Prologue
Tauran knelt upon a protrusion of rock and surveyed the shimmering pool far below. The distant surface of the water rippled and gleamed, disturbed to a golden foam by a roaring, tumbling waterfall. The astral deva's perch jutted from the top of the cliff alongside the.lip from which the cascade plunged. Spray from the churning torrent peppered him with a fine, cool mist and made the rocks beneath his bare feet slick.
It was a long drop.
Behind the angel, the surging headwaters of the river spilled out of a cleft in the side of a towering pinnacle of rock. It was the tallest, most delicately thin peak among a high, sharp ridge of jutting stone that formed a deep basin surrounding the pool on three sides. On the distant bank, opposite where Tauran rested, the water spilled over a lower lip of the ridge, vanishing from sight to other basins even farther below. From the astral deva's vantage, it was as though the pool lay within the confines of a great crater, like the belly of a steep-sided volcano. He knew the far slopes of that circular ridge fell away just as sharply, where they eventually vanished into a sea of white, fluffy clouds.
The powerful effusion of water, coupled with the slenderness and loftiness of its host peak, liberated more power and beauty than any mere spring. The gushing flow of the cataract bursting from the crevice owed its vigorous current to primal and potent magic. Those headwaters held the might of gods, the puissance of deities, within them. In many ways, the essence of divinity itself spouted from that peak.
It was the Lifespring.
The Lifespring derived its amber hue from both its own inner glow and the warm rays of the late afternoon sun illuminating its surface. Even from his lofty perch, Tauran could smell the sweetness of that glow wafting upward. It filled him with energy and confidence, infused him with the glory of Tyr, his beloved and benevolent lord. The urgency the angel felt to bathe in it made his skin prickle in anticipation, but he waited, watching.
Other creatures swam in the water. Tauran could see them despite the glint of the sun reflecting in his eyes. They were angels, like himself, though not all were astral devas. He observed a handful of emerald-skinned planetars frolicking in the pool. Even a pair of solars, silvery gold and larger than the others, had come to relax and soak up the glory of their deity. They remained near the far shore, gathered together for conversation and games. A few swam or drifted toward the center, content to enjoy the spiritual invigoration of the Lifespring in their own way. But none of them approached the cascade.
Nodding in satisfaction, Tauran stood. He unfurled his feathery white wings only slightly, gave a measured appraisal of the distance, and leaped off the outcropping. He straightened his body and pointed his fingers and toes. The wind rustled the feathers of his wings for a moment, then he caught the breeze and lifted in a gentle arc, rising above the churning waters that fell directly beneath the cataract.
The air currents held the angel aloft for a heartbeat. He floated at the apex of the arc, and it seemed to the deva that he hovered there, perfectly balanced between the pull of the world below and the buoyant updrafts of the breezes. In that moment, at that instant of equilibrium, Tauran felt unbridled joy, harmony, contentment. He felt the embodiment of all that was the House of the Triad.
Then the angel's forward momentum carried him through the apex of his arc, and he slid downward, toward the pool. Tauran had to resist the urge to unfurl his wings fully, had to fight to avoid catching the updrafts once more and gliding through the air. That would have been easy for him. But he wanted the greater challenge.
The deva stayed rigid, his body an arrow, his wings the fletching. He nosed downward, increasing speed, plummeting toward the water. The winds whistled past his ears and his long amber hair blew. He accelerated, truly falling, and shifted his wings by fractions, making subtle corrections in his descent.
The exhilaration of the drop mingled with a hint of fear. Tauran had made the dive before, of course. Many times, in fact. But there was always risk, no matter how experienced he felt. One wrong shift, one overcompensation and he might lose control, might crash against the surface of the water rather than knifing through it with barely a ripple. With that uncontrolled fall would come pain, injury. Even with healing magic at his fingertips, the angel dreaded such wounds. He remained vigilant, wary, concentrating.
Tauran's skills proved equal to the task. The deva held his form and kept his angle accurate. Just before he penetrated the surface of the pool, he drew a great breath. Then he was under, gliding into the depths of the water.
The angel felt a surge of raw energy. It permeated every nerve and pore. His body drank it greedily, crackling with life and exuberance. It was exhilarating, overwhelming him, driving him to burst forth again, yet he wanted to loll within it forever, bathe in its cleanness, its holiness, for all eternity.
The surface light faded as Tauran sliced deeper into the depths, but he had no fear of striking the bottom, which he knew lay much farther beneath him. As his momentum ebbed, Tauran arched his back, angling himself upward. He began to swim then, pulling himself with powerful strokes of his arms and kicks of his legs, back toward the surface.
At last, his head burst forth. He lunged out of the pool and drew in a great gulp of sweet air. He soared up, freeing himself from the water, and spread his wings. Two, three, then four powerful beats of those wings carried him aloft, dripping, into the air above the pool. The angel stretched his arms and legs, rejoicing in how good it felt to be alive, to be in such proximity to unbridled vitality. He hovered a moment, a few feet above the surface, and closed his eyes, soaking in the life-giving force of the pool.
It wasn't just physical, that energy. All of Tauran's cares, all his troubles, seemed to have been washed away in the plunge. He felt more alive, more confident, more capable. He felt spiritually bolstered, close to his god. He was ready to accept any challenge. He felt unstoppable.
"Why do you do that?"
The voice startled Tauran, though he recognized it as Micus, his friend. He had believed himself alone. The other bathers had been at the far edge, away from the place where he had dived.
Tauran blinked and looked at his friend, another deva with wings spread wide, hovering nearby. "I didn't hear you approach," he told Micus.
The other angel smiled when he said, "You seemed preoccupied. I hated to disturb you, but we are summoned."
Indeed, Tauran could hear the faint clarion call of dozens of trumpets. He could see then that the others who had been relaxing in the golden waters were departing, moving away from the water and down the mountain. He and Micus flew together toward that same shore.
"Feeling refreshed?" Micus asked as they neared the rocks at the edge of the pool.
"Yes," Tauran answered and gathered his loose-fitting pants, belt, and massive mace. "I know some might term it a weakness, a vanity, but I like to reward myself with a dip after accomplishing something of import. It's not an end unto itself, but it makes the trials and tribulations less heavy." He finished dressing and the pair launched themselves into the air once more, following the others.
"No harm in that," Micus said. "Blessed Tyr would not have made this place if he hadn't intended for us to take advantage of it. But you didn't answer my question."
"I thought you wanted to know why I dive into the water."
"I do," Micus said. "But not the water part. Why do you start from way up there," he asked, pointing at the outcropping just before it disappeared from view, "and let yourself fall like that? Why not just glide to the surface like the rest of us and settle in gently?"
"Ah," Tauran replied as the pair plunged into the clouds. "It helps remind me."
"Remind you? Of what?"
Tauran could not see his friend in the mist of the clouds, but he could hear the other deva's voice clearly enough. "That the easiest path is not always set before me. That I must be ready to accept the harder road, and stay wary of distraction or lapse of attention." The angels broke through the clouds and saw the lower slopes of the great mountain from which they had descended. Three lesser mountains ringed the larger,
each the home of one of the Triad—Tyr, Torm, and Ilmater. Atop the nearest peak, the gleaming white walls of Tyr's Court reflected the sunlight.
"Diving from up there keeps me alert," Tauran continued. "I know that even one mistake will be very painful or disastrous. Out there," he said as he swept his hand around, "one mistake might cost someone his life. Even mine. Complacency has no place in our duties. I dive to help me remember that."
Micus turned and gave his friend an appraising look. "That's very insightful. Perhaps you can teach me how to do it."
"I will," Tauran answered. "When we return."
The two angels neared a great pinnacle of rock jutting from the mountainside where a host of others like themselves had gathered. The various devas, planetars, and solars hovered in orderly ranks, all facing a dais at the top of the pinnacle. A great arch pierced the stone directly below the dais, like the mouth of a tunnel. Instead of blue sky shining from its far side, though, a curtain of pearlescent light veiled the arch.
Tauran and Micus took their places among the other devas as a great silvery solar settled upon the dais. As she furled her wings, the gleaming being's golden eyes surveyed the gathering critically for a moment, as though assessing the attendants' worth. After a moment, she spoke.
"Today, we fight another battle in the war to free the oppressed. Though we seek the destruction of all that is evil and depraved, we strive by equal measure to offer redemption to those worth redeeming, to save those who can be saved. Our goal, our duty, is not merely to provide salvation to all who wish it, but to rescue those who cannot fight, or even speak, for themselves."
A murmur of approval ran through the assemblage. The solar waited until the noise abated, then continued. "Blessed
Tyr has bid us embrace this duty, so that one day, all the multiverse might glow with the shining warmth of equality and acceptance." The solar paused, then delivered her next words punctuated for emphasis. "Today, we once again take the fight to our enemies, and thwart their foul schemes before they have a chance to grow to tainted fruition!"
The gathered crowd roared with eager acceptance. Tauran and Micus cheered along with the rest. After his glorious swim, the deva felt ready for anything. He thrilled at the prospect of fulfilling his duty, shivered in delight at the chance to bring Tyr's glory to one who had never known it before.
"You know your tasks. You've prepared. Go and bring Tyr's light to the multiverse!" the solar commanded.
Another roar rose up from the host. The planetars sounded their horns, a cry of battle that reverberated through the skies, echoing from the mountaintops. To Tauran, the sun seemed to blaze just a bit brighter, the sky seemed to turn a sharper hue of azure, and the air smelled faintly sweeter. The atmosphere was electric with expectation and impending triumph.
The angels began to sing as they sorted themselves into bands. A hymn of Tyr's glory, extolled in perfect harmony, accompanied the horns. Micus gave Tauran a hearty pat on the back and a handshake before he moved away to gather with his own group. Tauran lifted his voice in song, joining with the chorus, as he bid his friend farewell with a wave and went to join his own band.
His was a small force comprised of Keenon, the solar leader, and four planetars. He was the lone deva, assigned to the group for a special purpose. He grasped his mace and steadied himself, waiting for the command.
Other units swarmed around the arch in anticipation. In orderly succession, they passed through the veil, disappearing in a wink. When it was time for his own unit to surge into the portal, the angel drew a deep breath, remembered his admonitions of staying wary, and followed his team.
The landscape twisted and changed. Light bent and warped around Tauran, deepening into a purple gloom. The crisp, clean air vanished, replaced by the charnel scents of a battlefield. Lightning crackled and thunder pealed in a sodden sky that sent a cascade of fetid rain down upon all beneath it. The deva settled upon slick, clutching mud and surveyed the scene.
The angel and his cohorts stood within a low river valley, along the rim of a great bowl surrounded by the silhouettes of low hills. Two armies collided within the middle of that valley, slipping and slogging through the torrential rain and mud to slaughter one another as best they could. One force, badly outnumbered, found itself surrounded on three sides by its enemy and pressed hard up against a churning, frothing river.
"There!" Keenon shouted to be heard above the din of war and weather. "Near the river!" He pointed, and very quickly, he and the four planetars took flight, racing in that direction.
Tauran took to the air along with his companions, but his" mission was different. They went to save the brave-hearted defenders who desperately called for the angels' aid. The deva sought a different life-force, one that wouldn't be eager to welcome him. Knowing he would not be well received, he cloaked himself in innate invisibility.
Swooping over the plain toward the center of the engagement, Tauran soared above snarling clusters of savage beasts, ores and ogres—and worse things from the Abyss—that surrounded tiny defiant pockets of men and women in mismatched armor. The mercenaries—and they were mercenaries, hired to fight for some petty lord—stood back to back in tight circles, clinging to their final moments in desperate
hope that someone or something might save them.
The deva felt remorse course through him, saddened that he could not spare the time or energy to save them all. But they prayed to different gods, and ineffectually called on other celestial beings for salvation. Their lives were not his to assist. He had a different goal.
He quickly found what he sought. At the far end of the battlefield, near one edge of the great bowl-shaped valley, flapping pennants atop a pavilion tent marked the location of his quarry. Numerous campfires, sputtering feebly in the rain, surrounded the tent, and brutish creatures huddled near those fires, cursing their ill luck at both the weather and their guard duty. They wished to be out among the others, gleefully fighting and killing.
Tauran drifted unnoticed past them, the soft whisper of his wings drowned out by the concussive clash of combatants in the distance, as well as the rumble of thunder overhead. He settled upon the ground near the entrance to the tent and studied the two guards flanking the opening.
Each creature appeared as a hulking, upright toad, equally as tall as Tauran himself and easily surpassing his own bulk. The slick skin covering their bloated bodies was green and bumpy, but unlike a normal toad, rows of jagged teeth lined their mouths. They both wielded massive axes, which they held cradled in their arms. The pair exuded a nauseous stench that nearly made the deva gag, but he stood still for a moment to adjust to the smell before he approached them.
Gripping his mace, Tauran stepped as lightly as he could, hoping to catch the creatures off balance for an initial strike. Though he moved with deftness and grace, one of the two must have sensed something was amiss, for it jerked upright and hefted its axe. A low, menacing growl issued from deep within its voluminous body.
"I smell the stench of a celestial!" He snarled, taking one step forward and drawing his axe back as though to strike. Tauran saw that the demon's beady eyes shifted back and forth, and he was reasonably certain the demon could not sense where he was, but his moment of subterfuge had come and gone. Not waiting for the creature before him to determine his location, the deva channeled divine energy, summoning the holy power of his kind and pouring it into his weapon. He swung his mace with both hands, smashing it against the demon's shoulder with a brilliant flash.
The beast snarled in rage and pain and staggered backward as Tauran spun and struck the other in the same manner. The second demon howled and stumbled against the side of the tent, but Tauran could not close in and finish him with a blow to the head, for the first one had recovered enough to take a swipe at him.
"Your time is over, fiend," Tauran said, once more calling on his innate divinity to aid-him in the fight.
He blurted out a word of power, a word of divine force, a holy word. He spoke it clearly, and there was no mistaking that the two guards heard its utterance. Simultaneously, they shrieked and dropped their weapons. One clutched at his eyes, while the other wrapped his arms around his head and cowered.
Tauran drew his mace back, ready to crush the skull of the first demon as he writhed before him. Just as he brought the weapon down in a great, sweeping arc, though, the fiend vanished. His weapon thudded hard against the sodden ground, spraying muddy water everywhere. The deva growled in exasperation, but his frustration was short-lived, for a cloying miasma enveloped him, as though a greasy darkness had descended upon him.
The angel's stomach roiled and he doubled over in agony.
All his limbs ached and lost their strength. He thought he would retch. Tauran stumbled away from the remaining demon and gasped for breath. The clinging, sickly blanket of darkness moved with him, filling his nostrils with horrific odors. He spat, trying and failing to expunge the awful, sour taste.
Slowly, the cloaking darkness evaporated, leaving the deva standing in the rain once more. His stomach still churned, but he could breathe again.
Tauran turned toward the tent and saw the demon flailing about blindly with his axe. The beast stopped and listened, cocking his head to one side for a moment, then swung the huge blade once more. The massive axe whistled through the air, seeking flesh to cleave.
The angel left his feet and soared above the demon. He ascended sharply and swung the mace with all his might, once more drawing upon the holy power of Tyr to aid him. The crushing blow landed true, right against the back of the demon's head, and he heard the satisfying sound of crunching bone as the thing's skull collapsed.
With a sickening plop, the demonic toad sprawled forward into the mud and quivered. The beast's axe slid to one side, no longer needed.
Tauran spun away from the creature and approached the opening of the tent. Not knowing what other defenders might be lurking within, he nudged the flap sideways with the head of his mace, expecting an assault at any moment. When no attack was forthcoming, the deva stepped inside and drew the flap shut behind himself.
The dimness of the tent did not hinder the angel. His acute vision allowed him to easily discern the interior. He gave a quick glance in the direction of a table with maps spread upon it, but the figure before him, languishing upon
numerous rugs and cushions, interested him most. He stepped nearer.
"No closer," the figure said. "Your stench is awful enough from this distance." It was the voice of a woman, though she sounded husky, tired. A cough followed by several wheezing gasps confirmed what he already knew.
She was wounded, dying.
Tauran paused to let her show herself fully. A human torso and head rose up into a sitting position, her six arms pushing her upright. Where her legs should have been, twenty feet of reptilian flesh writhed in discomfort. The massive, coiled body might have been capable of crushing him, had she been hale and hearty, but Tauran saw an arrow protruding from her chest directly beneath one bare breast. It penetrated her from front to back, and though very little blood leaked from the wound, he knew the missile was killing her.
It was also holding her there, preventing her from traveling back to the plane from whence she had come. She could seek no solace, no rescue among her own kind in the Abyss.
"You're dying," Tauran said, taking another step toward the fiend. "I can help you," he said. "I can ease your suffering."
"Stay back!" the demon snarled, and she hoisted swords in several of her hands. The blades shook, would not stay on guard.
Tauran looked at her face, saw the pain glazing her eyes. She might have been beautiful, had she been fully human. Even half-human in shape, she was attractive. But her dark hair hung in bedraggled clumps from her head, and her skin was sallow and glistened with the sweat of sickness. She swallowed hard, then groaned and collapsed back upon her pillows.
"Gloat and get it over with," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "I don't have much time left."
Tauran shook his head, though he knew she did not see. "I am not interested in dancing on your grave. I cannot even claim the honor of having fired the arrow that leeches your life away."
"Then what do you want?" she asked, her eyes still closed, her voice growing more hoarse by the moment. "Whatever it is, I won't give it to you."
"It's not yours to give," Tauran replied, "but if you do not fight me, I will ease your final moments before claiming it."
The demon opened one eye and looked at him. "No," she said simply. "I would never bargain with your kind." She coughed, tried to catch her breath, coughed again. Blood dribbled from her lip. When she regained her breath, she said, "That you would try to bargain tells me it is very special to you. You have piqued my curiosity. Tell me what you want. Perhaps I will make an exception and give it to you, just this once."
Tauran breathed in and out slowly. He was obligated to give her the chance, though he knew that revealing his desire would most likely enrage her, making his task that much harder. But he was obligated.
"The child growing in your womb," he said.
Both of the demon's eyes flew open then, and she shrieked in realization. "No!" she screamed, and the coils of her body twitched to life, writhing and whipping around the tent.
Tauran had to leap into the air to avoid being struck.
"Never!" the demon cried.
She rose up, her blades out, as though ready to fight him to the last. He braced himself for the duel, but then he saw the cunning gleam in her eye.
Just as she began to reverse the blades and drive them into her own body, to slice the burgeoning life out of herself to deny it to the angel, he reacted. With explosive force, he
flung the mace forward, channeling every bit of strength, both natural and preternatural, that he could muster.
The weapon sailed across the space between them. Tauran watched it tumble through the air as though it moved in slow motion. The blades of the demon's long swords descended, and the mace moved closer.
The head of the angel's weapon collided with the once-beautiful face at the same moment that the tips of several swords punctured her scaly skin. An explosion of blood and flesh spattered the cushions, the rugs, and the tent wall as the demon's head disintegrated.
The muscles in her arms kept working for a heartbeat longer.
The blades sank deeply into flesh. The two life-forces that were there, one inside the other, grew faint, then vanished. The unborn child was lost to him, slain by its own mother.
Tauran hung his head in sorrow for a long moment, reminding himself that the easy path was not always the one set before him.
He turned, grief and disappointment hanging heavy around him, and departed, returning to the House of the Triad to report that he had failed.
Chapter One
Thin, wispy clouds scurried across the night sky, passing in front of gibbous Selune and deepening the gloom upon the land below. Aliisza glanced up, careful as she shifted on her perch upon an outcropping of stone. The alu-fiend didn't want to dislodge loose rubble beneath her feet. Though invisible, she feared clattering stones would reveal her position to anyone below and thus spoil the ambush. The notion of ruining her little trap annoyed the half-demon for an instant, but she dismissed the thought in the time it took to reassure herself that she had made no sound.
She could still make out the pale, glowing near-orb, though the high clouds diffused its light and encircled it with a strange halo. At any other time, she might have taken a moment to marvel at the strange sight. The alu strayed to the surface of Toril only rarely and had few opportunities to gaze upon such useless but intriguing wonders. That night, however, she could not long keep her attention away from the impending clash in the narrow valley below. Fingering the hilt of her sword in anticipation, she turned to stare downward once more.
To all but fiendish eyes, the approaching Sundabarian patrol had vanished. Moonlight no longer glimmered off a bared blade or polished helm, but Aliisza had no trouble locating the darker shadows gliding silently through the murk of night. The mounted figures moved in single file along the path in the center of the valley. They rode without caution, never hesitating as they approached the defile where Aliisza and her invisible tanarukk soldiers waited.
The half-fiend put a magical whistle to her lips and blew it as hard as she could. The shrill tone that emanated from the device echoed all through the defile, piercing the otherwise still and quiet night. Almost immediately, an answering roar went up all around Aliisza. The tanarukks responded to the signal with fierce delight, screaming in battle lust or cheering in joy at the impending fight. She could hear the clatter of weapons and the clack of dislodged stones as her minions raced forward, charging at the patrol.
The soldiers milled in confusion and panic. Some, perhaps the veterans, attempted to dismount and fan out, preparing to receive the onslaught that they could not see. Others wheeled their horses back and forth, disrupting the line of their comrades already on foot. Their lack of discipline and experience disintegrated the defense before it ever had a chance to properly form up.
The half-fiend stood still and watched for a moment. When her minions were finished, there would be no evidence left of the patrol. Aliisza's task was to sow mystery and doubt; it was too soon to alert the populace of the danger that lurked on the periphery of the valley. A foe they couldn't see or counterattack was far more insidious than an open siege. The people of Sundabar had to be left wondering. Their Ruling Master, Helm Dwarf-friend, had to appear ineffectual. It was all part of Kaanyr Vhok's grand plan.
At the bottom of the defile, the first of the tanarukks reached the patrol. They slammed into the half-formed
defensive circle of men and horses, popping into sight as they swung battle-axes and jabbed with spears. The two groups became a swirling mass of howling, screaming confusion. Human and horse fell before the onslaught of the horde. It would be over all too soon. The patrol never stood a chance.
The half-demon sneered at the scouts' foolishness. Green, the alu surmised. Hardly worthy sport.
Disappointed but feeling assured that her charges knew what to do, Aliisza departed, leaving the horde of savage tanarukks to complete the ambush and subsequent vanishing act by themselves. Mauling an inexperienced band of scouts might satisfy the fiendish ores' brutish yet simple bloodlust, but it had hardly been worthy entertainment for the half-demon herself. And she had other places to be, other things to do.
Still under the cover of invisibility, Aliisza soared into the sky and winged her way toward the community of Sundabar. As she flew, she mused over all the preparation, all the effort that Kaanyr had put into his latest plans to conquer the city.
In some ways, it had long ago become a fool's errand to the alu, but she knew her lover would never stop trying to unseat the current ruler, Helm Dwarf-friend. Vhok had tried many different paths to victory. Through the years, he had thrown countless troops against the city's walls, even managed to get inside once or twice. Always, though, he had been driven back, for the folk of Sundabar were hearty and wary, and they had the aid of the wretched dwarves who lived in the great halls beneath the city.
Aliisza knew Kaanyr's hatred of Helm Dwarf-friend burned strong within him, a seed of resentment planted long ago from some slight or insult the ex-mercenary had delivered against the cambion. Kaanyr had never spoken in detail of the event, though she knew that it had somehow caused him to lose face in the eyes of his mother. That had been years before, when Dwarf-friend had still led the Bloodaxe mercenaries, and Kaanyr's mother Mulvassyss the Sceptered, a marilith demon of considerable power, stood prominent among the fiends of Hellgate Keep. Whatever had happened between half-fiend and mercenary, the cambion had repeatedly vowed revenge in the intervening years. Aliisza held no doubts that her lover would spend the rest of his days strategizing Dwarf-friend's downfall.
At least he's finally wised up, Aliisza mused as she drew nearer the object of her lover's desire. He's finally trying cunning and deception instead of brute force.
The alu was pleased with Kaanyr's latest plan, particularly because she had her own prominent role to play in the scheme, one which she was all too happy to fulfill. Kaanyr had been clever indeed, the alu admitted with glee, even if his scheme had tried her patience. Tendays of plotting, of establishing her cover before she ever set foot inside the city walls, had often driven her to distraction.
In the beginning, it was all maneuvering and surveying, noting the strength of defenses and routes of patrols. Aliisza had grown quite bored with it all. During those first tendays, her thoughts often drifted back to the time she had spent pursuing Pharaun Mizzrym of the mysterious and treacherous drow, during Kaanyr's aborted siege of Menzoberranzan. That had been a far more exciting pastime for her than endless scouting. She even complained about the lack of action to Kaanyr, not just for herself but on behalf of her restless troops. She could sense that they were growing impatient, too.
"Hardly the sort of banal recreation you promised the hordes after the fiasco at Menzoberranzan," Aliisza had complained to Kaanyr one day between forays to the surface.
"Patience, my petulant love," Kaanyr had replied absently, never looking up as he studiously pored over a tabletop full of maps. "These matters take time and planning."
Unsatisfied with the cambion's distracted explanation— and more than a little put off by her lover's apparent disinterest in her—Aliisza longed to liven things up a bit.
Then she learned what her own role would be in the coming attack when her lover and commander told her he had a separate assignment for her to carry out. Aliisza almost pouted, but after he explained the plan in detail, she had jumped at the offer.
She was to be the cancer that ate at the city from within, created the doubt and weakened the resoluteness of its people. She was to be the seed that flowered into full-blown distrust. She was to be the source of Helm Dwarf-friend's downfall, and Kaanyr would have his city.
But it was only the beginning. Kaanyr had much grander military ambitions. Laying siege to the fortress-city of Sundabar with his fiendish hordes was only the first step in his larger scheme of conquest over all of the Silver Marches.
The alu arrived at the perimeter of the city, and she glanced down at the icy moat below her as she soared over the walls and darted down toward the roof of the Master's Hall. The prominent government building within Sundabar, the Master's Hall housed every city office and also served as Dwarf-friend's abode. It was a fine place for her to land unseen and transform into the winsome girl Helm Dwarf-friend was so enamored of, but she remained cautious.
The alu circled the building a couple of times, still invisible, just to be certain there was no trouble. Aliisza peered in every direction, along every balcony and walkway, letting her fiendish vision penetrate the darker shadows. She even utilized Pharaun's ring to try to spot the telltale signs of
cloaking magic. A patrol of the city's watch, the Stone Shields, approached from the distance along one street, but she saw no one else. She settled silently to the stone roof. After shifting form, she dispelled her invisibility and slipped through a tower door into the interior of the hall.
Aliisza's disguise was that of a sprightly young human girl with green eyes, lovely auburn curls hanging to her shoulders, a tiny little upturned nose, and dimples in her rosy cheeks. It was Helm Dwarf-friend's vision of heaven. Secretly rooting out that most private of desires while watching him from a distance had been a simple matter for the half-fiend, but the manipulations afterward had been a bit more tricky.
Adopting the name of Ansa, the alu had taken every additional precaution to disguise her true character. She had employed her wizardly magic to mask her thoughts and her aura, preventing others from detecting her treacherous intentions and demonic nature. Then she had insinuated herself among the Master's Hall staff. Dwarf-friend's seneschal, an intoxicatingly handsome man named Zasian Menz, was her first obstacle.
The tall man with long dark hair and a flowing mustache scrutinized her severely and inundated her with questions concerning her skills and her past. Aliisza had expected some resistance to her efforts, knowing full well how careful the seneschal must be. But the man truly unnerved her, and that was a feeling she had rarely experienced. At one point, the alu was certain Zasian knew her true identity and was merely toying with her before exposing her to the house guards. Finally, he had relented and turned her over to one of his senior matrons.
Ginella, the burly and severe woman in charge of the staff, took an instant dislike to Ansa and beat her regularly, even when she was doing a good job. It was all Aliisza could do
not to strike the hateful woman down where she stood. The menial tasks Ginella had given to her had been the worst sort of labor, always filthy and backbreaking jobs, but Aliisza made sure she carried them out well. She would not risk getting cast out before she could get near her quarry.
The alu had discovered that it was harder to get close to the master than she had imagined. Dwarf-friend was often locked away in meetings or out in the city on business when Aliisza was working. Ginella brooked no loitering of any kind, and she had forbidden Aliisza to go anywhere within the hall beyond the reach of her chores. Most of Aliisza's duties had kept her in the lowest levels of the place, under the watchful eye of Ginella and other matrons. It was almost as if they sensed her desire to get close to Dwarf-friend and were determined to put a stop to any moon-eyed girl cavorting with the most important man in the city.
At last, Aliisza had gotten her chance. It had been laundry day, and she had been ordered to gather linens from a particular wing of the hall. On her way back, she had made a point of passing through a great hall where Dwarf-friend was discussing city matters with a pair of his advisors. As luck would have it, the girl tripped and spilled her bundled wash over the side of a banister—right onto the Ruling Master's head. Ginella had witnessed the gaffe, but before she could drag the girl back to the wash room for a sound beating, Dwarf-friend had spotted her and ordered her brought before him.
Aliisza had feigned a severe case of blushing embarrassment and had moved as reluctantly as she could, but Dwarf-friend was smitten with Ansa the moment he got a good look at her. From then on, it was almost too easy. After discovering that the girl could read and write, he had insisted to Zasian, over Ginella's protestations, that she be reassigned to him to assist him as a scribe. Aliisza had received plenty of scowls from
Ginella in the days since, but the elder woman had left her alone, for which the alu was thankful. She had no desire to stir up suspicion by being forced to get rid of the matron.
It wasn't long afterward that everyone in the hall knew that Ansa shared Helm Dwarf-friend's bed. Whenever they were alone, Helm frequently exclaimed that he could not believe his good fortune at having such a lovely creature stumble into his life, and Aliisza had heard him quietly thank Tymora on more than one occasion during their trysts.
Aliisza's thoughts returned to the present as she descended the stairs from the tower and entered a great hall in the wing housing Dwarf-friend's private chambers. It was late, and only a few lanterns burned, turned low to save oil. The hall, which soared three stories high and was ringed by balconies at each level, lay shrouded in shadows. A great table rested in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs as uncomfortable as they were imposing. Aliisza crossed the hall and crept down the passage toward the master's abode.
A figure up ahead caught her attention, coming from Dwarf-friend's office. It was Zasian Menz.
Aliisza froze, wondering if she could duck out of the way before the man spotted her. She was in no mood to feign intimidation at that moment. She had been clever enough to adapt a reasonably modest nightshirt as part of her disguise for the evening, but appearing in such outside of the bedroom was the slightest bit improper to the Sundabarians, and she had little doubt Zasian would raise an eyebrow and scold her for it.
Before Aliisza could melt into the shadows unnoticed and let the seneschal pass, he faltered a step, and she knew he had seen her. She stepped to the side as though to let him by, keeping her eyes lowered deferentially. Even though she
shared Helm's bed, she still worked for Zasian on the master's behalf.
Zasian strode before the girl and stopped. "Look at me, child," he said, lifting Aliisza's chin with one finger.
Aliisza let him tilt her head, but she kept her eyes cast down a moment longer before meeting his gaze. A genuine shiver ran through her. Under different circumstances, the alu wouldn't mind wrapping her arms and legs around that tall, muscular body and stealing a kiss. She struggled to look fearful rather than hungry.
"You know you shouldn't be out here," the seneschal began, "especially not dressed as you are. I know how fond Master Helm is of you, and I am willing to look the other way, but only so long as you do not disrupt the smooth operations of my hall. The last thing I need is more tongues wagging about Master Helm's half-naked whore traipsing through the common rooms. I've already had five visitors to my office this tenday, complaining about the impropriety of it all. You put me in a very difficult position, child."
"Yes, Seneschal," Aliisza answered, doing her best to sound chastened. "I will be more careful." Secretly, she was thrilled. The seeds were being planted. Folk were starting to frown upon the master's indiscretion, to question his actions. It would grow.
The alu blinked and realized that Zasian had said something else, but she had not been paying attention. She searched her memory to draw out his words, and realized she couldn't remember them. In fact, she had the oddest feeling that she had been standing there, listening to him, for quite some time, but the time had simply... vanished.
"I said, get yourself out of sight," Zasian instructed, pointing down the hall toward the master's rooms. "And don't let me catch you out like this again."
Aliisza stared at the man, a bit unnerved over the puzzling sensation, but she dismissed it. I'm just tired, she decided. To the seneschal, she replied, "Yes, my lord," then turned and almost ran to the door of her lover's chambers. By the time she was inside the master's rooms, she had forgotten about the gap in time.
<<<<
Kaanyr Vhok stood in the middle of an ancient dwarven thoroughfare, deep beneath the streets of Sundabar. The low ceiling hung only inches above the cambion's head, giving him the unnerving urge to duck. A series of stone double doors flanked the wide passage in pairs as far as the half-demon's eyes could observe. Each set of portals bore runes inscribed into its surfaces, holy texts and clan names in honor of the dead buried behind it. Vhok ignored the crypts and made his way toward the end of the hall, to a final set of doors that stood at the top of a short stairway. The dust he stirred as he walked reassured the half-fiend that he was the only one who had tread that route in many years.
At the top of the steps, Vhok stopped and perused the inscription. The ancient words marked the chamber as a shrine dedicated to Moradin, god of the dwarves. Smirking, Vhok was relieved to see that the craftsmen who had constructed the shrine had not seen fit to place arcane runes upon the surface of the doors, protective sigils that would have barred him entry. Satisfied that no fell magic would harm him, he pushed on the stone. The twin doors swung ponderously open, as silent as the day they were first hung. Cool bluish light spilled into the thoroughfare from within.
The cambion stepped inside and shut the doors behind him. The chamber was hexagonal in shape, not very far
across from one side to another, but quite tall. A series of thick square columns stood around the periphery of the chamber, one at each of the eight corners. A set of torches rested in brackets mounted on each of the columns, casting the chamber in a surreal azure glow. Vhok knew of such illumination. The torches would burn forever, their flames preserved with magic.
The spaces between each pair of columns formed private alcoves. Within seven of the niches, a large stone sarcophagus lay parallel to the wall behind. Atop each sarcophagus rose a statue of a dwarf hero, clergy members who had died in service to Moradin. Each of the seven was unique in stature, dress, and appearance. Inscriptions carved into the sarcophagi identified the dwarves laid to rest within, but Vhok ignored the names. He knew those interred were only so much dust by that time.
A whisper of wind and a faint flash of ruddy light upon the walls were the only clues that another had appeared within the shrine.
Vhok turned, knowing who stood halfway across the room. Zasian Menz, a young, handsome fellow with long black hair and a flaring moustache, grinned at Vhok. He dressed himself in finery, black leather pants and shirt with a black and gold tunic over both. He gestured in the air around himself. The remnants of a crimson-tinged magical doorway snapped out of existence behind him, leaving the shrine bathed in bluish light once more.
"You found it," the man said as he peered around the chamber and twitched his nose in apparent distaste.
"You choose an odd place to meet, Zasian," Vhok replied, letting the swirls of afterimage fade from his vision until he could see through the darkness again. "You did not tell me that we would be trespassing upon Moradin's holy ground."
"Do you care?" Zasian asked, strolling around the perimeter of the room as he gazed at the effigies of the fallen dwarves. "I did not take you for a pious being."
The cambion almost smiled at his counterpart's joke. "Only insofar as I must be wary of divine retribution. The doors or the interior of this place might have been warded."
"Yes, but they weren't," Zasian answered. "We dispelled such nuisances long before inviting you here."
Vhok waved his hand in dismissal. It was not a conversation worth pursuing, in his mind. "How is she?" he asked.
"She is well, and still has Dwarf-friend firmly in her charms," Zasian confirmed. "I performed the enchantment earlier tonight, in fact. All is set."
Vhok nodded thoughtfully. "And she does not remember it?" he asked. "She has forgotten everything?"
"Everything of significance," he replied. "She seemed a bit disoriented, as you might expect, but that will pass from her mind quickly enough. She will have far too many other things to think about."
Vhok nodded once more and tapped his finger upon his lips, lost in thoughts of his alu lover. Aliisza was in a very delicate position, and any complication could mean her life. Though the cambion would be disappointed to lose the beautiful creature as his consort, he was far more concerned with the implications of her failure to complete her mission. Should her true purpose be exposed, should she fall before she completed her tasks, the rest of the plan would almost surely fail, and he would not be able to orchestrate Helm Dwarf-friend's downfall. That, above all else, was paramount.
"You are certain this will work?" asked the half-fiend.
Zasian shrugged. "As with any plan of this complexity, there is always the chance of unforeseen complications. I cannot say that I am certain, and I give you no guarantees.
But I know what Tyr's lackeys are about. They are becoming proactive, seeking to turn any opportunity to their advantage. They will seize any excuse at all to stake a claim in her future. If we have laid the groundwork subtly enough, they will take the bait. Now we can only let it play out and see what transpires."
"Are you certain of her condition?" Vhok asked. An odd feeling of remorse passed through him for a moment, but he brushed it aside.
"I checked again this evening, before traveling here to meet with you. Your own divinations are accurate."
"The deception is necessary," Vhok said, as much to himself as to the priest. "There is no other way to reach the garden and the Lifespring. She cannot know yet the part she plays."
Zasian shrugged again. "As you said yourself, it is but a single piece of the puzzle. An important piece, to say the least, but only one."
Vhok nodded once more, then drew himself out of his worries. There were more immediate things to deal with. "Very well, let's conclude this business. Lead the way."
Zasian nodded and moved to the sarcophagus directly opposite the doors through which Vhok had entered. Moving behind the massive stone coffin, the man made a motion with his hand.
Vhok felt a deep, low rumble reverberate through the room. He watched as a portion of the wall behind the sarcophagus shifted and slid from view, revealing a passage just beyond. An orange glow spilled from the chamber, the light of several ordinary torches. Zasian gestured to Vhok and to the passage.
"After you," he offered.
The cambion stepped past his counterpart and entered the hallway.
Two paces later, Vhok found himself in a very different sort of temple, one far more sinister in appearance. In shape and structure, the chamber was identical to the one he and Zasian had vacated. Unlike the austere simplicity of the previous room, the second chamber felt menacing. The square stone columns were replaced by twisted, sinuous pillars, and the stone itself was ruddy in color. Instead of a series of sarcophagi, each niche housed a dais topped by a high throne. Each chair faced the center of the room, where a forbidding altar of black marble shot through with green veins and carved in the shape of a jutting fist rested.
Figures dressed in a manner similar to Zasian occupied each seat except one. As Vhok surveyed the men and women arrayed before him, haughty and self-assured gazes returned his own. Some of those gazes roamed over his noble, almost elven features, noting the silver hair contrasting his olive complexion, undoubtedly finding him handsome. Certainly many a female, human or otherwise, had fallen under his sway after being charmed by that exotic countenance. Other eyes lingered on Burnblood, the elven long sword resting on his right hip, or Scepter Malevolus, the steel rod engraved with black runes that dangled from his belt on the left side. The potently magical scepter marked Vhok as ruler of the Scourged Legion. He had taken that title after he had slain his mother, the marilith Mulvassyss, and pried it from her dead fingers. No doubt some among the Banites in the secret chamber pondered the cambion's prowess with it, perhaps assessing his worth to stand among them.
The cambion was hardly intimidated, though he could imagine how a mere human might be cowed into submission before an audience of seven priests of Bane. The power radiating from the group was palpable, and Vhok knew enough to appreciate and respect the minions of the Black Hand.
Zasian manipulated the door through which he and Vhok had entered, shutting it silently. Then he moved to the empty throne and seated himself upon it, joining his companions. Once he was settled, the leader, whom Vhok knew as Dreadlord Holt Burukhan, held his hand up, as though commanding silence, though no one had spoken. The high priest uttered a soft prayer to his dark god, then gestured around the chamber. When he finished, he gazed at Vhok.
"The chamber is warded," Burukhan said, his voice dispassionate. "No one has followed you to this sacred but secret place. We may speak freely."
Kaanyr Vhok wanted to snort in derision, but he managed with some effort to keep the noise to himself. He knew enough about spies to understand that no secret meeting chamber was foolproof, and anyone who thought otherwise was asking for trouble. Even hidden away in a room concealed behind the tombs of the dead, far below the world of daylight, someone might figure out where they were and employ magical means to listen and watch.
From where he stood near the entry, Vhok surreptitiously cast a spell of his own. He kept the gestures concealed and muttered softly to himself so that the gathered Banites would not notice his work. When he was finished, he strolled to the altar, confident that he would be aware of someone listening or watching the proceedings magically.
"Let us beseech the Black Lord to grant us wisdom and strength," the dreadlord began, turning his gaze from one priest to the next. "Let us ask him for the might to bring all our enemies low and the cleverness to rule our ever-growing dominion in his name." He bowed his head and closed his eyes, and the other priests joined him.
Vhok wanted to grimace, but the cambion kept his face bland as he looked around at the praying clerics. Each one
seemed to smile in fervent delight at the prospect of wreaking havoc in the name of their god. The zealousness of Bane's followers never ceased to annoy Vhok, but he knew he had to keep such disgruntlement to himself. If he had any hope at all of ruling Sundabar, he would need their help. The city was too well defended, too difficult to overthrow by force. He had tried and failed too often to continue down that foolish path, so he needed a new plan, with allies on the inside. It was a shame that the only ones with any true potential to assist him in his endeavors were such mindless fanatics. Vhok found almost all of them exasperating.
Only Zasian seemed to think for himself, to exhibit any cleverness at all. Vhok liked him. The man was confident but not arrogant. He knew the dangers of pride, and sought in all things to find accord among his own kind—so unusual among Banites, for whom competition and strife seemed to ruin as many machinations as brought fruition and success. Zasian actually had potential as a long-term ally. Vhok doubted he would be able to tolerate the other priests at all, if not for Zasian.
Burukhan finished his prayer and began eyeing the other Banites. His gaze was both critical and expectant, as though he sought to confirm the eagerness in their faces, ensuring that they reveled in their god's power as much as he did, but hunting for some sign that their piety might be lacking. Their rapturous smiles and glittering visages seemed to satisfy the dreadlord.
"Step into the center of the chamber, hellspawn," Holt Burukhan demanded, gesturing toward the altar. "Step forward so that we -may hear your words clearly and judge their worth plainly."
Vhok eyed the dreadlord with distaste, but he did as the high priest bade and moved nearer the altar. For long moments, no one spoke, and the cambion began to grow
agitated under the assemblage's scrutiny.
"Zasian has told us of your offer," Holt said at last. "You "wish an alliance."
It was more a statement than a question, but the silence following the high priest's words dragged.
Vhok nodded at last and said, "There is much we could gain, working together."
"Indeed," one of the Banites, a woman, replied. "We well understand what you might gain, seating yourself upon the throne of Sundabar, but how does that serve our interests? Share with us, if you will, what benefit you see for us in this proposed alliance."
Vhok glanced at Zasian, taken aback slightly. The cambion presumed that the other man had already won the assembled clergy over, and that the meeting was just a formality. It seemed the alliance was not as sealed as he had thought.
"You get to see Helm Dwarf-friend deposed, and your church becomes the sole divine power in the entire valley," the half-fiend replied. "All your adversaries—the servants of Helm, Torm, and Tyr—are cast out of the city, their temples destroyed. Your companions, the Zhentarim, establish a monopoly on commerce within the walls. Quite a lucrative bargain, if you ask me."
"Such a Utopia is within our grasp without your aid, fiend," another cleric said, his voice gruff.
"Why should we trust you?" Holt Burukhan asked. "You and your brutish Scourged Legion have attacked our city repeatedly in the past. We know that the devilish horde you call an army sits now on the periphery, waiting for the right moment to strike. Will you bring them down upon us once more, after you hold the seat of power?"
They're demonic—not devilish, you simpleton, Vhok thought.
"If you had the means to drive out the Tyrrans and Helmites, you would have already done so," the cambion answered. "My Scourged Legion will be needed to tear down the walls of those temples and quell any rebellion within the ranks of the city's army and guardsmen. Once that is complete, I will send them to conquer more territory in my—in our—name, and they will do as I command. All I ask in return for this is that you let me unseat Helm Dwarf-friend before all the citizens of Sundabar, to humiliate him and drive him out of the city, branded a failure. I know you want to see the mercenary gone from Sundabar as badly as I do." Well, not as badly, but maybe close, he silently added.
"And how will you ruin Helm Dwarf-friend?" Holt asked. "What assurances can you give us that you will turn the populace against him?"
"A fine question," Vhok replied. "The answer to which I will keep to myself. But suffice to say I will have a means when the time comes. You risk nothing in accepting that answer, for I ask you to do nothing until I return. By that time, my preparations will be complete, and I will share my secret with you."
And Helm Dwarf-friend, Vhok said to himself, I will witness your fall from grace. I will be the instrument of your utter and unending misery. Mark my words.
For a moment, the cambion reveled in the image of the human mercenary exposed as a fraud and a traitor to his own city. The half-fiend daydreamed the scene playing out, the folk of Sundabar gathered in the square, bearing witness to Dwarf-friend's downfall and Vhok's triumph.
A triumph that would not come to pass without the Banites' aid.
"Very well," Holt said, just a hint uncertainly. "We shall concede this secrecy to you for the moment. But we will
not seal this alliance, at least not yet. Though you have made a compelling case showing the mutual benefit of our cooperation, you have not assuaged my concerns over the outcome should you—we—fail. If we cannot unseat Helm Dwarf-friend from the Master's Hall, you and your army simply return to your infernal pit beneath the ground, little the worse for wear. But we"—he gestured around the chamber—"we are drawn out, exposed, and our power crushed between the city and temples. That does not sit well with me. You must bring proof that you can lead the populace, control them. Only then will we lend you our aid."
The chamber was quiet for some moments longer. Vhok again resisted the urge to grimace, though for a different reason. Dreadlord Holt Burukhan was a fanatic, but the half-fiend grudgingly acknowledged that he was not a complete fool. All the risk lay in the Banites' lap, and the priests knew it.
No matter, Vhok thought. Once I have the power of the Lifespring, convincing them of the plan's worth will be the simplest of things. They will feel foolish for ever doubting me. I will have this city. And Bane be damned.
The meeting was over. The gathered assemblage rose to their feet and began to slip out one by one, each by magical means of one sort or another. Vhok watched the priests as they vanished, leaving behind nothing more than a sparkle of magic or a zephyr of breeze to mark their passing. In moments, only he and Zasian remained behind.
"He is a fool," Vhok said at last, sighing loudly. "A fool's fool."
The remark drew a raised eyebrow from Zasian. "Perhaps, but such comments are dangerous. He or his spies might be listening to us at this very moment."
"It's all right," Vhok said. "I warded the room before we began tonight."
Zasian nodded. "Wise," he replied. "As did I. Burukhan rarely gives proper consideration to such precautions, I fear."
"Exactly," the cambion said. "A fool. And don't think I don't know you feel the same way about him, Zasian. I see the wisdom in your eyes—wisdom that flinches whenever that bag of winds speaks. For all his dedication and charisma, Dreadlord Holt Burukhan is not best suited to lead your church, Banite. You are far more able than he to command the hordes who worship your Black Hand." Vhok knew he spoke that last bit with more sarcasm than was probably wise, but he couldn't refrain from letting his true feelings trickle out.
Zasian seemed to ignore the jibe. "It is not so uncommon for a man to serve as the power behind a throne," he said. "Sometimes the masses need a face—a 'bag of winds' who can work them into a fervor on his behalf—more than they need a wizened contemplator. I accomplish far more behind the scenes, away from the scrutiny he receives. Burukhan can be the king. I prefer the role of kingmaker."
Vhok smirked. "If you say so. I could not be so content in such a role." Then his eyes narrowed. "When we have the city, is it your intention to continue to work behind the scenes?" he asked.
Zasian smiled, a charming grin that gave the ladies unsteady knees. "Almost assuredly," he purred. "Though I'm sure that when Kaanyr Vhok sits in the Master's Hall of Sundabar, High Priest Zasian Menz of the Temple of Bane will be busy with his own pursuits. I'm sure we'll reach some sort of agreement of coexistence. You do not have any interest in spiritual matters, and I have little interest in the day-to-day affairs of secular rulership. What's good for you and your city will undoubtedly be good for me and my temple."
"Indeed," Vhok said. Silently, he added, Though I might
prefer the incompetent blowhard at the head of the temple. Less dangerous most of the time.
The cambion dismissed future confrontations from his mind and changed the subject. "Are you prepared to leave tonight?" he asked Menz, though he knew the answer already. Both had been planning their impending journey for a long time.
"Yes," Zasian answered. "And what of your preparations? Will we have access to the portal by this evening?"
"Yes," Vhok replied. "Lysalis and the others are working now. It shouldn't be much longer."
Zasian nodded and said, "I will meet you at the forges then, when it is time."
"And our guide will be waiting on the other side?" Vhok asked.
"I have made the offerings and sent the messages. The price has been paid, and the guide should be waiting for us on the far side of the portal."
"Then I will see you tonight," Vhok said. He watched as Zasian nodded curtly once, summoned a magical doorway of reddish light, stepped through, and vanished.
Chapter Two
The Everfire filled the massive chamber with an orange glow. The channel of simmering, molten rock illuminated every surface, its light even shining faintly upon the ceiling. From his vantage point high atop one of the great ruined Forge Towers, Vhok could survey the entirety of the massive room. He could feel waves of heat radiating upward, even several hundred feet away. The oppressive warmth did not bother the cambion, and the smell of scorched stone reminded him of familiar places in the Abyss.
The tower upon which the Sceptered One and his bevy of fey'ri sorcerers had gathered stood opposite its twin. The upper reaches of the counterpart had long ago shattered in some cataclysm, and the great stone bridge that once connected them simply hung in space, a jagged protrusion going nowhere. Together, the identical towers might have appeared as dual sentries, watching over the dwarves as they worked their forges in the sweltering heat.
Kaanyr Vhok had failed to conquer Sundabar because it was actually two cities, one on the surface and one below. The dwarves occupied the lower levels, far down in the depths. They had arrived many centuries before the humans and had learned
to harness the potency of the Everfire for their forge work.
During the heyday of their activity, the dwarves had constructed side channels intersecting the natural lava course—great troughs that ran perpendicular to the large crevasse. At those smaller fiery canals, the dwarves performed most of their labors, heating and tempering the steel they forged into weapons and armor and the precious metals they crafted into beautiful things.
To protect themselves from the searing heat of the Everfire, the dwarves placed powerful dweomers upon the magma channels. They trapped most of the heat within protective barriers of invisible force. Using arcane tricks they allowed only small amounts of the liquid fire to flow into the side channels, and magical irrigation gates controlled the flow. In that way, they harnessed the power of what otherwise would have been a most destructive force.
Vhok knew that even after so many years, the protective magic remained in place, cordoning off the flow, keeping it from overrunning the forging chamber. Though the dwarves performed only a fraction of their work within the Everfire's tempering heat, they still came occasionally to create their most beautiful—and most magical—works.
And, because they still valued the primordial lava flow, the dwarves fiercely protected it from enemies. The Vigilant, a small but elite force of dwarves, sworn defenders of the Everfire, stood always ready to drive back subterranean invaders.
The Vigilant posed a serious problem to the cambion. They could rush at a moment's notice to aid the citizens above should an attack occur. Their combined might had proven sufficient to hold back the tide of the Scourged Legion's tanarukks on more than one occasion. Even with the cambion's subtle plan taking shape, the Vigilant might prove a thorn in his side. Vhok hated them and wanted to crush them—indeed, all the dwarves of Sundabar's labyrinthine underlevels—once and for all. But the dwarves were a hardy folk and not easily destroyed. So Vhok intended to use one of the oldest tricks of warfare. He would turn the dwarves' own strength against them. When the time was right, he would scorch them to oblivion with their own Everfire.
But for the moment, the cambion merely needed to distract them, get them away from the molten rock.
"You are certain you can bring down those barriers?" Vhok asked the fey'ri sorceress standing beside him.
The other creature nodded. A lithe female, Lysalis had the delicate but angular features of an elf, and the blazing red eyes and prominent fangs of a fiend. She dressed in gaudy splendor, an affectation she had adapted in the heady days immediately following their escape from the utter destruction of Hellgate Keep. Though the cambion found Lysalis's choice of clothing a bit too flashy for his tastes, he otherwise thought her charming and sultry. He had bedded her a time or two, though it was never anything more than a moment's diversion, much in the same way he knew Aliisza pursued other dalliances on occasion. Lysalis would never be anything more than a useful minion to him.
A perfectly capable minion, though, he thought.
"It will take all of our talents melded together," Lysalis was saying, "and it will not be quick, but I believe we can channel sufficient power into the dweomers to disrupt them and stir the Everfire to life."
Vhok was pleased. He looked past Lysalis's shoulder to the handful of other fey'ri gathered there. They were the most competent, the most powerful among all who served in Vhok's Scourged Legion. He would need every last scrap of their talents.
"Excellent," he said. "Have them begin. We shall return in a while to see how they fare."
Lysalis nodded and turned to the fey'ri. She gathered the handful of them together and issued instructions. Soon, the sorcerers were deeply involved in their preparations. None paid the slightest heed to Vhok.
The cambion peered over the edge of the tower once again. Far below, glowing ruddy in the light of the eternal furnace of the Everfire, he could see a handful of dwarves moving around. Whether they were patrols of Vigilant or craftsmen immersed in their work, he could not tell. It did not matter. Soon, he imagined, they would all be scrambling to escape the expanding inferno. The image made him smile.
Once Lysalis was satisfied that her compatriots had preparations well in hand, she and Kaanyr Vhok took their leave and began to make their way down a wide spiral staircase leading deep into the tower. When they were well out of both earshot and view, the half-.fiend stopped.
"We must pay Nahaunglaroth another visit," he said. "It is time to offer more enticement."
Lysalis smirked, her elf's eyebrows arching in bemusement, but she said nothing. She passed her hands before herself and muttered an incantation. Instantly, the pair was whisked far from the dwarven stronghold.
Vhok took a steadying breath as he found himself standing upon a stone balcony exposed to the crisp night air of the mountains. He had expected the change, but it still unsettled him. Lysalis stood right beside him, and her own gasp confirmed to the cambion that the sudden shift in location and temperature startled her, too.
Behind the pair, the glow of torches cast orange light in a corona around them, throwing their shadows upon the balustrade of the balcony. Beyond that railing, the blackness
of night cloaked the world like a velvet cape. The gibbous moon was low on the horizon, and filmy clouds crossed it like gauzy ribbons.
A hoarse growl chorused with a clank of metal, and Vhok turned in time to spy a pair of unusual creatures snarling and pointing. They were of a similar height as he, though more muscular and stocky, and their features were brutish and ferocious, with exposed canines and thick, prominent noses. Vhok would have considered them hobgoblins but for a few bizarre features. They both sported wide, leathery wings that fanned out to either side as they advanced. Their skin was pale blue, rather than the usual tan or yellowish of hobgoblins. Vhok knew of them, the Blood of Morueme, sired in the mating of a blue dragon and a hobgoblin slave.
The two draconic guards, dressed in heavy chain shirts and brandishing blackened battle-axes, loped forward, twirling their razorlike weapons overhead.
"You trespass!" one of them snarled.
Vhok fought the urge to yank Burnblood, his ancient elven long sword, free of its scabbard on his hip. Beside him, he noted that Lysalis clenched her fists, as though she, too, were resisting the urge to blast the two oafs with fell magic. Taking a calming breath, Vhok kept his hands out, showing that he remained unarmed, and said, "We have come to see Master Nahaunglaroth, and we bear him gifts of gold and jewels."
At the mention of their lord—and quite possibly their father—the two half-dragons slowed their advance. The one who had spoken cocked his head to one side and asked, "Where is this treasure? I see no chests or sacks of coins and gems. I think you're lying."
Vhok rolled his eyes ever so slightly but smiled and replied, "There is too much to carry—it would be too heavy.
We bring it magically and will present it once we have an audience with Master Nahaunglaroth."
The draconic hobgoblin considered the cambion's words for a moment, perhaps trying to puzzle out how much he should trust the half-fiend.
After a lengthy pause, the guard nodded and said, "You wait here. I will find out if the masters will see you." The half-dragon spun on his heel and marched through a doorway into the interior of the building, leaving the other guard to watch the two interlopers. The second draconic hobgoblin stood mutely, eyeing the pair with undisguised suspicion.
Vhok gave the brutish creature a deprecating smile and turned to stroll toward the edge of the balcony, intent on enjoying the view while he was forced to wait.
Lysalis had brought the two of them to Doomspire, a great castle perched on the side of Dragondoom Mountain, in the far eastern end of the Nether range. It was not the first time the cambion and his sorceress had visited the mountain fortress. Vhok had begun negotiating with the dragon lords some time before, hoping to forge better relations with the Morueme clan. It had been a slow process. The history between the wyrms of Dragondoom and the fiends of Hellgate Keep had been unpleasant.
"You leave all your weapons out here, and you can come inside," the guard said upon returning.
The routine was familiar to Vhok and Lysalis, who had been made to disarm each time they had come to visit. The cambion thought that Nahaunglaroth was being paranoid, considering all the wondrous gifts he had brought the great dragon in the past, but he wasn't about to strain the fragile peace he had managed to establish with the clan over something as trivial as a sword.
After leaving their blades and other gear in a pile on the
balcony, the two half-fiends followed their escort into the interior of the castle, leaving the other guard to stand watch over their belongings. The route through the passages of the castle was long and circuitous, descending several flights of stone stairs and winding down through numerous corridors into the deeper levels. Vhok paid little attention to their journey. The fortress was a crude thing in his estimation, built by the earliest hobgoblin thralls serving the great dragons of Clan Morueme. Despite the considerable magic and dragon ingenuity that had subsequently been spent to improve the castle's defenses, it still bore the unmistakable coarseness of its original makers.
Vhok noted that the stones forming the walls were rough and uneven, and in many cases, walls leaned or slanted at inexact angles. Doorways were not of consistent heights, and hallways often ended with no destination. The whole place had a foul odor, something akin to a mixture of bad meat and an overabundance of stable dung. Vhok often wondered just how close to collapse the place might be were it not for the dragons' will.
As they walked, the trio passed numerous other half-dragon, half-hobgoblin denizens. They also spied a handful of pure-blood hobgoblins, all of them female and appearing sullen and craven in the extreme. Some hurried to one unseen destination or another, but a few simply lurked in doorways or large open halls. Some loitered with young draconic offspring at their feet. The entire place reminded Vhok of a rundown festhall in a city slum.
At last, the decor shifted to something more opulent. The path their escort followed widened into a broad hallway that angled downward and changed from worked block walls to natural stone, shaped smooth and carved with imagery of great winged wyrms inciting terror across the land.
Vhok leaned close to Lysalis and whispered, "Next time we come for a visit, bring us directly here. That festhall overhead is anything but festive."
"So long as you can convince all of them not to behead us on sight," the sorceress replied, nodding toward the ranks of guards who flanked the hall every ten paces or so. "I rather value mine."
Vhok smirked but did not reply, for their guard had led them to a great chamber filled with a vast assortment of gleaming artwork. The half-dragon guard gestured into the room, then spun on his heel and vanished the way he had arrived.
Though he had visited the room before, the cambion was still taken aback by the sheer beauty—and volume—of treasures on display. It was on par with some of the greatest private museums or vaults in all of Faerûn, he supposed. Tapestries woven of the finest silks hung on every wall, stands displaying magnificent weapons, shields, and suits of armor lined the perimeter, and glass cases revealed ancient coins, fragments of fine dishes and service sets, crowns, tiaras, jewelry, and much more.
"I see that you still marvel at my collection of fine antiques," boomed a voice from overhead.
Vhok and Lysalis simultaneously jerked their gazes up to peer at its source. A massive serpentine body reclined upon a large gallery that circled the chamber. His brilliant blue scales glittered in the light of the various lanterns placed throughout the room. A large, horned head rested upon a thick neck, with reptilian eyes studying the two visitors intently.
Vhok bowed in deference and said, "You are looking fit as always, Nahaunglaroth."
"And you are as wretched a flatterer as ever, cambion," the dragon replied, uncoiling himself and slithering over the side
of the gallery's edge. As his body descended to the floor where Vhok and Lysalis stood, the sorceress took an involuntary step back. Vhok did not flinch, though he felt a moment of dread wash through him. Nahaunglaroth was a dragon, after all.
The scaled body began to shift then, shrinking and melding until it was no longer serpentine. When the transformation was complete, no evidence remained that a dragon had ever been in the room. Only a man, dressed lavishly in navy breeches and silk shirt, with a lighter blue silken doublet, stood in the company of the visitors. His eyes, however, still possessed that intense, reptilian gaze.
"So, you've come to bring me more trinkets?" the man said, striding forward. "Whatever other unworthy qualities you may have, fiend, you at least know the way to a wyrm's heart. What have you to show me?"
Vhok had to smother a chuckle. Nahaunglaroth was, like all of his draconic kin, too greedy for his own good. Even with all of his finery on display, the creature wanted more, always more. For that, the cambion was thankful.
"Lysalis—if you please?" Vhok said, and the sorceress obliged him by beginning an incantation. Nahaunglaroth tensed for a moment, but when the fey'ri produced a tiny chest in the palm of her hand, set it down, and stepped back, the dragon could not resist the urge to peer down at it eagerly.
The chest expanded in size until it was as large as an overstuffed chair. It was a remarkable piece of furniture on its own, crafted of hand-rubbed duskwood with platinum fittings. Knowing that the dragon would be suspicious, Vhok opened the latch, then slowly lifted the lid.
The three of them gazed upon a trove of ancient elven and dwarven items. Vhok had brought his host numerous weapons, tomes, fabrics, and gem-encrusted valuables, all scoured from the lost places in and beneath the High Forest.
The contents of the chest represented years of the cambion's life, both before and after the fall of Hellgate Keep.
It was no pittance he was parting with.
Nahaunglaroth knelt before the chest, his eyes gleaming in excitement. He almost cooed as he lifted first one item, then another from the container. Vhok knew he didn't need to explain the value—financial or historical—to the dragon.
If anyone understands the true value of a priceless artifact, it's a dragon, the cambion thought.
"Quite impressive," Nahaunglaroth said, standing again. Vhok could see him working to hide his eagerness. "And appreciated as much for your generosity as for its value. It must have taken you a while to gather such trinkets."
Trinkets? Vhok thought. A bit more dismissive than is warranted. Aloud, he replied, "Worth only a pittance compared to what I may gain should we be able, at last, to reach some sort of arrangement."
"Ah, yes," Nahaunglaroth said, strolling about his museum and casually examining the many items on display. "The alliance you have spoken of. Remind me again what it is you seek?" he asked, his back to the pair of half-fiends.
Vhok let one corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk, but he didn't let the disdain creep into his voice as he said, "Of course. It seems to me that neither of us is going to succeed nearly as well in our relative pursuits so long as we remain at odds with one another. The simplicity of establishing a peaceable coexistence seems so natural. This would be especially true should I ascend to the master's seat in Sundabar, as you already know I desire."
"The problem with that," the dragon said, still not turning around, "is that you fiends rut like there's no tomorrow, and before we know it, you're spread all over the place. My
mountain would be overrun with your brutish Scourged Legion in no time."
Lysalis let out a low growl, but Vhok cut her off with a sharp gesture.
Nahaunglaroth turned around then, looking at both of his visitors with a knowing smile. "Touched a nerve, did I?" he asked.
"As long as we're all being civil," Vhok said, "my problem with the bargain is that you greedy dragons can never get enough of what glitters. I don't mind so much, giving some of mine to you—after all, I have much greater political ambitions—but your demand for more would never stop. I'd bring you a bar of gold, you'd ask me why it wasn't two."
Nahaunglaroth glared at Vhok for a moment, and the cambion was almost certain that he had crossed the line, that whatever tenuous foothold he held on establishing a neutrality pact had just crumbled beneath him. He silently cursed himself for being so forward.
But then the dragon began to laugh. At first, it was a snicker, but it grew louder, deeper, and soon, the human in front of Vhok was outright guffawing, bent over and slapping his knee. Vhok couldn't help but grin a bit in response to the comical scene. When the transformed wyrm managed to regain his breath and stand upright, Vhok could see that tears of mirth streamed down his host's cheeks.
"I've never heard a dragon's greed described quite so aptly," Nahaunglaroth said at last. "I will give you credit, cambion— you don't lack for bravado or wit. Not too many folk choose to show their true disposition while standing before a dragon. Now, I've got a surprise for you." The creature put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. "There are things these human bodies are much better for," he said, smiling, as they waited. "Never could do that until I learned how to shift
shapes. Whistling is so... interesting." He began to twitter a tune then, some common drinking house song that Vhok recognized but couldn't recall the words to.
The cambion just smiled and nodded, surprised at what might amuse a dragon. Is he being cagey, or eccentric? Vhok wondered.
After a moment, another half-dragon entered the room. It was similar in appearance to the guard that had escorted Vhok and Lysalis to the chamber, but it was slighter of build and seemed to hold a more intelligent gleam in its eyes. It carried a small silver coffer to Nahaunglaroth, then turned and left.
The dragon turned and passed the coffer to Vhok. "You brought me gifts, now I return the favor. Think of it as sealing the pact." At Vhok's surprised gaze, the creature nodded. "Yes, I'm willing to talk terms. I've had some time to think about your offer since your last visit, and honestly, the idea has merit. My father lost touch with the outside world, and my brother and I want to extend our reach farther, and gain influence and favors. So we are willing to enter into agreement with you, provided we can address a few concerns.
"In particular, we want to start acquiring a supply of magically enchanted weapons and armor for our Blood. You do intend to rekindle the forges of the Everfire once you seize control, don't you?"
Vhok nodded absently and said, "Undoubtedly." He opened the box and found an odd item resting inside. It was an alabaster carving of a vine-covered archway, perhaps the size of his fist. The cambion removed it from its case and held it up, examining it. He could sense latent magic radiating from within.
"My diviners knew you were coming tonight, and they also told me you are about to embark on a great journey," Nahaunglaroth said, standing beside the half-fiend while
Lysalis crowded next to him on the other side. "Perhaps this small token will aid you," the dragon added.
Vhok, slightly concerned that his plans were known to others, nodded his thanks. Let's hope my enemies don't glean as much about me, he thought.
"Here," Nahaunglaroth said, taking the carved arch from Vhok, "let me show you how this works."
Myshik Morueme paused and sniffed the dead air around him, gauging his path as much by intuition as by any mental map. The blue-scaled hobgoblin chose a direction and proceeded, drawing on his half-draconic heritage to feel his way. His heavy boots thunked rhythmically as he walked. He held his massive war axe cradled in the palms of his clawed hands. He knew that, should he confront any dwarves with it, the anger in their eyes would delight him.
The passage was worked stone, precisely carved out of the bedrock of mountains by dwarf tools wielded by dwarf hands. The quality of the architecture interested him not the slightest bit, except insofar as it helped guide him. For two days, Myshik had ascended out of the Underdark, passing through countless tunnels, ruined gates, and hallways that marked the outer boundaries of Old Delzoun. Steered by his knowledge of the ancient dwarven territory, he made steady progress toward its heart. Soon, he would reach the outskirts of an area he knew to be inhabited. There, he hoped to finally reap the rewards of his search.
Myshik paused at an intersection of two great hallways, breathing in the stones. He knew he was close. His instinct nudged him to his right, so he turned that way. The passage approached a grand staircase that ascended toward a pair
of massive stone doors, easily three times the half-dragon's height. The portal had been closed for centuries, judging from the scattering of debris that littered the landing. Myshik stopped before them, frowning. He could not see a way to open them.
Then he spied a side passage, a crude tunnel that someone—or something—had bored through the rock to one side of the twin doors. He stepped toward it, gripping his axe a bit more tightly.
The tunnel digger had been in a hurry. The work was rough, crude. It was also considerably smaller than the surrounding tunnels. Certainly no dwarf handiwork, Myshik decided. The potential for ambush somewhere within its depths was not lost on the half-hobgoblin. Shrugging, he entered the passage anyway. It was the only route past the massive doors, and it was the direction he must go if he wished to find his quarry.
Thinking of his goal made the half-dragon smile. Treasure was precious. It let the clan live. Treasure reaped through battle was always more precious. He hoped that dwarves guarded great hordes of the stuff.
Myshik pushed through the cramped tunnel, keeping his leathery wings tucked close to his body. The passage did not travel far, only through the thick wall that supported the doorway. He wondered for a moment why the digger hadn't chipped through the doors themselves, but dismissed the thought as he emerged on the other side. He entered what must have been a grand chamber, a massive hall so large that his darkness-attuned eyes could not make out any features within the limits of his vision.
He stood quite still for a moment, listening. All seemed perfectly quiet. Though he knew it would be risky, Myshik decided to illuminate the place so he could get a better look.
Reaching into a protected pocket, the half-hobgoblin produced an oblong bundle. Slowly unwrapping the cloth, he exposed a prism-shaped white crystal twice as thick as his clawed thumb and as long as his hand. As he folded back each layer of the covering, the intense glow of magical light grew stronger, until at last, blinking from its harsh glare, he held it openly in his palm.
Myshik held the stone aloft and slightly behind his head, using its brilliant glow to study his surroundings.
An abandoned stronghold.
The place where Myshik stood must have once served as a welcoming entryway marking the periphery of a dwarven settlement, though judging from its construction, the dwarves had been cautious hosts. The roof of the chamber soared high overhead, but directly before him stood formidable defenses. With his back to the stone doors, the half-hobgoblin faced a large wall that rose perhaps halfway to the ceiling. The top of the wall bristled with crenellations, and Myshik could see that its entire surface was pierced by arrow slits.
Another large portal bisected the wall, though solid doors did not seal that ingress. Instead, a great iron portcullis defended it. The immense metal grate hung almost all the way to the floor. Had it settled all the way down, the pointed iron protrusions lining its underside would have bored nicely into circular depressions in the stone. But a pair of large wooden braces erected beneath the huge portcullis held it aloft, preventing it from descending completely.
The braces had been crafted from immense rough-cut timbers lashed together with stout rope like gigantic saw-horses. The timbers' girths were easily as big as Myshik's chest, and the rope was as thick as his wrist. The half-dragon wondered how those who had constructed them had managed to drag such large timbers all the way down from the
surface. They looked stout enough, but the thought of several tons' worth of iron bars crashing atop him unsettled him. He might decide to seek another route, perhaps by scaling the wall itself.
Of more immediate concern was the gaping chasm that separated him from the formidable wall. Fully thirty feet across, the yawning crevasse extended the width of the chamber and proceeded into the side walls. Indentations and markings lay upon the stone floor on his side of the chasm, as well as the remains of what looked like immense hinges on the far side. They suggested that a large drawbridge had spanned it at some time. Myshik suspected that the bridge had come to rest at the bottom.
The half-dragon approached the edge and peered over, shining his light down and searching for the bottom. The void descended beyond the limits of his illumination.
Myshik strolled to his left, following the edge of the cleft toward one wall. His gaze roamed over the place, seeking some safe means of crossing the chasm, but he spotted nothing. He repeated the process to his right. He found no spikes or ropes, nothing to suggest a safe means of traversing. He sighed.
Only one way, he decided.
The half-dragon backed up a number of steps and turned to face the chasm. Taking a few deep breaths, he mentally urged himself forward. Myshik took off at a sprint and dashed directly toward the gap, refusing to look down and instead eyeing the opposite side. When he reached the edge, he leaped up and forward. Under normal circumstances, no hobgoblin could have cleared such a wide barrier. But Myshik unfurled his leathery blue wings and fervently flapped them as he glided over the yawning chasm. True to his intentions, he never looked down.
Though the vestigial appendages inherited from his draconic father did not enable Myshik to truly fly, they were sufficient in size to allow him to glide a fair distance, and with their aid, he was able to navigate the boundary, landing in a trot on the far side.
Heaving one deep sigh of relief, Myshik settled easily into stride and approached the massive portcullis. He examined the braces to reassure himself that they were secure. He grasped one of the braces with both hands and shook it, testing. It groaned and seemed to shift ever so slightly, and the portcullis did, too. A smattering of dust sifted down from above, but the braces held.
Myshik gave the tremendous gate one last wary look, then darted beneath the huge bars and passed beyond the portal into the prodigious space beyond.
On the other side of the gate, Myshik's light proved inadequate to illuminate the entire chamber. The half-dragon could barely discern the far reaches, but his crystal was bright enough for him to see that the structure of the cavern ascended in grand scale. The dwarves had adapted their architecture to suit the shape of the chamber, which was not even or smooth, but sloped upward, like the side of a miniature mountain filled with ridges and draws. The space had been tiered, like a great rippled ziggurat, rising up to prominences at the far end. All of it was stout stone, crafted for stability. The dwarves had given little care to decoration; instead, the place exuded practicality.
From his study of old maps of the region, Myshik suspected he knew where he trod. He had reached an outpost, a peripheral bastion of defense against the dark things that tended to ascend from the Underdark. Beyond the upper limits of the chamber, the corridors and halls beneath Sundabar waited.
Without warning, Myshik felt a presence in his mind. It was powerful, familiar. It was Father.
Myshik, the great blue wyrm Roraurim's voice said, penetrating his offspring's skull. Myshik, answer me.
"I am here, Father," the half-dragon responded. "How may I serve you?"
I see you, the dragon's voice said. You are near the city of Sundabar.
"Yes," Myshik answered. "Below it, actually."
Good, Roraurim said. I have a job for you. My brother, your uncle, has entered into a pact with the fiends disgorged from Hellgate Keep. You must find their leader, a cambion demon named Kaanyr Vhok. Go to him, and offer yourself in service to him.
"I don't understand, Father," Myshik said. "Do we not hate the creatures that invade our mountains? Why would Uncle Nahaunglaroth do such a thing?"
Yours is not to understand—only to obey.
"Yes, Father. Of course," Myshik bowed his head in subservience. "Command me."
Go and do as I have said. You will accompany this cambion on a journey. Aid him, defend him from his enemies. When you have his confidence, this is what you are to do....
When Myshik's father, the great Roraurim, finished, "Myshik smiled and said, "Yes, Father. It will be as you say."
I have faith in you, my son. And the voice was gone.
Fearing that his light might betray his presence, Myshik wrapped the crystal again and tucked it into a pocket. After spending a moment adjusting to the darkness, the half-dragon advanced, picking his way toward the first of a series of sloping pathways leading higher into the stronghold.
They were the first steps of a new journey, a new quest.
Chapter Three
Aliisza lay very still and listened to Helm Dwarf-friend snoring softly next to her. The man's breathing was slow and steady, a familiar sound. She knew he was truly asleep. She rose up on her elbow and peered at the Master of Sundabar in the dim light of the lone lamp burning on the table nearby. The ex-mercenary's face was lined with age and the weight of responsibility, even in sleep. His hair and beard, still thick and worn in braids like the northmen, had as much gray as red in it. His frame still bulged, but as much paunch as muscle was evident. He was no longer the young man the people of Sundabar had embraced so many years before, the stout warrior and battle captain of the Bloodaxe mercenary company who had saved the city from destruction first, and corruption afterward. Time and care had stolen his vibrant youth from him.
It would not be difficult to turn the people away from a man who looked as tired and infirm as Helm Dwarf-friend. They would need only a little nudge and a more capable alternative to see the truth. An alternative who looked young and handsome, like Dwarf-friend had twenty years or more ago. Someone like Kaanyr Vhok.
Careful not to disturb the sleeping master, Aliisza rose from the bed. She took up her nightdress from the floor, where Helm had carelessly tossed it aside. She did not don it immediately, but instead moved toward the mirror above the washbasin to gaze at the reflection of the innocent girl who would betray a city. The impish face that stared back at her smiled in satisfaction, with a hint of smoldering lust.
I'll hand that to him, the alu thought. He's got an excellent eye for beauty. Aliisza turned herself back and forth, appraising her shape and curves, her head cocked to one side. Hells, I'd bed Ansa, too, she thought with a grin. She giggled, softly so that she wouldn't wake the man.
Aliisza wriggled herself into the nightdress and moved to the door leading into the master's study. She pulled it open, being careful not to make noise, and slipped outside.
The study was a mess, as usual, and it was ostensibly Ansa's job to straighten it. But Aliisza conveniently avoided the task as much as possible. She wanted to perpetuate the image of an overwhelmed, disorganized leader, but she also detested such menial chores. Despite the chaos in the room, she had a very good idea where everything was, and she had taken advantage of the master's long days attending to the duties of office to sift and sort through it all, gleaning as best she could how the man tried to run the city.
She had even begun, very slowly, to make changes to some of his official documents. Requisitions, records of accounting, even specifications for equipping and deploying the watch received adjustments. Always subtle, the changes effectively weakened the city in some small way, or created confusion in some warehouse or barracks. Slowly, inconspicuously, Aliisza was undermining Dwarf-friend's rule, making it appear that he was beginning to lose his ability to do so effectively.
The alu moved to a pile of military supply requisitions
and sat down to examine them. Outwardly, she claimed to Dwarf-friend to be sorting and filing the stack, but in truth, she poured over it for details on Sundabar's martial might. Already she had found ways in which she could shortchange both the Shieldsar, Sundabar's army, and the Stone Shields, the city watch. It would be a long, tedious process, but within a few months, the half-fiend would have substantially weakened both forces. More importantly, she would make Helm Dwarf-friend look the fool. Watch commanders were already sending curt notes from time to time, complaining to the master that needed provisions were in short supply and not being replenished when expected. Aliisza was intercepting the messages, though, and Helm never saw them.
The alu sat down lazily, thinking to spend some time at her subversive task, but a premonition, a familiar tingling sense of danger, washed over Aliisza and froze her in place. She recognized the subtle, almost subconscious augury. Such signals coursed through her from time to time, warning her of impending peril. Her intuition was an inherited gift from her demonic mother, and she knew better than to ignore it. Right then, she felt as though she were being watched.
She scanned the room, looking for some sign that her premonition was warranted. The alu's gaze penetrated every corner, every shadow within the ill-lit study. She sought any potential hiding place, but the furniture was sparse and functional rather than posh, and there was no place for someone to conceal himself.
What is it? the alu wondered, shivering. What am I not seeing? Remembrance made her breath catch. Pharaun's ring!
Without looking down, Aliisza brought her hands together and felt for the trinket. The strange signet ring encircled the fourth finger of her right hand. She knew it
granted her a preternatural ability to recognize magical emanations, but in the couple of months since she had claimed it from the drow wizard Pharaun Mizzrym's remains, she had not grown accustomed to drawing on its power. Brushing aside the self-chastisement of not thinking of it sooner, the half-demon summoned the wizardry of the ring and focused her attention all around the chamber, seeking the telltale signs of dweomers.
Magical emanations of various hues and strengths exploded in her vision from numerous points. A set of bound scrolls on a bookcase glimmered with arcane radiance. A cane leaning in a corner burst into light. And the shield that hung over the mantle radiated power, too. But the source right in front of her caught Aliisza's attention.
A single figure standing near the hearth erupted into a dazzling display of glowing radiance. Myriad magical colors shimmered around it, outlining the form and revealing it as a human-sized male. He stood very still, tucked half behind the fireplace, seemingly watching her. He had taken great pains to keep from being spotted or heard, drawing on magical invisibility and uncanny silence to remain undetected. He bore numerous defensive enchantments as well as powerful weapons. He was clearly ready for a fight.
Aliisza became aware of all this in the blink of an eye.
Aliisza hesitated. Her instinct told her to draw weapons and attack the trespasser, take him by surprise before he could react, but she also knew Ansa would never do that. She was loath to ruin her carefully planned deception.
Then, in the time it took the alu to wonder whether it was the master or herself being hunted, another wave of subliminal warning washed over her. A hint of light and motion caught her eye, coming from her right. A figure materialized, stepping through a magical doorway in the center of the
room. Multicolored emanations swarmed around him as well, a visual cacophony of magical protections revealed by Pharaun's signet ring. He immediately waved a wand at her.
Instantly, Aliisza's surroundings grew unearthly silent. She could not even hear the rush of blood in her ears as her heart pounded.
Me, Aliisza understood in that dreadful instant, knowing most of her spells had just been rendered useless. They've come for me. But how? I was careful. So very careful.
And yet someone had ferreted her out. The deception was ruined. Kaanyr's plan to disgrace Helm Dwarf-friend was lost. Rage coursed through her, made her want to flense someone. The fool with the wand would do nicely.
As Aliisza turned toward the wizard, the door to the outer hall burst open and a third figure entered. It was a woman, heavily armored and radiating powerful magic. She gestured at the disguised alu.
The half-fiend swore, recognizing the divine motions. Time to go, Aliisza decided, feeling concern replace her rage. They aren't playing games. She began to summon innate magical energy, intending to create an extradimensional portal through which to flee.
She was not quick enough.
A flash of emerald arced across the alu's vision as a glowing green ray shot from her adversary's fingers. She twisted around in an attempt to dodge the shimmering energy, but it struck her on the shoulder. Instantly, a glowing field of similar color coalesced all about her. She was surprised to discover that she felt no pain. The beam had not directly harmed her.
In the next breath, Aliisza had her magical doorway created. Without waiting to see what sort of vile magic had ensnared her, she stepped through.
And bounced back.
The doorway would not permit her passage. To the alu, it felt as if she were trying to move into a stone wall. She could sense the magic of it, feel the innate control she had over the portal, even detect the location beyond, where she had anchored the other end of the extradimensional pathway. But she was barred from using it.
Cursing to herself in her soundless state, Aliisza understood the nature of the green magic that clung to her.
They've anchored me, she thought as a brief wave of panic washed through her. She forced the abhorrent emotion down. Better cut my way out of here the old-fashioned way, she decided.
The alu shifted into her true form.
The silly wisp of a girl dressed only in a nightshirt vanished. The half-fiend, dressed in sinewy black leather armor and with unfurling black leathery wings, replaced her. Aliisza drew herself up to her full height, giving a disdainful stare at the three adversaries arrayed around her, and jerked free the magical elven blade she wore at her side.
The transition had just the effect the alu wanted. All three of the intruders paused, staring at the fiendish creature before them.
Aliisza took advantage of their startled hesitation and lunged at the wizard with the wand. She felt the blade slip through arcane protection, its own magic overwhelming the cloaking armor surrounding the man. The keen tip of the sword pierced the wizard in the abdomen and doubled him over in a single deadly stroke. The half-fiend yanked the blade free and spun to face her other two opponents, heedless of the man as he crumpled to the floor.
Only then did she spot the fourth figure.
Zasian Menz filled the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a pompous smile on his face.
"You," Aliisza snarled, seething, but no sound issued from her, the silence as mocking as the seneschal's gleeful stare. She wanted to run him through with her blade, to wrap her fingers around his neck and choke the life from him.
Zasian stepped into the room and made a gesture. The alu saw his mouth move as he pointed, directing the two remaining assailants confronting her. The man's intentions were clear enough, even if his words were lost to Aliisza's deafened ears. Surround her, do not let her escape. She was the quarry he was after.
To her left, the figure by the fireplace unfurled a weighted net. To her right, the priestess sidestepped, making room for the seneschal to join the fray.
Knowing she was out-muscled and lacking any spells, Aliisza backed away, looking for freedom. She glanced at the window, closed against the cold of night, and wondered if she could bull her way through it. Though Dwarf-friend's quarters were on the fourth floor of the Master's Hall, her wings would negotiate the fall and speed the alu to safety. But she would first have to break through the stout wooden shutters.
Aliisza must have taken a faltering step in that direction, for immediately, her foes rushed to try to encircle her. She dared not engage one of them and put her back to the other two, but she also couldn't stand there and let them pick her apart with magic. She eyed the distance and wondered how much it would hurt to hurtle herself though the wooden panel.
The floor lurched beneath Aliisza's feet. The room tottered and shook, and the alu stumbled, off balance. Piles of parchment, precariously stacked on many surfaces, slid to the floor, scattering everywhere. Books fell from the bookcases. The lamps swayed, and a candle fell to the floor, spilling wax
and setting fire to some of the scraps of parchment strewn nearby.
It took Aliisza a moment to realize what was happening. Then her mind wrapped around it. Earthquake!
The trio of assailants shifted and stumbled, caught as much by surprise as the alu. The priestess grabbed at the table to steady herself, while Zasian staggered backward and grasped the doorframe with both hands.
That distraction was all she needed. Fighting the swaying world, Aliisza darted forward, intent on launching herself through the window. The shifting of the floor and the scattering of scrolls and parchment made it difficult for her to build speed, but she closed the distance. When she was several steps away, she began to tuck, anticipating the trajectory she would use to hurtle herself through the shutters and escape into the night.
The rogue by the fireplace, deft on his feet, recovered quickly. In a blinding swirl of motion, he sent the net spinning, fanning out into a large circle. Aliisza sprinted and jumped, lifting herself off the ground. She tucked herself into a ball, desperate to evade the trap and break through.
She was a step too slow.
The net settled around her body, the weights attached to its edges pulling it tight. She thrashed and fought its confining embrace even as the rogue pulled on a trailing rope, yanking the net taut.
Unable to complete her leap to freedom, Aliisza jerked to a sudden stop and tumbled to the stone floor. She landed hard, absorbing most of the impact on one shoulder. She felt jarring, burning pain shoot through the joint and felt one of her wings crack as it bent at an angle beneath her weight. The pain nauseated her, and spots swam in her vision.
Fighting panic, Aliisza rolled to a sitting position to face
her oncoming attackers. The ground seemed to have ceased pitching, and the trio was closing the distance with her. She fumbled to bring her magical blade to bear, trying to pull it free of the confining net, but the tangle of hemp strands made her efforts fruitless.
Aliisza gave up and frantically fumbled a hand toward one of her pouches. She knew a spell she could cast without speaking, one that would permit her to transform into a puddle of liquid. If she could summon the magic to do so, she reasoned, she might be able to slip away by oozing through the gap between the shutters. But she needed a pinch of gelatin to conjure the transformation. She slipped her hand inside the pouch and began fumbling for the packet of powder.
Her seemingly endless streak of bad luck continued.
The priestess, a lackey of Torm judging from the markings upon her breastplate, loomed over the half-fiend. She hit Aliisza hard on one shoulder with her mace. The blow hurt, knocking her back and sending the contents of her pouch tumbling onto the floor beneath the writing table in the center of the room. The crushing strike sent spidery pain all through the alu's body, unnatural holy burning that caused Aliisza to cry out, though no sound could escape her lips.
The alu tried to roll backward, to swing her feet over her head to end in a crouch, but the netting hindered her. In frustration, she kicked out at the priestess, but the woman sidestepped and smacked her mace against the half-fiend's ankle, sending another jolt of agonizing pain through her body.
As Aliisza crumpled in injury and exhaustion, the hateful priestess stood proudly over her, brandishing the blessed weapon. Something inside the alu, a deep-rooted survival instinct that she could feel but not understand, overcame her. She named it cowardice, an unwelcome trait undoubtedly
inherited from her human father. She loathed herself for succumbing to it, even as she raised her arms in defeat.
The priestess never stopped smiling as she swung the heavy weapon down, slamming it into Aliisza's forehead.
All the world melted away in a torrent of pain and blackness.
"Remember, no unnecessary risks," Vhok instructed his lieutenant. "The legion will grow restless, but keep them out of sight." He gazed at the city of Sundabar in the distance, illuminated by watch fires along the walls.
Rorgak nodded. "They will question why," he said, giving Vhok an expectant glance.
"Theirs is not to question," the cambion snapped. "Explain to those who do that it had better not get back to me. The wait will be worth it."
A chill wind blew across the low hillock where he, his lieutenant, and Lysalis stood. Around the three of them, the half-frozen grasses of the Rauvin Valley rustled. The ice that coated the scrub crackled in the wind, reminding Vhok of dissonant bells. He shivered, finding the arctic breezes unpleasant on his hot skin.
"Make sure you maintain the illusion that I am still here," the cambion warned. "The tent and guards remain in place. 1 have set the wards to permit you to enter. The cloaking magic will keep prying eyes and ears from learning that you are actually alone when you receive' new orders from me."
The red-scaled, hulking tanarukk nodded again. "I will visit you daily," he said. Then, after a lingering silence, he asked, "What of Aliisza? What should I tell her if she returns?"
She won't, Vhok thought. Not if we're lucky. Out loud, he
said, "Tell her the truth. Explain to her that I have undertaken a separate, secret mission to retrieve powerful magic to aid us in the impending conquest. She will discover it in due time herself, regardless. She has access to the tent."
"You don't think she's going to return," the tanarukk lieutenant said, as much a question as a statement.
Vhok shrugged, not wishing to give away what he already knew. "As always, she plots her own course, whatever instructions I give her. She... intrigues me that way," he said, more to himself than to his subordinate. It was a good lie, because it was still the truth.
Rorgak knew better than to respond to such a comment. Instead, the lieutenant asked, "How long will you be away?"
Vhok considered his answer before he lied again. "A day or two, maybe three."
Any longer, the cambion thought, and Rorgak might decide it was time to start commanding and do something impetuous. Vhok knew full well that the burly officer relished the chance to control the seething, war-crazed legion. He harbored no doubts that his lieutenant had designs of taking over for him some day—with or without Kaanyr Vhok s blessings.
Far in the future, Vhok silently insisted. I am not done with them yet.
"Good travels, then," Rorgak replied, saluting.
The cambion returned the gesture and looked at Lysalis. She mentally commanded the magic that whisked the two of them deep under the surface.
Rorgak's competence was already gone from the cambion's thoughts when he and his sorceress appeared upon the spiral steps within the abandoned Forge Tower. He could feel that the heat was more oppressive than the last time he had visited.
The fey'ri magic must be going well, he thought.
Vhok ascended the staircase and stepped into view of his minions, still hard at work magically disrupting the Everfire. He saw evidence of a recent battle atop the tower. One of the fey'ri sorcerers lay unmoving, his skin blackened, and several others showed signs of injuries. A pair of the demonic elves perched on the edge of the roof, wands in their hands, gazing down into the depths of the chamber below.
Lysalis surveyed the situation, examining the dead and wounded fey'ri and studying the floor far below. She turned to Vhok and caught his eye, then gave a jerk of her head to indicate that he should see what was transpiring. The cambion strolled to the edge and peered over the side.
The Everfire roared and bucked, sloshing scalding hot liquid rock. It swelled and spilled over the sides of its channel, sliding across the vast floor and cooling in uneven mounds. Dwarves had scattered throughout the cavern, furiously working to stop the onslaught of fiery destruction. Their efforts were hampered by the churning lava, the magical attacks from the sorcerers on the tower, and a horde of tanarukks that pressed the attack directly.
Some of the dwarves had formed a shield wall. They defended a second, smaller group from attack, fighting to keep the swarming tanarukks away from their charges while the smaller collection worked magic. The wizards, clerics, and sorcerers struggled to repel the mass of fiendish ores. At the same time, they flung destructive magic at the sorcerers atop the tower.
Even as Vhok watched, a sizzling nugget of fire soared upward from the cluster of arcane spellcasters. He recognized the fireball well before it reached him. The cambion chuckled as the blast of searing fire erupted all around him. The burst singed the heated air, but he and his sorcerers remained unscathed.
The diversion seemed well in hand, so the cambion looked at Lysalis. "It's time to go," he said. He pointed to an overhang of natural rock jutting from the cavern wall near the sloshing, churning Everfire. "Whisk us over there, please," he instructed the sorceress.
Lysalis gave Vhok a slightly chagrined look and shrugged. "You've had me whisking you here and there all evening," she said. "I can't perform that particular trick again for a while. At least not until I rest and recuperate."
Vhok frowned, eyeing the vast space between the base of the tower and the promontory he sought. "Then I guess we'll get there the old-fashioned way," he said, pulling his long sword, Burnblood, free of its scabbard. "We'll drop down on the far side and work our way around those sluice channels, which will give us some cover from the fight. Over the side it is, then."
The fey'ri nodded, chanted a. few lines of sorcery, and moved to join him on the far side of the tower. Together, they stepped off the edge and began to plummet toward the bottom. Near the halfway mark of the fall, Vhok invoked an innate ability and immediately slowed his descent, creating a magical disk of force beneath himself and levitating upon it in the air. Beside him, Lysalis also slowed, though her reduced speed hinted at a gentle drifting, as though she were light as a feather.
Two different tricks, similar outcome, Vhok chuckled. "Race you down," he called, allowing his disk to accelerate its descent. He dropped below his sorcerous minion and reached the rough-hewn floor of the great cavern a few heartbeats before she did.
As soon as Lysalis joined the commander of the Scourged Legion, they crept around to survey the battlefield. The dwarves were hard pressed on two sides. It wasn't quite a flanking
maneuver, but it served its purpose well enough, pinning the stout folk and keeping them away from the Everfire. It appeared the cambion and his fey'ri sorceress could reach the wall unhindered and unnoticed, as long as they stayed on the far side of the sluice channels, which were overflowing with lava.
Kaanyr Vhok nodded to himself in satisfaction and began to trot across open ground, angling toward the nearest channel. Lysalis fell in close behind him. If the pair could reach the barrier unseen, then they could follow its length to the Everfire itself without engaging the enemy. Though he would enjoy beheading a dwarf or two, Vhok felt a greater sense of urgency to reach that point of rock and begin his journey.
As the pair of half-fiends made their way toward their destination, a small group of dwarves appeared from a side tunnel nearby. They noticed the pair of demonic visitors and immediately charged across the gap toward them. Vhok sighed in exasperation. So much for staying out of sight, he thought. He went into a defensive crouch, counting enemies. There were nearly a dozen.
A billowing cloud of steam erupted across the cambion's field of vision as Lysalis generated a magical effect aimed at the dwarves. Vhok could feel the tingle of extreme cold, though he did not experience the damaging effects of it. As the cloud of steam dissipated in the scorching air, Vhok could see that more than half the dwarves had fallen. A thin rime, all crystalline white, coated them, and though the ice was melting quickly, it had done its job.
The remaining four dwarves rushed on, and Vhok could see more entering from the same side cavern nearby.
We don't have time for this, the cambion thought in mild irritation as he slashed at the first dwarf opponent. As much fun as this is, if the main battle group notices us, we'll never get through.
The blade he wielded, an ancient elven weapon crafted during the height of Aryvandaar, carved through the dwarf's shield and gashed deeply into his neck and shoulder. With a grunt of pain, the stout one stumbled away, his place taken by another. Vhok swung again, but his new foe was more wary and stepped back. They began their dance, Vhok and his fey'ri companion, working side by side to keep the heavily armored dwarf soldiers at bay.
A rapid series of glowing darts shot from Lysalis's fingertips, pummeling her closest opponent directly in the face. The dwarf screamed and dropped to one knee, clutching his face with his gauntleted hands. Vhok took the opportunity to slip his sword between the segmented plates of his armor, silencing him. Even as the dwarf toppled, the cambion spun to parry the slashing attack of another dwarf with an oversized battle hammer.
As Vhok dropped his last enemy, Lysalis grunted in pain. The cambion turned to see her reel from a dwarf who had slammed her with his spiked shield. Her face was ashen and her expression spoke of agonizing pain. She slumped down next to the cambion, gasping for breath.
"Blessed!" she managed to blurt out, her eyes growing wide with horror. "Beware its power!"
Vhok was no longer watching the fey'ri, though. Upon hearing her warning, he turned his full attention upon the dwarf with the deadly shield.
As Myshik worked his way through the abandoned stronghold, a faint sound reached the half-dragon's ears. The ringing clang of battle softly resonated, the iron tones of clashing steel reverberating from somewhere ahead.
Puzzled, Myshik made his way higher through the stronghold, climbing the tiers one by one. When he was perhaps two-thirds of the way to the top, the stone beneath his feet rumbled and bucked, nearly knocking him to the ground. The half-hobgoblin stumbled and fell against the wall, which cracked threateningly along its base. Echoing reverberations thundered through the cavern, accompanied by the sounds of cracking and falling stone.
The earth sounds angry, he thought, concerned. Who makes it so?
Regaining his balance, Myshik resumed his pace, working toward a bridge in the distance. When he arrived at the causeway, the half-dragon gazed doubtfully at it and peered down into the chasm it crossed. As before, near the entry gate, a great crease divided the chamber, both above and below. The dwarves had utilized the obstruction to their advantage in preparing their defense. The chasm divided the topmost tier from the rest of the stronghold, a natural barrier impossible to cross in force.
Myshik took a few tentative steps onto the causeway, testing its integrity. It seemed stable enough, so he began to cross. As he neared the apex of the curved slab of rock, he felt another vibration and started to run. He had almost reached the far side when another deafening rumble rocked the stronghold. The force of the earthquake pitched the half-dragon forward, dropping him to his knees. A great booming crack jarred him and everything around him. Overhead, molten rock burst from the crevasse and spilled down, forming a magma fall that tumbled, hissing and smoking, into the chasm below. It struck the causeway mere feet behind the half-hobgoblin, scorching the air all around him and blasting him with terrible heat. The bridge groaned and trembled beneath the onslaught of the fiery stone cascading down atop it.
Myshik scrambled forward, away from the great heat, staggering off the causeway and away from the edge of the chasm. The bridge shuddered and groaned behind him, then it shattered and tumbled away, falling into the great crevasse below along with the stream of lava.
Myshik stared wide-eyed at the remains of the bridge jutting out into space, where he had been standing only moments previous. Even where he sat, the heat was oppressive, and he feared that spattering gobs of viscous liquid stone would strike him if he remained. Scrambling to his feet once more, the half-dragon put distance between himself and the deadly magma fall.
More rumbling earthquakes shook the environment as Myshik hurried ever upward. More than once, he was forced to evade falling debris or to leap cracks that formed suddenly across his path. He warily eyed the ceiling, wondering how much longer the cavern could remain intact under the onslaught of the seismic assault.
At last, Myshik reached the peak of the stronghold. He found a great winding staircase leading upward into the stone ceiling. Above, he thought he could hear the ring of steel on steel, the telltale sounds of furious battle. He hesitated for a moment, questioning the stability of the path and what he might encounter at the top. When yet another reverberation made him stumble and sent a large wall tumbling down to spill debris in his direction, the half-dragon began running up the steps two at a time.
The staircase twisted up and up. The sounds of fighting grew louder, more distinct. Myshik gripped his battle-axe firmly, expecting to hoist it at any moment. The stone around him continued to grumble and groan, and the steps beneath his feet shuddered and bounced.
At last the stairway ended, rising up from the depths into
another great chamber. A columned cupola had once stood over the opening of the stairway, which lay in the midst of a subterranean plaza. The stonework of the cupola had tumbled down around the opening, though whether the destruction had happened moments or centuries before, the half-dragon was not certain.
Ancient buildings lined three sides of the plaza. The fourth faced what Myshik suspected must be the source of the magma which had nearly sent him plummeting to his death. A great river of it flowed on the far side of the chamber. The lava churned and sloshed, spilling over the sides of its natural channel, oozing across the floor.
Between Myshik and the expanding lake of lava, a great battle raged between a paltry force of dwarves and a swarming, snarling horde of ores. Myshik blinked, for he had never seen ores like them before. Unlike the filthy creatures Clan Morueme routinely battled on the surface, along the slopes of the Nether Mountains overhead, the creatures attacking the dwarves were diabolical in nature, more fiendish in their aspect.
Myshik decided they must be part of the army that served Kaanyr Vhok, the cambion his father had spoken of. He had found the object of his quest at last. With a grin, Myshik hefted high his war axe3 stolen from a dwarven tomb long centuries before, and charged into the fray with an eager cry. Several dwarves turned to face the charging half-dragon.
Dread filled their eyes.
Chapter Four
Vhok stepped over the fallen Lysalis, straddling her, thrusting and feinting with his blade. The dwarf gave the cambion's ancient elven sword a wary eye and parried each stroke and thrust with both shield and axe. Vhok's quickness gave him pause, even though the cambion had to remain in place to defend his injured companion.
The dwarf shifted tactics, circling around Vhok more rapidly, using his parries to knock Burnblood to the side. Vhok realized what his foe's intentions were. He was trying to force the cambion off balance by making him spin in place while mindful of stepping on Lysalis. The dwarf had no interest in getting in close and engaging his foe. He merely wanted to tire the half-fiend and force him into a deadly error.
Time to end this, Vhok decided after another parry from the dwarf whipped his sword arm out to one side.
The cambion feigned a stagger, as though he had overbalanced and tripped on the fey'ri's writhing form. When the dwarf saw the stumble, he charged forward, ready to deliver a killing blow with his axe.
Vhok freed his scepter from his belt with his other hand. With a mighty swing, he smashed the magical rod hard
against the shield. There was a roaring burst of sound, and Vhok felt the satisfying crack of a sundered shield beneath his blow.
The dwarf staggered back and fell on his rump. Vhok maneuvered to avoid stumbling over Lysalis. By the time he stepped free of the fey'ri sorceress, the dwarf was up on one knee. Vhok expected him to flee, but at that moment, his eyes flickered toward something behind the cambion. Vhok risked a glance back. What he saw made him groan in exasperation.
A full dozen or so additional dwarves poured from the same tunnel that had disgorged the initial group. They trotted toward the demonic lord, their armor and weapons clanking rhythmically.
Damn them and their stubborn ways! And damn me for thinking how clever it would be to lure them all in here! I should be careful what I wish for.
Vhok growled to himself and turned his gaze to the dwarf with the sundered shield. The stout fellow seemed to have recovered his wits. He held a second hand axe in place of the ruined shield and came at the cambion again. Vhok let his foe make one sweeping slash. Without the hindrance of standing over Lysalis, he could maneuver much more easily. He sidestepped the attack and counterthrust with his blade in a single fluid motion. The strike penetrated the dwarf s armor right at the armpit, slipping through the gap in the metal plates. The dwarf grunted as Vhok shoved the blade deeper, a sound that turned into a wet gurgle as the half-demon punctured a lung. Before the humanoid dropped to the floor, Vhok had yanked his blade free and turned.
The dozen oncoming dwarves were still thirty paces away. Though they moved tirelessly, their short legs and heavy armor prevented them from gaining much speed. Vhok decided he could outrun them, even with the burden
of his compatriot, noting that he was near the lava sluice. He could feel the heat radiating from where molten rock had overflowed the channel. It hissed and steamed as it cooled in great, gooey piles on either side. Acrid smoke wafted past him from the sizzling, bubbling liquid stone.
The cambion bent down and scooped up Lysalis, who was panting and gasping, her skin turning a sickly gray color. Slinging the petite fey'ri over his shoulder, he began to trot toward the promontory of rock.
"Zasian will heal you," he said to the sorceress as he loped along. If he ever gets here, the cambion added silently. We could use his help right now.
"Hurry!" Lysalis gasped. "It burns!"
The dwarves, seeing Vhok's intention to flee, picked up their pace, too. Despite their difficulties in moving quickly, Vhok could see that they were going to cut him off from his destination. Lysalis slowed Vhok too much to outrun them. He slowed as he realized it was fruitless to continue. He eased her off his shoulders and let her settle at his feet once more.
Blast and damn, he seethed. He began to consider that he might have to leave her in order to save himself.
Cursed Vigilant! he silently oathed. Their name suits them only too well.
The dwarves fanned out and formed two semicircular lines as they moved to surround the pair. The first rank presented their shields. They were too few in number to form a proper shield wall, but they created a practical barrier. Vhok might have been able to force his way between them, but at great cost. Behind the shields, a second line cocked heavy crossbows. The stout folk intended to keep their targets pinned down, unable to escape, while they remained at a distance from their enemies and the heat, then wear the intruders down with missile fire.
Desperately, Vhok muttered the chant of one of the handful of spells he knew. He felt a large magical disk of force wink into existence in front of him, even though he couldn't see it. As the magical shield materialized, the dwarves fired their first volley. Though most of the missiles struck the magical barrier and bounced harmlessly away, one of the projectiles grazed his shoulder, creasing his skin and causing a thin line of blood to well there. He clamped his mouth shut to stifle an angry outburst, not wanting to give his enemies the satisfaction of knowing they'd bloodied him.
As the dwarves reloaded, Vhok swore again and peered around. Behind him stood the churning, overflowing lava sluice. He could feel the great heat emanating from it, a nice deterrent against the dwarves coming any closer. But there was no way he could get through the molten muck and up to the top of the sluice wall, especially while carrying the wounded sorceress. Though the heat didn't trouble him, it would be nigh impossible to clamber through something the consistency of thick porridge. Even with the benefit of his magical shield, the dwarves would fill him with crossbow bolts before he ever slipped away, if the stuff didn't harden around his legs and trap him there.
Unless...
The cambion squatted down and fished around in Lysalis's pouches, seeking the wand he had seen her use earlier. He yanked it from a bag on her hip and gripped her face with his other hand. She was fading rapidly.
"The trigger word!" he said, making her focus her eyes on him. "What is the command word for this?" He held the wand in her field of vision to aid her understanding.
" 'Glacious,' " Lysalis mumbled, her eyes glazing over.
Vhok stood and aimed the wand, not at the dwarves but at the lava near his feet. He spoke the word the fey'ri had given him. A ray of frosty crystals erupted from the tip, churning into a billowing cloud of hissing vapor as it struck the molten rock. The steam surrounded the cambion and obscured his vision. He felt comfortable warmth envelop him, but cries of protest and pain emanated from several dwarves as the superheated vapor reached them.
Before him, the magic yielded the desired effect. The lava cooled and hardened to black stone. Safely hidden within the shroud of steam, the cambion took one tentative step upon the blackened stone and found that although it was spongy, it held his weight.
Excellent, the half-fiend thought. Not waiting to see how long his cover would last, Vhok bent low, grabbed Lysalis, and hoisted her on his shoulders. He took several steps onto the hardened lava, and when he felt it beginning to give way beneath him, he discharged another blast of frosty magic from the wand. Clouds of steam billowed up all around him, emitting harsh seething sounds.
He progressed forward and upward. Each time the hot stone became too soft, he chilled it with the magic of the wand to keep going. Each blast also served to hide him from the furious dwarves, who continued to fire at him. The magical barrier he had erected served him well, and the missiles did not reach him.
Eventually, Vhok could no longer proceed. The ascent was too steep to negotiate without the use of his hands, which held both the wand and the groaning, thrashing bundle on his back. Frowning, Vhok blasted the lava several times in succession, following a line all the way to the top of the ever-increasing slope. The resultant cloud of steam billowed so thickly that for a moment, the cambion could hardly see his hand in front of his face.
He tucked the wand away and pulled out his scepter. With
several powerful swings, he gouged indentations into the surface of the hardened rock. Each strike created a deep boom that echoed around him, drawing more missile fire.
Lysalis cried out and jerked, nearly toppling the two of them backward before Vhok managed to regain his balance. He suspected she had been struck by one of the bolts, but he dared not stop to see if she was still alive. Again he considered leaving her and making good his own escape, but he loathed abandoning her—or rather, abandoning the treasure trove of magic she carried.
Determined to continue on, Vhok chopped a column of indentations into the face of the stone, staggering them slightly. When they were as high as he could reach, he tucked the scepter away and began using them like a ladder, pulling himself up by both feet and one hand, one step at a time.
At last, he reached the top of the sluice wall. He eyed the glowing, roiling barrier of fiery magma as it churned through the channel, spilling over the sides. The steam was dissipating by then, and Vhok could see that the sluice was only five feet wide. With one mighty thrust of his legs, he leaped across to the opposite side. Not pausing, he pushed himself forward again, using his momentum to increase the distance of his second jump.
Well clear of the majority of the oozing magma spilling down that side, the cambion drew on his innate fiendish power of levitation and slowed his fall. He wobbled to a stop and worked to keep his balance, no small feat with the burden on his shoulders raising his center of gravity. He stabilized himself and gently descended to the floor, leaving the great stone channel behind him as a barrier between himself and his pursuers.
The mists Vhok had created to hide his escape were much thinner on that side, and even as he strode forward to breach
them, they dissipated, giving him a good view of the terrain. Vhok could see the promontory of rock directly in front of him. He had a clear shot to that place across an open plaza. More importantly, Vhok spied Zasian there. The priest had reached their departure point and waited for him.
But his clever escape had managed to put the cambion more directly in the midst of the large battle. And the massive cloud of vapor Vhok had created also attracted unwanted attention. A number of dwarves broke off from the primary fight with the tanarukks and moved to investigate the disturbance. As he emerged from the cloak of steam, Vhok discovered dwarves directly interposed between him and his destination. Seeing the half-fiend, the dwarves gave a collective shout and advanced at a rapid trot, raising their weapons.
Not again, the cambion groaned to himself. In desperation, he pulled the arctic wand free and aimed it at the oncoming dwarves, hoping to blast his way through them. But when he uttered the trigger word, nothing happened. He had exhausted its magical power. Vhok threw the worthless stick away, snarling. He doubted he had the strength to bull his way through another pack of dwarves.
At that moment, a figure charged from the ruins of a cupola along one side of the plaza. The figure raced across the open ground, heading straight toward the dwarves. As the creature waded into the midst of them, swinging a huge war axe, Vhok recognized it. It belonged to the Blood of Morueme, the ferocious draconic hobgoblins sired by the Clan Morueme dragons.
The cambion heard a sharp, concussive thump as the half-hobgoblin struck, then saw one of the Vigilant sail several paces through the air before landing with a muted splash in a patch of lava that had spilled over and seeped close. The dwarf
screamed in agony and tried to escape, but the conflagration that erupted around him quickly silenced his cries.
At the same time, a massive stone wall appeared in the plaza. The barrier divided the dwarves and sealed a significant number of them away from Vhok and the half-dragon, but it left an open alley to reach the promontory. The rest of the stout folk still advanced.
Vhok looked up, knowing where the stone wall had come from. As he gazed over at Zasian, the priest gestured frantically for the cambion to hurry.
With hope of victory restored, Vhok drew his blade and strode forward to cut his way through the dwarves as best he could with Lysalis draped over his shoulder. The sorceress had become still, and he feared she was already dead. As he fought, Vhok kept an eye on the Morueme half-breed and worked to reach the half-hobgoblin's side, hoping to benefit from his protection. Each time the half-dragon's huge axe connected with a foe, Vhok could hear a loud pounding as the enemy it struck was knocked backward with preternatural force. The half-hobgoblin used the weapon to good effect, aiming his blows to slam his victims into other dwarves, cutting a swath for himself to reach Vhok.
When they at last met, the cambion tilted his head once in acknowledgment of thanks. He eyed the mighty weapon his new companion wielded, and noted that it was dwarven in make.
No wonder they're so angry, Vhok thought with a chuckle.
The half-hobgoblin returned the nod and kept swinging, plowing a gap through angry, howling dwarves. Step by step, they made their way together toward the Everfire and Zasian.
At last, the few remaining dwarves had stomached all they wanted of the fierce cambion and his unusual companion, and
they fell back. A few of them fired crossbows at Vhok and the others, but Zasian acted quickly, erecting another wall of stone to block their line of sight. The cambion and the half-hobgoblin crossed the remainder of the plaza unmolested. The two of them scrambled up to the point of rock where Zasian waited.
At last, exhausted, Vhok set Lysalis at Zasian's feet. Breathing heavily, he gestured at the fallen sorceress. "She is badly wounded," he told the priest. "Struck by some holy weapon that seems to be taking her life. Can you revive her?"
Zasian frowned and knelt beside the fey'ri, who had lapsed into unconsciousness. "I will try," he said, "but my healing skills are elementary compared to my other talents."
Vhok turned and looked at the half-hobgoblin. The half-dragon wiped some of the blood off his axe, using a tattered cloak he had torn from a dead dwarf.
"My thanks for your aid in this fight today, Son of Morueme," Vhok said. "What brings you to the Everfire in the midst of my battle with the tempestuous dwarves?" He suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how the half-dragon would reply.
The creature bowed deeply. "I bid you greetings, Sceptered One. I am Myshik Morueme. I come on behalf of my father, Roraurim, and my uncle, Nahaunglaroth, Lords of Dragondoom, Masters of the Cerulean Skies, Patriarchs of Clan Morueme. I have been instructed to join with you and offer my services on your impending journey." The half-hobgoblin smiled.
Vhok eyed Myshik critically for a moment. He doubted the dragons' offer was completely magnanimous, pact or no, and he desired no spies in his midst as he began his journey to reach the Lifespring.
"Your father asked you to accompany me? His offer is most generous, but where I travel, you do not wish to follow."
Myshik smirked. "My father instructed me to keep a close eye on you in the event that you would not accept his invitation." The half-dragon paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. "I would do his bidding, but I do not relish a game of chase with you. I know you have little reason to trust me, despite your new alliance with our clan, but I am most curious about the great Kaanyr Vhok, commander of the Scourged Legion. I could be of great assistance on this journey of yours, as I hope I have already proven," he said, hoisting his axe for emphasis. "Please consider permitting me to accompany you. It would be something of an honor."
"There's nothing I can do for her," Zasian said, rising to his feet. "Whatever poisoned her is beyond my ken to assuage."
Vhok looked down at Lysalis, who opened her eyes and stared up at the cambion with trepidation. Then he looked at Myshik again. "You do not even know where I'm going. You're not prepared for this journey, believe me."
"Indeed," the half-dragon replied. "I am at a disadvantage, but I believe I can hold my own if you give me an opportunity."
Vhok sighed and pondered the offer for a moment. With Lysalis near death, he was short a member of his expedition. Very well, he silently decided. He has proven formidable enough to take a chance.
Drawing his sword, Vhok took hold of Lysalis's right hand and sliced it from her arm. The fey'ri screamed in pain and passed out.
The cambion removed a ring from one of her fingers and handed the magical band to Myshik. "Put this on, then," he said, dropping the hand beside the maimed sorceress.
The half-hobgoblin took the ring from Vhok and examined it carefully. A set of four stones—ruby, emerald, sapphire, and garnet—had been inset into the gold band.
"What does it do?" he asked, appraising the ring with a critical eye.
"It keeps you from being turned into a cinder as we cross through the Everfire into the Elemental Plane of Fire," Vhok replied.
Myshik's eyes grew wide for an instant, then he nodded and slipped the ring on his clawed finger. The band immediately adjusted to fit perfectly.
"I am ready," he said.
"So it would seem," Vhok replied, wondering how long the half-dragon would survive. "Let's go." Turning to Zasian, the cambion said, "Lead the way."
The priest nodded and moved to the end of the outcropping, where it hung over the churning river of lava. He stood there a moment, surveying the maelstrom of fiery liquid below and twisting a ring, identical in design to the one Vhok had given to Myshik. He selected a spot and jumped off the perch. Zasian fell into the molten rock and disappeared beneath the surface.
Vhok and Myshik followed.
Aliisza found herself floating. Nothing surrounded her but a formless gray void. Up and down held no meaning. She was weightless, drifting. She thought to unfurl her wings, to fly in some direction or other, but strangely, the sensation of having wings was absent. She knew where they should be, knew how to control them, but they seemed to be... gone.
The alu tried to remember how she came to be there. Her
head swam. She recalled a struggle; she had been injured. The mace! Aliisza remembered the priestess, and the weapon she wielded. It had come right down on her head. There had been a deafening crack of metal on bone, a blinding flash of light, then... nothing.
Is this the Abyss? the half-fiend wondered. Am I dead? No, that cannot be. I have no soul. I cannot exist beyond my body.
A flash of blinding light filled her vision, and Aliisza gasped and flinched. Something else had arrived within the void, and it hovered near her, a presence. It was cold and hot at the same time. She could feel power emanating from it. She squinted against the painful, radiant light and took a peek.
She could barely make out a figure, a creature similar to herself, but unlike anything Aliisza had ever seen before. It looked vaguely like a man, though it seemed much taller than any human the alu had ever laid eyes on. After a moment, the intensity of the glow surrounding it diminished. She could see the rich brown skin of its bare chest, but its legs were hidden beneath loose white leggings, or a kilt of some sort. As she gazed at the things face, she found its features nothing short of beautiful. Two great, feathered wings sprouted from its back. It hovered before her, surveying her with the gentlest expression of sympathy and caring. Aliisza was both repulsed and drawn to it.
Without warning, a deep rumble shook the void and a gargantuan shadow fell across the creature and Aliisza. The half-fiend let out a startled gasp and spun in place, trying to detect its source. A great stone wall, made of boulders as big as caverns, burst into view nearby, sliding through the void as if it grew from a ground that didn't exist. It rose up and past them, out of sight, looming over the pair. A second wall joined the first, sliding into place with a reverberation so low Aliisza
felt it more than heard it. Then a third, and a fourth—four massive stone edifices, surrounding her and her companion. And Aliisza was no longer floating, but lying on her back upon a stone floor that was simply there. She hadn't seen it arrive, like the walls. It just was.
The alu stared everywhere. She had the feeling of being inside a massive fortress, solid and forbidding. The walls bore no doors, no windows. No light illuminated the place, as far as she could see, but she could see, and it wasn't just her dark-attuned eyes. The whole place shone with its own inner light, though it wasn't warm and glowing, like the being with her. It was power and force, unyielding strength.
Aliisza looked up. A second figure stood upon a balcony, staring down. Shining plate armor completely encased the warrior, who stood motionless, watching. From the glint of it, Aliisza guessed the armor might be pure mithral. Though she could not see the figure's eyes, she could feel its gaze upon her, and the sensation was more than a little unsettling.
"Remain here," the creature beside her said, then ascended into the air by means of his feathery white wings.
The alu found his motion elegant and watched him with interest as he flew upward to the balcony near the top of the forbidding tower. The creature landed upon the balcony and bowed deeply to the armored figure. The two seemed to engage in a long conversation, and after a time, the celestial being took to the air and descended once more.
As he landed, he furled his wings against himself, a frown upon his face. "Well," he said, almost to himself, "The moment of truth."
"Do you understand the question put before you?" a voice asked, reverberating through the limitless tower.
Aliisza wasn't sure how she knew it was the armored figure, but she knew. It chilled her, made her tremble where
she lay upon the floor. It was the voice of a god.
Aliisza turned toward the angelic figure, though it hurt her eyes to look directly upon him. He looked back at her, his face an expression of earnest seriousness. There had been a question?
"You must surrender willingly," the creature said. "I cannot coerce you in any way to abide by the terms. Do you understand this?"
Aliisza tried to shake her head, but could barely move it. She had no strength. "I don't—how can—what terms?" she finally managed to whisper. "Who are you?"
The celestial creature smiled then, and Aliisza found the expression strangely soothing and troubling at the same time. She knew it was genuine, that there was nothing but complete forthrightness in everything he said and did. But there was holy power in that gaze, too, and such divine energy twisted Aliisza's insides, made her cringe in discomfort. They were so opposite, such clashing energy. She could barely abide his presence. She wondered if he felt similar discomfort from her.
"None of those questions require answers at the moment," the creature said, still smiling. "Though I will answer them to the best of my ability once you make a decision. But you must choose first, right now. First, you must understand that, until you agree, there is no compulsion upon you. Once you agree, you will be magically and divinely bound to honor the terms. Know, though, that if you reject my offer, of your own free will, your life is forfeit and the soul of your unborn child will journey to the House of the Triad, to become a petitioner there."
The meaning of the words rushed through Aliisza's weakened body, made her tingle with realization. The knowledge exploded like a thousand candles, all at once, in her mind. She
carried a child. The half-fiend knew that the radiant creature standing over her, so powerful and frightening all at the same time, spoke the truth. She did carry a baby within her. Though she'd had no inkling of the situation until that very moment, she knew—no, felt—the truth of it in her bones. She was pregnant.
The thought of bearing a child did not thrill the alu, nor did it dismay her. She had often considered propagating with Kaanyr. It was a pragmatic consideration, fostering offspring that might someday aid in Aliisza's conquests of power. But she also knew that a child born of a union of two half-fiends would likely harbor its own ambitions, its own lusts for dominion. It would want to claim its birthright, and the two creatures standing in its way would be Kaanyr and Aliisza. Just as the cambion had slain his own mother years before, in order to claim her control over the Scourged Legion, so, too, would Kaanyr's whelp eventually try to exterminate its parents in a quest for its rightful place at the top of the pack.
So the alu had always held in check her enthusiasm for reproducing. And she never felt any maternal instincts, any secret joys at the thought of having a baby. At least, she hadn't believed she had, until that very moment. But suddenly, with the celestial creature's utterance of one simple phrase, she knew she had to protect her unborn child.
"So?" the creature asked. "What say you?"
"I still do not know the terms you offer," Aliisza answered, frightened of choosing to abide by anything a holy creature would lay before her, but equally as frightened of the alternative.
"We will travel to the House of the Triad together. For the duration of your pregnancy, you will remain a guest of the Triad, in a habitat suitable for your creature comforts. You will not attempt to escape, nor shall you attempt to cause harm
to another in any fashion, either through word or deed. You may choose to spend the duration of your visit on any mental exercises that appeal to you; no one will impose any rhetoric, lectures, or moral tests on you unless you wish it.
"Shall you break any of these rules, your life shall immediately be forfeit, and the spirit of your unborn shall immediately transform into a petitioner in the service of the House of the Triad. At the end of your pregnancy, once you have given birth, you will be called before a tribunal of judges to stand trial for your crimes against the many you have wronged throughout your life."
Aliisza's head swam. She could remain alive, so long as she was a good girl. But it seemed too easy, too simple. The alu suspected a catch.
"How do I know you are dealing honestly with me?" she asked.
The creature seemed surprised. "You have my word," he said, "though I'm not sure that it means much to a creature of your nature. However, given the alternative, I don't see how accepting what I offer can prove any worse."
Aliisza wanted to smirk. You'd be surprised, she thought.
There were times when she was certain that creatures suffering under her auspices would have preferred annihilation to the continued torturous existence she forced upon them. But the urge to protect her child from harm, to see it born, was strong. The thought of failing in that maternal duty was a cold knot in her stomach. She didn't understand why she was reacting so protectively for something she might not ordinarily care for, but she could not deny her feelings.
Besides, the alu thought, suppressing a grin. If nothing else, I will have more than half a year to plan my escape and retribution. I can abide by their oppressive rules and regulations for that long, surely.
Aliisza looked at the creature, who stared down at her, waiting for her to decide her fate, and the fate of the creature growing within her womb. "I accept your terms," she said.
"Of your own free will?"
"No one within this chamber coerces me," the alu responded. "No one compels me to say these words, nor do they manipulate me in any fashion. The decision is my own, freely given and without remorse."
Another blinding flash of light slammed Aliisza. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. The forbidding tower vanished, leaving her floating in the gray void once more before her body seemed to explode into a million pieces.
Chapter
Five
The smell of sweet summer grass wafted into Aliisza's nostrils. She could feel a carpet of it beneath her, soft and warm. The scent was pure, almost overwhelming. It made her heady with arousal. The sun shone down upon her, not too hot, but pleasant, like a warm spring day. The glow of it bathed her in tranquility, soothed her every ache. The sound of insects and birds buzzing and chirping in the distance hummed in her ears. She felt life vibrating there, passion and sorrow and fear and death, all swirled together in a magnificent dance of existence.
In the void, she had forgotten how to feel. Her body had ceased to be for a while. In the new place, she felt more alive than she could ever remember. She existed more completely than at any time before. It was too much; she was afraid to open her eyes. Filled with trepidation mixed with yearning curiosity, she dug her fingers into the rich, damp soil to brace herself, and risked a glance.
To say she lay in a meadow would have been a poor excuse of a description, yet she could find no words to capture the raw energy and beauty of it. Every sight and sound, every sensation and color, every scent and movement breathed more life into
Aliisza. The intensity of it was almost painful. The alu stared at a copse of trees nearby. Flowering vines climbed the trunk of a dead tree closer to her, and she could detect their blossoms' fresh scent in the gentle breezes that caressed her skin. In the distance, she heard the faint gurgling of a stream.
As she took in more of her surroundings, Aliisza realized that the meadow seemed isolated, out of place. There was no horizon, no line of hills surrounding the edges, no forest in the distance. There was only brilliant azure sky. The world seemed to end on every side only a few paces in each direction.
The angelic creature stood beside her, and when she at last looked up to gaze at his face, that same radiant beauty shone from him, and it still hurt her eyes. It was raw energy, pure and sweet, like the land itself. She wanted to drink it in, yet it scalded her, left her feeling tainted in some way.
Beyond her guide, hazy in the distance, a great mountain reared up. It seemed close, very close, making the meadow where she lay feel alpine in nature. But it was all wrong. There was no beginning or end to it, no bottom or top. It simply appeared and disappeared, below and above, vanishing in all directions in white, puffy clouds. To the alu, it seemed more like a massive, forbidding cliff wall.
And it moved.
Aliisza sat up. She peered more closely at the mountain, thinking perhaps it was a trick of her imagination. Surely the clouds were drifting past, and the mountain was stationary. But no—as she gazed at it for several moments, she realized it definitely shifted against the closer surroundings of her meadow. The mountain was moving.
"Where are we?" Aliisza asked at last, turning to squint at her escort once more.
The creature squatted next to her. Aliisza flinched at his
proximity and averted her eyes, looking at the mountain as it drifted slowly from her left to her right.
"The House of the Triad," he answered.
The half-fiend jerked her gaze back to the angelic figure in surprise.
"What?" she asked. "This?"
The creature chuckled. "Yes," he said, "though I brought us to this spot because I thought it would not be quite the shock to you as elsewhere. I guess you were expecting something more... majestic?" When Aliisza didn't answer, he turned briefly and pointed to the mountain, still slowly sliding across the alu's field of vision, before meeting her gaze again. "Behind me, you can see Celestia, surrounded by three other peaks. Martyrdom serves as Ilmater's home, Trueheart is where Torm resides, and the Court, where we shall journey, serves as Tyr's residence. Perhaps that will be more what you envisioned."
The alu frowned. "Who was the armored one in the stone tower?" she asked.
"Ah, we were within Everwatch, the tower-home of Helm. All who come to the House first visit his domain to determine if they are worthy to continue on."
"And those he finds lacking?" Aliisza asked.
"They do not leave," the angelic figure replied, his mien grim. "But you satisfied his concern with your oath, so it is irrelevant. And to answer your question from before, I am Tauran, a servant of Tyr."
Aliisza stared around, and again at the gargantuan mountain, with a growing feeling of concern. My oath, she thought, thinking fully on what she had acceded to. Easily broken, she decided, amused at Tauran's foolish trust.
For the first time, the alu realized that she existed as she had before, prior to her battle with Zasian's intruders. She stood
up and performed a cursory self-examination. All of her possessions were in their proper places. Her elven blade was strapped to her hip and leg, her pouches of magical triggers were tied to her belt, and she could feel all of her innate abilities at her command. She could employ magic to escape, she could draw her blade and run Tauran through, or beguile him with her considerable charm into doing as she wished.
She could do all those things—and yet she couldn't. The thought was there, but she had absolutely no desire. She reached for her sword, but the moment she gave thought to using it to fight her way free, her hand dropped to her side. She frowned, concentrating on moving her arm toward the weapon.
"I told you that once you agreed to the terms, you would be held to them, by magical coercion," Tauran said, his smile appearing a bit sad. "I cannot stop you from thinking the thoughts, nor would I want to. But until such time as you are safely ensconced in your quarters, you do not have the free will to act against the agreement you made."
Aliisza chuckled, but inside she was seething. She suddenly felt a puppet upon strings. She decided to try a different tactic.
"So, you brought me here to keep me all to yourself," the alu purred, moving closer to the angel. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head against his chest. "What are you going to do to me now?" she asked, giving him a sultry smile and invoking her preternatural charms. She strained very hard not to squint at his brilliance.
Tauran's sad smile turned to a look of pure sorrow as he gently disengaged himself from the half-fiend's embrace.
"Take a moment," he said. "Regain your wits. It is a startling adjustment from what you are used to, I am sure. We can remain here, in this meadow, for a few moments more, until you feel more at ease."
Aliisza stared balefully at her counterpart and withdrew. She practically stomped away from him, scowling, and folded her arms across her chest.
How impertinent! she thought. Suggesting I have lost my wits.
As the fury within her waned, the alu realized she was more dismayed than angry. The discovery that her charms were useless against the creature was unnerving. She was beginning to fret that she hadn't thought through the oath carefully enough.
What have I done? she asked herself in growing dread.
For a moment, she fought vertigo and claustrophobia all at once. The strange sense of not being able to act even while thinking about acting sent tremors of horror through her. She could not imagine feeling more helpless.
The panic did not last long. Aliisza reminded herself of all the various difficulties she had extricated herself from in her long years of life. She would find a way to succeed with Tauran, too. As her confidence returned, she looked at the angel once more, letting her eyes glitter with a suggestive hint of a smile.
"Oath or no, I don't see why we can't enjoy one another's company, hmm?" she said, sauntering toward him. "I promise I won't misbehave, if you promise to punish me when I do," she said, batting her eyes.
"You already promised not to misbehave—earlier, within Everwatch," Tauran replied, unmoved. Then a hint of a smirk grew on his face, too. "But I don't find your company unpleasant. Which is good, as we will likely be spending much time together. Now, are you ready to go?"
Aliisza pouted for a moment, then nodded.
"Then follow me," the celestial creature said, and took to the air.
As Aliisza unfurled her wings, she remembered that she had injured herself when she tried to escape Dwarf-friend's study. Spreading her appendages wide, she moved them experimentally. All traces of injury seemed to have vanished. She leaped into the air, soaring up into the sky, the sun warm on her pale skin. She almost felt happy.
Climbing higher into the sky, Aliisza was shocked to discover the true nature of the meadow. The grass and trees, even the small pond with a trickling brook, rested upon a chunk of rock that floated in the air. Shaped like some bizarre inverted pinnacle, the top of the hovering island had been smoothed flat, while the underside was twisted, jagged, and warped, as though violently torn from some larger place. The water from the stream fell over the side of the earthy edge, tumbling into space. Far below, Aliisza could see clouds, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Other floating islands, some much larger than the meadow where she and Tauran had arrived, drifted in view. All exhibited natural landscapes of varying climates. She spotted structures upon a few, far in the distance. She gazed at them in awe, noting that the earthen tracts didn't move in a coordinated or uniform way. No breezes sent them drifting.
Aliisza stared at the massive mountain, where she knew the gods lived. Suddenly, she understood. It was adrift as well, a mass of stone and earth so large that it dwarfed everything else around it. The clouds near the top parted for a moment, and she could see much more of the four peaks. She noted that Tauran's description of three shorter mounts surrounding a fourth, taller one, had been accurate. The nearest peak sloped severely upward, its surface a mix of rocky outcroppings, stands of stunted trees, and the white of snow pack. The very top seemed to have been sliced away, and the alu thought she could make out a gleam of white there, perhaps something
polished, shining brightly in the sun. Then the clouds drifted across it once more, obscuring the view.
Tauran set an easy pace, and Aliisza was able to study her surroundings as they winged their way toward the slopes of the closest mountain.
Below, the alu could see more meadowlike floating islands. She noted that many teemed with life. The alu spotted a small group of insectoid creatures upon one of the islands, hard at work moving a large stone. At first Aliisza thought they were massive ants, but then she noticed that they stood upright and that some of them, the larger ones, employed simple weapons. She glanced at Tauran, raising her eyebrow in question.
"Formians," the angel explained. "Simple-minded creatures, governed by law above all else. They have little independent thinking, acquiescing to a hive mind in all things."
Sounds dreary, Aliisza thought, grimacing.
They moved on, flying higher, slowly approaching the upper flank of the nearest mountain. They ascended into the cloud cover and the alu felt a brief moment of moist chill. Then they broke through and she was stunned by the majesty of the place. As the distance shrank, Aliisza could see that her earlier guess had been correct. The top of the mountain had been leveled or shaped flat in some manner, and a great tiered building of white stone rested upon its crown. The outer facade was all columns and steps, and the sun glinted brightly off the smoothly polished surfaces. The alu could see that creatures came and went from the structure, which was easily the size of a small hamlet.
A pair of creatures took flight and angled straight at the two of them. Similar to Tauran in appearance, bronze-skinned and white-winged, they approached rapidly, bearing large maces. She gave another questioning look at Tauran, growing concerned that they intended to attack.
When the two creatures drew close enough, they pulled up and hovered. One of them eyed Aliisza with obvious distrust, while the other held up a hand, palm facing outward.
"Hail, Tauran. Why are you bringing this fiend to our doorstep?"
Tauran bowed and said, "Hail, Micus. This creature has submitted to me a willingness to abide by the strictures of our realm so that her unborn child may escape harm from her execution. I escort her now to the Court of Temperance for sentencing."
The angel named Micus nodded. "Excellent," he said. "May the blessings of Tyr grace you and your child," he said to Aliisza. Then, before she could answer, he and the other celestial creature turned and shot away, soaring low above the treetops.
Aliisza shivered. The blessings of Tyr are the last things I expect to receive, she thought as she watched them depart.
"Shall we continue?" Tauran asked.
The alu turned her attention toward her escort as they flew toward the great columned city ahead. "I fear I have agreed to much more than I bargained for," she said, her voice slightly amused. "You're all being too nice, too patient. There's a catch somewhere."
Tauran cast a meaningful glance over his shoulder at the alu as they neared a plaza cut into the mountain. It rested upon a tier about halfway up the side of the facade.
"When the soul of a being calls to us," the angel said as he alit upon the marble tiles of the plaza, "and requires aid in surviving and blossoming into a beautiful creature, we are overjoyed. It is the wish of all who dwell here that we might assist in raising high a spiritual being, to help it attain all of its glorious potential. There is no 'catch.' "
As soon as the half-fiend landed, the angel led her toward
an archway. She could not see through it, for it was filled by a pearlescent barrier. Two powerfully built humanoids stood guard there, flanking the passageway. They had the heads of dogs, though intelligence gleamed in their eyes. Their skin had a ruddy hue, and Aliisza could see greatswords strapped to their backs. They seemed serene, but ready for action at the slightest provocation. Tauran bowed deeply before the two of them, then stepped through the doorway and vanished.
Aliisza hesitated, standing between the two sentries. She wasn't sure she wanted to go where Tauran led. She glanced at the twin guards and saw both looking at her. There was more than mere intelligence reflected in their eyes. She saw keen wisdom as they appraised her.
Sizing me up for battle? Or questioning the merits of me being here?
"Hurry," one of them said, "before you are mistaken for an intruder and slain." His voice was unnaturally deep and rich. It vibrated the alu to her bones.
Aliisza swallowed and darted after Tauran.
The barrier enveloped her and she found herself within a colonnaded walkway, moving toward an open space filled with sunlight. Tauran was up ahead. She reflected for a moment on his words as she caught up. He and others like him came when called, answered those in need.
"I did that?" she asked aloud as they walked. "I called to you? I don't remember."
"No," the winged being said as they entered the interior courtyard. "You did not."
Aliisza shook her head, puzzled. "But you just said—"
She stopped in mid-sentence, gazing around at the beauty of the cozy space the two of them had just entered. A fountain stood in the center, a gurgling display with a statue of a
magnificent winged being, even more angelic and powerful in appearance than Tauran. It was crafted of what must have been gold, and the sun blazed off it, giving it a most dazzling aspect.
All around the fountain, a topiary garden stretched in every direction. A wide assortment of trees loomed over the walkways, and benches stood beneath convenient arbors. Some trees were huge, offering shade. In other places, fruit trees blossomed, the fragrant aroma filling the area. The space was utterly devoid of other creatures.
The angel led Aliisza to one side of the courtyard, following an angled path that passed beneath an apple tree. "A spirit called, but it was not you," Tauran explained as he strolled out of the garden and back to the colonnaded balcony that surrounded the courtyard. He led her through another archway. "Though you might have uttered some outcry of despair in your final moments, it was not a clarion appeal to give yourself over to Tyr's benevolence."
They reached an open chamber with windows set high in the walls and in the ceiling, allowing sunshine to pour in. Everything was of the cleanest white marble, with hanging plants, rugs, and sculptures of gold, silver, and other materials decorating it and giving it life.
It took Aliisza a few moments to realize she was in a suite of rooms—cozy quarters. She saw a pool and a small fountain, a shelf filled with books, and a second doorway leading to more chambers. Beyond, she found a bed and a writing desk, as well as a balcony where sunshine streamed in. Aliisza crossed the floor to the balcony. The view beyond was startling. She could see the greater mountain that rose above the other three, majestic and forbidding as it towered overhead.
Aliisza turned to look at Tauran. He gestured at the limits of the room and said, "Make yourself comfortable. I must
consult with others before I can take you before the tribunal. I should not be gone long."
The half-fiend frowned and asked, "But if I did not call, then who did?"
Tauran smiled at the alu again, but she could see that there was sadness in his eyes. "It was your child's cry that I heard. Your unborn offspring summoned me to rescue it."
Aliisza gawked at the angel as he turned and strode out, pulling the door shut behind him.
At first, Myshik simply sank in the lava. Despite following both Kaanyr Vhok and the mustachioed human into the swirling Everfire, the half-dragon felt genuine fear. He didn't doubt that the ring the cambion had given to him was real. The fey'ri he had cut it from was obviously one of Vhok's consorts and a trusted minion who had expected to follow the half-fiend on the journey. Myshik was not afraid that he was being intentionally led to his fiery death.
No, the half-dragon feared that Vhok simply overestimated the efficacy of the magic in the ring. No dweomer could save them from the scorching conflagration that was the Everfire. The heat was too pure, the flames too infernal.
Still, the half-dragon had jumped.
He could see nothing. Everything was brilliant white, swirling yellow fire. He clenched his eyes shut to block the intensity of the illumination from penetrating, blinding him.
The sinking slowed, and Myshik felt himself being tossed about, as though being thrown by a great giant at play. He wanted to scream, but he feared to open his mouth, lest liquid fire pour down his throat and incinerate him from within.
The churning battered him, pounded him, and he began to try to swim away from its effects. He clawed his way through the lava, pulling hand over hand, stretching toward the surface. He hoped that he moved in the correct direction.
Myshik felt one hand break into open air. He lunged, trying to climb from the soupy fire that surrounded him. His head broke the surface, but he still felt the syrupy magma covering him, drenching him. He foundered, reaching out to nothing, trying to find anything, an outcropping of stone, to hold on to.
A hand grabbed at the half-dragon. Myshik felt fingers close around his own clawed digits, grip him in a handshake. He welcomed that touch, pulled on it, felt it pull back. He scrambled forward, using his other arm to paddle through the lava, and his foot struck something hard—solid ground just below the surface. He stood.
"Hurry up!" the half-dragon heard, and it was Vhok's voice. "Get out of there before it scorches everything off you! Come on!"
Myshik felt the hand tug at him, pulling him forward. He followed it, stumbling as clumps of liquid flame sloughed off his body. Much of it clung to him, though, and he could already feel it hardening as it began to cool.
Myshik wiped his face clear and risked opening one eye.
The landscape was fire incarnate.
The trio stood near a pool of molten stone, similar to the Everfire, at the base of a cliff where a firefall tumbled over the side, splashing into the lava like a waterfall. The pool lay in the midst of a small valley, with rolling hills on every side except for a narrow defile, where the magma drained away, tumbling through a series of cataracts and vanishing into lowlands in the distance.
The land resembled the foothills of the Nether mountains,
terrain Myshik was familiar with. Instead of rock, grass, shrubs, and trees, everything was flame. The ground was an endless glowing ember, orange and smoking. Gouts of flame shot up everywhere, in various sizes and colors, from dull red and yellow to brighter blue and even white. In an insane sort of way, they reminded the half-dragon of plants and trees.
A small gathering of herd animals foraged along the far edge of the pool. They looked faintly like deer, standing on four slender, graceful legs and sporting antlers on their heads. But instead of flesh and skin, they were made of embers and fire. A few seemed wary of the trio's presence, stock still and staring, but they otherwise ignored the interlopers.
Everything hissed and smoked, and the horizon shimmered and vanished through waves of unending heat. The sky was nothing but low-hanging, angry red smoke as far as the eye could see. Every breath Myshik drew was hot, and though he knew he wasn't dying, it felt worse than the scorching dry air he was used to in the great desert, Anauroch, near his home. Right then, home seemed impossibly far away.
As quickly as he took it all in, the view around Myshik started to fade. Smoke began to drift past him, growing thicker and thicker. It filled his nose with another, even more acrid scent.
As Myshik pivoted, scanning the horizon on every side, he saw great volumes of thick black smoke blowing toward them, sweeping across the valley like a dust storm in Anauroch. The wind that drove the smoke ahead of it also kicked up flames along the landscape. The fires leaped and danced like a wildfire on an open plain, though the half-dragon did not see what fuel let them burn as they zipped along.
Very quickly, visibility diminished to a few paces, and Myshik found his eyes stinging. He hurried to close the gap
between himself and Vhok, but the cambion vanished from sight, and the draconic hobgoblin could barely make out his own hands in front of his face.
"Beware!" Zasian hissed from somewhere nearby. "They're charging!"
"What in the Abyss is char—" the cambion uttered, his words sounding strangely distant.
Something shot past Myshik. One of the grazing creatures he had spotted a moment before bounded into the travelers' midst and was gone again before Myshik could free his axe.
Another darted past the half-hobgoblin, moving close enough that its heat made his skin hot. Then two more came at him, one bounding to his left and another leaping directly over him. Myshik dropped into a crouch, expecting one to attack him at any instant. The soupy mess of liquefied stone that coated him made him stiff and heavy. He tried to wipe it off, but it stuck to him like thick mud.
As several more of the herd animals flew by, Myshik realized the danger lay not in attack, but in sheer numbers. One or two of the creatures became five, six. Then an entire horde of the things raced through the group of travelers, buffeting them as they stormed past. The flames of the beasts singed the half-dragon's exposed skin and left smoking scorch marks everywhere they touched him or his clothing and possessions, despite the magic of his ring.
Vhok began to rise into the air, levitating out of the stampede of fiery creatures. Myshik cursed. Without such a luxury, he was forced to crouch, to make himself as small a target as he could. Even so, he suffered several singeing blows from the creatures.
The thundering, flaming herd of fire-animals began to dwindle, and Myshik thought for a moment that the danger was past. Then he felt a deep, thumping vibration rise up
through the ground... then another, and another. A last few straggling deerlike things shot past him as the thumps grew more powerful, louder. Myshik strained to peer through the thick, stinging smoke. His grip on his axe was iron-tight.
With the next powerful thump, the smoke dissipated for an instant, and a huge creature loomed into view, right before the half-dragon. Its great bulk was all smoldering coals and crackling flames. Six long serpentine necks snaked out of a bloated round body. Each head atop those necks sported draconian features, with wide, fanged jaws and blazing blue eyes. In addition to the four ponderous legs the creature strode upon, it manipulated two strange tentaclelike appendages, one from each side of its torso. The appendages thrashed around in irritation, capped on the ends with wide flat flanges, like the end of an oar. A horrific sulfurous odor poured off the thing, filling Myshik's nostrils.
"By Maglubiyet's bones!" the half-hobgoblin breathed, stumbling back.
The fiery thing's six heads writhed and roared, and it lunged forward.
Chapter
Six
With only a thought, Kaanyr Vhok levitated, rising into the acrid, smoky air in front of the huge creature of fire. A pair of the thing's six heads spotted the cambion and lunged upward to snap at him. The first attack missed, but the second head managed to nip at Vhok's arm. He felt a surge of heat through his armor and jerked his hand away.
When he was slightly higher than the outstretched necks of the beast, he slowed to a stop and pulled from a pocket another of the wands he had taken from Lysalis. He aimed the wand down at the creature and spoke the trigger word. The magic of the wand made it vibrate in his hand and he saw four glowing darts erupt from its tip. The magical missiles slammed into the nearest head of the behemoth, causing it to flinch. Three of its six heads roared in pain and snapped at him, just out of reach.
Excellent, Vhok thought. Keep coming after me. Let the others get in close.
The injured head roared at him and a wave of noxious fumes wafted over Vhok, making him choke but falling just short of gagging him. The half-fiend had to cover his nose and mouth with one hand. As he cringed from the smell, the beast
reared up on its hind legs and stretched two of its necks forward. Eyes blazing a superheated blue, the two heads latched onto Vhok's feet and pulled.
With a yelp, the cambion staggered and pitched forward, losing his balance. He felt himself slipping off his levitating perch as the twin heads tugged him closer. The searing pain of molten fire penetrated Vhok's boots, scorching his flesh. Despite the protection of the ring, the fiery heat broiled his flesh and made him arch his back in agony.
Desperate and enraged, the half-fiend drew Burnblood and slashed at the head on his right. The blade bit deeply into the skull of the fiery creature, nearly slicing it from its neck. A hiss of steam and liquid sprayed from the wound, spattering the cambion. The globules sizzled as they ate through his clothing and scalded his scaly skin. Vhok clenched his teeth in pain but held on to his sword.
The jaws released their grip on Vhok and the entire appendage recoiled. The neck flopped about crazily and the head bounced awkwardly, screaming in anguish. More of the white, superheated blood spewed from the wound. The quivering, thrashing neck grew weaker and the head grew silent. The blue-hot eyes faded to darkness as the appendage crumpled to the ground.
The other head still had a firm grip on Vhok, and it seemed to have a mind of its own, unaffected by the damage to its mate. With another ferocious yank, it pulled Vhok off his levitation platform. The cambion's hip felt nearly dislocated. Vhok cried out and tumbled into space.
In his armor, the cambion was too heavy for the creature to hold aloft. Still clutching him in its mouth, the beast slammed him to the ground head first, striking him hard against the ashy terrain on one shoulder as he landed. The jarring blow knocked the wind from him, and Vhok gasped
as spots filled his vision. His knee wrenched as the yanking, thrashing head jerked him across the scorched ground. The cambion rolled to the side, twisting himself in a desperate attempt to keep from being torn apart.
The beast paused and adjusted its grip upon Vhok's leg. The cambion took advantage of the delay and slashed at its neck. His cut was awkward and only glanced off the glowing skin with a shower of sparks. He raised his arm high for another blow. A second head swooped in and bit at the cambion's blade. It grabbed hold of Burnblood and began to wrest the sword from the half-fiend's grip.
Vhok snarled. No, you infernal thing, he thought. You're not taking it!
The half-fiend clung to the weapon with one hand, gritting his teeth as the head tried to yank the sword away. Vhok winced as his arm was whipped back and forth. He felt the two heads tug him taut and lift him from the ground.
"Gods and devils!" he cursed, throwing his head back in anguish. The cambion was certain he would be ripped in two.
Fighting through the pain to refocus his efforts, Vhok remembered the wand, still clutched in his other hand. He aimed it at the head tugging on his leg and activated the magic. The cambion watched with satisfaction and relief as a burst of four blazing darts smacked it in the face. The thing released its grip on both his sword and his foot, and roared at him. As Vhok fell again with a painful thunk, the two heads snaked away in retreat.
Vhok rolled into a kneeling position, gasping for breath. His foot and ankle throbbed with searing pain, and he wasn't certain he could stand. He wanted to crawl away from the massive beast, but he knew that Zasian and Myshik still battled it. If he didn't aid them, they would surely be
overwhelmed. Their deaths would leave him stranded in the scorched and blazing hell, forced to make his way alone. Such a journey did not appeal to the cambion.
Vhok turned and looked for a target. He saw that several heads lay unmoving upon the ruddy, glowing ground, the blue light of their eyes dimmed. The cambion noted with surprise that he and his companions were wearing down the terrible creature.
Vhok saw the half-dragon step into view from the swirling smoke that obscured so much of the terrain. Myshik had been bloodied. A large gash oozed thick black blood from the back of one shoulder, and another, on his thigh, made him limp. Still, the half-dragon seemed eager to keep up the fight. He held his magical war axe at the ready and grinned once at Vhok before advancing toward the floundering, snarling beast.
Vhok watched as Myshik feinted to one side and got one of the heads swaying that direction. The half-dragon stepped the opposite way and in close, swinging the dwarven weapon. The blade connected and the cambion heard a deep thump. The beast's head and neck snapped up and back, recoiling with violent force from the strike. The whole appendage bounced against the beast's flank before it slid down to the ground and lay still.
Myshik raised the axe in defiant glee and let out a whoop of triumph. Then the draconic hobgoblin limped forward to press the attack home against the great beast's body. The smoke swirled thickly and obscured the half-dragon once more.
The cambion heard Zasian's voice rising from his other side. The man chanted in a clear, forceful voice. Vhok peered that way and caught a glimpse of the priest as the thick, swirling smoke parted briefly. One of the behemoth s serpentine
heads still battled the human, but Zasian was deft enough to evade it while finishing his spell. When the magic was complete, the priest stepped closer and made himself an easy target. The creature's head shot forward, ready to bite at its foe. Vhok flinched, worried that his companion had grown foolishly bold, but Zasian calmly slipped to the side of the snapping jaws at the last possible moment. The priest then smacked his hand against the fiery hot neck.
Vhok saw the head shudder from the slight blow and jerk back. It emitted a shrill scream of pain and whipped back and forth, as though trying to dislodge something that stuck to it and hurt badly.
At that moment, Myshik appeared again, chopping merrily into the great bulk of their foe. With both hands, the draconic hobgoblin drove the head of his axe deep into the creature's breast. The strike raked down its embered flesh, cutting open a wound that sprayed white-hot goo. Myshik spun away, flailing at the scalding fluids as they overwhelmed the magic of his ring to burn his face and hands. But the blow he had delivered was the killing one. The giant thing shuddered and collapsed to the ground. For a few moments, a few of its necks twitched and writhed, but the cambion was certain it was dead.
Thank the Abyss, Vhok thought, sagging onto his back, exhausted. Being mangled by a giant six-headed beast of fire was not the way I wanted to start this expedition.
As Myshik nudged one of the necks with the toe of his boot, Zasian squatted beside him. The priest gasped for breath, too.
"Well, that was interesting," Zasian said. "Don't see one of those every day."
Vhok snorted at his companion's levity and took a closer look at his wound. His boot was rent badly, and his olive skin beneath lay gashed and bleeding in several places. The flesh
was badly seared, and the cambion suspected that the wounds had been partially cauterized from the heat of the creature, or he would have been bleeding more profusely.
"Heal me," Vhok instructed Zasian.
The priest gave him a single sidelong glance, and Vhok suspected he saw a flash of anger in the human's eyes, but Zasian placed his hands upon his companion's leg and muttered the chant of a healing prayer. Instantly, Vhok felt relief course through his injured limb. The torn flesh knitted together before his eyes. The charred skin regained its normal color and no longer ached.
Vhok then muttered a spell of his own, a simple cantrip capable of repairing objects. His boot began to reform, the tears and gaps closing until no sign of damage remained. The cambion rose to his feet and tested his footing.
"Excellent," he said, nodding. "Good work."
Zasian gave him a fleeting half-smirk and turned next to Myshik, who was still studying the corpse of the great beast.
"Careful," the priest said, tending to the half-dragon's wounds. "It can still bite you, even in death."
"What is it?" Vhok asked, unsure whether he had ever seen anything resembling the thing before, on any plane.
"It looks like a gulguthydra," Zasian replied. "Though I've never seen one made of fire stuff before. They're nasty creatures even under normal circumstances. Let's hope we don't run into any more." As he said this, the priest turned and looked at the cambion with a twinkle in his eye. "Back on Faerûn, they are always hungry, but fortunately, very rare," he said. "If this is any indication, I suspect many other things roam this plain."
Zasian finished his ministrations on Myshik, then the half-dragon ceased kicking at the dead creature and looked at his two companions. He held up his hand. "The rings protect
us in this uninhabitable place?" he asked. "And where is this uninhabitable place?"
Vhok nodded. "We are somewhere on the Elemental Plane of Fire itself, the birthing place of all that burns. Beyond that, I cannot tell you with much certainty. I have a map, but it would be best to examine it later, when we are in safer environs."
The cambion took a moment to mop at his brow before continuing. "But yes, without the rings, we'd all be crispy ash blowing in the infernal winds by now." In a lower voice, more to himself than anyone, the cambion added, "I feel like I might just dry up and blow away, even with the ring."
"We can't stay here long," Zasian said. "We must find Kurkle, our guide. He promised to meet us here, but he warned me that we had chosen a dangerous spot to arrive. This pool is favored by creatures native to the area, and those that feed upon them."
"No doubt," Myshik replied, giving the dead beast another glance. "I'd hate to run into whatever feeds on that."
"Me, too," Vhok added. "Zasian is right. We need to get moving."
Myshik's look grew grim. "What will we eat? Drink? How will we sustain ourselves?"
"All will be taken care of," Zasian said before the cambion could answer. "Vhok and I have a few tricks up our sleeves. But if you don't want to continue," he added with a slight smirk, "I'm sure the dwarves on the other side of the portal will welcome you back through the Everfire with open arms."
Myshik glared at the human, not appreciating his humor. "I'll stay," he said.
"Good," Vhok said. "You're pretty handy with that axe. We can use you here," he added, gesturing vaguely around.
"You'll get plenty of chances to wield it, I'm sure."
Myshik gave the cambion a measured stare before nodding.
Vhok found the reaction odd, but he dismissed it for later contemplation. He turned to the priest and asked, "Well? Where is this guide?"
"I don't know," the human replied. "But he'll find us when he's ready. Let's follow the stream that drains this pool and see what we discover."
Zasian took the lead and Myshik brought up the rear. The trio ventured away from the molten pool, toward the defile where it splashed out of view. The ground beneath the half-fiend's feet seemed almost spongy, but his boots sank into soft ash rather than damp loam. With each step he took, puffs of gray smoke wafted into the air, drifting on the scorching breeze.
The defile became a canyon. Zasian picked a path among tumble-down rocks that glowed and sparked with inner heat, while the stream of magma flowed like syrup along the bottom of the ravine. Jets of flame shot from fissures in the ground, some as low as knee-high, others towering in gouts that soared as high as the tallest trees of Faerûn. The massive geysers lit the underside of the clouds of smoke in the ruddy sky.
As they progressed, the cambion got the uneasy sense that something was watching them, perhaps following them. Every time he looked back along their trail, however, he saw nothing. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling. The alien landscape served only to heighten his unease, for he doubted his ability to notice aspects out of the ordinary when everything was out of the ordinary.
The sensation became overwhelming and Vhok instinctively looked up the side of the canyon. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. Zasian had frozen in mid-step, too, seeing the same thing. Myshik nearly ran into Vhok from
behind before he, too, caught a glance at what they saw.
A creature crouched on a precipice, a fierce hound of black fur and glowing red eyes. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth as it watched the procession.
Vhok fumbled a wand free of a pouch. At almost the same instant, Myshik pulled his dwarven axe from its straps and stepped wide, creating space to swing the weapon. Zasian kept his hands firmly on the staff he carried, though he made no overt sign of aggression.
"What's it doing?" Vhok asked, of no one in particular.
The hellish hound panted, but its eyes seemed preternaturally intelligent, and the beast watched them intently without moving. Then, as the stand-off lingered, the canine rose up on its hind legs and began to shift its shape. Right before the half-fiend's eyes, the dog became a humanoid, a male orcish-looking fellow with rust red hair and unkempt beard, a charcoal gray chain shirt, black pants and boots, and an oversized coal-colored scimitar. Once the transformation was complete, the half-ore stood still, one foot propped upon a glowing rock, his arms crossed on his knee.
Vhok's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "He's been tracking us," he said. "I've sensed him on our trail for a while, now."
Myshik gave the half-fiend an appraising sidelong glance. "You felt that, too?" he asked. "I thought I was the only one.
"Yes, following you," the creature barked as he made his way down from the precipice. "To see if you were the three who will pay me. When you called to me, you did not talk of a drako," he finished, nodding toward Myshik. "I had to be sure."
Vhok sensed the half-dragon bristling at the derogatory appellation, but Myshik held his tongue and waited, deferring to the other two.
"Kurkle," Zasian said, as much a statement as a question. "It seems you've found us."
For a long time after Tauran departed and the door closed behind him, Aliisza stood in the middle of the room, stunned. The celestial's last words chilled the alu to the core of her being.
It had been her child, her unborn offspring, that the angel had come to save.
How is that possible? Aliisza thought, imagining the thing growing in her belly sending out a plea for survival. The notion scared her. What else is it capable of?
Then resentment and jealousy coursed through her. Why it and not me? she silently demanded. Why does Tyr care more about my unborn whelp than about me?
The answer to her question was so straightforward, so simple, that when it occurred to the alu, fury replaced jealousy. It had always been about the child. Aliisza herself was already forsaken to them.
They have no intentions of sparing me, of allowing me to redeem myself. They believe me lost and will do nothing on my behalf once I give birth.
The half-fiend sneered. Of course not, she thought. They played me as well as I might have played them. A wry chuckle escaped her. They pretend to be so holy, but they manipulate and deceive as well as any demon. Very clever, Tauran. Bastard, she added, seething again, silently hurling that anger at the door and the figure she knew receded beyond it. You can all rot in the Abyss.
As her rage diminished to smoldering irritation, she was startled by the idea that she had actually grown attached to the
thought that Tyr had some interest in her well-being. When it happened, it was more than simple survival instinct. Tauran had presented a compelling case, to be sure. She could die, or she could submit to their game, play by their rules, and live. It was an easy choice.
But it was not the sum of her desire.
It had been more than a question of life or death. Some sense of worth, some sudden feeling of importance had been dangled in front of her, and she had snatched at it. Why? Realizing, too late, that it had been merely bait, she felt more than anger at being deceived. She was... disappointed. She had wanted that sense of importance, had craved that feeling of value. Her anger was replaced by a sense of self-loathing. She felt weak, worthless.
Enough of that, Aliisza chided herself. Figure a way out of this.
She moved to the balcony, stepped beyond the curtained doorway, and peered out. The drop below was significant. The Court had been built to hang over the side of a steep escarpment on that side, where a ravine in the side of the mountain tumbled down to vanish into the clouds below. The horizon stretched away as far as Aliisza could see, all rolling white and blue sky.
So much space.
I could go right now, she thought. I should go. I must go.
She remained there, looking at the vista. Despite her dismissal of the inherent beauty in landscapes and natural wonders, the alu found herself feeling a bit breathless, awed by what lay before her. It was distracting her.
Just leave, she told herself. Fly off, now. For reasons that escaped her, Aliisza didn't budge. Damn it! she yelled at herself. Go!
But the harder she tried to make the first move, to take
the initial step to flee, the more rooted to the spot she became. Somehow, the part of her mind that should act on her desires wouldn't cooperate. It was maddening.
Just spread your wings! she told herself. Only that.
Her black leathery wings unfurled behind her. She stretched them out, enjoying the sensation. The wound she had suffered upon hitting the floor of Helm Dwarf-friend's chambers was gone. She felt hale and whole, as though the injury had never occurred.
She wanted to fly, to soar around the flanks of that great mountain. She stepped up upon the railing of the balcony, ready to launch herself into the air, solely to circle overhead.
Aliisza thought she was about to do it, to take wing, but her actions only made her remember that she was trying to escape, and her momentum ended. She stood stock still upon the railing, unmoving once more.
By all the storms of Fury's Heart! the alu swore. What in the Nine Hells did you do to me, Tauran? she silently demanded.
No, another little voice inside Aliisza's head countered, you did it to yourself. You let them bind you, agreed to it. You should be dead. Are you afraid to die?
No, came the answer.
Then don't let them win, she told herself. Take their prize from them.
The thought panicked Aliisza for a moment, but she reined the feeling under control and considered. Could I do it? she thought. Could I kill myself? She didn't remember any part of the oath that prevented her from harming herself. Only others were protected.
It would serve them right, she decided, a faint smile playing across her face. Just when they think they've got what they want, poof! It's gone. The smile faded from her. And I have
no love for this baby, she thought, feeling resentment again. I should end you right now, she projected at the thing.
But something kept her from following through. It wasn't Tauran's magical restraint. She didn't feel the same inability to act. It was deeper, more personal. For some reason, whether she loved it or not, she had to protect the offspring growing inside her.
The alu threw her hands up in frustration.
This stupid child is addling my brain, she finally decided. I need time to think.
Knowing she couldn't take wing from the balcony and make her escape, Aliisza instead turned her attention to the chamber where she was a guest. Like the rest of the massive place, everything was constructed of gleaming white marble and highlighted with rich fabrics, precious metals, and vibrant plants. In fact, she realized, it was all very luxurious. The bed was large and soft, and the many pillows piled atop it could easily become a lover's nest. The gently swirling pool was set into the floor and had steps leading down into it. Water from a fountain mounted on the wall above it splashed into the pool.
Maybe she could not escape, she reasoned, but perhaps there were other ways to turn the situation to her advantage.
With a soft sigh of delight, Aliisza began to disrobe, and she shifted form as she did so, becoming a tall and lithe human woman with sapphire blue eyes, bronzed glowing skin, and hair the color of summer wheat.
The classic beauty, she thought, and giggled. The transformed alu dipped a toe into the water and found it to be the precise temperature she desired. She descended the steps and lowered herself into the pool, then reclined against one wall, throwing her arms back to rest on the edges.
For a long while, the half-fiend just closed her eyes and
soaked, letting all her cares and concerns drift away with the steam. She wished she had some scented oils to add to the water, and as suddenly, she could smell and feel their effects. She opened her eyes and saw that the water splashing from the fountain was tinted red like the oils she often procured to pamper herself.
Curious, she imagined the water chilled rather than steamy, and instantly, her skin prickled with goose bumps as the temperature dropped within the pool. Delighted but shivering, Aliisza returned the temperature to a comfortable level and closed her eyes once more.
It wasn't until Tauran spoke some time later that Aliisza realized he was in the room with her. "You look quite comfortable." Somehow, the angel had entered without her hearing him.
Aliisza's eyes flew open to see him standing near the door, observing her with a carefully neutral expression on his face. She saw with a glance that the sun was lower in the sky from the way the shadows slanted sharply across the walls and floor.
Recovering her wits quickly, Aliisza gave her celestial host one of her best come-hither stares and said, "I didn't hear you enter. This bath is so relaxing, I must have dozed off. Maybe you'd like to join me? I need someone to scrub my back."
Tauran gave her that same sad smile and said, "Tempting me won't work, Aliisza. I can revel in the pure delights of fleshy contact as well as any human—or half-fiend—but such experiences pale in comparison to the glory of my duties. Besides, I would know it is not real."
Aliisza swallowed hard at the stinging words, but she kept her face steady and tried one last lure. Rising from the water, she slowly came up the steps and said, with a hint of a pout, "You don't think this"—and she gestured down at
the perfect body she had molded for herself—"is real?" She walked slowly and seductively toward the celestial.
Tauran met her stare evenly, without flinching. His eyes didn't even roam down her figure.
"It's nothing but a mask," he said. Then he turned away. "I'll wait outside while you get ready. It's time to go to the Court of Temperance. The tribunal is prepared to render judgment and sentencing."
Chapter Seven
The half-ore that had been a hellish canine only moments earlier approached the trio and came to a stop a few paces from them. He folded his arms across his chest and studied them, as through appraising them. "You came ill prepared," he stated, a brief smirk crossing his face. "Your magic may protect you now, but it will not help when creatures attack. You will still burn."
"We've found that out already," Vhok replied wryly. "We'll keep it in mind for next time," he added.
"You are Kurkle?" Zasian asked, stepping forward. "Our guide? I am Zasian, the one who contacted you and hired you. You received the first payment, I trust."
The half-ore barked a laugh. "I am," he said. "But I did not know three fools had hired me. You cannot travel this place as you are, unprotected. You must go back to your own plane."
Vhok narrowed his eyes. "We hired you to guide us to the City of Brass. You've been paid, so guide. We'll keep our own counsel, otherwise."
Kurkle let out a low growl, deep in his throat, and his fiery red eyes gleamed in anger. Then he shrugged. "So be it. If the fires consume you, Kurkle will get your treasure."
The foursome set out then, the half-ore guide in the lead. As before, Vhok strode behind Zasian, with Myshik in the rear. As they hiked, the cambion made a point of keeping a watch, hoping to prevent any nasty surprises from sneaking up on them. He found the constant crackle and hiss of the ever-present conflagrations disconcerting. The noises made it difficult to listen for sounds of pursuit, especially since he suspected that most things living there would also blaze and crackle as they moved.
From time to time, Kurkle would drop to all fours and transform into a hound, then go loping off into the hazy distance, running in wide arcs ahead of the other three. He would disappear for some time, while the three visitors continued along the path he had set for them.
At the first occurrence, Vhok grew concerned that their guide was abandoning them, but Zasian shook his head. "I think he's scouting," the priest commented. "His senses are keen. He is renowned for his skills, and his reputation is equally well known. He will not betray us."
Vhok grumbled his acceptance, but he did not like being so dependent on anyone or anything he could not control.
Eventually, Kurkle returned and transformed into his humanoid shape again before resuming the lead. He said nothing, but corrected their course according to landmarks only he seemed aware of. To Vhok, the landscape was an endless stretch of smoldering embers and blowing ash broken only by the incessant jets of fire.
On Kurkle's third such scouting foray, Myshik posed a question. "What is Kurkle?" Vhok assumed that he was speaking to Zasian, since the priest had been the one to arrange for the creature's services.
"Canomorph," the human replied. "The hell hound is his natural form, but some of his kind have learned how to
shapeshift into humanoids. He's feral and instinctual, but he will get us there."
After a time, the land flattened, and Vhok turned to look back in the direction they had come. He could barely make out the ridge of flaming, scorched mountains from which they had descended. The peaks were low and smooth, and their flanks were ribboned with streams of molten fire, magma flowing down their sides like water.
The land did not remain flat for very long. Soon enough, Kurkle led them into what Vhok would have considered badlands on Toril: steep-sided hills, plateaus, and pinnacles separated by scree-filled gullies, trenches, and washes. The terrain popped, flamed, and glowed all around them. Noxious gases wafted everywhere, stinging Vhok's eyes and making sight difficult.
As the day's journey wore on, Vhok had to concentrate to keep from grumbling. They seemed to be moving at a slug's pace, and the half-fiend was not accustomed to traveling on foot for such long distances. He sorely missed the creature comforts of riding in his military palanquin, and he grew more and more irritable.
The cambion even suggested that they employ some form of magic to convey themselves, but Kurkle warned against it, claiming it was harder for predators to spot them if they remained low, using the winding defiles to improve their concealment. Even if they had wanted to ignore that precaution, Myshik and Kurkle were both at a disadvantage, for they had no magic to draw upon to aid their passage. Resigned to traveling like a common merchant, Vhok's mood grew more foul as the journey progressed.
To make matters worse, they attracted the attention of bandits. Vhok caught a glimpse of them when the foursome was forced to cross some stretches of open ground. Perhaps
half a dozen riders shimmered in the distance, their outlines distorted by the wavering heat of the terrain. Though Kurkle steered his charges away from the threat, the bandits pursued them. They seemed persistent, and Vhok wondered why.
The sojourn became even less pleasant when thick black clouds of smoke roiled over the group. As before, the caustic murk stung eyes and lungs and made for treacherously poor visibility. Kurkle took advantage of the cloaking vapors to change their direction, cutting back and to the right and following a narrow canyon for a long distance. The cambion questioned the wisdom of losing ground, but the canomorph insisted that it was a far better inconvenience than being ambushed by their pursuers.
When the smoke cleared, the expedition seemed to have lost the bandits, and Vhok thought they had seen the last of them. But soon enough, Kurkle reported signs that the enemies were close again, deepening Vhok's gloomy mood. Determined to avoid them if they could, the foursome continued On.
Any time Kurkle feared that they might be discovered, he sent the trio scrambling for cover while he prowled around, sniffing the acrid air, scrambling up the sides of gullies to peer into the distance. Sometimes he disappeared entirely for long stretches of time.
After one of the canomorph's scouting runs, Kurkle came loping back in hound form. "They are close at hand," he said, motioning for a sudden halt. All three travelers knew the routine by then. They went to ground, seeking available cover, as their guide darted off to observe the bandits. They found plenty of places to hide in the gulley they followed. Vhok ducked behind a large outcropping of glowing rock. The superheated stone sizzled and crackled loudly in the cambion's ears as he crouched, waiting for Kurkle to return.
Vhok watched his sweat vaporize in tiny curling puffs of steam as he waited, his mood truly black.
Something large stepped upon the outcropping right above Vhok, and the cambion was aware of it a heartbeat before it knew of him. He jerked back and stared as the creature, which he first thought was a rider upon a basalt black horse, peered in his direction. Vhok realized his mistake immediately. It was not a mounted rider, but a single creature, and he recognized it as a centaur. But unlike the horse-men of Toril, the creature looming over Vhok had skin the color of onyx, its hair, eyes, and hooves seemed to be made of flame, and it exhaled gouts of smoke. The bandit clutched a long spear in one hand, and Vhok could see a bow slung over one shoulder.
Upon spotting the cambion, the fiery centaur reared on its back legs and snarled in glee as it raised its spear high in an overhand grip. The tip of the weapon glowed orange, while the haft seemed to be chiseled of black stone. Vhok deepened his crouch and reached for his long sword, but his foe had both reach and a height advantage. When the spear came jabbing down at the cambion, Vhok darted beneath the outcropping and gave a shrill whistle of warning. The spear slammed into the ground where Vhok had stood, releasing a shower of embers and sparks.
Not waiting to see which side of the outcropping Vhok might pop from, the elemental centaur leaped down into the defile and spun to face him. At that moment, Zasian rose up from his hiding place behind a large boulder and struck the creature across one flank with his morningstar. The centaur was steadying himself to run Vhok through with the spear, but the blow made him start and shift, and the attack was ruined.
Faster than Vhok could think, the centaur kicked out with
his hind legs at Zasian, catching the man hard in the chest. The priest let out a whoosh of air and staggered backward, gasping.
The distraction was enough for Vhok to shift his sword to his off hand and pull out the wand he kept handy. When the centaur turned to face him again, Vhok leveled the magical device and let loose. Three of the four glowing missiles slammed into the upper torso of the bandit—and the fourth caught Myshik squarely as he leaped on the centaur's back for an attack. The half-dragon flinched and swung his great dwarven war axe wildly, only grazing his foe's shoulder.
The attack had the desired effect on the molten centaur. The creature reared up, flailing in the air with his human arms, trying too late to evade the attack. The sudden shift tossed Myshik backward, off the bandit. The half-dragon landed hard against the smoking ground and bounced away, losing his grip on his axe.
Kurkle exploded into Vhok's view, rushing the centaur from the side in hound form. The scout leaped up and snapped at the bandit, his jaws clamping onto the creature's throat as he sailed past. Already weakened from Vhok's strike, the bandit could not evade the attack, and Kurkle tore free most of the front of the centaur's neck.
The centaur clutched at its throat and tried to scream, but the only sound coming forth was a sickening gurgle accompanied by gushes of smoky blood that oozed through his fingers. Staggering to one side, listing off balance, the centaur tried to keep his feet beneath himself, but the life was leaving his eyes. The glowing yellow orbs dimmed to a dull orange even as the bandit toppled to the ground. His head bounced hard upon the burning stone and his eyes faded to dim red, then guttered out. His arms flopped aside and he lay still.
The gash in the centaur's throat still spilled blood, and
as the spatters dripped and hit the searing ground below, they crackled and sizzled. The fluids rapidly evaporated in a noisome, foul-smelling cloud of vapor.
Myshik groaned and tried to climb to his feet, but he was wobbly and dazed. Zasian moved to the half-dragon's side and uttered a prayer of healing while Vhok crept to the top of the rise to see if any more bandits had drawn near. He didn't see anything, though with the billowing smoke blowing across his field of vision, he couldn't see very far.
"Outrider," Kurkle muttered, shifting into his half-ore form. "Scouting the bandits' flank and stumbled upon us."
Vhok coughed. "Not such a formidable foe," he commented, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the canomorph. The guide still had black blood on his lips, which he was enthusiastically licking off.
"One, maybe, sure," he said. "But a band of five or ten of them can trample you in a heartbeat. When they come at you from all sides with those spears and hooves, beware."
Vhok thought the image through for a moment and nodded. He would have to consider carefully the tactics they would employ should they come face to face with a larger group of the bandit centaurs.
"Why are they chasing us?" he asked, wondering again at the enemies' persistence. "What makes us so special?"
Kurkle grunted. "Just because," he said. "Good sport. Treasure to trade with the salamanders or the efreet. They know you aren't natives, figure you must have powerful magic to keep you alive. They want it. And good sport," he repeated, seeming to think that was explanation enough.
Vhok sighed. "I suppose," he grumbled.
Zasian had finished tending to Myshik's injuries and his own, and the two of them were gathering themselves. The half-dragon picked up his axe with a chagrined look while
the priest spent a moment sorting through some items in his pack. The cambion noticed that Myshik's weapon exhibited numerous smoking scorch marks along the handle.
"Shouldn't have dropped that," he commented wryly.
The half-dragon gave him a scathing look. "It won't happen again," he replied.
Shrugging, Vhok turned away and spoke to Kurkle. "How much longer must we travel through this accursed terrain?"
The canomorph scratched behind one ear. "The rest of this day, and all of tomorrow," he said. "Beyond that is open plain for a while."
Vhok groaned. "All right," he grumbled, "let's get going, then. Tonight, I'm getting a foot massage."
Kurkle raised one eyebrow, obviously confused by the cambion's comment, but shrugged and turned away.
The others fell into line and soon they were trudging silently along, following the meandering defile while Kurkle continued to travel the high ground around them, keeping watch for more dangers.
As they walked, Vhok noticed what at first appeared to be a strange, dark gray snowfall. It didn't take him long to realize that it wasn't snow at all, but ash. As he looked up into the sky, the fluffy black stuff began to fall harder. In no time, it covered the ground in a layer that was ankle deep.
"How long will this last?" he called out to Kurkle as the canomorph trotted by in hound form. As he spoke, Vhok gestured in the air at the falling ash.
Without bothering to transform into a humanoid, Kurkle began to utter a series of barking words. His diction was awkward, tricky to understand, but Vhok made out the message clearly enough. "Could last all day. I've seen it pile to twice an efreeti's height before."
The cambion sighed and continued trudging, watching
with dismay as the three of them left easily discernible footprints in the growing cover. "Just terrific," he said.
Vhok realized it was time to stop. He was miserably hot, tired, and thirsty. He looked at his two companions and they, too, appeared worn out.
"I think it's time we called a halt and rested," he announced. "Between the progress we've made so far and all we had to go through to get through the Everfire, we shouldn't push ourselves much more."
Kurkle frowned. "This is not a good place to rest," he said. "For me, it's all right. But for you, too many things can find you."
Vhok looked at the humanoid with the bright orange hair. "I have the means to protect us from anything that wanders this way," he said. "We stop here for a night's rest." Without waiting for approval from the others, he slipped his hand into a pouch within his pack and pulled out an odd bundle. Unwrapping it, he revealed the gift from Nahaunglaroth, the sculpture of ivory in the form of a vine-covered stone archway.
The cambion held up the archway and blew through its opening. Immediately, a shimmering doorway very similar in appearance to the archway materialized directly in front of Vhok. He looked at both Zasian and Myshik.
"You both may enter," he said. "Inside, you will find a hearty meal and magical servants to tend to your needs. There are guest quarters for each of you. The door at the top of the stairs is my chamber."
Zasian entered without a second glance at the strange doorway. The priest vanished the moment his foot passed through. Myshik took a moment longer to stare at the magical portal, but after stroking his chin for a moment in
consideration, he, too, entered the magical doorway.
Vhok turned to Kurkle. "Within this, we three shall be protected from anything that wanders by. You are welcome to take shelter within, too, but the environment is not like here," he said, and gestured around. "I do not know how much you will like it."
The canomorph paced around the doorway, his face an expression of wary disbelief. "Where did they go?" he demanded.
"They are inside," the cambion answered. "It is a magical shelter. Like a room at an inn," he added, before figuring that Kurkle had very little idea what an inn might be.
"No, I will stay here," Kurkle said at last. "I am safe here. I will guard your door for you while you rest."
"That won't be necessary," Vhok replied. "The doorway will vanish from your sight once I enter and close it. But it will reappear again, when we have rested and refreshed ourselves. We will meet you here then. Yes?"
Kurkle looked doubtful, but he nodded. Before Vhok could enter the sanctuary of his magical mansion, the canomorph had changed into his hound form and was loping away, vanishing in the thick, blinding smoke.
Vhok smiled and passed through the shimmering doorway. Behind him, the portal winked from sight.
.«
Tauran's face was stoic as he led the half-fiend into the private courtyard of her quarters. He strolled toward the portico where the pearlescent archway waited to transport the two of them to the Grand Hall of Temperance. The alu followed him willingly. She remained as he had found her when he returned to her chambers, in the form of a beautiful human woman,
though she added a simple dress to her guise. He noted that she had patterned the outfit after the garb common to the Court, white and flowing, with a gold belt and accents on the hem.
She's been paying attention, the astral deva noted. He wasn't sure how that made him feel.
The others had cautioned him to be wary when bringing her to the House. She took the devious cruelty of her succubus mother and the relentless perseverance of her human father and mixed them together to become even more enterprising than either of them. And she was beautiful. Her trickery had no effect on the angel, but he still found her delightful to look at.
Tauran wondered how much she knew of celestial beings. Does she comprehend our love of life, of all things both spiritual and physical that enhance the joys of existence? Can she possibly know how keenly appealing she is for her human foibles even as she seems so treacherous? If I could teach her to harness that craftiness, to find better ways of employing it, let her see the consequences of her actions, what a delightful creature she could be!
But she was a half-fiend, dangerous in every way. And they had warned him to be careful.
No one within the Court had questioned his decision to select her. No creature serving Tyr or any of the other revered deities of the House of the Triad would hesitate to seek a way to save the spirit of the unborn being growing inside Aliisza. The tricky part was separating the mother from the child, to break the bonds of corruption that would otherwise influence the scion, even before it left the womb.
The hard part is done, Tauran thought, as the two of them stepped through the magical barrier. Beside him, Aliisza gasped softly when she discovered that they did not appear
where they had before, upon the balcony with its guards. The angel had shifted the magic to take the two of them directly to the Great Hall.
They stood upon a pedestal, one of the floating islands of earth and stone that drifted throughout the plane. Directly before them, covering almost the entire surface of the pedestal like a gargantuan soap bubble, was a great orb. The mammoth sphere's surface gleamed in iridescence in the light of the sun, a magical barrier identical to the pearlescent portal through which the two of them had just stepped.
The angel crossed the distance to the orb's surface and gestured for Aliisza to pass through it. She did not come immediately. Instead, she stood rooted to her spot upon an outcropping of rock near the edge of the pedestal, staring at everything around her in impressed awe. The celestial could see wariness in her visage, too.
Far below them, the gleaming white of the Court shone brightly. The pedestal drifted above it, separate from much of the rest of the palace. Other celestial beings drifted all around, some coming near and passing through the orb to tend to their own business within the hall. Few of them gave Aliisza a second look in her new form. The beautiful human guise the alu had adapted blended in far better than her native winged shape. Tauran suspected that she had chosen to remain in that appearance for that very reason.
He waited while she moved slowly to stand next to him, turning her head back and forth, gathering the images. It was not uncommon for a first-time visitor to the Court to appear overwhelmed by the beauty and grace of the place. Even a fiend would be hard pressed to deny feeling at least somewhat influenced by the glory of it.
"Aliisza," Tauran said. The alu turned to look at him and hesitated. Instantly, the angel could feel the tug of his
magical binding. She was thinking of escape, or causing harm to someone, or another possibility that went against the terms she had agreed upon. The divine power he had employed on her would never have worked had she not willingly accepted the terms, had she not freely given herself to be bound by them. But that single act of concurrence had made the magic possible and unbreakable. She was bound to follow through with the rules as surely as if she had been wrapped in adamantine chains and dragged to her final destination.
The astral deva felt her tug against the magic, felt her try to resist it. She would not sense it that way, of course. To the alu, she simply couldn't muster the will to make one damning move. She could think on such acts easily enough, but her willpower to follow through had been locked away within the bonds. The harder she fought against it, the harder she tried to force her body to act as she wished, the more pressure Tauran felt on the divine bond.
At last, he felt her struggle wane, and the alu reached out to the strange glowing surface of the orb. As her hand touched it she vanished, whisked beyond it to the inside. Tauran followed.
Aliisza made a slight strangled sound as she took in the Great Hall for the first time. The pair stood in a colonnaded walkway that circled the orb's interior. Beyond the walkway, tier upon tier of benches descended into the lower half of the hemisphere like a grand theater surrounding a central stage. The stage itself was the focal point of the Court. It hovered in the air above the seats, crafted of smooth white stone. Upon it, the tribunal sat in attendance, hearing all petitions brought before it.
Overhead, the top half of the soaring white dome rested upon massive marble columns veined in gold and silver. The
underside of the dome bore a complex pattern of gold foil surrounding a fresco of Tyr's benevolent face watching from above. The entirety of the dome glowed with indirect light, filling the place with a happy radiance. Tapestries of vibrant colors all throughout the cavernous chamber depicted the glories of the members of the Triad and their devoted servants. Other astral devas and their charges came and went almost constantly from various points around the periphery of the orb.
Tauran led Aliisza down an aisle toward the stage. The carpeted steps were long and shallow, so it took them two steps across for every step down to make their way to the bottom. Once there, Tauran sat, then motioned for his ward to join him. The alu nodded and sat on the edge of the bench. She craned her neck back, peering up at the floating stage high overhead. Tauran gave her a reassuring smile as they waited to be recognized.
After a few moments,- Tauran heard a small voice in his head, indicating that the tribunal was ready to receive them. Before he could warn Aliisza of what was about to happen, magic coursed through them both, and they found themselves seated upon another bench, on the floating stage, directly before the tribunal.
Aliisza gasped at the sudden change in her surroundings and nearly lost her balance. As she recovered, she hissed in vexation and eyed the whole setting warily.
The three members of the tribunal were all solars, great humanoids that stood half again as tall as either Tauran or Aliisza. Their skin was silvery in color, and their eyes blazed with a topaz glow. Wings of white, similar to the astral deva's but far larger, lay folded against their backs. Their faces bespoke supreme authority tempered with wisdom and benevolence.
The solars turned and stared expectantly at Tauran.
The deva rose and approached them. "Noble tribunal, I seek your judgment over the creature known by many as Aliisza the alu, who comes here willingly today to accept your decision."
The solar on the left, the chief of proceedings, stood and looked down at Aliisza. Tauran saw that she seemed to shrink down the slightest bit. "Come forward, Aliisza," the solar demanded, his voice reverberating through the chamber like a rumble of thunder.
Aliisza eyed the creature with trepidation but rose to her feet and approached.
She stood next to Tauran, shoulder to shoulder, and pressed herself close to him. He could smell the rose oil on her skin. He could also smell the taint of her heritage, very faintly. He wondered how much of her consternation was real and how much of it was feigned, designed to guile him.
"Do you indeed come before this tribunal willingly, to be judged and sentenced?" the solar asked. Tauran could feel the timbre of the creature's voice vibrate in the stones beneath his feet. "You agree to be bound by the decisions of this court in all things, without coercion by any creature, mortal or immortal?"
Aliisza stood dumbly for a moment, and Tauran was just about to turn to her to see if she understood the question, when she blurted out, "Do I have a choice?"
A long silence followed as her words echoed into the deep recesses of the Great Hall. Then the chief of the tribunal spoke again.
"There is choice in everything, tainted one," the solar boomed. "You choose to place a blade at another's throat and threaten their life unless they do your bidding. Your victim chooses whether to appease you or die in defiance. With all
of us, with every step we take, we make choices. What is your choice here today?"
Aliisza gave the solar a good, hard stare, and Tauran felt the tug of her effort to resist the compunction imposed on her. He suspected she was contemplating how she might strike the chief of the tribunal right then.
Finally, with a visible effort to relax, she said, "You say I have the right to choose, yet I cannot draw my blade and run you through. Nor can I run from this chamber and take flight, flee from this place that stinks with the same arrogance and rigidity that oozes from every follower of your blind god in the world beyond. You say I have a choice, but I cannot seem to change my mind now. What must I do to earn the freedom to die on my own terms, fighting my way clear of you and your condescension?"
Tauran gaped at Aliisza, surprised at her change of heart. He had sensed in her a true desire for mercy, a genuine need to ask forgiveness, even if she didn't understand it herself. But she had shifted away from that, he saw, had reverted to her more demonic nature, unrepentant and defiant even in the face of death.
The chief of the tribunal seemed to shine more brightly than before, as though righteous anger lent him radiance. Tauran knew that the solar was doing more, though. The creature was probing Aliisza, searching the depths of her emotions to find the core feeling hiding behind her outburst.
"That is not what is in your heart," the chief declared at last. "Your maternal instinct holds you back, pushes you to survive, to persevere in the face of inescapable doom. You speak in rage against the tribunal only because you are also conflicted by your feelings. And..." the solar paused, tilting its head to one side. "You are jealous of the attention we have given to your progeny. Ah, now I see why you fight with yourself."
Aliisza glared at her judge, but she kept her mouth shut. Tauran waited, wondering how the Court would proceed. The alu hadn't actually asked to be freed from her agreement. If she had, the Court almost certainly would have granted it—and immediately proceeded to destroy her, right then, within the Great Hall. She would wither and die, and the spirit of her child would become a petitioner, serving for eternity within the House of the Triad. But she had not asked for her release, merely put forth conjecture and asked hypothetical questions.
After the silence had grown almost interminable, the solar spoke again. "Do you wish to be free of your agreement? It is your choice to make, though you know the consequences of your decision."
Aliisza shook her head. "No, damn you. I cannot." Her voice was tight, breathy, and Tauran could see that a single tear ran down her cheek, but her eyes then hardened in some form of resolve. "For whatever reason, the human side of me has decided that I must protect my baby against such a fate." She drew in a long breath and at last said, "I freely and willingly submit to your judgment and sentencing. Spare me so that my child may be born and live."