"I take it back," she said.
Twilight was up with a start, taking Liet's hand. Carried by Gargan, Asson wiggled his fingers at Twilight, to show that he had fired the flame that had saved her.
Trailing smoke and dust, the seven emerged from the tunnel, leaving behind a wake of triggered traps and bolts studding the walls like porcupine quills.
Aside from sweat, hard breathing, and anxiety, none of the seven carried any marks to show for the experience, except Twilight's single shoulder wound.
"Let me see to that for you," Taslin offered.
Twilight flinched. " 'Tis nothing."
"It could fester," the priestess pressed. "That trap was very old."
Twilight was tempted to point out that lockjaw from old metal was a myth, or at least an incomplete notion, but instead she conceded and turned her head aside. The priestess cast the healing, and Twilight's torn shoulder knit itself without argument.
"Aye," said Slip. "I'm not sure we should've gone this way."
Twilight looked around at her surroundings for the first time and agreed.
They could see that the sewer did not extend far beyond the trapped corridor. Five paces from the tunnel, the carved floor gave way to natural stone. Beyond were two cave entrances,
tunnels just large enough to admit the goliath if he stooped.
To complicate the scene, a five-pace diameter tunnel of stone also cut through the chamber, its smooth walls assuring Twilight that it came from the same source as the other perfect tunnels they had found.
"I don't know," Davoren said. "I find the change of scenery rather refreshing. Anything but more dismal, filthy tunnels."
"Everything's 'dismal,' 'wretched,' or 'filthy' with you, aye?" Slip asked. "Do you only know three adjectives?"
The warlock's burning eyes flicked to her. "I would advise silence, little one, before I think up a fourth—just for you."
The halfling shivered but held her tongue.
CHAPTER Seven
They rested from their exertion while Twilight decided which tunnel to take. She sent Gargan and Slip to investigate the cave entrances. In the meantime, Taslin conjured a simple meal of cakes and wine for them. They sat on fallen rock debris and ate.
For a time, no one spoke. Then the priestess broke the silence.
"What manner of sword is that you carry?" Taslin asked.
Twilight gave her a nonchalant look. "A rapier."
"It is shorter than any rapier I have seen," the priestess said.
"She's right," said Liet. Twilight flashed him a warning look, but the young man spoke before she could stop him. "I've learned a bit about swordplay, and there's an accepted length for a rapier. Yours is short by a full hand."
"The gods shine!" Twilight said wryly. "Creativity."
Slip bounded into the chamber just then. From the gleam in her eyes upon seeing the food, Twilight knew better than to ask her first what she had discovered.
"It looks more like a thinblade," said Taslin. "An elven weapon. But it is short even for that, and too long for a smallblade."
Asson decided to join the discussion. "And that material— I've never seen metal of that gray sheen. I saw what it did against
those wights—the little lick of flame, the spark of electricity. What is it?"
"Hizagkuut," said Twilight, taking a drink of water.
"I've never heard of it," said the mage.
"Neither had the dwarf who discovered it," said Twilight. "So he did what dwarves usually do, and named it after himself."
"Who was that?" Slip asked excitedly.
Twilight looked at her with an absolutely blank face. "Hizagkuur," she said.
"Oh," said Slip. "That would have been my third guess."
"Dwarf craft?" Taslin did not bother to hide her curiosity.
"One of the first Hizagkuur weapons ever crafted in the Northland, long before the rise of Cormanthyr, in the days when elves and dwarves traded freely," said Twilight. " 'Twas a commission—and not by me."
If they were expecting more from her lips, they did not get it.
Someone cleared a throat. "Who taught you to dance the shadows?" Davoren asked mildly. "You do it so well."
"Careful, Davoren," Twilight said.
"We have some moments before Gargan returns," the warlock said. "Perhaps it's time to introduce ourselves better. For instance—what means that star on your naked back, she-elf? Why is your sword so named? 'Betrayal' is so charming. And I believe I heard you muttering a name in your sleep—Neveren, was it?"
Stunned, Twilight opened her mouth, but Taslin gave Davoren a warning glare, her hand falling to her own sword hilt. "She will tell you when she wishes," she said. "If she wishes. I suggest you respect her privacy else."
The warlock looked at her hand and scoffed. "Drawing steel against an unarmed man?" he asked. "Surely your petty Colonal would frown on such a dishonorable act."
Davoren's pronunciation sounded closer to a human military rank than to Corellon Larethian himself, Lord of the Seldarine. The wizard had not even bothered to disguise his provocation. Twilight might've taken his words as an insult, but she hated this whole bloody band far too much.
Taslin, on the other hand, went almost as pale as Twilight— remarkable, considering her complexion, which glowed like the setting sun. "How dare—?" she started, letting the words trail off into indignant snarling.
Asson took Taslin gently by the arm, and his touch startled her out of her wrath. She put her hand over his and stared coldly at Davoren.
"Still your vocal cords," she said, "before I cut them out for you, mahri."
"I apologize," Davoren said. "Is my pronunciation incorrect? Such a difficult tongue." He looked at Twilight. "And on the subject of tongues, weren't you meant to cut hers out by now? I believe she just insulted me. Or perhaps"—his eyes glittered —"you were going to be more creative?"
Twilight slit her eyes. "Both of you," she said. "Silence."
"What a pity." Davoren smiled wryly and took a drink from his wineskin. Twilight noticed at that moment that the gouges on his face seemed, inexplicably, to have healed to half their former size.
Twilight bid silent thanks to Asson. The old man looked frail and weak, but he was proving his worth at tempering Taslin's furies.
While he lasted, of course.
Gargan returned in a short time. The goliath revealed, in curt sentences, that he had found evidence of bipedal, barefoot creatures, but he had seen none of the creatures themselves. His cave had doubled back into the rounded tunnel.
Slip eventually finished stuffing herself with Taslin's food and described her own discoveries. She claimed to have caught sight of gray hides scuttling into the shadows—but she admitted she may have been seeing things. Her cave had led to a network of caverns and passageways, which she had chosen not to explore. On her way back, she spotted a tunnel leading upward, perhaps two spearcasts into the cave and to the right. That seized Twilight's attention.
"We go," she said. "I want to find the way out of these sewers by nightfall."
"How would you know when night is?" asked Davoren. "I've
seen no sun, and unless you can see through hundreds of paces of solid rock, neither have you."
"I have a sense of when the night is darkest," she said. "You acquire one when you steal for a living. And besides"—she added, lest she be tricked into talking about her past—"Taslin's Coronal grants spells at dawn, so she knows when the sun rises."
Taslin turned her chin up at Davoren.
The warlock shrugged. "I see," he said. He stood, flexing his skeletal fingers and cracking his joints with one hand. "I do not wish to sit here all 'day.' Let us go."
Twilight watched him carefully. She could feel eyes boring into her back, and she was surprised to realize they were not Taslin's. Rather, Gargan gazed at her. For some reason, she was pointedly aware of the crimson markings upon his gray skin.
Suppressing a shiver whose origin she did not understand, Twilight motioned for the others to follow the warlock.
As soon as the last of them stepped into Slip's cave, the attack came, and it came swiftly. A dozen dull gray man-shaped forms that had at first appeared to be rocks broke away from the walls, brandishing stone axes. Coils of greasy hair hung from their scalps, and huge cracked teeth dripped yellow spittle.
Twilight needed only to see the smooth, empty depressions where eye sockets should have been to know what the creatures were. "Grimlocks," she hissed, just before the ambushers were upon them.
Slip and Taslin were knocked down before they realized an attack was coming, swatted unconscious by the blind monsters. The others managed to draw steel, but barely in time to meet the attackers.
Davoren's hand blazed with crimson energy and a dangerous, almost maniacal smile spread across his face. He met the first grimlock with flame. The blast shattered the creature's chest and sent it flying back in an arc. Then the warlock moved his hands side to side, showering energy blasts all around to repel the creatures. As each blast struck a grimlock, the creature shrieked in
pain and terror, halting in its rush. Davoren couldn't strike them all, so he dodged and fled when his fire flickered out, retreating to blast again.
Twilight ducked an axe swing and whipped out Betrayal. With her speed, she might have managed a riposte, but the grimlock charged in, bowling her over. The grimlock crushed the breath from Twilight's body against the wall, stunning her. The creature moved to maul her, but stepped into the path of a fiery blast. Davoren shattered the grimlock's back and its legs went limp. Twilight finished it with a thrust to the throat.
Asson managed to swing his staff in line to block an axe, which shattered the oak pole like dried firewood. The one-footed mage fell, and his attacker lunged forward, only to meet the point of Liet's sword. The boy sent the grimlock tumbling down, but couldn't pull his blade free in time to block a whistling axe. Abandoning his weapon, he leaped away, cursing and fleeing a stone blade.
The action gave Asson time to cast a spell from the ground. Noxious fumes roared into place around the advancing grimlocks, setting them to wheezing and sputtering. Within seconds, they hit the ground, overwhelmed by Asson's cloud. Then the mage broke into a coughing fit and writhed, just below the vapors.
Only Gargan held his ground. Two of the sightless beasts pressed him with their axes, but he spun his battle-axe faster, snapping it back and forth like a whip. He knocked aside two slashes, then smashed the blade across a grimlock's face, sending it toppling.
Two more leaped upon his back, holding the goliath's arms while another of the beasts drew back an axe.
"Gargan!" Twilight shouted. She leaped to aid, but couldn't avoid an outflung axe handle. Twilight took it in the belly and doubled over.
Beshaba, it was only a jest, she thought.
Then an axe came at her face, and she knew only darkness.
A ruby streak smashed the grimlock's face into a bloody mist as Liet's short sword tore its way through the nearest one. The grimlock still snarled, caught in its death throes. The Dalesman seized its throat and pushed the dying thing away as it sank to the floor. Its claws beat at him limply. Liet gasped and shuddered when it was dead.
The warlock snarled and threw out another blast, burning a fleeing grimlock. He scanned the room, searching for other breathing targets, but only two stood: the hulking Gargan, and the blood-spattered Liet. Noxious green smoke obscured half the room, but it was beginning to fade. As the cloud dissipated, Liet saw no grimlocks for Davoren to slaughter.
Davoren saw it too. "By the Nine," said the warlock. "What a disappointment."
"Everyone well?" Liet's head ached where an axe handle had sttuck it. "Asson?"
The mage coughed and shimmered into visibility where he sat on the floor. "This old heart's still beating."
"Gargan and Davoren, you're both well?"
"In a sense," said Davoren. "I believe my hair was mussed." He cracked his knuckles and smoothed the gray spikes back against his scalp. He didn't look injured. The goliath nodded silently.
Liet didn't see anyone else, so he called their names. "Taslin?"
No response. "Slip?"
There came a groan. "By the Mother," the halfling's soft voice cracked.
Gargan bent down and prodded at a small body half hidden under a grimlock. He murmured something. The halfling shook her head and sat up. She looked up at the giant man, smiled weakly, and threw her arms around his leg. Gargan blinked at her.
" 'Light?" asked Liet. No reply.
His voice shook. "Twilight?"
Tracing a semicircle over the room with his hand, Gargan growled something in his rough tongue, and while Liet did not understand, the meaning seemed clear.
"No bodies," Asson said, reflecting his thoughts. "Taken?"
Liet helped him up, and the old man leaned on his shoulder. Liet propped him against a wall and broke away to search the room. He saw nothing.
"Five or six escaped," Liet said. "The elves are light."
"My, my," said Davoren, "how unfortunate for them." He smiled at the halfling, who was still shaking her head. "Now, child—point us toward this upward tunnel."
Slip rubbed her brow, where a little blood trickled down. "What?"
"No." Asson turned to confront the warlock. Davoren's red eyes went to the mage's face, and he faltered but spoke up. "We can't just aban—"
"Abandon them?" Davoren proposed. "What an excellent idea. I think such a course is the optimal one. If Tymora smiles, they will keep the creatures occupied while we make good our escape. Wenches tend to be adept at such things. If they aren't dead already, that is." He cracked his knuckles. "Now. Where is the tunnel?"
The wide-eyed halfling pressed her face into Gargan's knee.
Ashen-faced, mouth open, Asson put one hand up as though to cast a spell. Davoren pointed two fingers at him. Red fire danced around his gauntlet. "Oh yes, whitebeard," he said. "Try me now, when your little love-slave isn't here to protect you." He looked down. "Or hold you up, even."
"I-I object," Liet said before he realized his mouth was open. When the warlock turned smug eyes on him, he stammered. "W-we have to save them. I think—"
"Truly?" Davoren shrugged. "Well, you're wrong. Now then."
"In the absence of our leader, we should put this to a vote," Asson said, drawing Davoren's gaze. Davoren kept one hand aimed at Asson and moved the other toward Liet. Fire arced between his arms. Liet could feel his body shaking.
As soon as those red eyes left him, Liet felt his tongue freed. "Aye. A vote."
With death pointed at Asson and Liet, the warlock burst out laughing. "A vote? Oh, please. We've gone over this before. We'll do what I say, because I am the strongest. Oh, but do object. By all means. I shan't need the two of you, anyway."
"No." Liet's eyes widened as Gargan put his hand on the back of Davoren's neck. How had he moved so stealthily, with such a huge body? "Vote."
The warlock glared up at the goliath for several long breaths, but it was unclear what he was thinking. Perhaps he realized the fragility of his position—a twist of Gargan's wrist would snap his neck—or perhaps he was considering whether he could press on without support.
The warlock finally shrugged. "Very well. I shall indulge your foolishness." He crossed his arms and Gargan released him. Davoren strode over to lean against the wall across the cavern from Asson. "This time."
"Good," Liet breathed. He wasn't quite up to words. He was glad of the goliath s support, though the emeralds in his gray face remained unreadable.
"I argue that we go back to save Taslin and Twilight," Asson said. "They have served us well, and it would be foolish not to rescue them."
"Of course you would," snapped Davoren. "One of the wenches shares your bed, so your judgment is clouded. Thus, your voice holds no sway here."
Asson's face went bright red. "But—" The word became coughing.
"If we must vote, at least let our discussion be rational," said Davoren. "I do not think you appreciate the dangers inherent, old man, in the proposal that we chase the grimlocks. I rather think you are considering with your—"
In the face of this intimidation, Liet felt angry rather than afraid. "Despite your lack of respect, Davoren—something I have come to expect from you..." That was Twilight talking, he realized, and it made his heart leap. "His vote must stand."
"No. He is highly emotional, incapable of real decisions. Look at his face." Asson looked away.
"W-well then," Liet said. "His vote counts as an abstention. I vote aye. Even you cannot twist me into conceding an emotional state."
Davoren sneered. "Even your obvious affection for our erstwhile mistress, eh?"
Liet fought to keep his face from blushing. He hadn't been thinking anything of the sort, but somehow the words stung. Nevertheless, Liet spoke, his voice a little choppy. "She has struck me more often than any sane man needs as a deterrent," he said. Again, that was Twilight. "That should tell you of her affections."
Davoren considered, then shrugged. "Some day, you should ask her about her former lovers—and the fates to which she led them," he said. Liet shivered, and Davoren looked at the trembling Slip. "The halfling, then."
Asson smiled at Liet. "Perhaps you truly are the age you seem."
Liet blinked. "What?"
"I'd thought you but a child in a man's body," Asson said softly, "but you do have your moments of wisdom, do you not?"
"Uh."
Something happened at that moment—something that made Liet blink. The room grew colder, or perhaps hotter. Davoren—dark and frightening of appearance as he was, suddenly darkened, as though a devil had climbed into his skin. Or, more accurately, as though his soul had blackened and became even more intense. His eyes gleamed and his voice flowed like silk.
Liet knew he had invoked some fiendish abilities, but damned if he could recognize a word or gesture of casting. Even Asson looked at Davoren, stunned.
"Child," the warlock said. "You want to get out of this dark hole, do you not?"
Slip looked at Liet pointedly, as though awaiting some signal. She shivered, but her eyes were calm. What did she want? Why did she look to him, out of all of them?
Unanswered, she looked back at Davoren. "Uh... aye."
"And you do not want to waste precious time, or risk more attacks before you can escape, eh?" His smooth voice seemed infinitely persuasive.
Liet was speechless. He felt the sword in his hand, and wondered if it had any chance of injuring the warlock—the fiend.
"Uh, no. No, I don't w-want that," said Slip.
"And neither do you want to risk your life, or all of ours, just to assuage the lusts of fools, old or young."
Liet bristled, and this time he would have attacked had Asson not coughed. At least, such is what he told himself. The concept of making a move against Davoren struck him as being like suicide—only more certain.
Asson slowly shook his head. "This is her fight," he said. "Do not interfere."
Liet realized at that moment that Asson was afraid, too— even more afraid of Davoren than losing Taslin? The youth shuddered.
Slip shook her head.
"Then speak up," the warlock invited. "Speak against their fool crusade."
"B-but..." Slip said.
The warlock frowned. "You are strong of will, child," he said. "And you care about them more than you confess. If you will not speak against their rescue, at the least decide that you will not speak for it. Abstain."
"I-I will," Slip said finally. "I abstain."
Liet gasped. "You cheated! You forced that out of her!"
"No," Slip argued. "No. I just... I can't decide on this. I don't want to make up your minds for you. As Yondalla teaches, saving them is... the right thing, but killing us all to save them...."
"Very well," said Davoren. "It looks like we're undecided. In that case..."
"Actually," Asson said. " "Tis one vote left."
"Truly?" Davoren said, feigning astonishment. "Oh yes— there is."He sneered.
Liet realized he had played right into the warlock's hands. Gargan.
Of course, Davoren expected the goliath to vote nay—the hulking creature had shown no signs of attachment to Twilight and Taslin thus far. And Asson had planned this, too. All his hopes rested on the goliath.
They all turned toward Gargan, who until that moment had been silent.
CHAPTER Eight
Tthilnin karanok! Garum tellek!"
There was mud amid the darkness, dancing shadows, and a dull ache.
Throughout her long life, Twilight had spent enough time unconscious to know not to open her eyes immediately. That was a common mistake that had earned many a novice thief a solid punch in the mouth at best, a rusty knife in the gut at worst.
She used her other four senses first—the kind that weren't obvious, and wouldn't prompt such unpleasantness from her captors.
Around her, Twilight picked up the sounds of chanting in a language she could not understand. Regardless, her keen mind processed the growling, rough texture of the words. It might have shared common roots with Dwarvish, but it was otherwise unfamiliar.
"Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek!" the chant proclaimed.
Doesn't sound good, whatever it is, she thought.
Twilight smelled a combination of moldering wood and old stone—a musty scent she sensed was that of the grimlocks— mixed with a kind of summer flower, very faint, whose source she could not even guess. Falling into awareness of her body, Twilight surmised that she was being carried upon some kind of
platform, laid out lengthwise. And, most importantly, her hands and feet were tied.
That was not a good sign.
Slowly, Twilight opened her eyes. She was right—four grimlocks bore her, bound but not gagged, upon a wooden pallet, marching down an aisle formed by their chanting fellows. There were no torches, so she could see only with her darksight. On her right, Twilight saw Taslin similarly secured and carried by four more.
That would explain the flowery scent, thought Twilight. She could tell from the priestess's breathing that Taslin was awake, but feigning unconsciousness as well. Wise.
"Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek!"the grimlocks chanted.
Twilight almost hoped Taslin wasn't merely pretending so that she might be spared what would come next. "Taslin," she said, since the sun couldn't see her.
Taslin's eyes opened slowly. "They did not gag «x,"said the priestess in Elvish.
"The better to enjoy our screams, I would imagine," Twilight replied in kind. "Try not to move."
The nearest eyeless beast turned its attention to Twilight. Its sightless focus felt as keen as any knife. As open-minded as she had become in her travels, the empty gaze of the grimlocks still disturbed Twilight profoundly.
" Their senses extend only so far," Twilight said. " They can see without eyes and can hear us, but it seems we can talk. You will only provoke them if you move. And no spellcasting. They have their own priests."
Taslin looked about without moving her head. Her eyes flicked back to Twilight. "This is a ritual,"she said.
"Indeed."
"Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek darakow!" "And we're the ones to be sacrificed." "I can only assume so."
"No, "said Taslin. "I can understand their words." Twilight raised a brow. "My earring,"she explained.
"Right."
"Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek darakow!" the grimlocks roared. In Twilight's opinion, the chant was starting to grate.
"A chant about a god, a name—Ithilnin—and sacrificing us." Her face turned stormy. "They think we're drow."
"That would explain the yellow and white flesh, respectively."
"You could always be an albino drow," she said.
Twilight couldn't help but smile. Of all the things she had been called in her long life, she hadn't heard that one before.
Not, of course, that the grimlocks could distinguish color, she realized.
Floating along that dark path, completely blind—the grimlocks had no need of torches, being able to "see" in perfect darkness—Taslin sighed. Her attempt at levity had been artifice. Unless the others came to rescue them in the next two dozen heartbeats....
"Doyou think the others survived? "she asked, hoping Twilight was still awake.
"No. "A pause. "And even if they did, they wouldn't come back for us. Davoren will control them—and he hates you almost as much as he hates me."
" Why does he hate you so?"
Twilight did not reply.
"How do we escape?"Taslin asked.
"Occasionally, being polite works." Twilight said. "So I'm told, anyway."
" Then I shall speak to them, "said Taslin. " They may understand Common, atleast."The priestess addressed the nearest grimlock in the trade tongue. "We are not your enemies. Release us," she said. "Appease your vile god some other way."
Something warm and sticky struck her cheek, and the creature growled in its own guttural speech, which came through her earring as Elvish. "Silence, drow."
"I confess, my suggestion was something of a jest," said Twilight.
Taslin ignored the spittle running down her face. "Come to think ofit, they probably can't see color."
"Ithilnin!Ithilnin karanok!Ithilnin!" The chant only redoubled in volume.
"That's it, then," Twilight said. "Can't go wrong with pretty lasses on the altar."
"You are so young." Taslin shook her head. "Do you take nothing seriously?"
"Not if I can help it." The tremor in her voice didn't display calm, though. "In the face of inescapable death, if you haven't got your sense of humor, what have you got? "
Taslin closed her eyes in silent acquiescence, and she forced an ironic smile, even though she felt like crying. She'd just learned something about her companion—not from her words, but form how she had spoken.
Fear. Twilight was afraid.
During the silence that followed, Twilight took the opportunity to explore their surroundings, moving only her eyes.
The grimlocks carried them through a plain, if large, cavern. With closer scrutiny, however, Twilight realized it was some sort of settlement. The city—if such it could be called—was completely unlit. If not for her darksight, she would have observed none of it.
Three dozen or so houses carved out of the rock adorned the sides of the cavern, stacked two, three, even four high. A series of ladders led to each house, and grimlocks stood—dead silent—outside each door, their arms held aloft in recognition. Male and female they stood, Twilight guessed, along with children. She might have found it charming if the situation hadn't been so dire, and if they weren't so eyeless. The unnerving, empty gazes felt like death itself.
In front of the window or door of each house hung several rods on a rope that Twilight took for a crude wind chime, though there was no wind underground. She was proven wrong, however, when one of the creatures reached up and tapped the
contraption. Its three reeds spun, producing a series of whistles that rippled through the air, perking up ears and turning heads.
A means of producing sound—thus making them able to find their way—without opening theit mouths, Twilight thought. How practical.
The grimlock leading the ritual procession held his arms aloft and stopped. Silence fell and all eyes in the city—all four of them—went to his crude robes, horned headpiece, and gnarled staff. Twilight noted that the leader wore both of the elves' swords, though none of their other equipment had been taken.
She also couldn't help but note that he wore a particularly shiny ring on his finger, a plain gold band that looked rather familiar. Twilight's eyes narrowed. A coincidence?
Twilight felt the reassuring pressure of her hidden amulet against her collarbone. Its power would prevent anyone from noticing it who wasn't specifically looking. Ordinarily, Twilight would be comforted, but part of her wanted the amulet off so any searchers would see her peril and come to her aid. And of course, her hands were tied.
Ironic, she thought. How like her lord and master to trick her to her death.
Indicating the prisoners, the grimlock priest uttered a series of grunts and hoots, casting his staff back and forth as though fighting invisible attackers. When he was done, the grimlocks of the city hooted and growled in agreement.
"What did he ^.•'"Twilight asked quietly.
"Calling upon their god, Ithilnin," whispered Taslin, "and a blessing over those the Great Slitherer shall consume."
"Radiant," said Twilight. "That sounds like something I'd look forward to."
The chorus of applause and hooting ended, and the column moved forward again.
Twilight saw Taslin's lips moving gently. She spoke silently. Not magic—the shadowdancer would have sensed that. Rather...
"Aillesel seldarie," Taslin prayed quietly. "May the Seldarine preserve us."
"You say that as if they would," said Twilight. Taslin's eyes flew open and a pained look came over her face, colorless in darksight. "Thegods hear what they choose to hear, and they don't need us telling them what prayers to answer."
They reached an even greater cavern than the one that held the city. The rock walls were plain, and other than the massive size, the space was unremarkable. A perfectly rounded tunnel, much like the ones Twilight had seen earlier, opened from the floor in the center of the chamber. The sacrificial chasm, she imagined, out of which their god would emerge.
"But— "
"If your lord wanted to save us, he'd have done so," said Twilight. "Or maybe he yet will. Either way, he doesn't need you reminding him that we're about to die. Or—more accurately—be eaten by this Ithlin-ithnin thing."
One of the grimlocks snarled at her, recognizing the word as its god, and Twilight flinched despite herself. "Ith-//-nin," she spat. "My mistake."
Silence reigned.
"You made it clear you will not talk about your past," Taslin whispered.
"Good," Twilight said in the Common tongue.
The blind creatures lifted both their pallets and set them up high—likely on an altar, Taslin thought. The priest's voice lessened, as though backing away. She imagined that she and Twilight were alone. Abruptly, some sort of light appeared in the darkness—bonfires lit by the grimlocks. Their heat fell upon Taslin's face, and she could see flickers and dancing shapes. The moon elf was lying straight and dead as a rod, looking around.
"Ifyou're wanting a heart to heart now that we're about to die," she said, looking at Taslin sidelong, "can't say I'm interested."
"I have only one question I wish to ask,"said Taslin.
Her companion sighed. "I suppose it hardly matters now, since we're about to be eaten and all. Query, Taslin, and I'll answer."
"You serve Erevan Ilesere—the trickster god—do you not?"
Twilight looked at her curiously for a heartbeat, then looked away. That told Taslin all she needed to know. "Isee,"the priestess said softly.
The moon elf smiled with bemusement. "You got that idea from the mark?" she asked in Common, gesturing with her head toward her hips. "Or from the sword hilt? Or perhaps my charming personality?"
The world shuddered and the chanting increased in speed and intensity. The fires were blazing and the chamber was lit up as bright as day. The grimlocks' gray flesh glistened with sweat, drool, and other juices Taslin didn't care to identify.
"All of them," Taslin replied in kind. "My real question, though, is that if you are a fellow servant of the Seldarine, why do you not pray for aid, as I do? Why not supplicate your lord?"
"Because I would rather die," she said, "than talk to that scheming, lecherous, backstabbing old bastard ever again. He used me, and as you can see, he hates me."
Taslin realized that was a lie—or perhaps not the whole truth. She wasn't about to be deceived. "Why not beseech Lord Corellon, then? Surely the elf gods—"
"I want nothing to do with the elf gods," Twilight said. "I turned my back on the People long ago, for reasons that are my own, and I've no desire to turn again."
Why was Twilight lying to her?
The grimlocks' chanting rose in volume.
"No offense meant, of course."
Taslin nodded. The two fell into silence.
Perhaps her bravado was a lie, and she truly was a child.
Twilight looked away from the priestess to hide her shock. Taslin didn't believe her, and that made her afraid—more afraid than all the grimlocks in all the Realms could have made her, sacrificial chants or no.
Only then did she realize that the cavern had fallen silent. The grimlocks had ceased their ecstatic chanting and stood rapt, their hands wide. Tremors shook the vast chamber. The creatures all turned toward the hole from which their god would emerge.
"What—" Taslin started, but a roar tore her words away, shattering the tranquility of the cavern. If the roar was loud to the elves, it was splitting to sensitive grimlock ears. The creatures fell to the ground, hands clasped to their heads.
A great serpentine form burst through the tunnel, its head letting out a mighty cry. Its purple carapace—smooth, thick, and solid as steel—creaked and twisted in the air high over their heads. Yellow-green spittle dripped from its jaws and dotted the floor, leaving the dark stone pitted and hissing as acid burned it.
A purple worm, Twilight thought. She'd never seen one this big.
The grimlocks, hearing and smelling their slitheting god emerging from its tunnel, gave a great cry of "Ithilnin!" and supplicated themselves, putting their foreheads down on the stone. The high priest intoned a phrase in his tongue and laid himself prone.
Twilight nodded grimly and stared up, resolved to look death in the face. Taslin did the same, gave a slight smile, and fainted. Curious—not the faint, but the smile.
Then Twilight looked up, wondering as to the source of her mirth. The worm did nothing more than loom overhead, cast its gaze back and fotth, and roar every so often. Then silence fell—absolute silence around them.
In the quiet, the worm was less frightening. In fact, she barely realized it was there. Twilight was about to express her confusion when she felt fumbling hands and her frown became a grin.
Working quickly, Slip and Liet severed the bonds that held Taslin and Twilight, while the worm distracted the grimlocks. Within a magical bubble of silence, they were as good as invisible. Slip mouthed instructions to follow her, then gestured—clearly the spell was set upon her—but Twilight knew the reach of such a spell.
She rolled off the pallet, dropped to the stone without a whisper, and padded over to the prostrate priest. The creature shook his head, but the silence kept him blind.
Just as her fingers were about to relieve the priest of her sword, Twilight felt Liet catch her arm to keep her within the magical silence. She wanted to struggle, but he was right—the spell did not extend over the priest, metely up to him.
Twilight realized her tricks at legerdemain would hardly work on a creature that sensed by nose and ear, rather than by eye. She loathed leaving Betrayal behind, but she understood necessity.
A shock rippled through the floor of the chamber, throwing a startled Twilight to the ground. She could hear nothing outside the silence, but one look at the scores of quavering grimlocks, blood running from their ears, told her enough.
Her eyes turned upward to the beast above them, and she saw not one, but two purple menaces.
The real Ithilnin had come.
CHAPTER Nine
The second purple worm loomed even larger than the first, its scaled carapace cracked and spiked with serrated spines. At its top, huge bone jaws like dozens of axes snapped wide enough to swallow a team of horses whole. At the other end of the worm sprang a stinger the size of an ogres two-handed sword. Dark veins of greenish acid, ran over its body, burning away the stone around its body.
But most astonishing, when the acid struck the first worm, the creature flickered and winked out of existence. Asson appeared, hovering in the air where the illusory worm's maw had been.
The grimlock high priest snarled—or so Twilight guessed, for no sound penetrated the aura of silence. He wove his hands through a counterspell.
Twilight leaped at him as he cast, scrabbling at his hands to ruin the spell, but she was too late. Sound rushed into het ears, including the mind-splitting roar of the grimlocks looming purple god.
Everything seemed to happen in a single moment. The huge worm lunged at Asson, who flew away, showering magical flame upon the creature in a vain attempt to drive it back. As Taslin shouted a warning, Liet and Slip drew out weapons to strike at the grimlocks around them who had risen, axes ready. The high
priest began another chant even as Twilight yanked her rapier from his belt and ran the creature through. The words died in a gurgle, and the priest's bodyguards lunged at her. Twilight pulled at her weapon, but it had stuck in the high priest's ribcage.
Two of the grimlock honor guards spun to behead her with their stone axes, but seemingly from nowhere, Gargan leaped to her defense, bowling the eyeless creatures over. Twilight seized the opportunity to relieve the high priest of Taslin's sword, the familiar gold ring, and Betrayal, which was still caught in his ribs.
"Taslin!" Twilight shouted, and tossed the priestess's blade as she lunged to run a grimlock through with her own.
Already chanting, the priestess caught it, renewing her connection to Corellon in a heartbeat. Holy power burst from her hand and smashed aside four of the grimlocks who were rushing at the adventurers. Twilight flinched away—not anxious to get so close to holy power, which would burn the darkness out of a body. She didn't think Corellon would burn her, but better safe than dead. At least she was not evil.
Speaking of evil...
Sand and dark, she exclaimed silently, where's Davoren?
Had the warlock been slain? Twilight doubted that. More likely, Davoren had betrayed the others, leaving them all to perish at the hands of—
A flaming blast of dark power ripped through the cavern, blowing the grimlock facing her into a thousand bits. The power arced to a second eyeless brute, shattering his ribcage, then a third, sending the creature spinning to the ground. The shadowdancer looked up to see Davoren standing near the exit to the cavern, lashing out with his demonic powers.
Gargan stood with Twilight, his axe working furiously to fend off the eyeless monsters. They faced half a dozen foes each, and it was all Twilight could do to fend them off with her rapier and avoid being chopped in two. She couldn't block the axes with a rapier, and each time she parried a stone spear aside, sparks flew from the Hizagkuur blade.
Arcane syllables in Asson's aged voice rippled on high,
drawing Twilight's eyes. Flame shot from Asson's outstretched hand. The worm's jaws shut just in time and the fire burned its way down the beast's sides. The creature, undeterred, snapped at him, but the old mage flailed out of the way. The worm caught the fringe of his reddish robe, tearing a long strip of fabric free.
Launching a double parry to deflect spears sailing in from the right and left—just wide enough to escape their points— Twilight realized that as overmatched as she was, the mage knew worse straits. His foot didn't impede his flight, but he could not defeat a purple worm by himself.
"Davoren! Help Asson!" Twilight shouted.
She lunged forward, inside a grimlock s swing, twisting her arm back and around to reverse the blade. The stunned creature couldn't do more than blink as she slammed her back into his chest. Her blade shot under her arm and skewered the grimlock's heart. She ducked aside as he fell and sized up her next target.
She hadn't expected, however, that the creature would be so wide or fall so fast—she couldn't get out of the way fast enough. The limp grimlock toppled and pinned Twilight to the ground. Betrayal skittered away. A nearby grimlock raised his flint spear, and she could do nothing to defend herself.
" 'Light!" came a shout. The grimlock whirled and a blade impaled his belly.
Liet shoved at the corpse that held her down. Perhaps he was not quite a man in his head, but he wielded steel well. Unable to keep herself from flashing him a thankful smile as he worked, she looked up to assess how the others fared.
Gargan's axe and fist worked together to lay grimlocks low. Slip and Taslin, sword and mace singing, held off a dozen of the eyeless creatures. Though a hundred or more grimlocks had filled the chamber before the worm's appearance, many had fled the battle, leaving only the best warriors, perhaps two score of them.
The grimlocks, however, were the least of the band's worries. The hulking purple worm hissed, spat, and weaved, chasing after Asson. The mage was a mere darting insect to the serpentine colossus, and a single bite or spit of acid would destroy him.
Fortunately, the old man's magic bore him quickly enough to avoid the worm's lunges.
Meanwhile, Davoren sent ray after ray of ruby energy into the creature, timing his attacks to match Asson's magic. Twilight imagined that the unseeing worm, its senses based on hearing and touch, could not know that the pesky mage—of which it was well aware—was not the source of the stinging blasts.
The battle would remain at a standstill, Twilight realized, until Asson's magic expired or the others ran out of spells. Then that worm would turn its attention from the source of its pain and devour the others.
Seeing that Twilight would be free in a breath, Gargan sent another pair of grimlocks staggering back with a pulse of his powerful shoulders. He lunged across the cavern to join Slip and Taslin, who faced difficulties of their own.
With Liet's help, Twilight squirmed out from under the grimlock corpse, and not a moment too soon. A pair of grimlocks thrust spears at them. Liet managed to knock one aside, and expertly twisted it out of the grimlock's hands with a flick of his wrist.
Twilight dodged the other spear thrust, letting it slide harmlessly past her, and plucked up Betrayal with her toe. Then she danced inside the creature's guard and the grimlock through. Liet's foe whirled, and she put her rapier through the grimlocks face.
"Heh," Liet said. "I'm better at disarming than finishing, eh?"
"Retreat!" shouted Twilight. "Away from the—"
At that moment, instinct told Twilight to duck, and she never failed to trust instinct. A thrown spear glanced off her shoulder. It should have torn through her silk shirt, but the gold ring she had slipped onto her finger draped her body in magic as thick and protective as a suit of mail.
Someone caught het arm, and Twilight almost killed Liet. "Are you all right?" the youth shouted in her face.
Twilight cringed. "Easy, lad," she snapped, rubbing her ear. "I'm right here."
Back to back in a circle of bodies, the two batted away weapons and riposted. The creatures came from all directions but Twilight and Liet were only two, so they kept turning. Spears jabbed at them, and they deflected the points as best they could. One caught Liet's shoulder and the man gasped, but Twilight pushed him back off the flint tip.
A stout grimlock charged, spear low. Twilight swept her rapier down to turn it aside, and Liet stepped in her path before she could riposte. He smashed his fist into the creature's face. From the way he flinched and flexed his hand, Twilight was glad she hadn't tried that.
"That's what swords are for," said Twilight. She demonstrated by putting her dusky blade through the startled grimlocks throat, sending him to the floor.
"Point taken," Liet scowled. He sidestepped a chop, slapped the wielder's hands away from the grimlock the haft, and showed his newly acquired strategy by stabbing the grimlock in the side.
"Well done," Twilight said. He didn't fight very well, but he knew how to disarm.
"You never answered—" started Liet. He parried an axe high, his muscles straining against those of the grimlock and the flint sparking against his steel. Twilight stepped under his raised arms, twisted her wrist to shorten her grip, and thrust once, twice, thrice, skewering the creature each time.
"Hmm?" she asked idly as the grimlock fell.
"My question," Liet finished, panting. Blood flowed down his shield arm. "You never answered it."
"Because it was a foolish question," Twilight said simply. She turned back to the business of escaping. They'd broken the grimlocks' circle and she hauled Liet back. They fought a retreating battle toward the others, near what Twilight hoped was an exit tunnel.
Asson spun out of the way just in time to keep his head, and threw a lightning bolt into the worm's body. The worm jerked and whipped, caught in a fury of electricity, but only for a moment. The beast was as tough as a serpent of stone and
as fast as a dragon. Twilight knew Asson could not flee to save himself, for he was the only thing distracting the beast.
The shadowdancer couldn't think about strategy; she fell fully into instinct and bladework. Over and over, she parried and retreated, parried and retreated. She deflected a blow meant for the staggering Liet and leaped back, wrenching the youth by his good shoulder. His shield went up to block spears, but weakly, slowly—barely.
The grimlocks pressed the two groups of foes—Twilight and Liet one, Gargan and Slip the other—into a circle around Taslin, who cast spells from the middle. Together, they backed toward the exit. Davoren stood aloof, off to the right. He blasted at the worm, and every so often, any grimlocks that dared to approach him.
"Asson!" A chopping axe stole away any other words Taslin might have screamed, and she fell into a chant, calling on Corellon's power as she parried and cut.
The old mage threw a ball of webbing directly into the purple worm's hiss. The sticky threads exploded into a wagon load of webs, coating its face and fangs, just as another ray of Davoren's power struck the creature ten feet below the maw. The creature spat and sputtered, trying to clear its mouth. Its acid was making progress slowly. Asson took the opportunity to fly backward, keeping as much distance as he could between himself and roaring, serpentine death. In its thrashings, the worm narrowly missed clubbing him down.
The tide seemed to be turning—the seven could escape. The worm's cries multiplied as the spellslingers inflicted blow after stinging blow upon it. The shrieks wreaked havoc upon the grimlocks' ears. Those that temained winced and moaned with every roar. Distracted as they were, the companions could defeat their numbers.
Facing the last grimlock she saw on his feet, Twilight ducked under a slashing sword blade and came up inside the creature's guard, wrist swinging. A grimlock with a sword—a steel one?
This grimlock must have seen her trick and caught on. It released one hand from the sword to keep his balance and put his
right knee into Twilight's stomach, sending her reeling.
Liet darted in to strike, but the grimlock brought his blackened sword around and dealt his head a glancing blow with the flat of the blade. Liet fell helpless beside Twilight, who struggled madly to catch her breath. The grimlock rose over them and spun the sword over his head, the blade dripping with a green liquid that hissed like acid.
Then the creature stopped.
Twilight looked up, blinking, and saw Gargan holding the grimlocks arm in his powerful hands. The two strained against one another, exerting all the force of their tightly corded muscles, and barely budged. The eyeless creature looked to be some kind of royal guard, wearing strings of gems around his neck. The grimlock wielded a masterfully crafted sword of steel, surely taken from another sacrifice. A black lacquer crossbow—drow construction, perhaps—hung from his belt.
Hissing, the grimlock shot out a hand to catch Gargan by the throat. The goliath released one hand from the monster's sword arm to lock his stonelike fingers around the creature's wrist in an attempt to break his grip. Without both arms holding the sword back, Gargan could do little but watch as the grimlock slowly forced the keen edge toward his face. Acid dribbled on his chest.
Twilight cried out and lunged, blade stabbing. The grimlock stiffened and released a little hiss. The sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. Twilight's rapier speared his side, leaving a small hole that spurted gray-red blood.
Panting, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her lip, Twilight stepped aside to let the grimlock fall. She relieved him of the crossbow almost unconsciously.
Gargan spoke words Twilight did not understand. "Gol maula kae."
The appreciation was clear enough, and the elf gave him a smile that was suitably winsome, considering the circumstances. Her belly ached in all sorts of ways. The goliath helped Liet to his feet, and without flinching, wiped the acid off his stony skin.
Unsettling strength, that.
Then Twilight remembered their surroundings. The grimlocks were dead, but the worm yet lived. "Away!" Twilight shouted up to Asson. Taslin, Gargan, Liet, and Slip dashed toward the exit. The old man threw another lightning bolt at the worm and swooped toward the tunnel.
Taslin hung back, gazing up at the old wizard with fear on her face. Twilight caught her arm and pulled her around. "We have to go. Now."
The priestess" struggled, but Twilight insisted. "He can fly—we can only run," she said. "Let him wait until the last—he has the best chance to escape of any of us."
From the furious, confused look Taslin burned into her face, Twlight gathered the priestess objected to Twilight's reasoning. Taslin shrugged her off and rushed at the worm, sword in hand.
"Taslin!" Twilight snapped, but it was too late.
Gargan was faster, however. He bounded in front of Twilight and caught up Taslin, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The priestess screamed and beat at his back, but the goliath did not reply to her cries.
Together, they fled toward the others.
The shadowdancer let out a sigh of relief, just as Davoren's words rang out. "Fall, damn you!" the warlock shouted. Then, half a beat later, "Fall!"
Twilight heard something in his words that made her blood run cold—or perhaps it was something she felt—some bit of magic, a touch of compulsion.
Asson picked just that moment to plummet from the air. The wizard didn't even flail as his spell failed and his body slammed into the ground with shattering force.
Within a heartbeat, the hissing purple worm snaked forward and crushed the old wizard beneath its coils.
CHAPTER Ten
Taslin's heart shattered. It all happened so fast. One moment, Asson had been flitting about, unscathed, borne on the wings of magic. Alive. In the next instant, he became little more than reddish paste spread along the ground under the worm. He couldn't have dodged—couldn't have escaped.
Silence reigned in the cavern for a split second. Then the priestess let out a shriek. Having been dropped by the goliath, she threw Twilight sprawling and dashed toward the worm.
"Taslin!" Twilight shouted, but Taslin didn't listen. What would that child know of this?
Golden hair blazing around her, the priestess bore down on the purple worm like a wrathful goddess, her sword low at her side in a two-handed grip. It hissed along the stone. As if it sensed her coming, the monster hissed and snaked down, opening its acid-slavering jaws wide. Taslin ran, full out, directly for them.
Then the priestess did what no sane warrior would do: she leaped into its mouth.
And as she went, she slashed up and thrust through its upper palate. The keen elven steel bit a hand-length deep into the burning pink flesh. The worm jerked back, stung. Taslin almost
lost her balance and fell, but she held to the sword and rose as the worm did, inside its mouth. Though acid ate at her boots and she could scarcely breathe amid the fumes, Taslin bent at the knees, centering her weight.
"Corellon!" she cried, and drove up with all her strength even as it bit down.
The elven blade gave a screeching wail as it drove through the creature's flesh.
The monster screamed and slammed its head blindly against the ceiling of the cavern and managed to dislodge Taslin, who tumbled free. She did not know how high she was, but she didn't care. One of the monster's fangs tore a gouge down her arm, but the priestess hadn't the breath to scream. Likely, it was for the best—her lungs would have filled with noxious fumes, enough to kill her.
The creature gave one last screech of pain and toppled, with ground splitting thunder, to earth. Taslin followed, wheeling like a leaf in the wind.
"For you, Asson," she whispered as she tumbled toward death.
Twilight's mouth opened as the purple monster screamed and rasped, whipping back and forth like a headless snake in its death throes.
"Burn me," was all she said.
Gargan tossed Liet his axe and sprang forward to catch the priestess's acid-spattered body. Taslin, miraculously alive, coughed and sputtered in the goliath s arms. She had somehow kept hold of her sword—the half that still remained. The other half—a full two hands of steel—was lodged in the dying purple worm's head.
Again, silence settled over the cavern, and the exhausted adventurers stood rapt. Then a chorus of vengeful shrieks came from the exit tunnel. A score of grimlocks, all wielding stone axes, flooded in to avenge their fallen god.
Davoren cursed in single infernal syllables as the creatures
swarmed toward him. He waved his hands, spreading dark power like slime. It struck the ground in the grimlocks' path and spread into a pool of impenetrable blackness, its gleaming surface teflecting the charging monsters. Then he fled.
As the first grimlocks stepped into the pool, a thousand tentacles of dark energy sprang from the black matter, wrapping the limbs and bodies of the eyeless creatures. Many were caught, and they screamed against the sucking blackness. Half the grimlocks charged through the tentacles, however, and they ran toward the intruders with slavering mouths and single-minded purpose.
Twilight saw Davoren running ahead of them, but only just.
"Run!" Twilight shouted to the others. "We can't fight them all!"
"We aren't to save Davoren?" asked Liet, drawing a startled look from the elf. "We need him—you said it yourself!"
"Sand," hissed Twilight. She had never hated being right this much. "Gargan! Slip! Take Taslin! Run!" She looked to the exit but shadows of grimlocks moved within. She cursed. "Another exit! Go!"
The goliath and halfling nodded. "Another tunnel," said Slip. "That way!" She pointed to a small opening halfway around the cavern from the exit. They ran for the tunnel, Gargan cradling the limp priestess like a child swathed in a wet blanket. Taslin moaned in the goliath's arms.
With a brutal nod, Twilight turned to Liet. "Lad, you're with me."
"Uh," said Liet, looking at the oncoming horde, "I didn't mean—"
"Now!"shouted Twilight, darting toward the grimlocks like an arrow.
Liet cursed and sprinted after her, huffing and puffing as he went.
Ahead of them, the warlock panted and fought to keep running. The grimlocks were still gaining. They would soon overtake him, or drop him with a spear throw. Unless Twilight had a chance to argue the point.
"Here!" she said, wrenching Liet to a halt.
"What is it?" Liet stopped and leaned over, hands on his knees, his bloody sword dangling. His shield was split and would hardly withstand more punishment.
Twilight closed her eyes. With a hiss of her will, she brought the shadows flickering about her body, ready to to cover their retreat. Then she paused, cursing. She had no energy left for a shadowdance, and little enough for manipulating the darkness. And the creatures had no eyes anyway—shadows could not save them.
Liet misunderstood. "It only now occurs to you that we're going to die?"
Twilight ignored that. "I guess we'll have to do this the energetic way," she said. She fell back into a fighting stance, awaiting the rushing grimlocks. Davoren came roaring past, running full out, and didn't even slow to help them.
"Typical," murmured Twilight.
At that moment, an ear-splitting roar came from the entrance tunnel, drawing all eyes and ears. There stood a distorted troll with limbs of various sizes and patchwork, greenish and reddish skin.
"Blind-dims!" roared Tlork, hefting his hammer. "They's mine!"
Only half a dozen paces from Liet and Twilight, the grimlocks skidded to a halt. They turned and charged Tlork, hissing with rage.
"Run!" Twilight snapped, snatching Liet's arm. "Come on!"
Together, they followed Davoren back to the side tunnel, fighting the exhaustion seeping into their limbs and the fire tearing at their lungs. Gargan waited there, the last grimlock's black sword in hand, ready to fend off any that pursued.
He needn't have bothered. Drawn to the troll by some unknown animosity, the grimlocks lunged at Tlork with flailing axes and the troll beat back at them. The troll outpowered the grimlocks—his muscles, fiendish body parts, and ferocity made him the perfect killing machine—but there were so many that Tlork would be long delayed.
"Poetic, really," said a voice at Twilight's shoulder. She turned to find Davoren watching the battle with more than passing interest. "Playing one foe against another. Amusing to watch so much death, isn't it?"
Twilight kept calm. She wiped Betrayal on her thigh and sheathed it. For now.
"Should we—ah—help?" asked Slip.
"Help who?" put in Liet. "I'm thinking we'd best flee before—"
A massive hand on his shoulder stopped the boy, and Twilight looked up to see Gargan there. The goliath, still holding the unconscious Taslin, did not speak, but his gaze conveyed volumes. His eyes fixed upon Tlork—analyzing, weighing, judging. He had looked at Twilight and Liet in the same way, as though sizing them up for a duel.
"Aye," said Twilight. "The longer we watch, the more we learn about the troll."
Tlork's massive warhammer appeared awkward in his ten-foot skeletal arm, but the troll wielded it with exceptional skill and balance. Each swing of the weapon knocked two or three monsters aside, and his fiendish stinger caught those the hammer missed. When a grimlock came inside his reach, Tlork would simply flatten the eyeless wretch with his elephantlike leg or eviscerate him with a snap of his claws.
Twilight had to wonder. Why had the grimlocks been drawn to the troll, if they could not defeat—nay, couldn't even injure—the creature?
As Twilight studied the foes, the assault made perfect sense. The grimlocks' world was one of sounds and smells. The troll had bellowed loudly enough to rival the purple worm, and his stench was so pungent Twilight could catch it even at her distance, a spear-cast away. Tlork was perceived as a much greater threat than the seven of them.
Six, Twilight corrected herself with an inward wince. She felt empty, as though something had been clawed out of her.
Then Tlork broke through the grimlock horde, shattering a monster's chest with a pulse of the mighty hammer. Those that
did not lie dead had already fled in terror before the half-fiend, half-troll monstrosity. The path cleared, Tlork fixed his mad eyes on the six companions, and charged.
"Time to be going!" Liet hissed.
Twilight stayed him. "Wait."
Summoning her will, she wrenched the shadows to her and sent them forth. This was not the dance—it would not consume all her strength. The shadows coalesced and melted into scything blades—a wall of shadowy steel that flashed through the air— sweeping straight for Tlork and the few remaining grimlocks. She heard Liet gasp beside her, and knew it was because her gray eyes had flashed black.
Twilight was used to it. She preferred it to her other powers. The shadows were another aspect of Neveren's legacy, rather than part of her service to a god who hated her.
The fleeing grimlocks who yet lived ignored the shadowy wall of razors—the illusion was only visual, and they had no eyes—emerging unscathed and oblivious. The troll, however, immediately fell to the important business of knocking the blades out of the air and smashing them to splinters against the ground. Not surprisingly, the hammer passed through the swords like the shadows they were.
"Let us see how—" she started.
"Enough of this," Davoren snapped. With a flicker of will, he shot a pair of fiery bolts up at the ceiling. The power burst and sent a web of cracks through the stone.
"Ah," said Slip. "What—?" Twilight shoved the halfling down the tunnel and pulled Liet behind her as she ran. Gargan shot the warlock a glare but followed.
Not a heartbeat later, the ceiling cracked and collapsed, sealing off the tunnel with a shattering crash of stone.
Tlork skidded short of crushing his body against the tons of stone piled up around the tunnel mouth.
Then a chunk of stone tumbled down from the top of the pile and smashed into the troll's face with enough force to snap his
head back and shatter his spindly nose.
Tlork merely blinked, confused, as the carrot-shaped member straightened of its own accord and sucked in the blood dripping down his patchwork face. The troll's regeneration left very little that went uncured.
"Dumb them!" Tlork growled. "Dumb dims!" He hoped some of the dims had survived, so he could squish them.
The troll turned to see the floating blades coming again.
Those things wouldn't give up, even after Tlork made sure they were good and dead. Or had he just run past them? He couldn't remember.
Tlork hammered at the first one, but his weapon went through the blade like so much air. It wavered a bit, but kept slashing at his chest. Funny, it didn't make any noise—not even a good whistle through the air—and Tlork didn't feel the sting.
Any creature possessed of reason higher than that of an overripe turnip would have seen through the shadowy illusion, but Tlork had never been all that high in the garden hierarchy. Sun-baked green squash, slightly moldy, was about his level.
Tlork kept fighting the shadow swotds until they faded from view—only a few breaths. Then, unnerved at how they disappeared, the troll set to work dispensing with the rocky barrier.
As the dust settled, the adventurers found themselves breathless and in silence. Gargan lowered Taslin to the ground and stood ready with his blade, just in case the troll burst through the rubble. Slip moved stiffly to the sun elf s side and murmured healing prayers. Liet put a hand on Twilight's shoulder, though whether it was to comfort her or himself, she did not know.
She shook him off. Why would she want to feel, right now, rather than think?
Twilight scanned the dark corridor. It was not a worm's corridor but one carved by hand and pick. Nor was it of the shabby, rough craftsmanship of the grimlock city. She ran her fingers along the walls, feeling the subtle symmetries and imperfections.
Not dwarf work, either. Nor was it rounded and curved like the sewers. Rather, the tunnel was straight and smooth, traveling perhaps twenty paces before it branched right and left.
A new section of the depths? The concept made her uneasy.
"Liet," she said.
His eyes glazed and he did not respond for a second, seemingly lost. Twilight clenched her hands and bit her lip, uncomfortable at being patient.
"Liet!" Twilight snapped.
The youth started and looked over at her.
"Did you come through these tunnels to rescue us, or another set?"
"Can—can you not give us but a moment?" His voice was plaintive and weak. "I mean, Taslin, and Asson—he's—well, he's—"
"Dead," Twilight finished. Liet recoiled as from a slap. "As we shall be, unless we make sure no grimlocks can come after us. Sentiment comes only when we're safe."
Twilight could feel them staring at her—hard. Good. It distracted her, and them.
She continued. "Now, do those tunnels lead back to where you came from, or—?"
The youth scratched his head. "These... are the same tunnels, I think... but they seem different." He shrugged, and his eyes were damp. "We only got through guided by Gargan, and... and..." He trailed off.
So that's how it would be. Well, she could play this game. Twilight was adept at eliciting attention. "A maze?" She scowled.
As though shaken, Liet looked at her. "What's wrong?" "Bad experiences," she said, drawing his attention. "What do you find in mazes?"
"Ah," said Liet. "Twists and turns? Lots of dead ends?" Twilight shook her head. "Treasure at the center?"
"Minotaurs. And depending on the local wildlife, often ravenous ones."
"Oh. That." Liet's eyes were far away. It hadn't worked. "Just staying optimistic."
Twilight growled. "What?" she asked. "Are you all so stunned that you can't even hide to stay alive? Come on!"
No effect.
As though he heard and understood, Gargan thrust the sword through his belt and stepped to her side. The weapon shimmered in the torchlight. A row of emeralds met carvings of wind and flame along the back of the blade. The golden hilt depicted a coiled serpentine creature—its profile resembled a black dragon. Too lovely for a grimlock anvil, Twilight thought distantly. It must have been stolen.
The goliath rummaged through his rucksack and pulled forth a skull with two broken horns.
"That's a good sign—I guess others must have gotten here first." She ran her fingers across the skull. "Unless, of course, minotaurs eat their mates after season."
Liet gaped at her. "Th-that was a jest, aye?" he asked, trembling.
Twilight grinned at him.
"Ah." Liet's face scrunched. " 'Tisn't a matter I'd thought of—ah—overmuch."
Slip cast a final healing spell upon Taslin. The priestess coughed and awoke. Acid had eaten holes in her mail, ruined her boots, and burned red marks across her cheeks. The sizzling fluid had not ruined her fine features, but the scars remained apparent. Her sword had incurred the most damage—its blade broken and the crescent moon symbol pitted and scorched. Twilight hoped it was still usable.
"There, lass," the halfling said to the moaning priestess. "You're safe now."
If any of us are safe, Twilight thought.
The priestess said nothing, but looked at Slip in confusion, anguish, and thanks. Then her eyes fell on the warlock, and her face turned to anger. Slowly, she climbed to her knees, then with the aid of the halfling, to her feet.
An awkward silence fell.
"Now then," Davoren said to her, out of his dark hood. The wounds on his face had faded entirely, it seemed, his skin once again sallow and smooth. "Feel free to thank me for saving your life. I might even look upon you with favor—assuming, of course, sufficient groveling transpires."
Taslin's lips narrowed.
"Yes?" the warlock asked. "Did you want to say something?" He did not give her a chance to speak. "It was rather foolish of you to take such a risk. Your wounds were unnecessary and your weapon was destroyed. We could have easily escaped without either loss, and now we must waste healing. I hope your idiocy is a source of pride."
Silence hung. Twilight almost drew her rapier and ran the warlock through. The only thing stopping her was doubt; she was fairly certain that they would need the warlock's magic to survive, let alone escape.
Taslin had no such considerations to stop her.
Ruined sword gripped in both hands, the priestess lunged at Davoren, angry tears streaking her cheeks. "Monster!" she screamed. "You will pay for what you've done!"
Twilight stepped between the cleric and the warlock, but it was Taslin she restrained, twisting an arm back and wrenching the blade free. Davoren assumed his wicked smile, but the intrusion of Gargan's massive form kept him from saying anything else. The goliath made no move, but his thick hand was not far from his sword hilt.
"Now is not the ft'»«,"Twilight hissed in Elvish.
"Away, child," growled Taslin. Then, outside the tongue of the People, she rounded on the warlock. "He murdered my Asson! He'll murder us all!"
"Perhaps I will, perhaps I won't," Davoren sneered. "Who's to stop me? You? Without your pet cripple?"
Twilight and Liet both blanched. Slip sobbed. Even Gargan scowled.
A hoarse, despairing cry came from Taslin's lips. "I know it was you! I know it!" She squirmed. "Let me go, Twilight—let me go!"
"We need him!"Snapped Twilight. "Controlyourself!"
Taslin struggled for a few tense heartbeats, but finally relented. She relaxed against Twilight, shuddering, and stared daggers at Davoren.
"I've said it before," said Twilight, "but I'll repeat. If any of us plans to make it out of here alive, we need to work together." Then she added, so only Taslin would hear and understand: "We don't know if any of us helped or harmed Asson. Have your suspicions if you will, but don't let them jeopardize us all."
"Asyou &zy, "Taslin said. She turned to Davoren. "But as soon as we leave this place, human, I shall cut out your heart for this. Upon Corellon's bloody tears—"
"No!" Twilight hissed, trying to stop the cleric, but it was too late.
"—you will not see another sunrise," Taslin finished. "This I swear."
Twilight fought to stop a scowl. A blood oath was never taken lightly by either party. She knew then that the two might work side by side, but their mutual hatred would leave a crack in the band. And their survival relied upon cooperation.
The warlock only smiled. In his eyes was a bitter promise—he would see Taslin dead, for no other reason than because he could.
Twilight knew what she had to do—weakened thought she might be.
She handed Taslin over to the goliath. "Go," she said slowly and levelly to the others. "Follow Gargan. Skirt the labyrinth, find the sewers, set camp. Leave markings." She turned back and looked upon the warlock, who smiled. "Davoren and I shall join you presently."
"But 'Light, ah—" Liet started.
"No argument," she said. "Davoren and I have some words to share. Lead them, Gargan." She nodded to Liet without looking at him. "We shall join you."
Liet nodded slowly and began walking. Taslin kept her eyes on the warlock, but let Slip tug her along.
Gargan stared at Twilight hard, and she flicked a gaze to him. She was reminded once again of the keen intuition behind
those emerald eyes. Without words, they conversed, and Gargan understood entirely what Twilight intended. He made her an offer, but she declined. She had to do this alone. He nodded and turned.
As the goliath joined the others, disappearing into the darkness, Twilight let a smile spread across her face. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she relaxed, and flashed Davoren a winsome look.
"Is anyone watching?" asked Davoren, flexing his fingers, around which little sparks danced.
"I think not," replied Twilight, hand on her rapier hilt. The shadows came to her.
Davoren's lip curled. "Good."
Twilight's rapier scraped out of its scabbard and she lunged, just as the warlock thtew ruby flames at her.
CHAPTER Eleven
Twilight twisted in mid-dive and the blast scorched across her back. Only her ring's protective magic kept her skin intact. She landed lightly and kicked out. Davoren scowled and threw himself aside just in time to avoid the blow.
Feeling rather than seeing the miss, Twilight wasted no time reversing her momentum, spinning, and slamming an elbow into the warlock's chest. Davoren recoiled and fell back a step, but his eyes were already blazing with ruby light. The warlock snarled an infernal oath and jerked his hands apart.
"Damn and burn," Twilight snapped, throwing herself back, trusting instinct.
The elf maid somersaulted back as a fan of ruby fire cut over her chest. She flipped completely over, landing on her feet in a crouch. She rose halfway into a combat stance, keeping her eyes on Davoren. The man had backed away and was holding up burning, clawed hands, one forward, one at his ear.
"Come, fiend-spawn." Twilight hissed as she dipped and wove. "You can do better than that, eh?"
The warlock grinned as they both circled. "You think you can elude my power, do you?" he said. "You await a strike, thinking you will dodge and I will be open, eh?"
"How clever." Twilight never took her eyes off him. "And your solution?"
Davoren lifted his left arm. The diabolic race molded into his leather bracer chuckled for an instant. The air rippled and a chittering giggle floated forth that matched the gauntlets mirth. A tiny winged creature with night black flesh—an imp, Twilight realized—appeared a few paces at her back, laughing and hissing.
Summoned aid, Twilight thought. How original.
Davoren threw his blasts of flame past her, and she understood. With a curse, she sprinted toward the warlock.
The flames consumed the imp before it had the chance to move or even squeak in protest, then the heat arced from its ashen remains to strike Twilight in the back, blowing her out of her charge and slamming her body against the wall.
Davoren laughed uproariously. "Fool!" he said. "You think you can outwit Hellsheart?" He fell into the grip of fiendish power once again.
Fighting against the pain that ripped through her, Twilight struggled to her feet. Little trails of smoke rose from her back. The ring's magic had absorbed much of the blast, but not all. Limping, she extended the rapier toward Davoren and bent low.
Davoren's right gauntlet shimmered with magic. A second imp, identical to the first, appeared at her back. Wonderful.
Twilight didn't give Davoren the chance. She straightened, pulling her rapier back to throw, and ran toward him. She might not cover the five or six paces between them in time, but her blade would. The warlock's eyes went wide and he shot flame at her. Had he blasted the imp, it would not have arced to Twilight in time.
Even in panic, though, he had not abandoned all aim. The ruby ray struck her rapier's hilt, superheating it in an instant and unleashing a tremor upon her hand with the kind of fotce that would have shattered bone had she not released the weapon to fly over her shoulder.
Cursing in pain and consternation, the shadowdancer watched as Betrayal skittered along the ground behind her. A thumb's breadth lower, and his blast would have destroyed her hand to the wrist. Davoren cursed his missed blast and danced
back, power flickering in his eyes as he invoked his lord's gifts again.
"I will destroy you, whore!" Davoren sneered.
Always insults about my lovelife—or my profession, she mused as he threw fire that consumed his imp. It darted for Twilight.
This time, the elf managed to dodge, but only by leaping onto Davoren. The flames jetted over her head and slammed into the wall, sending chips of stone flying. The elf and the warlock went down in a heap of bodies, kicking and scrabbling.
Davoren slammed Twilight to the ground, but she hit his stomach with her knee. The warlock reeled, rolling away, and Twilight seized the chance to pounce atop him, hands going for his throat. He caught her wrist in both hands and pried at her grip.
They locked, pitting wiry muscles against each other. She had his throat in her right hand. Her left slapped her belt, searching for some weapon. She knew she didn't have the strength to choke the life from him or shatter his neck. One of her lockpicks would do; a quick thrust to the eye or temple would put the warlock down.
Then a thin blade appeared in Davoren's hand, snatched from a sheath inside one of his demon bracers, and it darted for Twilight's face. Her hand shot out and caught Davoren's wrist. The warlock spit and slavered, straining against Twilight, the point of his stiletto just a hair's breadth from her jugular.
The tip scratched her neck and a bright spot of blood welled
up.
"Almost, filliken." Davoren hissed through clenched teeth. "Almost."
"Almost nothing "she said.
Twilight squeezed the tendon in his wrist just so, and Davoren squealed in pain. She slammed his hand against the ground once, twice, knocking the blade free. The warlock, to his credit, kicked Twilight off him, but she was already extricating herself. She rolled free, over the fallen stiletto, and went for Betrayal where it lay.
Davoren struggled up, aimed his fingers at her back, and spat dark words, taking his time to articulate the brutish syllables.
In mid-roll, Twilight reversed direction and came up in a crouch, her hand crossbow pointing at the watlock's face. Moving for the rapier had just been a distraction, meant to keep the warlock's eye on the steel while he ignored the real threat.
By the time he saw the crossbow, the bolt was streaking for his face. Davoren wasn't quick enough to flinch.
Or perhaps he had no reason to fear.
The crossbow bolt skipped off Davoren's cheek, causing less damage than it would have to a mountainside.
"Sand," Twilight swore. She had forgotten Davoren's fiendish skin.
The failed attack allowed Davoren to complete his invocation, and a curtain of black-laced fire appeared around Twilight, trapping her in a circle that measured no more than five paces across. Discarding the crossbow in favor of the rapier she had collected, she growled at her foolishness.
"Davoren!" she snapped. "Face me, coward! I have steel in hand. Face me!"
The only response she received was the roar of the infernal flames, growling and laughing around her.
Twilight realized that he could be preparing any number of deaths for her, so she switched tactics. "Why not face me, warlock?" she asked. "I stand here, shaking, and you hesitate? Surely you do not fear me—a weakling wench like myself, eh? You don't have the sand, perhaps—or maybe the sword?"
Davoren laughed derisively, a sound much louder than the fires. "Ah yes, the courageous Fox-at-Twilight, always so witty, always so much better than others," he said. "Is that why you chose us, I wonder, because you think yourself superior?"
Ducking below the smoke that was filling the chamber, Twilight opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of that, but he was already rattling on.
"I wonder if Telketh and Arandon ever knew how little you thought of them. Or perhaps they were too distracted, having shared your bed. They were so eager to give their lives for you. I
wonder if they ever realized you meant them as little more than monster feed. I wonder about Quelin, the sniveling paladin, or even that bitch Galandra. Did you seduce her too, I wonder?"
His voice came from all sides, as though he were stalking about her fiery prison. She loathed evil monologues, but they were a typical consequence of an assault on a spellslinger's pride.
"You disappoint me, Davoren," Twilight said. Without any stealth—knowing that he couldn't see her beyond the flames or through magic—she reached back with the warlock's stiletto and slid it, point-first, into a flask at her belt. "I would have thought one such as yourself would recognize the value of ruthlessness."
"Nevertheless," Davoren growled, but said no more. Twilight was grateful.
"I thought I was hiring a spellslinger worth a dozen gold a day in Westgate," she called, "but I see now you're nothing but a pathetic worm. You're too afraid to confront—what did you call me on the way to this expedition?—a 'two-copper trollop with a flimsy metal twig she calls a sword'?"
"I'm sure I was more imaginative, whore," came the warlock's reply. "But I wasn't far off the mark. Your meager skills and your pathetic powers are nothing compared to mine. Your sniveling changeling god is as nothing against the might of the Lord of Baator."
"Why not stand and face me, and show me this supposed might?" Twilight asked. "If you are truly as great as you claim, there is little a poor lass like me can do to defeat you." She stretched her back and grinned. "Unless, of course—you aren't."
Davoren strode through the flames, dark power licking at the fringe of his robe. His eyes pulsed with ruby energy and his face contorted with rage. Fire leaked from his fists as he bore down upon Twilight.
"Insolent, mongrel bitch!" he growled. "I shall see you beg!"
"Many have spoken thus," said Twilight. "All are dead." "You'll join them!" Davoren lunged, power streaming from his hands and eyes.
Twilight put out the dusky rapier and dropped, a low stop thrust that would have spitted any sword-dancer foolish enough to charge thus. Davoren, however, merely sent the sword clattering aside with a pulse of his power and loomed over Twilight. She spun with the blow and buried the stiletto in his side.
The darkness abated and the wall of flames flickered out, leaving an eerie, vile smoke hanging at the edges of their vision.
Davoren, shaking off his surprise, gave her a mocking grin. He looked down at the little trickle of blood making its way down the stiletto's edge. "Not cold iron this time, eh?" the warlock asked. "I hardly feel it."
"Not the blade." Twilight smiled. "The poison."
The warlock blinked in confusion—once, then a second time slowly, then a third time, in which he fought to move his eyelids. He felt it then, a subtle chill that flowed through his veins. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened, but he could not move.
Twilight glared in his face. "My nar'talas venom. Locklimb, humans call it," she said. "Brewed from the juice of a rare breed of centipede native to Evermeet. Causes mild euphoria when inhaled and instant paralysis when introduced to the blood."
She yanked the dagger free. Davoren didn't flinch—couldn't, Twilight thought—and wiped it clean on the warlock's robe.
"Only a little bit flows in your veins, enough to keep you frozen a few moments—enough to silence your spit hole while I make a few things perfectly clear. Understand?"
She knew Davoren could not reply. His outraged eyes, though, said enough.
"Before we get to business, while I've got you transfixed, perhaps you can help me understand something I've always wondered about." She paused. "If you're the descendent of demons, how is it you serve Asmodeus?"
That got his attention, and Twilight saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eye.
"I wonder," she said. "The grandson of a demon prince, a
servant of archdevils, who takes his power from both the Hells and the Abyss? Which was it, by the way—Graz'zt or Orcus? I'm curious. The latter, I bet. You look like the son of a cotpse."
Unsurprisingly, no reply was forthcoming.
Twilight knelt down to stare into Davoren's eyes. "Hear this now," she said. Her voice was soft. "You cannot comprehend what it would mean to cross me. Your master does not frighten me—I have spat in his eye myself."
Silence for a heartbeat. Twilight knew he believed her. The truth of that mattered not at all.
"And if you think for a single moment that your power frightens me, you are making a fatal mistake."
He offered no response but a hateful glare.
"Now then, to the real business at hand," she said. "I know you had something to do with Asson's fall. I heard the magic, the word of command. I could have been mistaken, perhaps, but if it were just me, I'd gut you right now and leave your entrails for the scavengers, just to err on the more pleasant side."
Twilight paused, allowing Davoren to drink in her entire meaning.
"But it's not just me. I have to think of us all, and if we're going to get out of here alive, we need to work together. We all need allies to survive this, and you've got none—not even your own tongue." Her eyes narrowed. "So let me make this clear— from here on, you're either with us, or you're dead. Savvy?"
Twilight could tell from the way the color began to bleed out of Davoren's face that the poison was starting to dilute through his blood, and he could feel his body once again. Soon, he could speak. "Ye-yes," he managed. "Yes, that's clear."
Twilight slammed him against the wall again. Though she was not a big woman, or a strong one, she knew exactly what angles to ply for sufficient leverage.
To further emphasize her point, she stabbed him again for good measure.
"Aack—" Davoren managed. Then he could only look at her, stung and furious.
"I wasn't finished," she said.
She wrenched the dagger out, causing Davoren's eyes to water, and raised it before his face. His dark blood mingled with an amber jelly smeared along the blade. Then she reached down and pulled out the vial of poison, to wave it in front of his face.
"I carry more of this than you might think. If you try something like that again—if you even think it—I'll pump you so full of venom you'll be able to do nothing but lie helpless while the vermin of this hellhole start with your eyes and work their way toward your brain." Her eyes bored holes into his face. "How does that sound, Lord Hellsheart, servant of Asmodeus?"
Davoren could do nothing but stare daggers at her. She saw a touch of pain in his eyes, and she took it for fear. So he was just a bully.
"Remember," she said. "You betray us again, and I won't bury you."
The warlock kept silent. He could speak again, but he could barely move, Twilight knew. She left him then, and Davoren could not follow.
"Twilight?" his voice floated after her. It was pained— broken. "Twilight!"
She rounded the corner, losing sight of the half-paralyzed warlock. Try as he might, Twilight knew that he could not catch up, not for a while. Long enough, hopefully, to make her point sink home, like a finely crafted blade between a certain pair of ribs.
Twilight shook her head to clear the image. One could dream.
Davoren's despairing cries echoed as she went farther down the tunnel, just loud enough for her to hear, but not for the others to do so.
"Twilight!" he shouted. "Come back here! Don't leave me alone like this! Help! Please! He—" Then the sound faded. He would catch up.
Probably.
Twilight's grin widened.
When Twilight found her, Taslin was sitting alone, in a chamber far from the others. Wrapped in a grimlock cloak, her acid-eaten armor removed, the priestess sat with knees pulled up to her chin. She was on the edge of a chasm in a great chamber where many sewer passages met. The place probably smelled foul centuries before, when waste flowed through the sewers, but the cool emptiness of the deep underground had replaced it. Only a slight mustiness hinted at the filth that filled these halls in an era long dead.
As though the priestess sensed her, Taslin spoke as Twilight crept up behind her. "You would have loved Asson as well, had you known him as I did—as he was once."
"He was not always such a noble old man?" Twilight sat and pulled her knees to her chest, as Taslin did.
"He was not always so old, as humans measure the years," said Taslin. "Asson lay in my arms for fifty summers and fifty winters. I knew that our parting would come one day. I have dreaded the moment of loss, but not the leave-taking itself."
"You did not fear to lose your lover, then," said Twilight.
"Not a fear that I would lose him—that fate I knew to be inevitable," the priestess said. "Rather an acceptance of the truth and a choice to see past it."
"See past death?" Twilight kicked a stone off the edge of the chasm, watching it disappear into the darkness. Hollowness spread through her. "You'd have to be dead."
"Endings and leave-takings are of this life, just as meetings and beginnings," said Taslin. "To fear losing what you love is to abandon loving it here and now. To fear losing one you know you will lose makes less sense still."
"Life to be lived in the moment... I've heard it before. The life of a human."
"The life of an elf Taslin corrected. "You are young, and do not understand what it is to live as we do. To know the joy of every moment, to release love of the past and fear of the future."
Twilight looked at her. "No." She meant to be firm, but her voice betrayed the slightest tremble. What was this she felt? And what did Taslin know of her?
The priestess met her gaze. "Asson and I knew many years of happiness together. And while they endured, each of us loved to the fullest, knowing that our time together would end. And now those years have ended, and I can be content, knowing that he rests. It has been the same for the four lovers I have known—all of them human."
Twilight raised a brow at that. She looked into the chasm— its beckoning darkness comforted her. Or at least so she told herself.
"I lost a lover once," she said. "His name was Neveren. He died in my arms. I understand how you feel."
Taslin sighed. "You know what the greatest irony is? If we could recover his bones, by Corellon's grace, he could be restored to me."
Twilight's gaze snapped to her. "You have that power?" she said, stunned. "Why not use it? Would Asson not answer?"
"He would return if I called him," said Taslin. "But I would not call."
"You do not grieve for him?" Twilight reached out and laid her hand, ever so lightly, on Taslin's shoulder.
The priestess closed her eyes gently. "I do, in my heart," she said. "But I..." She trailed off, her eyes soft. Her hand reached for Twilight's.
Twilight eluded Taslin's touch and brushed a lock of her golden hair away. With techniques long practiced, Twilight ran her fingers through Taslin's golden hair and over her shoulders and neck. She felt the tension in the sun elf's body—sensed the vibrations in the priestess's bones that spoke of buried grief. Twilight shifted, leaning against Taslin's back, and stroked her hair gently. She told herself to stop, but that self didn't listen.
"Sometimes," whispered Twilight, knowing the words, "grief can—cannot..."
Then, inexplicably, she stumbled. She couldn't say it— couldn't speak that lie. Who was this priestess, who had such power over her? Was this Erevan's doing?
In a matter of heartbeats, tears began to fall down Taslin's cheeks, through the acid-etched furrows like streams of pain and
sorrow. The priestess wept in Twilight's arms for a long time, her strength and endurance bleeding away into a fragility not even Twilight would have thought possible. It staggered her.
Twilight knew that Taslin did not weep as a champion of Corellon Larethian, or as a mighty priestess, or even as an elf who had seen more than three hundred winters. In that moment, Taslin was merely a woman, crying from her heart for the man she had loved—still loved, though he was gone.
And through it all, Twilight felt again the terrible pain and anger in her own heart, boiling and festering like a sore, a canker that would never heal.
Never would she let herself weep for love. She had known too much treachery for that. It was an aptly named sword she carried, Betrayal, its blade dyed the dusk of stone after the darkness that had bled from her pierced heart into its steel.
Twilight was so lost in her rage that she almost did not notice when Taslin turned in her arms. She did notice, though, when the sun elf bent in and pressed her lips to her own. For a single, stunned breath, Twilight did nothing but let Taslin kiss her.
Then hot blood flowed through her veins. She looked into green-gold eyes and saw there the light and hope she wanted—desperately needed. Her hands clasped both sides of the priestess's face and pulled her deeper into the embrace. As though Taslin suddenly realized what was happening, she tried to break the kiss, but Twilight clung to her, pulling her and throwing them both to the stone.
Then the priestess let out a muffled gasp and Twilight felt her surrender. Supple arms wrapped around her back, and she felt nails through her blouse but she was hardly aware of the world outside the kiss.
All of Taslin's fiery passions poured into that kiss—all her wrath and rage about Asson's death, all her determination and love. She kissed hard, violently. Her hands gripped Twilight's arms with white-knuckled force, the nails nearly drawing blood.
Then it was broken. Twilight rolled away to lie beside Taslin,
both of them panting heavily in the murky torchlight. The two women looked at each other for many heartbeats, neither speaking. They merely breathed.
Twilight's heart raced so fast it scared her. No, she thought. No!
Then Taslin made a sound that made Twilight's heart fall back into shadow. It was a mere giggle at first, but soon it became an outright laugh.
She laughed alone.
How much the mirth stung startled her. Twilight felt like weeping, for she had been wrong about Taslin, but no—no tears. Instead, she bound that hurt deep inside.
While the priestess seemed capable of letting it pass, Erevan's servant was not so carefree. Perhaps the Maid was toying with her again, or even the Trickster himself. He had ruined everything else in her life, why not this?
"My thanks," the priestess said. "Perhaps there is more to wisdom than holding it all within the heart." Then she smiled innocently, and her eyes softened.
Twilight wanted to agree—she wanted to reassure Taslin, to tell her all would be well. She could see that Taslin needed only those words and her heart would be whole once more. It should have been so easy to give her those, to give her the comfort and love she needed. Even if Taslin did not want her as a lover, Twilight should have been able to take Taslin into her arms and let the sun elf weep on her shoulder, sharing the pain.
But it would've been a lie—an inward lie. She could not tell Taslin that grief had to be entrusted to others—she did not believe in trusting others. And the priestess, much as she possessed the warmth Twilight's cold heart craved, did trust, and that made her a fool. More than that, she was stupid enough to want Twilight for a friend.
Twilight believed in only three breeds of people in the world: lovers, enemies, and those who were both. That left no room for something so naive as friendship.
All trust and friendship had earned her, in her young life, had been more than her years' worth of heartbreak and loss.
Without a word, Twilight stood and walked away. She didn't look back.
She thought she heard Taslin say something behind her, but the words hurt less than those pained eyes, stabbing into her back.
"May Corellon guide you," the sun elf said. "And may you accept his hand."
CHAPTER Twelve
Liet breathed a sigh of relief when Davoren returned. His demeanor showed no aggression or wrath, surprisingly, and his eyes darted nervously. Liet wondered, with no small shiver, what could make the invincible warlock afraid.
A short time later, Liet saw Twilight gliding from the tunnel in the direction that Taslin had gone several bells earlier. "Take this night for mourning if you wish, rest if you do not." Her tone made it clear she addressed them all.
Taslin, nude but for the cloak they had found for her, followed not far behind, and Liet had to look at her twice. He glanced at Twilight, wide-eyed, but she didn't return it.
Twilight continued. Her voice sounded tired. "Tomorrow, we head south—circling back to the rising tunnel Slip found."
They nodded solemnly. Gargan was the only one who made a sound.
"Goli lenamaka nae" he said. Then he separated from the others, hand on the hilt of the sword he had taken, and disappeared into the tunnels.
Slip blinked out of her doze and watched the receding goliath. "Hey!" she called. "Hey, wait!" She got up and ran after him into the darkness. Gargan paused and waited until Slip reached his side, and they disappeared together.
Twilight stared after them. Taslin crossed to her side and laid
a hand on her elbow. "He goes to keep watch," she said, pointing to her earring.
Twilight seemed to accept the priestess's words, though she looked decidedly uncomfortable. She shrugged, took up her sword, and wandered toward a tunnel.
"Wait, 'Light," Liet said with a start, but the shadowdancer was already gone into darkness.
"Don't need you," Davoren murmured, huddled against the wall. Blood dripped from his mouth as though he had bit his lip. "Don't need any of you."
"Eh?" Liet said. "What did—?"
"Silence!" Davoren snapped, with more self-loathing than real anger. Still, it was enough to stun Liet. The warlock went back to muttering. "Don't need you—any of you."
The Dalesman bit his lip and suppressed a nervous shudder.
It occurred to him that Davoren was wrong. Each of them needed the others to survive, and not just for protection. They provided one another something else in the darkness: drive, or purpose, perhaps. Slip and Gargan had each other, it seemed, and Taslin had depended on Asson.
He looked at the scarred priestess, who meditated two paces distant. Would she die, now that she had no ally? No. Liet resolved that he would protect her. She had been kind to him, and he felt for her, with Asson gone.
Observing the shuddering warlock, Liet imagined that Davoren lived only because of Twilight's protection. They were not friends, certainly, but allies? The two of them had entered this dungeon together as companions at arms, but was there any true connection between them?
What of Twilight? Who was her protection? Certainly not Davoren, and all the fire seemed to have gone out of Taslin. Gargan was an enigma, and Slip had enough trouble watching out for herself. Perhaps...
A hand fell on his arm, and he jumped. It was Taslin. Her scarred face may have lost some of its beauty, but her eyes had lost none of their intensity. He felt calm, peaceful, in that gaze.
"Go to her," the priestess said. "She craves solitude, but she needs you. You and she are so alike—younger than this world demands."
"What?" Liet asked, dumbfounded.
"Do you not desire her?" Taslin asked. In the corner, Davoren was a thousand leagues away. "You stand close to her, and your hand reaches for hers. You laugh just a touch too loud, and stare a breath too long."
"I don't..."
"Have you never had a woman, young master Liet?"
"Well, ah, um—" She put a finger to his lips. She reminded him of Twilight.
"My heart will mend," she said. "Hers..." She gazed toward the corridor.
Liet hesitated. He wanted with all his being to go after Twilight. What he would say, he had no idea. But he couldn't leave Taslin and Davoren alone, he told himself. Couldn't face the monsters that could be out in the dark...
"Courage," Taslin whispered. "You are older than the boy you act—be the man you are." She kissed his cheek, softly.
He would do it.
Liet got to his feet. "I shall return," he said. "I'll bring her with me."
"Go," Taslin said peaceably. Her hand snaked out to caress bare stone beside her, though she didn't seem to notice. "I shall be well."
He looked from Taslin to Davoren, a bit nervous to leave them. But he pushed fear away. Liet wasn't convinced, but he didn't care—not more than he did about Twilight.
The passage yawned forbiddingly, but he was determined. He stole after Twilight, quiet without his boots, seeking where she might have gone. He heard the rapier scabbard clicking against the stone ahead, and followed the sounds.
He saw a flicker of movement. "Slip?" he asked, hesitantly. The figure froze, staring, then dashed around a corner. Hand on his sword, Liet hurried after;
He turned the corner and gasped, seeing a light glimmer
on the far wall. There was movement. He dropped his hand to his sword and stepped forward, cautiously, straining to see. He couldn't make it out clearly, but it looked like a black hand—he couldn't count the fingers—extending out of the wall itself. As he approached, the hand snaked around and extended its palm toward him. He saw an eye in its midst.
His own eyes widening, Liet hurled himself into the shadows and froze. He had no power, no magic of his own—at least, none that he could use. What could he do against... whatever this thing was?
The arm twisted back toward the wall and searched along its surface. Then, as Liet watched, it dipped its fingers into the stone as though into pudding and reshaped it. The hand simply tore a gash in the wall, revealing a new passage. The stone bled drops of black onto the floor. Liet's stomach rose. He looked back, fearful, wondering whether Taslin or Davoren could arrive soon enough to save him.
Clutching himself tightly, Liet massaged his arms and winced at the sudden burning pain. Why did they hurt now?
Then the hand was gone, snaking back into that shimmer, which winked out, leaving him in blackness—blackness that was complete except for the torchlight flickering from the new passage. He crept up to it, wary that the hand would reappear, and looked in. More sewers beckoned that they had never been in before.
" 'Light," Liet said. He needed to tell her of this. " 'Light!"
In the darkness—less than a pace from where the useless one hid—Gestal took careful note of the hand from the wall. It did not please Lord Divergence, being this far into the lower domain. Certain forces would not welcome his presence.
The eyes turned back down the passage whence the useless one had come. Yes.
Gestal had an appointment to keep.
He found her after only a few breaths—silent, still, in the middle of the corridor. Twilight's head was bowed as though she were praying. Liet's heart hammered in his throat. He opened his mouth but forgot whatever he had been about to say. As he tried to remember, his thought slipped away.
Liet was about to speak when Twilight's hand shot out and grasped his collar. Before he could say a word, she slammed him against the wall and put a thin, sharp knife to his throat. Liet squeaked, and she withdrew the blade and sighed.
"Torm's name!" he cried. "You can't just say 'well met'—like a sane lady?"
"You can't just approach from the light, spouting poetry, like a conventional suitor?" Twilight put the knife away.
Heat shot into his face. "I, ah, I guess I'm sneakier than I thought." His eyes widened. "I'm—I'm really not trying to sneak up on you!"
The elf smiled halfway. "A lass can never be too cautious," she said. "Strange men, creeping about dark corners, watching lasses from hiding, carrying sharp steel?"
"I see your aim," said Liet. "I'd have spoken, but I reasoned you'd hear..."
"And you were correct," said Twilight. "Just here to gawk as I take my rest, or do you have a purpose?" As she spoke, she slipped out of her breeches and blouse, shaking them out. Liet gulped, and though his mouth opened, he had no words, only shock.
After a moment, Twilight raised an eyebrow, and his flush only deepened. He finally thought to whirl around just as she wrapped a dark cloak around her bare body.
"Little point now," she said. "So speak. I have little enough time for wandering lads who fancy watching lasses more than a century their senior strip bare."
Liet turned about, hesitantly. "Ah," he said. "Well..."
"Now there's a deep thought," the elf observed.
"I need to tell.you, ah..Liet trailed off.
"Are all men of the Dales this eloquent?" Twilight's face contorted. "Out with it! Did you come to berate me for letting
Asson die? Or question my methods with Davoren and Taslin?" She eyed him fiercely. "Or perhaps just a quick tumble on the stone here? It's been a long day. I could certainly use some vigorous comforting, how about you?"
"I'd settle for a vigorous handclasp," murmured Liet, not thinking. Then he froze.
Twilight blinked. "What?"
In an instant, the angry gleam in her eyes took on a new tone.
"Uh, ah, that is, I—"
"What did you say?" she asked softly.
"Ah," Liet said. "I merely wanted to—make sure you're well, after ah, today."
Twilight looked at him as if no one had ever said such a thing to her before. "Why?" she asked finally.
It was Liet's turn to be speechless. "I just, ah—just concerned, that's all." Hadn't he wanted to tell her something? Something important?
"You're not breaking one of my rules, are you?" Twilight asked with a wry smile.
"Most maids would call me chivalrous," said Liet, "and not accuse me of—"
"Do you know how to please an elf, manling?" Twilight's eyes narrowed dangerously. "A kiss upon the tip of the ear or a lick on the palm of the hand is quite a thing."
"Uh, 'tisnt, ah, why I'm here," Liet managed.
"Really? You're certain you're"—she slid up to him and pressed herself against his chest, using her lithe curves to full effect—"not breaking"—Liet stiffened, but only from surprise, as she traced her fingers down many days' stubble—"rule number"—she finished, pressing her nose against his, caressing his lips with her own—"four?"
"And what—what if I am?" Liet was almost breathless.
With a little laugh, Twilight shoved him away.
"I could make an attempt at poetry," Liet said. "If that's what y—"
He instantly regretted it. In her face, in her stance, he saw
that whatever fire had been lit had vanished. He felt like a child.
"Go to your rest, boy," she said. "I present far too wild a beast for you to tackle, this night or any night. You do not wish to try."
He sniffed. "Is that not my choice?"
When Twilight raised an eyebrow, he cursed inwardly again. Why must she be so clever?
"Ah, I mean, not whether I tackle you—uh, but whether I wish to, ah, try?"
"Go to your rest," she repeated. "And that's the end."
Liet turned away, defeated. Then he caught himself on the wall and looked back. He was tired of being tteated like a child, so he decided to say something not boyish. Of course, as soon as it came out of his mouth, it sounded quite juvenile. "I'm not afraid of you, Twilight."
Her reception, however, was not what he expected. She stared at him, her skin white, as though he'd said something quite mature. "You're certain?"
"Aye," said the man Liet had suddenly become. "The question is, are you so certain you're not?"
She did not answer, but merely stared at him until—a little more confident—he went back to his blankets.
Twilight awoke the following morning to screams. Cursing, she fumbled out of her cloak and grabbed Betrayal. She ran down the tunnel to her companions.
Taslin sat in the middle of the room, screaming and moaning, rocking back and forth. There was something red on the floor in front of her. Gargan stood over Davoren, axe ready, and Slip huddled behind him. Liet had his short sword at the warlock's throat. -
"Hold!" Twilight shouted. "What is this?"
"He... he did something" Liet stammered, "to Taslin."
"You saw him?" Twilight demanded. "What was it?"
"N-no," Liet said. "But he did something!" >.¦.
"Not I," the warlock said. Liet put pressure on the sword and Davoren fell silent.
Wary, Twilight walked to Taslin. A rag-wrapped bundle lay beside her, the size of a loaf of bread, perhaps. The rags were simple roughspun, and were soaked red. "Taslin?"
The sun elf shook her head violently.
Twilight prodded the bundle with Betrayal. No reaction. She knelt to examine it, moving the swaddling aside with her steel. Then she flinched back with a curse.
A pair of red buttons stared out of a rag face. The doll wore rough, tattered robes dyed with what looked like blood. It was flattened, its stuffing leaking out from a hole in its chin. It looked like a scraggly beard.
"Someone has done this," Taslin said. "I will have blood." Taslin glared at her. "Someone..." Then she trailed off, staring at Twilight's face.
Twilight looked around, moving only her eyes. All of them looked far too horrified. Trying her best not to tremble, Twilight lifted her fingers and felt sticky wetness on her cheek. She did not need a mirror to know what must be there—a mark of some kind, traced in blood. She turned and wiped it away.
"From now on," Twilight said, slowly and calmly, "no one wanders away from the others. We stay together. Understood?"
Agreeing silence answered, but the eyes she felt on her back lost no suspicion.
"Down!" Twilight hissed.
Liet fell behind a pile of rubble, landing hard. Gargan ducked with them, hiding Taslin and Davoren around the corner.
Liet rubbed his bottom. "What did—"
Fingers fell on his lips, silencing him, Twilight gestured over the rubble with her eyes. Liet's blood ran cold and he couldn't bring himself to look.
"Tsch," Davoren said from the corner, "Simple primitives, hardly worth a moment." He did' am walk into the open, though. 1 it ¦¦.. i ¦
"Agreed," hissed Taslin. She scared Liet—since that morning, her eyes had shone with troubling intensity. "Let us slay the rabble—they block our path." She did not move.
Twilight gestured to Liet to look. He peeked over the stone, as low as he could.
A score of creatures covered in black and red scales ambled about the wide cavern, illuminated by the torches on the walls. Their faces were slack-jawed and they wore simple dark loincloths for clothing, but there, the resemblance to primitives ended.
Adorning the creatures' necks and wrists were necklaces and bracers of silver and gold. They hefted swords of like metal and spears of obsidian. Liet wondered if the lizards had plundered ancient crypts and tteasure rooms to secure the precious items. Beneath the finery, some of the lizards' eyes burned with unholy fire and their features twisted and curled wickedly. Small horns marred the crowns of their heads, and tiny limbs that might have been wings sprouted from shoulders.
Liet looked to Twilight for clues as to their next move, but her face was ashen. He understood intuitively, somehow, what she was thinking. Though the creatures had not detected their presence, they stood right in the path. No other tunnel through the sewer led around this central chamber—not unless they backtracked as far as their campsite, quite a distance back, and took a different direction.
Looking at Twilight's nervous face, Liet had the sinking sensation that somehow, the enemy had known exactly where to wait.
"Where's Slip?" Twilight asked.
"Here!" the halfling piped merrily at Liet's side, startling him with such proximity. He shushed her before Twilight could do so, and the elf smiled weakly.
Then one of the fiendish lizards gave a cry. Something big and invisible lifted it and smashed it against the ceiling. The rest scrambled to heft their weapons.
A hulking creature of gray appeared in the middle of the chamber, holding the crushed remains of a lizardthing. It
resembled a statue of iron plate armor, twice the height of a man. Without a sound, it dashed two lizards to the ground with one mighty fist. The other dozen beasts fell on their attacker, spears and obsidian swords shattering against its iron carapace.
"What is that?" Liet asked. "What do we do?"
"A golem," Twilight breathed at his shoulder. "Right." She looked to Slip. "You and Gargan keep the others hidden. I will be right back." She moved.
"What?" Liet lost track of her within a heartbeat, as if the shadows had swallowed her whole, devouring her before his eyes.
The battle lasted less than twenty breaths. Methodical, brutal, and completely unemotional, the golem—as Twilight had labeled the iron monstrosity—smashed and trampled the lizards into the ground. They fought with indescribable wildness and inhuman ferocity, but they were as nothing against the golem. Its fists rose and fell with hideous speed and strength, powdering bones and sending webs of cracks through the stone. Every few swings, its helmet breathed out a cloud of vapor that melted skin and set the lizards flailing and gasping.
Finally, when half the fiendish creatures were slain, including two that seemed more demon than lizard, they admitted defeat and fled. All who could move scrambled away and ran down the narrow tunnels.
They went without pursuit. The golem, its work finished, gave the room a long gaze. Liet hunched behind the stone, praying that it wouldn't see him. After the space of a long, agonized breath, it shimmered and vanished. But it didn't seem to leave.
A moment of silence followed. Terrified, Liet looked around, trying vainly to find Twilight. She seemed to have vanished. Was her body amid the dead? He couldn't tell.
Liet rose, shivering. Even if the thing was still there, hidden from view, he felt better revealing himself than not knowing.
Then a hand caught his arm, and Twilight appeared out of the shadows at his side. "Going somewhere," she asked, "without me? I'm crushed."
" 'Light!" the swordsman exclaimed. He longed to throw his
arms around her, but he stopped himself. She'd confused him before, and now wasn't the time—not in front of Davoren, and especially not in front of Taslin, with Asson so lately slain.
Then he noticed the body she was dragging.
"Thalea"Gargan mused. Liet reasoned it must be his word for "lizard."
"Uh, Twilight?" he asked. "What—what's that?" "A present," said Twilight.
It was an unconscious lizardman with black scales and fiendish features. Its body was completely frozen, even its eyes. It wore a rough loincloth and a black sash, upon which was embroidered a sigil of a sickly gray tentacle enwrapping a scimitar.
The only sign the creature lived was the madness in those reddish orbs. If anything, this imprisonment in its own body would drive the lizard even more insane.
"What's wrong with it?" asked Slip. "Is it—dead?"
"Paralyzed," Davoren said softly.
"How do you know?" the halfling asked.
The warlock scowled.
The fiendish lizard's eyes blinked, both sets of lids slicking over soft surfaces. The paralysis was fading, Liet realized. Then the beast recovered the use of its tongue, and it wasted no time using it. The words the creature spat were deep and violent, their texture broken and jagged. And though none but Taslin seemed to understand its words, the tone was clear enough.
"What tongue's that?" Slip asked.
"Infernal, wormling," said Davoren. "So garbled I cannot understand a word."
"That's because it's Abyssal," corrected Twilight.
As Davoren glared, bested, Slip brightened. "How many tongues do you speak?" she asked the elf.
"Irrelevant," the warlock snapped. "What's he saying?"
Twilight looked to Slip first. "Many enough," she said. Then she turned to Davoren. "And it's a she."
The warlock started to retort, but shut his mouth. Liet understood and agreed—he really didn't care to know how Twilight could tell.
"The same words over and over: Takt der shar, "Twilight pronounced, her silky voice curling perversely around the fiendish tongue. "The Mad Sham." Taslin shrugged.
Hearing the words, the fiendish lizard spat at Twilight and said something dark and unfathomably vile. Liet saw his companions fall to the ground, writhing and moaning. Gargan and Twilight sank to one knee. Taslin fell as though dead. Slip blinked, then clasped her hands to her ears and sank to her knees. Only the warlock remained standing, staring hard at Liet, to whom the word was mere profanity.
Why did it not harm him? Was this some inner power, as with the wight?
The fiendish lizard didn't finish the phrase, though, choking off in the middle. It was as though the very words stopped its heart. The creature died with a dry rattle.
"I suppose that solves that problem," was all Davoren said.
Liet ran to Twilight and helped her up. The elf looked at him, uncertain of something. Then her eyes widened. "A sharn," she said. Liet could feel her shiver in his arms.
"Its master, I expect," Davoren said. Leave it to the warlock to know some of the darkest secrets of the Realms. "The madness of demons fits a creature born of chaos."
"Chaos?" Liet asked. "What—?"
"There are certain forces in this world you should not know about," Twilight said. "That no sane mortal would want to know about."
"But you do," Liet argued.
She conceded that with a nod. "A race that was old when the elves were young," said Twilight. "Mighty spellweavers before Corellon's tears conceived the first elves—children of the primal chaos that came before the gods themselves."
Her voice took on a mystical quality, as though she recounted the memories of a pleasant childhood or a beautiful, half-forgotten summer. Liet could almost fall asleep into dark dreams, listening to that lovely, haunting voice.
"Sharn is simply what men call them, though in truth that is only a fantasy. They are an ancient, mighty race, but not one
that most would deal with lightly—not even gods." Her eyes darkened, and Liet heard a second meaning. "Which would be wise. A creature born of such disorder cannot be trusted." Liet Sagrin shivered, and not just with fear.
CHAPTER Thirteen
Why do you follow me?" Twilight asked later as she clicked open a lock. "I told you to stay with the others. You have a habit of disobedience."
"Why do we camp at a crossroads?" Liet asked. The heavy door sighed when Twilight pressed on it. She gestured, and Liet helped her push it open. The door growled in protest but opened. The plain chamber within was empty but for refuse—shattered wood chips, broken ceramics, worn statuettes—and ancient dust. Footprints, distinctly those of a lizard's feet, traced a path through the chamber to an open portal across the room, but the prints were old. She wished she were a tracker, and might have known how old.
She pulled a torch from her pack. Liet grinned until she shoved it at him. No reason she had to carry it—she had darksight.
"I asked you first," she said. "I'm sure 'tis the same answer." "Guaranteed escape route?" Twilight asked simply. "I thought you only, ah, appreciated the concept," he said sheepishly. "Of a crossroads, I mean. That's not—you know— the same answer, or anything."
"Well, we all derive our chuckles in some manner," Twilight said. "I enjoy frustrating young lads much, much more."
Liet let that one go. "But your reason doesn't make sense," he said. "Camping at a crossroads, that is. Foes can come from any direction, even from behind."
"Yes, but they would have to be quite organized to come at us from all three," she said. "Something I have a feeling might be beyond the average demon-touched."
"What of hiding?" Liet rubbed at his hidden arms, nervous.
"I've always ascribed to the 'fleeing' school of thought, rather than the 'hiding,' " Twilight said. "If someone's searching as determinedly as I'm used to being searched for, hiding doesn't do any good." She left it at that.
"I see." Liet looked around the dusty chamber, straining his eyes in the flickering torchlight. "Where are we, anyway?"
Though the place was empty of creatures, shelves, books, or anything besides the rubble along the walls, Twilight could detect traces of the magic that must have been used there. She imagined it must have been a library or laboratory, long defaced by lizardfolk, smashed by golems, or worse.
"Wizard's sanctum," said Twilight. "Long abandoned."
"How can you be—?"
"I'm sure," she said. "There's nothing here. Go back. I'll be along shortly."
Twilight inspected the yawning doorway. A series of runes lightly etched into the stone radiated magic. A stone barrier had once existed there, but it had long ago become rubble, though the ward remained. Likely, thanks were owed to the lizards. Beyond, the corridor stretched into empty darkness.
Twilight was disappointed, to be honest. After a day spent avoiding battle like a scourge, she dearly wished for the opportunity to bloody Betrayal. The companions hadn't engaged any of the roving lizardmen in the tunnels—it would have been a waste of resources. And they could ill afford to stumble upon a golem, so they'd been very cautious.
She looked again at the portal wards. Twilight considered dealing with them, but thought better of it. Any foe coming the other way would trigger them—no purpose making ambush easier for one's enemies. She could always disarm them the next day.
Twilight wondered if they would go this way, anyway.
During their exploration, she had found two unblocked passages—tunnels that went east and north from their resting chamber, both of which led up. One ended in an old, dust-covered stairs ascending—the same stairs that had led her to the wizard's sanctum. The other stopped at a trapdoor above, with the remains of an old ladder.
Typical, Twilight thought. To search an entire labyrinth for days on end for a way out, only to find not one but two exits in close proximity. It seemed like something he would do to her.
"Come to think of it," she whispered. "You probably did, eh, N'tanathil?"
"Huh?"
"Pay it no—" Twilight turned. "You're still here." "Aye, indeed," said Liet, leaning against the wall. Twilight bit her lip.
She crossed back to the entrance of the chamber and stalked down the corridor to their camp—or more accurately, to the place where she had chosen to rest. She would take Reverie—or the human sleep, as would likely be the case—ten paces up the passage from the others, around a corner. Here, she could find the privacy she craved. Unless, of course, the boy insisted on following her.
Which he did. When she stopped, he stopped as well. Liet's face told Twilight he wanted to speak, but an awkward silence hung between them.
She decided to break the tension. "Is there some way I can assist you?" She was unable—and unwilling—to keep the sug-gestiveness out of her tone.
"N-nothing like that," Liet said. "I just wanted to know what—"
"N'tanathil is, in the trade tongue, my old 'uncle nemesis,' " said Twilight. "And believe me, if you knew the dastard like I do, you'd agree with the sentiment." She stripped off her glove and began unlacing her boots. "But you didn't come to debate the subtleties of linguistics, I would guess. So what is it?"
Liet turned as she doffed her boots and went to work on her
breeches' strings. Her tendency to eschew modesty made him nervous, just as Twilight intended.
"I was just thinking," he said. "About Taslin."
"Pining for a lady, and not me? I'm shocked." She gave a grand sigh and put a hand to her forehead.
Liet whirled angrily. "No, no, 'tis not like..." His eyes widened at both her loosened clothes and her words, and he gaped.
Twilight finally snickered. "Well, boy," she said. "Speak, if you will."
Liet swallowed. " 'Tis about Asson. He... 'Twas he that persuaded us to come back for you. I wanted to, but I didn't have the courage to stand up to Davoren—not really, not without Asson. But that old man..."
Twilight wondered if that was the truth.
Soothed by the cold stone beneath her bare feet, she spoke without looking at Liet. "Don't take it so hard," she said as she unlaced her blouse. "We all fear death. Old Bones is a hard one to face—and an atrocious dancer besides."
After giving her an odd look—probably wondering what she could possibly mean—Liet turned halfway. "No, 'twas not that, either," he said. "I..." He paused and fidgeted. "My apologies. I should go." He started down the tunnel, heading toward the others.
Now it was Twilight's turn to gaze oddly. His words said one thing, his actions a second, and his eyes a third. She caught a glimmer in his face, as though through a crack in armor. Twilight's perception cut right through his humble, self-deprecating exterior, and what she found there startled and excited her.
He understood.
Twilight had always been too direct for her own good. "You really would have died for us."
The words caught Liet as surely as a hand on his arm. He stopped and turned. She expected him to look shocked, but he didn't blink.
"Nay," he said simply. "Not... not for her."
Oh, no.
Twilight smiled slightly and stepped toward him. She could feel her heart in her throat. She let the collar of her silk blouse slip, revealing one pale, smooth shoulder. "For me?" she asked. "You'd have died for me?"
Liet fidgeted. Sweat appeared on his brow, and she heard his racing heartbeat and heavy breathing. On some level, Twilight knew she was being somewhat pitiful—he was such a boy—but she found his feelings deeply flattering. Twilight felt her own pulse pick up—an experience she knew all too well and loathed just the same.
Stop yourself, wench, she thought. Don't do this.
"Speak," she said, stepping forward. "Don't lie. I'll know." They were almost touching when Twilight stopped and looked into Liet's face. "Would you die for me?"
Silence hung between them for a long breath. Twilight read the youth's tells—every twitch of his cheek, the way his eyes purposefully avoided her, the shifting of his weight—while Liet paused. She could see his battle—a war of will against instinct. One told him to flee, another told him to catch up Twilight's lithe form in his arms and crush her to him.
Twilight wondered idly which she embodied: instinct or will. She almost always preferred the latter, but it was so rarely the case.
"Aye." Liet looked in her eyes, unflinching. "Aye, I would," he said.
She knew then that this was a victory over every—admittedly good—instinct that told Liet to flee, and she loved that, almost venerated it. Twilight was ever a creature who worshiped her own destruction.
"Oh, damn," she said to herself.
With a flick of her wrist and a foot behind his ankle, she had Liet falling to the ground in a breath. This time, she was not about to beat him. Instead, she pressed her lithe body into his young, muscular frame. He made startled sounds, but she silenced him with a long, all-consuming kiss.
By the time she pulled away, leaving his tongue free to move,
it was obvious Liet had forgotten whatever it was he'd been about to say. He looked at her without thought, blissful, innocent.
Twilight went for his tunic, but Liet stopped her with a wince. She remembered his scarred arms, but she decided it didn't matter. She went for the breeches instead.
"Uh, 'Light..." he started, but she kissed him again to shut his mouth. It worked.
"I should warn you," Twilight said candidly as she tore at his laces. "You've got some boots to fill. I've known—"
Liet put his fingers to her lips. "Nay," he said, eyes soft, vulnerable.
Twilight stopped. She realized the tale would hurt him, but that was who she was. So many men, so many times. Didn't he see?
Of course he didn't see. No one had—no one but...
Damn you, Erevan, Twilight swore inwardly. You and Neveren and Liken, and all your lackeys—even Nym. I don't need you—I don't need any of you. Not anyone!
" 'Light? Are you... well?"
Twilight looked into mismatched eyes full of hope and fear. She realized that this boy had never known a lover, but it didn't matter. He was ready to accept her, banish their loneliness—but at the same time, he was terrified of her. Or terrified for her?
"You're scared." She brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers.
"N-no..." Liet's body shook.
"You should be," Twilight said. "But not for the reason you think."
Liet's face broke into a tentative smile. It was the most beautiful thing she remembered seeing in a long, long time.
Oh no, she thought, just before will became instinct again and she devoured him. Twilight crushed his lips and levered her wiry body to keep his pinned.
"Now you have one more answer to give," she said between furious kisses. With each one, she thought the same word: damn, damn, damn. "And I want the truth."
Liet nodded frantically, his eyes terrified.
Leaning in close, Twilight ran her raven hair across his cheek, tickling his skin with its softness. "Silk?" she asked, "or..." she seized his ear and bit down just hard enough to secure a gasp. "Teeth?"
"Ah," said Liet. "Uh, I don't... this does not seem quite the way... ah, heh..."
"Vety well, then," said Twilight. "I shall make that decision."
Distantly, Gestal watched the two bodies entwined, delighting in one another, with something between absorbed curiosity and clinical dispassion.
"Perfect," he said to no one in particular. No one could hear him, after all. "I couldn't have planned this better—well, actually... hmm."
His ears caught something to which the lovers were oblivious, though the sense was more than simply aural. The walls were shifting again. The enemy was not idle.
"You thirst for attention like a puppy, always barking your nonsense," he said. "You hate others but you cannot live without them."
Gestal's eyes looked over the elf's writhing body with desire and disappointment.
"You are lying again, child—to us and to yourself."
Her sweaty face, locked in passion, turned toward him briefly, but she did not respond. She had not heard him speak. Gestal visualized running his claws down that soft spine.
"You expect this to end as all the tales do—with the villain dead and the heroes in bed." Gestal shook his head. "But not this story. Not this one."
Then it was over, and Gestal grinned as he faded into silence once more.
Now it would be easy—so easy—to drive her to the master.
"Did you tell me about rule four in earnest, or so that I'd break it?" Liet asked as he traced the elfs—no, nymph's
spine. The star on her lower back—asymmetrical, with many rays—gleamed, hot to the touch. He loved how she shivered when he touched it.
"Rules exist for a purpose," said Twilight. She lay on her belly at his side.
"Was that an aye, or a nay?"
"Neither," she said, "though if you were to fall in love with me, 'twould make you more pliable, and assure your loyalty."
"I've never known a woman," Liet said. "I mean, I had never—"
She laughed. "I had guessed."
Liet smiled. He found his mind drawn back to her other tattoo—the silver and black fox below her belly.
Then he saw a queer light in her eye. "What?" he asked.
"You must go now," said Twilight. She pulled her cloak from under him and wrapped it about her body.
Liet blinked. "What?" he asked. "B-but, we—"
"Enjoyable, I do confess. But now you have to go." Her face was utterly serious.
"Can I not... ah..." Liet reached toward her, to trace his fingers down one bare arm. "Can I not stay here with you?" Twilight twisted aside slightly and he touched only stone. "My love? My goddess?"
She put a finger to his lips. Then she shook her head, and he felt his heart stumble.
"Against my better instincts, I lead this traveling feast—er, party, and I can't be seen to favor one member over another."
Liet made to protest, and Twilight silenced him as she had before—with her lips.
"And that's why you have to go. Tell the others that we'll take the tunnel to the sanctum in the morning, as though I was merely discussing plans with you." She reclined against the corridor wall and stretched her arms. "And see if Taslin's conjured up some food—I'm famished."
Liet, adrift in confusion, could do nothing but stare at her. Then, when Twilight reached for his arm, he came back to his senses with a twinge. He pulled away, fighting his outrage
down. He wouldn't get angry. He was better than that.
He wondered if she truly thought so little of him.
"But," he said, "but no one's seen us at—"
"No, but if you don't sleep in your own blankets, it'll have the same effect."
"B-but—" Liet started.
Twilight did nothing but stare into the dark corridor ahead. Liet studied her, long and hard. He perceived a miniscule wince at the edge of Twilight's left eye—the tiniest of flaws in her defenses. And underneath that cold exterior was an even darker chill. He wondered if she hadn't meant for him to see that.
Liet saw the truth of Twilight, then—one of many. One of her masks.
He became aware of how she had lied to him. He wondered about her outrageous stories, her flippant comments, her emotions and her coldness. He wondered about her name. He thought he'd known her love, but he hadn't touched her—not inside. He wondered if there was anything true about her.
"Good even," he said, though it made his heart hurt.
"Good-bye," Twilight said, still not looking at him.
CHAPTER Fourteen
This isn't how I remember it," Twilight said softly the next morning. The six ascended the dusty steps and entered the first room of the wizard's chambers. The curved and undulating walls of stone were as her memory told her. Yet something was missing.
"Eh?" Slip asked.
To Twilight's eyes, the room was empty, and that was precisely her concern.
"Cast a scrying and see for yourself. This room's changed since last night."
Taslin lifted her hand to draw upon Corellon's blessing, but Davoren shoved it back down. "Save your power. The might of the Nine is infinite," he said.
He intoned a string of dark words. The others, excepting Twilight, flinched at the vile syllables. When Davoren had completed the chant, he cast his gaze about the room.
The sun elf favored him with a glare of pure murder. The death of Asson had changed her, and the doll seemed to have removed her last cache of setenity. Indeed, Twilight reflected— after that day and night, Taslin had been edgy, sharp, and quick to temper. Yet she was forgivable—Twilight understood heartbreak.
And as Taslin weakened, Davoren grew stronger. "Asmodeus's
might is with me. I see no wards active." Davoren laughed, and Twilight wondered if she needed to cow him again. "Yet you delay?"
"That's the very matter," she said. "There should be wards active on that door"—she pointed at the opposite exit—"and possibly beyond. Something's been here before us, and it tripped the wards." She bent and scanned the floor.
"The word of a thief," Davoren observed, "is worse than worthless."
"There's no sign?" asked Liet, hunkering down beside Twilight.
Twilight shook her head. "I don't see any new tracks, nor is the dust disturbed," she said. "But I know there were wards active on that door. I saw them."