The Gossamer Plain

CHAPTER TWO

The Everfire filled the massive chamber with an orange glow. The channel of simmering, molten rock illuminated every surface, its light even shining faintly upon the ceiling. From his vantage point high atop one of the great ruined Forge Towers, Vhok could survey the entirety of the massive room. He could feel waves of heat radiating upward, even several hundred feet away. The oppressive warmth did not bother the cambion, and the smell of scorched stone reminded him of familiar places in the Abyss.

The tower upon which the Sceptered One and his bevy of fey'ri sorcerers had gathered stood opposite its twin. The upper reaches of the counterpart had long ago shattered in some cataclysm, and the great stone bridge that once connected them simply hung in space, a jagged protrusion going nowhere. Together, the identical towers might have appeared as dual sentries, watching over the dwarves as they worked their forges in the sweltering heat.

Kaanyr Vhok had failed to conquer Sundabar because it was actually two cities, one on the surface and one below. The dwarves occupied the lower levels, far down in the depths. They had arrived many centuries before the humans and had learned to harness the potency of the Everfire for their forge work.

During the heyday of their activity, the dwarves had constructed side channels intersecting the natural lava course-great troughs that ran perpendicular to the large crevasse. At those smaller fiery canals, the dwarves performed most of their labors, heating and tempering the steel they forged into weapons and armor and the precious metals they crafted into beautiful things.

To protect themselves from the searing heat of the Everfire, the dwarves placed powerful dweomers upon the magma channels. They trapped most of the heat within protective barriers of invisible force. Using arcane tricks they allowed only small amounts of the liquid fire to flow into the side channels, and magical irrigation gates controlled the flow. In that way, they harnessed the power of what otherwise would have been a most destructive force.

Vhok knew that even after so many years, the protective magic remained in place, cordoning off the flow, keeping it from overrunning the forging chamber. Though the dwarves performed only a fraction of their work within the Everfire's tempering heat, they still came occasionally to create their most beautiful-and most magical-works.

And, because they still valued the primordial lava flow, the dwarves fiercely protected it from enemies. The Vigilant, a small but elite force of dwarves, sworn defenders of the Everfire, stood always ready to drive back subterranean invaders.

The Vigilant posed a serious problem to the cambion. They could rush at a moment's notice to aid the citizens above should an attack occur. Their combined might had proven sufficient to hold back the tide of the Scourged Legion's tanarukks on more than one occasion. Even with the cambion's subtle plan taking shape, the Vigilant might prove a thorn in his side. Vhok hated them and wanted to crush them-indeed, all the dwarves of Sundabar's labyrinthine underlevels-once and for all. But the dwarves were a hardy folk and not easily destroyed. So Vhok intended to use one of the oldest tricks of warfare. He would turn the dwarves' own strength against them. When the time was right, he would scorch them to oblivion with their own Everfire.

But for the moment, the cambion merely needed to distract them, get them away from the molten rock.

"You are certain you can bring down those barriers?" Vhok asked the fey'ri sorceress standing beside him.

The other creature nodded. A lithe female, Lysalis had the delicate but angular features of an elf, and the blazing red eyes and prominent fangs of a fiend. She dressed in gaudy splendor, an affectation she had adapted in the heady days immediately following their escape from the utter destruction of Hellgate Keep. Though the cambion found Lysalis's choice of clothing a bit too flashy for his tastes, he otherwise thought her charming and sultry. He had bedded her a time or two, though it was never anything more than a moment's diversion, much in the same way he knew Aliisza pursued other dalliances on occasion. Lysalis would never be anything more than a useful minion to him.

A perfectly capable minion, though, he thought.

"It will take all of our talents melded together," Lysalis was saying, "and it will not be quick, but I believe we can channel sufficient power into the dweomers to disrupt them and stir the Everfire to life."

Vhok was pleased. He looked past Lysalis's shoulder to the handful of other fey'ri gathered there. They were the most competent, the most powerful among all who served in Vhok's Scourged Legion. He would need every last scrap of their talents.

"Excellent," he said. "Have them begin. We shall return in a while to see how they fare."

Lysalis nodded and turned to the fey'ri. She gathered the handful of them together and issued instructions. Soon, the sorcerers were deeply involved in their preparations. None paid the slightest heed to Vhok.

The cambion peered over the edge of the tower once again. Far below, glowing ruddy in the light of the eternal furnace of the Everfire, he could see a handful of dwarves moving around. Whether they were patrols of Vigilant or craftsmen immersed in their work, he could not tell. It did not matter. Soon, he imagined, they would all be scrambling to escape the expanding inferno. The image made him smile.

Once Lysalis was satisfied that her compatriots had preparations well in hand, she and Kaanyr Vhok took their leave and began to make their way down a wide spiral staircase leading deep into the tower. When they were well out of both earshot and view, the half-fiend stopped.

"We must pay Nahaunglaroth another visit," he said. "It is time to offer more enticement."

Lysalis smirked, her elf's eyebrows arching in bemusement, but she said nothing. She passed her hands before herself and muttered an incantation. Instantly, the pair was whisked far from the dwarven stronghold.

Vhok took a steadying breath as he found himself standing upon a stone balcony exposed to the crisp night air of the mountains. He had expected the change, but it still unsettled him. Lysalis stood right beside him, and her own gasp confirmed to the cambion that the sudden shift in location and temperature startled her, too.

Behind the pair, the glow of torches cast orange light in a corona around them, throwing their shadows upon the balustrade of the balcony. Beyond that railing, the blackness of night cloaked the world like a velvet cape. The gibbous moon was low on the horizon, and filmy clouds crossed it like gauzy ribbons.

A hoarse growl chorused with a clank of metal, and Vhok turned in time to spy a pair of unusual creatures snarling and pointing. They were of a similar height as he, though more muscular and stocky, and their features were brutish and ferocious, with exposed canines and thick, prominent noses. Vhok would have considered them hobgoblins but for a few bizarre features. They both sported wide, leathery wings that fanned out to either side as they advanced. Their skin was pale blue, rather than the usual tan or yellowish of hobgoblins. Vhok knew of them, the Blood of Morueme, sired in the mating of a blue dragon and a hobgoblin slave.

The two draconic guards, dressed in heavy chain shirts and brandishing blackened battle-axes, loped forward, twirling their razorlike weapons overhead.

"You trespass!" one of them snarled.

Vhok fought the urge to yank Burnblood, his ancient elven long sword, free of its scabbard on his hip. Beside him, he noted that Lysalis clenched her fists, as though she, too, were resisting the urge to blast the two oafs with fell magic. Taking a calming breath, Vhok kept his hands out, showing that he remained unarmed, and said, "We have come to see Master Nahaunglaroth, and we bear him gifts of gold and jewels."

At the mention of their lord-and quite possibly their father-the two half-dragons slowed their advance. The one who had spoken cocked his head to one side and asked, "Where is this treasure? I see no chests or sacks of coins and gems. I think you're lying."

Vhok rolled his eyes ever so slightly but smiled and replied, "There is too much to carry-it would be too heavy. We bring it magically and will present it once we have an audience with Master Nahaunglaroth."

The draconic hobgoblin considered the cambion's words for a moment, perhaps trying to puzzle out how much he should trust the half-fiend.

After a lengthy pause, the guard nodded and said, "You wait here. I will find out if the masters will see you." The half-dragon spun on his heel and marched through a doorway into the interior of the building, leaving the other guard to watch the two interlopers. The second draconic hobgoblin stood mutely, eyeing the pair with undisguised suspicion.

Vhok gave the brutish creature a deprecating smile and turned to stroll toward the edge of the balcony, intent on enjoying the view while he was forced to wait.

Lysalis had brought the two of them to Doomspire, a great castle perched on the side of Dragondoom Mountain, in the far eastern end of the Nether range. It was not the first time the cambion and his sorceress had visited the mountain fortress. Vhok had begun negotiating with the dragon lords some time before, hoping to forge better relations with the Morueme clan. It had been a slow process. The history between the wyrms of Dragondoom and the fiends of Hellgate Keep had been unpleasant.

"You leave all your weapons out here, and you can come inside," the guard said upon returning.

The routine was familiar to Vhok and Lysalis, who had been made to disarm each time they had come to visit. The cambion thought that Nahaunglaroth was being paranoid, considering all the wondrous gifts he had brought the great dragon in the past, but he wasn't about to strain the fragile peace he had managed to establish with the clan over something as trivial as a sword.

After leaving their blades and other gear in a pile on the balcony, the two half-fiends followed their escort into the interior of the castle, leaving the other guard to stand watch over their belongings. The route through the passages of the castle was long and circuitous, descending several flights of stone stairs and winding down through numerous corridors into the deeper levels. Vhok paid little attention to their journey. The fortress was a crude thing in his estimation, built by the earliest hobgoblin thralls serving the great dragons of Clan Morueme. Despite the considerable magic and dragon ingenuity that had subsequently been spent to improve the castle's defenses, it still bore the unmistakable coarseness of its original makers.

Vhok noted that the stones forming the walls were rough and uneven, and in many cases, walls leaned or slanted at inexact angles. Doorways were not of consistent heights, and hallways often ended with no destination. The whole place had a foul odor, something akin to a mixture of bad meat and an overabundance of stable dung. Vhok often wondered just how close to collapse the place might be were it not for the dragons' will.

As they walked, the trio passed numerous other half-dragon, half-hobgoblin denizens. They also spied a handful of pure-blood hobgoblins, all of them female and appearing sullen and craven in the extreme. Some hurried to one unseen destination or another, but a few simply lurked in doorways or large open halls. Some loitered with young draconic offspring at their feet. The entire place reminded Vhok of a rundown festhall in a city slum.

At last, the decor shifted to something more opulent. The path their escort followed widened into a broad hallway that angled downward and changed from worked block walls to natural stone, shaped smooth and carved with imagery of great winged wyrms inciting terror across the land.

Vhok leaned close to Lysalis and whispered, "Next time we come for a visit, bring us directly here. That festhall overhead is anything but festive."

"So long as you can convince all of them not to behead us on sight," the sorceress replied, nodding toward the ranks of guards who flanked the hall every ten paces or so. "I rather value mine."

Vhok smirked but did not reply, for their guard had led them to a great chamber filled with a vast assortment of gleaming artwork. The half-dragon guard gestured into the room, then spun on his heel and vanished the way he had arrived.

Though he had visited the room before, the cambion was still taken aback by the sheer beauty-and volume-of treasures on display. It was on par with some of the greatest private museums or vaults in all of Faerun, he supposed. Tapestries woven of the finest silks hung on every wall, stands displaying magnificent weapons, shields, and suits of armor lined the perimeter, and glass cases revealed ancient coins, fragments of fine dishes and service sets, crowns, tiaras, jewelry, and much more.

"I see that you still marvel at my collection of fine antiques," boomed a voice from overhead.

Vhok and Lysalis simultaneously jerked their gazes up to peer at its source. A massive serpentine body reclined upon a large gallery that circled the chamber. His brilliant blue scales glittered in the light of the various lanterns placed throughout the room. A large, horned head rested upon a thick neck, with reptilian eyes studying the two visitors intently.

Vhok bowed in deference and said, "You are looking fit as always, Nahaunglaroth."

"And you are as wretched a flatterer as ever, cambion," the dragon replied, uncoiling himself and slithering over the side of the gallery's edge. As his body descended to the floor where Vhok and Lysalis stood, the sorceress took an involuntary step back. Vhok did not flinch, though he felt a moment of dread wash through him. Nahaunglaroth was a dragon, after all.

The scaled body began to shift then, shrinking and melding until it was no longer serpentine. When the transformation was complete, no evidence remained that a dragon had ever been in the room. Only a man, dressed lavishly in navy breeches and silk shirt, with a lighter blue silken doublet, stood in the company of the visitors. His eyes, however, still possessed that intense, reptilian gaze.

"So, you've come to bring me more trinkets?" the man said, striding forward. "Whatever other unworthy qualities you may have, fiend, you at least know the way to a wyrm's heart. What have you to show me?"

Vhok had to smother a chuckle. Nahaunglaroth was, like all of his draconic kin, too greedy for his own good. Even with all of his finery on display, the creature wanted more, always more. For that, the cambion was thankful.

"Lysalis-if you please?" Vhok said, and the sorceress obliged him by beginning an incantation. Nahaunglaroth tensed for a moment, but when the fey'ri produced a tiny chest in the palm of her hand, set it down, and stepped back, the dragon could not resist the urge to peer down at it eagerly.

The chest expanded in size until it was as large as an overstuffed chair. It was a remarkable piece of furniture on its own, crafted of hand-rubbed duskwood with platinum fittings. Knowing that the dragon would be suspicious, Vhok opened the latch, then slowly lifted the lid.

The three of them gazed upon a trove of ancient elven and dwarven items. Vhok had brought his host numerous weapons, tomes, fabrics, and gem-encrusted valuables, all scoured from the lost places in and beneath the High Forest.

The contents of the chest represented years of the cambion's life, both before and after the fall of Hellgate Keep.

It was no pittance he was parting with.

Nahaunglaroth knelt before the chest, his eyes gleaming in excitement. He almost cooed as he lifted first one item, then another from the container. Vhok knew he didn't need to explain the value-financial or historical-to the dragon.

If anyone understands the true value of a priceless artifact, it's a dragon, the cambion thought.

"Quite impressive," Nahaunglaroth said, standing again. Vhok could see him working to hide his eagerness. "And appreciated as much for your generosity as for its value. It must have taken you a while to gather such trinkets."

Trinkets? Vhok thought. A bit more dismissive than is warranted. Aloud, he replied, "Worth only a pittance compared to what I may gain should we be able, at last, to reach some sort of arrangement."

"Ah, yes," Nahaunglaroth said, strolling about his museum and casually examining the many items on display. "The alliance you have spoken of. Remind me again what it is you seek?" he asked, his back to the pair of half-fiends.

Vhok let one corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk, but he didn't let the disdain creep into his voice as he said, "Of course. It seems to me that neither of us is going to succeed nearly as well in our relative pursuits so long as we remain at odds with one another. The simplicity of establishing a peaceable coexistence seems so natural. This would be especially true should I ascend to the master's seat in Sundabar, as you already know I desire."

"The problem with that," the dragon said, still not turning around, "is that you fiends rut like there's no tomorrow, and before we know it, you're spread all over the place. My mountain would be overrun with your brutish Scourged Legion in no time."

Lysalis let out a low growl, but Vhok cut her off with a sharp gesture.

Nahaunglaroth turned around then, looking at both of his visitors with a knowing smile. "Touched a nerve, did I?" he asked.

"As long as we're all being civil," Vhok said, "my problem with the bargain is that you greedy dragons can never get enough of what glitters. I don't mind so much, giving some of mine to you-after all, I have much greater political ambitions-but your demand for more would never stop. I'd bring you a bar of gold, you'd ask me why it wasn't two."

Nahaunglaroth glared at Vhok for a moment, and the cambion was almost certain that he had crossed the line, that whatever tenuous foothold he held on establishing a neutrality pact had just crumbled beneath him. He silently cursed himself for being so forward.

But then the dragon began to laugh. At first, it was a snicker, but it grew louder, deeper, and soon, the human in front of Vhok was outright guffawing, bent over and slapping his knee. Vhok couldn't help but grin a bit in response to the comical scene. When the transformed wyrm managed to regain his breath and stand upright, Vhok could see that tears of mirth streamed down his host's cheeks.

"I've never heard a dragon's greed described quite so aptly," Nahaunglaroth said at last. "I will give you credit, cambion-you don't lack for bravado or wit. Not too many folk choose to show their true disposition while standing before a dragon. Now, I've got a surprise for you." The creature put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. "There are things these human bodies are much better for," he said, smiling, as they waited. "Never could do that until I learned how to shift shapes. Whistling is so… interesting." He began to twitter a tune then, some common drinking house song that Vhok recognized but couldn't recall the words to.

The cambion just smiled and nodded, surprised at what might amuse a dragon. Is he being cagey, or eccentric? Vhok wondered.

After a moment, another half-dragon entered the room. It was similar in appearance to the guard that had escorted Vhok and Lysalis to the chamber, but it was slighter of build and seemed to hold a more intelligent gleam in its eyes. It carried a small silver coffer to Nahaunglaroth, then turned and left.

The dragon turned and passed the coffer to Vhok. "You brought me gifts, now I return the favor. Think of it as sealing the pact." At Vhok's surprised gaze, the creature nodded. "Yes, I'm willing to talk terms. I've had some time to think about your offer since your last visit, and honestly, the idea has merit. My father lost touch with the outside world, and my brother and I want to extend our reach farther, and gain influence and favors. So we are willing to enter into agreement with you, provided we can address a few concerns.

"In particular, we want to start acquiring a supply of magically enchanted weapons and armor for our Blood. You do intend to rekindle the forges of the Everfire once you seize control, don't you?"

Vhok nodded absently and said, "Undoubtedly." He opened the box and found an odd item resting inside. It was an alabaster carving of a vine-covered archway, perhaps the size of his fist. The cambion removed it from its case and held it up, examining it. He could sense latent magic radiating from within.

"My diviners knew you were coming tonight, and they also told me you are about to embark on a great journey," Nahaunglaroth said, standing beside the half-fiend while Lysalis crowded next to him on the other side. "Perhaps this small token will aid you," the dragon added.

Vhok, slightly concerned that his plans were known to others, nodded his thanks. Let's hope my enemies don't glean as much about me, he thought.

"Here," Nahaunglaroth said, taking the carved arch from Vhok, "let me show you how this works."

Myshik Morueme paused and sniffed the dead air around him, gauging his path as much by intuition as by any mental map. The blue-scaled hobgoblin chose a direction and proceeded, drawing on his half-draconic heritage to feel his way. His heavy boots thunked rhythmically as he walked. He held his massive war axe cradled in the palms of his clawed hands. He knew that, should he confront any dwarves with it, the anger in their eyes would delight him.

The passage was worked stone, precisely carved out of the bedrock of mountains by dwarf tools wielded by dwarf hands. The quality of the architecture interested him not the slightest bit, except insofar as it helped guide him. For two days, Myshik had ascended out of the Underdark, passing through countless tunnels, ruined gates, and hallways that marked the outer boundaries of Old Delzoun. Steered by his knowledge of the ancient dwarven territory, he made steady progress toward its heart. Soon, he would reach the outskirts of an area he knew to be inhabited. There, he hoped to finally reap the rewards of his search.

Myshik paused at an intersection of two great hallways, breathing in the stones. He knew he was close. His instinct nudged him to his right, so he turned that way. The passage approached a grand staircase that ascended toward a pair of massive stone doors, easily three times the half-dragon's height. The portal had been closed for centuries, judging from the scattering of debris that littered the landing. Myshik stopped before them, frowning. He could not see a way to open them.

Then he spied a side passage, a crude tunnel that someone-or something-had bored through the rock to one side of the twin doors. He stepped toward it, gripping his axe a bit more tightly.

The tunnel digger had been in a hurry. The work was rough, crude. It was also considerably smaller than the surrounding tunnels. Certainly no dwarf handiwork, Myshik decided. The potential for ambush somewhere within its depths was not lost on the half-hobgoblin. Shrugging, he entered the passage anyway. It was the only route past the massive doors, and it was the direction he must go if he wished to find his quarry.

Thinking of his goal made the half-dragon smile. Treasure was precious. It let the clan live. Treasure reaped through battle was always more precious. He hoped that dwarves guarded great hordes of the stuff.

Myshik pushed through the cramped tunnel, keeping his leathery wings tucked close to his body. The passage did not travel far, only through the thick wall that supported the doorway. He wondered for a moment why the digger hadn't chipped through the doors themselves, but dismissed the thought as he emerged on the other side. He entered what must have been a grand chamber, a massive hall so large that his darkness-attuned eyes could not make out any features within the limits of his vision.

He stood quite still for a moment, listening. All seemed perfectly quiet. Though he knew it would be risky, Myshik decided to illuminate the place so he could get a better look.

Reaching into a protected pocket, the half-hobgoblin produced an oblong bundle. Slowly unwrapping the cloth, he exposed a prism-shaped white crystal twice as thick as his clawed thumb and as long as his hand. As he folded back each layer of the covering, the intense glow of magical light grew stronger, until at last, blinking from its harsh glare, he held it openly in his palm.

Myshik held the stone aloft and slightly behind his head, using its brilliant glow to study his surroundings.

An abandoned stronghold.

The place where Myshik stood must have once served as a welcoming entryway marking the periphery of a dwarven settlement, though judging from its construction, the dwarves had been cautious hosts. The roof of the chamber soared high overhead, but directly before him stood formidable defenses. With his back to the stone doors, the half-hobgoblin faced a large wall that rose perhaps halfway to the ceiling. The top of the wall bristled with crenellations, and Myshik could see that its entire surface was pierced by arrow slits.

Another large portal bisected the wall, though solid doors did not seal that ingress. Instead, a great iron portcullis defended it. The immense metal grate hung almost all the way to the floor. Had it settled all the way down, the pointed iron protrusions lining its underside would have bored nicely into circular depressions in the stone. But a pair of large wooden braces erected beneath the huge portcullis held it aloft, preventing it from descending completely.

The braces had been crafted from immense rough-cut timbers lashed together with stout rope like gigantic saw-horses. The timbers' girths were easily as big as Myshik's chest, and the rope was as thick as his wrist. The half-dragon wondered how those who had constructed them had managed to drag such large timbers all the way down from the surface. They looked stout enough, but the thought of several tons' worth of iron bars crashing atop him unsettled him. He might decide to seek another route, perhaps by scaling the wall itself.

Of more immediate concern was the gaping chasm that separated him from the formidable wall. Fully thirty feet across, the yawning crevasse extended the width of the chamber and proceeded into the side walls. Indentations and markings lay upon the stone floor on his side of the chasm, as well as the remains of what looked like immense hinges on the far side. They suggested that a large drawbridge had spanned it at some time. Myshik suspected that the bridge had come to rest at the bottom.

The half-dragon approached the edge and peered over, shining his light down and searching for the bottom. The void descended beyond the limits of his illumination.

Myshik strolled to his left, following the edge of the cleft toward one wall. His gaze roamed over the place, seeking some safe means of crossing the chasm, but he spotted nothing. He repeated the process to his right. He found no spikes or ropes, nothing to suggest a safe means of traversing. He sighed.

Only one way, he decided.

The half-dragon backed up a number of steps and turned to face the chasm. Taking a few deep breaths, he mentally urged himself forward. Myshik took off at a sprint and dashed directly toward the gap, refusing to look down and instead eyeing the opposite side. When he reached the edge, he leaped up and forward. Under normal circumstances, no hobgoblin could have cleared such a wide barrier. But Myshik unfurled his leathery blue wings and fervently flapped them as he glided over the yawning chasm. True to his intentions, he never looked down.

Though the vestigial appendages inherited from his draconic father did not enable Myshik to truly fly, they were sufficient in size to allow him to glide a fair distance, and with their aid, he was able to navigate the boundary, landing in a trot on the far side.

Heaving one deep sigh of relief, Myshik settled easily into stride and approached the massive portcullis. He examined the braces to reassure himself that they were secure. He grasped one of the braces with both hands and shook it, testing. It groaned and seemed to shift ever so slightly, and the portcullis did, too. A smattering of dust sifted down from above, but the braces held.

Myshik gave the tremendous gate one last wary look, then darted beneath the huge bars and passed beyond the portal into the prodigious space beyond.

On the other side of the gate, Myshik's light proved inadequate to illuminate the entire chamber. The half-dragon could barely discern the far reaches, but his crystal was bright enough for him to see that the structure of the cavern ascended in grand scale. The dwarves had adapted their architecture to suit the shape of the chamber, which was not even or smooth, but sloped upward, like the side of a miniature mountain filled with ridges and draws. The space had been tiered, like a great rippled ziggurat, rising up to prominences at the far end. All of it was stout stone, crafted for stability. The dwarves had given little care to decoration; instead, the place exuded practicality.

From his study of old maps of the region, Myshik suspected he knew where he trod. He had reached an outpost, a peripheral bastion of defense against the dark things that tended to ascend from the Underdark. Beyond the upper limits of the chamber, the corridors and halls beneath Sundabar waited.

Without warning, Myshik felt a presence in his mind. It was powerful, familiar. It was Father.

Myshik, the great blue wyrm Roraurim's voice said, penetrating his offspring's skull. Myshik, answer me.

"I am here, Father," the half-dragon responded. "How may I serve you?"

I see you, the dragon's voice said. You are near the city of Sundabar.

"Yes," Myshik answered. "Below it, actually."

Good, Roraurim said. I have a job for you. My brother, your uncle, has entered into a pact with the fiends disgorged from Hellgate Keep. You must find their leader, a cambion demon named Kaanyr Vhok. Go to him, and offer yourself in service to him.

"I don't understand, Father," Myshik said. "Do we not hate the creatures that invade our mountains? Why would Uncle Nahaunglaroth do such a thing?"

Yours is not to understand-only to obey.

"Yes, Father. Of course," Myshik bowed his head in subservience. "Command me."

Go and do as I have said. You will accompany this cambion on a journey. Aid him, defend him from his enemies. When you have his confidence, this is what you are to do…

When Myshik's father, the great Roraurim, finished, Myshik smiled and said, "Yes, Father. It will be as you say."

I have faith in you, my son. And the voice was gone.

Fearing that his light might betray his presence, Myshik wrapped the crystal again and tucked it into a pocket. After spending a moment adjusting to the darkness, the half-dragon advanced, picking his way toward the first of a series of sloping pathways leading higher into the stronghold.

They were the first steps of a new journey, a new quest.