at Whitlock. Her mouth open, she followed him with her gaze as he turned toward her and the last downed thug, then as his knees gave out from under him and he collapsed to the stone floor.
Vheod didn't care how many men Orrag had with him. It only mattered that he kill the half-orc before he could complete his baleful task and free Chare'en-or worse, somehow force or trick Vheod into freeing the balor. Orrag's counter to Vheod's strike was powerful. The half-orc was as strong as he was massive.
Gritting his teeth, Vheod launched a flurry of attacks against Orrag, but each time the larger man parried them or somehow managed to step back out of the way. Vheod was more accustomed to a longer, heavier blade than the one he now used, but he would adapt.
'Don't be foolish, Vheod,' Orrag told him with the last parry. 'You're not fighting me, you're fighting yourself here. Don't straggle against your own nature. Accept what and who you are.'
'Shut up!' Vheod stabbed at his tormentor and ducked past his scimitar, but Orrag's leather armor turned the blade enough that he barely drew blood. 'You're the fool, Orrag. You think you serve Chare'en? He's a tanar'ri! As soon as he's free he'll slay you as eagerly as he'd slay anyone. In fact, he might take particular pleasure in your destruction and make it specifically horrible. That's what tanar'ri do, Orrag-they kill, they torture, and they betray. Only a simpleton trusts tanar'ri.'
Just ask Whitlock or Melann, Vheod thought to himself. They trusted me, and look where it got them. Vheod sighed heavily.
'Oh, I'm not worried about any such thing,' Orrag hook his head weightily back and forth, his fleshy cheeks swinging like pendulums. 'I'm in control of 'his situation.'
'You're more of an idiot than I ever imagined if you really believe that,' Vheod said, 'but even if you think you're safe from Chare'en, I assure you, you're lot safe from me!' He stabbed again with his sword. Vheod's powerful thrust almost knocked Orrag from his feet as the half-orc attempted to counter the blow.
'You came here to free Chare'en!' Orrag spat as he steadied himself. 'Why do you fight it?'
Vheod was suddenly filled with dread. He stepped back a pace. 'You, or perhaps Chare'en… you're in contact with the Taint, aren't you? That's how all of this is happening, isn't it.'
Orrag's dark, bulging eyes opened wide for a moment as he reacted with a start. 'What are you talking about now?' Orrag seemed genuinely confused.
He didn't know about the Taint? Could that be possible? Vheod took the time to glance at the mark, which remained on his left hand. The mocking face leered outward, but not at him-at Orrag. It almost seemed to be laughing at the half-orc. Why?
Vheod pressed his attack again and saw the beads of sweat gathering on Orrag's brow. The half-orc roared in frustration and pushed Vheod's attacks away yet again. When Vheod stepped forward with a flurry of blows, Orrag surprised him with a powerful swing that would have cut the cambion open if he'd not still been wearing his breastplate.
Only vaguely aware of the battle going on at his back, Vheod silently hoped Melann and Whitlock were all right. Once concern for Melann's safety entered into his mind, he knew he had to end this fight with Orrag as quickly as possible to insure that she was unharmed. While he knew she could take care of herself, he also knew he cared too deeply about her not to know for sure that she was safe.
Calling on the fiendish nature of his being, he brought forth a wave of oily blackness that occluded all light. It swarmed around him like water pouring into a basin, and he sent it forward to surround Orrag. The darkness had no effect other than to prevent his opponent from seeing, but that was all the advantage Vheod needed. Orrag stepped out of the swirling shadow, only to be knocked back into it by a forceful blow from Vheod's blade. The cambion felt his sword cut deep into flesh.
From within the swirling cloud of conjured blackness, Vheod heard a loud thud, then a softer one, but he could no more see in this magical darkness than Orrag could.
'It isn't fair,' came the half-orc's gruff and gravelly voice. 'I had it all planned, but you weren't supposed to attack me. That's not how it was supposed to happen.' These words were followed by a grating sound that startled Vheod.
With but a thought and a focus of his tanar'ri nature, Vheod dispelled the darkness he'd brought forth. Orrag lay on the floor in front of the bronze, rune-covered doors, covered in blood.
The Taint visibly laughed on the back of his hand, but Vheod had no idea if it was laughing at Orrag, at him, or at both of them.
The doors, also now covered in blood, stood open.
Chapter Twenty
Melann cradled her brother's unconscious, blood-soaked body in her arms as she kneeled on the stone floor. Her lack of conviction had brought her here- deep inside the prison of a demon, having just killed two men, and with Whitlock dying in her arms. If she'd only remained focused on Chauntea's will and not her own, none of this would have happened. How could she call on Chauntea's mercy to heal her brother's wounds? How could she expect the Mother of All to answer her call when she'd so obviously and blatantly gone astray? She didn't deserve the aid of her god, and now her brother would pay the price for her shortcomings.
Perhaps it was for the best. Whitlock had fallen in battle, and he certainly would have wanted it that way. She knew that death and failure were inevitable now for all of them. Melann looked down into her brother's face and thought of how he'd always considered her the cheerful one. She'd always seen the best of things-always believed in what was good. He'd told her once that was what made her so well suited for the priesthood. Compliments came rarely from Whitlock, so she always remembered the comment and took it to heart. Finally now, her optimism had been proven wrong-she had to accept that. The gnolls had them trapped here amid the dead and dying, along with an imprisoned demon. She had failed and failed utterly.
Tears rolled down her face, but she ignored them, instead wiping the brow of her brother.
Worst of all, with, each step she'd taken toward failure, Melann had told herself she was following Chauntea's will. She'd deceived herself, and she'd done so happily. She'd wanted her own will more than she'd wanted, to serve her patron. No deserving priest would ever do that, she knew. Melann had dragged herself toward this end, convinced that she'd been led by Chauntea and by good fortune.
In her delusion, she'd also brought her brother and Vheod to their sad end as well. Though Vheod had proven to be the master of his own life, just as he'd wanted, Melann was certain that none of them could escape this place and this end. Her own selfishness and hubris had brought them too deep to escape now. She looked down at Whitlock and knew that she was right.
The flames of the dropped torches around her died, but she made no move to correct the situation, for she'd neither the power nor the strength.
Vheod, she saw in the flickering light, stood over the body of Orrag. Melann could at least see that the offer Orrag had made Vheod-one the half-orc seemed to honestly believe Vheod would accept-was the test of inner strength he knew was coming. At the very least, she was right to have faith in Vheod. Not that it mattered now.
Vheod moved through the growing shadows toward the doorway that now stood open after the battle. The bronze doors had somehow given way during the fighting. Melann couldn't remember when that had happened, but they were indeed open now and revealed a gigantic room beyond, awash in a faint glow that at first seemed green, then changed to red. Through the wide doorway, the huge room appeared full of a multitude of objects making vast and dramatic movements. Vheod approached slowly, drawn by curiosity-she hoped. Had he completely overcome his evil nature? What lay in that room that compelled him so? She shuddered. Had she been wrong about everything?
As he moved closer to the entrance, her own vision was drawn with him. She could see now that what she'd believed to be many moving objects was really a single object of many parts, all of them spinning and moving about the room, yet connected to one another. Spheres and other three-dimensional shapes, crafted from tarnished bronze, rotated rapidly, like a gigantic orrery animated with life-frantic life. The parts of this immense device, which must have been at least a hundred feet high, moved rapidly but with such precision that they produced almost no sound other than the whip of displaced air.
