The Gossamer Plain (22 page)

Vhok frowned. “You have nothing better? Nothing more certain than this?” Vhok asked, rattling the scroll.

“Do you?’” Zasian asked. “If so, bring it forth and let us be gone at once. Otherwise”—he gave Vhok a glare—”do not question me about it again. I have told you the sum total of our options. You must pick between expediency and safety.”

Vhok sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to see what was on the other side of oblivion.”

The priest snorted but said nothing further.

The half-fiend examined the scroll in his hands. It had lain forgotten in his belongings for some time, given to him by Lysalis. The fey’ri sorceress had intended it for an emergency, but none had ever come up when it had seemed necessary. Over time, it had settled to the bottom of a satchel he kept with him. Only Zasian’s divination reminded him that he had it.

A single spell had been scribed upon the scroll, one that created a magical retreat, in much the same way the ivory arch did. It required the use of a length of rope, easily produced from the equipment Vhok and Zasian carried with them. Under normal circumstances, the cambion could cast the spell from the scroll and open an extradimensional space, then use the rope to climb into it.

But opening one extradimensional space within another was far from ordinary. All who dealt with forces arcane knew

the dangers of combining pocket dimensions. The cambion had heard enough tales of wizards, in their foolishness, tearing great rents in the fabric of the planes by doing such things. He hardly felt eager to try it himself. Nonetheless, that was precisely what Zasian’s augury had suggested.

Vhok and the priest faced one another in the entryway of the palatial retreat, before the sealed doorway. The rope rested on the floor between them. Once Vhok completed the arcane words written upon the parchment, the magic would be completed and the spell cast.

“Before you begin,” Zasian said, “let me imbue us with a bit of divine protection.”

“To provide succor against what?” Vhok asked. “Whatever’s going to happen, do you think our paltry defenses will change the outcome? Save them for when they might do us real good.”

“As you wish,” the priest muttered, and motioned for Vhok to proceed.

Vhok took a deep breath to steady himself and scanned the page one more time before beginning. Then, slowly and clearly, he began to read aloud, uttering each word written in the obscure language of magic. As the syllables rolled off his tongue, their counterparts vanished from the page. The ink faded to nothing bit by bit.

When the cambion completed the final phrase, he felt the power of magic slide through him from the page. He sensed it channeling outward, into the rope before him. The rope began to stir, snaking one end of itself upright into the air. The line rose higher, until its end was just above the two observers’ heads. A strange crackling sensation filled the air, and Vhok felt his ears pop.

Light and sound exploded all around the half-fiend. He felt his insides churn and tumble, threatening to burst outward and engulf his skin. He lost his sense of up and down

and thought he was floating in a sea of swirling color. A wind howled and buffeted him, knocking him about. He could see nothing.

Vhok opened his mouth to call to Zasian, to scream. Something flowed into him and down his throat. His eyes ached, his muscles turned to jelly, and when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, he felt himself launched elsewhere. His body sailed through the blinding nothingness toward a tiny pinprick of darkness. That miniscule hole expanded in an instant, became a black sphere of oblivion that sucked him toward it.

Vhok did not want to be swallowed by the great black thing. Death lay inside. He tried to swim away from it, tried to claw his way in a different direction, but his efforts were futile.

The blackness engulfed him.

The cambion hit something, hard, and felt himself stick to it. Another object slammed into him, just as hard, and it stuck to him just as tightly. It stole his breath from him. He was glued to something hard, while something else adhered to him. Together, they hung above a roiling sea of fog shaded orange and gray, while a sky filled with sloshing, lapping fire surrounded them overhead. He peered down at that strange fog in terror, afraid that the object to which he was affixed would release him to fall forever.

Vhok’s ears popped again, and the whole universe turned upside down.

No, Vhok realized, it righted itself. It was upside down before.

He was lying on his back upon baked and smoldering stone, staring up at a smoky gray sky lit from distant and unseen fires. Around him, a sea of lava burped gouts of gas and jets of flame. The Elemental Plane of Fire.

Thank the fell ones, Vhok thought. I never thought I’d be so happy to be here.

The half-fiend tried to sit up, then realized a great dead weight still lay atop him. He feared at first that it was Zasian, hurt or killed during the expulsion. A quick look revealed that it was Kurkle’s corpse.

Of course, Vhok realized. Everything got ejected.

“Vhok!” Zasian yelled from somewhere nearby. “Vhok, are you there?”

The cambion shoved the canomorph’s body off himself and stood up. “Yes!” he called, and he spun around, trying to find his companion. He discovered that he was on the Islands. In fact, it was the same chunk of solid ground where the priest had erected the wall of stone and they had disappeared into the mansion. “Where are you?” he shouted.

“On the wrong side of the hell-cursed wall!” Zasian replied. “Help me! I can’t hold on much longer!”

Vhok snatched up the rope lying at his feet—the same rope upon which he had channeled the magic of the scroll— and moved next to the semicircular barrier. With a thought, he levitated to the top of it and stepped onto the narrow top surface. He peered over the far side.

Zasian, half-submerged in the lava, held on to a small chunk of rough rock at the base of the wall. He peered upward at the half-fiend. He didn’t seem terrified, though his eyes did convey a sense of nervousness.

“Need some help?” Vhok asked with a grin.

He knotted a loop in the rope and lowered it to his companion. When the loop reached Zasian, the priest took hold of it. He released his grip on the rock and settled lower into the lava, but he clung to the loop and hoisted himself up. Working together, the pair managed to haul him to the top of the wall. As he rose, liquid stone sloughed off his clothing and

equipment, sizzling and darkening as it dripped back to the molten flow. Zasian clambered to the other side with Vhok’s aid, and dropped to the ground. The cambion floated down to join the priest.

“Thanks,” Zasian said as he caught his breath. “I couldn’t do anything, or I’d slip off.” He took a look around. “Amazing that we wound up here again,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vhok asked. He felt a sense of dread rising. His anxiety multiplied with the sense that time had escaped his grasp. Important events were afoot, and the cambion knew not whether he was ahead of them or behind them.

“I half expected us to wind up somewhere even more deadly than this,” Zasian replied. “Perhaps a plane of oblivion, or one of extreme negative energy, like the kind that feeds the undead and keeps them animated. All things considered, we couldn’t have asked for a better result.”

“You suspected all that, and you still advised that we follow through? Are you mad?”

Zasian shrugged. “On the other hand, I did receive guidance in this matter from Bane himself, so I felt assured that we would survive the ordeal. Looks like I was right to trust him, wouldn’t you say?”

Vhok grunted, unwilling to commit to an answer. The cambion instead looked around and changed the subject.

“So we freed ourselves,” he observed. “Yet we have no guide and no map—only our imperfect memories of the route we wish to take and a vague sense of direction. Not very good odds.”

“I like them better now than when we were trapped in that palace. I think we might have gained an advantage by escaping so quickly. The half-dragon, and by extension his clan, is not expecting us to return. At least not any time soon. It could

even be the case that he is delivering the arch key to another who wishes to possess or control us.”

The idea of a creature attempting to hold him prisoner infuriated Vhok. “I still intend to flay Myshik alive when I catch up to him,” he said. “Clan Morueme does not understand what sort of trouble they’ve heaped upon themselves.”

“As you wish,” Zasian replied. “When we catch up to him, I’ll hold him down for you. In the meantime,” he said, standing, “let’s be on our way.” The priest began scraping lava, hardened to a tarry substance, from his clothing and skin. “Kurkle said this terrain didn’t last long, but we should be wary of things lurking within it.”

“I’m prepared for it today,” Vhok said. He readied magic that would permit him to fly.

“A moment, my friend,” Zasian said, holding up his hand. “Save your magic for later. I think I have just what we need.” He chanted a few phrases in some unholy language Vhok did not recognize, then touched the cambion once upon the shoulder.

The half-fiend felt no difference in his condition.

The priest repeated the ritual and touched himself. “There,” he said. “Observe.” He took a step forward, as though he were ascending a staircase. He rose from the ground and stood above Vhok. He took another step and another, climbing a bit each time. “It’s simple,” he said. “Try it. Just imagine where you want to walk, and the air will hold you aloft.”

Vhok gave his counterpart an appraising look and turned his attention on himself. He envisioned a pathway beneath his feet that sloped upward, then stepped forward onto it. His foot struck something invisible and solid right where he had conjured it in his mind. “Very creative,” he said, “though not quite as fast as flying.”

“True,” Zasian replied as the two of them set out, rising high enough into the air to avoid the churning lava beneath them. “But unless you thought to invoke that spell twice, you’d either leave me behind or lose whatever benefit of speed you gained by waiting for me. Besides,” the priest added, “we can do this far longer.”

Vhok did not relish another day of walking, especially after the arduous experiences battling the bandits the previous day. But striding upon the air was smooth and easy, and without the need to observe the terrain beneath his feet, he could devote more time to studying their surroundings.

Islands stretched to the extent of the cambion’s sight in every direction. From his higher vantage point, they reminded him more of bog lands than anything, though the solid ground was more barren. He wondered how deep the flow of molten rock was, and when he spotted some strange, large creature surfacing and submerging again, he knew the depth was considerable.

Later, a flock of flying creatures caught the half-fiend’s attention. He could not get a good look at them, for they were distant and headed away from them, but they looked large and left a trail of smoke where they passed. He and Zasian opted to descend to a nearby patch of rocky island to wait for them to disappear. Neither wished to draw undue attention to themselves while exposed in the air. When the creatures were well out of sight, the pair continued on their way.

As they walked, both remained quiet, withdrawn into their own thoughts. Vhok brooded over the betrayal inflicted upon him, and fretted about developments beyond his ability to perceive or control. He did not often find himself so isolated and out of contact with his Scourged Legion, and he found the experience distasteful. He knew it was a necessary sacrifice in order to achieve the greater goal, but it rankled him.

The half-fiend’s thoughts turned to Aliisza. Vhok wondered how she fared, whether she was even still alive. All that he worked for depended on her capture, and if anything went wrong, the entire scheme would be for naught. The notion of his plans crumbling down around him distressed him in many ways, but he also found himself worried for her well-being.

That and the baby she carried.

He wondered if she knew yet. He wondered what she thought of carrying his child in her womb. Was she happy? Did she bear any maternal instincts toward it? Vhok often doubted that a true fiend was capable of loving its offspring. He certainly felt little in the way of affection from his own mother.

Certainly not while I was slaying her, the cambion thought wryly.

But Aliisza was not a full fiend. She had her human side, as did he. Possibly, she would harbor some sense of protectiveness for her baby when it was born. He found himself hoping so. He truly would like to meet his child, perhaps raise it to serve him.

“Look,” Zasian said, drawing Vhok out of his thoughts. He peered where the priest pointed and saw that the terrain changed ahead of them. The sea of lava with its islands of barren, blackened rock gave way to gently rising ground covered in things that looked like trees.

That cannot be, the half-fiend thought. Nothing could grow here.

“What are those?” he asked.

“I confess I have no idea,” Zasian answered. “We’ll find out shortly, though.”

The pair continued their journey toward the rising ground. Before long, they set foot upon what Vhok could only consider to be the shore of the Islands. The ground was no

different than anywhere else they had been within the plane thus far. It popped and crackled with radiant heat, and fissures crisscrossing its surface glowed with the light of deeper fire.

Vhok no longer paid attention to his footing. He was instead mesmerized by the treelike objects that spread before him. There were hundreds, a forest of them. Like trees, they sported a main trunk ascending from the ground. Numerous branches sprouted from the trunk at every conceivable angle, dividing into smaller and smaller branches until the smallest were no larger than the cambion’s little finger.

Unlike any trees Vhok was familiar with, the things rising before him were formed of pure crystal.

They appeared in numerous colors, with white, pink, and purple predominating. They stood perfectly rigid, bending not the slightest bit as the acrid breezes blew through them.