The Gossamer Plain (13 page)

“By Maglubiyet’s bones!” the half-hobgoblin breathed, stumbling back.

The fiery thing’s six heads writhed and roared, and it lunged forward.

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 Faerűn, 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 Faerűn. 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.