Vheod tried to smile but only managed a nod in her direction. She smiled back.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"My brother is eager to go," she said softly, "and he won't allow me to tend to his wound until we leave the area. Will you come with us?"

Vheod nodded. She helped him onto the back of her own horse.

Whitlock found a small copse of trees for them to rest in, well out of sight of the surrounding area. The three dismounted, and Melann immediately made Whitlock sit down so she could treat his wound. Whitlock, barely able to stand, found it easy to oblige.

"Look, now that we're safely away, I’ve got to speak with you," the stranger said.

Whitlock gritted his teeth through the pain as Melann lifted the lower portion of his hauberk and pulled the blood-stained cloth away from his leg. "Who are you?" she asked the stranger as she worked.

"My name is Vheod Runechild," he replied.

"I am Melann Brandish, and this is my brother Whitlock."

"What are you doing out here?" Whitlock asked through teeth clenched in pain. "Looking for you," Vheod stated.

"What?"' Whitlock started in surprise, then again in pain as his movements put his leg in a bad position. "What do you mean?" Melann asked Vheod, turning away from Whitlock for the moment.

"I came here looking for you, to warn you that you are about to do something… terrible." Vheod stood over the two of them, a few steps away.

"What thing?" Whitlock asked, his voice raising in volume, his brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? How do you know anything about us?"

"You intend to free the tanar’ri Chare'en from his prison." Vheod said.

"What?" Whitlock said. "What are you talking about?"

"Just as I've said you're about to release a terrible evil into the world."

"No, we're not," Whitlock said quickly. "Our business is our own. Besides, isn't tanar'ri just another word for demon? If anyone's going to have anything to do with a demon, it's probably you. You look like you're probably a demon yourself. Come to think of it, what did you do back there to frighten all the gnolls away?" Whitlock grimaced from the pain.

"Just a moment," Melann implored, and called on Chauntea to grant her the ability to heal her brother's wound. When she was finished, she urged Whitlock to lean back and rest easy for a moment. "I’ll talk to him," she whispered to her brother.

Whitlock grimaced. He was worried that the gnolls might come back. In fact, he really didn't understand why they ran away in the first place. The twosome-or rather, the threesome-had slain a fair number, but the gnolls had seemed certain of victory. Somehow, the dark-skinned stranger forced them to flee. The thought didn't comfort Whitlock, it fueled his suspicions.

Melann got up and moved to Vheod, motioning with her hand that they should walk a few steps away. "Please, sir-" she began. "Vheod," he corrected. Whitlock strained to hear them as he lay on the ground and watched. He could feel the divine energy knitting his wounds together, but he ignored it in favor of the conversation being held.

"All right," she said with a gentle smile, "Vheod, could you please tell me what all this is about?"

"I’ve told you what I know-what you need to know." Vheod shook his head. "Are you or are you not going to free Chare'en?"

"Free him?" Melann asked, her face showing confusion. "He's dead."

Vheod paused. He cocked his head and stared into the sky through narrow eyes. Whitlock studied this strange man. His breastplate was forged from some black metal covered in bizarre barbs and spikes. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. The stranger had surprisingly long, reddish hair and a dark, weathered look to his skin. His features were gaunt and pointed-his appearance didn't suggest the kind of warrior Whitlock had seen in the fight earlier. Something about him, Whitlock thought, made him appear different-almost detached from the world around him.

Vheod said, "When I spoke to Orrag-" "Oh, you know that misbegotten half-orc?" Whitlock called out from behind them. "Well, that at least explains something." It confirmed his suspicions that Vheod wasn't to be trusted after all.

Vheod turned to look at Whitlock and said, "I spoke to him briefly while I was looking for you. He indicated you might think Chare'en is a long dead wizard. I can tell you you're wrong about that. I don't know why you believe it, but you're wrong. He's an imprisoned tanar'ri, and if you go to where he waits you'll risk freeing him."

"How did you know to look for us!" Melann asked. Vheod turned back to her. "I spoke to these two men-priests, I believe. They showed me your image in a magical pool and revealed to me that you were going to free Chare'en."

"Vheod," she asked him, "where are you from? Do you have something to do with the elves?" She glanced at Whitlock with a look that was supposed to carry with it some meaning-Whitlock was sure of that, but he didn't know what he was supposed to gain from it. The pain kept him from being able to concentrate.

Vheod paused, his eyes widening slightly, as if he was caught in a trap. "I'm not an elf."

"But that's not what I asked," she said gently. "I come from another plane, if you must know." Vheod said sullenly. "I came here seeking my heritage-my family-and instead I met a pair of priests who warned me that the two of you are going to do something awful. I've searched for you ever since."

"You're a cambion, aren't you?" Melann asked, taking a step backward.

Vheod stared at her flatly. Before he could answer, Whitlock asked from behind them, "What's a cambion?"

Vheod looked at Melann. "Yes," he said. "Does it make a difference?"

"Shouldn't it?" She shook her head, mouth slightly open.

"What's a cambion?" Whitlock demanded, standing up. The wound was almost entirely healed by the spell, and he felt much stronger.

"My father was a tanar'ri, but my mother was a human-from this world. Don't judge me by that, though. I am my own man."

All three stood in silence, a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, providing relief to an otherwise sweltering day. A few insects flew around their faces, Melann brushing away the buzzing from her ear. She turned to Whitlock.

"He helped us fight off the gnolls. He might have saved our lives. We owe him our thanks and respect for that." She knew just what to say to him. Those were words she knew he would take to heart, and she was right. Whitlock couldn't argue with that.

"Well, I suppose that's true enough," he said to Vheod. "We thank you for that, sir."

Vheod looked back and forth between the two of them, his long hair tossed about in the breeze. He seemed confused.

Melann's church spoke of tanar'ri distantly-as only something to be feared and destroyed. That had been easy enough for Whitlock to accept. Until this moment, Whitlock hadn't even been certain they were real. Demons were just something that didn't come up in everyday life. Now one stood before him. and he owed the demon a debt. Whitlock still didn't understand why Vheod sought them and what it was he was trying to accomplish. It might be best, Whitlock thought, to never find out.

"We must be on our way," Whitlock said. "Wait," Vheod implored. "Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? Chare'en is a balor! If you go to him you'll loose a terrible evil into this world."

"First of all," Whitlock said, "there's already evil in this world-plenty of it. Second, Chare'en's not a demon, he's a long-dead wizard. And third, why, by the name of all that's holy, should we listen to you? Just because you helped us against those gnolls? Now we're supposed to believe everything you say? Does everyone in the world think I'm a complete idiot? Ill have no more of this. Melann, come, we're leaving." "Wait," Vheod said again.

A long silence passed as the siblings both looked at the mysterious newcomer. Vheod stood very still, his arms hanging down at his sides. Melann seemed uncomfortable and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Whitlock glanced between the two of them, wanting nothing more than to leave. Damn the debt. "If what you are saying is true," Melann said, "then our family is doomed… and so are we."