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all of them exasperating.
    Only Zasian seemed to think for himself, to exhibit any cleverness at all. Vhok liked him. The man was confident but not arrogant. He knew the dangers of pride, and sought in all things to find accord among his own kind—so unusual among Banites, for whom competition and strife seemed to ruin as many machinations as brought fruition and success. Zasian actually had potential as a long-term ally. Vhok doubted he would be able to tolerate the other priests at all, if not for Zasian.
    Burukhan finished his prayer and began eyeing the other Banites. His gaze was both critical and expectant, as though he sought to confirm the eagerness in their faces, ensuring that they reveled in their god’s power as much as he did, but hunting for some sign that their piety might be lacking. Their rapturous smiles and glittering visages seemed to satisfy the dreadlord.
    “Step into the center of the chamber, hellspawn,” Holt Burukhan demanded, gesturing toward the altar. “Step forward so that we -may hear your words clearly and judge their worth plainly.”
    Vhok eyed the dreadlord with distaste, but he did as the high priest bade and moved nearer the altar. For long moments, no one spoke, and the cambion began to grow
    agitated under the assemblage’s scrutiny.
    “Zasian has told us of your offer,” Holt said at last. “You “wish an alliance.”
    It was more a statement than a question, but the silence following the high priest’s words dragged.
    Vhok nodded at last and said, “There is much we could gain, working together.”
    “Indeed,” one of the Banites, a woman, replied. “We well understand what you might gain, seating yourself upon the throne of Sundabar, but how does that serve our interests? Share with us, if you will, what benefit you see for us in this proposed alliance.”
    Vhok glanced at Zasian, taken aback slightly. The cambion presumed that the other man had already won the assembled clergy over, and that the meeting was just a formality. It seemed the alliance was not as sealed as he had thought.
    “You get to see Helm Dwarf-friend deposed, and your church becomes the sole divine power in the entire valley,” the half-fiend replied. “All your adversaries—the servants of Helm, Torm, and Tyr—are cast out of the city, their temples destroyed. Your companions, the Zhentarim, establish a monopoly on commerce within the walls. Quite a lucrative bargain, if you ask me.”
    “Such a Utopia is within our grasp without your aid, fiend,” another cleric said, his voice gruff.
    “Why should we trust you?” Holt Burukhan asked. “You and your brutish Scourged Legion have attacked our city repeatedly in the past. We know that the devilish horde you call an army sits now on the periphery, waiting for the right moment to strike. Will you bring them down upon us once more, after you hold the seat of power?”
    They’re demonic—not devilish, you simpleton, Vhok thought.
    “If you had the means to drive out the Tyrrans and Helmites, you would have already done so,” the cambion answered. “My Scourged Legion will be needed to tear down the walls of those temples and quell any rebellion within the ranks of the city’s army and guardsmen. Once that is complete, I will send them to conquer more territory in my—in our—name, and they will do as I command. All I ask in return for this is that you let me unseat Helm Dwarf-friend before all the citizens of Sundabar, to humiliate him and drive him out of the city, branded a failure. I know you want to see the mercenary gone from Sundabar as badly as I do.” Well, not as badly, but maybe close, he silently added.
    “And how will you ruin Helm Dwarf-friend?” Holt asked. “What assurances can you give us that you will turn the populace against him?”
    “A fine question,” Vhok replied. “The answer to which I will keep to myself. But suffice to say I will have a means when the time comes. You risk nothing in accepting that answer, for I