The trees grew thinner close to the base of the cliff, but the underbrush became heavier. Hardy vines clung a short way up the stone face itself. Here and there, they’d been torn back to expose the rock beneath. Where the vines had protected it, the surface was pocked by potential handholds. Farther up, however, it was weathered almost smooth. Uldane would need to find a more sheltered spot or a vein of some hard stone that might have resisted the weather.
If there was still any need to make the climb. The dragonborn cupped his hands around his muzzle and bellowed “ Albanon! ”
The echoes that rolled back at him were the only response. “We’ve tried that,” Turbull growled. “No answer. Not even a pebble dropped over the edge as a sign.”
“So we could be trying to rescue a corpse?”
Another glance from Tempest. This time it irritated Roghar more than it shamed him. He glared back at his old friend. “It’s a possibility.”
“He could be lying wounded. He might not be able to answer. We’re going after him.”
Roghar wanted to apologize, to tell her that he’d never meant to question whether they’d go after Albanon. Something dark and angry rose inside him, though. Who was Tempest to question him? He tried to fight the feeling down, but it still came out as a derisive snort. Tempest’s eyebrows drew together beneath her horns and she frowned.
Anything else she might have said was interrupted, however, by a shout from along the cliff face. There was a snarl to it, but also an uneasy whine, like a frightened animal-it must have been one of the Tigerclaws.
Long experience adventuring together took over. Roghar and Tempest exchanged a knowing glance and followed the sound. The paladin led with his shield up and a hand on his sword, while the warlock followed a couple of paces behind, her rod at the ready. But they weren’t the only ones to investigate. Belen fell in beside Roghar while Turbull raced ahead. Other Tigerclaws seemed to melt out of the forest and rush past them. Uldane caught up to them. “What was that?”
Roghar shook his head and shoved the halfling back with Tempest. Ahead, the Tigerclaws, together with Shara and Quarhaun, were gathered around something on the cliff face. The shifters were growling and unsettled, for the most part keeping their distance. Shara saw Roghar and the others and waved them forward. Roghar pushed through-and growled as well.
There, vines grew higher than normal on the cliff, but some had been pulled down. What lay beneath was not rough rock, however. The stone surface had been worked smooth and flat-and carved with a jagged spiral.
“The sign of the Elder Eye,” said Cariss. She made a gesture Roghar guessed was meant to ward off evil. “In Winterbole Forest, a few monstrous creatures with an affinity to ice and cold make offerings to it.”
“Packs of Riven, too,” Hurn bared his teeth and spat. “Filthy, feral traitors to the tribe.”
Roghar saw Belen flinch at the mention of the Riven-Hurn’s anger had struck too close to her secret. He tried to change the subject. “It’s the symbol of Tharizdun,” he said. “The Chained God tries to lure worshipers in the guise of the Elder Elemental Eye.”
“And not all exiles from the tribe turn to the Elder Eye, Hurn,” said Turbull. “They turn their backs on the Spirit of Hota, but they don’t become beasts.” His face tightened as he studied the jagged spiral, though. “Elder Eye or Chained God, I don’t like the sign’s presence in this valley. What is it doing here? Who carved it?”
Quarhaun stepped closer to the rock face and his pale eyes narrowed. “The symbol isn’t the only thing here.” He drew his sword, stretched up and placed its tip in the center of the spiral, then pulled the sword carefully down the stone.
Dirt and fine debris peeled away after it, revealing a dark, straight line in the rock. “It’s a seam,” he said. “This looks like the work of dwarves.” He grabbed a handful of vines and pulled them away to expose more of the smooth surface. Shara went to help him. Then Tempest. And Uldane. And Turbull, and Belen, and others. In a short time, all of the vines along that stretch of the cliff face were down.
A pair of arched doors, as tall and wide as fortress gates, stood revealed. No handles or hinges were visible and there was no decoration except Tharizdun’s jagged spiral. More of the Tigerclaws made Hurn’s warding gesture.
“Do you think this is where Albanon’s urge was leading us?” asked Tempest.
“I’m sure of it.” Quarhaun ran his hands over the smooth stone, pushed against the doors without result, then stepped back and looked at the rest of them. “I’ve never known anyone who makes one door into a place that doesn’t make a second one.” He nodded to the cliff overhead.
“You’re going in?” asked Hurn.
“ We’re going in,” said Turbull grimly. “Albanon aided us. We aid Albanon. And if we intend to settle in this valley, we need to know all of its dangers.”
A murmur ran through the Tigerclaws at that. Turbull turned and silenced them with a snarl.
“I think a better question might be how do we get in?” Uldane said. “There’s no lock on the doors. I can’t open them.”
Roghar studied the doors and his lips twitched into a smile. For the first time since Winterhaven, he felt like he had a purpose again.
“I can,” he said.
It took longer to find, fell, and strip the necessary trees than it took for Roghar to rig them together with rope into a sturdy frame and suspended battering ram in front of the great stone doors. Personal combat wasn’t the only form of battle that Bahamut’s paladins were trained for. Roghar had never needed to conduct siege warfare, but he thanked the Platinum Dragon he’d found siege engines interesting enough that they stuck in his memory. The work almost made him forget the burning infection in his hands and arms.
Turbull looked at the rough timbers with some doubt. “I’ve heard of such things,” he said. “I’d thought that armies could just take a tree trunk and run it against fortress gates.”
“We would have had to clear a lot of underbrush to make enough room for a charge at the doors,” said Roghar. “This is easier.” He took hold of the hanging ram and used his entire body weight to drag it back, then took a deep breath and drove it forward. The ram’s head slammed into the stone doors with a resounding boom.
“Teams of ten,” he called out. “Five to a side. We work in shifts. This will likely take some time.”
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” asked Belen. She pointed up, not to the ledges, but to the sky. The sun had sunk well into the west, casting most of the valley into shadow and painting the steep slopes of its far side with gold.
“We have enough people who can see in the dark,” Roghar told her. She shook her head.
“That’s not what I’m worried about. If this is some lost shrine or forgotten temple of Tharizdun, I’d rather face it during the day.”
Roghar glanced around, then dropped his voice. “Tharizdun wanted us to follow Albanon here, didn’t he? What do you think we will have to face?” When she didn’t respond, he turned back to the ram, where the first team of ten-Shara and Quarhaun among them-had taken their places. “Ready!” he called. “Pull and… swing!”
The ram slammed against the doors a second time. “Pull,” called Roghar again, “and… swing!”
They quickly fell into a rhythm, the boom of the ram echoing across the valley on a regular basis. The siege engine creaked and groaned but hung together. There was no immediate change to the face of the doors, but that didn’t surprise or deter Roghar. The stone looked tough and if the doors were dwarf-made as Quarhaun suspected, they would likely be thick as well. At least there was no one trying to stop them from breaking in.
Fine cracks spread out from where the ram struck. Chips of stone started to flake away. He changed the teams swinging the ram, but didn’t leave his own post at the back end of it. Quarhaun, sweat glistening on his black skin, came to stand beside him. “What if it’s sealed on the other side?” he asked quietly. “A wall or something.”