“Gargan!” Twilight shouted. She leaped to aid, but couldn’t avoid an outflung axe handle. Twilight took it in the belly and doubled over.
Beshaba, it was only a jest, she thought.
Then an axe came at her face, and she knew only darkness.
A ruby streak smashed the grimlock’s face into a bloody mist as Liet’s short sword tore its way through the nearest one. The grimlock still snarled, caught in its death throes. The Dalesman seized its throat and pushed the dying thing away as it sank to the floor. Its claws beat at him limply. Liet gasped and shuddered when it was dead.
The warlock snarled and threw out another blast, burning a fleeing grimlock. He scanned the room, searching for other breathing targets, but only two stood: the hulking Gargan, and the blood-spattered Liet. Noxious green smoke obscured half the room, but it was beginning to fade. As the cloud dissipated, Liet saw no grimlocks for Davoren to slaughter.
Davoren saw it too. “By the Nine,” said the warlock. “What a disappointment.”
“Everyone well?” Liet’s head ached where an axe handle had struck it. “Asson?”
The mage coughed and shimmered into visibility where he sat on the floor. “This old heart’s still beating.”
“Gargan and Davoren, you’re both well?”
“In a sense,” said Davoren. “I believe my hair was mussed.” He cracked his knuckles and smoothed the gray spikes back against his scalp. He didn’t look injured. The goliath nodded silently.
Liet didn’t see anyone else, so he called their names. “Taslin?”
No response.
“Slip?”
There came a groan. “By the Mother,” the halfling’s soft voice cracked.
Gargan bent down and prodded at a small body half hidden under a grimlock. He murmured something. The halfling shook her head and sat up. She looked up at the giant man, smiled weakly, and threw her arms around his leg. Gargan blinked at her.
“’Light?” asked Liet.
No reply.
His voice shook. “Twilight?”
Tracing a semicircle over the room with his hand, Gargan growled something in his rough tongue, and while Liet did not understand, the meaning seemed clear.
“No bodies,” Asson said, reflecting his thoughts. “Taken?”
Liet helped him up, and the old man leaned on his shoulder. Liet propped him against a wall and broke away to search the room. He saw nothing.
“Five or six escaped,” Liet said. “The elves are light.”
“My, my,” said Davoren, “how unfortunate for them.” He smiled at the halfling, who was still shaking her head. “Now, child—point us toward this upward tunnel.”
Slip rubbed her brow, where a little blood trickled down.
“What?”
“No.” Asson turned to confront the warlock. Davoren’s red eyes went to the mage’s face, and he faltered but spoke up. “We can’t just aban—”
“Abandon them?” Davoren proposed. “What an excellent idea. I think such a course is the optimal one. If Tymora smiles, they will keep the creatures occupied while we make good our escape. Wenches tend to be adept at such things. If they aren’t dead already, that is.” He cracked his knuckles. “Now. Where is the tunnel?”
The wide-eyed halfling pressed her face into Gargan’s knee.
Ashen-faced, mouth open, Asson put one hand up as though to cast a spell. Davoren pointed two fingers at him. Red fire danced around his gauntlet. “Oh yes, whitebeard,” he said. “Try me now, when your little love-slave isn’t here to protect you.” He looked down. “Or hold you up, even.”
“I-I object,” Liet said before he realized his mouth was open. When the warlock turned smug eyes on him, he stammered. “W-we have to save them. I think—”
“Truly?” Davoren shrugged. “Well, you’re wrong. Now then.”
“In the absence of our leader, we should put this to a vote,” Asson said, drawing Davoren’s gaze. Davoren kept one hand aimed at Asson and moved the other toward Liet. Fire arced between his arms. Liet could feel his body shaking.
As soon as those red eyes left him, Liet felt his tongue freed. “Aye. A vote.”
With death pointed at Asson and Liet, the warlock burst out laughing. “A vote? Oh, please. We’ve gone over this before. We’ll do what I say, because I am the strongest. Oh, but do object. By all means. I shan’t need the two of you, anyway.”
“No.” Liet’s eyes widened as Gargan put his hand on the back of Davoren’s neck. How had he moved so stealthily, with such a huge body? “Vote.”
The warlock glared up at the goliath for several long breaths, but it was unclear what he was thinking. Perhaps he realized the fragility of his position—a twist of Gargan’s wrist would snap his neck—or perhaps he was considering whether he could press on without support.
The warlock finally shrugged. “Very well. I shall indulge your foolishness.” He crossed his arms and Gargan released him. Davoren strode over to lean against the wall across the cavern from Asson. “This time.”
“Good,” Liet breathed. He wasn’t quite up to words. He was glad of the goliath’s support, though the emeralds in his gray face remained unreadable.
“I argue that we go back to save Taslin and Twilight,” Asson said. “They have served us well, and it would be foolish not to rescue them.”
“Of course you would,” snapped Davoren. “One of the wenches shares your bed, so your judgment is clouded. Thus, your voice holds no sway here.”
Asson’s face went bright red. “But—” The word became coughing.
“If we must vote, at least let our discussion be rational,” said Davoren. “I do not think you appreciate the dangers inherent, old man, in the proposal that we chase the grimlocks. I rather think you are considering with your—”
In the face of this intimidation, Liet felt angry rather than afraid. “Despite your lack of respect, Davoren—something I have come to expect from you …” That was Twilight talking, he realized, and it made his heart leap. “His vote must stand.”
“No. He is highly emotional, incapable of real decisions. Look at his face.”
Asson looked away.
“W-well then,” Liet said. “His vote counts as an abstention. I vote aye. Even you cannot twist me into conceding an emotional state.”
Davoren sneered. “Even your obvious affection for our erstwhile mistress, eh?”
Liet fought to keep his face from blushing. He hadn’t been thinking anything of the sort, but somehow the words stung. Nevertheless, Liet spoke, his voice a little choppy. “She has struck me more often than any sane man needs as a deterrent,” he said. Again, that was Twilight. “That should tell you of her affections.”
Davoren considered, then shrugged. “Some day, you should ask her about her former lovers—and the fates to which she led them,” he said. Liet shivered, and Davoren looked at the trembling Slip. “The halfling, then.”
Asson smiled at Liet. “Perhaps you truly are the age you seem.”
Liet blinked. “What?”
“I’d thought you but a child in a man’s body,” Asson said softly, “but you do have your moments of wisdom, do you not?”
“Uh.”
Something happened at that moment—something that made Liet blink. The room grew colder, or perhaps hotter. Davoren—dark and frightening of appearance as he was, suddenly darkened, as though a devil had climbed into his skin. Or, more accurately, as though his soul had blackened and became even more intense. His eyes gleamed and his voice flowed like silk.
Liet knew he had invoked some fiendish abilities, but damned if he could recognize a word or gesture of casting. Even Asson looked at Davoren, stunned.
“Child,” the warlock said. “You want to get out of this dark hole, do you not?”
Slip looked at Liet pointedly, as though awaiting some signal. She shivered, but her eyes were calm. What did she want? Why did she look to him, out of all of them?
Unanswered, she looked back at Davoren. “U
h … aye.”
“And you do not want to waste precious time, or risk more attacks before you can escape, eh?” His smooth voice seemed infinitely persuasive.
Liet was speechless. He felt the sword in his hand, and wondered if it had any chance of injuring the warlock—the fiend.
“Uh, no. No, I don’t w-want that,” said Slip.
“And neither do you want to risk your life, or all of ours, just to assuage the lusts of fools, old or young.”
Liet bristled, and this time he would have attacked had Asson not coughed. At least, such is what he told himself. The concept of making a move against Davoren struck him as being like suicide—only more certain.
Asson slowly shook his head. “This is her fight,” he said. “Do not interfere.”
Liet realized at that moment that Asson was afraid, too—even more afraid of Davoren than losing Taslin? The youth shuddered.
Slip shook her head.
“Then speak up,” the warlock invited. “Speak against their fool crusade.”
“B-but …” Slip said.
The warlock frowned. “You are strong of will, child,” he said. “And you care about them more than you confess. If you will not speak against their rescue, at the least decide that you will not speak for it. Abstain.”
“I-I will,” Slip said finally. “I abstain.”
Liet gasped. “You cheated! You forced that out of her!”
“No,” Slip argued. “No. I just … I can’t decide on this. I don’t want to make up your minds for you. As Yondalla teaches, saving them is … the right thing, but killing us all to save them….”
“Very well,” said Davoren. “It looks like we’re undecided. In that case …”
“Actually,” Asson said. “’tis one vote left.”
“Truly?” Davoren said, feigning astonishment. “Oh yes—there is.” He sneered.
Liet realized he had played right into the warlock’s hands. Gargan.
Of course, Davoren expected the goliath to vote nay—the hulking creature had shown no signs of attachment to Twilight and Taslin thus far. And Asson had planned this, too. All his hopes rested on the goliath.
They all turned toward Gargan, who until that moment had been silent.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I thilnin karanok! Garum tellek!”
There was mud amid the darkness, dancing shadows, and a dull ache.
Throughout her long life, Twilight had spent enough time unconscious to know not to open her eyes immediately. That was a common mistake that had earned many a novice thief a solid punch in the mouth at best, a rusty knife in the gut at worst.
She used her other four senses first—the kind that weren’t obvious, and wouldn’t prompt such unpleasantness from her captors.
Around her, Twilight picked up the sounds of chanting in a language she could not understand. Regardless, her keen mind processed the growling, rough texture of the words. It might have shared common roots with Dwarvish, but it was otherwise unfamiliar.
“Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek!” the chant proclaimed.
Doesn’t sound good, whatever it is, she thought.
Twilight smelled a combination of moldering wood and old stone—a musty scent she sensed was that of the grimlocks—mixed with a kind of summer flower, very faint, whose source she could not even guess. Falling into awareness of her body, Twilight surmised that she was being carried upon some kind of platform, laid out lengthwise. And, most importantly, her hands and feet were tied.
That was not a good sign.
Slowly, Twilight opened her eyes. She was right—four grimlocks bore her, bound but not gagged, upon a wooden pallet, marching down an aisle formed by their chanting fellows. There were no torches, so she could see only with her darksight. On her right, Twilight saw Taslin similarly secured and carried by four more.
That would explain the flowery scent, thought Twilight. She could tell from the priestess’s breathing that Taslin was awake, but feigning unconsciousness as well. Wise.
“Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek!” the grimlocks chanted.
Twilight almost hoped Taslin wasn’t merely pretending so that she might be spared what would come next. “Taslin,” she said, since the sun couldn’t see her.
Taslin’s eyes opened slowly. “They did not gag us,” said the priestess in Elvish.
“The better to enjoy our screams, I would imagine,” Twilight replied in kind. “Try not to move.”
The nearest eyeless beast turned its attention to Twilight. Its sightless focus felt as keen as any knife. As open-minded as she had become in her travels, the empty gaze of the grimlocks still disturbed Twilight profoundly.
“Their senses extend only so far,” Twilight said. “They can see without eyes and can hear us, but it seems we can talk. You will only provoke them if you move. And no spellcasting. They have their own priests.”
Taslin looked about without moving her head. Her eyes flicked back to Twilight. “This is a ritual,” she said.
“Indeed.”
“Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek darakow!”
“And we’re the ones to be sacrificed.”
“I can only assume so.”
“No,” said Taslin. “I can understand their words.”
Twilight raised a brow.
“My earring,” she explained.
“Right.”
“Ithilnin karanok! Garum tellek darakow!” the grimlocks roared. In Twilight’s opinion, the chant was starting to grate.
“A chant about a god, a name—Ithilnin—and sacrificing us.” Her face turned stormy. “They think we’re drow.”
“That would explain the yellow and white flesh, respectively.”
“You could always be an albino drow,” she said.
Twilight couldn’t help but smile. Of all the things she had been called in her long life, she hadn’t heard that one before.
Not, of course, that the grimlocks could distinguish color, she realized.
Floating along that dark path, completely blind—the grimlocks had no need of torches, being able to “see” in perfect darkness—Taslin sighed. Her attempt at levity had been artifice. Unless the others came to rescue them in the next two dozen heartbeats….
“Do you think the others survived?” she asked, hoping Twilight was still awake.
“No.” A pause. “And even if they did, they wouldn’t come back for us. Davoren will control them—and he hates you almost as much as he hates me.”
“Why does he hate you so?”
Twilight did not reply.
“How do we escape?” Taslin asked.
“Occasionally, being polite works.” Twilight said. “So I’m told, anyway.”
“Then I shall speak to them,” said Taslin. “They may understand Common, at least.” The priestess addressed the nearest grimlock in the trade tongue. “We are not your enemies. Release us,” she said. “Appease your vile god some other way.”
Something warm and sticky struck her cheek, and the creature growled in its own guttural speech, which came through her earring as Elvish. “Silence, drow.”
“I confess, my suggestion was something of a jest,” said Twilight.
Taslin ignored the spittle running down her face. “Come to think of it, they probably can’t see color.”
“Ithilnin! Ithilnin karanok! Ithilnin!” The chant only redoubled in volume.
“That’s it, then,” Twilight said. “Can’t go wrong with pretty lasses on the altar.”
“You are so young.” Taslin shook her head. “Do you take nothing seriously?”
“Not if I can help it.” The tremor in her voice didn’t display calm, though. “In the face of inescapable death, if you haven’t got your sense of humor, what have you got?”
Taslin closed her eyes in silent acquiescence, and she forced an ironic smile, even though she felt like crying. She’d just learned something about her companion—not from her words, but form how she had spoken.
Fear. Twilight was afraid.
/>
During the silence that followed, Twilight took the opportunity to explore their surroundings, moving only her eyes.
The grimlocks carried them through a plain, if large, cavern. With closer scrutiny, however, Twilight realized it was some sort of settlement. The city—if such it could be called—was completely unlit. If not for her darksight, she would have observed none of it.
Three dozen or so houses carved out of the rock adorned the sides of the cavern, stacked two, three, even four high. A series of ladders led to each house, and grimlocks stood—dead silent—outside each door, their arms held aloft in recognition. Male and female they stood, Twilight guessed, along with children. She might have found it charming if the situation hadn’t been so dire, and if they weren’t so eyeless. The unnerving, empty gazes felt like death itself.
In front of the window or door of each house hung several rods on a rope that Twilight took for a crude wind chime, though there was no wind underground. She was proven wrong, however, when one of the creatures reached up and tapped the contraption. Its three reeds spun, producing a series of whistles that rippled through the air, perking up ears and turning heads.
A means of producing sound—thus making them able to find their way—without opening their mouths, Twilight thought. How practical.
The grimlock leading the ritual procession held his arms aloft and stopped. Silence fell and all eyes in the city—all four of them—went to his crude robes, horned headpiece, and gnarled staff. Twilight noted that the leader wore both of the elves’ swords, though none of their other equipment had been taken.
She also couldn’t help but note that he wore a particularly shiny ring on his finger, a plain gold band that looked rather familiar. Twilight’s eyes narrowed. A coincidence?
Twilight felt the reassuring pressure of her hidden amulet against her collarbone. Its power would prevent anyone from noticing it who wasn’t specifically looking. Ordinarily, Twilight would be comforted, but part of her wanted the amulet off so any searchers would see her peril and come to her aid. And of course, her hands were tied.
Ironic, she thought. How like her lord and master to trick her to her death.
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