The Crystal Mountain

by Thomas M. Reid

  Kael spent a long time thinking on what both his father and mother told him, and it was brightening into dawn when he felt himself being drawn away from that illusory place and back into his own body.

  Tauran opened his eyes.

  The angel was home. Or at least, in a place that felt very much like home. He found himself in a bed in a chamber of white marble and warm sunlight. The scent of fresh flowers wafted through the room, and he spied several hanging baskets overflowing with green and blossoms. The sound of chirping birds and lazy breezes through wind chimes reached his ears from somewhere beyond the room.

  I live, he thought. I don’t deserve it, but I live. He pushed the thought that perhaps he didn’t wish to remain living out of his mind and sat up.

  Tauran drew a deep breath and sighed. His body felt tired but comfortable. He felt no taint of the evil that had pervaded him. Any residual aftereffects of his ordeal within the confines of that black, wicked cave seemed to have vanished.

  The physical scars are gone, he thought. Would that it were so easy to heal the mental ones.

  He thought of Kael and Aliisza. Did they survive? he wondered. They must have. They were there, with me, in the cold. And … others.

  Dissatisfied that he could not remember more of how he had returned to the Court, Tauran rose from the bed, found his clothing—but not his mace—and dressed. Though he missed it, it felt somehow fitting that his badge of honor had been taken from him. Still he felt anxiety. What will they do? What will Tyr decree? There is but one way to find out.

  The angel headed for the door. He reached for it, but for some reason, he could not make himself touch the thing. Frowning, he tried again.

  They have compelled me, he thought, a flicker of panic rising up inside him.

  Tauran turned and moved toward the balcony and the sunlight. He passed through the doorway and out into the warmth. The breezes ruffled his hair. Celestia loomed before him, its high peak hidden in a ring of clouds. Suddenly, he wanted more than anything to go there, to glide along its vast surface, to sail over its valleys and ridges. He willed himself to spread his wings and fly out into the blue skies, to soar high above the clouds, but he simply could not.

  I have been reduced to a common prisoner, he thought. Shame filled him. I brought it on myself.

  Because I was doing what I thought was right! He wanted to rail against his predicament, to scream that he deserved better, but he recalled his vow to accept the consequences. Now the reckoning is at hand, he told himself. Can you no longer face it?

  No. Tyr, please forgive me! I was trying to help!

  Suddenly, the angel remembered Aliisza, standing in the rotunda, next to Micus, crying out very similar words. I was trying to help, she had said.

  She deserves better than this, even if I do not, he insisted.

  The angel stormed back to the door and called loudly through it. “I must have an audience with the High Council at once!” When no one opened the door or even answered, he yelled even louder. “I demand to be heard! I am no forsaken fiend to be broken and remade. I accept my guilt, but the others do not deserve this punishment! Answer me!”

  Nothing.

  The exertion of shouting made Tauran feel unsteady on his feet. Breathing hard, he sought the bed and sat upon it.

  You’ve been sick, he reminded himself. And you no longer enjoy the beneficence of Tyr’s healing presence.

  That thought dug into him hard, made his throat constrict.

  After a while, when he felt his strength return to him and impatience set in again, Tauran navigated the entirety of the room, examining every detail, seeking some sign of his fate. He followed every wall, studied every piece of furniture. As he walked, the chamber began to feel constricted, too small for him.

  This is terrifying, he realized. How could anyone stand this for days on end? He thought of Aliisza, trapped in her own room, desperate to flee, to escape her fate. I did that to her. To all of those I brought here. It was done with a thought to kindness, but now I see how it is but a thin veil. The illusion against the truth cannot hold.

  We are not so noble as we like to imagine.

  With that thought came realization and acceptance that he had done everything, that he had defied the High Council and Tyr himself, because somehow, he had come to realize this truth long before then. Even as noble as their purposes might be, angels were imperfect, not without blame.

  Their punishment of me—and of my companions—will be imperfect too, he lamented.

  When a knock came at Tauran’s door, it was much later in the day. The sound startled the angel out of his brooding. “I cannot touch the portal,” he called, standing.

  The door opened and Garin peered in. “I am glad to see you up,” he said. “May I enter?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Tauran asked evenly. He was suddenly angry, indignant. You are no better than me, he thought, staring at the visitor. At the same time, he felt self-conscious, unsure of where to put his hands. “Could I keep you out if I wished it?”

  Garin’s frown was fleeting. “No, but I am no boor, Tauran. It is your room, and I am a visitor at the moment. Now, may I come in?”

  Tauran motioned for the other angel to enter. He did so, shutting the door behind him. Tauran turned and sat on the bed once more.

  “Now that you have recovered sufficiently, I will let the High Council know to summon you,” Garin said, turning and pacing. “Or at least, what’s left of it.”

  “What does that mean?” Tauran asked, watching his guest. “What has happened?”

  “There was a schism,” Garin explained. “The High Councilor and two others divorced themselves from it over the decision to pardon Eirwyn. Another councilor has vanished, thought to have lost her faith in the aftermath of Mystra’s death. They are down to five, and they bicker constantly.”

  “Over what?” Tauran did not like what he was hearing. Too much instability. Tyr had not yet found his footing again, the angel feared.

  “Over how to deal with the waves of wild, uncontrollable magical backlash, over what to do about the demon incursions, over why Tyr seems uninterested in—” Garin snapped his mouth shut. “Enough. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “Why not?” Tauran asked, rising to his feet, feeling the old sense of duty and responsibility fill him once more. “It’s still me. I still care. Let me help.”

  Garin stopped and stared at him. “Why would you even suggest such a thing? You must account for your crimes against Tyr.”

  “I know,” Tauran said, trying to keep his voice calm. Inside, he felt his heart flutter. Perhaps, he realized, a part of me hoped they might follow through with it. Foolish. “But there is still much I could offer. Information, freely given. Not as part a pardon”—to dream of such is too much, he thought—“but because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Garin shook his head. “That is not for me to decide,” he said. “You must offer that to the High Council. I wouldn’t hold out much hope, though. Opinion against you has hardened considerably. Everyone sees you as a traitor, Tauran.”

  “And what of my companions?” Tauran asked. “They are not bound by the same laws that I am.”

  “True,” Garin replied. “Though in this instance, it might be better for them if they were. They are all in similar circumstances, likely to be found guilty of conspiracy against the House. Only you and Kael stand much of a chance of light sentences, perhaps only banishment. For the half-fiend and the priest, the outcome is—”

  “He is no priest,” Tauran said. “The soul of Pharaun Mizzrym, drow wizard of Menzoberranzan, occupies that body.” I’ve got to make them understand! “He did nothing against this House. They must set him free.”

  “So he has claimed,” Garin replied. “But the truth of it will come out at the hearing. For now, we must assume the worst.”

  The worst, Tauran thought, despair filling him. I’ve brought this on all of them. It turns my stomach to think of facing my fate, but they do
not deserve this. He let his gaze drop to the floor. “So much pain I’ve caused,” he murmured.

  The other angel took two steps until he was right before Tauran. “These are grave times, my friend. You are in deep trouble. The entire House is in danger of dissolving. Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help. Where is Micus? What part did you play in Mystra’s death? Help me help you.”

  Tauran looked at the other angel. He understood all too well the celestial’s perspective. In another time, that might have been him standing there, in Garin’s place, pleading with someone—perhaps Aliisza—to work with him, to cooperate. But it felt so different to be on the other side, facing the recriminations. He chose his next words very carefully. “I will answer your questions, though it will make no difference. I do not regret my actions”—I don’t!—”nor those of my companions. Not because I desired any devastating outcome, not because I wished ill upon the House, but because I do believe, in my heart, that we were trying our best.

  “Everyone is fallible, Garin. Even gods. Unfortunately, too many of us can’t see that until it’s too late. So I suspect will be the case this time. If the House suffers as you describe, then punishing my guilt will not assuage that. The trouble runs much deeper, my friend. I understood that, even from the beginning, but no one—least of all Tyr—would listen. I fear that it is happening still. None of you will see the rightness of my actions until it is too late.”

  “Such words will not help you when it comes time to face the High Council, Tauran.”

  Tauran sighed. “I never said I expected it to. I merely want to make you understand that I am content with my fate in this matter. I don’t need you to save me. I stand by my decisions to defy the council.”

  Garin’s shoulders slumped. “So be it,” he said. He turned away, toward the door. When he reached it, he stopped and turned back. “You know, Micus always told me that he considered you one of the wisest, most dedicated friends he had. That was before, of course, but he said it often. I’m struggling now to see in you what he did. I want to, I really do. But it’s difficult.”

  With that, Garin pulled the door open and departed.

  Tauran sat for a long time, staring at where Garin had been. He turned his many thoughts over and over in his mind.

  It was dark when they came to get him.

  A rush of fear crashed into Vhok. His knees went weak enough to buckle, and he sagged. He stared at the glossy black floor before him, feeling the intense heat rising from it. He was certain the baleful creature across the room intended his death, had only to realize Vhok was there before giving the command. Or striding across the floor and delivering the death blow himself.

  Stand up, you fool, he thought. Do not cower. He is just another demon.

  But a balor was not just another demon, and despite the many long years the cambion had spent in the company of lesser fiends, palpable terror drained the power from his limbs as he gazed upon the fearsome being looming before him.

  “Get up!” snapped his guard, yanking Vhok by the shoulder to his feet. “Do not make Lord Axithar come to you!”

  The thought of displeasing the balor made Vhok convulse in fear and delivered a sudden, hidden reserve of strength into his body. The cambion scrambled up again and stumbled along, following his jailer deeper into the chamber.

  As Vhok and his escort drew close, the balor turned its eyes toward him. “You,” he said. His deep voice rumbled through the chamber, making the very air vibrate with its power. “You are the one that traveled with the angel.”

  Vhok swallowed once, afraid of admitting the truth, terrified of lying. He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded.

  The balor frowned. “And you have been to their plane? To the stinking heavens known as the House of the Triad?”

  Vhok nodded again. “Yes,” he gasped. “I went there to deceive and steal from them.” And it was a big mistake, he thought, thinking of what he would look like, impaled within an alcove.

  Lord Axithar smiled. “Good,” he said. “Tyr’s ‘glorious’ domain is in chaos. I wish to take advantage of his vulnerabilities. You will tell me all you know of the place.”

  Vhok swallowed as the guard backed away and left him there to face the powerful demon alone. “Of course,” he said, struggling to regain some composure. He clasped his hands behind his back as if he were about to begin a lecture. “On what subject do you wish to know more?”

  “The House,” the balor replied, snapping his whip. “The land, the fortress. I wish to know everything. You will describe it all in exacting detail.”

  Ah, Vhok thought, warming to his task. Perhaps … “I know much, great lord,” he said, “as I explored much of the House personally.”

  “If you are lying, I will flay every inch of your skin from your body,” Lord Axithar growled. He took one step toward Vhok, making the floor of the chamber bounce.

  Despite himself, Vhok dropped to one knee. “I would never consider crossing one of your stature, great lord,” he said, staring at the balor’s black, cloven hooves. “I wish to curry your favor in whatever way I can so that I might receive something in return. I will offer you what information I have, and I vow that it is the truth.”

  The balor chuckled, and it sounded more like a deep-throated growl than anything to Vhok. He risked another glimpse up at Lord Axithar. “Already vying for power,” Axithar said. “At least you are an honest fool.”

  Kaanyr winced, fearful that he had angered the beast.

  The demon stroked his chin with his coiled whip and began to stroll around the chamber, pondering. The other demons in his presence scurried to keep out of the way. A dretch that did not move fast enough wound up skewered on the point of the balor’s sword. The wretched creature screamed and wriggled for a moment.

  Kaanyr winced again. Sending a message? he wondered. No, he admonished. You are worth more to him alive. You can be valuable. Prove it to him.

  The demon lord flicked the dretch away and turned back toward Vhok. “If I find your information to my liking, I might give you great boons,” he said. “Then again, I might choose to rip the information from your mind and not give you another thought.”

  “True,” Vhok said, choosing his words carefully, “but I could prove to be such a valuable resource in other ways. It would be a waste to expend my talents so quickly.”

  “A waste?” The balor growled, a sound that made Vhok’s midsection buzz. “Do you accuse me of frivolity?”

  Vhok shook his head vehemently. “No, Lord Axithar. I only wish to make you aware of how useful I can be.”

  “You think highly of yourself, cambion. You are dangerous.”

  Vhok felt his breath grow short. He was ruining it.

  Prove it to him.

  With every bit of his willpower fighting to keep from turning and fleeing, Vhok gave the balor his full gaze. “Make me dangerous to your enemies, Lord,” he said. He hated how much pleading there was in the tone of his voice, but he pressed on. “Let me serve you in myriad ways.”

  “What exactly is it you want for this magnanimous service?” the balor asked, turning to stroll across the chamber again. The flames writhing upon its body glowed brighter. “Tell me quickly. I grow tired of you and your game.”

  “A command,” Vhok replied, hoping against hope that he was not pressing his luck too far. “Give me a command of my own and let me use it to pursue your enemies. Not just during the attack on the House, but across the multiverse.”

  The balor laughed again. “Are you a general?” he asked. “You do not look like a general.”

  “Where I once dwelled, I was,” Vhok said, trying to hold himself a bit straighter, even though he still knelt. “I commanded an army. I could serve you well in this way.”

  The balor continued to pace, circling Vhok. The cambion could feel the fire radiating from the towering demon as he drew close. The fiend leaned his head down so that it was right next to Vhok.

  “We shall see, cambion,” Axithar said in a low rumb
le. “For now, tell me what you know.”

  Vhok began reciting anything and everything he could remember about the House of the Triad. He described the lands, the floating islands, and the Court. Lord Axithar listened attentively and asked many questions, and when the cambion did not know an answer, he admitted it. Vhok gave more than just facts, though. He offered his opinions on the weaknesses of the realm’s defenses. He described how he might attack the Court, how he would divide his forces, and what he would expect the angels to do in reaction to such an attack.

  The description became a discussion. Lord Axithar debated details with Vhok, nodded when he liked what the cambion offered in the way of strategy and tactics, grimaced and stomped around the room when he did not. Vhok was careful to remain deferential, but as the hours stretched on and he grew more comfortable that the balor believed him knowledgeable, the half-fiend relaxed, became more assertive with his theories.

  When he was finished, Vhok’s throat was parched, but he was certain he had satisfied Lord Axithar’s demands to prove himself worthy.

  “Go,” the balor commanded at last.

  Lord Axithar motioned for the ram-headed demon that had brought Vhok to come forward. “Give him guest quarters,” the balor instructed. “See that he has every comfort. Food, wine, female companionship. Do not leave him wanting for anything.” He looked at Vhok then, who was trying very hard not to grin. “Rest, prepare. You will have your command.”

  Vhok bowed deeply before Lord Axithar. “I am most grateful, my lord. You will reap the rewards of this wise decision.”

  The balor waved him away, and Vhok left the searing throne room, following the ram-headed demon back down the wide hallway. This time, the cambion hardly noticed the tormented beings writhing in the alcoves.

  Aliisza stood, as her companions did, in the center of the semicircular chamber of the High Council. She wore a simple robe of white cloth. Though she had already been compelled through Garin and Nilsa’s divine magic to cooperate, she had been restrained with manacles that she could sense would prevent her from doing any sort of magical travel.