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.
Out in the dark countryside, something flashed in the moonlight. He moved to the parapet and leaned out, peering into the night.
“What?” said Uldane, turning to stand alongside him. “Do you see something?”
“Maybe.” The shifting clouds gave the illusion of movement to every shadow. The pale moonlight erased color at a distance, but the flash had seemed distinctly and disturbingly crystalline. He stared at the place he had seen it. Or thought he had seen it. When the flash came again, he realized it was much closer than he’d believed. A plague demon, one of the big four-armed kind, stood half-hidden beside the trunk of a tree only a little more than a bowshot beyond the wall. Fear made a sour taste in his mouth. He cursed under his breath and searched for more.
“What do you see?” asked Uldane.
“A demon.” He fixed his gaze on a suspicious shadow, waited until the moonlight caught it, then cursed when it did. “Another one.” The tips of his ears prickled. “There won’t be just two of them. They’re out there.”
“Do we call the alarm or just hope they leave us alone like the ones in the Cloak Wood?” asked Splendid from his shoulder.
“We call the alarm. It isn’t just about us tonight.” He looked around for the other watcher on his section of the wall, an older merchant named Bairwin who handled a sword like he knew what to do with it and who carried a hunting horn for just this moment. Just as he did, though, the moon broke through the clouds, washing Winterhaven with cold, bright light.
In the sudden radiance, a full two score demons stood revealed, the crystals growing from their hides glittering darkly. “Goblin kisser!” yelped Uldane.
Albanon saw Bairwin grab his horn and raise it to his mouth, but there was no need to sound an alarm. As if the bright moonlight had been a signal, the demons howled and charged. The sound was like a sword punching through Albanon’s chest. To anyone down in the village, there could be no doubt as to what was taking place beyond the walls.
He had no chance to look back and see, however. The horde came bounding, leaping, and running across the short distance separating them from Winterhaven. Smaller bestial demons like hounds took the lead, but one massive figure stood out in the midst of the charge: a four-armed demon larger than an ogre and twice as broad. Crimson crystals grew to form armor not just across its shoulders, but in a thick plate over its skull as well. Powerful legs thrust against the ground, propelling the demon forward-straight toward the village gate. The gate was strong and the beam bracing it heavy, but Albanon had a vision of both flying to splinters at the impact of this living battering ram.
Along the wall, Bairwin cursed and fumbled as he tried to fit an arrow to his bow. Uldane looked down at the throwing knife in his hand, then up at Albanon, his eyes wide. The wizard clenched his jaw. “I know,” he said. “It’s going to take more than arrows or knives to stop it.”
He darted along the wall, ignoring Splendid’s frightened leap from his shoulder, so that he stood directly over the gate and right in the demon juggernaut’s path. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of considering what might happen if he succumbed to the mad urge to expand the magic-he had enough to fear already. Holding his staff tight, he thrust it over the wall and shouted the carefully formed words of a spell. Arcane energy poured through him and through the staff, bursting from it in an invisible blast of force that betrayed itself only as ripples in the air.
The spell slammed into the demon like the blow of a titanic hammer. The huge creature flew backward, bowling over half a dozen lesser demons. When it hit the ground, it lay still and Albanon thought he could see a long, dark crack bisecting the thing’s heavy crystal skullplate. For several heartbeats, the other demons didn’t seem to realize the big one was no longer with them. Albanon might have found the sight of them running headlong into the gates amusing if it hadn’t been accompanied by their bloodcurdling howls.
“Well done, wizard,” said Bairwin. “Well done.” The man’s chest heaved as he struggled to calm himself. Albanon knew exactly how he felt.
“He’s only bought us time.” Suddenly Ninaran, the elf woman, was with them. “Get busy with your bow, you idiot.”
The other watchers had joined them as well, all of them stringing bows or madly cranking back crossbows. From below and behind, Roghar’s voice rose up, demanding to know what had happened. Albanon glanced down the wall. The paladin stood with Lord Padraig, Tempest, Belen, Immeral, Thair Coalstriker, and all of Winterhaven’s other defenders.
“We brought down a big demon trying to ram the gates,” he shouted back. Bow strings twanged around him. Screeches of pain broke the howls of the demons. “There are a lot more, though.”
Padraig’s face hardened. He began calling names and issuing orders. Some defenders moved to stand by the gates. Others raced up the stairs to reinforce the watchers. Albanon turned back to face the demons. They milled around outside the gates like a pack of mad dogs, snapping and clawing at the arrows that fell among them, but showing no signs of dispersing. Those that fell were trampled and shredded without care.
“More spells would be good, eladrin,” Ninaran said between clenched teeth. “Keep them back from the gates.” She loosed an arrow and another demon screamed.
Albanon pressed his lips together, picked his target, and gestured with his staff. Flame roared up in a golden column, leaving two demons writhing on the ground and sending two more dancing back. Ninaran raised a thin eyebrow and nodded approvingly. Albanon felt a small triumph as well. He was in control of his magic. The burned demons weren’t down yet, though. As they tried to rise, Albanon flicked his fingers and a bolt of silvery force flung one of them back to the ground-just as a blast of smoky flame engulfed the other. Albanon turned to find Tempest beside him, rod in hand.