by Monte Cook
Leaving the cover of the woods, Vheod entered the tiny settlement, walking amid the small buildings constructed of felled logs fitted crudely together. Smoke rose from a number of them, carrying with it good, wholesome smells that tugged at Vheod’s nose, making him suddenly aware of his own hunger. Trying to ignore the feeling, he walked toward a central area from which all the other buildings seemed to radiate and the largest building in town stood. He never reached it.
A man dressed in rough, sturdy clothes stepped through an open doorway. As he walked he pulled thick leather work gloves onto his hands, despite the growing heat of the day. His face concealed with a thick beard, the man looked up at Vheod with surprise.
“Who in the name of Helm are you?” the man asked.
“Silence,” Vheod said, attempting to sound as powerful and confident as he could, despite his smoky, scratched voice. “I am Vheod Runechild, and I must know where the place called Tilverton lies.”
The man backed slowly into the open doorway. “Feshik! Get out here,” he yelled, still staring at Vheod.
“And bring my sword,” he added over his shoulder.
Vheod was confused. He looked around, even behind him, but saw nothing. By the time he returned his gaze to the man, a young boy had appeared in the doorway, attempting to peer around the large man. The child’s black hair was tousled, and his eyes opened almost as wide as his mouth as he stared at Vheod.
“Who is that, Papa?” the child asked.
“I said to bring my sword!” the man replied, pushing the child backward into the house with a wide, gloved hand.
“You don’t need your sword,” Vheod said, extending an empty hand in the man’s direction. “I have need of knowledge. Aid me and no one will be harmed.”
“What you’ll get is a taste of steel, demon.”
Demon? Was it so obvious? “As I said, there’s no need for that.”
“What’s going on here, Tallin?” a voice came from behind Vheod, causing him to whirl in surprise, his hand instinctively going for his sword hilt—an action he immediately regretted. He just was not accustomed to this sort of peaceful approach. His instincts were too versed in danger.
Behind him stood another man, larger but older than the first. His yellow hair receded from his forehead, and his face was clean shaven. He hefted a wood axe at the ready as Vheod turned. The cambion pulled his hand away from his hilt, holding his hands open and high in front of him.
“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” he said.
“Who is he, Tallin?” The axeman asked. His eyes narrowed as he examined Vheod.
“I figure he’s a servant of the Spider Lord,” the man in the door replied.
Vheod looked behind him now to see the child bring a broadsword to the man. The boy lifted the heavy sword with both hands, handing it to the man carefully. The child’s wide eyes remained focused on Vheod.
“Get back inside now, Feshik,” Tallin told him. The boy complied, eyes still wide with fear.
“Looks a little like a dark elf to me,” the man with the axe stated.
A dark elf? A drow? Servant of Lolth? Vheod knew of the drow and their Abyssal mistress, the spider queen Lolth.
“I assure you, I’m no drow,” he told them, hands still help open in front of him. “And I’m no one’s servant.”
“Mallach! Chorrad!” the older man cried out in the direction of the woods. “Get over here, we’ve got a … we’ve got something.”
Vheod saw doors to the buildings around him begin to open, and frightened eyes peered out.
“I’ve come here,” Vheod explained again, “just to get some informa—”
“Be quiet!” Tallin spat out, stepping forward, his bared sword upraised.
Vheod turned back fully to face him. How long could he keep from drawing his own blade? Vheod thought they would respect his powerful demeanor and help him. Why wouldn’t they even listen?
“Whatever it is, it ain’t human,” the man behind him now said, “and it ain’t, well … anything good. You can tell that just by looking.”
“Look, demon—or whatever you are—leave us or die,” Tallin said, staring Vheod in the eye.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Vheod said, pleading with his open hands.
Looking down, he could see that the Taint was no longer on either arm. Where was it? He sometimes suspected that it altered when others looked at him, perhaps communicating something to them. Perhaps others saw something in the mark that he didn’t, which might suggest that his own body conspired with others against him—a paranoiac’s nightmare.
“He’s a drow,” a female voice called from an open door across the way.
Another, a male, replied, “Drow don’t have red hair.”
“I’ll bet he was conjured up in that storm yesterday,” still another voice called out. “Manchal says storms like that are a sign that a doorway between worlds is opening.”
Footfalls grew louder behind him, coming from the direction of the woods.
“I just need to know how to find a place called—”
Tallin watched something over Vheod’s shoulder and suddenly drew himself up taller, as if more confident. The footsteps behind Vheod were louder still. He lunged at Vheod with his sword, shouting, “I said, get away from here!”
Vheod dodged to one side to avoid the sword blow and could hear the man behind him moving closer, probably with that axe ready to cleave his skull.
“I don’t want to fight you!” Vheod finally cried. He couldn’t keep his rising anger and frustration from showing in his voice.
“You’ll not find us to be defenseless prey,” Tallin said, again raising his blade.
Vheod drew his sword, the Abyssal steel ringing in the morning air.
Just then, two more men ran up the bare earthen road. One carried an axe, the other a long knife. They cried out in surprise and ran at Vheod.
Vheod shot his blade straight out at the one called Tallin, catching him right where he wanted—the wrist of his sword arm. Tallin’s blade flung end over end through the air as his fingers splayed wide. His other hand reached up to grasp at the painful but minor wound. Tallin cursed, but Vheod had no time to listen. Two more men approached, and there was still someone behind him with a—
Pain flared in Vheod’s armored shoulder as metal clanged against metal next to Vheod’s ear. The man had struck his shoulder but fortunately hadn’t penetrated the pauldron. Vheod turned and brought his sword up to block the man’s second blow. The two other men charged toward him, and he could hear more humans stirring all around, probably grabbing weapons to help.
“Go back where you came from!” the axe wielder shouted.
Vheod now knew he would have to kill all these insufferable, intolerant, misbegotten fools who—
No.
Something within him bade him to fight that urge. Perhaps because of the growing distance from the baleful Abyss, other forces were able to work within him, despite the fact that he still felt the evil in his nature as strongly as ever. Years of swordplay beckoned his arm to raise the weapon and cut down these men. Vheod forced his arm to remain still. He was suddenly forced to remember days earlier when Nethess had hired him to kill an enemy of hers. Living by his wits and fighting skills, Vheod took the job. To his surprise, Vheod discovered that his target was a human mortal—not a tanar’ri. Further surprising him, Vheod found he could not kill the man. At the last moment, the mortal portion of Vheod’s soul had conjured forth his conscience, which stayed his hand. He couldn’t kill a man as easily or thoughtlessly as he might slay a fiend.
This discovery may have surprised Vheod, but it only enraged Nethess. Now he found the same strange reluctance. He had to think of another way.
There was no time for a spell. If he fought these men, he would end up killing them. Vheod reached deep within himself, thrusting a mental hand deep into the dark well of fiendish power. He called to it, like a master calls an attack dog. Dark energy welled up inside him, c
limbing up his throat from his gut. Vheod choked back the bile that it brought with it and thrust the energy out from him into the world. A magical darkness exuded from every pore, enveloping him and hiding him from sight. It spread impenetrable darkness as well. Though he’d called for such darkness before—it was a common enough trick among the tanar’ri—he never noticed that the darkness seemed oily and smelled of spoiled food. It had never occurred to him to pay attention before now.
Vheod tried to comfort himself in the fact that the darkness would eventually fade. He couldn’t spare the time to think about it any further. The darkness kept the men from attacking him. Their shouts of surprise and terror only helped create further confusion. Vheod knew from experience that once oncoming foes were thrust into such darkness, they were likely to begin swinging their weapons wildly. He immediately dived to the ground and began to crawl a few feet away.
Still within the mass of inky blackness, Vheod muttered sorcerous words long-practiced, forming a short incantation. He couldn’t see, but he could feel the power unleashed by his spell spreading over him. Starting at his fingers, a prickling sensation spread down his arms, across his chest, down his body and back up until it covered his head. He had used this particular incantation many times, so he didn’t need to see to know what the spell accomplished. In fact, sight wouldn’t allow him to see the effect at all—that was the point. This spell rendered him beyond the vision of those who sought him. He held his breath as the magical effect finished clothing him in invisibility. Then, and only then, he slipped out of the darkness altogether.
By that time, as he blinked away the sudden light of day outside his dark creation, he saw his assailants drawing away from the oily cloud, recoiling from the frightening and surprising magic.
“I told you he was some creature of evil!” the axeman shouted to anyone who might listen.
A young woman ran up with a strung hunting bow pulled taut with a nocked arrow. She pointed it at the roiling blackness, but one of the men who had run in from the forest grasped the bow before she could loose her missile.
“No!” he told her. “It might fly through the darkness and strike someone on the other side. Everyone, wait. We’ve got to find him. I’ve seen this spell before.”
“But Chorrad,” a man’s voice called out, “we’ve got to do something before he attacks us—or the children!” It was Tallin. He still grasped his wrist, but he’d regained his blade. A woman in a simple dress stood behind him with a bloody cloth that she tried to apply to his arm, but he pushed her back with a determined scowl.
Vheod determined then that his only recourse was to slip out of the village before a real fight started. A voice in his head nagged him, telling him: these simpletons deserve whatever harsh treatment you deal out. You tried to approach in peace, and they attacked you. Shaking his head, he tried to think about something else. How was he going to find Tilverton now?
Using soft, slow movements, he slipped out of the village’s center and the crowd of people gathering there, despite the fact that all of them were looking for him. His spell proved more than capable of hiding him. He escaped with ease, but he wasn’t glad. He knew no more than he had before, except that help was going to be harder to obtain than he’d thought.
Perhaps this world had no place for him after all.
At the edge of the settlement, Vheod found a small stable and corral with a handful of creatures he knew to be horses. He’d seen the animals before, though he’d seen creatures used as mounts in the Abyss that seemed as different from these noble beasts as one could possibly get.
Vheod approached the wooden fence around the beasts’ corral. They snorted at his presence, probably catching a whiff of his odor since his magic made it impossible for them to see him. The horses grew more uneasy as he climbed over the fence. They stamped and nervously walked around in their confines. Vheod had no charms prepared that might tame one. Still, his determination to leave the village with speed gripped him. He approached one of the horses as quietly as he was able.
Reassuring himself that his actions were justified, he leaped atop the creature in a single, swift motion. He’d ridden a few different creatures in his life and knew a little about such beasts.
Unfortunately, it was only a very little. Worse, his smell—or perhaps his general otherworldly nature—spooked the animal. The horse reared up. He’d not yet completely steadied himself on the horse’s back to begin with, so Vheod’s fingers clutched at the creature’s mane and neck. It reared again and jumped forward. Vheod slipped and landed on the side opposite the one from which he’d approached the horse.
“There he is! By the horses!”
An older man stood ten yards away from the edge of the fence. He held a staff before himself and used it to point right at Vheod as he lay in the dust.
The man could see him?
Then Vheod noticed the symbol that hung from the tip of the man’s staff. While he didn’t recognize it specifically, he knew it for what it was—the holy symbol of a priest. Some divine-granted sight must allow him to see that which was otherwise invisible.
Curse all gods!
Vheod could already hear people running toward them. The words and gestures to a spell of fire and destruction came to his mind, seemingly unbidden.
No!
Still invisible, he didn’t need to resort to attack yet, and hopefully not at all. Vheod wished he’d been taught more potent magic—particularly something that might counter the priest’s ability to detect him. Studies of that degree, however, had been beyond him. He had only the simplest spells at his command.
A deep snort came from directly above him. He rolled to one side, still lying on the ground. A horse’s hoof crashed down to the ground where he’d lain. The horses stomped around and snorted, shaking their manes and whinnying. Looking back at the priest, Vheod saw the gray-bearded, bald man stretch his neck one way then the other. Perhaps, Vheod thought, it was difficult for the priest to keep an eye on him with the confusing movements of the horses all around him. Behind the man, more of the villagers came running. Most carried weapons, shaking them in tight fists.
Vheod grabbed a small stone from within his reach and hurled it at the nearest building behind the cleric. He hoped the horses shielded his action. The old man quickly turned toward the sound of it striking the wood. As he did, the others behind him also turned.
Vheod once again hurled himself over the back of one of the mounts, this time prepared for its violent reaction. It did indeed rear, but Vheod gripped at the horse’s neck tightly, his strong legs wrapping around its midsection as best he could. Utilizing the beast’s fear and anger, he coaxed it toward the fence. It bolted in that direction. When the horse reached the fence, it leaped over it without slowing. Vheod dug his boot heels into its sides and yanked at the mane, hoping to make it even angrier. The horse carried him far and fast away from the village. He didn’t look back.
* * * * *
Vheod didn’t know what direction to ride other than away. He left the forest, the thick clumping of trees giving way abruptly to a grassland of gently rolling hills. A warm breeze brushed across the landscape against the direction in which he rode. The miles passed by him, Vheod using the horse’s anger and fear as best he could. Eventually the horse slowed. Apparently its anger could only last so long. Vheod grew tired of aggravating it, anyway. The two moved slowly through the tall grasses, the sun—the very existence of which Vheod was only now growing accustomed to—washing light and heat over them. The sun had been easier to ignore in the dense forest. Now he felt its heat and experienced its blinding light without protection. Both Vheod and the horse glistened with perspiration.
Miles of open grassland around him, the forest now a thin dark line on the horizon, Vheod became more aware of the fact that he had no idea where he was or where he was going. Why was he here at all?
The horse carried him slowly down the side of a gentle hill. The tall grass brushed against the bottoms of his feet. His
mount seemed tired, reluctant, and quite irritated. Even if he knew where he was going, Vheod was unsure that he could force this horse to actually take him there. It seemed unlikely that he could spur the beast on only by continuing to aggravate it. Unfortunately, he knew no other way.
Glancing down, he saw the Taint had once again returned to his hand. Further, it resumed the appearance of a guiding arrow, pointing toward what Vheod believed to be south. Could he trust it? The Taint could be some intelligent, malevolent ally of his dark half. It could be a manifestation of the tanar’ri part of him.
Perhaps the best thing he could do would be to stop right where he was. Surely he could insure that no action beyond his control could be wrought by his dark half here in the middle of nowhere, but that could be exactly what it wanted. How could he know for sure?
Another rider through the grassland approached over a nearby hill. From this distance, Vheod could see that it was a woman on a horse, but little more. She veered her horse toward him.
As she approached, Vheod considered flight, or at least keeping a good distance away. He didn’t want another situation like the one at the village. Before he could get control of his unwilling mount, however, she rode up within just a few yards.
“Good day,” she said, her voice as smooth as the seductive succubi of the Abyss. When her horse moved, she moved as well, as though she and her mount were a single creature with a single mind. Her movements were slow and sure, betraying an unfailing grace. Her petite features included delightfully smooth skin and delicate, pointed ears. Long, silver hair nestled around her thin neck like waves carefully caressing a shoreline. She wore a heavy green cloak the very color of the grass around them draped over her shoulders despite the heat, yet Vheod couldn’t see a hint of perspiration on her face or neck.
Most surprisingly, she didn’t seem at all fazed by his appearance, unlike the villagers earlier that morning.
“Hello,” Vheod returned tentatively.
“Your horse doesn’t like you,” she told him with a hint of a smile.
