The Gossamer Plain (15 page)

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.

.Ť

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.