The Glass Prison (10 page)

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Vheod didn’t know what direction to ride other than
away
. He left the forest, the thick clumping of trees giving way abruptly to a grassland of gently rolling hills. A warm breeze brushed across the landscape against the direction in which he rode. The miles passed by him, Vheod using the horse’s anger and fear as best he could. Eventually the horse slowed. Apparently its anger could only last so long. Vheod grew tired of aggravating it, anyway. The two moved slowly through the tall grasses, the sun—the very existence of which Vheod was only now growing accustomed to—washing light and heat over them. The sun had been easier to ignore in the dense forest. Now he felt its heat and experienced its blinding light without protection. Both Vheod and the horse glistened with perspiration.

Miles of open grassland around him, the forest now a thin dark line on the horizon, Vheod became more aware of the fact that he had no idea where he was or where he was going. Why was he here at all?

The horse carried him slowly down the side of a gentle hill. The tall grass brushed against the bottoms of his feet. His mount seemed tired, reluctant, and quite irritated. Even if he knew where he was going, Vheod was unsure that he could force this horse to actually take him there. It seemed unlikely that he could spur the beast on only by continuing to aggravate it. Unfortunately, he knew no other way.

Glancing down, he saw the Taint had once again returned to his hand. Further, it resumed the appearance of a guiding arrow, pointing toward what Vheod believed to be south. Could he trust it? The Taint could be some intelligent, malevolent ally of his dark half. It could be a manifestation of the tanar’ri part of him.

Perhaps the best thing he could do would be to stop right where he was. Surely he could insure that no action beyond his control could be wrought by his dark half here in the middle of nowhere, but that could be exactly what it wanted. How could he know for sure?

Another rider through the grassland approached over a nearby hill. From this distance, Vheod could see that it was a woman on a horse, but little more. She veered her horse toward him.

As she approached, Vheod considered flight, or at least keeping a good distance away. He didn’t want another situation like the one at the village. Before he could get control of his unwilling mount, however, she rode up within just a few yards.

“Good day,” she said, her voice as smooth as the seductive succubi of the Abyss. When her horse moved, she moved as well, as though she and her mount were a single creature with a single mind. Her movements were slow and sure, betraying an unfailing grace. Her petite features included delightfully smooth skin and delicate, pointed ears. Long, silver hair nestled around her thin neck like waves carefully caressing a shoreline. She wore a heavy green cloak the very color of the grass around them draped over her shoulders despite the heat, yet Vheod couldn’t see a hint of perspiration on her face or neck.

Most surprisingly, she didn’t seem at all fazed by his appearance, unlike the villagers earlier that morning.

“Hello,” Vheod returned tentatively.

“Your horse doesn’t like you,” she told him with a hint of a smile.

“Um, no, I think not,” Vheod replied, still watching her with scrutiny.

“Well, I hope you are not traveling a great distance then,” she said.

“Actually, lady, I have no idea how far I must ride.”

“Really?” Her clear, gray eyes betrayed a hint of skepticism, and nothing more.

“I am not from … from around here. My destination is known to me in name only.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, my name is Tianna. I am riding to the mountains to the west. Do you believe your travels will take you there, or elsewhere?”

“I go to a place called Tilverton, and my name, fair lady, is Vheod Runechild.”

“Ah. Tilverton is a human city that lies almost straight south of here, in a place called Tilver’s Gap. The Gap itself lies between the Desertsmouth Mountains,” she said, pointing to the west with a long, elegant finger, “and the Thunder Peaks to the south.”

Vheod followed her hand and looked about carefully, attempting to fully establish his bearings. “Then I am afraid our paths cross only here,” he told her. His voice conveyed his regret.

Vheod wished he could ride with Tianna for a while. Only now did he realize the loneliness he’d felt since his arrival here. He had so many questions about the nature of this world, and it seemed as though she would be willing to answer them. He knew that haste was important and thus allowed himself only one question.

“Tell me, Tianna, before we part company—for I must be on my way—why are you not alarmed at my appearance, as others have been?”

She gave him a cautious smile, but one not without some warmth. “Vheod, we of the elves are not strangers to cambions, or to those traveling from other planes.”

Vheod was taken aback. “Is it that obvious—my tanar’ri heritage?”

Tianna looked at Vheod, studying his features for a moment. “No,” she replied, “not to one without any experience with beings from other planes. However, there is a certain, well, quality to you, an indefinable characteristic that gives you a sense of … 
otherness
.” She paused to look at him, watching his eyes. Perhaps she was attempting to determine the effect her words had on him.

“Many of those you encounter here may be able to sense that you are different in some way,” she said.

“That will certainly make any time I spend here harder,” he said, looking at the ground, struck as severely as if he’d been in battle. His voice was edged with sudden bitterness, but he didn’t have the time to consider if its target was his own nature, or the people who were prejudiced against him.

“Perhaps it will fade over time,” she said. “Or perhaps your own nobility will be enough to override anyone’s antagonistic first impression.”

He looked up at Tianna again and smiled as though she’d just healed a bleeding wound. Her hair shone in a way that made him believe that a special place existed for it in the moonlight, and that its proper place didn’t lie in the sun. She was beautiful.

“But you must be on your way,” she finally added with some regret, “as you said.”

Vheod hated to hear it, but the truth couldn’t be denied. Duty and responsibility called to him with voices filled with fear. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Before you go, however,” she said, reaching into a saddlebag, “I think that you should have this.” She produced a small charm on a silver chain, holding it up to let it glint in the sunlight.

“What is it?”

“A magical trinket,” she said with a delicate shrug, “with a single use. It grants the wearer a power called
longstepping
. Essentially, it will allow you to travel to a destination in almost no time. You can use it to reach Tilverton today, rather than the three days’ ride it might take from here. It will also allow you to bypass a dangerous area known as Shadow Gap.”

Vheod stared in surprise, taking in everything she said. “But, why?”

She smiled slyly. “If you use this, then I can take back this horse to where you got it.”

“What? How did you—”

“I’m sorry, Vheod, but it’s obvious that you just arrived here at the edge of the Dales, let alone Faerûn and even Toril. Judging by your ride, the steed’s demeanor, and the fact that you have no riding tackle, it becomes fairly obvious how you came on your mount.

“Further, I am a bit of a seer when it comes to people. You—at least a part of you—didn’t want to take the horse. I can return him, if you’ll tell me where he comes from.”

Vheod’s mouth hung agape as wide as the young boy in the doorway earlier that morning. He quickly closed it, feeling quite the fool, but remained entranced by Tianna and her kindness. Without a word, he slid down off the horse’s back and stepped toward her. Tianna urged her mount ahead a few steps until she reached him. She held out the silver charm.

“It only works once,” she reminded him.

“Thank you,” Vheod said as he grasped the tiny charm in his weathered hand. “How can I repay you?”

“You cannot, to tell the truth,” Tianna said, “but that’s not the point. I want to help you.”

She looked deeply into his dark eyes and leaned down close to his face. “I just thought that you probably needed to see a little of the good in the world. You needed some kindness. My gift is really a minor one.”

“But there you are wrong,” Vheod returned her look with a slow shake of his head. “This is a great gift, one I will remember for all my years.”

“May there be many of them,” she said, straightening in her ornate saddle.

Tianna rode over to Vheod’s grazing horse, and drew an extra bridle from her saddlebag. The horse looked at her with calm, welcoming eyes. It nuzzled her thigh with its nose. She placed the bridle on the beast and readied to lead it away, then turned back to Vheod.

“The village lies almost directly in your path, at the edge of the woods to the west.” Vheod gripped the charm even tighter in his sweaty palm. “They may have unkind things to say of me,” he told her. “They may not welcome you if you claim to be my friend.”

“Do not concern yourself with such things. I can take care of everything. Safe journey, Vheod, and be well.”

“Yes, ah … safe journey to you as well, Tianna.” Vheod was unused to pleasantries. Tianna turned to leave.

“Wait,” Vheod called out.

Tianna turned to look back at him. She kept her smile.

“You said you are a seer when it comes to people. Can you tell me—is it possible for a place to change a person? Can this world be changing me?”

Tianna shook her head gently. “No, Vheod, only you can change yourself.” She turned again, whispered something to her horse that Vheod couldn’t hear, then rode off in the direction Vheod had come.

He turned southward, in the direction he understood Tilverton to be. He opened his hand to look at the silver, arrow-shaped charm in his palm. Its shape beckoned him to look back at the Taint, still on the other side of his hand. It remained in its arrow shape, and still pointed, as if directing him where
it
wanted him to go.

It pointed south, toward Tilverton.

No wind blew through the hot summer air. The stillness made for a stiflingly hot ride through the grass-covered hills. Whitlock and Melann could see the Thunder Peaks rise higher and higher before them as they approached, yet no pace they kept could satisfy their desire to reach their intended destination. Melann was quiet, but she gave Whitlock the impression she was very pleased with all that had happened. Obviously she was still confident that her god was guiding them.

Whitlock, however, grew ever more pensive as he rode. The mountains ahead would be dangerous—he remembered clearly what they had heard about an amassing of gnolls. Further, who could guess what other sorts of dangers might lie there? He knew he was up to the challenge, but he also knew that the coming days might require him to use every bit of his skill and experience to insure that both he and his sister survived.

The sea of green and brown grasses occasionally broke on rocky islands that seemed to grow in frequency as they approached the mountains. Birds occasionally flew across the virtually cloudless blue sky. By midday on their first day out from Tilverton, they were covered in sweat as they stopped for a
noon meal. They ate dry bread and even drier venison purchased way back in Essembra. The harsh sun would soon scorch their skins, so Melann took the time to mash some herbs she brought, mixing them with water to create a thin paste to spread over their exposed flesh.

“We should have remained in Tilverton, at least long enough to obtain more information about where we’re headed,” Whitlock said between careful swallows from his waterskin to wash down the dry lunch.

“And waste valuable time?” Melann countered, finishing her herbal mixture.

“We could have at least confirmed what he told us,” Whitlock said. “Further, we could have restocked our supplies a bit.” He tore at the dry bread with his teeth like a dog, shaking his head back and forth before gaining a crusty mouthful. “Not that we have much in the way of gold left.”

“Once we get into the mountains, there will be wild game, and Our Mother will provide berries, roots, and other things to collect. I’m not worried.”

“Of course you’re not worried!” Whitlock suddenly exploded. “I have to worry for the both of us. You’re so busy praying and thinking about your god that I have to work twice as hard to keep us safe, provide food, and find our way. Don’t you realize the responsibility that is placed on me? The burdens I must face?”

Melann sat in stunned silence, staring at her brother, which made him feel guilty and self-conscious. He brushed bread crumbs out of his beard and took a drink of water—anything to divert his gaze from his sister’s wide-eyed stare.

“Is that really what you think?” Melann asked quietly.

Whitlock said nothing.

“You think I don’t worry?” Melann asked. “All I do is worry. I worry that when I spend all my time focused on my religious duties I neglect you, and Mother, and Father, and even myself. I worry that when I do what I personally feel compelled to do that I am not truly as devoted as I should be to Chauntea. I worry that I’m not worthy to be a priestess, or that as a priestess, I make a poor daughter—or sister. Don’t tell me I don’t worry. If it seems I let you take care of things like navigation or keeping watch at night, it’s because I trust you and know how capable you are.”

She added, after a moment’s thought, “Besides, if we need food, the Mother of All can grant me the power to create it. You know that.”

Whitlock wasn’t an eloquent man. So many things jumped to his mind to say, but the words to explain them escaped him. Instead, he stood and began to gather up what they had unpacked for their meal.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, glancing only momentarily at his sister.

Melann sighed softly. She smiled a little and helped him pack their things into saddlebags so they could continue their journey.

By nightfall, Whitlock and Melann were well into the rocky, mountainous region known as the Thunder Peaks. Night in the mountains came quickly once the sun disappeared over the mountains, and it came with an utter darkness for which neither Whitlock nor Melann was really prepared. Tall peaks to all sides blocked out even most of the starlight, which encouraged them both to huddle even closer to their campfire. The darkness carried a chill with it, as well as an utter silence.