"He really doesn't lose, I suppose," Vhok remarked. "Either we do as we say and he gets his mine back, or we try and fail and he gets rid of us without any trouble, or we just leave, and he gets rid of us without any trouble."
"I guess the real question is, should we pay a visit to the efreet when we get down there?" the priest said. "Do you think he'll be interested in finding out that a troop of azer is hiding in the mountains, spying on him?"
"It might convince him to find a way to get us to the City of Brass more quickly," Vhok said. "I wonder how hard it will be to get in to see him?"
"Perhaps we should try the back entrance," Zasian suggested with a smile.
When the two of them got close enough to the fortress that they feared being spotted, they paused. "This is probably close enough on foot," Vhok said. "To the top of the tower?" he offered.
"Seems as good a starting point as any," Zasian replied.
Vhok nodded and put new magic into use. With a word and a touch, he transformed them both into vapor. They could no longer speak, but their destination was unobstructed and visible. Together, they continued on, traveling as gaseous clouds. They were virtually invisible among all the blowing smoke and ash that perpetually wafted through the plane. They closed the rest of the distance to the brass walls and maneuvered to one side, far from the main gate. Then they went up and over the wall.
The interior of the fortress seemed barren and utilitarian to Vhok. Other than the tower, there were two other buildings, long and low, against the two side walls of the place. They appeared to be either barracks or prison cells.
Probably both, the cambion mused.
By far the largest feature of the mine was the pit itself. Like a great, inverted ziggurat, the hole in the ground was terraced at regular intervals, growing smaller with each successive level down. Slaves worked at every level. They lined the terraces, struggling to maneuver huge copper basins into place beneath sluggish flows of white-hot material that oozed from the walls. Above them, cranes hoisted filled basins into the air and to the side, to be replaced with empty ones. Other slaves worked the substances into molds, using large hinged and counterweighted frames to tip the basins sideways. The liquid glass, cooling to a bluish color, seeped into the molds, hardening into clear, pristine objects. Vhok witnessed an endless cycle of harvesting.
Their transformation spell would expire soon, Vhok knew, so he pushed onward, rising easily with the heated air currents toward the top of the tower. He flowed into the domed and columned enclosure of a cupola there, where a lone efreeti served as a lookout.
The efreeti leaned against the banister and stared over the work being done in the pit below. The creature was thick-limbed like a giant, though his bony head, with its smallish horns, reminded the cambion more of a demon than anything. The efreeti's skin, brick red in color, seemed to shimmer and smoke from the heat he gave off. Vhok knew that such genies normally stood twice as tall as the half-fiend, but the one before him was no more than his own height. The efreeti had used magic to reduce himself, to compensate for the low ceiling within the tower, which had been built by dwarves.
The cupola was perhaps six paces wide, large enough for the cambion and the priest to slip inside and transform unnoticed by the genie. As Vhok restored himself to solid form, Zasian appeared beside him. The priest gave the half-fiend a gesture to hold, then fetched something from within his tunic. He nodded to the cambion to proceed.
Vhok crept up behind the efreeti and slipped Burnblood around his neck, at the same time sliding the creature's oversized falchion from his sash and tossing it away. The genie tensed, but the half-demon pressed the blade tighter against the creature's throat. "Easy there," he said. "Don't ruin it all by dying. We just want to talk."
The genie held still a moment longer, then slowly relaxed. "I yield," he growled. His voice was a deep, crackling rumble, reminding Vhok of a burning blaze. "Do not slice up poor Amak."
"Excellent," the cambion said, spinning himself and his captive slowly away from the banister to face Zasian. The priest clutched his necklace in his hand and seemed prepared to invoke divine magic at the slightest hint of trouble. "My companion there," Vhok continued, "is ready to end your life with a word of power if he thinks you are not dealing justly with us. Do I make myself clear?"
The efreeti tried to nod and nicked himself on the half-fiend's blade. "Undoubtedly clear," he said. "Amak will not turn on you."
Vhok smiled. "Good. We wish to speak with the overseer. A big, nasty genie named Hafiz?"
"Yes, yes," the efreeti said, trying to nod enthusiastically. "You must speak with Hafiz at once. He is the overseer here."
"Excellent. This is working out well, don't you think? Now, how should we go about finding Hafiz?"
"I will take you to him, yes, indeed," Amak said. "If you will just release me, I will show you the way at once."
"Now, if I let you go, I can trust that you won't give me any trouble, right?" Vhok said. "Otherwise, my companion here will be forced to disintegrate you or something equally unpleasant. You don't want that, do you?"
"Absolutely not," the efreeti said with all sincerity. "I promise, no nonsense."
"All right, then," Vhok said. He stepped back from the efreeti and removed his blade from the creature's throat.
Amak the efreeti half-turned and gave a glance at his tormentor. When he saw Vhok, he seemed to start the slightest bit, but he did not otherwise acknowledge the cambion. "This way," he said simply, and motioned toward an opening in the floor leading to a set of stairs. "I will take you to the overseer."
Vhok went down first, in order to keep Amak between himself and Zasian, who brought up the rear. They followed the staircase down, which wound around the hollow inside of the tower for several turns. The walls of the tower were pierced with narrow openings that permitted light to enter the vertical chamber, though it was dim. At the bottom of the stairs, Amak motioned that they should pass through a large door set into the wall. The door appeared made of thick brass set into an equally stout frame.
When Vhok pulled on the door, it wouldn't budge. He gave the efreeti an accusing look.
Amak frowned, seemingly puzzled. "Pull harder," he urged.
The cambion slipped his sword into its sheath and took hold of the handle with both hands. He gave the door a hard yank but it would not open. "All right," he said, turning to chastise the efreeti. "What's going o-"
The creature jerked a single fist forward and smacked it hard into Vhok's face. The cambion grunted in pain as he recoiled from the punch. His head bounced hard against the door, sending stabbing pain through his skull and sparks crackling through his vision.
Amak lashed out with his foot, driving the heel of it into Zasian's chest. The priest staggered backward, almost losing his balance. Rather than pursuing them, the efreeti faded from view.
"Zasian!" the half-fiend croaked, dizzy. He fumbled for his blade. "He's escaping!" Vhok shouted.
Burnblood didn't seem to want to work properly, and the cambion slid to the floor as his balance left him. Settling on his backside, Vhok cursed his complacency. He knew the magic the efreeti was employing all too well; he and Zasian had used it to gain access to the tower and surprise the creature. The efreeti was turning the tables on them.
Insubstantial, his physical body a roiling cloud of vapor, Amak settled to the floor like a puddle and slid underneath the door. Vhok reached for his wand as the gaseous figure slipped away bit by bit. The half-fiend leveled the magical device in the direction of their quarry and grunted the command word. Four sparks darted from the tip and crackled as they snapped into the misty form. The attack didn't have a noticeable effect, but Vhok knew that such magical darts could hurt even vaporous creatures.