The blunt answer earned him a growl from Hurn and a wince from Albanon. “Kri!”
“You said no preaching. I offered an explanation that was clearer than what you attempted.” Kri turned back to Hurn. “Any further questions?”
Hurn looked to Turbull with an angry expression but the shifter chief waved him to silence and said instead, “The Thornpad won’t return here. We’ll seek another refuge.”
“Why?” asked Albanon. “The perytons are gone.”
“And we thank you, but I won’t expose my people to a danger almost as great as the Abyssal Plague.”
Kri snorted. “I told you, there’s nothing to fear in the cloister.”
“The Elder Eye watches,” said Turbull, his catlike eyes narrowing and a trace of a snarl creeping into his voice. “I have no desire to remain under its gaze.”
The cracks in his mask of a wise and calm leader were beginning to show. Kri was tempted to push him, to show him just what Tharizdun’s freedom could offer, but Turbull turned his back on him and spoke to Albanon. “Return to our camp with us and reclaim your horses and the gear you left. We will share what provisions we can.”
“If we’re successful, you won’t need to fear the plague,” said Albanon.
“You know where to find Vestapalk?”
“West and south from here, past the Ogrefist Hills.”
“A hard journey. Harder if Vestapalk sends demons to stop you. You say he can take possession of any plague demon? He sees and speaks through them?”
Albanon nodded. “The Voidharrow connects them. Maybe if we can avoid plague demons, we can keep him from finding us. That might make the journey easier.”
“I know woodcraft,” said Shara. “I can keep us hidden.”
“You?” asked Cariss. “You crashed through the forest like a raging boar last night. If you need to hide, it will take more woodcraft than you have.” She stood up. “Turbull, I will go with them. I owe Albanon my life. I haven’t paid that debt yet.”
The eladrin looked startled and sputtered something about how she owed him nothing, but his protest was drowned out by a curse from Hurn. “Leave the tribe? You will be Riven!” He spat.
Cariss spat back at him. “I’ll return!”
“Hurn, not every Tigerclaw who ventures beyond the tribe has to be declared Riven,” said Turbull. “And not every Riven is a feral monster. They can redeem themselves.” The chief raised his hand to Cariss. “Go. Do what you must.”
Albanon still looked like he wanted to protest, but Belen grabbed him and whispered something to him. He frowned, but then bent his head to Cariss. She nodded back to him somberly.
Hurn still didn’t seem happy. “Vestapalk’s creature found them here, didn’t it?” he said. “How? We’ve seen no plague demons since we came to the mountains.”
“Luck,” said Roghar, speaking up for the first time. The dragonborn sat a little apart from the others, still wearing full armor. “Chance. Maybe it followed us from Winterhaven.”
“We would have seen it,” pointed out Uldane. “It didn’t seem like subtlety was its strong point. I don’t think it would have waited to attack us. Maybe your patrols haven’t been as thorough as you thought, Hurn. Maybe there is a plague demon-it would only take one, right?”
The shifter bared his teeth at the suggestion. The other Tigerclaws looked uneasy. So, Kri noticed, did Roghar. He smiled to himself, then said calmly, “Perhaps a bit of both. Plague demons may have seen you travelling north, then Vestapalk could have dispatched Vestausan and Vestausir to search the region for you. If the beast was spawned in the Plaguedeep, it would have taken time for it to get here.”
The others stared at him. “That seems… reasonable,” said Albanon.
“Of course it’s reasonable,” Kri said, lifting his head proudly. “You don’t need to act surprised. I’m only mad some of the time, you know.”
The stares got a little wider. Those around the fire shifted uncomfortably. Kri rolled his eyes and sighed. “That was a joke.” No one laughed. He shrugged and sat back. “Perhaps not. But then, I imagine you’re all worried about your camp anyway. If Vestausir and Vestausan circled the area before they found us, they likely saw your camp first.”
That provoked a reaction. Hurn jumped to his feet with a howl and cries of dismay erupted from other Tigerclaws around the fire. Turbull looked stricken. Even Tempest and Belen seemed worried. Kri almost chuckled out loud.
Albanon spoiled his fun. “Kri, stop,” he said. “Turbull, he’s manipulating you. If your camp had been attacked, we’d have seen some sign, right? Vestausan and Vestausir probably would have taunted you with it.”
Turbull’s face tightened. “You may be right,” he said. “You may not. Hurn, take a few warriors. Go back to the camp tonight.”
The big shifter left the circle around the fire and raced around the campsite, picking others to go with him. Turbull glared at Kri. “You would find a place among the Riven, Kri Redshal.”
Kri smiled. “Maybe when I’m finished with Vestapalk.”
Albanon rose and came around the fire to crouch next to him. “Kri, maybe you should go away for a little while,” he said quietly. He was trying hard to sound harsh, but to Kri he sounded almost sick-sick and weary. Kri leaned closer to him.
“Stop trying to resist,” he said, then he stood up. “It is time for my prayers. I’ll leave. I wouldn’t want my faith to… disturb you.”
Wrapping his borrowed cloak around him, he put his back to the fire and strode off into the darkness. He remembered seeing a little hollow below a thick stand of trees a decent distance from the campsite, and he headed for it. He would have brought the crystal lantern from the cloister, but some instinct told him that it belonged there, so he’d left it inside the shattered door. Besides, after two weeks in the dimness of the cloister, the pale moonlight seemed brilliant. He found the stand of trees and the hollow and settled himself into the shadows.
His visitor came sooner than he’d expected. Roghar crouched down in a creaking of leather and metal. The glint of distant firelight was visible on either side of the trees in the hollow, but the dragonborn was just a silhouette. “Kri,” he said. There was discomfort in his voice.
Kri could imagine his face, twisted and tight. He chuckled. “You don’t want to be here, do you, paladin of Bahamut? You don’t like the idea of begging aid from the Chained God. But the plague doesn’t give you a choice, does it?”
Roghar’s breath rasped in his throat. “How did you know?”
“Your insistence that Vestapalk’s creature found us by luck. Your unease when Uldane said there might be a plague demon. Your armor-what warrior retires to camp and doesn’t remove even his gauntlets?”
He knew by Roghar’s sharp inhalation that he’d struck a nerve. “How long has it been?” he asked. “How far has it progressed?”
“Since Winterhaven. The wound is on my wrist-it festers and my arm burns. Both arms. I pray and Bahamut slows the disease, but does not take it away.” A sob broke his voice. “Help me, Kri! You used the light of the gods to burn the Voidharrow out of Albanon. Burn the plague out of me!”
Kri smiled in the darkness. “There will be a price.”
Roghar stiffened. “Tell me,” he said. “I won’t betray Bahamut.”
“From the servant of one god to the servant of another, I will not ask you to do that,” said Kri. “But you will owe me obedience. Once only, but when I chose to call on you, you will obey me, no matter what I ask.”
Roghar didn’t relax. “I can’t do that.”
“Then the Abyssal Plague will consume you.” Kri rose.
Roghar’s gauntleted hand closed on his arm. “Wait.”
“Obedience,” said Kri. “Swear it. On your honor.”
Roghar swallowed, the sound audible. “I will obey you. Once only and I will not betray Bahamut, but I will obey you. I swear it in his name and upon my honor as his paladin.”
Triumph tingled up Kri’s neck and across his scalp. The contentment he’d felt earlier returned. He drew his arm out of Roghar’s grasp and put his hands on top of the dragonborn’s scaly head. “Then try not to scream,” he said. “The light I’ll be able to explain if anyone asks, but not screams.”