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, suddenly 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.
That’s the second time I’ve leaped on that boy, Twilight thought as Liet groped his way off her. Best not make a habit of it.
She rose, fluidly and gracefully. Gargan and Slip seemed indifferent. Taslin and Asson had politely turned their backs. Only Davoren stared. Twilight shot him a kiss, and he turned away.
She waved them on and they continued up the steps, avoiding the walls.
“What language was that?” she asked Asson, who had seemed to understand it.
“Netherese,” the old wizard said. “’tis a difficult dialect, though.” Taslin, Twilight noted, scratched at an earring she wore. “The words were … inverted, somehow. Curious. I shall ponder this.”
“Well, keep pondering,” said Davoren. “It’s all you’ll be good for.”
Twilight hissed them to silence. The top of the steps opened into a new chamber.
Motioning Slip to join her, Twilight drew Betrayal and crept up the stairs, leaving the others a few paces behind. The dusky blade felt light and eager in her hand. Flames, alternating with a humming pulse of lightning, hissed up the blade out of the corner of her eye. Twilight was accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of the rapier, so much that they reassured her. They provided a kind of constancy in a world defined by change.
She and Slip crept to the opening, staying low to the floor.
“I can’t see in the dark,” whispered the halfling.
“I can,” replied Twilight. She scanned the rough-hewn walls and the myriad runes inscribed on stone slabs that lay strewn about the room. “A crypt.” She eyed the sarcophagi, many of which were upset or torn open. “A disturbed crypt.”
“By the Matriarch,” said Slip with a shudder. “A crypt? I hate crypts!”
“We’re probably coming from the lowest point in these catacombs,” said Twilight. “Why? Because that’s always the way it is.”
She could see no movement in the crypt, but that didn’t mean nothing was there. Possessed of the silence and patience of the grave, undead could elude the most delicate eyes. Twilight saw red streaks that traced a path from this stair deeper into the chamber. She didn’t have to smell or taste it to know what it was.
“Slip.” Twilight turned to her companion, who was huddled against the wall beside her. She reached out and touched the halfling lightly on the shoulder, which evoked a gasp. “Does Yondalla grant you power over the dead?”
“Well, um, I, uh,” said Slip. Some of her confusion might have come from shock at Twilight’s guess—some from fear. “I’m not really, um, a priest, uh, exactly.”
“Fair enough.” She turned back and beckoned. “Taslin.”
The elf moved up to Twilight’s side. Clad in full armor, hand on her sword hilt, the eldritch priestess looked bold and strong compared to the hesitant halfling at her side. Slip crossed her arms and assumed a pout.
Twilight’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have power over the walking dead?”
“The power of Corellon shall smite them if they dare rise against us,” Taslin said.
“An ‘aye’ would do as well, sun—but onward. Conjure some light and let us go.”
Twilight, Slip, and Taslin strode into the room. In her armor, the priestess made enough noise to wake the dead, but Twilight decided that was irrelevant. If anything objected to being roused, Taslin would give them a morning feast of Corellon’s power. The Seldarine had their uses.
Slip, not to be completely undone, sent a flicker of magic into a stone that she held, lighting it.
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br /> The crypt was wide with a low ceiling. Compartments for the dead were carved in the walls. Decorating the walls were runes and crumbling mosaics. The former she could not read, and the latter depicted great battles between spellhurlers, dragons, and creatures she didn’t recognize—strange worms shaped like cones, with arms that flung fire. The humans seemed to be winning, but Twilight knew appearances could be deceiving. A central mosaic on the ceiling depicted a number of casters—one crowned wizard in particular—surrounding a black creature in a cage of magical force.
She and Slip scanned the coffins but found nothing. Neither rat nor insect moved, and not a shadow stirred. They found no corpses, nor bones become half-dust—though the fresh stains were curious. In several of the compartments, Twilight also found teeth—broken and discarded—which she didn’t reveal to the others. No sense worrying them.
Twilight waved forward the others. Gargan and Liet, blades at the ready, stood at the flanks of Davoren and Asson. The warlock sneered, uncertain whether to be insulted at the concern or pleased at the attention. Jaw set, Asson gripped his walking staff with its silver flame.
From the way Taslin, Asson, and Gargan moved, Twilight could tell they had delved into crypts before. Slip and Liet, not so much.
Several long breaths passed and nothing sprang from the darkness to attack. Each visibly relaxed, and even the nervous Slip breathed easier.
“Aye,” she said, making them all jump. “Why do you suppose we’re here?”
“Philosophy is a waste of schooling,” Davoren said with a dismissive wave.
“No, silly,” Slip said. “I mean here in this dungeon, of course.”
That got a reaction. Twilight saw Davoren staring at her. His mouth opened, and she held up a hand to stop them all. “Perhaps later,” Twilight said. “Keep your guard.”
“Twilight is correct,” Taslin said, though the words didn’t seem to please her. “We cannot be too careful.” She fell into a chant, then, beseeching Corellon’s aid.
“A meaningless gesture,” said Davoren. He leaned against an open sarcophagus and illuminated its interior with ruby fire. Empty. “There hasn’t been anything alive in these catacombs for many years.”
Twilight thought of a riposte, but Asson beat her to it. “Undead are, by definition, dead,” he said.
Davoren spat on the floor.
Taslin finished her spell and laid a hand on Asson’s shoulder. A golden aura surrounded him, then faded. “So you will need no aid,” she said to Davoren.
The warlock scoffed. “As though I would accept your pathetic spells.”
“As you say,” said Taslin. “I can cast the spell once more.” She looked at Gargan, but the goliath stepped away.
“No,” said Twilight when Taslin turned to her. The sun elf didn’t seem convinced, so Twilight added an explanation. “As much as I can avoid it.”
Though her eyes remained suspicious, Taslin shrugged. She looked to Liet, who made no protest. Tenderly, she laid her hands on his cheeks, fostering the aura around him, and Twilight felt a twinge in her stomach. Suppressing a growl, Twilight broke away from the others.
It did not seem possible that they were alone. This tomb might have been carved a millennium past, but those bloody stains were fresh. Twilight kept her guard up as she headed toward the opening to another catacomb. Outside the aura of magelight, her attunement to the shadows took over, and she could see in the darkness.
The next room looked as empty as the first, devoid of bodies as if the interred dead had withered, been stolen, or—most unsettling—walked away. She didn’t enter the room, but searched along the door for traps or magical wards.
A ten count yielded a series of scorch marks along the inside of the portal, as well as a series of sigils inscribed faintly along the stone doorframe. Twilight tentatively examined them with her fingers and concentrated, seeking the resonance within the lettering. She felt nothing. A magical ward had once bound this portal, but its power had been long exhausted.
Just behind her, Twilight sensed a presence.
She peered into the gloom, ostensibly planning their route, all the while observing her companion without her eyes. She could not hear breathing or feel a heartbeat. Then, on her own count of five, she spun and bent her knees for a lunge.
“Gah!” Liet stumbled back, startled. “My-my apologies!”
How he had kept so quiet, Twilight could only wonder. She supposed she must have been more intent upon the door than she thought.
“Sneak up on many lasses, do you?” Twilight reached to help Liet to his feet.
“Uh, no, not as such,” he said, climbing up. When he had risen, he looked at her awkwardly. His face was red. “I wanted … to talk to you … about …”
“What?” she asked. And this boy was almost thirty years of age? She’d thought humans became adults before twenty. Well, no matter—she was sure no elf would call her mature for her age.
Liet’s eyes widened. “Oh, ah, nothing, then …”
“I see,” Twilight said, allowing a little danger in her voice. He gave her a helpless grin, and shielded himself with his hands.
Twilight had to smile at that. He might have been immature, but he didn’t suffer from stupidity—or plainness, for that matter.
She slapped Liet’s cheek lightly. “Now pay attention, boy,” she said. “Look with more than your eyes.”
“Eh?” Liet asked.
“I’ll show you.” She took his hand and pointed him toward the chamber. They gazed into the darkness. Liet’s grasp was tight, and Twilight found she enjoyed it.
Enjoyed it too much. She dropped his hand.
Davoren grumbled something under his breath, too soft for Taslin to hear.
“What was that?” Slip asked brightly. She looked at her mace, then down at Gargan’s bare foot, as though comparing the weapon and his toe.
“Why do we wait here?” the warlock asked. He nodded at Twilight and Liet. “Does she know something, or do they merely wish to be alone, I wonder?”
“Pettiness toward a boy, Lord Hellsheart?” Taslin asked. “Are you jealous of him?” She looked at Asson, who smiled at her. “Or of her, perhaps?”
The warlock whirled, outraged. Asson grinned, and Slip’s mouth became an O.
“Jealous of her authority, that is,” Taslin finished, to a chuckle and a snicker.
Davoren scowled. “She is a liar,” he said. “Do not trust her.”
“How do you know?” Slip asked, stealing what Taslin had been thinking.
The warlock’s lips pressed into a line, and his blood red eyes narrowed at Twilight. “Look at the way she claims to represent the interests of all, yet obviously favors that one.”
Taslin looked at them, standing close, looking into the darkness. As she and Asson watched, Twilight took Liet’s hand for a breath, then dropped it, as though realizing she was being watched.
Slip looked back. “Nay,” she said. “Not seeing it.”
Davoren sighed. “She lies,” he said. “She is hiding something. What of her mark? Her sword? That jewel she wears at her neck? Surely those, at least, mean something.”
Taslin stared hard at him. “You know Twilight?”
“The golden goddess speaks!” Davoren said. “Very well. I shall—”
Then his words vanished, choked off. An unseen force lifted and hurled the warlock into Gargan, who staggered back, stunned.
CHAPTER FIVE
Twilight heard shouts and a crash as Davoren slammed into Gargan. She whirled.
A creature materialized where the warlock had stood. Desiccated flesh stretched tightly across the gaunt figure’s bony ridges, and its eyes burned with rage and hatred. Its clothes were old and tattered, the fashion of a long-forgotten age. Tufts of inky black hair stood on its cracked and peeling scalp, and it grinned a mouthful of needlelike teeth.
“Wights!” Twilight shouted, thrusting Liet behind her and brandishing her rapier.
“By Corellon!” Taslin shouted
, channeling Corellon’s wrath. Her holy symbol, a golden crescent fused to her sword’s hilt, burst with daylight.
The wight flew backward and shattered into thousands of pieces, all of which crumbled to dust before striking the opposite wall.
All around the creature’s path, monsters just like it shimmered into being, shambling as though dazed. The display of Corellon’s power had not destroyed them, like the first wight, but it had ruined their concealing magic.
“Invisible wights,” corrected Twilight.
A score of the horrid creatures burst into view all around them, claws and fangs raking. Only Taslin’s power kept them all from being overwhelmed in that first moment, foiling many attacks as the wights recoiled from the painful light.
Twilight shut her eyes, relying instead on her hearing and instinct, and lunged ahead. Sure enough, she impaled one of the invisible monsters as it prepared to leap at her. The thing, confused by her sudden, perfect strike, slumped to the ground, its animating essence lost. Flames flickered up and down Betrayal’s hissing steel.
The shadowdancer had no time to gloat, for she sensed an attack coming from her right. She dived forward in a roll as blasts of energy scored the air where she had stood. Her success was short lived, however, as the bolts veered in the air to slam into Twilight’s chest, blowing her to the floor. Through her agony, she saw a wight standing in a corner, weaving its hands in arcane gestures.
“Wizard wights?” she groaned.
“’Light!” Liet shouted, leaping to the attack, but a half-visible wight slammed into him. Liet tumbled to the floor, grappling with the horror.
Weapons darting, the others formed a tight circle around the staggering Davoren and the coughing Asson. Gargan caused the most havoc to the wights, his battle-axe sending a creature whithering with every swing or two. Taslin continued to blast holy power to shatter the undead foes or drive them back. Davoren righted himself, his eyes blazing. Then he threw a deafening blast of crimson power that drove one of the monsters staggering back, burned by otherworldly fire in the shape of snarling devils.
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