The Glass Prison

by Monte Cook

  “What is the only way?” the warrior asked with an ancient, resonant voice.

  “That’s no business of yours,” Whitlock said, reaching slowly for his sword hilt.

  “A wizard,” Melann explained, “who’s now long dead, cursed our family. We’ve learned that perhaps if we can find his magical staff, we can rid ourselves of the curse.”

  The warrior paused for a moment, then pointed to the west and said, “Kirthol Erdel.”

  “What?” Whitlock asked, his hand grasping the hilt of his weapon tightly. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.

  Melann answered, but she did not look back at her brother. “That’s an ancient elven name for the Thunder Peaks.”

  The horses shifted nervously, stamping on the ground. Melann and Whitlock pulled back on their reins to keep control. The warrior didn’t react.

  “Signs and omens show nothing but dark portents for the days ahead,” the elf said. “Disturbances in the flow of magic have brought me back here to the corporeal world. Since my return, I have learned of ill tidings from Kirthol Erdel speaking of large and frequent bands of creatures you call gnolls gathering and attacking whatever they come on.”

  Melann seemed to drink all this information in, but Whitlock was disturbed. “Why are the gnolls gathering?” he asked, reluctant as he was to converse with a ghost.

  “I do not know,” came the response, “but they seem to be directed by someone.”

  Again the warrior seemed to shift his position. Whitlock saw his hands twitch and readied himself, but the elf didn’t reach for his weapons, so Whitlock still didn’t draw his own sword.

  “Can’t you tell us more than that?” Melann asked, her hands waving toward the warrior. “Does this have anything to do with what we’re trying to do?”

  The warrior pointed again, toward the east. “Chare’en.”

  Melann gasped. Whitlock looked at her, to see what she would say next. He hoped it would be nothing—but a part of him was now intrigued at what this long-dead elf had to say.

  When Melann said nothing, he whispered again, “We should go.”

  She paused and drew a breath, still not looking into her brother’s disapproving eyes. He did nothing to stop her, though.

  “No, Whitlock,” Melann said, “we won’t learn anything if we don’t tell anything.” With a quickening pace she continued. “Perhaps Chauntea brought us here—to you—for a reason. Perhaps not. In any case, we do know of someone called Chare’en.”

  The warrior stared at her in silence.

  “Chare’en was the ancient sorcerer who put the curse on our family.”

  Again, the warrior’s hands seemed to twitch.

  “He died long ago and was buried in a crypt hidden by an avalanche,” Melann said, though it seemed as if she was talking to herself now. “At least, that’s what some old family records show. The crypt holds something that can lift the curse. The curse … drains their strength until they haven’t even the strength to … their hearts just stop beating.” A tear ran down Melann’s face, her lips quivered, but she continued. “We need to find this hidden crypt. We don’t know how much longer our parents have left.

  “Or how much longer we have left,” she added.

  The warrior stood silently watching her.

  “So, are you saying,” Whitlock asked, “that this old sorcerer’s crypt is in the Thunder Peaks?”

  The elf did not reply.

  Melann turned toward Whitlock, wiping away the tear. “I think that’s what he’s saying. I think Chauntea sent him here to help guide us.”

  “Tilverton’s at the northern edge of the Thunder Peaks,” Whitlock told her. “We could make for there from here by staying on the main roads. Rauthauvyr’s Road meets up with the Moonsea Ride north of here, then heads west.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be very direct,” Melann replied. “I’d like to get there as quickly as we can.”

  “I’d rather stick to the main roads—particularly while we’re here in these damned—” he looked at the elven warrior—“I mean, in these woods.”

  Whitlock began formulating further plans but was jolted out of his thoughts as the ghostly warrior spoke again. He spoke a single word and pointed to the northwest. As the siblings watched, he faded away into the darkness that surrounded them. The ground where he stood showed no sign of him ever being there at all.

  “Vheod?” Whitlock repeated and furrowed his brow. He looked to his sister. “What does that mean?”

  Melann shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like Elvish at all.”

  Chapter Two

  The portal from the varrangoins’ tower opened on this side in a space between the trunks of two oak trees, with their intertwined branches forming the top of the “doorway.” A breeze tossed Vheod’s long hair, and he shivered in the soft touch of its caress. Here on this world—wherever it was—the air was not abrasive. It didn’t tear at his skin as he moved through it as it had all his life in the clutches of the Abyss. The sounds that surrounded him—calling birds, chirping insects, scurrying animals—all seemed so non-threatening. In his home, such an environment always made a wise man suspicious, but here? How could he know?

  Vheod looked down at himself as he took a few steps forward. The magical trip had seemed instantaneous, and he looked none the worse for wear. At some point, while he wasn’t looking, the Taint had slithered to the underside of his forearm, near his wrist. Its shape resembled a contorted face with narrow eyes and a thin, broad mouth. Tipped points on the sides might have been ears, or they might have been horns. As he examined it, the red mark shifted, the face broadening and the stiff line of the mouth bending into a smile. Vheod couldn’t decide whether it was a smile of triumph or a leer of mockery.

  In the dim light, trees heavy with leaves reached out in all directions as if searching for the intruder he knew himself to be. The first reaction that came to him was that he didn’t belong here. The colors were too calm, the sounds too sweet, and the smells too pure for someone accustomed to the horrors of the Abyss.

  Cautiously, Vheod began to explore the immediate area in which he’d arrived. Smooth grass rustled under each step, but he soon found it quite easy to move silently through the wilderness. Ahead the sounds of running, splashing water alerted him, yet drew him onward. A brook cut its way through the landscape, and Vheod, once at its side, suspiciously reached down to touch the water. It was cold, coming down from rocky highlands that rose behind him. Its touch and smell revealed no threat, so he dipped his head down to taste it, for it had been almost a day since his lips had last touched water. The water wasn’t only safe and pure but delicious.

  This place was as different from the Abyss as he could possibly grasp.

  Vheod’s imagination could never have conjured a place like this. Surely this was a paradise. What kept all creatures from all worlds from coming here and taking part in the beauty and peace that seemed to come to this place so easily? Was there some guardian he needed to be wary of?

  Crouching at the river’s bank, Vheod became acutely aware of a horrible smell. A few worried moments passed before he realized the evil odor came from himself. Without another thought, he waded into the cold water, then submerged his entire body. When he could hold his breath no longer he surfaced, then shed his breastplate and all his clothes. He scrubbed each piece of clothing with his palms, then tossed them to the rocks at the water’s edge. Once finished, he scrubbed himself with his hands and with sand and pebbles pulled from the bottom. The idea of getting the smell and filth of the Abyss off him consumed Vheod for quite some time. He scrubbed until his body felt raw. His rumbling stomach made him aware of how much time had passed.

  Climbing out of the water, he scoured his clothes and armor with the rocks at the side of the river. Finished, he put them back on while still wet.

  Now, he thought, it is time to see what paradise has to offer me to eat.

  Darkness consumed the forest quickly, but eyes developed in the darknes
s of the Lower Planes had little trouble finding prey. Vheod’s sword was too big and clumsy for hunting, but spells of charming and illusion were powerful, efficient means to provide a night’s dinner. By the standards of those sorcerous creatures he was forced to call kin, he was no wizard. Still, he’d learned a few minor spells and possessed some abilities that came naturally to him because of his heritage. That night Vheod even took the time to conjure flame to create a fire in which to roast the tiny, furry animal for which his memory had no name. With a full belly and a weary body, he soon fell asleep next to the fire with his sword next to him. As he drifted into sleep the flames died a slow lingering death of glowing embers.

  * * * * *

  Bright rays of light woke the cambion from a night of feverish, dark dreams. Vheod’s spirits lifted immediately as he remembered where he was—a place far better than any of his dreams. Still, he was surprised and a little annoyed at the amount of light that came from the bright orb high in the sky. Did it have to be so bright? His eyes would need to adjust, and his dark flesh would have to cope with its warmth.

  His garments were dry, and his tattered cloak was the cleanest he remembered seeing it. This light revealed more than he was used to seeing. He wondered what it might reveal of himself in the sight of another.

  Vheod spent the rest of the day exploring. As the light began to ebb once again, the trees and plants around him grew sharper and more distinct. Objects farther away came into view in the shadowy twilight. His vision improved as the light around him died to levels more like those to which he was accustomed. With keener eyes, Vheod saw figures making their way through the trees. Two men carried a long log through an area of felled trees. He quietly pressed through the foliage to get a better look.

  Now he could see more figures in the woods. A dozen men, all wielding axes, shaved the branches from felled trees. A few toted the logs off somewhere else. Each man wore a thick beard, and their thick, sturdy shirts revealed massive, muscular frames. Sweat dripped from brows hung low on weary necks. It looked to Vheod as if these men were ending their day of work, perhaps more hindered by the dying light than he.

  “Well have this area cleared by tomorrow, then we can begin building,” Vheod heard one of them say.

  “Fine,” another replied with a good natured smile, “that’s where my skills come in.”

  Vheod’s ever-sharpening eyes saw, far beyond the working men, a tiny village of log homes set among the trees, fading into the sea of brown and green around it. Faint wisps of smoke rose from the tiny homes, greeting the first awakening stars of the evening.

  These humans were clearing away trees to make space to build, Vheod realized. A simple enough act, he thought, but something far more important occurred to him as a result. The inhabitants of this world master their environment, rather than letting it master them. That wasn’t true in the Lower Planes. As powerful as some of the lords of those nether worlds could be, they were always—consciously or unconsciously—servants of the very planes on which they lived. The fact that the Abyss’s inhabitants were creatures of that plane, where evil and chaos were real, tangible things made them servants. The Abyss was chaos and evil, and the tanar’ri and other lower planar creatures that dwelled there, embodiments of those concepts themselves, served the Abyss with a far greater loyalty than any conventional master could ever hope to gain from those under him.

  Here, Vheod realized, where the world was a place more than a master, men could make of it what they wanted. Not driven by inborn philosophies or outlooks, they were free to choose their own paths. These weren’t people of predetermined destiny but of freedom and choice. Vheod watched these burly, muscular men as they left their work site and was suddenly gripped with sadness—and perhaps envy. He knew that what they had, what he’d never had, was exactly what he wanted.

  Vheod fled once again into the darkening forest.

  Throughout that night, sounds rose from the village. Laughter and song filled the dark, star-filled sky. At one point, Vheod crept close enough to see six tiny wooden buildings, most glowing cheerfully with interior fires lit probably more for the light than the heat, for it was a warm night. The chirping insects covered the soft sounds of his footfalls as he made his way toward the nearest building. Within, a few people spoke of things the eavesdropping Vheod couldn’t understand. As he crouched beneath a window, they talked of someplace called the Dales and of the nearby Desertsmouth Mountains.

  As he listened further, he ascertained that this was just a minor settlement to the west of someplace called Shadowdale, at the edge of the Spiderhaunt Woods. The land that rose toward the west evidently led to the aforementioned mountains. Strangely, the people spoke of a fear of the woods. They wouldn’t go past the cleared area, telling of dangers much deeper in the forest.

  This is the most beautiful place I have ever been, Vheod thought. How could they fear it? Where are they from that this is a place of fear and danger?

  Before he could learn anything else, the light in the building dimmed suddenly, and the people grew silent. Vheod waited in the darkness and quiet for a time, lost in his thoughts.

  * * * * *

  Vheod woke just before dawn to sounds of movement. He kept very still but opened his eyes. Once again, his ability to see in dark conditions served him well. Two bloated humanoid creatures, covered in short, bristling hair lumbered toward him. Without thinking further, the cambion leaped to his feet and drew his sword, which lay beside him while he slept. The dark-furred things jerked back awkwardly but made no sound. Their long arms had dragged along the ground as they moved, but now their clawed hands reached toward their fat bellies. They opened yellow-fanged mouths in an obvious attempt to give him pause.

  It didn’t work.

  Vheod charged, but as he did, he saw what these mysterious creatures were doing. Each pulled a glistening cord from their abdomens. Somehow, these beasts created webs like a spider. What was worse, each seemed to be quickly forming their creations into forbidding nooses or lariats. Vheod reached his foes before they finished. A mighty swing of his sword stopped one of the creatures from its spinning, and it reeled back from the force of the warrior’s blow. Black blood mixed with a thin yellow pus ran from the gash the sword made. The creature flung itself toward Vheod in retaliation, but the cambion swung his sword back around, cutting it down before the beast could reach him with its long, clawed arms.

  The other hairy creature had finished its spinning by that point. It held a many-stranded loop of spidery silk aloft over its head and grunted, stamping its feet on the ground with rapid thuds. As Vheod prepared to slay the creature before it could use the weapon, he felt something brush against his back. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that a hairy spider, at least a foot across, had dropped down from the trees above on a cord of webbing.

  A tug on his arm drew his attention back toward the humanoid foe. With surprising speed, the creature had looped its makeshift weapon around Vheod’s free arm. He pulled at the bond, but the hairy, manlike thing tugged back with great strength. It showed a hideous grin, producing more and more web to keep Vheod bound but to stay out of sword’s reach. It was waiting for the spider to bite, Vheod thought, and for its venom to bring him down while keeping him off-balance with the web.

  The creature was jostling him too much to allow Vheod to use a spell, and he could feel the spider reach his lower back. Vheod reached behind him with his sword, pretending to slash at the spider, but instead flinging the weapon end over end toward the other foe, even as he felt the spider’s fangs sink into his flesh.

  The sword caught the creature by surprise, slashed its shoulder and knocked it backward off its feet. Vheod didn’t waste a moment in running toward his wounded opponent, which was able to right itself by the time he got to it. The important thing to Vheod was that too much slack in the web strand prevented the creature from using it against him now. Snarling, Vheod began pounding at the creature’s head with his fists.

  At first, the crea
ture attempted to claw and bite Vheod, but the onrush of blow after blow forced it to hold its long, hairy arms in front of it in a hope to block the torrent of attacks. Vheod’s furiously pounding fists continued unabated. Blood and pus ran down the creature’s face and shoulder, staining its hairy, naked body. The gray-bristled beast fell to its knees, and holding its long-fingered hands over its head, murmured something with a pleading look in its large yellow eyes.

  “There is no mercy in the Abyss, creature!” Vheod cried as he lifted his fist, dripping with black blood, down one more time on the beast’s face. It fell to the ground with a heavy, wet thud. Reaching behind him, Vheod grabbed the spider and tore it from his back. Holding it in front of him, he shouted, “And tanar’ri cannot be harmed by simple poison!” He crushed the creature in his hand, and a thick, greenish-yellow ooze squirted out and mingled with the black blood running down his arm. The spider stopped squirming. Vheod dropped it to the ground.

  He sat on the spot where he’d slept through most of the night and breathed heavily. For a moment, a feeling of satisfaction and triumph welled up inside him, but as the light of this world’s day rose over the horizon, he came to a horrible realization.

  This isn’t the Abyss.

  While he held no doubt that these beasts wanted to feed on his blood, the bright light and pure air of this world cried out in disapproval of his savage methods. Perhaps this place offered a different way than wanton destruction. That creature had wanted mercy. Perhaps it expected to get it. Did the warriors of this world, of “the Dales,” practice a different sort of philosophy? Perhaps on this world survival wasn’t the only goal.

  He felt a twinge of kinship with the men he’d seen working the day before. Now, after seeing these hairy, inhuman spider-creatures, Vheod wanted it to be true. He wanted to be a part of this world and its people. It was the best place he’d ever been. Still the attack had taught him an important lesson—there were dangers here, just like in the Abyss.