Thomas Reid - The Gossamer Plain

The spell ended before they reached the path Vhok remembered seeing, so Zasian summoned the spell a second time and they continued. Before long, the morningstar broke through to clear ground.

The path Vhok had seen was straight and wide. He saw no evidence of who or what might have made it, but it was clearly unnatural. Whatever had made the trail had done a thorough job, Vhok noted. No remnants of crystal lay scattered on the black and baking ground, no mineral dust indicated that any of the growth had been pulverized or crushed. No tracks remained that Vhok could see. It was impossible for him to discern how well traveled the path might be.

Shrugging, he started forward, with Zasian beside him. As they walked, they kept one eye on the sky, wary of being surprised again by the soaring, wheeling beasts. The bird-things did not return to trouble them again.

The land rose as they left the Islands behind. Flat shoreline became low foothills, which in turn became steeper mountains. Vhok could see the glow of magma trickling down from the higher elevations ahead of them. He hoped they would not face much steep climbing or fording of the molten rock. He suspected his wishes would be in vain.

The path began to wind more and more. It became a series of switchbacks that climbed the steeper slopes. In various places, Vhok and Zasian found narrow bridges crafted of black, igneous stone crossing deep gullies and ravines. Glowing magma coursed down those channels, and Vhok was thankful that some intelligent beings had constructed the road. He wondered how long it might be before they ran into the bridge builders, and whether they would receive a better reception than the centaur bandits had offered.

The forest of crystal remained all around them, and the individual growths grew higher and higher as they ascended the slopes of the mountains. Soon, the things were towering well over their heads, with trunks as thick as giants' waists. Vhok noted that the branches did not protrude from the main trunks until well overhead. Like a normal forest on Faerun, the effect created a cathedral-like openness at ground level with a canopy of shelter overhead. The only difference, the cambion observed, was that fallen branches and decaying leaves were replaced by jagged shards of glassy stone and coarse powder that covered the land like snow. It might have been beautiful, but he dared not tread upon it.

After walking for a long time, Vhok broke the silence. "We need to find shelter soon," he said. "Nothing looks very inviting out here, though," he added. He could not hide the bitterness in his voice. He knew their rest would be far less comfortable without the luxury of his magical mansion. He was angry at himself for not planning a backup measure.

Yet another consequence for being too trusting, he lamented.

"That may be a problem," Zasian said. "Without enough rest, it may be difficult for either of us to rejuvenate our magic."

They plodded along, vainly seeking some sort of reprieve from the scorching ground and broiling atmosphere. Despite the magical protection of the rings both wore, the cambion felt his energy draining from him. Sweat soaked him through, his mouth was parched, and his nose and eyes stung from the acrid air. Everything smelled burned. He was sick of it.

Vhok realized that there was no day or night within the Plane of Fire. The sky remained that same roiling hue of orange mixed with gray and black, an endless stretch of smoky clouds churning overhead and reflecting the light of a million burning fires. He had no idea how long they had been traveling since extracting themselves from the dimensional mansion. He knew he was tired, though.

"We've got to halt," he announced at last. He stopped and propped himself against an outcropping of rock that jutted from a steep-sided slope running alongside the trail. "No more today," he added.

"There's no place to shelter us," Zasian argued. "Maybe the next bridge would suit us."

"Yes, an excellent idea," Vhok said, and he laughed, but he felt no mirth. "We can hide beneath it like trolls."

"You would prefer to just plop down here?" the priest demanded, his tone haughty. "Exposed? Visible? At the mercy of the endless, thrice-damned heat?" he shouted, visibly angry. He flung his pack down upon the ground, and when it began to smolder, he snatched it up again. "See?" he yelled, frantically patting the flames out on the scorched bundle. "There's no way we can set up a camp here! Everything will turn to ash in a matter of moments!"

Vhok sighed. He was too worn out to resent the priest's words. He knew Zasian was right, and he had only himself to blame. "I find it odd," he said at last, "that you do not point at me and shout blame, like so many of your kind. A follower of Bane who doesn't seize any opportunity to demean and accuse? How is it that you are so even-tempered?"

Zasian looked at Vhok with surprise. "What would be the point of that?" he asked. "I serve the Black Lord because I want to succeed. I've got better things to do than belittle quaking wretches afraid of their own shadows. Bane will judge me on my own merits, not on how much poorer I made another out to be."

"That sounds almost noble," Vhok said, a sly smile flashing across his face. "Are you sure that is what Bane requires of you?"

"It's true that many Banites seek every opportunity to tear down those around them in order to make themselves appear more powerful. I find that to be folly. They spend all their time circling the mountain, looking for others to push off, rather than making their way to the top of it."

The cambion grunted in appreciation of his counterpart's wisdom.

"That does not mean that I will not put an upstart underling in his place, if need be. I have little tolerance for those who merit punishment, but I see no sense in squashing genius. There is a difference between exerting one's authority and jealously trying to punish ambition."

"And so there's no sense of recrimination toward me?" Vhok asked. "No accusation of misdeeds on my part?"

"Why?" the priest asked in response. "Because you trusted that maggot of a half-dragon and his clan? I was there at the Everfire, too. Did I raise an objection? No. If I had thought your decision was folly, I would have told you."

"Would you now?" Vhok held some doubt that Zasian was being truthful with him.

"Just as I am telling you now that your growing frustration with our current predicament is folly," the priest said. "It does us no good to grow irate about it. We cannot stay here-we both know that. Our choices are simple. We either push on, or we give up and find a means to return to Sundabar."

Vhok sighed again. "I know," he said. "I'm just so damned tired. I-"

The cambion froze in the midst of his speech. He heard a noise, from just beyond the bend in the trail. He reached for Burnblood and took a halting step forward, unsure if his weary mind had played tricks on him.

At almost the same instant, Zasian's eyes grew wide as he stared at something over Vhok's shoulder. He jerked upright and fumbled for something within his tunic.

The cambion spun around. He saw nothing. "What is it?" he asked, pulling his sword free. "What do you see?"

"There," the priest said, pointing with one hand while extracting a scroll with the other. As Vhok turned to look again at what seemed to be an empty trail, Zasian blurted out an unintelligible phrase in rapid, clipped tones. As he finished, a horde of dwarves, their hair and beards flickering flame, materialized out of nothingness.

Dappled sunlight shone through the high boughs of the forest canopy overhead. Aliisza watched as a gray-haired woman tried to chop a log in half. Her arms quavered, and she had no real skill at the work. Her blows against the hardwood fell awkwardly or missed altogether. Once, she nearly took off her own toes.