them. Vhok sighed in exasperation. So much for staying out of sight, he thought. He went into a defensive crouch, counting enemies. There were nearly a dozen.
A billowing cloud of steam erupted across the cambion's field of vision as Lysalis generated a magical effect aimed at the dwarves. Vhok could feel the tingle of extreme cold, though he did not experience the damaging effects of it. As the cloud of steam dissipated in the scorching air, Vhok could see that more than half the dwarves had fallen. A thin rime, all crystalline white, coated them, and though the ice was melting quickly, it had done its job.
The remaining four dwarves rushed on, and Vhok could see more entering from the same side cavern nearby.
We don't have time for this, the cambion thought in mild irritation as he slashed at the first dwarf opponent. As much fun as this is, if the main battle group notices us, we'll never get through.
The blade he wielded, an ancient elven weapon crafted during the height of Aryvandaar, carved through the dwarf's shield and gashed deeply into his neck and shoulder. With a grunt of pain, the stout one stumbled away, his place taken by another. Vhok swung again, but his new foe was more wary and stepped back. They began their dance, Vhok and his fey'ri companion, working side by side to keep the heavily armored dwarf soldiers at bay.
A rapid series of glowing darts shot from Lysalis's fingertips, pummeling her closest opponent directly in the face. The dwarf screamed and dropped to one knee, clutching his face with his gauntleted hands. Vhok took the opportunity to slip his sword between the segmented plates of his armor, silencing him. Even as the dwarf toppled, the cambion spun to parry the slashing attack of another dwarf with an oversized battle hammer.
As Vhok dropped his last enemy, Lysalis grunted in pain. The cambion turned to see her reel from a dwarf who had slammed her with his spiked shield. Her face was ashen and her expression spoke of agonizing pain. She slumped down next to the cambion, gasping for breath.
'Blessed!' she managed to blurt out, her eyes growing wide with horror. 'Beware its power!'
Vhok was no longer watching the fey'ri, though. Upon hearing her warning, he turned his full attention upon the dwarf with the deadly shield.
As Myshik worked his way through the abandoned stronghold, a faint sound reached the half-dragon's ears. The ringing clang of battle softly resonated, the iron tones of clashing steel reverberating from somewhere ahead.
Puzzled, Myshik made his way higher through the stronghold, climbing the tiers one by one. When he was perhaps two-thirds of the way to the top, the stone beneath his feet rumbled and bucked, nearly knocking him to the ground. The half-hobgoblin stumbled and fell against the wall, which cracked threateningly along its base. Echoing reverberations thundered through the cavern, accompanied by the sounds of cracking and falling stone.
The earth sounds angry, he thought, concerned. Who makes it so?
Regaining his balance, Myshik resumed his pace, working toward a bridge in the distance. When he arrived at the causeway, the half-dragon gazed doubtfully at it and peered down into the chasm it crossed. As before, near the entry gate, a great crease divided the chamber, both above and below. The dwarves had utilized the obstruction to their advantage in preparing their defense. The chasm divided the topmost tier from the rest of the stronghold, a natural barrier impossible to cross in force.
Myshik took a few tentative steps onto the causeway, testing its integrity. It seemed stable enough, so he began to cross. As he neared the apex of the curved slab of rock, he felt another vibration and started to run. He had almost reached the far side when another deafening rumble rocked the stronghold. The force of the earthquake pitched the half-dragon forward, dropping him to his knees. A great booming crack jarred him and everything around him. Overhead, molten rock burst from the crevasse and spilled down, forming a magmafall that tumbled, hissing and smoking, into the chasm below. It struck the causeway mere feet behind the half- hobgoblin, scorching the air all around him and blasting him with terrible heat. The bridge groaned and trembled beneath the onslaught of the fiery stone cascading down atop it.
Myshik scrambled forward, away from the great heat, staggering off the causeway and away from the edge of the chasm. The bridge shuddered and groaned behind him, then it shattered and tumbled away, falling into the great crevasse below along with the stream of lava.
Myshik stared wide-eyed at the remains of the bridge jutting out into space, where he had been standing only moments previous. Even where he sat, the heat was oppressive, and he feared that spattering gobs of viscous liquid stone would strike him if he remained. Scrambling to his feet once more, the half-dragon put distance between himself and the deadly magmafall.
More rumbling earthquakes shook the environment as Myshik hurried ever upward. More than once, he was forced to evade falling debris or to leap cracks that formed suddenly across his path. He warily eyed the ceiling, wondering how much longer the cavern could remain intact under the onslaught of the seismic assault.
At last, Myshik reached the peak of the stronghold. He found a great winding staircase leading upward into the stone ceiling. Above, he thought he could hear the ring of steel on steel, the telltale sounds of furious battle. He hesitated for a moment, questioning the stability of the path and what he might encounter at the top. When yet another reverberation made him stumble and sent a large wall tumbling down to spill debris in his direction, the half-dragon began running up the steps two at a time.
The staircase twisted up and up. The sounds of fighting grew louder, more distinct. Myshik gripped his battle-axe firmly, expecting to hoist it at any moment. The stone around him continued to grumble and groan, and the steps beneath his feet shuddered and bounced.
At last the stairway ended, rising up from the depths into another great chamber. A columned cupola had once stood over the opening of the stairway, which lay in the midst of a subterranean plaza. The stonework of the cupola had tumbled down around the opening, though whether the destruction had happened moments or centuries before, the half-dragon was not certain.
Ancient buildings lined three sides of the plaza. The fourth faced what Myshik suspected must be the source of the magma which had nearly sent him plummeting to his death. A great river of it flowed on the far side of the chamber. The lava churned and sloshed, spilling over the sides of its natural channel, oozing across the floor.
Between Myshik and the expanding lake of lava, a great battle raged between a paltry force of dwarves and a swarming, snarling horde of orcs. Myshik blinked, for he had never seen orcs like them before. Unlike the filthy creatures Clan Morueme routinely battled on the surface, along the slopes of the Nether Mountains overhead, the creatures attacking the dwarves were diabolical in nature, more fiendish in their aspect.
Myshik decided they must be part of the army that served Kaanyr Vhok, the cambion his father had spoken of. He had found the object of his quest at last. With a grin, Myshik hefted high his war axe, stolen from a dwarven tomb long centuries before, and charged into the fray with an eager cry. Several dwarves turned to face the charging half-dragon.
Dread filled their eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vhok stepped over the fallen Lysalis, straddling her, thrusting and feinting with his blade. The dwarf gave the cambion's ancient elven sword a wary eye and parried each stroke and thrust with both shield and axe. Vhok's quickness gave him pause, even though the cambion had to remain in place to defend his injured companion.
The dwarf shifted tactics, circling around Vhok more rapidly, using his parries to knock Burnblood to the side. Vhok realized what his foe's intentions were. He was trying to force the cambion off balance by making him spin in place while mindful of stepping on Lysalis. The dwarf had no interest in getting in close and engaging his foe. He merely wanted to tire the half-fiend and force him into a deadly error.
Time to end this, Vhok decided after another parry from the dwarf whipped his sword arm out to one side.
The cambion feigned a stagger, as though he had overbalanced and tripped on the fey'ri's writhing form. When the dwarf saw the stumble, he charged forward, ready to deliver a killing blow with his axe.
