The Gossamer Plain

CHAPTER THREE

Aliisza lay very still and listened to Helm Dwarf-friend snoring softly next to her. The man's breathing was slow and steady, a familiar sound. She knew he was truly asleep. She rose up on her elbow and peered at the Master of Sundabar in the dim light of the lone lamp burning on the table nearby. The ex-mercenary's face was lined with age and the weight of responsibility, even in sleep. His hair and beard, still thick and worn in braids like the northmen, had as much gray as red in it. His frame still bulged, but as much paunch as muscle was evident. He was no longer the young man the people of Sundabar had embraced so many years before, the stout warrior and battle captain of the Bloodaxe mercenary company who had saved the city from destruction first, and corruption afterward. Time and care had stolen his vibrant youth from him.

It would not be difficult to turn the people away from a man who looked as tired and infirm as Helm Dwarf-friend. They would need only a little nudge and a more capable alternative to see the truth. An alternative who looked young and handsome, like Dwarf-friend had twenty years or more ago. Someone like Kaanyr Vhok.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping master, Aliisza rose from the bed. She took up her nightdress from the floor, where Helm had carelessly tossed it aside. She did not don it immediately, but instead moved toward the mirror above the washbasin to gaze at the reflection of the innocent girl who would betray a city. The impish face that stared back at her smiled in satisfaction, with a hint of smoldering lust.

I'll hand that to him, the alu thought. He's got an excellent eye for beauty. Aliisza turned herself back and forth, appraising her shape and curves, her head cocked to one side. Hells, I'd bed Ansa, too, she thought with a grin. She giggled, softly so that she wouldn't wake the man.

Aliisza wriggled herself into the nightdress and moved to the door leading into the master's study. She pulled it open, being careful not to make noise, and slipped outside.

The study was a mess, as usual, and it was ostensibly Ansa's job to straighten it. But Aliisza conveniently avoided the task as much as possible. She wanted to perpetuate the image of an overwhelmed, disorganized leader, but she also detested such menial chores. Despite the chaos in the room, she had a very good idea where everything was, and she had taken advantage of the master's long days attending to the duties of office to sift and sort through it all, gleaning as best she could how the man tried to run the city.

She had even begun, very slowly, to make changes to some of his official documents. Requisitions, records of accounting, even specifications for equipping and deploying the watch received adjustments. Always subtle, the changes effectively weakened the city in some small way, or created confusion in some warehouse or barracks. Slowly, inconspicuously, Aliisza was undermining Dwarf-friend's rule, making it appear that he was beginning to lose his ability to do so effectively.

The alu moved to a pile of military supply requisitions and sat down to examine them. Outwardly, she claimed to Dwarf-friend to be sorting and filing the stack, but in truth, she poured over it for details on Sundabar's martial might. Already she had found ways in which she could shortchange both the Shieldsar, Sundabar's army, and the Stone Shields, the city watch. It would be a long, tedious process, but within a few months, the half-fiend would have substantially weakened both forces. More importantly, she would make Helm Dwarf-friend look the fool. Watch commanders were already sending curt notes from time to time, complaining to the master that needed provisions were in short supply and not being replenished when expected. Aliisza was intercepting the messages, though, and Helm never saw them.

The alu sat down lazily, thinking to spend some time at her subversive task, but a premonition, a familiar tingling sense of danger, washed over Aliisza and froze her in place. She recognized the subtle, almost subconscious augury. Such signals coursed through her from time to time, warning her of impending peril. Her intuition was an inherited gift from her demonic mother, and she knew better than to ignore it. Right then, she felt as though she were being watched.

She scanned the room, looking for some sign that her premonition was warranted. The alu's gaze penetrated every corner, every shadow within the ill-lit study. She sought any potential hiding place, but the furniture was sparse and functional rather than posh, and there was no place for someone to conceal himself.

What is it? the alu wondered, shivering. What am I not seeing? Remembrance made her breath catch. Pharaun's ring!

Without looking down, Aliisza brought her hands together and felt for the trinket. The strange signet ring encircled the fourth finger of her right hand. She knew it granted her a preternatural ability to recognize magical emanations, but in the couple of months since she had claimed it from the drow wizard Pharaun Mizzrym's remains, she had not grown accustomed to drawing on its power. Brushing aside the self-chastisement of not thinking of it sooner, the half-demon summoned the wizardry of the ring and focused her attention all around the chamber, seeking the telltale signs of dweomers.

Magical emanations of various hues and strengths exploded in her vision from numerous points. A set of bound scrolls on a bookcase glimmered with arcane radiance. A cane leaning in a corner burst into light. And the shield that hung over the mantle radiated power, too. But the source right in front of her caught Aliisza's attention.

A single figure standing near the hearth erupted into a dazzling display of glowing radiance. Myriad magical colors shimmered around it, outlining the form and revealing it as a human-sized male. He stood very still, tucked half behind the fireplace, seemingly watching her. He had taken great pains to keep from being spotted or heard, drawing on magical invisibility and uncanny silence to remain undetected. He bore numerous defensive enchantments as well as powerful weapons. He was clearly ready for a fight.

Aliisza became aware of all this in the blink of an eye.

Aliisza hesitated. Her instinct told her to draw weapons and attack the trespasser, take him by surprise before he could react, but she also knew Ansa would never do that. She was loath to ruin her carefully planned deception.

Then, in the time it took the alu to wonder whether it was the master or herself being hunted, another wave of subliminal warning washed over her. A hint of light and motion caught her eye, coming from her right. A figure materialized, stepping through a magical doorway in the center of the room. Multicolored emanations swarmed around him as well, a visual cacophony of magical protections revealed by Pharaun's signet ring. He immediately waved a wand at her.

Instantly, Aliisza's surroundings grew unearthly silent. She could not even hear the rush of blood in her ears as her heart pounded.

Me, Aliisza understood in that dreadful instant, knowing most of her spells had just been rendered useless. They've come for me. But how? I was careful. So very careful.

And yet someone had ferreted her out. The deception was ruined. Kaanyr's plan to disgrace Helm Dwarf-friend was lost. Rage coursed through her, made her want to flense someone. The fool with the wand would do nicely.

As Aliisza turned toward the wizard, the door to the outer hall burst open and a third figure entered. It was a woman, heavily armored and radiating powerful magic. She gestured at the disguised alu.

The half-fiend swore, recognizing the divine motions. Time to go, Aliisza decided, feeling concern replace her rage. They aren't playing games. She began to summon innate magical energy, intending to create an extradimensional portal through which to flee.

She was not quick enough.

A flash of emerald arced across the alu's vision as a glowing green ray shot from her adversary's fingers. She twisted around in an attempt to dodge the shimmering energy, but it struck her on the shoulder. Instantly, a glowing field of similar color coalesced all about her. She was surprised to discover that she felt no pain. The beam had not directly harmed her.

In the next breath, Aliisza had her magical doorway created. Without waiting to see what sort of vile magic had ensnared her, she stepped through.

And bounced back.

The doorway would not permit her passage. To the alu, it felt as if she were trying to move into a stone wall. She could sense the magic of it, feel the innate control she had over the portal, even detect the location beyond, where she had anchored the other end of the extradimensional pathway. But she was barred from using it.

Cursing to herself in her soundless state, Aliisza understood the nature of the green magic that clung to her.

They've anchored me, she thought as a brief wave of panic washed through her. She forced the abhorrent emotion down. Better cut my way out of here the old-fashioned way, she decided.

The alu shifted into her true form.

The silly wisp of a girl dressed only in a nightshirt vanished. The half-fiend, dressed in sinewy black leather armor and with unfurling black leathery wings, replaced her. Aliisza drew herself up to her full height, giving a disdainful stare at the three adversaries arrayed around her, and jerked free the magical elven blade she wore at her side.

The transition had just the effect the alu wanted. All three of the intruders paused, staring at the fiendish creature before them.

Aliisza took advantage of their startled hesitation and lunged at the wizard with the wand. She felt the blade slip through arcane protection, its own magic overwhelming the cloaking armor surrounding the man. The keen tip of the sword pierced the wizard in the abdomen and doubled him over in a single deadly stroke. The half-fiend yanked the blade free and spun to face her other two opponents, heedless of the man as he crumpled to the floor.

Only then did she spot the fourth figure.

Zasian Menz filled the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a pompous smile on his face.

"You," Aliisza snarled, seething, but no sound issued from her, the silence as mocking as the seneschal's gleeful stare. She wanted to run him through with her blade, to wrap her fingers around his neck and choke the life from him.

Zasian stepped into the room and made a gesture. The alu saw his mouth move as he pointed, directing the two remaining assailants confronting her. The man's intentions were clear enough, even if his words were lost to Aliisza's deafened ears. Surround her, do not let her escape. She was the quarry he was after.

To her left, the figure by the fireplace unfurled a weighted net. To her right, the priestess sidestepped, making room for the seneschal to join the fray.

Knowing she was out-muscled and lacking any spells, Aliisza backed away, looking for freedom. She glanced at the window, closed against the cold of night, and wondered if she could bull her way through it. Though Dwarf-friend's quarters were on the fourth floor of the Master's Hall, her wings would negotiate the fall and speed the alu to safety. But she would first have to break through the stout wooden shutters.

Aliisza must have taken a faltering step in that direction, for immediately, her foes rushed to try to encircle her. She dared not engage one of them and put her back to the other two, but she also couldn't stand there and let them pick her apart with magic. She eyed the distance and wondered how much it would hurt to hurtle herself though the wooden panel.

The floor lurched beneath Aliisza's feet. The room tottered and shook, and the alu stumbled, off balance. Piles of parchment, precariously stacked on many surfaces, slid to the floor, scattering everywhere. Books fell from the bookcases. The lamps swayed, and a candle fell to the floor, spilling wax and setting fire to some of the scraps of parchment strewn nearby.

It took Aliisza a moment to realize what was happening. Then her mind wrapped around it. Earthquake!

The trio of assailants shifted and stumbled, caught as much by surprise as the alu. The priestess grabbed at the table to steady herself, while Zasian staggered backward and grasped the doorframe with both hands.

That distraction was all she needed. Fighting the swaying world, Aliisza darted forward, intent on launching herself through the window. The shifting of the floor and the scattering of scrolls and parchment made it difficult for her to build speed, but she closed the distance. When she was several steps away, she began to tuck, anticipating the trajectory she would use to hurtle herself through the shutters and escape into the night.

The rogue by the fireplace, deft on his feet, recovered quickly. In a blinding swirl of motion, he sent the net spinning, fanning out into a large circle. Aliisza sprinted and jumped, lifting herself off the ground. She tucked herself into a ball, desperate to evade the trap and break through.

She was a step too slow.

The net settled around her body, the weights attached to its edges pulling it tight. She thrashed and fought its confining embrace even as the rogue pulled on a trailing rope, yanking the net taut.

Unable to complete her leap to freedom, Aliisza jerked to a sudden stop and tumbled to the stone floor. She landed hard, absorbing most of the impact on one shoulder. She felt jarring, burning pain shoot through the joint and felt one of her wings crack as it bent at an angle beneath her weight. The pain nauseated her, and spots swam in her vision.

Fighting panic, Aliisza rolled to a sitting position to face her oncoming attackers. The ground seemed to have ceased pitching, and the trio was closing the distance with her. She fumbled to bring her magical blade to bear, trying to pull it free of the confining net, but the tangle of hemp strands made her efforts fruitless.

Aliisza gave up and frantically fumbled a hand toward one of her pouches. She knew a spell she could cast without speaking, one that would permit her to transform into a puddle of liquid. If she could summon the magic to do so, she reasoned, she might be able to slip away by oozing through the gap between the shutters. But she needed a pinch of gelatin to conjure the transformation. She slipped her hand inside the pouch and began fumbling for the packet of powder.

Her seemingly endless streak of bad luck continued.

The priestess, a lackey of Torm judging from the markings upon her breastplate, loomed over the half-fiend. She hit Aliisza hard on one shoulder with her mace. The blow hurt, knocking her back and sending the contents of her pouch tumbling onto the floor beneath the writing table in the center of the room. The crushing strike sent spidery pain all through the alu's body, unnatural holy burning that caused Aliisza to cry out, though no sound could escape her lips.

The alu tried to roll backward, to swing her feet over her head to end in a crouch, but the netting hindered her. In frustration, she kicked out at the priestess, but the woman sidestepped and smacked her mace against the half-fiend's ankle, sending another jolt of agonizing pain through her body.

As Aliisza crumpled in injury and exhaustion, the hateful priestess stood proudly over her, brandishing the blessed weapon. Something inside the alu, a deep-rooted survival instinct that she could feel but not understand, overcame her. She named it cowardice, an unwelcome trait undoubtedly inherited from her human father. She loathed herself for succumbing to it, even as she raised her arms in defeat.

The priestess never stopped smiling as she swung the heavy weapon down, slamming it into Aliisza's forehead.

All the world melted away in a torrent of pain and blackness.

"Remember, no unnecessary risks," Vhok instructed his lieutenant. "The legion will grow restless, but keep them out of sight." He gazed at the city of Sundabar in the distance, illuminated by watch fires along the walls.

Rorgak nodded. "They will question why," he said, giving Vhok an expectant glance.

"Theirs is not to question," the cambion snapped. "Explain to those who do that it had better not get back to me. The wait will be worth it."

A chill wind blew across the low hillock where he, his lieutenant, and Lysalis stood. Around the three of them, the half-frozen grasses of the Rauvin Valley rustled. The ice that coated the scrub crackled in the wind, reminding Vhok of dissonant bells. He shivered, finding the arctic breezes unpleasant on his hot skin.

"Make sure you maintain the illusion that I am still here," the cambion warned. "The tent and guards remain in place. I have set the wards to permit you to enter. The cloaking magic will keep prying eyes and ears from learning that you are actually alone when you 'receive' new orders from me."

The red-scaled, hulking tanarukk nodded again. "I will visit you daily," he said. Then, after a lingering silence, he asked, "What of Aliisza? What should I tell her if she returns?"

She won't, Vhok thought. Not if we're lucky. Out loud, he said, "Tell her the truth. Explain to her that I have undertaken a separate, secret mission to retrieve powerful magic to aid us in the impending conquest. She will discover it in due time herself, regardless. She has access to the tent."

"You don't think she's going to return," the tanarukk lieutenant said, as much a question as a statement.

Vhok shrugged, not wishing to give away what he already knew. "As always, she plots her own course, whatever instructions I give her. She… intrigues me that way," he said, more to himself than to his subordinate. It was a good lie, because it was still the truth.

Rorgak knew better than to respond to such a comment. Instead, the lieutenant asked, "How long will you be away?"

Vhok considered his answer before he lied again. "A day or two, maybe three."

Any longer, the cambion thought, and Rorgak might decide it was time to start commanding and do something impetuous. Vhok knew full well that the burly officer relished the chance to control the seething, war-crazed legion. He harbored no doubts that his lieutenant had designs of taking over for him some day-with or without Kaanyr Vhok's blessings.

Far in the future, Vhok silently insisted. I am not done with them yet.

"Good travels, then," Rorgak replied, saluting.

The cambion returned the gesture and looked at Lysalis. She mentally commanded the magic that whisked the two of them deep under the surface.

Rorgak's competence was already gone from the cambion's thoughts when he and his sorceress appeared upon the spiral steps within the abandoned Forge Tower. He could feel that the heat was more oppressive than the last time he had visited.

The fey'ri magic must be going well, he thought.

Vhok ascended the staircase and stepped into view of his minions, still hard at work magically disrupting the Everfire. He saw evidence of a recent battle atop the tower. One of the fey'ri sorcerers lay unmoving, his skin blackened, and several others showed signs of injuries. A pair of the demonic elves perched on the edge of the roof, wands in their hands, gazing down into the depths of the chamber below.

Lysalis surveyed the situation, examining the dead and wounded fey'ri and studying the floor far below. She turned to Vhok and caught his eye, then gave a jerk of her head to indicate that he should see what was transpiring. The cambion strolled to the edge and peered over the side.

The Everfire roared and bucked, sloshing scalding hot liquid rock. It swelled and spilled over the sides of its channel, sliding across the vast floor and cooling in uneven mounds. Dwarves had scattered throughout the cavern, furiously working to stop the onslaught of fiery destruction. Their efforts were hampered by the churning lava, the magical attacks from the sorcerers on the tower, and a horde of tanarukks that pressed the attack directly.

Some of the dwarves had formed a shield wall. They defended a second, smaller group from attack, fighting to keep the swarming tanarukks away from their charges while the smaller collection worked magic. The wizards, clerics, and sorcerers struggled to repel the mass of fiendish orcs. At the same time, they flung destructive magic at the sorcerers atop the tower.

Even as Vhok watched, a sizzling nugget of fire soared upward from the cluster of arcane spellcasters. He recognized the fireball well before it reached him. The cambion chuckled as the blast of searing fire erupted all around him. The burst singed the heated air, but he and his sorcerers remained unscathed.

The diversion seemed well in hand, so the cambion looked at Lysalis. "It's time to go," he said. He pointed to an overhang of natural rock jutting from the cavern wall near the sloshing, churning Everfire. "Whisk us over there, please," he instructed the sorceress.

Lysalis gave Vhok a slightly chagrined look and shrugged. "You've had me whisking you here and there all evening," she said. "I can't perform that particular trick again for a while. At least not until I rest and recuperate."

Vhok frowned, eyeing the vast space between the base of the tower and the promontory he sought. "Then I guess we'll get there the old-fashioned way," he said, pulling his long sword, Burnblood, free of its scabbard. "We'll drop down on the far side and work our way around those sluice channels, which will give us some cover from the fight. Over the side it is, then."

The fey'ri nodded, chanted a few lines of sorcery, and moved to join him on the far side of the tower. Together, they stepped off the edge and began to plummet toward the bottom. Near the halfway mark of the fall, Vhok invoked an innate ability and immediately slowed his descent, creating a magical disk of force beneath himself and levitating upon it in the air. Beside him, Lysalis also slowed, though her reduced speed hinted at a gentle drifting, as though she were light as a feather.

Two different tricks, similar outcome, Vhok chuckled. "Race you down," he called, allowing his disk to accelerate its descent. He dropped below his sorcerous minion and reached the rough-hewn floor of the great cavern a few heartbeats before she did.

As soon as Lysalis joined the commander of the Scourged Legion, they crept around to survey the battlefield. The dwarves were hard pressed on two sides. It wasn't quite a flanking maneuver, but it served its purpose well enough, pinning the stout folk and keeping them away from the Everfire. It appeared the cambion and his fey'ri sorceress could reach the wall unhindered and unnoticed, as long as they stayed on the far side of the sluice channels, which were overflowing with lava.

Kaanyr Vhok nodded to himself in satisfaction and began to trot across open ground, angling toward the nearest channel. Lysalis fell in close behind him. If the pair could reach the barrier unseen, then they could follow its length to the Everfire itself without engaging the enemy. Though he would enjoy beheading a dwarf or two, Vhok felt a greater sense of urgency to reach that point of rock and begin his journey.

As the pair of half-fiends made their way toward their destination, a small group of dwarves appeared from a side tunnel nearby. They noticed the pair of demonic visitors and immediately charged across the gap toward them. Vhok sighed in exasperation. So much for staying out of sight, he thought. He went into a defensive crouch, counting enemies. There were nearly a dozen.

A billowing cloud of steam erupted across the cambion's field of vision as Lysalis generated a magical effect aimed at the dwarves. Vhok could feel the tingle of extreme cold, though he did not experience the damaging effects of it. As the cloud of steam dissipated in the scorching air, Vhok could see that more than half the dwarves had fallen. A thin rime, all crystalline white, coated them, and though the ice was melting quickly, it had done its job.

The remaining four dwarves rushed on, and Vhok could see more entering from the same side cavern nearby.

We don't have time for this, the cambion thought in mild irritation as he slashed at the first dwarf opponent. As much fun as this is, if the main battle group notices us, we'll never get through.

The blade he wielded, an ancient elven weapon crafted during the height of Aryvandaar, carved through the dwarf's shield and gashed deeply into his neck and shoulder. With a grunt of pain, the stout one stumbled away, his place taken by another. Vhok swung again, but his new foe was more wary and stepped back. They began their dance, Vhok and his fey'ri companion, working side by side to keep the heavily armored dwarf soldiers at bay.

A rapid series of glowing darts shot from Lysalis's fingertips, pummeling her closest opponent directly in the face. The dwarf screamed and dropped to one knee, clutching his face with his gauntleted hands. Vhok took the opportunity to slip his sword between the segmented plates of his armor, silencing him. Even as the dwarf toppled, the cambion spun to parry the slashing attack of another dwarf with an oversized battle hammer.

As Vhok dropped his last enemy, Lysalis grunted in pain. The cambion turned to see her reel from a dwarf who had slammed her with his spiked shield. Her face was ashen and her expression spoke of agonizing pain. She slumped down next to the cambion, gasping for breath.

"Blessed!" she managed to blurt out, her eyes growing wide with horror. "Beware its power!"

Vhok was no longer watching the fey'ri, though. Upon hearing her warning, he turned his full attention upon the dwarf with the deadly shield.

As Myshik worked his way through the abandoned stronghold, a faint sound reached the half-dragon's ears. The ringing clang of battle softly resonated, the iron tones of clashing steel reverberating from somewhere ahead.

Puzzled, Myshik made his way higher through the stronghold, climbing the tiers one by one. When he was perhaps two-thirds of the way to the top, the stone beneath his feet rumbled and bucked, nearly knocking him to the ground. The half-hobgoblin stumbled and fell against the wall, which cracked threateningly along its base. Echoing reverberations thundered through the cavern, accompanied by the sounds of cracking and falling stone.

The earth sounds angry, he thought, concerned. Who makes it so?

Regaining his balance, Myshik resumed his pace, working toward a bridge in the distance. When he arrived at the causeway, the half-dragon gazed doubtfully at it and peered down into the chasm it crossed. As before, near the entry gate, a great crease divided the chamber, both above and below. The dwarves had utilized the obstruction to their advantage in preparing their defense. The chasm divided the topmost tier from the rest of the stronghold, a natural barrier impossible to cross in force.

Myshik took a few tentative steps onto the causeway, testing its integrity. It seemed stable enough, so he began to cross. As he neared the apex of the curved slab of rock, he felt another vibration and started to run. He had almost reached the far side when another deafening rumble rocked the stronghold. The force of the earthquake pitched the half-dragon forward, dropping him to his knees. A great booming crack jarred him and everything around him. Overhead, molten rock burst from the crevasse and spilled down, forming a magmafall that tumbled, hissing and smoking, into the chasm below. It struck the causeway mere feet behind the half-hobgoblin, scorching the air all around him and blasting him with terrible heat. The bridge groaned and trembled beneath the onslaught of the fiery stone cascading down atop it.

Myshik scrambled forward, away from the great heat, staggering off the causeway and away from the edge of the chasm. The bridge shuddered and groaned behind him, then it shattered and tumbled away, falling into the great crevasse below along with the stream of lava.

Myshik stared wide-eyed at the remains of the bridge jutting out into space, where he had been standing only moments previous. Even where he sat, the heat was oppressive, and he feared that spattering gobs of viscous liquid stone would strike him if he remained. Scrambling to his feet once more, the half-dragon put distance between himself and the deadly magmafall.

More rumbling earthquakes shook the environment as Myshik hurried ever upward. More than once, he was forced to evade falling debris or to leap cracks that formed suddenly across his path. He warily eyed the ceiling, wondering how much longer the cavern could remain intact under the onslaught of the seismic assault.

At last, Myshik reached the peak of the stronghold. He found a great winding staircase leading upward into the stone ceiling. Above, he thought he could hear the ring of steel on steel, the telltale sounds of furious battle. He hesitated for a moment, questioning the stability of the path and what he might encounter at the top. When yet another reverberation made him stumble and sent a large wall tumbling down to spill debris in his direction, the half-dragon began running up the steps two at a time.

The staircase twisted up and up. The sounds of fighting grew louder, more distinct. Myshik gripped his battle-axe firmly, expecting to hoist it at any moment. The stone around him continued to grumble and groan, and the steps beneath his feet shuddered and bounced.

At last the stairway ended, rising up from the depths into another great chamber. A columned cupola had once stood over the opening of the stairway, which lay in the midst of a subterranean plaza. The stonework of the cupola had tumbled down around the opening, though whether the destruction had happened moments or centuries before, the half-dragon was not certain.

Ancient buildings lined three sides of the plaza. The fourth faced what Myshik suspected must be the source of the magma which had nearly sent him plummeting to his death. A great river of it flowed on the far side of the chamber. The lava churned and sloshed, spilling over the sides of its natural channel, oozing across the floor.

Between Myshik and the expanding lake of lava, a great battle raged between a paltry force of dwarves and a swarming, snarling horde of orcs. Myshik blinked, for he had never seen orcs like them before. Unlike the filthy creatures Clan Morueme routinely battled on the surface, along the slopes of the Nether Mountains overhead, the creatures attacking the dwarves were diabolical in nature, more fiendish in their aspect.

Myshik decided they must be part of the army that served Kaanyr Vhok, the cambion his father had spoken of. He had found the object of his quest at last. With a grin, Myshik hefted high his war axe, stolen from a dwarven tomb long centuries before, and charged into the fray with an eager cry. Several dwarves turned to face the charging half-dragon.

Dread filled their eyes.