bull his way through another pack of dwarves.
At that moment, a figure charged from the ruins of a cupola along one side of the plaza. The figure raced across the open ground, heading straight toward the dwarves. As the creature waded into the midst of them, swinging a huge war axe, Vhok recognized it. It belonged to the Blood of Morueme, the ferocious draconic hobgoblins sired by the Clan Morueme dragons.
The cambion heard a sharp, concussive thump as the half-hobgoblin struck, then saw one of the Vigilant sail several paces through the air before landing with a muted splash in a patch of lava that had spilled over and seeped close. The dwarf
screamed in agony and tried to escape, but the conflagration that erupted around him quickly silenced his cries.
At the same time, a massive stone wall appeared in the plaza. The barrier divided the dwarves and sealed a significant number of them away from Vhok and the half-dragon, but it left an open alley to reach the promontory. The rest of the stout folk still advanced.
Vhok looked up, knowing where the stone wall had come from. As he gazed over at Zasian, the priest gestured frantically for the cambion to hurry.
With hope of victory restored, Vhok drew his blade and strode forward to cut his way through the dwarves as best he could with Lysalis draped over his shoulder. The sorceress had become still, and he feared she was already dead. As he fought, Vhok kept an eye on the Morueme half-breed and worked to reach the half-hobgoblin’s side, hoping to benefit from his protection. Each time the half-dragon’s huge axe connected with a foe, Vhok could hear a loud pounding as the enemy it struck was knocked backward with preternatural force. The half-hobgoblin used the weapon to good effect, aiming his blows to slam his victims into other dwarves, cutting a swath for himself to reach Vhok.
When they at last met, the cambion tilted his head once in acknowledgment of thanks. He eyed the mighty weapon his new companion wielded, and noted that it was dwarven in make.
No wonder they’re so angry, Vhok thought with a chuckle.
The half-hobgoblin returned the nod and kept swinging, plowing a gap through angry, howling dwarves. Step by step, they made their way together toward the Everfire and Zasian.
At last, the few remaining dwarves had stomached all they wanted of the fierce cambion and his unusual companion, and
they fell back. A few of them fired crossbows at Vhok and the others, but Zasian acted quickly, erecting another wall of stone to block their line of sight. The cambion and the half-hobgoblin crossed the remainder of the plaza unmolested. The two of them scrambled up to the point of rock where Zasian waited.
At last, exhausted, Vhok set Lysalis at Zasian’s feet. Breathing heavily, he gestured at the fallen sorceress. “She is badly wounded,” he told the priest. “Struck by some holy weapon that seems to be taking her life. Can you revive her?”
Zasian frowned and knelt beside the fey’ri, who had lapsed into unconsciousness. “I will try,” he said, “but my healing skills are elementary compared to my other talents.”
Vhok turned and looked at the half-hobgoblin. The half-dragon wiped some of the blood off his axe, using a tattered cloak he had torn from a dead dwarf.
“My thanks for your aid in this fight today, Son of Morueme,” Vhok said. “What brings you to the Everfire in the midst of my battle with the tempestuous dwarves?” He suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how the half-dragon would reply.
The creature bowed deeply. “I bid you greetings, Sceptered One. I am Myshik Morueme. I come on behalf of my father, Roraurim, and my uncle, Nahaunglaroth, Lords of Dragondoom, Masters of the Cerulean Skies, Patriarchs of Clan Morueme. I have been instructed to join with you and offer my services on your impending journey.” The half-hobgoblin smiled.
Vhok eyed Myshik critically for a moment. He doubted the dragons’ offer
At that moment, a figure charged from the ruins of a cupola along one side of the plaza. The figure raced across the open ground, heading straight toward the dwarves. As the creature waded into the midst of them, swinging a huge war axe, Vhok recognized it. It belonged to the Blood of Morueme, the ferocious draconic hobgoblins sired by the Clan Morueme dragons.
The cambion heard a sharp, concussive thump as the half-hobgoblin struck, then saw one of the Vigilant sail several paces through the air before landing with a muted splash in a patch of lava that had spilled over and seeped close. The dwarf
screamed in agony and tried to escape, but the conflagration that erupted around him quickly silenced his cries.
At the same time, a massive stone wall appeared in the plaza. The barrier divided the dwarves and sealed a significant number of them away from Vhok and the half-dragon, but it left an open alley to reach the promontory. The rest of the stout folk still advanced.
Vhok looked up, knowing where the stone wall had come from. As he gazed over at Zasian, the priest gestured frantically for the cambion to hurry.
With hope of victory restored, Vhok drew his blade and strode forward to cut his way through the dwarves as best he could with Lysalis draped over his shoulder. The sorceress had become still, and he feared she was already dead. As he fought, Vhok kept an eye on the Morueme half-breed and worked to reach the half-hobgoblin’s side, hoping to benefit from his protection. Each time the half-dragon’s huge axe connected with a foe, Vhok could hear a loud pounding as the enemy it struck was knocked backward with preternatural force. The half-hobgoblin used the weapon to good effect, aiming his blows to slam his victims into other dwarves, cutting a swath for himself to reach Vhok.
When they at last met, the cambion tilted his head once in acknowledgment of thanks. He eyed the mighty weapon his new companion wielded, and noted that it was dwarven in make.
No wonder they’re so angry, Vhok thought with a chuckle.
The half-hobgoblin returned the nod and kept swinging, plowing a gap through angry, howling dwarves. Step by step, they made their way together toward the Everfire and Zasian.
At last, the few remaining dwarves had stomached all they wanted of the fierce cambion and his unusual companion, and
they fell back. A few of them fired crossbows at Vhok and the others, but Zasian acted quickly, erecting another wall of stone to block their line of sight. The cambion and the half-hobgoblin crossed the remainder of the plaza unmolested. The two of them scrambled up to the point of rock where Zasian waited.
At last, exhausted, Vhok set Lysalis at Zasian’s feet. Breathing heavily, he gestured at the fallen sorceress. “She is badly wounded,” he told the priest. “Struck by some holy weapon that seems to be taking her life. Can you revive her?”
Zasian frowned and knelt beside the fey’ri, who had lapsed into unconsciousness. “I will try,” he said, “but my healing skills are elementary compared to my other talents.”
Vhok turned and looked at the half-hobgoblin. The half-dragon wiped some of the blood off his axe, using a tattered cloak he had torn from a dead dwarf.
“My thanks for your aid in this fight today, Son of Morueme,” Vhok said. “What brings you to the Everfire in the midst of my battle with the tempestuous dwarves?” He suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how the half-dragon would reply.
The creature bowed deeply. “I bid you greetings, Sceptered One. I am Myshik Morueme. I come on behalf of my father, Roraurim, and my uncle, Nahaunglaroth, Lords of Dragondoom, Masters of the Cerulean Skies, Patriarchs of Clan Morueme. I have been instructed to join with you and offer my services on your impending journey.” The half-hobgoblin smiled.
Vhok eyed Myshik critically for a moment. He doubted the dragons’ offer
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