The Gossamer Plain eo-1

by Thomas M. Reid

  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 Faerun. 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 midstep, 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-orc stood still, one foot propped upon a glowing rock, his arms crossed on his knee.

  Vhok's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "He's been tracking us," he said. "I've sensed him on our trail for a while, now."

  Myshik gave the half-fiend an appraising sidelong glance. "You felt that, too?" he asked. "I thought I was the only one."

  "Yes, following you," the creature barked as he made his way down from the precipice. "To see if you were the three who will pay me. When you called to me, you did not talk of a drako," he finished, nodding toward Myshik. "I had to be sure."

  Vhok sensed the half-dragon bristling at the derogatory appellation, but Myshik held his tongue and waited, deferring to the other two.

  "Kurkle," Zasian said, as much a statement as a question. "It seems you've found us."

  For a long time after Tauran departed and the door closed behind him, Aliisza stood in the middle of the room, stunned. The celestial's last words chilled the alu to the core of her being.

  It had been her child, her unborn offspring, that the angel had come to save.

  How is that possible? Aliisza thought, imagining the thing growing in her belly sending out a plea for survival. The notion scared her. What else is it capable of?

  Then resentment and jealousy coursed through her. Why it and not me? she silently demanded. Why does Tyr care more about my unborn whelp than about me?

  The answer to her question was so straightforward, so simple, that when it occurred to the alu, fury replaced jealousy. It had always been about the child. Aliisza herself was already forsaken to them.

  They have no intentions of sparing me, of allowing me to redeem myself. They believe me lost and will do nothing on my behalf once I give birth.

  The half-fiend sneered. Of course not, she thought. They played me as well as I might have played them. A wry chuckle escaped her. They pretend to be so holy, but they manipulate and deceive as well as any demon. Very clever, Tauran. Bastard, she added, seething again, silently hurling that anger at the door and the figure she knew receded beyond it. You can all rot in the Abyss.

  As her rage diminished to smoldering irritation, she was startled by the idea that she had actually grown attached to the thought that Tyr had some interest in her well-being. When it happened, it was more than simple survival instinct. Tauran had presented a compelling case, to be sure. She could die, or she could submit to their game, play by their rules, and live. It was an easy choice.

  But it was not the sum of her desire.

  It had been more than a question of life or death. Some sense of worth, some sudden feeling of importance had been dangled in front of her, and she had snatched at it. Why? Realizing, too late, that it had been merely bait, she felt more than anger at being deceived. She was… disappointed. She had wanted that sense of importance, had craved that feeling of value. Her anger was replaced by a sense of self-loathing. She felt weak, worthless.

  Enough of that, Aliisza chided herself. Figure a way out of this.

  She moved to the balcony, stepped beyond the curtained doorway, and peered out. The drop below was significant. The Court had been built to hang over the side of a steep escarpment on that side, where a ravine in the side of the mountain tumbled down to vanish into the clouds below. The horizon stretched away as far as Aliisza could see, all rolling white and blue sky.

  So much space.

  I could go right now, she thought. I should go. I must go.

  She remained there, looking at the vista. Despite her dismissal of the inherent beauty in landscapes and natural wonders, the alu found herself feeling a bit breathless, awed by what lay before her. It was distracting her.

  Just leave, she told herself. Fly off, now. For reasons that escaped her, Aliisza didn't budge. Damn it! she yelled at herself. Go!

  But the harder she tried to make the first move, to take the initial step to flee, the more rooted to the spot she became. Somehow, the part of her mind that should act on her desires wouldn't cooperate. It was maddening.

  Just spread your wings! she told herself. Only that.

  Her black leathery wings unfurled behind her. She stretched them out, enjoying the sensation. The wound she had suffered upon hitting the floor of Helm Dwarf-friend's chambers was gone. She felt hale and whole, as though the injury had never occurred.

  She wanted to fly, to soar around the flanks of that great mountain. She stepped up upon the railing of the balcony, ready to launch herself into the air, solely to circle overhead.

  Aliisza thought she was about to do it, to take wing, but her actions only made her remember that she was trying to escape, and her momentum ended. She stood stock still upon the railing, unmoving once more.

  By all the storms of Fury's Heart! the alu swore. What in the Nine Hells did you do to me, Tauran? she silently demanded.

  No, another little voice inside Aliisza's head countered, you did it to yourself. You let them bind you, agreed to it. You should be dead. Are you afraid to die?

  No, came the answer.

  Then don't let them win, she told herself. Take their prize from them.

  The thought panicked Aliisza for a moment, but she reined the feeling under control and considered. Could I do it? she thought. Could I kill myself? She didn't remember any part of the oath that prevented her from harming herself. Only others were protected.

  It would serve them right, she decided, a faint smile playing across her face. Just when they think they've got what they want, poof! It's gone. The smile faded from her. And I have no love for this baby, she thought, feeling resentment again. I should end you right now, she projected at the thing.

  But something kept her from following through. It wasn't Tauran's magical restraint. She didn't feel the same inability to act. It was deeper, more personal. For some reason, whether she loved it or not, she had to protect the offspring growing inside her.

  The alu threw her hands up in frustration.

  This stupid child is addling my brain, she finally decided. I need time to think.

  Knowing she couldn't take wing from the balcony and
make her escape, Aliisza instead turned her attention to the chamber where she was a guest. Like the rest of the massive place, everything was constructed of gleaming white marble and highlighted with rich fabrics, precious metals, and vibrant plants. In fact, she realized, it was all very luxurious. The bed was large and soft, and the many pillows piled atop it could easily become a lover's nest. The gently swirling pool was set into the floor and had steps leading down into it. Water from a fountain mounted on the wall above it splashed into the pool.

  Maybe she could not escape, she reasoned, but perhaps there were other ways to turn the situation to her advantage.

  With a soft sigh of delight, Aliisza began to disrobe, and she shifted form as she did so, becoming a tall and lithe human woman with sapphire blue eyes, bronzed glowing skin, and hair the color of summer wheat.

  The classic beauty, she thought, and giggled. The transformed alu dipped a toe into the water and found it to be the precise temperature she desired. She descended the steps and lowered herself into the pool, then reclined against one wall, throwing her arms back to rest on the edges.

  For a long while, the half-fiend just closed her eyes and soaked, letting all her cares and concerns drift away with the steam. She wished she had some scented oils to add to the water, and as suddenly, she could smell and feel their effects. She opened her eyes and saw that the water splashing from the fountain was tinted red like the oils she often procured to pamper herself.

  Curious, she imagined the water chilled rather than steamy, and instantly, her skin prickled with goose bumps as the temperature dropped within the pool. Delighted but shivering, Aliisza returned the temperature to a comfortable level and closed her eyes once more.

  It wasn't until Tauran spoke some time later that Aliisza realized he was in the room with her. "You look quite comfortable." Somehow, the angel had entered without her hearing him.

  Aliisza's eyes flew open to see him standing near the door, observing her with a carefully neutral expression on his face. She saw with a glance that the sun was lower in the sky from the way the shadows slanted sharply across the walls and floor.

  Recovering her wits quickly, Aliisza gave her celestial host one of her best come-hither stares and said, "I didn't hear you enter. This bath is so relaxing, I must have dozed off. Maybe you'd like to join me? I need someone to scrub my back."

  Tauran gave her that same sad smile and said, "Tempting me won't work, Aliisza. I can revel in the pure delights of fleshy contact as well as any human-or half-fiend-but such experiences pale in comparison to the glory of my duties. Besides, I would know it is not real."

  Aliisza swallowed hard at the stinging words, but she kept her face steady and tried one last lure. Rising from the water, she slowly came up the steps and said, with a hint of a pout, "You don't think this"-and she gestured down at the perfect body she had molded for herself-"is real?" She walked slowly and seductively toward the celestial.

  Tauran met her stare evenly, without flinching. His eyes didn't even roam down her figure.

  "It's nothing but a mask," he said. Then he turned away. "I'll wait outside while you get ready. It's time to go to the Court of Temperance. The tribunal is prepared to render judgment and sentencing."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The half-orc that had been a hellish canine only moments earlier approached the trio and came to a stop a few paces from them. He folded his arms across his chest and studied them, as through appraising them. "You came ill prepared," he stated, a brief smirk crossing his face. "Your magic may protect you now, but it will not help when creatures attack. You will still burn."

  "We've found that out already," Vhok replied wryly. "We'll keep it in mind for next time," he added.

  "You are Kurkle?" Zasian asked, stepping forward. "Our guide? I am Zasian, the one who contacted you and hired you. You received the first payment, I trust."

  The half-orc barked a laugh. "I am," he said. "But I did not know three fools had hired me. You cannot travel this place as you are, unprotected. You must go back to your own plane."

  Vhok narrowed his eyes. "We hired you to guide us to the City of Brass. You've been paid, so guide. We'll keep our own counsel, otherwise."

  Kurkle let out a low growl, deep in his throat, and his fiery red eyes gleamed in anger. Then he shrugged. "So be it. If the fires consume you, Kurkle will get your treasure."

  The foursome set out then, the half-orc guide in the lead. As before, Vhok strode behind Zasian, with Myshik in the rear. As they hiked, the cambion made a point of keeping a watch, hoping to prevent any nasty surprises from sneaking up on them. He found the constant crackle and hiss of the ever-present conflagrations disconcerting. The noises made it difficult to listen for sounds of pursuit, especially since he suspected that most things living there would also blaze and crackle as they moved.

  From time to time, Kurkle would drop to all fours and transform into a hound, then go loping off into the hazy distance, running in wide arcs ahead of the other three. He would disappear for some time, while the three visitors continued along the path he had set for them.

  At the first occurrence, Vhok grew concerned that their guide was abandoning them, but Zasian shook his head. "I think he's scouting," the priest commented. "His senses are keen. He is renowned for his skills, and his reputation is equally well known. He will not betray us."

  Vhok grumbled his acceptance, but he did not like being so dependent on anyone or anything he could not control.

  Eventually, Kurkle returned and transformed into his humanoid shape again before resuming the lead. He said nothing, but corrected their course according to landmarks only he seemed aware of. To Vhok, the landscape was an endless stretch of smoldering embers and blowing ash broken only by the incessant jets of fire.

  On Kurkle's third such scouting foray, Myshik posed a question. "What is Kurkle?" Vhok assumed that he was speaking to Zasian, since the priest had been the one to arrange for the creature's services.

  "Canomorph," the human replied. "The hell hound is his natural form, but some of his kind have learned how to shapeshift into humanoids. He's feral and instinctual, but he will get us there."

  After a time, the land flattened, and Vhok turned to look back in the direction they had come. He could barely make out the ridge of flaming, scorched mountains from which they had descended. The peaks were low and smooth, and their flanks were ribboned with streams of molten fire, magma flowing down their sides like water.

  The land did not remain flat for very long. Soon enough, Kurkle led them into what Vhok would have considered badlands on Toril: steep-sided hills, plateaus, and pinnacles separated by scree-filled gullies, trenches, and washes. The terrain popped, flamed, and glowed all around them. Noxious gases wafted everywhere, stinging Vhok's eyes and making sight difficult.

  As the day's journey wore on, Vhok had to concentrate to keep from grumbling. They seemed to be moving at a slug's pace, and the half-fiend was not accustomed to traveling on foot for such long distances. He sorely missed the creature comforts of riding in his military palanquin, and he grew more and more irritable.

  The cambion even suggested that they employ some form of magic to convey themselves, but Kurkle warned against it, claiming it was harder for predators to spot them if they remained low, using the winding defiles to improve their concealment. Even if they had wanted to ignore that precaution, Myshik and Kurkle were both at a disadvantage, for they had no magic to draw upon to aid their passage. Resigned to traveling like a common merchant, Vhok's mood grew more foul as the journey progressed.

  To make matters worse, they attracted the attention of bandits. Vhok caught a glimpse of them when the foursome was forced to cross some stretches of open ground. Perhaps half a dozen riders shimmered in the distance, their outlines distorted by the wavering heat of the terrain. Though Kurkle steered his charges away from the threat, the bandits pursued them. They seemed persistent, and Vhok wondered why.

  The sojourn became even less pleasant when thi
ck black clouds of smoke roiled over the group. As before, the caustic murk stung eyes and lungs and made for treacherously poor visibility. Kurkle took advantage of the cloaking vapors to change their direction, cutting back and to the right and following a narrow canyon for a long distance. The cambion questioned the wisdom of losing ground, but the canomorph insisted that it was a far better inconvenience than being ambushed by their pursuers.

  When the smoke cleared, the expedition seemed to have lost the bandits, and Vhok thought they had seen the last of them. But soon enough, Kurkle reported signs that the enemies were close again, deepening Vhok's gloomy mood. Determined to avoid them if they could, the foursome continued on.

  Any time Kurkle feared that they might be discovered, he sent the trio scrambling for cover while he prowled around, sniffing the acrid air, scrambling up the sides of gullies to peer into the distance. Sometimes he disappeared entirely for long stretches of time.

  After one of the canomorph's scouting runs, Kurkle came loping back in hound form. "They are close at hand," he said, motioning for a sudden halt. All three travelers knew the routine by then. They went to ground, seeking available cover, as their guide darted off to observe the bandits. They found plenty of places to hide in the gulley they followed. Vhok ducked behind a large outcropping of glowing rock. The superheated stone sizzled and crackled loudly in the cambion's ears as he crouched, waiting for Kurkle to return.

  Vhok watched his sweat vaporize in tiny curling puffs of steam as he waited, his mood truly black.

  Something large stepped upon the outcropping right above Vhok, and the cambion was aware of it a heartbeat before it knew of him. He jerked back and stared as the creature, which he first thought was a rider upon a basalt black horse, peered in his direction. Vhok realized his mistake immediately. It was not a mounted rider, but a single creature, and he recognized it as a centaur. But unlike the horse-men of Toril, the creature looming over Vhok had skin the color of onyx, its hair, eyes, and hooves seemed to be made of flame, and it exhaled gouts of smoke. The bandit clutched a long spear in one hand, and Vhok could see a bow slung over one shoulder.