The Glass Prison (16 page)

The fact that Melann didn’t immediately assume he was lying or even attack him on learning of his true nature gave Vheod hope that perhaps he could convince her he was right. She obviously was reasonable. Her brother, on the other hand, appeared otherwise.

“Look, Melann,” Whitlock said to his sister, “there’s no need to tell this … man about our business.” He turned to Vheod. “As I said before, thanks for your help, and thank you for your warning. Now we must be going.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You can’t
let
us?” Whitlock spat. “Are you going to attack us? Come on, demon—I’ll have at you.” Whitlock drew his broadsword.

Vheod’s hand flexed, seeking the hilt of his own blade. He stopped. Instead, he simply held his ground. “I would not fight you, sir. I don’t seek further bloodshed. I’ve already seen a surprising amount of that on such a beautiful, peaceful-seeming world.”

“You
must
be from somewhere else,” Whitlock sneered, his sword still pointed at Vheod. “Beautiful, perhaps, but peaceful? Experience has taught me something else.”

Vheod said nothing.

“You won’t stop us from doing what we’ve set out to do,” Whitlock continued. “We’ll do what we think is best.

Melann spoke up. “You must understand, Vheod, we can’t possibly turn back after all we’ve been through.” She raised her hands in an emphatic gesture. “We can’t just give up on the only hope we have for our family—not just on the words of a stranger. I mean, no offense but … I’m sure you understand.”

The worst part of it for Vheod was that he did understand. He would do the same thing in their place. He couldn’t possibly expect them to simply do as he said when so much was at stake for them. Yet he was certain that if left alone, they would take actions that would spell disaster for both him and them—and probably the whole world. He certainly had no desire to see Melann hurt, especially when he could do something to stop it. He didn’t even wish ill on hot-tempered, untrusting Whitlock. In reversed positions, Vheod would probably react much as the human warrior did.

“Well, perhaps we can reach a compromise. What if I accompany you to Chare’en’s ‘crypt’? Then we can see which one of us is correct.” And, he thought to himself, I can make sure that if I’m right, Chare’en is not freed—no matter what. The real question burning in Vheod’s heart was whether or not he himself could be trusted going to Chare’en.

“I don’t like this,” Whitlock said quietly to his sister, though Vheod could hear him.

Before Melann could answer, Vheod said to Whitlock, “Isn’t this the best way to keep an eye on me? If I’m trying to do something wrong, would I not be better within sword’s reach? The best way to watch your enemies is to keep them close enough to kill, the saying goes. It’s a saying where I come from, in any event. Besides, those gnolls will probably come back—just as you said.”

Perhaps, Vheod thought, it would be good that Whitlock and Melann watched him very closely. Whitlock may very well be right not to trust him. He looked, almost reflexively, for the Taint. It resided on his forearm, as though it wanted him to see it. The tattoo had taken on the form of a laughing, leering face.

Whitlock didn’t say anything. Instead he folded his arms in front of him defiantly.

Melann approached Vheod, extending her hand. “We would appreciate your company, Vheod Runechild.”

“So, are you a wizard?”

“Me?” Melann asked in surprise.

The summer sun would soon set, and the shadows around them grew long. The looming shadows of the mountains already swathed much of the surrounding area in a blanket of darkness. She looked down at Vheod, who had asked the question, and apparently had asked it with sincerity. His eyes told her that he indeed sought an answer. Vheod walked alongside their horses while she and her brother rode. Melann was amazed that he could keep up the pace over the hours of the journey. A full day had passed since their paths joined, and he never once showed signs of tiring—though he slept the night before like any mortal man.

Whitlock never ceased his constant vigil, convinced the gnolls would attack again. His caution probably slowed their pace a little, but no one commented on it.

“In the battle with the gnolls,” Vheod said, “you cast a spell that struck down a number of them.”

Melann laughed for a moment, more out of the joy of actually laughing than the humor of what Vheod really said. He didn’t seem to take offense at her laughing at him—instead, it seemed to bring a smile
to his own face. She was fascinated with his long hair and dark, rough skin—but mostly she enjoyed looking into his face. She saw a sort of nobility in his eyes. She believed that a tanar’ri, raised in the Abyss no less, trying to overcome its inherent evil was perhaps the noblest thing she’d ever heard of.

“I’m not a wizard, but a Watchful Sister of the Earth. A follower and servant of Chauntea, Our Mother,” she said with a smile.

Vheod looked puzzled. “Our Mother?”

“Yes. Chauntea nurtures and provides for our world. She loves and cares for all growing things.” It felt strange to be talking about her faith with a tanar’ri—or half tanar’ri, anyway. According to all she’d ever read or been taught about creatures such as he, Vheod was an abomination. Of course, she really hadn’t read that much. Demonology was hardly a requirement for a priest of Chauntea. She’d heard a few stories about creatures summoned by wizards or great monstrosities that walked the land in earlier, more arcane ages, but she honestly never thought she might ever, or could ever, simply talk with one.

“I see. There are few priests where I come from, and they all worship, well … things better left unworshiped and names better left unspoken. I am more familiar with wizardry than priestcraft. Forgive me.”

Melann kept her smile. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

What must it have been like to have lived in—well, wherever he came from? A place of evil and darkness, certainly, but now he was here, and he’d seen beauty and freedom. Could anyone in the world appreciate the Mother of All’s goodness and bounty more than he?

Melann turned away from him, looking at the green, rolling hills that led up in every direction to high, rocky peaks. Birds sang in the trees that dotted the hills, and the nurturing sun blazed down in all its glory, as if to spread its energy on the world for one last moment as it prepared to rest for the night. It was so easy to trust utterly in the goodness and might of Chauntea gazing on such a scene. It was easy to see that she guided all things with her divine hands.

But what if Vheod was right? What if Melann and Whitlock couldn’t find the cure for the wasting disease that drained away their parents’ lives? Worse yet, what if in so trying they freed some horrible evil? Surely Chauntea wouldn’t lead her down such a path. Melann decided that Vheod must be mistaken. He must.

“What’s it like to believe in something so wholeheartedly?” Vheod asked her, staring straight ahead as he walked, “How can you trust in what you believe? And if the god you serve is truly worthy of service, how can you know that you are worthy to serve?” Vheod looked up at her. “I’m sorry. I have no business asking such—”

“No, that’s quite all right.” Melann swallowed. How did this man—if man he was—see her so clearly? His questions cut right to the heart of what troubled her, and why she was plagued with self-doubt.

“Proof that Our Mother is worthy of worship is all around you. Didn’t you say yesterday that you found our world beautiful? That’s the work of Chauntea.” She forced herself to smile, hoping it would cover for the fact that she left his last question unanswered.

Vheod just nodded, and didn’t press any further.

Whitlock remained closed mouthed. He obviously didn’t trust Vheod. His every mannerism made this
clear to Melann, and maybe to Vheod. Melann wasn’t so certain. She wasn’t willing to dismiss Vheod as quickly as her brother had. The elf spirit in the Vale of Lost Voices had spoken Vheod’s name. That had to mean something.

*  *  *  *  *

When darkness overcame the vale through which they traveled, the three of them stopped to sleep for the night. Vheod helped Whitlock gather wood for a fire. Neither of them spoke, but both kept a sharp eye out for more gnolls.

Melann had gathered some wild berries when they stopped earlier that day for a short rest. When they returned, she offered these to both men to supplement their rations. As he was the previous night, Vheod was grateful that they shared their food with him, for he had brought nothing to eat himself. Fortunately, his inhuman nature usually allowed him to go for long periods without needing to eat. Usually, Vheod didn’t think of food until the pangs of hunger allowed him to think of nothing else.

He happily accepted the berries, as well as leftover meat from some game birds Whitlock had killed the previous morning. While they ate, Whitlock muttered quietly about needing to hunt again the next day. Vheod planned to help him but kept quiet for now.

Removing his breastplate, Vheod stretched out near the fire. The heat didn’t bother him. Night birds, insects, and the crackling fire made the only noise for quite some time. To Vheod it seemed there were a great many birds in the area, but he realized it was probably normal and thought nothing more of it. Like the previous night, the three of them didn’t really know what to say to each other. Unlike the last
night, however, they weren’t so exhausted that they collapsed into almost immediate sleep. Melann finally broke the silence.

“Do you know anything about these green stones?”

She held up a small glassy stone she’d pulled from her pouch, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. It was lustrous and sparkled in the firelight. Vheod reached toward her with his hand open. She dropped the stone into his palm, and he felt the stone’s smooth surface between his fingers.

He shook his head and said, “No, I’ve no idea. Does it have meaning?”

“I’m beginning to think so,” she told him. “I took this from one of the gnolls that attacked us the first time. I noticed the second group also had some of them. They’re collecting them, I think. The stones have meaning to the gnolls. It’s a piece of the puzzle as to why they’re gathering, I think.”

Vheod nodded and looked again at the stone. “Do you think,” he asked her slowly, “it has anything to do with us, or with Chare’en?”

“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it does.”

Vheod just nodded again. He kept the stone.

Melann did not object. In fact, she changed the subject entirely. “Vheod, if you don’t feel I’m prying too much, could you tell us a little more about yourself? I mean, we’re traveling together, and yet I still feel as if I hardly know anything about you.”

Vheod should have been prepared for this, he realized, but he wasn’t. Surely these two, particularly Melann, wouldn’t want to hear about the horrors of the Abyss. Whitlock would probably trust him less than he already did. Melann, on the other hand, seemed sincerely friendly and welcoming, though Vheod found that hard to believe. Why should one such as she be so accepting of one such as him?
Perhaps she didn’t truly understand what he was. All the more reason not to tell them.

Vheod swallowed his food and lied, “There’s really very little to tell.”

“Oh, I find that remarkably hard to believe,” she replied. Her eyes widened. “I mean, you don’t even come from this world. That alone is the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, as I said yesterday, my family—my mother’s side—came from this world. I understand they were great sorcerers.”

“That figures,” Whitlock added with his mouth full.

Melann shot a glare at him but quickly looked back to Vheod. If that was meant to be an insult, Vheod didn’t understand it, so he chose to ignore it.

Vheod put his food down, no longer in a mood to eat. “I, unfortunately, never knew my mother. She died when I was born. I’ve been told that’s typical when humans give birth to nonhuman offspring. I also never knew my father. Most likely, he doesn’t even know I exist. Born in the bowels of the Abyss, I was raised by creatures some call alu-fiends. They’re sort of half human like me. Anyway, there were three of them, and they took me after my mother died, deciding to care for me so that I would grow and serve them as a protector. Unfortunately, they died long before I was old enough to protect them. That’s the way of things in the Abyss.

“I grew up on the streets of a city called Broken Reach. I met many … unique individuals there.” Vheod chortled humorlessly. “It’s more cosmopolitan than you might think. Creatures from hundreds of worlds and planes walked those streets. That’s where I first heard of Toril. In Broken Reach I learned to be a thief first, a warrior second, and a wizard last. Each
type of skill was helpful in my survival. You see, they don’t care for my kind in the Abyss. I was looked down on because I was a half-breed.”

“I imagine they didn’t like the other differences you displayed as well,” Melann said.

“What do you mean?” Vheod asked.

“The tanar’ri,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “They’re completely evil. They embody all that is chaos and evil in the multiverse. You’re not like that, right? I don’t know if most tanar’ri have the free will to choose to be what they are, but you’re different in at least that one way.”

Vheod thought for a moment. Tanar’ri live in dark, tortuous places and think only of death and rage. Life in this world was more than that.

“I hated them,” he answered finally. “I hated what they did to me, and I hated to think of myself as one of them. I never really gave it much more thought than that. I rarely had time to think about whether what I was doing was evil or not.”

Before he could stop to think, he found himself continuing on. “Don’t get me wrong. In the Abyss I learned to steal, to kill, and to do as I wanted. I worked as a professional assassin.” Vheod sighed deeply and looked at the ground. “Just before I left I was hired by a tanar’ri named Nethess to kill a man, and I found I couldn’t do it. I’d killed tanar’ri before—and other monstrous things—but I couldn’t kill this mortal man. Something stayed my hand. I’m really not sure what it was. For my troubles, I was hounded until I fled. I wound up here.”