Vhok could only interpret as greed.
He rubbed his hands together. 'Gems, you say. I would see them,' he said, folding his arms across his chest. 'Produce them now.'
Zasian nodded while Vhok bristled. 'Very well, my lord,' the priest said, still in his obsequious tone. 'I have some right here.' and he reached into his tunic.
'If he withdraws a weapon instead of gems,' the azer lord said loudly, 'slay him.'
Zasian paused as the attending guards disengaged from their posts and moved closer, warhammers ready. They left no doubt that they would carry out their leader's command instantly. Vhok reached for his blade, but kept his hand hovering over the pommel of Burnblood without actually drawing it.
Very slowly, the priest removed another small pouch of gems. He held it up so that all within the room could see, then he carefully drew the drawstring open. He tipped the little sack over and revealed a handful of rubies as they spilled into his palm.
Cripakolus made a noise of delight and leaned forward for a better look. 'Excellent,' he said. 'You will hand them to my seneschal,' he commanded, and a servant stepped forward from behind the throne.
Zasian slipped the rubies back into their satchel and held the container out. 'As I told your fearless commander here when I gave a sack to him, you would do well to transfer them to a more sturdy container. That pouch will go up in flames in but a few breaths.'
The soldier who had initially engaged them on the mountainside and who had accepted the first sack of gems gave a hiss of displeasure.
Vhok glanced over and saw him glowering at Zasian. It made the cambion want to laugh. Skimming off the top, eh? he thought.
'You will hand over those gems at once, Lakataki,' Cripakolus commanded. 'All gifts are my property until otherwise distributed.'
'Yes, your lordship,' the azer replied. Reluctantly, he produced the copper urn into which he had slipped the pouch of amethysts and handed it to the seneschal.
'Thank you for these fine gemstones,' the azer clan lord said. 'You are indeed generous.'
Zasian bowed again, and Vhok mimicked him with only slight delay.
'Do you have more?' Cripakolus asked.
The priest gave a bemused smile. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'but I think we will hold onto those for the moment. Consider them as bargaining funds,' he said. 'We have need of your assistance, for which we would be willing to pay well.'
'Perhaps there will be no bargaining,' the clan lord replied. 'Perhaps I will take you into custody and confiscate all your belongings, including the remaining gems, as property of the clan.'
Vhok stiffened and began to reach for his sword again.
Are we going to have to fight our way out of here? he wondered. He didn't like their chances, unless they could somehow enlist allies from the caged creatures overhead.
'You could do that,' Zasian said carefully, 'but such an act would almost certainly cost you much more than the gems are worth. We will not go down easily, if at all,' the priest warned. 'You do not want that fight, when cooperation and generosity bring so much more.'
Cripakolus stroked his beard of flame for a few moments, lost in thought. All around the chamber, the tension grew. The azer lord's loyal warriors tensed, expecting the command to capture or slay the two visitors. Vhok mentally sorted through his remaining magical options, as he was sure Zasian was also doing. The cambion had very little left, and even if they did manage to win their way out of the audience chamber, they had the whole rest of the underground citadel to contend with. It didn't look good.
Damn you, Zasian, the half-fiend stewed. Why did I let you talk me into this?
Vhok was on the verge of levitating to get out of the impending fight when the azer clan chief spoke. 'Very well,' he said. 'You are shrewd bargainers. I accept your gifts and offer you aid.' Vhok sighed in relief, until he heard the fiery dwarf's next words. 'As further compensation for our assistance, you will do something for us first.'
Vhok drew in a deep, irate breath. 'And what might that be?' he asked, making no effort to hide his displeasure.
We don't have time for this! he thought dismally.
'Some of our brethren work as slaves for our hated enemy, the efreet. You will go to the mines where they toil, kill all the efreet, and rescue the azer.'
The tavern girl leaned back and laughed. It was a merry sound, full of life and joy. The man upon whose lap she sat grinned from ear to ear, pleased that his joke had amused her so. Aliisza watched from a corner. She knew both of them, from her past. The alu felt the old jealousy rise up again, just as it had several years before. She turned and sought herself, the version of herself that had been in the tavern that night, disguised as a pretty young human woman.
There.
The half-fiend could see blazing green eyes, the sultry, pouting mouth. The memory of herself stared daggers at the tavern girl.
Aliisza remembered all too well.
The tavern girl, so pretty, so happy, was a favorite among the patrons. She always wore a smile, no matter how crowded or hectic the tavern might be. And she was renowned for her ability to work the knots out of a laborer's shoulders. Her fingers were strong, deft. They always knew right where to massage. They were her most prized gift.
Aliisza had hated the girl for her easy manner, her genuine happiness, and the way she let her good mood spread to the customers. Most of all, though, Aliisza hated that the man was so enamored of the other girl.
The alu had been flirting with the fellow most of the evening, looking for a little companionship, maybe a roll in the hay in the stables. But he only had eyes for the sweet girl on his lap.
The tavern girl hopped up and proceeded to knead his muscles, pressing her fingers in all the right places. The man closed his eyes and sighed as the girl laughed and talked to everyone nearby. It made the memory of Aliisza sick with envy.
Remembering what she had done, Aliisza wanted to turn away. She had never felt any shame or guilt over her revenge-and she never would-but she also had never learned the tavern girl's fate after that night.
She watched as the girl excused herself and slipped into the back. She watched as the memory of Aliisza, still disguised, followed her. Behind the tavern, in the yard, the memory of Aliisza caught the girl just as she was returning from the jakes. The woman never knew what was coming. A quick kick to the gut, an elbow against the back of the head, and she was down, sprawled in the mud.
Aliisza watched, fascinated, as her old memory of herself bent down with a dagger and took the girl's thumbs. Such a little thing, not a terrible injury. But the little trollop could no longer carry a tray of mugs, would never rub a knot out of sore muscles again. The ghostly image of herself laughed as she did it. She mashed the girl's face into the mud to muffle her screams as the pain brought her back to consciousness. And Aliisza slipped away, returning to her true form and flying off, taking the thumbs with her so they couldn't be magically restored. She never turned back once, even as the girl lay sobbing and writhing in the mud.
But the real Aliisza remained. She watched as a cluster of patrons came out of the tavern to see what had befallen the girl. She stood in the shadows, not wanting to be seen, even though she knew the memories would never notice her. She stared as the man with whom the girl had flirted appeared. When he saw what had befallen the girl, Aliisza expected him to turn away in disgust.
Who would want a crippled girl? she remembered thinking at the time.
But he didn't turn away. Instead, he wrapped her ruined hands in bandages, and he gathered her up in his arms and carried her. She buried her head against his shoulder, crying softly. He took her through the yard and to the street, and accompanied by several others, went to the temple.
A priest of Ilmater met them at the door. He took one look at the girl and summoned them all inside. The priest, in his nightclothes, prepared a spell right then, in the sanctuary of the temple, before the altar dedicated to the maimed god. He laid his hands upon the young woman's wounds, pressed his flesh against hers, and prayed.
