Thomas Reid - The Gossamer Plain

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.

Vhok heard the sound of arrows smacking against the opposite side. He shrugged and turned away, sliding down to rest. "Will they follow us?" he asked.

The canomorph made a strange barking sound, and the cambion realized it was a snort of derision. "They cannot," Kurkle said. "They are great leapers, but the Islands are too much for them. Sometimes, they use magic to foray out here, but they cannot come in force."

"Then we are safe," Myshik said, his voice weak with weariness. "They will trouble us no more."

Kurkle snorted again. "Nay, not safe," he said. "Other things lurk here. We must be wary. Watch the skies, the flow between islands."

Vhok eyed the territory with doubt. The sea of lava, dotted with mesas of solid land, stretched as far as he could make out in the hazy air. The molten rock sloshed and churned, hiccuping bubbles and gouts of liquid fire randomly. The whole horizon shimmered and wavered from the heat.

"How far does this go?" he asked.

"Not far," Kurkle replied. "A short trek, if we were on solid land. But we must find a way to cross. Your magic," he said, turning to Zasian. "Can you use it to let us walk upon the air, as we did before?"

The priest nodded. "You still can," he said, "for a bit longer. But it will vanish after a time, and I cannot bestow it upon the others," he said, gesturing at Vhok and Myshik. "The half-dragon cannot glide from island to island-some are too far apart. Vhok? What magic have you?"

The cambion shook his head. "Not much," he answered. "Too much went against the bandits, or to aid in escaping them. And I am bone tired, anyway. I say we stop for the day and resume our journey tomorrow. Zasian and I can plan new magic to help us cross this."

"It's not safe here," Kurkle argued. "We should press on."

"It's safe enough for my magical mansion," Vhok said. "You'll have to come with us, Kurkle."

The canomorph gave the cambion a doubtful look, but at last acquiesced with a nod.

"This wall of yours is handy, Zasian," Vhok remarked as he dug the miniature archway out of his belongings. "The centaurs can't see us disappear. If they do get over here, it will seem like we are long gone."

With that, he summoned the portal leading into his posh extradimensional abode and gestured for everyone to enter. The cambion was the last to pass through the doorway, and once he was gone, the shimmering passage winked out of existence.

Though the mid-morning air was crisp and cold, the sun shining on Aliisza's face warmed her skin. She drew a deep breath and caught the scent of fragrant blossoms emerging from the flaky-barked branches of a felsul tree in the tiny garden. Spring had come to Sundabar.

Two young children, a boy and a girl, played in the garden. They dug in a bare patch of dirt with their hands. As the boy made a path, the girl moved a wooden block painted to look like a coach along it. Neither of them noticed the half-fiend in their midst.