The Gossamer Plain (19 page)

“What others?” she asked. “Face them how?”

“Those you have wronged in your life,” the deva replied. “Those whom you’ve tread upon to get the things you crave. You must face them, confront what you’ve inflicted upon them, and decide for yourself what needs to be done.”

Aliisza shivered. Suddenly, all the gentle shadows in the garden seemed much darker, more sinister. The chimes blowing in the breezes rang much harsher than before. For the first time in her life, Aliisza was terrified.

All of her personal demons were coming.

This way!” Zasian shouted, urging his companions to follow.

Vhok parried a club strike from a fiery centaur and jammed the blade of Burnblood into the creature’s chest. The bandit bellowed and reared up in pain as the hole erupted with molten goo. The cambion had to fling himself backward to avoid his foe’s flailing hooves. That desperate act nearly sent him over the side of the ravine behind him.

The centaur staggered away from Vhok, clutching at its wound, but two more took its place. The half-fiend spun, desperate to keep from being pinned against the edge of the drop-off. He ducked beneath a spear thrust and knocked the stone weapon aside with his scepter. The cambion feinted to his right, luring the pair of bandits to shift their weight that way. When they bought his bluff, he wheeled back to the left. The two centaurs, their black, stony bodies popping and crackling with the effort, struggled to keep up. Again, though, the cambion only feinted.

When he had the two opponents suitably off balance, Vhok made a half-hearted swipe with his sword at the legs of the creature to his left, forcing it to rear up to avoid the attack.

He followed through with another feint of escape to his right, causing the other centaur to sidestep.

That was what Vhok had been waiting for. As the gap between the two creatures widened, the cambion launched himself through it, tumbling past them to the other side.

Both bandits turned to try to prevent him from slipping past them. Though they flanked him, he was much faster and more nimble. He easily dodged their clumsy spear thrusts. One of them accidentally struck its companion. The injured centaur bucked and kicked at its counterpart, snarling some unintelligible curse in their native language.

Vhok landed on one knee, a few feet from Myshik. The half-dragon battled two more of the bandits. He swung his great dwarven war axe in huge arcs. He had already made contact at least once, for one of the centaurs limped, its foreleg dragging uselessly upon the ground. The pair of bandits kept a respectable distance from the whistling axe.

“More come,” the blue-tinged draconic hobgoblin grumbled to Vhok as the cambion took up a position back to back with him. Vhok saw Myshik jerk his head in the direction of the newcomers.

Vhok glanced where his companion indicated. He saw that the blazing, smoking centaur he had initially wounded seemed to be guzzling some draught from a brass flask. The contents of the container must have been a magical healing substance, for Vhok could see the wound in the creature’s chest diminishing.

Worse, the half-fiend could see another handful of centaurs in the distance. Their forms appeared as little more than hazy silhouettes in the drifting, acrid smoke that shrouded the landscape. It was obvious to Vhok that they were hurrying to join their embattled companions, crossing the spider-webbed maze of lava-filled ravines in great leaps.

The cambion swore softly and turned the other way, seeking Zasian. He saw the priest receding in the distance, striding upon the air itself. The human magically traversed a ravine, a gap easily twenty paces wide. Beside him, Kurkle moved in similar fashion, though the canomorph seemed much less certain of his newfound transport than the priest. The guide slunk step by step through the smoky air, peering about nervously.

Zasian paused halfway across a ravine and glanced back at his companions. When he caught Vhok’s eye, he motioned for the half-fiend to hurry. Then he turned and continued, escaping the fight.

Vhok swore again. Sweat poured from his body, stinging his eyes and soaking his clothing and armor. The acrid stench of smoke and burning stone assaulted his nose and throat, making them sore and dry. His blade hung low, nearly touching the ground, for his strength had been sapped by the endless fighting. His arm felt leaden.

No, that’s not quite right, Vhok thought. Lead would merely melt and puddle on the scorched ground here.

It had been a long, tiresome day, and the quartet of travelers had been journeying for only a short time. Upon returning to the fiery plane after their night’s repose, Vhok and the others had found Kurkle impatient for the foursome to be on their way. The canomorph had urged them to make haste. He warned them that the bandits were gathering in force. The situation had grown beyond the mere inconvenience of a raiding party. For whatever reason, the tribal centaurs had taken a keen interest in the planar visitors and seemed intent on hunting them down.

“If we hurry and stay out of sight,” Kurkle had said, “we can reach the Islands ahead and slip away. They won’t follow us there.”

Hoping the canomorph had a good sense for such things, the three visitors and their guide set off. Despite their best efforts, the bandits had stayed on their trail and continued to harass them. The group’s progress had turned into a running battle.

Over the course of the morning, the land had begun to change. The rolling, open ground bisected by endless meandering ravines had flattened out. The ravines had steadily grown deeper, more sheer, and wider. Rivulets of liquid flame coursed through the bottoms of the trenches. As they progressed, the depth of the molten rock had increased. The land was gradually sloping downward, becoming isolated, flat-topped mesas of solid terrain surrounded by networks of wide lava channels.

No, Vhok thought, islands of land in a sea of lava. We have reached our destination. Now to see if the hound’s prediction was accurate.

“We don’t want to stay here,” the half-fiend warned Myshik as the centaurs began to close warily. “Zasian and the guide are already moving out. I think we’re at the Islands.”

Myshik nodded in understanding. “Can you flee?” the half-hobgoblin asked, lunging forward and slicing at one of the four bandits. The centaur reared up and backward to evade the cut.

“I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Vhok said, gasping as he parried three different spear thrusts. In truth, much of his magic was already gone, exhausted during the running skirmish. But he had the means to escape the predicament he and Myshik were in. “The question,” he puffed as he smacked a spear away with his scepter, “is whether you do.”

“I do,” Myshik replied, cleaving a spear in half as it strayed too close to him. “Help me get near the edge. The direction they went,” he added. “Then I can take care of myself.”

Vhok grunted his assent and drew a deep breath, prepared to pick up the tempo of the battle.

One of the centaurs nearest him snarled and reared up. It kicked at the cambion with its hooves. It held its spear aloft in both hands, ready to slam it down and run Vhok through. The cambion avoided the flailing forelegs and made a daring move. He dashed forward, beneath the rearing beast. He jabbed Burnblood up into the creature’s underbelly just as it dropped down on all fours again. The centaur screamed in agony and teetered to the side as the half-fiend tumbled out of the way.

Vhok didn’t waste time waiting to see how badly he had wounded the creature. He spun right, smacking his scepter against the flank of the next centaur, which had turned to evade an axe strike from Myshik. The blow echoed with the sound of steel on rock and sent sparks flying. The fiery beast howled something in its native tongue and stumbled away from Vhok.

Out of nowhere, the cambion took a spear to his shoulder. The glowing tip of the blade glanced off his armor, but the force of the strike was enough to twist his arm nearly out of its socket. The cambion grunted in pain and took a step away, closer to the cliff where he and Myshik would escape. His shoulder throbbed and he could barely lift his scepter.

The half-dragon, seeing Vhok’s success, leaped forward, swinging his mighty weapon down hard across the gutted centaur’s shoulder. The concussive boom of the blow staggered the bandit, driving it down. The blade bit so deeply into the creature’s torso it nearly cleaved the beast in two. Myshik kept going. He yanked his blade free and dashed into the gap in the bandits’ line, joining Vhok. The pair stood near the edge, then, and the centaurs could no longer come at them from all sides.

The cambion felt two arrows slam against him, one on his thigh and one in his gut, but both bounced away. A spell he had woven over himself earlier still held, deflecting the missiles, but the blows stung. He knew the spell wouldn’t hold much longer. He spared a quick glance in the direction the arrows had come, and saw that the remainder of the bandits had arrived. He and Myshik faced nearly a dozen of the scorched, blazing creatures. The newcomers could not squeeze into the fight directly, so they held bows at the ready, waiting for opportune shots.

“Too many!” Vhok called to the draconic hobgoblin. “Time to go!”

Myshik nodded as he drove a centaur back with two broad swings of his axe. An arrow flew past his ear and made him flinch. “Get ready!” he shouted. “You’ll know when!”

Vhok didn’t know what the half-dragon had in mind, but he didn’t doubt that Myshik was capable. The cambion parried another spear thrust and slipped his scepter into its loop on his belt. With his sword still out for defense, the half-fiend pulled a tiny bit of gauze from an inner pocket. The spell he intended to cast required a bit of smoke as well.

I wonder where I might find some, he thought wryly.

Myshik whipped his axe at his closest opponent once more, then jumped back to one side, right against the edge. His movement separated him from Vhok, allowing the centaurs to close in between them.

Vhok kept one eye on the half-dragon as he struggled to keep the press of centaurs away from himself. Whatever you’re going to do, the cambion thought, do it!

The draconic hobgoblin drew in a deep breath just as two more bandits surged forward to surround him. The centaurs seemed to laugh with glee, though it was difficult for Vhok to be sure, given the creatures’ strange, cracking language.

Regardless, it was all cut short as the Morueme scion unleashed death and destruction upon his foes in one sharp exhalation.

Blinding light and crackling energy erupted from the half-dragon. It shot out in a line, surging through several of the gathered bandits in front of Myshik and Vhok. The cambion flung a hand up and spun away, futilely trying to protect himself. The afterimage seared his vision for several heartbeats, making his eyes water.

Vhok cursed the fool half-hobgoblin at first, then realized that Myshik had most likely cleared the press of centaurs away from the two of them. Unable to see how close his foes were, Vhok trusted that he could cast his spell unmolested. He waved the gauze around himself and triggered the magic.

The cambion felt his body change. He became insubstantial, as light as a feather. His eyes no longer hurt, and though the effect was disorienting, he could “see” in every direction at once. He had become nothing but an amorphous puff of smoke, virtually invisible and immune to the attacks of the remaining bandits.

Vhok began to drift away, mentally commanding his new form to float in the direction Zasian and Kurkle had gone. He spied the priest and the guide waiting on the next island. The wind blew incessantly across the plane, buffeting him, but he compensated by drifting slightly against it, as though he swam upstream to cross a river.

Behind him, he could see several centaurs down, unmoving. A few staggered about, injured and clutching at their eyes. In their pain and blindness, they paid little heed to the draconic hobgoblin in their midst.

Myshik roared a primal challenge and waded in among the survivors. He cut a swath through the bandits with his axe, feeding on some berserk rage that lent him strength and resolve. As Vhok wafted farther away, he watched in amazement as the

half-dragon sliced and hewed his enemies. Each axe blow delivered a resounding boom and sent centaurs staggering or flying back from the hobgoblin.

At last, Myshik had downed or driven all his enemies away. He gave a single shudder then, and his shoulders slumped. His axe dangled at his side and his breath came in deep, panting gasps.

Vhok realized that he had exhausted himself. Come on, Myshik, he willed. Get moving before more show up.

As if sensing his companion’s mental summons, Myshik hefted his axe once more and turned in the direction that Vhok and the others had fled. He began to sprint toward them. As he built up speed, he unfurled his wings. Vhok had never seen Myshik fly and wondered if the vestigial appendages could hold him aloft.

At the very edge of the plateau, Myshik leaped into the air and soared over the flowing lava. He hurtled right toward Vhok, though the cambion knew the half-dragon could not see him in his smoky form. The draconic hobgoblin spread his wings and glided.

Vhok could see that it was not true flight, but the wings held the half-dragon aloft well enough to clear the gap. Myshik’s momentum carried him across faster than Vhok could drift, and the draconic hobgoblin just cleared the lip of the next plateau before touching down. His momentum carried him forward a few steps, and he settled in a heap upon the ground.

A moment later, Vhok arrived and dismissed his magic. His body reformed to its fiendlike state and his feet settled to the broiling ground once more. He stepped closer to Zasian and Kurkle, who stared in the direction they had come.

Several centaurs had recovered, and still more had appeared. They faced the foursome and all could see that

they had unlimbered their bows. The creatures formed a line and took aim at their quarry.

With a muttered word and a gesture, Zasian summoned a magical wall crafted of stone. He shaped it in a semicircle along the edge of the plateau. It was tall enough that none of them could see over the top.