"Estimation? I'm surprised you can even see it, old one," Davoren said. Taslin glared, but the warlock merely shrugged. " 'Tis no great slight to call an old man old."
Taslin drew back, but Asson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. The priestess looked away from Davoren and gave her husband a gentle smile.
Then the chest clicked, and Liet turned back to Twilight. The lithe elf perched over the strongbox, a wide smile on her face. "Happy Naming Day, all."
"Gold is meant to help us?" the warlock asked.
The elf snapped open the lock and flung back the cover, revealing weapons, armor, and gear. Eyes lit up around the room, and the adventurers fell upon it.
From the chest, Taslin claimed a mithral long sword. Liet chose a paired thrusting sword and dagger, and Gargan took a great battle-axe. Deep in the chest, Liet saw a dusky old rapier.
"Betrayal," Twilight whispered as she lifted it.
"What?" Liet started.
Twilight didn't seem to hear. Her eyes locked on a certain blue gem medallion wrapped around the blade's hilt. Unobtrusively, she untangled it and secured the chain around her throat, leaving the pendant to hang beneath her torn chemise. Liet stared at her, curious, until Twilight returned the gaze. He looked away, balancing his sword.
"You know how to use one of those, then?" Twilight asked in his ear, and he whirled. He almost hit her in the face with the blade, and if she hadn't moved her rapier to parry, he would have slashed her. He thought he saw sparks.
"Well, uh, yes," Liet said. "The point, anyway."
"Well," Twilight said. She brought a hand up to her cheek and flicked the blade wide with a wink. "See that you mind it well."
Liet didn't know what she meant, but the way she said it made him flush.
Asson declined a weapon in favor of his staff. One item remained for Davoren and Slip to dispute-a small mace that would have been a weighty bludgeon in the halfling's hands.
"I care not," Davoren said. "My gifts are all the weapons I need." As if to reinforce the point, flames danced in his eyes. Liet shuddered.
Farther into the chest came further spoils, including a suit of golden mail fitted for Taslin, a pair of vambraces too large for any but Gargan, and a shield Liet himself claimed. Built of stout wood, with a sheath on its reverse for a dagger, the shield pleased him greatly.
Asson laid claim to a pouch seemingly of spellcasting ingredients. Twilight discovered a black belt holding lockpicks, tiny crossbow quarrels, and myriad small devices. Beneath these lay a pair of black gauntlets decorated with snarling devils that no one would claim except Davoren. The chest held a further collection of mixed equipment, including empty waterskins, rope, and a grappling hook. Slip seized a largely empty sack that seemed to contain scraps of cloth and a strand or two of rope. Taslin's eyes lit up when she removed a cloth-wrapped bundle, and she handed it to Asson reverently.
And beneath, folded, stacked, and reasonably clean, were-to Liet's weary eyes and filthy limbs-the greatest prizes of all.
Clearly, Twilight agreed. "Thanks be to Lady Doom," she whispered. Then, without a thought to modesty other than turning her back, she threw off her tattered shift.
Liet stared. As the elf's prisoner garb was tossed aside, and before her long, loose hair could fall down her back, Liet glimpsed a black tattoo of a many-pointed star at the base of her spine. He heard a sharp intake of breath and saw Taslin stiffen beside him.
He gaped, stunned by Twilight's abrupt lack of clothes, for a single breath before she spun back. Black trousers fit her slim legs snugly, while a white, billowing blouse lay light and loose around her soft curves. With a flourish, she added a deep scarlet half cape to the ensemble and pulled a leather glove onto her right hand.
She must have realized they were staring-the women in shock, the men in disbelief. "What?" she asked as she belted the sword around her slim waist.
A chorus of murmurs greeted her question.
The halfling grinned. "That's a nice sword!"
Twilight's hand flicked to her rapier hilt, fingers brushing the star set in its dusky steel. Liet realized that it matched her tattoo, which, in turn, led him to think about her mark's position, and he felt his face going hot.
Liet found an earthen-colored tunic of his size in the strongbox, and hugged it to his chest. He felt Twilight watching him, her eyes searching, and he wished he could turn invisible. He resolved to change in one of the open cells. Davoren and Slip had already left to do so. Taslin seemed to care about nudity as little as Twilight did, though she changed with a little more propriety-standing behind Asson.
Further rooting brought a new matter to light-only six sets of clothing.
"Not a difficulty," Asson said with a shiver. "My robe will be enough."
Taslin looked a question at him, but the old man just smiled. Twilight's appraising gaze went to him.
Then Gargan tossed a red robe he'd meant to use as a loincloth to Asson. The goliath ripped off his ragged tunic and wrapped it around his waist, girding himself snugly. His gray muscles gleamed, punctuated by odd gem-colored growths that sprouted like pebbles from his skin. With his heavy axe, Liet thought Gargan looked more dangerous divested of clothing than he would have in full plate.
"We are ready, then," Twilight said.
Davoren rolled his eyes. "So lead, leader." He'd reappeared in tight dark leathers slashed through with red, like bloody cuts. His wrists were covered by black bracers with hideous, fiendlike faces melded into the leather. A black hooded cloak swirled around him to complete the ensemble. That they were his clothes was obvious-no one else would have worn such garments.
Twilight didn't address her reply to the warlock. "First, we escape." She pointed up at the trapdoor Gargan had wedged open. "Second, we look for food and water. That troll's alive, so there must be food-unless, of course, he just eats prisoners."
The warlock smirked.
"I can address our hunger," said Taslin. "The powers of the mighty Corellon-"
"Have peace." Twilight glared at Taslin dangerously, her eyebrows furrowed. The priestess returned the look, concerned, then nodded.
Asson unwrapped his parcel-a spellbook, Liet realized-and caressed its worn cover. "I look forward to reuniting with this little tome. And using it to our aid."
Davoren just scoffed.
"Good," Twilight said. "Now then. Slip?" She gestured toward the trapdoor.
"Aye, Mistress!" the halfling said cheerily.
There was a pause as they each stared at Slip-and she stared back.
Finally, Twilight coughed. "The rope," she said behind her hand.
"Oh," Slip said. She looked down at the rope and grappling hook she had been tying in many creative knots. "Right!"
With a shudder, Liet got the feeling that with Davoren's malevolence, Twilight's whimsy, and Slip's inability to focus, they were probably all going to die.
Twilight waited until last, watching as they all climbed up. Liet lingered as well. She watched several times as he started for the rope, then turned back, too hesitant to make the climb.
He moved to help Asson, but Gargan lifted the frail old man himself. Even this seemed to weaken the wizard, and he sat in the upper room, coughing and sputtering while Taslin chanted another spell. The goliath exercised his huge muscles and hoisted his wide frame up after them. Liet retreated to the shadows, his hands flexing impotently.
When they were alone and Liet still stared at the rope, Twilight shook her head.
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she said. "You must not know how many men Betrayal has led to their deaths."
"Oh," Liet said.
Between them, there came an awkward pause.
She clapped once, startling him. "You're confused."
He blushed. He did that often. "N-nay… er, aye, I s'pose. I… er…"
"Betrayal," she said.
Liet blinked and his mouth opened, but no words came out.
"What I said before," Twilight said. "The name of my
sword. Betrayal."
"Oh." He fidgeted. "Charming."
"Are you going to climb, or is there something else?" Twilight's eyes narrowed and her lip curled suggestively. "You saw something you appreciated, eh?"
Turning away to hide an even rosier blush, Liet stuttered. "I–I d-didn't want to say it in front of the others…"
"I was right."
"Well," said Liet. "Even though I've had a little training- with swords, I mean-I'm… I'm not much of a warrior. 'Tis just that… uh…"
"You're afraid, and you want me to watch out for you," guessed Twilight.
Liet cleared his throat. "Uh… aye. Yes."
Twilight shrugged. "No."
"No?" Liet blinked. "Just like that? You won't even consider it?"
"No alliances, no favors," said Twilight. "Those breed jealousies. Maybe I could watch you and myself in kind, but what if someone else needs my protection? What if another of them also asks me for an extra eye? I have but two, and only a single blade." She tapped her fingers against her rapier's hilt. "It would be easy to turn down Davoren-as if he would ask for help-but Asson? The halfling? Taslin, one of… the People? Consider what you ask."
Liet's face fell. He rubbed his arms. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't think-"
"No." Twilight laid the back of her hand against his cheek. "No, you didn't."
Watching Liet freeze under her touch, she could, of course, understand why. "And I respect your honesty." Then she tapped his thin nose. "I will watch out for you as I may."
Liet opened his mouth, but Twilight put a finger to his lips.
"But do not count on it," she said. "My lord and I share many traits, and while I do not take it to such infuriating heights, unpredictability is one of them."
"Your lord?"
Twilight frowned a warning.
"I'll be careful," said Liet. "Y-you as well?"
She blinked at him, as though he had just lost his mind. Twilight waited until his back was turned and he was going up the rope before she flashed a grin.
Taslin looked away as Gargan helped Liet up, pretending not to have heard his conversation with Twilight. Asson breathed heavily next to her, and she rocked him until the shuddering passed. Her thoughts did not lie with him. Instead, she wondered about the young moon elf.
The child's lord, she thought. Her mark-the star.
Her eyes went to Davoren, who leaned against the wall on the far side of the hole. Those red eyes met her look immediately. What did he know? What was he thinking?
Taslin held Asson a little tighter.
Tlork leaped up as though a hornet had stung his ear. He growled and spun about, massive warhammer in hand, but he couldn't see anyone.
The prisoners have slipped past you, came the master's thoughts.
"Wha?" Tlork stared down the corridor, and all the prison doors stood open. The chest that should have been at his feet was gone. Tlork's mind processed it slowly: Not only had the manlings escaped, but they'd found all their weapons, too.
Pursue, the master said in his mind. Now.
Tlork jumped to obey, tottered, and slammed to the floor, his wiry foot yanked out from under him. The clumsy action broke Tlork's neck, but it was a simple matter for the troll to twist his head and correct the problem. He looked down and saw a thick iron chain snaking from his ankle to the statue of the griffon. Tlork growled.
"Master?" asked Tlork aloud. He'd never understood communicating silently-it involved thought, which was not the troll's strength. "Master? How do I…?"
Tlork waited a few breaths, just in case thought didn't travel fast, but heard nothing.
No matter. Tlork could do what Master commanded. He was smart enough, and more importantly, he was strong enough.
The statue gave a dull pop as the troll's massive warhammer fell upon it. The obsidian held, but a series of cracks spider-webbed through it, each about the length of a thumbnail. Tlork swung again and again. Perhaps, after hitting it a few thousand times, the troll could reduce the lion-thing to rubble and break free.
At no point in the two days it took him to annihilate the statue did it occur to Tlork that a single mighty swing at the chain would have powdered the ancient iron.
CHAPTER FOUR
Liet scrambled up the rope, helped by Gargan. He looked at the trapdoor. It had not been designed as a trapdoor, but it was the pitted remains of a metal platform opening onto the foot of an old flight of stone steps. He didn't know the first thing to make of it.
He could see dimly from the torchlight below and Slip's own torch. Asson panted, leaning heavily on Taslin, but as Liet scrambled up, the old wizard revived. He whispered a word and the end of his staff lit with silvery flames. He examined the metal plate as Taslin, confident that he could stand without her aid, drew her sword and made for the steps. Edgy, Liet silently bid Twilight hurry.
Likely, Asson had seen him gazing down the hole and misapprehended his interest. "Perhaps it's a tool to lower prisoners," he hypothesized, indicating the platform.
"Where are the winches, then?" mused Davoren in his ear. Liet found the man almost at his back. He hadn't realized the warlock was so close, and that gave him chills.
"By magic," Taslin hissed back. "I am surprised you did not think of that, mahri."
Liet did not speak Elvish, but Taslin's tone was enough. Davoren hardly seemed to hear-or to care. The Dalesman stared at Davoren, the warlock at Liet. The older man's red eyes glowed like fire. His face was shadowy-Asson's silver light diminished when it touched the man, seemingly absorbed-but Liet thought he could see a mirthless smile.
Then a hand grasped his sword belt, and Liet jumped. He froze in terror, sure he was about to be yanked into the darkness to a grisly fate. Instead, a certain pale elf swung up beside him, scrambling along the rope like a spider. He stared at her.
"My thanks for the hand," Twilight said, letting go of Liet's belt with a wink. For the third time in a hundred-count, his face went hot. Liet was glad of the darkness.
"Pardon me for overhearing," Twilight said. "I suppose magic-I've seen stranger things. Best leave curiosity behind-it's conducive to stumbling upon traps."
Slip reeled in her rope, and the companions drew weapons and ascended the stairs. The halfling and moon elf took the front, the powerful goliath moved to the rear, and the rest traveled in the middle, Taslin helping Asson to stagger along.
As they moved up the stairs, each step broken and cracked, Liet felt heavier, as though he were growing weary. Was it simple nausea, or was the darkness truly making him tired? Perhaps he should have stayed behind. He felt no safer here.
He tried speaking, quietly, to distract himself. He would address something Twilight had said. He liked the idea of talking to her, even if she didn't answer.
"Well, 'Light-we can't simply abandon curiosity, can we?"
No one answered. He wondered if they'd heard.
They reached a landing where the stairs turned to the left-west, perhaps, though of course they didn't know. At that realization, Liet's lip shook, and he looked around, desperate for some distraction.
"Mayhap all these things are connected? The locks, the platform, maybe… maybe this." He noted a symbol on the wall. It didn't look dangerous-much like Mystra's stars, arranged in an upside-down pyramid. "Maybe-"
Almost as quick as Twilight would have, Taslin caught his hand. "Do not," she warned, her green eyes bright and very serious.
Liet needed only half a breath to feel ashamed. He pulled his hand away.
"What's this do?" Slip asked aloud, scrutinizing the symbol.
The others hissed warnings or reached for her, but the halfling merely rolled her eyes and evaded their hands. "Aye, I'm not going to touch it. Just because I'm short doesn't mean I'm clueless." She wove her fingers through the air and murmured.
Liet saw Twilight stiffen. He opened his mouth, but magic interrupted him. A green radiance manifested in the corridor and spread along the wall. A rune, outlined by the magic in emerald, sudd
enly pulsed to life. It declaimed a phrase in a language Liet didn't come close to understanding, though the tone was none too gentle. Then the runelight increased in intensity.
"Aye, 'twas cute," Slip said. "What'd it say?"
"Something touching the matter of passwords," said Asson.
"Bother," the halfling said, and flung herself aside.
Liet blinked as the adventurers scattered. Twilight leaped and knocked him to the floor. His arms went reflexively around her and they rolled together down the stairs. His leg ground painfully. They skidded down three steps and stopped.
They cleared the landing not a second too soon, for a wave of emerald fire washed over them. It beat upon his back like heat from an oven into which the sun had misplaced itself. Liet felt his skin hissing in the heat, but was relieved when he didn't burn. He stared down, down into green fire that more than matched the rune's fury above.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it ended. The storm of flame snuffed itself out in a matter of heartbeats. The corridor seemed darker and quieter in its absence.
Liet felt its cessation, but only distantly. His eyes were fixed downward, staring at Twilight's white face. Her wide eyes stared back, daring him to blink. The green went out of her eyes and they settled back into the silver of Asson's staff mingled with the firelight from Slip's torch and the ruby power tracing Davoren's fists. Liet's arms were around Twilight's shoulders, hers around his waist.
"Well, I think we've all learned a lesson this day," Slip said, breaking the awkward silence. "Best to ignore the scenery."
The others stared. Twilight's eyes flicked to the side, and Liet looked at the halfling, who beamed. "What?" Slip asked.
Liet looked back down at Twilight. The luminous eyes were upon him again.
"Well," she whispered. "Are you going to move?"
Liet scrambled to do just that. His hands skimmed a few parts of her body as he did so, for which he cursed himself even more.
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