The Temple of Yellow Skulls (45 page)

“I’m—? You—?” Albanon blinked in surprise. He tried to smile, but found he couldn’t. “Kri, we failed. Vestapalk is out there somewhere just dripping with the Voidharrow. He has exarchs on the loose, and all we’ve managed to do is kill Raid and a few brute demons. It feels like we’ve completely let down the memory of the Order.”

“Don’t say that.” The cleric shook his head. “You did a lot, Albanon. We know more than we did because of you—and you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the cause. I’d say that shows tremendous respect for the Order.” Kri reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “And you fought the Voidharrow
on a personal level that no member of the Order ever has. I’m proud of you. Moorin would be proud of you.”

A smile and a sense of satisfaction finally came to Albanon. “Thank you, Kri. That means a lot.”

“Good.” The grip on his shoulder turned to a pat. “Now go back to the others. I need to meditate. You need to rest and try to enjoy yourself.”

The old cleric’s voice was light, but Albanon caught the tension underneath his words and knew what he really meant. Rest and try to enjoy yourself—until we have to sit down and figure out a way to stop Vestapalk.

Uldane’s voice rose from the direction of the campsite as he launched into another of his stories. One of his tall tales sounded like exactly the sort of thing Albanon wanted to hear. He put his hand over Kri’s for a moment, then turned away. Suddenly the days of his apprenticeship and his longing to leave Fallcrest seemed far, far behind him. The town might be only a few days’ journey away, but in his mind, he’d already left it for the wider world.

And he finally felt like he was ready.

Kri watched Albanon disappear into the trees—then waited a few moments more before he allowed his old body to sag. It had been so long … and he had come so close. “Ioun, you taunt me,” he said. He wrapped his hand around the holy symbol at his throat and felt the familiar shifting within.

He glanced over his shoulder. Albanon was gone. The campsite was invisible through the trees. He pulled the crook and eye symbol of Ioun from his neck and looked at it for a moment, lying in his palm.

Then he unscrewed the lower portion of the shaft and slid out the tiny crystal vial, as slim as a reed and less than half a finger’s length long, that lay hidden inside.

Within the crystal, a drop of red liquid caught the sunlight as it moved back and forth in its prison.

His own secret. His own connection to the Voidharrow. Kri closed his fist around it.

“Soon,” he whispered.