The Glass Prison (single books)

by Monte Cook

  She wasn't trying to stop them, just delay them. Obviously, time was of the essence here, and Vheod surmised that Whitlock was the key. Melann drew her mace and slammed into the barrier forcefully but to no avail. She began to run around to the right. Vheod, however, took a few steps back and hefted his sword in a way that offset its center of gravity, pointing the blade almost parallel with the floor. Taking a few steps forward again, he threw his arm back and flung the sword so it spun through the air, over the conjured wall of energy. The whirling blade cut a swath through the air, and the woman behind the translucent screen watched it fly over her head. "No!" the woman shouted in protest. Vheod hoped Chauntea's blessing would help guide his reckless heave. He almost prayed.

  The spinning blade flew toward Whitlock, and Vheod saw the look of horror cross Melann's face as she ran to the right edge of the wall. Wordlessly, she watched as it chopped at the air, angling over the wall and down at her brother.

  The blade struck true. It cut through the vine that supported the bulk of Whitlock's weight. With that line severed, a number of the others tore with the adden weight of his body, and Whitlock came crashing down amid rose petals, thorns, and blood.

  The black-clad woman screamed in frustration.

  The energy wall faded away.

  The woman looked at Vheod, dark eyes smoldering, her skin shone in the moonlight like smooth, milky alabaster, her long dark tresses merged with her lowing dress so that in the dim light they made it difficult to distinguish where they ended and the garment began. A cape made entirely of raven feathers draped from her neck and dragged well behind her in a long train. She raised her long-nailed fingers like jaws, as though she prepared to loose some dark spell, but then she stopped.

  Melann ran to her brother, passing the woman to she side. She was too preoccupied to pay the black-dad woman any heed. Likewise, the woman ignored Melann. Once at her brother's side, Melann began lulling the thorny vines away from him. Whitlock stirred enough to indicated that he was at least alive and partially conscious. Melann's sobs of fear and relief were the only sound other than the cries of pain and protest from the trapped birds.

  Until the mysterious woman spoke. She focused on Vheod for a moment, as though studying him.

  "Child of demons," she said. "Chare'en's blood flows through your veins."

  Vheod stared back at her. He felt helpless and naked before her gaze, particularly without his sword. This woman-the Ravenwitch-was beautiful and terrible at once. She reminded him of Nethess, the tanar'ri marilith that had hunted him his last days in the Abyss. Something inside him roused at the sound of her dark, throaty voice. It was like nothing that caused him to care for Melann. In fact, it seemed his desire came from all the parts of him that lay dormant while he thought of the pure-hearted priestess. This Ravenwitch appealed to that small part of him he didn't want to admit existed. She reminded him of everything in him that missed the Abyss and his former life. She was the catalyst that brought to the surface the lure of the darkness in his soul. The revel of dark power, the taste of innocent blood, and the beckoning need of betrayal and corruption churned within him.

  Vheod felt the power of Melann's blessing drain away, almost as if it pooled at his feet and evaporated. He glanced at his left wrist, and saw the Taint. It formed a leering, fiendish face with a look of triumph and exultation.

  "You have come to free Chare'en," the Ravenwitch stated. It wasn't a question.

  Chapter Fourteenth

  Whitlock's wounds appeared much worse than they really were. He had lost a great deal of blood, but the injuries weren't deep. His naked, cut, and torn flesh was covered with ravens' blood, and a fair amount of it had poured into his wounds. The Ravenwitch had made him a part of some evil ceremony or ritual, but Melann didn't know enough about her to even guess at what its goal had been.

  The Ravenwitch seemed to have turned her attention toward Vheod. She didn't even seem to care that Whitlock had been freed from his bonds or that Melann was in the process of preparing a healing blessing.

  Vheod stared at the Ravenwitch, speechless. His arms hung limply at his side, and his face showed that her words had struck him with a wound more grievous than any weapon could possibly inflict.

  "Do you deny that you are the descendant of the balor, Chare'en?" the Ravenwitch asked him, stepping toward him.

  Melann watched as Vheod's face changed. The look of pain and horror shifted with disquieting swiftness to one of deep need or hunger. She continued to tend to her brother's wounds, but her eyes couldn't leave Vheod.

  "Vheod?" Melann's tone spoke a thousand questions, the answer to any of which might easily break her heart.

  "I deny nothing, witch” — Vheod said. The beginnings of a smile came to his lips. Rather than gladden Melann, the sight of that smile terrified her.

  "You have come here in error then, cambion," the Ravenwitch told him softly. "Your master isn't here, His prison lies in a cavern miles to the south."

  Vheod began to speak again, but stopped. Melann, from behind the Ravenwitch, still kneeling at her brother's side, interrupted him. She could think of nothing more to say than simply, "Vheod?"

  The sound of her voice seemed to bring about another change in him. He looked past the Ravenwitch to Melann. He stared at her a moment as she helped her brother. Vheod's face changed, and his eyes seemed to grow softer. He looked to the Ravenwitch again, but the smile had vanished.

  "I have no master, witch!” — he shouted in defiance. The Ravenwitch was silent for a moment, her body perfectly still, then slowly turned and looked back and down at Melann and Whitlock. Perhaps she'd simply followed Vheod's gaze, or maybe she had some dire plan for the siblings. Melann would believe anything at this point. Still looking at Melann and Whitlock, the Ravenwitch said simply, "I see."

  "You mistake me for someone or something else, I think, witch," Vheod said, seemingly steeling himself as he straightened his back. The muscles in his neck and arms tightened. "I've come to ensure that Chare'en is not freed. I don't wish his evil loosed on this world." The Ravenwitch turned back to Vheod. She moved even closer to him, close enough for her to lay a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. Vheod remained rigid.

  "If that is truly your goal, cambion, then you will fail." She said.

  "Do not threaten me," Vheod spoke through clenched teeth.

  "I do not threaten. I speak of the future, and the certainties I have seen in divination. You will free Chare'en."

  Vheod remained silent.

  "I suspect, then, after you free him and he gathers the army of creatures that already amassed waiting for him, you will fight at his side. The two of you can carve a fiendish kingdom of evil for yourselves. You'll fight even against the arrayed armies of Cormyr and the kingdoms to the south, spreading destruction as only tanar'ri truly can. I don't wish to oppose such a powerful menace. I want to survive." The Ravenwitch gestured with open palms toward Vheod, but Melann was sure her narrowed eyes concealed something.

  Melann looked down at Whitlock and called on the power of Chauntea to heal her brother. As she prayed, a bluish-white glow flowed from her fingertips to Whitlock's flesh. The light caressed his bloody wounds, erasing them from his body as though they had never been. Whitlock's eyes fluttered open, and he opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was to cough up dark blood-raven's blood.

  "What have you done to my brother?" Melann demanded, interrupting the strange, disturbing conversation Vheod and the Ravenwitch were having. She held on to Whitlock as he spat out the blood and moaned.

  "I did nothing," the Ravenwitch said, circling around Vheod then turning to face Melann from behind him. "I was about to grant him the greatest gift within my power. A blessing, really,"-she shook her head slightly-"but you stopped it. Without the infusion of ravens' blood, now that the magical process is ruined, hell be nothing but a human." She looked at Vheod from behind him. "Your tendency to thrust yourself into situations you don't fully understand will be your downfall, cambion."


  Vheod turned to face her. "I am certain whatever you were doing to him was something that was rightfully ended. Do not attempt to trick me with sly wordplay, Ravenwitch. I lived for years among the sharp and slippery tongues of the tanar'ri, skilled in eons of temptation and betrayal. You will not fool me with your lies."

  "But," the Ravenwitch retorted, "I was going to make him my servant. He would have been granted great gifts-flight, physical power, virtual immortality…"

  Realization of the importance of the ravens' blood washed over Melann. "You were going to make him into some sort of lycanthropic slave-a wereraven! You were going to turn my brother into a horrible monster." Melann stood, clenching her hands into fists. Her body was tense with anger.

  "Something like that," the Ravenwitch replied casually, "though I wouldn't choose to use quite those words. One thing is certain: Your brother would have stood a much better chance of surviving as my servant than he will otherwise, once Chare'en is loosed on the Thunder Peaks and into the Dalelands. Mere humans will fall before his might quickly and easily." "I won't let that happen," Vheod said quietly, but firmly.

  "Did you not hear me, cambion? You will cause it. That is why you are here." The Ravenwitch offered a single open hand held flatly toward him as if to suggest that she offered a simple truth.

  "No!" Vheod spat. "In fact, the truth is that you are the one, are you not? I was warned about your evil. You plan to free the balor Chare'en, don't you? You probably worship him, don't you? Foolish mortal woman-you'll bring about your own demise."

  "No," the Ravenwitch replied. Her voice was still calm and flat.

  Melann noted that other than her initial shock at their sudden arrival, the Ravenwitch had remained decidedly unemotional. Somehow that caused Melann to hate and fear her more.

  "I don't worship demons," the Ravenwitch continued- "I don't look forward to a future where gnoll armies with fiendish commanders lay waste to the countryside." Only on speaking of gnoll armies did her voice falter, or betray any emotion at all. "I know the future though, and I don't fight against the inevitable. I am many things, perhaps, but I am not a fool.

  "There is one, however, who does worship Chare'en, serving him and putting events in motion to help free the balor, and of course there are the gnolls." Her disdain for the gnolls became even more clear with the look of fire that flashed in her eyes when she said the word.

  "What about the gnolls?" Vheod asked her. The Ravenwitch moved back to where she'd stood before, between Melann and Vheod. Melann helped Whitlock to his feet and over toward Vheod. She hoped they could just flee, once she got the three of them together. She didn't care about exacting revenge on the Ravenwitch-she'd never been interested in such pettiness. She was, however, tired of hearing the witch's half-truths and strange words. She just wanted to get away from the Ravenwitch and away from the giant tree. She needed time to think. Again Vheod had terrified her. The darkness in his soul was strong-stronger than she'd originally assumed.

  "The gnolls," the Ravenwitch said finally, "or rather their ancestors, once worshiped and served Chare'en when he was free in Faerun. They were his army. Now, I suspect, they somehow hear his call once again. Don't be so foolish as to think Chare'en doesn't know you're coming to free him. I suspect he's quite eager to meet you."

  Melann didn't know if it was right that she and her brother spend any further time with Vheod. She believed Vheod fought against his evil nature, but for the first time she seriously worried about what would happen if he lost that fight.

  To the surprise of the other three, Whitlock managed to speak as he regained his feet. "So then, everything Vheod said was true. Chare'en wasn't an ancient sorcerer, he was-is-a demon, and if we go looking for the remedy for our family's curse, well free him."

  "Yes, Whitlock," Vheod answered. He frowned, and Melann knew he wasn't happy to be right.

  The Ravenwitch shook her head. "You won't free him," she said to Whitlock, and pointed at Vheod. "He will."

  "I told you, woman, I wall not." His muscles tightened further, and his eyes smoldered with anger. "Particularly now-we won't even go there."

  "And well never find the staff we were told might lift the curse," Melann said, her voice cracking with sadness. She looked down at the ground, still helping Whitlock along.

  "Oh, I imagine that if you go to Chare'en's prison, you'll find the staff you seek," the Ravenwitch said. "What?" Melann looked up. "You mean it is there?”

  "Almost certainly. Many things of great and wondrous power lie in the balor's prison, but you'll never get there without your friend."

  Vheod remained silent. Melann noticed him glance down at his wrist, where his crimson tattoo lay. That struck her as strange. She was certain she'd seen it near his neck before. Had it moved? How could she have not noticed? What else didn't she know?

  "If we try to leave this place," Melann asked her slowly, with a narrowed gaze, "are you going to try to stop us?"

  “Of course not," the Ravenwitch said. "You both misjudge and misunderstand me." Melann thought of how the watch had sent her ravens to carry away her brother against his will and determined that she did not misjudge her. The Ravenwitch continued, "I know Chare'en will be freed. I know his reign of terror will spread and his armies will swoop over the land- here. I don't want him to think of me as his enemy so I do not obstruct the actions of his heir and savior." She bowed slightly toward Vheod.

  Still obviously faming with anger, Vheod remained silent. With Melann and Whitlock now at his side, he began walking toward the entrance to the passage through the branch that would take them back to the ground. The ravens around them let loose shrill cries in the moonlight, but he seemed unmoved.

  Vheod stopped. Looking back to the Ravenwitch, he said, "You don't know me. The future is always uncertain. My destiny isn't preordained. I make my own way. Don't judge me by what you assume I am. I am more than that. I always have been, and I always will be."

  As they walked away, the Ravenwitch said something that puzzled Melann, though her words were directed at Vheod. "It is a terrible thing for a creature to deny its own nature," she said. "Unlike most, you have a choice-you have two natures. Choose one, and don't deny it."

  Vheod and Melann searched through the packs on the dead horses outside the Ravenwitch's tree. Each horse was already cold in death. Melann took out some clothes for Whitlock and helped him put them on. Vheod removed the useful supplies, including some rope, a few empty bags, two bedrolls, some cooking gear, six torches, a knife, Whitlock's sword and crossbow, a quiver of a dozen or so crossbow bolts, and three mostly full waterskins.

  They didn't have Whitlock's armor, Vheod's sword, or any food. Melann made a comment about how they'd not eaten all day as she helped Whitlock, who remained weak after his ordeal. Melann's priestly magic had aided him a great deal, and perhaps even saved him from death, but a number of his initial wounds from the battle with the giant ravens remained and weakened him.

  "We need to get away from this place,'' Vheod told her, "then we can rest. I’ll try to find us some food then."

  He loaded the supplies into two backpacks and handed one to Melann. She said a quiet blessing over the dead horses and thanked them for the help they had given the three of them. They both shouldered the packs and helped Whitlock to his feet. With his arms draped over their shoulders they walked away, into the deep woods.

  Following the nearby river, the three travelers made their way south. They walked for a little over an hour, then stopped to rest for the remainder of the night. Vheod hoped the distance they put between themselves and the Ravenwitch would be enough to protect them from any treachery on her part. He didn't trust anything the witch did or said.

  "We never asked about the green stones," Melann said as she unrolled a bedroll and made Whitlock comfortable.

  "What?" Vheod said, turning to her. ''The Ravenwitch said a lot of things back there, but we never asked about the strange green stones the gnolls seem to be collecting."
<
br />   "I wouldn't have believed her anyway," Vheod said. "Do you think everything she said was a lie?" Melann asked as she collapsed to the ground herself, wearily laying back on her own bedroll.

  "I know her kind. The Abyss is full of creatures like her. They lace their lies with hints of the truth, just to make the lies more believable." Vheod looked at Melann. She seemed to be carefully studying him.

  "She confirmed your belief that Chare'en was a fiend, not a wizard," she said after a moment.

  "Yes. As I said, traces of the truth." Vheod picked up a twig from the ground and whirled it around in his fingers.

  "What about what she said about you? About you freeing him? Serving him?"

  "Lies," Vheod said harshly and quickly in response to Melann's words. He didn't look up at her, still staring at the small stick he spun in his hand.

  "Vheod," Melann said gently, "I've spent some time with you, and I'm a good judge of character. I know you're struggling against the evil nature of your heritage." She paused, swallowing hard. The words appeared to come to her only with difficulty. "But haven't you considered the possibility that perhaps you've been set up? That somehow Chare'en-your ancestor-might have planned all of this?"

  "I am in control of my own destiny," Vheod protested, shaking his head. He snapped the twig in his hands and tossed it aside.

  "But what if you aren't? What if there's a part of you-the evil, fiendish part-that actually conspires against you? I‘ve seen that evil nature well up inside you. It could be capable of anything."

  Melann's words cut into him like a sword. Vheod stared at the ground where he sat next to the reclining siblings. Whitlock had fallen into a much-needed sleep. Melann was quiet.