'Orrag!' Wenmer shouted, 'you promised if I would help you, you'd give me gold. You promised me power from this demon we would free! Don't hurt me! I’ll help you!'
Orrag didn't stop. 'You betrayed me. You lied to me!' Orrag didn't stop.
Wenmer continued to cry out and struggle, but neither helped him.
Orrag's dark ceremony and Wenmer's pleas for mercy ended abruptly and simultaneously as Orrag's knife slashed the young man's throat. Blood spattered on the ground.
The men let Wenmer fall, and Orrag's grin returned. When he looked at his remaining lackeys, who all now stared at Wenmer's body, Orrag knew he'd better say something. 'He was never a true follower.' He shook his head, attempting to shape a look of regret.
'I knew that from the start,' he continued in his lie, 'but his death serves us, Chare'en's chosen. His loss is our gain.'
The three men said nothing, alternately looking at their dead comrade or at their leader.
'Now come on!' Orrag couldn't spend all day coddling them. If they had to be sacrificed as well, he could still probably succeed without them.
The four of them followed the passage and eventually came to a small chamber. As they did, Orrag heard sounds from behind. He turned and saw Gyrison and Arach catching up with them. The strange pair had evidently collected the stones the gnolls had left behind and now carried them awkwardly, using the fronts of their brown robes as pouches. Without a word, they came into the room and dumped their burdens on the floor.
'What's all this?' Orrag asked.
'You knew that the stones were not without meaning,' Gyrison said.
'Didn't you?' Arach asked.
As they spoke, the two got on their hands and knees and began arranging the stones on the floor in some sort of pattern.
Orrag stood watching for a few moments. The other men did the same. 'Is this really important?' Orrag asked.
'Yes,' they both answered in unison.
When they were finished, they stood and turned back to the half-orc priest and his followers.
'You can handle the rest,' Arach told him.
'We have things to prepare for the master's arrival-in his real home,' Gyrison said.
The two of them suddenly changed. The illusion of their appearance faded away, and they stretched their black, batlike wings behind them. Hideous, monstrous faces replaced their simple human features, and long, obsidian claws stretched out where soft hands once folded gently in front of them.
'Don't fail the master, human,' one of them-Orrag could no longer tell them apart-said.
In a flash of fire and light the two demons departed, back, Orrag was sure, to the netherworld of the Abyss. He wasn't sorry to see them go. His men stood rigid, covered in sweat. The sight of those two should keep them in line, Orrag thought.
Everything was working perfectly.
Now all he needed was a little help from his ally, Vheod.
Chapter Sixteen
'I'm not as stupid as you must think,' Whitlock told Melann in a low whisper.
The three of them had walked the entire day and the summer heat had them all soaked in sweat. Hiking through the rough terrain, climbing over rocks and up and down steep slopes, proved to be a great deal more work than riding had been, and so the heat took its toll. They still hadn't reached the crypt of Chare'en, which they now knew to be the prison of Chare'en. They made camp, and Vheod moved out to find more game for their meal. Whitlock lent him his crossbow on a somewhat permanent basis, since Vheod hadn't been able to retrieve his sword, leaving him without a weapon.
With Vheod gone, the siblings spoke of the matters at hand.
'What do you mean?' Melann asked forcefully but quietly. She'd gathered some roots and leaves from edible plants.
Whitlock arranged the wood for a fire to boil what she'd gathered. 'I've got eyes, sister,' he said. 'I know you're attracted to Vheod.'
Melann didn't reply, but stared at him silently.
'I just don't think it's a very good idea.' He pulled flint and steel from his belt pouch, striking it to set fire to the kindling he'd piled.
'You don't think what's a good idea?' Now Melann's nostrils began to flare. Her face reddened. Whitlock knew she was angry or embarrassed. Perhaps she was angry because she was embarrassed, or embarrassed that she was angry.
'You and Vheod,' he replied, spreading his hands wide and dropping the flint. 'It's not that I don’t trust him, though I don't mind telling you I certainly didn't before. The growing attraction between the two of you made it worse, not better.' He picked up the flint and began working it against the steel again.
'As I was saying, I do trust him now-he's earned that from us-but let's face the truth here, Melann. He's a demon.”
'He seems to prefer tanar'ri,' Melann replied. 'Whatever,' Whitlock shot back, irritated. 'It doesn't change the fact that he's not human.'
'And he's only half tanar'ri,' she said in his further defense.
Whitlock looked up from his work and grimaced. He began working at the fire again and said. 'So you're in love with him, aren't you?'
'To be truthful, Whitlock, I don't know,' Melann said, then looked off, down the hillside where Vheod had gone to hunt. 'I thought I might be, but then I caught more than one glimpse of his dark side-and it really frightened me.'
Finally, a blaze started in the twigs and grass Whitlock had gathered. He prepared the wood to add once the fire really got going in earnest. He made a grunting noise and seemed to pause in thought for a moment. He didn't speak until the fire really started. 'That's for the best, Melann,' he said, looking up at her. She'd filled their small pot with water and set it over the fire to boil. Melann placed the roots into the water right away, for they would need more time to boil than anything else. Once softened, they would complement just about anything Vheod might bring back. Of course, they were better heavily seasoned, but Melann vas quickly growing used to doing without such pleasantries.
She wondered if she was indeed carrying out Chauntea's will. Everything she'd been taught had been about the Mother of All's love for growing things, and about nurturing and caring for others. Now Melann found herself wandering through the wilderness, fighting for her life at every turn against enemies she didn't even know she had. Where was the divine direction she'd come to count on? Melann suddenly felt very alone and distant from all she knew.
Vheod returned with three quail. Soon the three travelers feasted on the roasted birds, garnished with the boiled roots and leaves that Melann found. By the time they finished, the moon had risen high into the night sky, and a cool wind blew away the day's heat. After dinner, Melann prepared for sleep, knowing the next day they would probably come to the end of their long journey. Orrag's directions indicated that they were only three or four hours' walk from where Chare'en lay-either entombed or imprisoned, depending on which story one believed. Melann watched as the others also prepared to go to sleep, even Vheod. She knew he'd not slept the night before. She could almost imagine what had been going through his mind, or at least she thought that she could. She knew what it was like to fear what the future might hold. Each day that passed for her brought new doubts. Melann continually wondered if she was good enough, if she did the right thing. For Vheod, it must be even worse. As frightening as it was to see the darker side of her new friend, it was more troubling still to realize that even he was just coming to fully realize what he was-and what he was not. Vheod, she surmised, felt as confused, and perhaps as alone, as she did.
As Vheod laid back into the cool night grass, she moved to him and knelt wordlessly at his side. He looked at
