Thomas Reid - The Gossamer Plain

Unless…

The cambion squatted down and fished around in Lysalis's pouches, seeking the wand he had seen her use earlier. He yanked it from a bag on her hip and gripped her face with his other hand. She was fading rapidly.

"The trigger word!" he said, making her focus her eyes on him. "What is the command word for this?" He held the wand in her field of vision to aid her understanding.

" 'Glacious,' " Lysalis mumbled, her eyes glazing over.

Vhok stood and aimed the wand, not at the dwarves but at the lava near his feet. He spoke the word the fey'ri had given him. A ray of frosty crystals erupted from the tip, churning into a billowing cloud of hissing vapor as it struck the molten rock. The steam surrounded the cambion and obscured his vision. He felt comfortable warmth envelop him, but cries of protest and pain emanated from several dwarves as the superheated vapor reached them.

Before him, the magic yielded the desired effect. The lava cooled and hardened to black stone. Safely hidden within the shroud of steam, the cambion took one tentative step upon the blackened stone and found that although it was spongy, it held his weight.

Excellent, the half-fiend thought. Not waiting to see how long his cover would last, Vhok bent low, grabbed Lysalis, and hoisted her on his shoulders. He took several steps onto the hardened lava, and when he felt it beginning to give way beneath him, he discharged another blast of frosty magic from the wand. Clouds of steam billowed up all around him, emitting harsh seething sounds.

He progressed forward and upward. Each time the hot stone became too soft, he chilled it with the magic of the wand to keep going. Each blast also served to hide him from the furious dwarves, who continued to fire at him. The magical barrier he had erected served him well, and the missiles did not reach him.

Eventually, Vhok could no longer proceed. The ascent was too steep to negotiate without the use of his hands, which held both the wand and the groaning, thrashing bundle on his back. Frowning, Vhok blasted the lava several times in succession, following a line all the way to the top of the ever-increasing slope. The resultant cloud of steam billowed so thickly that for a moment, the cambion could hardly see his hand in front of his face.

He tucked the wand away and pulled out his scepter. With several powerful swings, he gouged indentations into the surface of the hardened rock. Each strike created a deep boom that echoed around him, drawing more missile fire.

Lysalis cried out and jerked, nearly toppling the two of them backward before Vhok managed to regain his balance. He suspected she had been struck by one of the bolts, but he dared not stop to see if she was still alive. Again he considered leaving her and making good his own escape, but he loathed abandoning her-or rather, abandoning the treasure trove of magic she carried.

Determined to continue on, Vhok chopped a column of indentations into the face of the stone, staggering them slightly. When they were as high as he could reach, he tucked the scepter away and began using them like a ladder, pulling himself up by both feet and one hand, one step at a time.

At last, he reached the top of the sluice wall. He eyed the glowing, roiling barrier of fiery magma as it churned through the channel, spilling over the sides. The steam was dissipating by then, and Vhok could see that the sluice was only five feet wide. With one mighty thrust of his legs, he leaped across to the opposite side. Not pausing, he pushed himself forward again, using his momentum to increase the distance of his second jump.

Well clear of the majority of the oozing magma spilling down that side, the cambion drew on his innate fiendish power of levitation and slowed his fall. He wobbled to a stop and worked to keep his balance, no small feat with the burden on his shoulders raising his center of gravity. He stabilized himself and gently descended to the floor, leaving the great stone channel behind him as a barrier between himself and his pursuers.

The mists Vhok had created to hide his escape were much thinner on that side, and even as he strode forward to breach them, they dissipated, giving him a good view of the terrain. Vhok could see the promontory of rock directly in front of him. He had a clear shot to that place across an open plaza. More importantly, Vhok spied Zasian there. The priest had reached their departure point and waited for him.

But his clever escape had managed to put the cambion more directly in the midst of the large battle. And the massive cloud of vapor Vhok had created also attracted unwanted attention. A number of dwarves broke off from the primary fight with the tanarukks and moved to investigate the disturbance. As he emerged from the cloak of steam, Vhok discovered dwarves directly interposed between him and his destination. Seeing the half-fiend, the dwarves gave a collective shout and advanced at a rapid trot, raising their weapons.

Not again, the cambion groaned to himself. In desperation, he pulled the arctic wand free and aimed it at the oncoming dwarves, hoping to blast his way through them. But when he uttered the trigger word, nothing happened. He had exhausted its magical power. Vhok threw the worthless stick away, snarling. He doubted he had the strength to bull his way through another pack of dwarves.

At that moment, a figure charged from the ruins of a cupola along one side of the plaza. The figure raced across the open ground, heading straight toward the dwarves. As the creature waded into the midst of them, swinging a huge war axe, Vhok recognized it. It belonged to the Blood of Morueme, the ferocious draconic hobgoblins sired by the Clan Morueme dragons.

The cambion heard a sharp, concussive thump as the half-hobgoblin struck, then saw one of the Vigilant sail several paces through the air before landing with a muted splash in a patch of lava that had spilled over and seeped close. The dwarf screamed in agony and tried to escape, but the conflagration that erupted around him quickly silenced his cries.

At the same time, a massive stone wall appeared in the plaza. The barrier divided the dwarves and sealed a significant number of them away from Vhok and the half-dragon, but it left an open alley to reach the promontory. The rest of the stout folk still advanced.

Vhok looked up, knowing where the stone wall had come from. As he gazed over at Zasian, the priest gestured frantically for the cambion to hurry.

With hope of victory restored, Vhok drew his blade and strode forward to cut his way through the dwarves as best he could with Lysalis draped over his shoulder. The sorceress had become still, and he feared she was already dead. As he fought, Vhok kept an eye on the Morueme half-breed and worked to reach the half-hobgoblin's side, hoping to benefit from his protection. Each time the half-dragon's huge axe connected with a foe, Vhok could hear a loud pounding as the enemy it struck was knocked backward with preternatural force. The half-hobgoblin used the weapon to good effect, aiming his blows to slam his victims into other dwarves, cutting a swath for himself to reach Vhok.

When they at last met, the cambion tilted his head once in acknowledgment of thanks. He eyed the mighty weapon his new companion wielded, and noted that it was dwarven in make.

No wonder they're so angry, Vhok thought with a chuckle.

The half-hobgoblin returned the nod and kept swinging, plowing a gap through angry, howling dwarves. Step by step, they made their way together toward the Everfire and Zasian.

At last, the few remaining dwarves had stomached all they wanted of the fierce cambion and his unusual companion, and they fell back. A few of them fired crossbows at Vhok and the others, but Zasian acted quickly, erecting another wall of stone to block their line of sight. The cambion and the half-hobgoblin crossed the remainder of the plaza unmolested. The two of them scrambled up to the point of rock where Zasian waited.