. Take out the gate fragment.”
Albanon blinked, then smiled. To Tempest’s shock, the lightning vanished. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trust me,” said Albanon. He reached into a pouch and produced a small shard of red stone, placing it on his palm and stretching out his arm. Kri held his hand above Albanon’s. His face tightened in concentration.
“Tharizdun,” he intoned.
With that word, a change seemed to come over the valley. The last rays of the setting sun dimmed. Behind Kri and Albanon, the stone face of the cliff shivered, somehow changing subtly from mere rock to a looming, brooding presence. A strange feeling pressed on Tempest’s mind. Bad things had happened here once. Terrible things.
Vestausan and Vestausir stiffened and whipped around, Tigerclaws and its own broken leg forgotten. “You!” both voices roared, in perfect unison for the first time. Propelled by its good legs and wings, the dragon lunged.
Tempest thrust out her rod and screamed the harsh words of a spell. Flame erupted above the creature, streaking down and taking the form of a red hot iron spike as it passed through its shoulder and into the ground beneath. The dragon screeched and the iron groaned, but the spike halted the monster’s lunge. It didn’t end its furious attack, though. As Vestausan snapped at the iron, trying to get its teeth on it to rip it free, the twin head
