She was still waiting.
No word had ever come back to her, no message that her husband had disappeared one night while on patrol. Though he was long overdue, she suspected nothing, only worried that the military had need of his services for longer than expected.
It wasn't too bad, she thought, except for the chores. She wasn't as strong as she once had been, and keeping up the property was more difficult. But she trusted that her man, her true love since both had been barely more than children, would come back to her.
Aliisza did not want to care. People die, she insisted. They grow old, or they are injured, or they are killed in battle. It is the way the world works. It is not my affair. Not my problem!
The alu turned away, weary from watching the ghost grieve for his forgotten wife. She didn't want to be there when he witnessed the old woman's death at the hands of a marauding band of tanarukks later that night. Aliisza knew the script by heart, even though she had not witnessed it. Somehow, it had embedded itself in her mind.
Enough! she silently screamed, and the vision faded. No more! she thought, thankful that the garden and fountains reappeared. Every time, she feared that they would not, that she would find herself stuck in a vision for eternity.
It was nighttime again, the moon high in the sky. Somehow, whenever she returned, it was night. She liked the night, the darkness. It pleased her, let her feel safe within its shadows. So no one can see me, she thought. So no one can examine these foolish thoughts I can't get rid of.
The wind chimes tinkled softly in the darkness and the leaves of the great tree glowed silver in the moonlight as Aliisza strolled toward one of the benches. She was halfway there before she realized another figure sat upon it.
"Tauran," she said, secretly thankful that he had come, but unwilling to admit it out loud. "Why are you here?"
"To see how you fare," the angel replied, rising. "Because I know you wanted it."
"Do you do everything I want?" she asked coyly, afraid to ask aloud the question truly in her mind. How much do you know? Can you see what your horrid visions are doing to me?
"Not quite," the deva replied. "As much as is necessary, for both our sakes."
Aliisza tossed her head. "What does that mean?"
"It means," the angel said, moving toward the pool, "that it's time for me to show you this." He dipped his fingers in the water and swirled them for a moment.
Before the half-fiend reached the edge of the fountain, he removed them. There, just as she expected, was an image, rather than a reflection of the night sky. She saw herself, her body, like before. It had grown bulkier, fat. Bloated.
Aliisza gasped. "W-why?" she stammered. "Why am I like that?"
"You are due to deliver soon," the angel said softly.
"No!" Aliisza cried. "That cannot be! I have not been here more than a tenday, perhaps two at most! No child could grow that fast! What is happening?"
Tauran smiled, one of those sad smiles that Aliisza had come to dread. It was a smile that meant, "I am about to tell you that your world will come crashing down once more."
"Time moves differently there, and here," he explained. "Where your body lies, time flows much faster. It has been the full term of your pregnancy there. Soon, your child will be born."
"And here?" she asked, fearful of the answer.
"Here," he answered, "time moves much more slowly. Though it seems as though you have been here a tenday or more, beyond this place, only a single day has passed. You have completed but one day of your year-long sentence, Aliisza."
"No!" Aliisza sobbed. "You bastard!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dwarves, Vhok thought in disgust. Here, as far away from Faerun as I can possibly be, there are damnable dwarves!
The stout ones looked in many ways like their normal kin. Strong, sinewy arms and legs sprouted from thick, stumpy torsos. Though made of fire, their hair and beards were thick and bushy. Both their skin and clothing seemed fashioned of brass or bronze.
And most importantly, thought Vhok wryly, they are all frowning.
Those in the front rank brandished copper-colored war-hammers, while those in the back held short spears aloft. All of them were trying to approach the duo in a stealthy manner.
Invisible, the half-fiend realized. He grew angry that he and the priest had become careless, had stopped paying attention. We are tired, he thought. Tired idiots.
Vhok turned to Zasian to gauge the priest's intentions and spied another group of the flaming dwarves coming from the opposite direction. They, too, had been invisible a moment earlier, until Zasian's spell had revealed them. Between the two lines, they held both ends of the trail. They had planned their ambush well, for there was nowhere for the two travelers to run.
The two groups of fiery dwarves, realizing they had been exposed, slowed a bit and held their weapons higher. They eyed Vhok and Zasian warily but did not rush forward to attack, as the cambion expected. Instead, one from the first group stepped forward, a staff thrust toward the duo. "You will surrender to us, outlanders," he said in thickly accented Common. "Or you will perish by flame and weapon."
Zasian only stared. He seemed a bit bemused at the turn of events. He gave Vhok a glance. "Well?" he asked. "What do you want to do? Perish or surrender?"
Vhok realized the priest was barely preventing himself from bursting out in laughter. The cambion wasn't quite sure what was so amusing to the man. "I hardly think this is funny," he growled, low so the others couldn't hear him. "More gods-forsaken dwarves, and we had to stumble into the middle of them. I never want to see another dwarf in my life!"
"Surrender now, or we will slay you!" the leader of the creatures called, a bit louder and more forcefully.
"A moment, please, my friend," Zasian said, motioning to the dwarf for patience. "We are discussing your terms." He turned to Vhok and almost started laughing. "It's funny because I know how put out you are!" Zasian said quietly, still smirking. The priest chuckled for a moment, then managed to straighten his face. "In all seriousness, though, they have called for our surrender. Do you wish to fight our way out of this, or perhaps see if we can negotiate with them? We might convince them to guide us to the City of Brass."
Vhok grimaced. "I hardly think dwarves, hair afire or no, are interested in helping us," he said. "I'd as soon eat them alive as speak with them, and the feeling is mutual, I'm sure."
"Not necessarily," Zasian said. "These beings dwell far away from Sundabar and the Silver Marches. There's no reason to assume that they are aware of your animosity toward their kin or your reputation back home."
The leader of the dwarves, apparently impatient over the travelers' refusal to respond, barked orders at his squads of soldiers. The dwarves on both sides closed in on Vhok and Zasian. From a back rank, one even lofted a short spear into the air. The weapon struck the ground near Vhok's feet and wobbled there for a moment.
"I'll kill them all," Vhok hissed, reaching for Burnblood. "Every last one of them."
"No," Zasian admonished, taking hold of the cambion's arm. "Restrain yourself."
Vhok was on the verge of yanking his arm free, but the tone of the priest's voice gave him pause. He turned to glare at the man instead, to warn him against ever laying an unwelcome hand upon himself again.
"I told you I would speak plainly when I thought your actions were folly," Zasian said as the dwarves closed in. "Well, this is one such time. You do nothing to further your own cause by fighting them. They are intelligent-we can reason with them. Give it a chance before you become berserk with bloodlust against them."
Vhok clenched his teeth in fury, unwilling to acknowledge that the priest had a point. He only wanted to wreak havoc among the flame-haired nemeses and be done with them. But he knew that Zasian was right. Both of them were exhausted from travel and battle, and what they really needed were allies rather than enemies. Once more, he was being forced to trust where trust did not come naturally.