At the top of the steps, Vhok stopped and perused the inscription. The ancient words marked the chamber as a shrine dedicated to Moradin, god of the dwarves. Smirking, Vhok was relieved to see that the craftsmen who had constructed the shrine had not seen fit to place arcane runes upon the surface of the doors, protective sigils that would have barred him entry. Satisfied that no fell magic would harm him, he pushed on the stone. The twin doors swung ponderously open, as silent as the day they were first hung. Cool bluish light spilled into the thoroughfare from within.
The cambion stepped inside and shut the doors behind him. The chamber was hexagonal in shape, not very far across from one side to another, but quite tall. A series of thick square columns stood around the periphery of the chamber, one at each of the eight corners. A set of torches rested in brackets mounted on each of the columns, casting the chamber in a surreal azure glow. Vhok knew of such illumination. The torches would burn forever, their flames preserved with magic.
The spaces between each pair of columns formed private alcoves. Within seven of the niches, a large stone sarcophagus lay parallel to the wall behind. Atop each sarcophagus rose a statue of a dwarf hero, clergy members who had died in service to Moradin. Each of the seven was unique in stature, dress, and appearance. Inscriptions carved into the sarcophagi identified the dwarves laid to rest within, but Vhok ignored the names. He knew those interred were only so much dust by that time.
A whisper of wind and a faint flash of ruddy light upon the walls were the only clues that another had appeared within the shrine.
Vhok turned, knowing who stood halfway across the room. Zasian Menz, a young, handsome fellow with long black hair and a flaring moustache, grinned at Vhok. He dressed himself in finery, black leather pants and shirt with a black and gold tunic over both. He gestured in the air around himself. The remnants of a crimson-tinged magical doorway snapped out of existence behind him, leaving the shrine bathed in bluish light once more.
"You found it," the man said as he peered around the chamber and twitched his nose in apparent distaste.
"You choose an odd place to meet, Zasian," Vhok replied, letting the swirls of afterimage fade from his vision until he could see through the darkness again. "You did not tell me that we would be trespassing upon Moradin's holy ground."
"Do you care?" Zasian asked, strolling around the perimeter of the room as he gazed at the effigies of the fallen dwarves. "I did not take you for a pious being."
The cambion almost smiled at his counterpart's joke. "Only insofar as I must be wary of divine retribution. The doors or the interior of this place might have been warded."
"Yes, but they weren't," Zasian answered. "We dispelled such nuisances long before inviting you here."
Vhok waved his hand in dismissal. It was not a conversation worth pursuing, in his mind. "How is she?" he asked.
"She is well, and still has Dwarf-friend firmly in her charms," Zasian confirmed. "I performed the enchantment earlier tonight, in fact. All is set."
Vhok nodded thoughtfully. "And she does not remember it?" he asked. "She has forgotten everything?"
"Everything of significance," he replied. "She seemed a bit disoriented, as you might expect, but that will pass from her mind quickly enough. She will have far too many other things to think about."
Vhok nodded once more and tapped his finger upon his lips, lost in thoughts of his alu lover. Aliisza was in a very delicate position, and any complication could mean her life. Though the cambion would be disappointed to lose the beautiful creature as his consort, he was far more concerned with the implications of her failure to complete her mission. Should her true purpose be exposed, should she fall before she completed her tasks, the rest of the plan would almost surely fail, and he would not be able to orchestrate Helm Dwarf-friend's downfall. That, above all else, was paramount.
"You are certain this will work?" asked the half-fiend.
Zasian shrugged. "As with any plan of this complexity, there is always the chance of unforeseen complications. I cannot say that I am certain, and I give you no guarantees. But I know what Tyr's lackeys are about. They are becoming proactive, seeking to turn any opportunity to their advantage. They will seize any excuse at all to stake a claim in her future. If we have laid the groundwork subtly enough, they will take the bait. Now we can only let it play out and see what transpires."
"Are you certain of her condition?" Vhok asked. An odd feeling of remorse passed through him for a moment, but he brushed it aside.
"I checked again this evening, before traveling here to meet with you. Your own divinations are accurate."
"The deception is necessary," Vhok said, as much to himself as to the priest. "There is no other way to reach the garden and the Lifespring. She cannot know yet the part she plays."
Zasian shrugged again. "As you said yourself, it is but a single piece of the puzzle. An important piece, to say the least, but only one."
Vhok nodded once more, then drew himself out of his worries. There were more immediate things to deal with. "Very well, let's conclude this business. Lead the way."
Zasian nodded and moved to the sarcophagus directly opposite the doors through which Vhok had entered. Moving behind the massive stone coffin, the man made a motion with his hand.
Vhok felt a deep, low rumble reverberate through the room. He watched as a portion of the wall behind the sarcophagus shifted and slid from view, revealing a passage just beyond. An orange glow spilled from the chamber, the light of several ordinary torches. Zasian gestured to Vhok and to the passage.
"After you," he offered.
The cambion stepped past his counterpart and entered the hallway.
Two paces later, Vhok found himself in a very different sort of temple, one far more sinister in appearance. In shape and structure, the chamber was identical to the one he and Zasian had vacated. Unlike the austere simplicity of the previous room, the second chamber felt menacing. The square stone columns were replaced by twisted, sinuous pillars, and the stone itself was ruddy in color. Instead of a series of sarcophagi, each niche housed a dais topped by a high throne. Each chair faced the center of the room, where a forbidding altar of black marble shot through with green veins and carved in the shape of a jutting fist rested.
Figures dressed in a manner similar to Zasian occupied each seat except one. As Vhok surveyed the men and women arrayed before him, haughty and self-assured gazes returned his own. Some of those gazes roamed over his noble, almost elven features, noting the silver hair contrasting his olive complexion, undoubtedly finding him handsome. Certainly many a female, human or otherwise, had fallen under his sway after being charmed by that exotic countenance. Other eyes lingered on Burnblood, the elven long sword resting on his right hip, or Scepter Malevolus, the steel rod engraved with black runes that dangled from his belt on the left side. The potently magical scepter marked Vhok as ruler of the Scourged Legion. He had taken that title after he had slain his mother, the marilith Mulvassyss, and pried it from her dead fingers. No doubt some among the Banites in the secret chamber pondered the cambion's prowess with it, perhaps assessing his worth to stand among them.