A tendril snaked up behind her.
"Down!" Twilight shouted, yanking the halfling off her feet and rolling over her.
Eyes wide, Liet saw what was about to happen and threw himself down.
The golem lashed out, its tendrils a whirlwind of whips that caught the three within. Liet cringed and jerked as his body felt dozens of kisses and slashes.
When it was over, he looked up to see a bruised and battered Twilight lying, unmoving, where she had collapsed limply over the halfling.
" 'Light?" Slip screamed, shaking her by the shoulder. "Wake up!"
The golem, its fury spent, collapsed into a quivering mass of tendrils.
Liet blinked at the two, then at the golem, then at the staggering Gargan. Then he realized that if he didn't act, no one would. Whether Twilight lived or not, the rest of them would certainly die if Liet did nothing.
"Now!" Liet shouted. "Burn the ropes!"
"But magic doesn't work, remem-?" the halfling said.
"Torches!" Liet said. "Flints! Anything!"
Slip looked confused, almost hesitant. Then she looked down at the limp Twilight, who had saved her life. She pulled out one of the flints they'd collected and struck a torch. Then she produced several vials of lantern oil from the small bag at her waist-why she had them, Liet had no clue, but he didn't care-and in heartbeats, the three had doused the quivering ropes. Liet threw his torch on the pile, and the hangman golem twitched and thrashed its way to motionless oblivion.
For a moment, all was terrible silence in the aftermath.
Then Twilight coughed where she lay. Liet rushed to her side to help her up, and she took his hand. She offered a kind of smile, marred by the blood trickling down her slashed cheek. Then, as though just realizing their proximity, she pushed at his chest.
Her finger had hurt like a punch-a two-handed punch. Nothing had struck him so hard-not the guardians, not the golem, not even Taslin…
Taslin.
Silently, Twilight limped from Liet's side to where Slip stood over the unmoving Taslin. Liet wanted to go to her, but he could only stare at Taslin's body. The golem had been destroyed, yes, but the toll was heavy. Even at this distance, Liet knew there was nothing to be done for the golden elf.
"Well then," said a voice, startling them. "Enjoyed ourselves, eh?"
Liet turned, numbly, to see Davoren walking toward them. He had not been injured-likely, he had spent the entire battle hidden, safe.
The words stabbed into Liet's numb, shocked ears. He looked at the sword in his hand, and almost ran over to ram it down Davoren's throat right then. It was illogical to blame Davoren for Taslin's death, but Liet wasn't feeling logical. He was afraid of the warlock, yes, but he could do it. He could…
Then he noted something new: a gold rod carved like a snarling dragon hanging from Davoren's belt. That must have been what he had collected during the battle. Rather than giving aid against the golem, he had gone instead for treasure. Liet couldn't sense magic the way Twilight seemingly could, but he guessed that Davoren had become a little stronger, while the rest of them had become weaker.
"At least the rest of the time we spend getting out of this wretched place will be quiet," said the warlock, prompting a roomful of horrified looks.
Liet couldn't reply in the face of such vitriol. He looked instead at Twilight, kneeling beside Taslin. She was shaking. "Are you well?" he asked.
Twilight did not respond. Her hand kept caressing the dead elf's hair.
"Of course she is," Davoren said behind him. "Spared of scar-cheeks, who wouldn't be?"
"Don't you care?" Slip cried. Her cheeks flushed, streaked with tears. "Don't you care that she's dead? Don't you care about anything?"
Davoren shrugged. "Of course I care." He nudged Taslin's corpse with his boot and looked down disdainfully. "Her magic was the source of our food."
Fighting outrage, Liet clenched his sword hilt with white knuckles. He had to suppress his anger-he had to. Then he looked at Taslin again and felt empty.
"That raises a point," Davoren asked. "Can your pitiful Yondalla conjure us up something more filling than unsweetened cakes and seeds? Else, this journey is liable to be a hungry one."
The halfling hissed at him with surprising vehemence and huddled against the staring priestess, sobbing.
" 'Light?" It was Liet.
Twilight did not reply except to gaze down. She pulled her hand away from the ravaged face and hair. The elf's eyes bugged out at her, and her mouth hung open, tongue distended. What acid and heartache had not managed-ruining golden beauty-death seemed to have accomplished.
Unsurprising, that. Twilight knew all too well the power of death.
Twilight felt the constriction about her neck again, and almost wished it real-that she could die in Taslin's place.
She wondered what was going on behind her. She looked away from Taslin's body-that brute thing, no longer her companion-toward her comrades.
Face burning, Slip sobbed over the corpse, while Davoren smirked, tapping his fingers against a dragon-shaped scepter he wore at his belt. Liet stood aloof, hand on his sword; he didn't meet Twilight's gaze, and she appreciated that.
Gargan was saying something in the goliath tongue, and Twilight could not understand. Trembling, she bent down and gently took the ensorcelled earring from Taslin's ear and put the device in her left ear lobe. She heard an arcane hum, and suddenly she could understand everything Gargan said. She caught him in mid sentence, but he said enough.
"— found no trace," said the goliath, pointing up, where the creature had clung to the ceiling. "Its trail was not on the floor."
Twilight ran-limping, but she ran.
" 'Light!" shouted Liet. "Where-?"
Sword in hand, feverish, Twilight darted back through the chambers, eyes raised. She followed their exact path, but she wasn't watching as the corridors flew past. Somewhere along the way, her hip smashed into a broken table and she stumbled, but her eyes never left the dusty ceiling. To an onlooker, she must have looked quite mad.
Finally she arrived back at the spellcasting chamber and searched above. With a wrenching wail, she collapsed to her knees in a pool of dried lizardfolk blood, clutched herself tightly, and fell to cursing.
"I was right," she gasped. "Oh, Erevan! I was right."
When the others came a breath or three later, staring at a madwoman, Twilight was still swearing incoherently and weeping angry tears, staring up.
There, the path of long coils-the path she had followed from the site of the ambush-terminated at the secret door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"What's the matter?" Liet asked as Twilight lay against him, a long while later.
"Is it not obvious?" she said, tracing her fingers idly down his chest. "I failed."
They lay out of sight of the others, but not as far as the previous night. She had chosen a side chamber off the main summoning chamber, which must once have been a wizard's bedchamber. The others camped near the wrecked horrors.
Their lovemaking had been fierce. Twilight could feel more than see Liet flinch as her fingers found a bruise here or a scratch there, but she did not care. She was furious, even as she took profound joy in him. Such conflict-the lay of her life.
Liet, half clothed, leaned against the wall. Twilight, her breeches and blouse flung carelessly aside, lay against him. Both were wrapped in his cloak. She'd wanted him to take his shirt off, but Liet had been adamant about his arms. Perhaps he found their sight too painful. Twilight understood a thing or two about pain.
After building Taslin a decent cairn and marking it with the remains of her sword, Slip locked the room as best she could. They spent the rest of the day exploring the sanctum listlessly. The magic had been long ransacked or ruined, either by passing tomb raiders, golems, or lizardfolk, and they found the place largely empty of anything of value.
The party found only a ratty pair of boots, to which the halfling had taken a liking. They were not magical by Twilight's estimati
on, though she did not have the heart to disappoint Slip. They also discovered a set of three rather dull steel rods now carried by Liet, which the shadowdancer knew to be magical but could not sense anything other than their general purpose-altering something.
She wished they could alter that day.
And there was Davoren's newly acquired scepter, and anything else the treacherous warlock had seized during the battle.
Half a dozen lizardmen had entered the sanctum at one point, and following Twilight's better judgment-against her bitter anger-the five had hidden, not fought. That concession to discretion had grated on Twilight. More than anything else, she felt helpless in this barren place, with her allies being slain one by one, without any real direction. She felt a failure as a leader.
And now there was Taslin's death, a death that could have been averted had she listened to her instincts.
" 'Tis not true," said Liet. He slid his soft fingers along her welts and scratches, caressing her. Twilight winced a little, but she did not stop him. "Not true."
It took Twilight a moment to realize what he meant-he was answering her last words. "Yes, it is," Twilight said. "I shouldn't have listened to you. Wanderer's sand! I should have followed my instinct and gone back."
"No one blames you," said Liet.
She looked him in the eye. "For all your vigor, dear boy, you're a terrible lover."
"Why so?" he asked, hurt.
"You simply cannot lie." She settled down with a sigh.
Liet smiled weakly. "Maybe, but you can, and you're doing it to yourself. 'Tis not your fault. 'Tis no one's fault," said Liet. "The hangman was merely passing-"
"Passing over us, through the door. It attacked us in the mage's chambers. Makes perfect sense." Twilight's voice was angry. "Whoever created that iron golem must have done it. Set it on us."
"Mayhap. But none of us could've known of that… thing."
Twilight let the silence linger. "Are you so sure?"
Liet fixed her with an odd look. "I don't understand, lass."
Twilight didn't correct him.
"Too many coincidences," she said. "The wights' ambush, the tunnel of traps, the grimlock attack, the golem in wait that the lizards stumbled across, the rope golem." She shifted. "We're being watched. Someone's luring us into ambush after ambush."
Liet laughed-a forced sound. "You're imagining this."
"And whatever watches us left this where I could find it." She fingered her star sapphire amulet. "Because it would make me believe it impossible."
"The amulet that-ah…"
"Blocks scrying," said Twilight. "Our keeper could watch directly, with magic-but the amulet protects me and anyone close by. Or it could watch indirectly, with a spy."
"You're jumping at shadows-thinking about this too much."
Twilight found that ironic. "That's why I told each of the others a different direction," she said. "This way, I can see which one it is."
"I'm dense," Liet said. "Which what is what?"
"The spy," said Twilight. "Think about it. How many weapons were in that chest? How much clothing? How many of us were there supposed to be?"
"Six sets of weapons, six sets of clothing, seven of us." Liet shrugged. "I suppose that makes sense, but would that not make it… I don't know, obvious?"
"We're supposed to think that," Twilight said. When Liet frowned, she sighed. "Whoever's watching us did it-the clothes, the equipment, my Shroud-purposefully, so that we'd wonder if there were a spy, and guess that there must not be, because it would be too obvious. What more perfect way to cover up a spy?"
Liet blinked at her and Twilight sighed. Her mind was simply faster than his.
"There were enough supplies for six, and the spy makes us seven. That's one." Twilight put up one finger. "The wards on the spell chamber were penetrated from our side, and that door was one-way." Two fingers. "And from the golem's tracks-whoever released it must have done so through magic, from under our very noses." Three. "Whoever the spy is, he or she is still with us." She eyed Liet pointedly.
"Are you accusing me, 'Light?" he asked carefully.
"It could be you," Twilight said. "Why such a reaction?"
Liet smiled and Twilight read him, as she had read so many in her century of life. She noted every tic of his body, every twitch of his fingers, every flick of his eyes. She could see the rising warmth in his cheeks and hear his heartbeat. Twilight would know if Liet lied to her.
"Well?" she asked.
"I'm no spy," said Liet. "Whether you believe me or not is your prerogative."
Twilight allowed the faintest of smiles to tickle her cheeks.
"We shall see." She knew, though, that he told the truth.
Another thought occurred to her. "Now. Back to your blankets."
Liet looked at her hard, as though searching desperately for a jest and finding none. Then he rose and walked stiffly away, hurt in his every step. Why didn't he fight?
"Liet," Twilight breathed. "Wait."
The youth turned back, arms crossed.
She wanted to apologize. She wanted to say that he was right, that she trusted him, that she needed him, but nothing of the sort came out. She couldn't lie now, but neither could she tell the truth.
Instead, all she managed was a question-a question she had no right to ask.
"Whence the scars on your arms?"
Liet bit his lip. "If you trusted me," he said. "If you'd share your scars with me, maybe I'd share mine with you." Turning purposefully, he walked away.
"It would make this all easier if you'd express your anger," Twilight whispered to the closing door.
She desperately wanted to tell Liet that she believed in him, that she knew he wasn't a spy and a traitor, but she resisted the impulse. The logical, reasoning side of her nature, by far the dominant facet of her being, knew that admitting such a thing to him would endanger the stability of the group.
How can equality be maintained, Twilight mused, if not by mutual antipathy?
With a shiver, she realized that it sounded like something he would say.
In that moment, she felt legacy stab like a thrust from Betrayal. And in that moment of defiance-despite all her emotional defenses, despite her rage and pain-Twilight almost called Liet back. She almost let her walls drop, almost let him in. She almost reached out to another. She almost loved him-or more appropriately, let him love her-in that moment.
But she did not.
Every one of Twilight's carefully cultivated fears and confirmed doubts came back in full force, and she was alone once more. She didn't need anyone. No one could hurt her-not again.
She found herself thinking of Taslin, of how noble the sun elf had been, and how close they had come, just as Twilight had with Liet. She remembered how Taslin had looked in the breath before the hangman's attack, beautiful in her anger.
Twilight scowled. The gods toyed with her-one in particular.
"Damn you, Erevan," she murmured as weariness claimed her. "Damn you."
The useless one paused outside her chamber, not quite within Gestal, where he stood watching. " 'Light?" he called through the open door.
No response.
Gestal waited, watching as she lay. He was certain she slept, but that was not all he awaited. The large one went off for watch, and the small one stirred in her blankets. She looked in his direction, eyes wide, then rolled back and huddled.
Satisfied, Lord Divergence entered, closed the door behind them, making sure it was locked, and stood over the one he wanted. She hadn't bothered to dress, but had fallen to slumber in clad only in her cloak. He knelt and traced the hands a hair above the soft, lithe body. He passed over her curves, made note of her scars. Their eyes lingered.
The elf's lip trembled and her face went white, but she did not wake.
"I could be your lover," he whispered. "I understand. I see."
No response.
"I see through your lies," Gestal said.
Gestal stayed, the
ir eyes not an inch from her own. He wouldn't touch her-not any part of her body. No, Gestal would do far worse.
He bent low, their lips just a hair's breadth from her throat. The elf's hands shook and she sobbed in her sleep. "Lilten," she murmured.
"No," Lord Divergence said. "A better lover."
Twilight's eyes snapped open. It was dark and quiet-so still that she might have awakened in another world. Somehow, the tranquility was not tranquil, and she shivered. Something wet and cold was upon her, like sweat. She brushed idly at her face and her hand came away sticky.
She realized she had not dressed. Instead, she had fallen asleep wrapped in the roughspun cloak upon which she and Liet had held one another.
"Silly wench," she chided herself. "Don't you realize that's not safe?"
Then she looked at her hand and froze. Blood was on her fingers.
It wasn't her own blood, she knew. She immediately fell into awareness of her body-no injury, no soreness. Nothing had damaged her-not physically, anyway.
The room suddenly seemed much larger, and she was terribly aware of her solitude. "Liet…" she whispered. Her voice came soft and weak-vulnerable.
Hardly daring to move, Twilight looked at her bare chest and belly. Her eyes widened. Bloody handprints covered her-hands on her breast, hands on her stomach, hands on her arms, hands on her legs. She felt the stickiness on her throat and face. The prints were not violent-they were what might be left by the caress of a lover, but they were not Liet's hands. The blood she didn't know, but the hands…
The hands were Taslin's.
"No," Twilight said, searching her skin. "That can't… can't be…"
She thought she heard laughter, soft and hidden, behind her.
Twilight shrieked and scratched at herself, desperate to get it off, but it only smeared. She tore open the precious waterskin and splashed it over her. She scrubbed, furiously, with the sweaty cloak, cleansing herself as best she could. All the filth of days trapped in these caverns came back to her, and she moaned and cursed the cloak that it would not cleanse her-not fully. She looked to her tinderbox.
Then something slammed into the stout, locked door. She screamed again and scrubbed harder. Harder. Knuckles split, and the scratches drew blood.
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