The Gossamer Plain (6 page)

“I see that you still marvel at my collection of fine antiques,” boomed a voice from overhead.

Vhok and Lysalis simultaneously jerked their gazes up to peer at its source. A massive serpentine body reclined upon a large gallery that circled the chamber. His brilliant blue scales glittered in the light of the various lanterns placed throughout the room. A large, horned head rested upon a thick neck, with reptilian eyes studying the two visitors intently.

Vhok bowed in deference and said, “You are looking fit as always, Nahaunglaroth.”

“And you are as wretched a flatterer as ever, cambion,” the dragon replied, uncoiling himself and slithering over the side

of the gallery’s edge. As his body descended to the floor where Vhok and Lysalis stood, the sorceress took an involuntary step back. Vhok did not flinch, though he felt a moment of dread wash through him. Nahaunglaroth was a dragon, after all.

The scaled body began to shift then, shrinking and melding until it was no longer serpentine. When the transformation was complete, no evidence remained that a dragon had ever been in the room. Only a man, dressed lavishly in navy breeches and silk shirt, with a lighter blue silken doublet, stood in the company of the visitors. His eyes, however, still possessed that intense, reptilian gaze.

“So, you’ve come to bring me more trinkets?” the man said, striding forward. “Whatever other unworthy qualities you may have, fiend, you at least know the way to a wyrm’s heart. What have you to show me?”

Vhok had to smother a chuckle. Nahaunglaroth was, like all of his draconic kin, too greedy for his own good. Even with all of his finery on display, the creature wanted more, always more. For that, the cambion was thankful.

“Lysalis—if you please?” Vhok said, and the sorceress obliged him by beginning an incantation. Nahaunglaroth tensed for a moment, but when the fey’ri produced a tiny chest in the palm of her hand, set it down, and stepped back, the dragon could not resist the urge to peer down at it eagerly.

The chest expanded in size until it was as large as an overstuffed chair. It was a remarkable piece of furniture on its own, crafted of hand-rubbed duskwood with platinum fittings. Knowing that the dragon would be suspicious, Vhok opened the latch, then slowly lifted the lid.

The three of them gazed upon a trove of ancient elven and dwarven items. Vhok had brought his host numerous weapons, tomes, fabrics, and gem-encrusted valuables, all scoured from the lost places in and beneath the High Forest.

The contents of the chest represented years of the cambion’s life, both before and after the fall of Hellgate Keep.

It was no pittance he was parting with.

Nahaunglaroth knelt before the chest, his eyes gleaming in excitement. He almost cooed as he lifted first one item, then another from the container. Vhok knew he didn’t need to explain the value—financial or historical—to the dragon.

If anyone understands the true value of a priceless artifact, it’s a dragon, the cambion thought.

“Quite impressive,” Nahaunglaroth said, standing again. Vhok could see him working to hide his eagerness. “And appreciated as much for your generosity as for its value. It must have taken you a while to gather such trinkets.”

Trinkets? Vhok thought. A bit more dismissive than is warranted. Aloud, he replied, “Worth only a pittance compared to what I may gain should we be able, at last, to reach some sort of arrangement.”

“Ah, yes,” Nahaunglaroth said, strolling about his museum and casually examining the many items on display. “The alliance you have spoken of. Remind me again what it is you seek?” he asked, his back to the pair of half-fiends.

Vhok let one corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk, but he didn’t let the disdain creep into his voice as he said, “Of course. It seems to me that neither of us is going to succeed nearly as well in our relative pursuits so long as we remain at odds with one another. The simplicity of establishing a peaceable coexistence seems so natural. This would be especially true should I ascend to the master’s seat in Sundabar, as you already know I desire.”

“The problem with that,” the dragon said, still not turning around, “is that you fiends rut like there’s no tomorrow, and before we know it, you’re spread all over the place. My

mountain would be overrun with your brutish Scourged Legion in no time.”

Lysalis let out a low growl, but Vhok cut her off with a sharp gesture.

Nahaunglaroth turned around then, looking at both of his visitors with a knowing smile. “Touched a nerve, did I?” he asked.

“As long as we’re all being civil,” Vhok said, “my problem with the bargain is that you greedy dragons can never get enough of what glitters. I don’t mind so much, giving some of mine to you—after all, I have much greater political ambitions—but your demand for more would never stop. I’d bring you a bar of gold, you’d ask me why it wasn’t two.”

Nahaunglaroth glared at Vhok for a moment, and the cambion was almost certain that he had crossed the line, that whatever tenuous foothold he held on establishing a neutrality pact had just crumbled beneath him. He silently cursed himself for being so forward.

But then the dragon began to laugh. At first, it was a snicker, but it grew louder, deeper, and soon, the human in front of Vhok was outright guffawing, bent over and slapping his knee. Vhok couldn’t help but grin a bit in response to the comical scene. When the transformed wyrm managed to regain his breath and stand upright, Vhok could see that tears of mirth streamed down his host’s cheeks.

“I’ve never heard a dragon’s greed described quite so aptly,” Nahaunglaroth said at last. “I will give you credit, cambion— you don’t lack for bravado or wit. Not too many folk choose to show their true disposition while standing before a dragon. Now, I’ve got a surprise for you.” The creature put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. “There are things these human bodies are much better for,” he said, smiling, as they waited. “Never could do that until I learned how to shift

shapes. Whistling is so… interesting.” He began to twitter a tune then, some common drinking house song that Vhok recognized but couldn’t recall the words to.

The cambion just smiled and nodded, surprised at what might amuse a dragon. Is he being cagey, or eccentric? Vhok wondered.

After a moment, another half-dragon entered the room. It was similar in appearance to the guard that had escorted Vhok and Lysalis to the chamber, but it was slighter of build and seemed to hold a more intelligent gleam in its eyes. It carried a small silver coffer to Nahaunglaroth, then turned and left.

The dragon turned and passed the coffer to Vhok. “You brought me gifts, now I return the favor. Think of it as sealing the pact.” At Vhok’s surprised gaze, the creature nodded. “Yes, I’m willing to talk terms. I’ve had some time to think about your offer since your last visit, and honestly, the idea has merit. My father lost touch with the outside world, and my brother and I want to extend our reach farther, and gain influence and favors. So we are willing to enter into agreement with you, provided we can address a few concerns.

“In particular, we want to start acquiring a supply of magically enchanted weapons and armor for our Blood. You do intend to rekindle the forges of the Everfire once you seize control, don’t you?”

Vhok nodded absently and said, “Undoubtedly.” He opened the box and found an odd item resting inside. It was an alabaster carving of a vine-covered archway, perhaps the size of his fist. The cambion removed it from its case and held it up, examining it. He could sense latent magic radiating from within.

“My diviners knew you were coming tonight, and they also told me you are about to embark on a great journey,” Nahaunglaroth said, standing beside the half-fiend while

Lysalis crowded next to him on the other side. “Perhaps this small token will aid you,” the dragon added.

Vhok, slightly concerned that his plans were known to others, nodded his thanks. Let’s hope my enemies don’t glean as much about me, he thought.

“Here,” Nahaunglaroth said, taking the carved arch from Vhok, “let me show you how this works.”

Myshik Morueme paused and sniffed the dead air around him, gauging his path as much by intuition as by any mental map. The blue-scaled hobgoblin chose a direction and proceeded, drawing on his half-draconic heritage to feel his way. His heavy boots thunked rhythmically as he walked. He held his massive war axe cradled in the palms of his clawed hands. He knew that, should he confront any dwarves with it, the anger in their eyes would delight him.

The passage was worked stone, precisely carved out of the bedrock of mountains by dwarf tools wielded by dwarf hands. The quality of the architecture interested him not the slightest bit, except insofar as it helped guide him. For two days, Myshik had ascended out of the Underdark, passing through countless tunnels, ruined gates, and hallways that marked the outer boundaries of Old Delzoun. Steered by his knowledge of the ancient dwarven territory, he made steady progress toward its heart. Soon, he would reach the outskirts of an area he knew to be inhabited. There, he hoped to finally reap the rewards of his search.

Myshik paused at an intersection of two great hallways, breathing in the stones. He knew he was close. His instinct nudged him to his right, so he turned that way. The passage approached a grand staircase that ascended toward a pair

of massive stone doors, easily three times the half-dragon’s height. The portal had been closed for centuries, judging from the scattering of debris that littered the landing. Myshik stopped before them, frowning. He could not see a way to open them.

Then he spied a side passage, a crude tunnel that someone—or something—had bored through the rock to one side of the twin doors. He stepped toward it, gripping his axe a bit more tightly.

The tunnel digger had been in a hurry. The work was rough, crude. It was also considerably smaller than the surrounding tunnels. Certainly no dwarf handiwork, Myshik decided. The potential for ambush somewhere within its depths was not lost on the half-hobgoblin. Shrugging, he entered the passage anyway. It was the only route past the massive doors, and it was the direction he must go if he wished to find his quarry.

Thinking of his goal made the half-dragon smile. Treasure was precious. It let the clan live. Treasure reaped through battle was always more precious. He hoped that dwarves guarded great hordes of the stuff.

Myshik pushed through the cramped tunnel, keeping his leathery wings tucked close to his body. The passage did not travel far, only through the thick wall that supported the doorway. He wondered for a moment why the digger hadn’t chipped through the doors themselves, but dismissed the thought as he emerged on the other side. He entered what must have been a grand chamber, a massive hall so large that his darkness-attuned eyes could not make out any features within the limits of his vision.

He stood quite still for a moment, listening. All seemed perfectly quiet. Though he knew it would be risky, Myshik decided to illuminate the place so he could get a better look.

Reaching into a protected pocket, the half-hobgoblin produced an oblong bundle. Slowly unwrapping the cloth, he exposed a prism-shaped white crystal twice as thick as his clawed thumb and as long as his hand. As he folded back each layer of the covering, the intense glow of magical light grew stronger, until at last, blinking from its harsh glare, he held it openly in his palm.

Myshik held the stone aloft and slightly behind his head, using its brilliant glow to study his surroundings.

An abandoned stronghold.

The place where Myshik stood must have once served as a welcoming entryway marking the periphery of a dwarven settlement, though judging from its construction, the dwarves had been cautious hosts. The roof of the chamber soared high overhead, but directly before him stood formidable defenses. With his back to the stone doors, the half-hobgoblin faced a large wall that rose perhaps halfway to the ceiling. The top of the wall bristled with crenellations, and Myshik could see that its entire surface was pierced by arrow slits.

Another large portal bisected the wall, though solid doors did not seal that ingress. Instead, a great iron portcullis defended it. The immense metal grate hung almost all the way to the floor. Had it settled all the way down, the pointed iron protrusions lining its underside would have bored nicely into circular depressions in the stone. But a pair of large wooden braces erected beneath the huge portcullis held it aloft, preventing it from descending completely.

The braces had been crafted from immense rough-cut timbers lashed together with stout rope like gigantic saw-horses. The timbers’ girths were easily as big as Myshik’s chest, and the rope was as thick as his wrist. The half-dragon wondered how those who had constructed them had managed to drag such large timbers all the way down from the

surface. They looked stout enough, but the thought of several tons’ worth of iron bars crashing atop him unsettled him. He might decide to seek another route, perhaps by scaling the wall itself.

Of more immediate concern was the gaping chasm that separated him from the formidable wall. Fully thirty feet across, the yawning crevasse extended the width of the chamber and proceeded into the side walls. Indentations and markings lay upon the stone floor on his side of the chasm, as well as the remains of what looked like immense hinges on the far side. They suggested that a large drawbridge had spanned it at some time. Myshik suspected that the bridge had come to rest at the bottom.

The half-dragon approached the edge and peered over, shining his light down and searching for the bottom. The void descended beyond the limits of his illumination.

Myshik strolled to his left, following the edge of the cleft toward one wall. His gaze roamed over the place, seeking some safe means of crossing the chasm, but he spotted nothing. He repeated the process to his right. He found no spikes or ropes, nothing to suggest a safe means of traversing. He sighed.

Only one way, he decided.

The half-dragon backed up a number of steps and turned to face the chasm. Taking a few deep breaths, he mentally urged himself forward. Myshik took off at a sprint and dashed directly toward the gap, refusing to look down and instead eyeing the opposite side. When he reached the edge, he leaped up and forward. Under normal circumstances, no hobgoblin could have cleared such a wide barrier. But Myshik unfurled his leathery blue wings and fervently flapped them as he glided over the yawning chasm. True to his intentions, he never looked down.