"Why do they treat you so?" she asked as the escorts vanished over a dune.
"Exile," Gargan said. His syntax was simple: declarative and efficient. "I am dead."
That made Twilight smile in helpless sympathy. Perhaps she and the goliath had more in common than she had thought.
She gestured to the red markings that patterned his flesh. "What do they mean?"
"My destiny," Gargan said. "My flesh is the parchment."
That made Twilight blink. "You have tried to read it?"
Gargan shrugged. "That is why-part of the why, not the whole why."
"But you know what they say."
The goliath nodded. "Follow the fox with the white claw," he said. "My destiny."
Twilight had nothing to say to that.
She spent some time within herself. Her hip felt light without a sword. Betrayal lay somewhere in those caves-lost in the confrontation. She had to get in, elude discovery long enough to recover the weapon, find Liet, then somehow defeat Gestal.
She wondered, abstractly, how she would do all these things. She wondered about Gargan. She wondered what had become of Slip. She wondered about her dreams.
The one thing she knew for certain was what she had to do.
"We arrive," Gargan said at last.
They had come to the center of a grove of stone trees two spearcasts in width-the Plain of Standing Stones, Twilight recalled, if her geography was correct. Gargan knelt in the sand and put his ear to the ground as though listening for approaching pursuit. Twilight knew better than to disturb him.
"His magic covered the hole," Gargan said. "I will find the cave I entered first."
The elf agreed, though she knew it could not fail to be a trap.
"There," Gargan said. "This sand is shallow. Whispers."
Twilight shivered. Whispers beneath the ground.
He pointed.
They walked to the nearest of the stone pillars and searched its base. Sure enough, between two boulders they found an opening just large enough for a goliath to squeeze through-or a fiend-stitched troll, perhaps.
"You are the stronger in a fair fight, but we will not fight fairly," she said.
He growled in his throat. "We fight without honor?"
"Best to eschew honor, when our foe can defeat both of us at once."
Gargan finally nodded. He put a hand to his sword hilt.
"Wait," said Twilight, motioning Gargan to stop. "I have a plan."
The goliath eyed her with uncertainty but obeyed.
Closing her eyes and falling into the shadow, Twilight reflected on the stakes. She hated using this power, as it meant letting part of herself go. She hesitated to let any part of herself out, but somehow, after her dreams, she felt calm. She wasn't so alone.
"This will only take a breath."
She began the ritual.
The elf padded through the tunnel to the catacombs, her hand on the rapier hilt. She cast her eyes one way, then the other, then proceeded, as though certain she was safe. She moved on, stealthy and hidden to all sight.
All sight except the sight that comes with a demon prince's power.
A massive form fell out of the darkness above, crashing down like a falling wall. There was no way she could dodge, no way she could evade impending death.
Tlork was stunned when his hulking maul passed right through her, to smash into the stone, and he landed with a roar on nothing. The elf danced in front of the troll, whipping her blade out of its sheath.
Meanwhile, a hand reached out of the shadows and plucked up a certain rapier, which had been lying against the stone.
He'd missed? How? He'd clung to the stalactites, waiting, then fallen when there had been no chance.
Only then-when the blade darted in-did Tlork realize he'd been tricked.
Twilight thrust the Hizagkuur rapier deep into the troll's side without a hiss or cry-only a grim frown that bespoke firm purpose. The keen gray-white steel laid aside hard sinew and muscle like warm pudding and speared one lung, then a heart, then the other lung. Electricity and fire burned along its length, searing the tissue before it could regenerate-at least, so the elf hoped.
Twilight's knuckles slammed painfully into the basket hilt as the blade abruptly halted against Tlork's far ribs, and she pushed harder, with all her strength. The hilt buried itself against the troll's nearer ribs. She felt that if she were any stronger, she might end up with her elbows inside him.
"Try fighting with that wound," Twilight dared Tlork.
To her disappointment, that was exactly what the troll did. With a mighty roar, he whirled and writhed, shaking her furiously.
If Betrayal had been strapped to her wrist, likely Tlork would have wrenched her arm from her body. As it was, the tension snapped her arm back and she shrieked. She thought she heard bones snap before Tlork finally flung her away like so much refuse. And if even she hadn't, then she certainly did when her ribs crunched against the stone.
Twilight sank, broken, to the ground with a breathless sob.
Still burning, Betrayal stayed inside the troll, but the flesh kept regenerating. Why hadn't she considered that the demonflesh might resist flame, as did that of true demons?
The troll barreled toward her, his hammer held high.
Without a sound, the second Twilight danced in and stabbed its own Betrayal into Tlork's back. The sword wasn't real, but neither was it illusion. Its chilling darkness sapped the troll's strength at a touch. Tlork faltered and the hammer dipped in a pace-wide circle whose edge was a thumb's length from the real Twilight's head. The troll spun and growled in confusion at its attacker, and Twilight dared to breathe.
After that breath, though, pain overwhelmed the elf, and the illusion wrapping her shadow faltered. The false Twilight's skin shivered and vanished into ephemeral black-features bled away, leaving only darkness. The elf-shadow did not fade, though, and slashed at Tlork with unnaturally stretching fingers. The troll tried to smash it with his hammer, but the weapon passed through harmlessly, giving Twilight hope.
Then a gem embedded in Tlork's chest flared golden, and the shadow recoiled soundlessly. It cowered, as though rapt, then fled. Twilight knew only one thing that could scare a member of the living dead: the power of a god or, in this case, a demon.
Tlork spun back, slavering.
Then Gargan was there, catching Tlork's hammer haft in two mighty hands. He locked his muscles, holding the deadly weapon perhaps a pace from Twilight.
As Twilight had planned, Gargan attacked from hiding, but why did he not deal a deathblow with his sword? Was he a fool, thinking to save her and sacrifice his chance?
No, Twilight realized with a shudder. He must have seen Betrayal's failure, and surmised that Blackwyrm would fail as well. Neither could slay Tlork. And instead of running, as he should have, he had killed himself in a vain play to save her.
Twilight wanted to scream, but a hand came out of the darkness and covered her mouth. Another arm encircled her torso, under the shoulders, and she could do nothing but watch Tlork and Gargan struggle, heavy muscles one against the other, as her limp form was dragged back through the shadows. She saw the troll and goliath approaching the edge of the chasm Gestal's spell had torn, pushing and pulling…
Then Gargan's foot slipped, his leg crunched into the stone, and he went over, pulling Tlork with him. Twilight could do nothing but gasp, tasting leather pressed against her lips, as she watched her last ally plummet to his death.
"Foxdaughter!" he shouted as he fell. Twilight saw Betrayal, its gray edge burning, spinning, end over end, up from the chasm. It clattered, sparking, to the floor. With his last act, Gargan had thrown her the sword.
Then something struck her head sharply, she felt wetness, and darkness fell.
Gestal watched Tlork fall in to the depths of his blood pool. The troll and the goliath still fought, wrestling and punching, all the way into the darkness.
He didn't bother to watch their inevitable demise. Gesta
l was much more interested in Twilight. The pool couldn't find her-she had her Shroud-but Gestal knew she had returned. Somewhere.
Well enough, he decided. She shall be along presently.
With a hand that had only three and a half fingers-the others were still growing-he swirled the bowl of blood. The image died.
Her senses returned soon after the hands released her to rest and recover against the stone wall. Twilight coughed, pointedly aware of the trickle of salty blood that ran over her split chin. Broken ribs. She hoped nothing bled inside… much. Her right arm was useless, splintered by the troll's fury. She needed to catch her breath.
"Thank you, Davoren," she murmured. "I never expected you to save me."
The warlock, scanning the darkness they had just left with his fiendish eyes, grunted. The sounds of Tlork's roars and squeals had vanished, presumably down the pit, but he would return. They both knew it.
Slowly, as she panted and groaned, Twilight climbed to her feet with Davoren's help. She leaned against the wall, her head still aching and the respective agonies in her stomach and breast biting at one another. Her fingers itched for Betrayal; it lay just visible a dagger's cast distant, at the end of the tiny crawl tunnel through which the warlock had dragged her. She started that way. She had to save Gargan-she had to…
"It's appropriate how you word your thanksgiving," Davoren said behind her, the chill of his words freezing her in mid limp. "I did save you-for myself."
As Twilight turned, Davoren's shoulder slammed beneath her breast, crunching the broken ribs and crushing her against the wall, and the warlock rammed the poisoned stiletto into her side.
Twilight had time only to gasp before she felt the freezing venom course through her blood. Her eyes widened-and stayed that way.
"A taste of your own trickery, then," Davoren said. "I couldn't let some brute kill you-not when I have blessed you with my oh-so exquisite hatred for so long."
Twilight's mouth hung open as though to scream. His wound had not been a fatal stroke, but a stab in the gut. It would take painful hours to expire. Especially…
Especially with that milky potion Davoren dangled teasingly before her eyes-exactly the same way she had dangled her poison vial what seemed so long ago.
"Death is yet a ways off," he said redundantly. "We shall enjoy its process, no?"
He must have misinterpreted the undying rage in her eyes as terror-Davoren had never been good at reading others-for he continued. "Do not fear, filliken-it isn't for your flesh I have reserved you, but for a higher purpose." His eyes roved her body. "Though, if my will overcame your decrepitude, I might reconsider…"
Silently, Twilight wondered if she truly looked so old and decayed, or Davoren meant something different. Somehow, it didn't seem like something she should point out.
"You always thought yourself better than me, but no more," the warlock said. "Perhaps I will leave you, as you would have left me-food or prey, or worse. Perhaps you'll be lucky-perhaps the troll won't be the first to find you."
Twilight's throat contorted with fury.
"How does it feel now, Shrew-at-Twilight? To be helpless before me? To know that there is nothing-absolutely nothing you can do to stay my hand?"
The edge of Twilight's lip twitched. Then she brought her good knee up between his legs. Hard.
"Except that," she said.
With a soprano moan, Davoren crumpled into a quivering heap. Twilight fell on him, unable to stand on her broken leg. She slapped away his feeble hands and took the healing potion he had taunted her with. She jabbed an elbow into his face, stunning him once more.
Twilight crawled away and uncorked the flask. She drained the sweet liquor, letting it spread to her broken limbs and ribs. It did not heal her entirely, but the pain receded. With a little exertion, she could stand again.
And as soon as she did, she kicked the warlock in the gut, just to stifle any spells, curses, or whatever else he might have mustered.
"H-how?" Davoren managed as he pawed at her without strength.
"Typical Davoren," Twilight said brokenly. "You may be strong… you may be crafty, and you may be powerful… but you don't know the first rule of poison. Never carry one that can harm you."
The warlock's face twisted in a mixture of agony and fury. Dark, perverse words started to form on his lips.
Twilight put a stop to that with her boot. "You'd be surprised the tolerance a wench can build with a century on her hands."
In reply, Davoren spat a pair of incisors.
"What biting wit," Twilight noted. Then she coughed and almost fell. The healing helped, but there was little enough a single potion could do for ribs as broken as hers.
Without the fear of the warlock striking her down from behind, she limped toward Betrayal. Where it lay, shadows flickered along its edge, and she remembered its former wielder. Her eyes grew bleary for a heartbeat, but only for a heartbeat.
"Thtop!" Davoren commanded, with Asmodeus's authority.
But Twilight was unmoved. Of her own will, she stopped and turned halfway to look.
"You neeth me," he said through blood and spittle, his voice slurred without some of his teeth. "My power-to ethcape thith plathe. You'll never make it witho'w help!"
"A good point." She pulled the amulet over her head-so it could find her. "Ruukthalmuramaxamin!" she called. "Hear me! I have a new bargain for you."
As gold energy began to circle around her, Davoren's face sank. "Whore!" he spat. "You had beth watch over your thoulder-my mathter never forgeth a foe! I'll take pleathure in watching you die, like I did with that gold weathel and her corpth of a mate."
Twilight paused. "Hold, Ruuk," she said, dropping the chain back to her neck. The magic faded, and Davoren chuckled-with a cough.
As the elf limped to where Davoren's stiletto lay, gripping her bleeding side, she listened to Davoren laying out his plans for her humiliating demise. She was amused.
As she crossed into the hall, her shadow broke from its spell and hissed back around her, its touch like a chilling caress. Twilight almost took comfort in it.
"Filliken! Trollop! Thuccubuth!" he roared. "I'll thow you! I'll burn a hole in your thull-an keep you alive, begging! Athmodeuth will have hith due tribute by my hand! Your trickery ith nothing to my art!"
Twilight slipped the bloody stiletto up the sleeve of her good arm. Then she tipped up Betrayal with her toe. Tilted, it sparkled hotly in the torchlight. She thought about running him through, but every way she looked at it, it just seemed too honorable.
She settled for stabbing him in the gut.
Davoren's jabbering turned frantic. "Juth like them. Juth like them all! I'm better than you!" Twilight heard the madness in his voice. Blood poured from his lips and his arm reached for her. "I'll kill you-I'll kill you-kill you!"
Then she bent, not without effort, and selected a nice, heavy rock. She smiled. "Not if I crush all your fingers first."
Surrounded by candles of human fat, kneeling on blankets of skin, Lord Divergence prayed to the demon prince. He demanded power rather than begged. Demogorgon would give nothing to the weak.
And the fiend was pleased with its servant, granting greater powers than it had before. A new skill, a new talent came into Gestal's mind, and his jaw dropped. It was a complex ritual, calling upon his patron in a lengthy invocation, but when it was done…
If Twilight did not respond as he wished by her own will, certain powers could be brought into play from which not even her trivial trickster god could save her.
Some time later, sharn magic deposited Twilight just outside the temple of Amauntor, Netherese god of the sun. Once Twilight had found it odd that a sharn would make its home in such a place-in order and in the dark-but now she found it fitting.
Golden light sparked and hissed around her, matrices and lattices of Art that served their purpose, then were gone. She felt the touch of order, so foreign to her free spirit, sliding away from her. The light flickered off the sapphir
e pendant hanging from her fist, then left her in darkness-not a barrier to her darksight.
She slipped her amulet back on, settling into its false security.
Twilight shivered, but would not allow something tiny like discomfort to stay her. Too many had died-too many friends had left her, stolen by Gestal.
And yet within that murderer, that horrible monster, she had glimpsed a spirit like hers. Abused, hated, and confused, surviving by lies. Like her, and like Davoren, too.
Seemingly of one mind, the doors to the temple ground open, scraping against the cavern floor as over bones. They thundered against the walls like the tolling of doom. As hesitant as if she were signing a death warrant, Twilight walked through that mighty portal.
As she did, she casually wiped Davoren's blood from Betrayal. A gleam of white shone through the gray, as though the troll's burning blood had eaten away a casing of rust, revealing a pure heart.
Twilight found that amusing. It certainly would not describe her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Twilight went quickly through the caverns, her only companion the shadow she had summoned. They moved as one, silent as death, fleeting as the darkness itself.
To avoid the fiendish lizards and other perils of the depths, Twilight did not hesitate to call upon the powers Erevan granted. With his power to silence her moves and keep herself shrouded, she descended to Tlork's dungeon, then ascended past the limits of the mythallar.
"I see, Chameleon," she said. "You know what I want, and you are with me-whether I ask for your aid or not. Guide me through this, and I won't curse you again. I might even speak well of you-only in private, of course."
No response came, and though Twilight had never expected one in the past, now she wondered.
Her shadow could not speak, but its eyeless gaze could convey emotions and thoughts just as well as words. It sent Twilight a wry, bemused glance, then flitted off into the darkness ahead. Twilight could only see it thanks to the darksight Neveren had taught her.
Depths of Madness td-1 Page 27
