The Glass Prison (12 page)

“Same to you, beautiful,” the man muttered, walking away.

“Watch out,” a woman said, carrying a tray of empty flagons and almost bumping into Vheod. She smiled without really looking at him and moved to the bar.

“Excuse me,” Vheod said, following her. She was stout and short, with her mahogany hair pulled back into a round knob, though hours of work had coaxed some rogue strands down to lie by the sides of her face.

“Yes?” She turned. “You need something to drink?” Her face was careworn, Vheod thought, but her eyes were friendly.

“Ah, no.” Vheod shook his head. “What I’d like is for you to tell me something. It might seem odd, but, well—I’m new around here.”

“What do you need to know?” The woman set down her tray and nodded toward him.

Vheod chewed his lip a moment. “I need to know what you see when you look at me.”

“What?”

“What do I look like to you? Do I look like everyone else?” Vheod stroked his rough jaw. He glanced down to see the Taint once again on the back of his right hand. He covered it quickly with his left. His eyes darted.

“No,” she said, raising her brow thoughtfully, “not like everyone else. That’s for sure.”

What did that mean? “Have you ever seen anyone like me before?”

She moved her mouth to one side, as if considering what to say. “Are you a half-elf?”

“Half-elf?” Then people are familiar with halfblooded humans here, he thought.

“Yes, you know,” she asked, “was only one of your parents human?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“He ain’t pretty enough to be a half-elf,” the man with the thick beard said from behind them. Vheod turned back to him and scowled.

“I thought I told you to leave,” Vheod clipped.

“Don’t listen to him,” the woman said to Vheod. “He’s a drunk.”

“More like half-
orc
,” the bearded man continued, pointing a thick finger at Vheod.

“Do not make me speak to you again,” Vheod hissed at him through clenched teeth, then turned back to the serving woman. She was already moving the empty flagons from her tray into a water-filled barrel
burgeoning with other dirty dishes floating amid fading soap bubbles.

A tall man with gray hair moved up from behind the bar. Though he’d just come into the room through the door behind the bar, he joined in the conversation as though he’d been there all the time.

Looking at Vheod for a moment, he said, “Nah. The only half-orc I’ve ever seen ’round here is Orrag, and he don’t have no pointed ears like this here fella.”

“Hush now, Ponter,” the woman said to him with a slight push of her hand against his shoulder.

“Orrag? Who is Orrag?” Vheod asked.

Orcs, Vheod knew, were an evil and bestial race that populated many prime worlds as well as other planes. Half-orcs? A human-orc crossbreed might not be all that dissimilar to a cambion, from a certain point of view. Is that who Gyrison and Arach meant?

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” the woman said.

“But I do,” Vheod replied.

“Orrag’d put a knife in your ribs, fella,” the tall barman said with a nod of his head.

“Ponter, hush.” The woman finished emptying her tray and used it to lightly shove the tall man.

“Look, I need to know more about this half-orc. I wish to meet him. I may have … business with him.”

“Business with Orrag?” the bearded man said quietly, into his flagon. “I knew I didn’t like you.”

Before Vheod could respond, the tall man, Ponter, reached across the bar and placed his hand on Vheod’s arm. Leaning in close, he whispered, “Listen, if you really want to meet up with Orrag, stay right where you are. He usually comes into the place on mid-tenday nights—he steers clear of The Flagon Held High and other more … visible places.
My place ain’t on any maps, if you see what I mean.”

“I think perhaps I do,” Vheod replied quietly. “I thank you, sir. I will remain.”

“Why don’t you have something to drink in the meanwhile?” Ponter asked him in his normal, loud voice, straightening up and away from Vheod.

“Good enough,” Vheod replied, digging into a pouch and wondering what they used for money here.

Vheod fortunately had a few coins in his pouch that he could convince Ponter to accept, though none of them were minted on this world. The day in the tavern stretched on for what seemed like many. By the time the darkness of night consumed what little light managed to seep in through the small windows, Vheod had drunk his fill. More than once he wished that the establishment served food. The annoying short man left finally, and Vheod claimed a tottering, ale-slick table near one wall.

With the advent of darkness, the tavern attracted more activity, but the patrons generally kept quiet and to themselves, content simply to drink. Vheod found it difficult to believe the inhabitants of a beautiful world like this, untainted by real evil, might spend their evenings in this vapid locale. Boredom began clawing at him, and he soon found himself growing drowsy. He leaned back in his chair against the stone wall, telling himself he would close his eyes just for a moment—

“You got business with me?”

Vheod snapped his eyes open. A large, wide-shouldered man with a fleshy face and a stomach that hung liberally over his belt stood over Vheod. His breath stank, and his narrow eyes hid little of the malice that lay within them. His porcine face and jowls, along with his pointed, yellow teeth made
him the least appealing creature Vheod had seen since his encounter with the hairy spider-beasts in the woods.

When Vheod didn’t reply immediately, the man spoke again. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know you, do I? I think I’d remember you.”

“Are you Orrag?” Vheod asked him, pushing himself away from the wall and righting his chair.

“Maybe. Depends on who’s asking.” He took a long draught from his flagon.

“I see,” Vheod said. “I understand. My name is Vheod, and I was instructed to speak with you.”

“You been talking to Ferd?” Orrag said, ale running down his flabby chin and running into one of the folds of flesh in his neck.

“Ah, no, not that I’m aware of, in any event.”

Orrag pulled another chair away from the table and thrust his bulk into it with such force that Vheod almost expected it would break. “Something about you interests me,” Orrag said, with a hint of a crooked smile. “What is it?”

Vheod had seen smiles on fiends that seemed more pleasant. Still, this creature might have some information, and he’d certainly dealt with fouler beasts in the past. He would have to choose his words carefully, however. He suspected that Orrag was sharper than he appeared.

Again annoyed at Vheod’s unresponsiveness, Orrag asked, “What’s your story, Vheod?”

“It’s a long one,” Vheod retorted, “but perhaps some of it might be of interest to you.”

“I doubt it,” Orrag lied, “but I must admit there’s something intriguing about you. You’re not from around here, are you?” Before Vheod could answer, the half-orc continued. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s make this interesting. You tell me a tale, and if I find it
interesting, I’ll listen to whatever business you’re supposed to have with me. Sound fair?”

Vheod had expected Orrag to be less than reputable from Ponter’s brief comments earlier that day. His disgusting appearance and mannerisms were almost unnoticeable to someone who had spent his entire life among the fiends of the Lower Planes. However, something about Orrag puzzled him. The half-orc’s manner suggested an unspoken agenda—almost as if he recognized who Vheod was, or
what
he was.

“Perhaps I can come up with something that might pique your curiosity,” Vheod said slowly. “I can tell you of the place from which I hail. My homeland holds many tales, let me tell you.”

Orrag simply nodded and took a small, noisy sip from his flagon.

Vheod cleared his throat and began his tale. “Many centuries ago, so I was told, the Abyssal Lord Demogorgon commissioned a ship to be built.”

“A ship?” Orrag asked.

Vheod scowled. “Yes.”

Orrag said nothing, but sipped his drink once again.

“This ship wasn’t just a normal craft, meant to sail the seas. No, wind and oarsmen were not to propel this craft. This was a ship that would sail the River Styx itself. On the Styx, a craft can travel between any of the Lower Planes—the Abyss, Gehenna, Pandemonium, even Baator. Furthermore, this ship would ply the waters between all the planes and travel to any world that its captain might choose to visit. Its enchanted rudder would direct the ship on a sorcerous journey anywhere in the multiverse.”

Orrag raised his brow and took another sip, his eyes never leaving Vheod.

“A tanar’ri shipwright by the name of Reyniss had garnered a reputation among important circles deep within the Abyss. His skills were well known.” Vheod paused for a moment, considering his words. “There are more malignant seas and fetid rivers flowing through the Abyss than you might think.”

Orrag continued to stare silently.

“Demogorgon contacted Reyniss,” Vheod continued, “by means of a mephit, a tiny, dark servitor of the Lower Planar lords. It flitted through the brooding caverns and dismal swamps of the Abyss to bring him this message: ‘I, Demogorgon, Tanar’ri Prince and Lord of All that Swims in Darkness, wish to commission you to undertake your greatest achievement,’ it said. ‘Come to me, and I will tell you of the glories and riches that will be yours should you craft the ship that I desire.’

“Reyniss knew better than to trust Demogorgon, for even the greatest of fiends can know treachery at the hands of an Abyssal Lord. Thus the shipwright gathered together all of the sorcerous protections he could muster and filled his own dark lair with defenses and traps to ward away intruders. Cautiously, he made his way to Ungorth Reddik, Demogorgon’s fortress.

“Ungorth Reddik rose from a grotesque bog deep in the Abyss. Swarming about it were Demogorgon’s fiendish servants and all sorts of scaly monstrosities that worshiped him. Reyniss ignored them, and entered the fortress through gargoyle-protected gates.

“Demogorgon greeted the shipwright with caliginous smiles across both his houndlike faces. Within dark Ungorth Reddik, the two fiends forged their agreement. Reyniss agreed to build the ship that would sail the Styx and throughout the planes of
existence. Demogorgon agreed to pay him in gold, jewels and the lorn currency common to the Lower Planes.”

Vheod paused to see if Orrag understood his reference. The fat man widened his bulging eyes ever so slightly and shook his face just enough to make his jowls wobble.

“Souls, my friend. The spirits of evil mortals. On the dire planes, these souls are traded among the powerful fiends the way mortals might exchange a gem or a trinket.” Vheod wondered if these statements would have any effect on Orrag. Did the man worry about his own eternal fate? Orrag, however, showed no sign that Vheod’s words had any meaning for him. Vheod wasn’t surprised. He smiled inwardly. The fate of evil souls wasn’t something he relished dwelling on himself. Vheod had no idea if he truly had a mortal soul, and if so, what fate awaited it. Was damnation a foregone conclusion for a cambion? Was he already so damned? Was he, because of the tanar’ri blood in his veins, not a true mortal at all? He didn’t know, and most of the time, he kept himself too busy to contemplate it. Purpose.

Of course, it might be that Orrag was too dim to understand the implications of this portion of the tale, but Vheod perceived a good deal of cunning—quite likely malicious cunning—in Orrag’s dark, small, bulging eyes. Orrag wasn’t stupid. In any event, the half-orc grew visibly anxious for the tale to continue. Vheod obliged.

“So Reyniss returned to his own lair near the strange, arcane shipyards in which he plied his craft. Utilizing more sorcery than mundane labor, Reyniss began building the ship, which he’d already in his designs named
Demonwing
. He employed tanar’ri of all types to help in the construction of the huge craft.
To hold the correct enchantments, Reyniss’s plans called for the ship’s hull to be made of stone rather than wood. This strange stone would still allow the ship to float on the waves, but it would also withstand the journey between the planes.

“Sails of flesh and a rudder of bone completed the grisly, fiendish
Demonwing
. When construction was complete, Reyniss sent a mephit to relate the news to Demogorgon. When the demon prince heard the news, he appeared almost immediately in the shipyards, standing before Reyniss’s creation. The fiendish prince was well pleased. Reyniss felt sure that his reward would put him in a position to advance in the tanar’ri ranks, making him a ruler over many lesser fiends.

“Demogorgon instead made Reyniss a further offer. He told the shipwright he would grant him twice the agreed-upon payment. Reyniss eyed the monstrous Demogorgon, with his two heads, tall, narrow reptilian body, and tentacles rather than arms, with suspicion … as I’m sure you can understand.”

Vheod paused and looked at Orrag, who said nothing.

“Reyniss,” he continued, “heart full of suspicion, asked Demogorgon what he would need to do to gain this double reward.

“ ‘Think of it as a wager,’ Demogorgon said with a voice like wet velvet.

“ ‘What sort of wager, oh prince?’ Reyniss asked.

“ ‘Just this,’ Demogorgon replied. ‘If you can use this ship to travel to the plane of ultimate chaos, Limbo, and back again in less than three days’ time, I shall grant you the increased reward.’

“ ‘And if I cannot?’ Reyniss asked.

“ ‘Then you get nothing, and I get the ship.’

“Now Reyniss knew full well that he could get the ship to the chaotic morass of Limbo and back in three
days. The question was, did Demogorgon have some trick or treachery here? Did the fiendish prince plan on sending minions out to attack Reyniss as he sailed to stop him on his journey? Why would Demogorgon risk damaging or destroying the ship in that way? Surely he wouldn’t do such a thing.

“Perhaps, Reyniss thought to himself, Demogorgon merely wanted Reyniss to show him he was actually getting all he’d asked for.

“So Reyniss agreed. He gathered together a crew of tanar’ri and they left immediately. Reyniss set sail for Limbo, steering the craft along the River Styx and through the howling caverns of Pandemonium. He made his way across the Sea of Madness and through the Straits of Insanity, plunging headlong in the miasma of churning matter and energy in the plane of Limbo. Gathering some of the chaos-stuff that fills that plane as proof, he turned the craft around and sailed back toward the Abyss.