The Temple of Yellow Skulls (25 page)

Murgeddin’s eyebrows went up and he shook his head. “Not since you rode out, but you know he’s a hard one to keep track of. I don’t go out of my way to watch for him when we’ve got real troublemakers in town.”

Shara cursed under her breath and threw an angry glance at Albanon. “The tower,” she said and urged her horse on. Albanon sighed.

“Thanks, Murgeddin,” he said. “If you do see Uldane, tell him we’re looking for him. Splendid, come on.” The pseudodragon gave one last taunting twirl, then settled on his shoulder. Albanon tucked his heels into his horse’s side and turned it after Shara and Kri.

By the time he caught up to them before the Shining Tower, Kri already had the tower wards down. “Stop doing that!” Albanon told him.

“Learn to improve your wards,” the old cleric said irritably. “There was a massive flaw in them.”

Albanon scowled. “It wasn’t a flaw. I left it like that so”—he glanced at Shara—“so Uldane could get in if he needed to.”

The warrior woman’s face brightened and she all but leaped off her horse in her haste to reach the door. She threw it open and charged inside, calling Uldane’s name. She was back out in moments. “He hasn’t been here since we left,” she said.

“We’ve only been away a few days,” said Albanon. “His note said he’d be gone that long, too.”

“I don’t like it.” Shara hauled her gear off her horse’s back and threw it inside with a thud and a crash. “I’m going to ask around about him. I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Shara—” Albanon swung himself down from his horse, but he was already too late. She vanished along the road to the lower town before he could stop her. Sighing, he turned to Kri—and found him marching into the tower without so much as a glance back. Sighing again, Albanon set to work removing tack and gear from their horses. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Splendid.”

The little pseudodragon shifted awkwardly.

Albanon closed his eyes and leaned his head against a horse’s neck. “Fine. Go.” He heard her whistle of delight and the rattle of her wings; he opened his eyes to see her flitting up to one of the tower windows. “You wouldn’t have been much help anyway!” the eladrin called after her, then turned back to the horses.

He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that the others had so quickly gone off on their own. The ride back from Andok Sur and the Old Hill had passed mostly in silence. Shara had been wrapped up in thoughts of finding Uldane and renewed vengeance against Vestapalk while Kri had been consumed by … whatever consumed him. The cleric of Ioun might as well have been a follower of Vecna, the dark god of secrets, for all he shared of his thoughts. Albanon had ended up spending most of the journey trying to talk to Splendid.

Shara wanted to find Vestapalk to mete out the vengeance he’d avoided by not dying before. Kri wanted to find the dragon to determine exactly what exposure to the Voidharrow had done to him.

And Albanon wanted to take them both by the scruff of the neck and bang their heads together until they started working with each other. He felt torn between them when they really had a common goal. On the one hand, he wanted
to help Shara—and Uldane, when they found him—avenge the friends and family Vestapalk had killed. On the other, he wanted to help Kri investigate the mystery of the Voidharrow as a tribute to his master, Moorin, slain by Nu Alin in his attempt to recover the vial. What Vestapalk had done with the Voidharrow to the kobolds beneath Andok Sur was proof of the urgency of that investigation. All trails led ultimately to Vestapalk. If they could find him, they’d all gain something.

If only, he thought as he finished with the horses and carried the last of their gear into the tower, they knew where to start looking.

After Albanon washed away the grime of travel and changed his clothes, he went looking for Kri. He found him in the library, surrounded by piles of books pulled off of the shelves. The cleric didn’t look up as Albanon entered. Or when he dragged up a chair and sat down across the desk from him. Or when Albanon cleared his throat—although he did grumble, “You want something?”

“I know this library,” Albanon said. “If there’s something you’re looking for, I can probably help you find it.”

Kri snorted. “I would be no priest of Ioun if I couldn’t find my way around a library.”

Albanon studied—upside down—the book he was reading. He recognized the ornately drawn maps that decorated the crinkling pages.
“The History of the Frontiers of Nerath?”
he asked. He looked at the other books Kri had collected. Most were collections of tall tales and legends. A few were proper histories of the Nentir Vale. “What do you hope to learn from that?”

“That kobold said Vestapalk left Andok Sur in search of the Gatherer.” Kri turned a page. “I’m looking for a clue to what or who that might be.”

“It might not be anything in the Vale,” said Albanon. “Vestapalk could have left the region. Dragons can fly a long way.”

“The world is large. The Nentir Vale is small. When I have exhausted the possibilities in the Vale, I will look beyond it.” He turned another page, then another, lingering over an illustration that Albanon recognized as the dwarven city of Hammerfast on the eastern edge of the Vale. “Besides which, I have a feeling that the dragon has not gone far.”

Albanon remembered how he’d held his holy symbol and swept a hand across the shelf in Moorin’s study where the vial had lain for so long. “You can sense the Voidharrow!”

Kri scowled into the page. “Only when I’m close. No—I believe that something drew Vestapalk to the Vale and he isn’t finished here yet.”

“Andok Sur and the vial,” Albanon said promptly.

The cleric paused and finally looked up at him. The scowl hadn’t left his wrinkled face. Albanon felt an urge to shrink back under that glare. “No,” said Kri. “Use your brain and tell me why you’re wrong.”

Albanon grimaced and considered his assumptions, just as he would have if Moorin had set a problem before him. “Shara only broke the vial against Vestapalk by accident. He wasn’t looking for it. But when we fought him, he babbled something about the Herald arriving soon.” He glanced at Kri. “Nu Alin was in pursuit of the vial. If we hadn’t encountered and defeated him, he might have gone on to Andok Sur after it. And if he was the first being infected by the Voidharrow,
he could be considered its herald.” He frowned, turning the facts over in his mind. A chilly certainty formed in the pit of his stomach. “Vestapalk was in Andok Sur to meet Nu Alin.”

“Whether he knew it or not,” said Kri, nodding. “Shara told me that one of the first times she and her friends encountered Vestapalk, they surprised him as he stood over the disemboweled corpse of a horse, as if searching for an omen in its entrails. The histories of the Order relate that Albric the Accursed was also led by omens and visions before he became Nu Alin. I suspect that Vestapalk and Nu Alin were both led to Andok Sur by omens. If further omens or visions are leading Vestapalk in search of the mysterious Gatherer, perhaps omens are also leading the Gatherer to Vestapalk. He or she—or it—might already be in the Nentir Vale.”

“Or anywhere else,” Albanon said.

Kri scowled again at the suggestion. “The world is large, the Vale is small,” he repeated stubbornly. He turned his eyes back to his book.

Albanon wrinkled his nose and wished he could take back his words. For a moment, Kri had actually seemed to warm toward him. “Shara knows a lot about the Vale,” he said. “She’s traveled through much of it and her father before her.”

“And I intend to ask her about that when she returns from her fool’s quest for your halfling friend,” Kri said coolly.

Albanon slumped in his chair. It was going to take more than a subtle suggestion to get the cleric and Shara working together. “It’s too bad Moorin wasn’t still alive,” he said. “He knew a ritual for locating people. He might have been able to find Vestapalk.”

“I know the same ritual,” said Kri, turning pages again. “Unfortunately, it requires more supplies to conduct than I have
available—or are present in your tower stores. Or, I suspect, are commonly available for purchase in a town like Fallcrest. Besides which, there is a limit to what spells and prayers will reveal. I told you, the Order has tried rituals in the past. The gods and their servants will not answer questions about the Voidharrow.”

Albanon sat up. “What about a question about a dragon? We wouldn’t be asking about the Voidharrow, only Vestapalk.”

Kri raised his head—and gave him a sharp but approving look. “Well considered,” he said. “Unfortunately, we still lack the means to perform the appropriate rituals, but the idea does suggest there may indeed be a serviceable brain between your pointed ears.” He closed the book and regarded Albanon. “Moorin taught you nothing of the Order of Vigilance, did he?”

“Nothing.”

“He should have. He should have passed on his knowledge—the Order has never been large and it’s the responsibility of each member to train one or two to follow him.” Kri folded his hands over the book. “You have questions. Ask.”

Albanon’s eyebrows jumped up high. “Any question?” he asked. Kri just cocked his head in silent response. The eladrin ran his tongue over his lips, trying to think of the right thing to ask. “Have you trained new members for the Order?”

A flicker of pain crossed Kri’s face. “Any
other
question,” he said.

Discomfort warmed Albanon’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He thought again. “Are all members of the Order clerics or wizards?”

“Not at all. Links to the arcane and the divine are common because of the nature of what we protect, but a strong warrior and a cunning rogue are just as welcome. Most members are worldly, brought into the Order because they have seen much and learned to survive it. The most significant criteria,
however, are that potential members are thought to be interested and trustworthy.” Kri held his gaze steady on Albanon. “Did Moorin not trust you?”

The heat in Albanon’s face burned hotter. “He trusted me!”

“Then maybe he had some other reason. Maybe he thought you weren’t interested in becoming a member of the Order.” Before Albanon could react, Kri pursed his lips and added, “I think he might have been wrong.”

Albanon’s mouth turned dry and his heart beat a little faster.

And downstairs, there was a crash as the door of the tower flew open. Somewhere, Splendid screeched in alarm—and was drowned out by Shara’s voice. “Albanon!”

He started to call back to her, then hesitated and glanced at Kri. The old cleric just gestured for him to answer. “Our discussion can wait.”

Albanon nodded gratefully and raised his voice. “In the library!”

Shara came trudging up the stairs and pushed through the door. Her face was flushed from running. She was breathing heavily. “I’ve picked up Uldane’s trail. The night we had our fight, he went to the Lucky Gnome.”

Kri’s eyebrows rose. “A tap house in the lower town,” said Albanon. “Not the best place in Fallcrest.” He stood up and offered Shara his chair. She shook her head, though she gripped the back for support as she brought her breathing under control. Albanon frowned at her. “Have you been running?”

“Halfway across Fallcrest,” she said, then took a final swallow of air and stood straight. “I ended up at the river above the falls. One of the porters who works the upper quays was in the Lucky Gnome that night and remembers seeing Uldane there, too.” Her face tightened. “He was talking to Raid.”

“That’s no surprise,” said Kri. “His note mentioned Raid.”

“And you told Raid to go to the Lucky Gnome that night if he wanted to find adventurers,” Albanon pointed out.

Shara scowled at him. “Well, it sounds like he found them. The porter says he saw a human named Tragent and a half-orc named Dohr with Raid and Uldane, all of them celebrating like priests with their hands in the poor box.”

Kri’s eyebrows rose higher. Shara wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, Kri. You know what I mean. They were up to something.”

“And your porter knew nothing else?” the old man asked.

“No, but if they were making plans, someone might have overheard something. We need to go down to the Lucky Gnome. Three can ask around better than one.”

“Two can ask questions as effectively as three,” said Kri. He slid the book he had been reading on to a pile and selected another. “I’ll remain here. Someone has to do something to find Vestapalk.”

Shara’s hand slammed down on the book before he could open it. “If you want our help, we want yours.”

Kri tilted his head and looked at her with hard, steady eyes. “We?”

Both of them looked at Albanon. The wizard winced, all of his frustrations coming back to him. He let out a long breath and tried to think of a way to get the two of them working together. “Yes,” he said. “We. I want to find Uldane, too. I’m concerned about him and if we can find him, I’m sure he’ll be valuable in tracking down Vestapalk. You’re not having any luck locating anything in the books, are you? Come with us, help us find out where Uldane is”—he turned and glanced at Shara—“and Shara will help with the lore of the Nentir Vale.” He gave the warrior a pointed look.

Shara’s lips pressed together tightly for a moment, but she nodded. “I want to find Vestapalk, too, but not without Uldane beside me.”