This broke her hold over them both.
Twilight got to her knees. Her fingers probed gently at the blood trickling down her cheek. "We're here to release you… unless you'd prefer torture." Liet's jaw dropped, until he saw her smile.
"We owe you amends, then," the golden elf said. "I am Taslin, and this is my husband, Asson." The old man waved weakly. "I am a priestess of Corellon Larethian, though my prayers could not reach him in that place." She gestured at the cell. "Asson is very sick. I would use my remaining strength to heal him rather than your wounds."
Liet stood stunned. Twilight merely waved with acceptance. "As you will." She pointed down the corridor. "We shall meet in that chamber, when you can."
The golden elf nodded and turned her eyes on Liet, where he sat, dumb. The youth mumbled something he hoped was agreement. Taslin began chanting tenderly.
Something nudged Liet in the ribs. There was Twilight, eyeing him in something like exasperation. He rose with the aid of her hand. "What's the matter?" he asked.
Twilight just rolled her eyes and pulled him away.
Liet knew he'd never understand yet always admire two things: elves and women.
"How goes it, little one?"
In response, the lock clicked under Slip's delicate touch and the door to the fourth cell swung open. The halfling turned. "I don't like it here," she said. "It's dark."
"Yes," Twilight said. Her aching head was muddy. "You and Liet go…" She frowned at the boy. "Well, take Liet and go free the others."
"What?" Liet's face went ashen.
"Yes, Mistress!" Slip nodded, didn't look at Liet, and scampered toward the last door, the one farthest from Twilight's original cell.
"Wait," Twilight said. She bent her face to the door and inhaled a familiar scent. Through the small window, the darkness in the cell was impenetrable, and she sensed nothing within. It blocked her magical sight. Somehow, though, she sensed eyes-eyes that stared at her from a hair's breadth distant. Not pleasant.
She looked back. Liet was massaging his neck and Slip was staring up at him, as though trying to place him. Twilight shrugged that oddness away-the halfling did not seem exactly normal for her kind.
"No-you collect this one." She lifted the ring of keys. "I'll go free the last."
The halfling looked at her for a long breath, then silently pulled the door open.
"Come," Twilight said, pulling Liet across the corridor. She took out the shard.
"The last?" Liet asked.
"Six, including you, but not me. Choose one." She extended the keys.
Liet tapped one at random, dully. Twilight put it in the lock.
"You know of this place?" Liet pressed.
"No." The lock clicked open. "What an amazing guess."
Liet opened his mouth but Twilight grinned and slipped into the cell.
Twilight could see with greater acuity than any human when light was lacking, as it certainly was in the cell. Unlike others of her kind, however, she could see as well in the dark as any dwarf or orc. And what she saw took her by surprise.
A huge form huddling in the corner did not look up. At first glance, it might have been a massive man, towering seven feet in height, but the skin was leathery and thick. She could see no color, but did not expect that it would match any human shade. Tattered sackcloth covered its body. The chamber was silent, but not from any spell.
"Hail, good sir," she said aloud. Liet sucked in a breath at her side, surprised at the sudden noise. Twilight had forgotten-of course, the human couldn't see.
No response came from the creature. It might have been dead for all Twilight saw of it, but she could sense faint breath stirring its lips.
"A giant of some-" she started, but a viselike grip cut off the flow of air that powered her words. She tried to breathe or think, but couldn't manage either.
The creature had closed the distance between them faster than she had seen it move, and seized her up. Now Twilight's feet dangled six hands off the ground.
In the blackness, she could see it only too well. Its flesh was a mottled gray and its arms rippled with muscles. Red patches lay patterned across its skin, and bumps and protrusions like small pebbles spotted its flesh. Most of all, though, Twilight saw the creature's green eyes-pupilless orbs that drank her in even as its muscular body crushed the life from her.
"Let go of her!" Liet shouted from somewhere in the darkness.
He leaped upon the creature's left arm. It slapped him aside as easily as one swats a nagging insect. Liet crashed against the wall and slumped to the floor.
The attempt had given Twilight the distraction she needed. She swung her legs up to lock around the thick arm-one under, one over-so as to gain leverage, and twisted herself to the right, sliding the creature's rough hand off her throat and onto the back of her neck. As she had expected, the creature turned its attention back to her. She scissor-kicked it in the face as she leaped down.
The elf fell lightly onto her fingers, pushed off, and rolled away. As she went, Twilight whipped out her jagged shard of metal and made ready to slash.
The creature did not follow. It towered in the center of the room, facing Liet, who blinked dazedly at the behemoth. The giant rumbled something in a harsh but somehow musical tongue. The words were deeper than any human or dwarf could utter, low and strong like stones breaking upon one another. Then he spoke a word she understood.
"Quick," he said.
"Indeed," Twilight replied with a nod. "And you?"
"Strong."
She had to grin at that. "I am called Fox-at-Twilight," she said. She put a hand on her breast. Then she beckoned to him. "And you are called?"
The giant stepped into the light from the corridor. His skin was gray like stone, and tiny swells rose like warts along thick muscles. A design in red, like a birthmark or tattoo, spanned the creature's mostly bare chest and belly, covered only by a tattered tunic. Twilight stiffened and had to stop her fingers from straying to her lower back.
"Gargan Vathkelke Kaugathal," he said. "No… giant."
A keen intellect shone in the creature's emerald eyes-eyes that flickered with something like recognition. This creature was not simple-minded. More than that, an eerie wisdom burned there-an uncanny intuition. He seemed more than capable of understanding what was said, likely from body language and inflection. A rare talent.
Suddenly afraid, she forced a peaceable grin.
"If not a giant, then what," asked Liet, climbing to his feet shakily, "are you?"
The stone-skinned creature regarded him flatly, his eyes judging, deciding, and dismissing. Twilight made a note of it. She had already guessed the answer.
"He's a goliath."
Gargan nodded and bowed his head slightly. "Kuli gumatha goli kanakath."
Twilight extended her hand, and the goliath looked down at it, curious.
"What was that?" Liet whispered.
"I've no idea," Twilight said through a clenched smile.
CHAPTER THREE
In less than a quarter bell, the prisoners were assembled in the guard chamber, as far from Tlork as they could manage. Each waited in his or her distinct fashion.
Gargan the goliath leaned against the back corner of the room, arms folded. He had spoken no more since being released, a fact that did not surprise Twilight. She had heard of the goliath race, but had never heard them called verbose. At his feet lay the locked chest, carried from Tlork's chamber through the application of stony muscles.
Liet paced, shivering and casting wary glances around. When he saw Twilight looking at him, he visibly relaxed, but she wouldn't give him that. She looked away, letting him grow progressively more nervous.
Taslin and Asson stood together in a different corner, the woman protectively in front of her companion. Taslin had enough strength for both of them. "How long?" she questioned.
"Soon," Twilight said. "I need all of us together."
No sooner had she spoken than Slip entered. The uneasy l
ook on the halfling's face, even before Twilight saw the cowled figure that walked behind her, told her that she should reconsider gathering all the prisoners.
"I brought the one from the wizard cell." Slip bit her lip. "He's got himself a nasty streak, this one. Beware!"
Slowly, Twilight nodded. She'd sensed evil in that cell, and she'd been right.
"Spare me this runt's drivel," the man snapped. "Who among you speaks sense?"
Taslin stepped forward. "Who are you?" she asked, defiant, shoulders back.
Twilight cursed. That a champion of the Seldarine could sense what she herself had felt failed to surprise her. She was entirely too familiar with the devout.
The cowled man shot his dark eyes over them all and a glittering sneer of sharp teeth appeared in the depths of the cowl. The air around his hands shimmered, and ruby energy crackled to life in his palms. The prisoners stepped back, all but Twilight, who palmed the iron shard. Her eyes went to the locked chest-perhaps she should have opened it before releasing the others, but she couldn't have carried it without Gargan.
"I am the warlock Davoren Hellsheart," the cowled man said. "And from now on, you will speak only when I speak to you, yellow whore." He accentuated the point with a glare that promised swift, magical death. "You as well, whitebeard."
Taslin's face went white. "In Corellon's name-"
Twilight stopped her with a hand on her arm and a sharp look, at which Taslin frowned. She looked away. "Well met, Davoren," Twilight said pointedly.
The warlock's eyes flicked to her and he paused, cruel mouth twisted. His gaze was chill. "Indeed," he said. "You know my name, and I-"
"Fox-at-Twilight," she said, cutting him off. "And I say we waste no more time."
Davoren pulled back his hood, revealing surprisingly well-groomed, yellow-white hair and a brush of grayish stubble across his chin and throat. The features were not ugly in and of themselves, but the whole was hideous. His dusky skin was odd-as though it were made of something other than human flesh.
"What do you propose, Fox-at-Twilight?" Davoren said.
"Simple-we choose a leader for this band, then get the Hells out of this place."
"Band?" The warlock scoffed. He gestured at the other six. "All I see are huddled weaklings."
"None of us know what's beyond the troll," Twilight said. "And none of us can make it alone. We either work together to escape, or we stay here and rot." Though she didn't say it, she realized that second option would likely involve bloodshed.
"Right!" piped up Slip. "And in this here band, we should all rule over each other, and have equal voice, and… and be best companions!"
"Equal voice?" Davoren laughed. "Spare me."
Everyone but Slip glared at him. "Why not equal?" she asked, blinking.
"Equality is the crutch the weak impose on the strong." Though he spoke to Slip, Davoren's eyes remained on Twilight. "Thus do rabble rule where they have no business doing so. If you wish to indulge in such narcissistic tripe, leave my sight."
"You may be gone," said Taslin. "We have no need of arrog-"
Twilight spoke over her. "I'm not going to impose anything on you." She disdained the implications of those words; he'd twisted her into calling herself weak. "Ordinarily, I'd say every elf for herself, but we will die if we can't work together."
In the silence that followed, heads began to nod, and even Davoren's scowl gradually faded. Twilight felt she was right-none of them knew what they faced, but all of them knew they could not face it alone. Even the warlock.
To a point. "I see no reason why we should have equal voice. Our voice should be weighted based on our relevance, or whether we exist only for comedy and amusement."
Slip blinked. "Why's everyone looking at me?"
"And you are to judge this?" Taslin asked, stepping forward again.
"As though you would be better, spellbegger."
At that, Asson brought his hand up as though to shape a spell.
In response, Davoren clenched his fist and narrowed his eyes. "Suddenly grown a backbone, whitebeard?" Crimson eldritch energy swirled around his forearm. "Let us see who is stronger." He grinned. "Especially without your precious powders and trinkets."
"Enough!" snapped Twilight. She stepped between the two and stared Davoren in the eye. "We can stand here arguing until the Abyss gleams with holy light, or we can establish a leader and get out of here while that troll yet sleeps."
The warlock smiled cruelly. "Very well, she-elf," he said. "I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking. As my first command…"
A rumble vibrated the room. It took all the adventurers a full breath to realize that it had come from the mottled giant of a man who sat behind them. It was the second time Gargan had spoken. Though Twilight did not understand his words, she understood the meaning of his finger well enough, pointing at her. Taslin nodded, almost imperceptibly. Could she understand the goliath somehow?
Davoren's face contorted in indignation. "Speak a civil tongue," he snapped. "Then perhaps we might consider your input, monster."
"Twilight," said Liet. "It's got to be Twilight."
Silence fell. Davoren stared, dumbfounded and furious, at Liet. The youth receded, as though shrinking back into the shadows under that gaze. Twilight might have interposed herself, but she had a feeling that would anger the warlock more.
Finally, Taslin stepped toward Liet. "Say on, lad," she bid.
"Well…" Liet scratched the back of his head. "Slip's too loud of mouth, Gargan too soft. Asson's too old, and Taslin favors him too much. We need someone who represents us all." The priestess stiffened, but bowed in concession. "Davoren's too divisive"-Davoren scoffed at that-"and I… I'm too young." He spread his hands. "Who's left but Twilight?"
In the pause that followed, Twilight kept her silence and her eyes on Liet, weighing and watching.
"So it's Twilight," said Taslin. "Objections?"
"Indeed," said Davoren. "I've one." He raised a fist, which crackled with spinning energy. "What's to keep me from smiting your leader right now and taking her place?"
Then he raised his other fist, and the energy arced between them.
"And a second-a corollary, if you will." He furrowed his brow, as though thoughtful. "What's to keep me from smiting all of you right now? It seems to me that none of us are armed, and I need no weapo-"
As the words snapped out of his mouth, Twilight exploded into motion. She dived into a roll, came up inside the circle of Davoren's arms, and whipped the metal shard, which she had concealed behind her arm, against his throat.
The warlock chuckled. "Meaningless," he said. "My powers are of the Nine Hells, and in my veins pumps the blood of demons-no mere metal can bite my skin."
"Yes, but I'm willing to wager that if you've a demon's blood, you've a demon's weakness," Twilight said. "And this, if you hadn't noticed, is cold-wrought iron."
Davoren did not move or blink, but the rage in his eyes said enough.
During the standoff, both poised to slay the other in a single flick of the wrist, the other prisoners watched, awestruck. No one spoke.
Then, of all assembled, Asson stepped forward. "Davoren, Twilight," he said, the trepidation clear in his voice. "This gets us nowhere. That troll won't sleep forever." Down the corridor, the room having gone silent, they could hear its snores.
Neither moved, but the tension slowly dissolved between them. Or, more appropriately, reality intruded and forced some of their rancor aside.
Some.
"Very well." Davoren lowered his hands. "I shall accept the filliken's leadership." Taslin and Asson cringed at the words in Elvish for "skirt" and "open," combined with Davoren's tone. "For now."
The elf smiled only slightly and drew her blade away. "Very well," she said.
Slowly, hot anger subsided into cold anxiety. Torches flickered where they lit the chamber, and the troll's hacking snores did not reassure Twilight. Who knew what other dangers might be in the darkness?
&nb
sp; But she wouldn't think about it. She picked at her damp chemise and eyed the frayed cloaks and robes they all wore. Then she looked at the chest and the ring of keys.
I hope this isn't a jest, she thought. I'm near dead for some decent clothes.
Exactly three hundred heartbeats later, Davoren snarled for the sixth time, startling Liet. "I thought our waiting was for a purpose," he said. "Was I mistaken?"
"Patience is not your specialty, then," Taslin said. She kept watch at his side, gazing down the corridor and waiting for any sign of the troll, or other horror.
"No," Davoren said. "But rampant destruction… that I do quite well."
Liet knelt next to a wall, his arms around his knees. He tried not to think about the darkness, or the cold, or the troll he could still hear snoring, or… then he caught himself, stopped, and shivered. He felt awkward-alone, even surrounded by the others.
He glanced at Twilight. The elf had tried every key and was now working on that black chest with her shard of iron. She'd shushed him when he'd tried to talk to her. The intensity in her eyes when she focused on a task disturbed him.
"Here!" Slip shouted from where she perched atop Gargan's shoulder. Her loud voice caused half of them to jump and the others to hiss at her in warning.
If Slip noticed, she made no sign. Fingers traced a crease in the stone. "Found it!"
"Found what?" Liet asked, allowing himself to hope. "A way out?"
He looked, and sure enough, she pointed to a line in the stone, a crack like the edge of a trapdoor. Slip knocked on one side of the groove, which gave off a stony thump, then upon the other, which produced a metallic ring.
Setting the halfling down gently, eliciting a giggle from the little creature, Gargan put his hands to the ceiling, only a head above him. The goliath pushed, gently at first, then with greater effort. With a scrape, the metal plate rose a good thumb's breadth. A trace of dust filtered down. The goliath pushed-slowly, so as not to produce noise, and revealed a disk of metal, like a trapdoor, which he shifted out of the way.
"From the lack of dust, 'tis a well-used portal, by my estimation," Asson said near Liet's side, startling him. The old man was surprisingly quick and silent.
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