The Gossamer Plain (25 page)

Dwarves, Vhok thought in disgust. Here, as far away from Faerűn as I can possibly be, there are damnable dwarves!

The stout ones looked in many ways like their normal kin. Strong, sinewy arms and legs sprouted from thick, stumpy torsos. Though made of fire, their hair and beards were thick and bushy. Both their skin and clothing seemed fashioned of brass or bronze.

And most importantly, thought Vhok wryly, they are all frowning.

Those in the front rank brandished copper-colored warhammers, while those in the back held short spears aloft. All of them were trying to approach the duo in a stealthy manner.

Invisible, the half-fiend realized. He grew angry that he and the priest had become careless, had stopped paying attention. We are tired, he thought. Tired idiots.

Vhok turned to Zasian to gauge the priest’s intentions and spied another group of the flaming dwarves coming from the opposite direction. They, too, had been invisible a moment earlier, until Zasian’s spell had revealed them. Between the

two lines, they held both ends of the trail. They had planned their ambush well, for there was nowhere for the two travelers to run.

The two groups of fiery dwarves, realizing they had been exposed, slowed a bit and held their weapons higher. They eyed Vhok and Zasian warily but did not rush forward to attack, as the cambion expected. Instead, one from the first group stepped forward, a staff thrust toward the duo. “You will surrender to us, outlanders,” he said in thickly accented Common. “Or you will perish by flame and weapon.”

Zasian only stared. He seemed a bit bemused at the turn of events. He gave Vhok a glance. “Well?” he asked. “What do you want to do? Perish or surrender?”

Vhok realized the priest was barely preventing himself from bursting out in laughter. The cambion wasn’t quite sure what was so amusing to the man. “I hardly think this is funny,” he growled, low so the others couldn’t hear him. “More gods-forsaken dwarves, and we had to stumble into the middle of them. I never want to see another dwarf in my life!”

“Surrender now, or we will slay you!” the leader of the creatures called, a bit louder and more forcefully.

“A moment, please my friend,” Zasian said, motioning to the dwarf for patience. “We are discussing your terms.” He turned to Vhok and almost started laughing. “It’s funny because I know how put out you are!” Zasian said quietly, still smirking. The priest chuckled for a moment, then managed to straighten his face. “In all seriousness, though, they have called for our surrender. Do you wish to fight our way out of this, or perhaps see if we can negotiate with them? We might convince them to guide us to the City of Brass.”

Vhok grimaced. “I hardly think dwarves, hair afire or no, are interested in helping us, “he said. “I’d as soon eat them alive as speak with them, and the feeling is mutual, I’m sure.”

“Not necessarily,” Zasian said. “These beings dwell far away from Sundabar and the Silver Marches. There’s no reason to assume that they are aware of your animosity toward their kin or your reputation back home.”

The leader of the dwarves, apparently impatient over the travelers’ refusal to respond, barked orders at his squads of soldiers. The dwarves on both sides closed in on Vhok and Zasian. From a back rank, one even lofted a short spear into the air. The weapon struck the ground near Vhok’s feet and wobbled there for a moment.

“I’ll kill them all,” Vhok hissed, reaching for Burnblood. “Every last one of them.”

“No,” Zasian admonished, taking hold of the cambion’s arm. “Restrain yourself.”

Vhok was on the verge of yanking his arm free, but the tone of the priest’s voice gave him pause. He turned to glare at the man instead, to warn him against ever laying an unwelcome hand upon himself again.

“I told you I would speak plainly when I thought your actions were folly,” Zasian said as the dwarves closed in. “Well, this is one such time. You do nothing to further your own cause by fighting them. They are intelligent—we can reason with them. Give it a chance before you become berserk with bloodlust against them.”

Vhok clenched his teeth in fury, unwilling to acknowledge that the priest had a point. He only wanted to wreak havoc among the flame-haired nemeses and be done with them. But he knew that Zasian was right. Both of them were exhausted from travel and battle, and what they really needed were allies rather than enemies. Once more, he was being forced to trust where trust did not come naturally.

“All right,” he said, yanking his arm out of Zasian’s grasp. “We’ll try it your way first.” He released his blade, letting it

slide back into its sheath, and held up his hands in supplication. “We agree to your terms,” he called to the dwarves. “We have no wish to fight you.” Then he turned and whispered fiercely to the priest, “But if this doesn’t work out well for us, I will Ray you along with Myshik!”

Zasian’s stare was cold and indignant, but he didn’t say anything.

The dwarf leader insisted that the pair drop all their weapons. It took several moments for the two prisoners to explain that their goods would burn to a crisp should they let them go.

“You have our word that we shall not lift a finger against you,” Zasian said, “but we cannot allow our belongings to leave our possession. However,” he added, reaching into his tunic, “we can offer you this as a show of good faith.”

The nearest dwarf drew up in alarm when the priest began pulling something out, and the others raised their weapons higher, ready for trouble..

Seeing their concern, Zasian paused and smiled. “It is nothing to harm you, I promise. It is merely a token of our trustworthiness.” He withdrew his hand slowly, letting them see that he held only a simple pouch.

Vhok recognized it as one of the numerous packets of gems they had brought with them to aid in smoothing negotiations once they reached the City of Brass. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Zasian revealing how wealthy they were, but it was too late to object. If those dwarves were as greedy for the bright, shiny things as the dwarves back home, they might be softened up by such a gift.

On the other hand, the cambion thought, they might try to tear us limb from limb to see if we have more.

Zasian carefully opened the pouch and sprinkled a few amethysts into his palm. He held the gemstones out for the

leader to see. The dwarf’s bright, pupil-less yellow eyes burned brighter and he reached toward the stones with one hand. Very quickly, Zasian slipped the gems back into the small pouch and set the entire bag into the dwarf s palm.

“I would find something else to put those in,” he suggested. “That bag is likely to turn to ash in a matter of moments.”

The dwarf stared at the priest for several breaths, as if appraising him, then nodded and produced a small copper urn from within his belongings. He dropped the gems, pouch and all, into the urn and put it away.

“Your gift is most generous,” he said, “though as our prisoners, everything you own belongs to us anyway. Do you have mote?”

Zasian drew himself up and gave the dwarf leader a commanding stare. “We would prefer to think of ourselves as your guests,” he said imperiously. “And consider carefully that you managed to get your hands on those without any sort of struggle. To obtain more, against our wishes, would be much more difficult. The loss of life would be tremendous, hardly worth the effort.”

The dwarfs eyes grew wide again, though for a very different reason. He drew himself more upright, too. He was on the verge of challenging Zasian’s threat. Then he appeared to think better of it.

“You will come with us,” he announced. “We must take you before Lord Cripakolus, the azer clan chief. He will decide what must be done with you.”

Vhok frowned. “We have traveled far and battled strange winged lizards in the sky. We are quite weary and must rest soon. Can this not wait?” He didn’t relish the idea of being taken to some dwarven stronghold for questioning.

“No,” the dwarf said. “But our camp is not far. Lord Cripakolus will want to meet you. We azer do not see such

exotic travelers in our mountains very often. He will receive you as guests, not prisoners, if you give him more gems. As gifts, of course.”

Vhok snorted in derision, but Zasian gave the cambion a warning look before nodding to the dwarf. “If your clan lord is willing to provide us with a guide to our destination, then we might be able to come to an arrangement that pleases him.” Then, more softly, so that only Vhok could hear, he added, “What can it hurt? At the very least, they might be able to offer us more comfortable surroundings in which to rest. It can’t be much worse than here.”

Vhok still held reservations, but again, the priest’s arguments made sense. And he had already agreed that they would follow it to some conclusion. He didn’t see the point of changing his mind too quickly. He looked at the azer leader and motioned for them to proceed.

“Lead on,” he said, glaring. “And pray that your clan lord accommodates us well.”

The dwarf stared back at Vhok briefly, then turned and issued more orders to his soldiers. The troops took up positions as escorts, surrounding the two visitors. The fiery humanoids then began to lead their two charges up the trail, climbing the slopes of the mountain.

The path meandered just as it had before Vhok and Zasian had run into the dwarves. The trail switched back on itself multiple times, ascending the steep slope at a gradual rate. The land was solid, though it still popped, crackled, and spit jets of flame into the air almost constantly.

The smoky haze that was so prevalent at the lower elevations grew even more pronounced up the mountainside. Unlike the highest reaches of mountains on Abeir-Toril, the trees did not become more stunted and then disappear completely. Instead, the crystal-trees grew larger, creating a

glassy canopy that almost completely blocked out the ember glow of the sky above.

It reminded Vhok of walking through an immense cathedral, not a comfortable sensation for the half-fiend.

The group crossed several of the narrow black bridges. Each had been crafted from blocks of glassy black stone. Each block appeared perfectly formed, rather than hewn. Vhok was certain the rock had been liquid at one time and had been poured into molds.

As they walked, Vhok whispered to his counterpart. “How did you know they were there?” he asked, inclining his head to indicate the dwarves. “How did you see them when they were still invisible?”

“Ah,” the priest said, nodding in understanding. “My weapon. I can perceive invisible things with it at any time, even without concentrating to detect them. I keep the scroll handy to aid others without the-benefit.”

“If we had noted them sooner, we might not have wound up in their ‘care,’ ” Vhok said.

“And we might also still be arguing about where to take refuge,” Zasian shot back. “Think of the potential benefits rather than the consequences.”

Vhok grunted. “I am trying,” he said, “but old hatreds are difficult to overcome.”

They continued for some time longer until at last they reached a valley, a broad flat shelf cut from the mountain near its top. Steep-sided ridges huddled on either side of it and provided protection. A great stone wall made of the same igneous rock bisected the valley, with a large gate set near the middle. A stream of fire leaked through a low gap at one place in the wall, then meandered the rest of the way out of the valley until it plunged over the side and became a tumultuous cascade skipping down the mountainside.

Vhok could see more of the flame-haired folk manning the walls. As the group approached, a heavy portcullis made of bronze—or some similar metal—rose, admitting them entrance. Just like on Faerűn, the clans of dwarves seemed to love mountain fortifications that were stout and forbidding.

Their escorts led them through the massive portal and into the enclosed space beyond, where a small village lined the main thoroughfare. Only a handful of buildings had been erected, constructed of stone and brassy metals. Vhok saw puddles of fire everywhere, and smoking vapors wafted across his field of vision. A handful of azer, gathering fire into large kettles or urns of brass, stopped and stared as the entourage passed. The cambion spied citizens of all ages, from the very elderly to the diminutive young. Vhok stared back at them all, trying to keep his distaste from showing on his face.

After passing through the small surface community, an advance outpost if the cambion read the situation right, Vhok and Zasian followed their escort into a great passage cut into the stone of the mountain. Twin valves of coppery metal could seal the great mouth of the cavern when needed, but they stood open, and numerous azer passed in and out under the watchful gazes of more soldiers, armed and dressed similarly to those who accompanied the travelers.

The interior of the large tunnel glowed the ember orange color of fire. Vhok observed that the stream that pierced the outer wall originated within the passage, flowing down from the ceiling and walls like thin syrup, then gathering into a pool upon the floor. From there, it wound its way through the village before disappearing over the side of the mountain.

The path was bisected by the great lava pool. A series of large stone blocks, several paces on a side, served as stepping stones. The top of each block sat perhaps the height of a man above the surface of the liquid fire, but Vhok still felt the great

heat radiating from it. He realized for the dozenth time that he was parched and badly needed water. He wondered if it even existed on the plane.

Beyond the stepping stones, the path became solid again, rising higher into the mountain. Like many dwarf abodes, the central tunnel had been cut wide, ran straight, and bore many side passages. At one place, the route became a ledge within a gargantuan cavern where a lake of lava roiled and churned far below. The huge chamber featured stalactites jutting down from the ceiling. Unlike the familiar stone projections found in caverns in Faerűn, the ones Vhok observed were formed from molten rock that cooled as it dripped down from above. From time to time, great bubbles of superheated gases erupted from the lava, causing gouts of liquid rock to spew upward, adding to the bizarre geological formations.