The Gossamer Plain (8 page)

Aliisza must have taken a faltering step in that direction, for immediately, her foes rushed to try to encircle her. She dared not engage one of them and put her back to the other two, but she also couldn’t stand there and let them pick her apart with magic. She eyed the distance and wondered how much it would hurt to hurtle herself though the wooden panel.

The floor lurched beneath Aliisza’s feet. The room tottered and shook, and the alu stumbled, off balance. Piles of parchment, precariously stacked on many surfaces, slid to the floor, scattering everywhere. Books fell from the bookcases. The lamps swayed, and a candle fell to the floor, spilling wax

and setting fire to some of the scraps of parchment strewn nearby.

It took Aliisza a moment to realize what was happening. Then her mind wrapped around it. Earthquake!

The trio of assailants shifted and stumbled, caught as much by surprise as the alu. The priestess grabbed at the table to steady herself, while Zasian staggered backward and grasped the doorframe with both hands.

That distraction was all she needed. Fighting the swaying world, Aliisza darted forward, intent on launching herself through the window. The shifting of the floor and the scattering of scrolls and parchment made it difficult for her to build speed, but she closed the distance. When she was several steps away, she began to tuck, anticipating the trajectory she would use to hurtle herself through the shutters and escape into the night.

The rogue by the fireplace, deft on his feet, recovered quickly. In a blinding swirl of motion, he sent the net spinning, fanning out into a large circle. Aliisza sprinted and jumped, lifting herself off the ground. She tucked herself into a ball, desperate to evade the trap and break through.

She was a step too slow.

The net settled around her body, the weights attached to its edges pulling it tight. She thrashed and fought its confining embrace even as the rogue pulled on a trailing rope, yanking the net taut.

Unable to complete her leap to freedom, Aliisza jerked to a sudden stop and tumbled to the stone floor. She landed hard, absorbing most of the impact on one shoulder. She felt jarring, burning pain shoot through the joint and felt one of her wings crack as it bent at an angle beneath her weight. The pain nauseated her, and spots swam in her vision.

Fighting panic, Aliisza rolled to a sitting position to face

her oncoming attackers. The ground seemed to have ceased pitching, and the trio was closing the distance with her. She fumbled to bring her magical blade to bear, trying to pull it free of the confining net, but the tangle of hemp strands made her efforts fruitless.

Aliisza gave up and frantically fumbled a hand toward one of her pouches. She knew a spell she could cast without speaking, one that would permit her to transform into a puddle of liquid. If she could summon the magic to do so, she reasoned, she might be able to slip away by oozing through the gap between the shutters. But she needed a pinch of gelatin to conjure the transformation. She slipped her hand inside the pouch and began fumbling for the packet of powder.

Her seemingly endless streak of bad luck continued.

The priestess, a lackey of Torm judging from the markings upon her breastplate, loomed over the half-fiend. She hit Aliisza hard on one shoulder with her mace. The blow hurt, knocking her back and sending the contents of her pouch tumbling onto the floor beneath the writing table in the center of the room. The crushing strike sent spidery pain all through the alu’s body, unnatural holy burning that caused Aliisza to cry out, though no sound could escape her lips.

The alu tried to roll backward, to swing her feet over her head to end in a crouch, but the netting hindered her. In frustration, she kicked out at the priestess, but the woman sidestepped and smacked her mace against the half-fiend’s ankle, sending another jolt of agonizing pain through her body.

As Aliisza crumpled in injury and exhaustion, the hateful priestess stood proudly over her, brandishing the blessed weapon. Something inside the alu, a deep-rooted survival instinct that she could feel but not understand, overcame her. She named it cowardice, an unwelcome trait undoubtedly

inherited from her human father. She loathed herself for succumbing to it, even as she raised her arms in defeat.

The priestess never stopped smiling as she swung the heavy weapon down, slamming it into Aliisza’s forehead.

All the world melted away in a torrent of pain and blackness.

“Remember, no unnecessary risks,” Vhok instructed his lieutenant. “The legion will grow restless, but keep them out of sight.” He gazed at the city of Sundabar in the distance, illuminated by watch fires along the walls.

Rorgak nodded. “They will question why,” he said, giving Vhok an expectant glance.

“Theirs is not to question,” the cambion snapped. “Explain to those who do that it had better not get back to me. The wait will be worth it.”

A chill wind blew across the low hillock where he, his lieutenant, and Lysalis stood. Around the three of them, the half-frozen grasses of the Rauvin Valley rustled. The ice that coated the scrub crackled in the wind, reminding Vhok of dissonant bells. He shivered, finding the arctic breezes unpleasant on his hot skin.

“Make sure you maintain the illusion that I am still here,” the cambion warned. “The tent and guards remain in place. 1 have set the wards to permit you to enter. The cloaking magic will keep prying eyes and ears from learning that you are actually alone when you receive’ new orders from me.”

The red-scaled, hulking tanarukk nodded again. “I will visit you daily,” he said. Then, after a lingering silence, he asked, “What of Aliisza? What should I tell her if she returns?”

She won’t, Vhok thought. Not if we’re lucky. Out loud, he

said, “Tell her the truth. Explain to her that I have undertaken a separate, secret mission to retrieve powerful magic to aid us in the impending conquest. She will discover it in due time herself, regardless. She has access to the tent.”

“You don’t think she’s going to return,” the tanarukk lieutenant said, as much a question as a statement.

Vhok shrugged, not wishing to give away what he already knew. “As always, she plots her own course, whatever instructions I give her. She… intrigues me that way,” he said, more to himself than to his subordinate. It was a good lie, because it was still the truth.

Rorgak knew better than to respond to such a comment. Instead, the lieutenant asked, “How long will you be away?”

Vhok considered his answer before he lied again. “A day or two, maybe three.”

Any longer, the cambion thought, and Rorgak might decide it was time to start commanding and do something impetuous. Vhok knew full well that the burly officer relished the chance to control the seething, war-crazed legion. He harbored no doubts that his lieutenant had designs of taking over for him some day—with or without Kaanyr Vhok s blessings.

Far in the future, Vhok silently insisted. I am not done with them yet.

“Good travels, then,” Rorgak replied, saluting.

The cambion returned the gesture and looked at Lysalis. She mentally commanded the magic that whisked the two of them deep under the surface.

Rorgak’s competence was already gone from the cambion’s thoughts when he and his sorceress appeared upon the spiral steps within the abandoned Forge Tower. He could feel that the heat was more oppressive than the last time he had visited.

The fey’ri magic must be going well, he thought.

Vhok ascended the staircase and stepped into view of his minions, still hard at work magically disrupting the Everfire. He saw evidence of a recent battle atop the tower. One of the fey’ri sorcerers lay unmoving, his skin blackened, and several others showed signs of injuries. A pair of the demonic elves perched on the edge of the roof, wands in their hands, gazing down into the depths of the chamber below.

Lysalis surveyed the situation, examining the dead and wounded fey’ri and studying the floor far below. She turned to Vhok and caught his eye, then gave a jerk of her head to indicate that he should see what was transpiring. The cambion strolled to the edge and peered over the side.

The Everfire roared and bucked, sloshing scalding hot liquid rock. It swelled and spilled over the sides of its channel, sliding across the vast floor and cooling in uneven mounds. Dwarves had scattered throughout the cavern, furiously working to stop the onslaught of fiery destruction. Their efforts were hampered by the churning lava, the magical attacks from the sorcerers on the tower, and a horde of tanarukks that pressed the attack directly.

Some of the dwarves had formed a shield wall. They defended a second, smaller group from attack, fighting to keep the swarming tanarukks away from their charges while the smaller collection worked magic. The wizards, clerics, and sorcerers struggled to repel the mass of fiendish ores. At the same time, they flung destructive magic at the sorcerers atop the tower.

Even as Vhok watched, a sizzling nugget of fire soared upward from the cluster of arcane spellcasters. He recognized the fireball well before it reached him. The cambion chuckled as the blast of searing fire erupted all around him. The burst singed the heated air, but he and his sorcerers remained unscathed.

The diversion seemed well in hand, so the cambion looked at Lysalis. “It’s time to go,” he said. He pointed to an overhang of natural rock jutting from the cavern wall near the sloshing, churning Everfire. “Whisk us over there, please,” he instructed the sorceress.

Lysalis gave Vhok a slightly chagrined look and shrugged. “You’ve had me whisking you here and there all evening,” she said. “I can’t perform that particular trick again for a while. At least not until I rest and recuperate.”

Vhok frowned, eyeing the vast space between the base of the tower and the promontory he sought. “Then I guess we’ll get there the old-fashioned way,” he said, pulling his long sword, Burnblood, free of its scabbard. “We’ll drop down on the far side and work our way around those sluice channels, which will give us some cover from the fight. Over the side it is, then.”

The fey’ri nodded, chanted a. few lines of sorcery, and moved to join him on the far side of the tower. Together, they stepped off the edge and began to plummet toward the bottom. Near the halfway mark of the fall, Vhok invoked an innate ability and immediately slowed his descent, creating a magical disk of force beneath himself and levitating upon it in the air. Beside him, Lysalis also slowed, though her reduced speed hinted at a gentle drifting, as though she were light as a feather.

Two different tricks, similar outcome, Vhok chuckled. “Race you down,” he called, allowing his disk to accelerate its descent. He dropped below his sorcerous minion and reached the rough-hewn floor of the great cavern a few heartbeats before she did.

As soon as Lysalis joined the commander of the Scourged Legion, they crept around to survey the battlefield. The dwarves were hard pressed on two sides. It wasn’t quite a flanking

maneuver, but it served its purpose well enough, pinning the stout folk and keeping them away from the Everfire. It appeared the cambion and his fey’ri sorceress could reach the wall unhindered and unnoticed, as long as they stayed on the far side of the sluice channels, which were overflowing with lava.

Kaanyr Vhok nodded to himself in satisfaction and began to trot across open ground, angling toward the nearest channel. Lysalis fell in close behind him. If the pair could reach the barrier unseen, then they could follow its length to the Everfire itself without engaging the enemy. Though he would enjoy beheading a dwarf or two, Vhok felt a greater sense of urgency to reach that point of rock and begin his journey.

As the pair of half-fiends made their way toward their destination, a small group of dwarves appeared from a side tunnel nearby. They noticed the pair of demonic visitors and immediately charged across the gap toward them. Vhok sighed in exasperation. So much for staying out of sight, he thought. He went into a defensive crouch, counting enemies. There were nearly a dozen.

A billowing cloud of steam erupted across the cambion’s field of vision as Lysalis generated a magical effect aimed at the dwarves. Vhok could feel the tingle of extreme cold, though he did not experience the damaging effects of it. As the cloud of steam dissipated in the scorching air, Vhok could see that more than half the dwarves had fallen. A thin rime, all crystalline white, coated them, and though the ice was melting quickly, it had done its job.

The remaining four dwarves rushed on, and Vhok could see more entering from the same side cavern nearby.

We don’t have time for this, the cambion thought in mild irritation as he slashed at the first dwarf opponent. As much fun as this is, if the main battle group notices us, we’ll never get through.

The blade he wielded, an ancient elven weapon crafted during the height of Aryvandaar, carved through the dwarf’s shield and gashed deeply into his neck and shoulder. With a grunt of pain, the stout one stumbled away, his place taken by another. Vhok swung again, but his new foe was more wary and stepped back. They began their dance, Vhok and his fey’ri companion, working side by side to keep the heavily armored dwarf soldiers at bay.

A rapid series of glowing darts shot from Lysalis’s fingertips, pummeling her closest opponent directly in the face. The dwarf screamed and dropped to one knee, clutching his face with his gauntleted hands. Vhok took the opportunity to slip his sword between the segmented plates of his armor, silencing him. Even as the dwarf toppled, the cambion spun to parry the slashing attack of another dwarf with an oversized battle hammer.

As Vhok dropped his last enemy, Lysalis grunted in pain. The cambion turned to see her reel from a dwarf who had slammed her with his spiked shield. Her face was ashen and her expression spoke of agonizing pain. She slumped down next to the cambion, gasping for breath.

“Blessed!” she managed to blurt out, her eyes growing wide with horror. “Beware its power!”

Vhok was no longer watching the fey’ri, though. Upon hearing her warning, he turned his full attention upon the dwarf with the deadly shield.