Indicating the prisoners, the grimlock priest uttered a series of grunts and hoots, casting his staff back and forth as though fighting invisible attackers. When he was done, the grimlocks of the city hooted and growled in agreement.
“What did he say?” Twilight asked quietly.
“Calling upon their god, Ithilnin,” whispered Taslin, “and a blessing over those the Great Slitherer shall consume.”
“Radiant,” said Twilight. “That sounds like something I’d look forward to.”
The chorus of applause and hooting ended, and the column moved forward again.
Twilight saw Taslin’s lips moving gently. She spoke silently. Not magic—the shadowdancer would have sensed that. Rather …
“Aillesel seldarie,” Taslin prayed quietly. “May the Seldarine preserve us.”
“You say that as if they would,” said Twilight. Taslin’s eyes flew open and a pained look came over her face, colorless in darksight. “The gods hear what they choose to hear, and they don’t need us telling them what prayers to answer.”
They reached an even greater cavern than the one that held the city. The rock walls were plain, and other than the massive size, the space was unremarkable. A perfectly rounded tunnel, much like the ones Twilight had seen earlier, opened from the floor in the center of the chamber. The sacrificial chasm, she imagined, out of which their god would emerge.
“But—”
“If your lord wanted to save us, he’d have done so,” said Twilight. “Or maybe he yet will. Either way, he doesn’t need you reminding him that we’re about to die. Or—more accurately—be eaten by this Ithlin-ithnin thing.”
One of the grimlocks snarled at her, recognizing the word as its god, and Twilight flinched despite herself. “Ith-il-nin,” she spat. “My mistake.”
Silence reigned.
“You made it clear you will not talk about your past,” Taslin whispered.
“Good,” Twilight said in the Common tongue.
The blind creatures lifted both their pallets and set them up high—likely on an altar, Taslin thought. The priest’s voice lessened, as though backing away. She imagined that she and Twilight were alone. Abruptly, some sort of light appeared in the darkness—bonfires lit by the grimlocks. Their heat fell upon Taslin’s face, and she could see flickers and dancing shapes. The moon elf was lying straight and dead as a rod, looking around.
“If you’re wanting a heart to heart now that we’re about to die,” she said, looking at Taslin sidelong, “can’t say I’m interested.”
“I have only one question I wish to ask,” said Taslin.
Her companion sighed. “I suppose it hardly matters now, since we’re about to be eaten and all. Query, Taslin, and I’ll answer.”
“You serve Erevan Ilesere—the trickster god—do you not?”
Twilight looked at her curiously for a heartbeat, then looked away. That told Taslin all she needed to know. “I see,” the priestess said softly.
The moon elf smiled with bemusement. “You got that idea from the mark?” she asked in Common, gesturing with her head toward her hips. “Or from the sword hilt? Or perhaps my charming personality?”
The world shuddered and the chanting increased in speed and intensity. The fires were blazing and the chamber was lit up as bright as day. The grimlocks’ gray flesh glistened with sweat, drool, and other juices Taslin didn’t care to identify.
“All of them,” Taslin replied in kind. “My real question, though, is that if you are a fellow servant of the Seldarine, why do you not pray for aid, as I do? Why not supplicate your lord?”
“Because I would rather die,” she said, “than talk to that scheming, lecherous, backstabbing old bastard ever again. He used me, and as you can see, he hates me.”
Taslin realized that was a lie—or perhaps not the whole truth. She wasn’t about to be deceived. “Why not beseech Lord Corellon, then? Surely the elf gods—”
“I want nothing to do with the elf gods,” Twilight said. “I turned my back on the People long ago, for reasons that are my own, and I’ve no desire to turn again.”
Why was Twilight lying to her?
The grimlocks’ chanting rose in volume.
“No offense meant, of course.”
Taslin nodded. The two fell into silence.
Perhaps her bravado was a lie, and she truly was a child.
Twilight looked away from the priestess to hide her shock. Taslin didn’t believe her, and that made her afraid—more afraid than all the grimlocks in all the Realms could have made her, sacrificial chants or no.
Only then did she realize that the cavern had fallen silent. The grimlocks had ceased their ecstatic chanting and stood rapt, their hands wide. Tremors shook the vast chamber. The creatures all turned toward the hole from which their god would emerge.
“What—” Taslin started, but a roar tore her words away, shattering the tranquility of the cavern. If the roar was loud to the elves, it was splitting to sensitive grimlock ears. The creatures fell to the ground, hands clasped to their heads.
A great serpentine form burst through the tunnel, its head letting out a mighty cry. Its purple carapace—smooth, thick, and solid as steel—creaked and twisted in the air high over their heads. Yellow-green spittle dripped from its jaws and dotted the floor, leaving the dark stone pitted and hissing as acid burned it.
A purple worm, Twilight thought. She’d never seen one this big.
The grimlocks, hearing and smelling their slithering god emerging from its tunnel, gave a great cry of “Ithilnin!” and supplicated themselves, putting their foreheads down on the stone. The high priest intoned a phrase in his tongue and laid himself prone.
Twilight nodded grimly and stared up, resolved to look death in the face. Taslin did the same, gave a slight smile, and fainted. Curious—not the faint, but the smile.
Then Twilight looked up, wondering as to the source of her mirth. The worm did nothing more than loom overhead, cast its gaze back and forth, and roar every so often. Then silence fell—absolute silence around them.
In the quiet, the worm was less frightening. In fact, she barely realized it was there. Twilight was about to express her confusion when she felt fumbling hands and her frown became a grin.
Working quickly, Slip and Liet severed the bonds that held Taslin and Twilight, while the worm distracted the grimlocks. Within a magical bubble of silence, they were as good as invisible. Slip mouthed instructions to follow her, then gestured—clearly the spell was set upon her—but Twilight knew the reach of such a spell.
She rolled off the pallet, dropped to the stone without a whisper, and padded over to the prostrate priest. The creature shook his head, but the silence kept him blind.
Just as her fingers were about to relieve the priest of her sword, Twilight felt Liet catch her arm to keep her within the magical silence. She wanted to struggle, but he was right—the spell did not extend over the priest, merely up to him.
Twilight realized her tricks at legerdemain would hardly work on a creature that sensed by nose and ear, rather than by eye. She loathed leaving Betrayal behind, but she understood necessity.
A shock rippled through the floor of the chamber, throwing a startled Twilight to the ground. She could hear nothing outside the silence, but one look at the scores of quavering grimlocks, blood running from their ears, told her enough.
Her eyes turned upward to the beast above them, and she saw not one, but two purple menaces.
The real Ithilnin had come.
CHAPTER NINE
The second purple worm loomed even larger than the first, its scaled carapace cracked and spiked with serrated spines. At its top, huge bone jaws like dozens of axes snapped wide enough to swallow a team of horses whole. At the other end of the worm sprang a stinger the size of an ogre’s two-handed sword. Dark veins of greenish acid ran over its body, burning away the stone around its body.
But most astonishing, when the acid struck the first worm, the creature flickered and
winked out of existence. Asson appeared, hovering in the air where the illusory worm’s maw had been.
The grimlock high priest snarled—or so Twilight guessed, for no sound penetrated the aura of silence. He wove his hands through a counterspell.
Twilight leaped at him as he cast, scrabbling at his hands to ruin the spell, but she was too late. Sound rushed into her ears, including the mind-splitting roar of the grimlock’s looming purple god.
Everything seemed to happen in a single moment. The huge worm lunged at Asson, who flew away, showering magical flame upon the creature in a vain attempt to drive it back. As Taslin shouted a warning, Liet and Slip drew out weapons to strike at the grimlocks around them who had risen, axes ready. The high priest began another chant even as Twilight yanked her rapier from his belt and ran the creature through. The words died in a gurgle, and the priest’s bodyguards lunged at her. Twilight pulled at her weapon, but it had stuck in the high priest’s ribcage.
Two of the grimlock honor guards spun to behead her with their stone axes, but seemingly from nowhere, Gargan leaped to her defense, bowling the eyeless creatures over. Twilight seized the opportunity to relieve the high priest of Taslin’s sword, the familiar gold ring, and Betrayal, which was still caught in his ribs.
“Taslin!” Twilight shouted, and tossed the priestess’s blade as she lunged to run a grimlock through with her own.
Already chanting, the priestess caught it, renewing her connection to Corellon in a heartbeat. Holy power burst from her hand and smashed aside four of the grimlocks who were rushing at the adventurers. Twilight flinched away—not anxious to get so close to holy power, which would burn the darkness out of a body. She didn’t think Corellon would burn her, but better safe than dead. At least she was not evil.
Speaking of evil …
Sand and dark, she exclaimed silently, where’s Davoren?
Had the warlock been slain? Twilight doubted that. More likely, Davoren had betrayed the others, leaving them all to perish at the hands of—
A flaming blast of dark power ripped through the cavern, blowing the grimlock facing her into a thousand bits. The power arced to a second eyeless brute, shattering his ribcage, then a third, sending the creature spinning to the ground. The shadowdancer looked up to see Davoren standing near the exit to the cavern, lashing out with his demonic powers.
Gargan stood with Twilight, his axe working furiously to fend off the eyeless monsters. They faced half a dozen foes each, and it was all Twilight could do to fend them off with her rapier and avoid being chopped in two. She couldn’t block the axes with a rapier, and each time she parried a stone spear aside, sparks flew from the Hizagkuur blade.
Arcane syllables in Asson’s aged voice rippled on high, drawing Twilight’s eyes. Flame shot from Asson’s outstretched hand. The worm’s jaws shut just in time and the fire burned its way down the beast’s sides. The creature, undeterred, snapped at him, but the old mage flailed out of the way. The worm caught the fringe of his reddish robe, tearing a long strip of fabric free.
Launching a double parry to deflect spears sailing in from the right and left—just wide enough to escape their points—Twilight realized that as overmatched as she was, the mage knew worse straits. His foot didn’t impede his flight, but he could not defeat a purple worm by himself.
“Davoren! Help Asson!” Twilight shouted.
She lunged forward, inside a grimlock’s swing, twisting her arm back and around to reverse the blade. The stunned creature couldn’t do more than blink as she slammed her back into his chest. Her blade shot under her arm and skewered the grimlock’s heart. She ducked aside as he fell and sized up her next target.
She hadn’t expected, however, that the creature would be so wide or fall so fast—she couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. The limp grimlock toppled and pinned Twilight to the ground. Betrayal skittered away. A nearby grimlock raised his flint spear, and she could do nothing to defend herself.
“’Light!” came a shout. The grimlock whirled and a blade impaled his belly.
Liet shoved at the corpse that held her down. Perhaps he was not quite a man in his head, but he wielded steel well. Unable to keep herself from flashing him a thankful smile as he worked, she looked up to assess how the others fared.
Gargan’s axe and fist worked together to lay grimlocks low. Slip and Taslin, sword and mace singing, held off a dozen of the eyeless creatures. Though a hundred or more grimlocks had filled the chamber before the worm’s appearance, many had fled the battle, leaving only the best warriors, perhaps two score of them.
The grimlocks, however, were the least of the band’s worries. The hulking purple worm hissed, spat, and weaved, chasing after Asson. The mage was a mere darting insect to the serpentine colossus, and a single bite or spit of acid would destroy him. Fortunately, the old man’s magic bore him quickly enough to avoid the worm’s lunges.
Meanwhile, Davoren sent ray after ray of ruby energy into the creature, timing his attacks to match Asson’s magic. Twilight imagined that the unseeing worm, its senses based on hearing and touch, could not know that the pesky mage—of which it was well aware—was not the source of the stinging blasts.
The battle would remain at a standstill, Twilight realized, until Asson’s magic expired or the others ran out of spells. Then that worm would turn its attention from the source of its pain and devour the others.
Seeing that Twilight would be free in a breath, Gargan sent another pair of grimlocks staggering back with a pulse of his powerful shoulders. He lunged across the cavern to join Slip and Taslin, who faced difficulties of their own.
With Liet’s help, Twilight squirmed out from under the grimlock corpse, and not a moment too soon. A pair of grimlocks thrust spears at them. Liet managed to knock one aside, and expertly twisted it out of the grimlock’s hands with a flick of his wrist.
Twilight dodged the other spear thrust, letting it slide harmlessly past her, and plucked up Betrayal with her toe. Then she danced inside the creature’s guard and the grimlock through. Liet’s foe whirled, and she put her rapier through the grimlock’s face.
“Heh,” Liet said. “I’m better at disarming than finishing, eh?”
“Retreat!” shouted Twilight. “Away from the—”
At that moment, instinct told Twilight to duck, and she never failed to trust instinct. A thrown spear glanced off her shoulder. It should have torn through her silk shirt, but the gold ring she had slipped onto her finger draped her body in magic as thick and protective as a suit of mail.
Someone caught her arm, and Twilight almost killed Liet. “Are you all right?” the youth shouted in her face.
Twilight cringed. “Easy, lad,” she snapped, rubbing her ear. “I’m right here.”
Back to back in a circle of bodies, the two batted away weapons and riposted. The creatures came from all directions but Twilight and Liet were only two, so they kept turning. Spears jabbed at them, and they deflected the points as best they could. One caught Liet’s shoulder and the man gasped, but Twilight pushed him back off the flint tip.
A stout grimlock charged, spear low. Twilight swept her rapier down to turn it aside, and Liet stepped in her path before she could riposte. He smashed his fist into the creature’s face. From the way he flinched and flexed his hand, Twilight was glad she hadn’t tried that.
“That’s what swords are for,” said Twilight. She demonstrated by putting her dusky blade through the startled grimlock’s throat, sending him to the floor.
“Point taken,” Liet scowled. He sidestepped a chop, slapped the wielder’s hands away from the grimlock the haft, and showed his newly acquired strategy by stabbing the grimlock in the side.
“Well done,” Twilight said. He didn’t fight very well, but he knew how to disarm.
“You never answered—” started Liet. He parried an axe high, his muscles straining against those of the grimlock and the flint sparking against his steel. Twilight stepped under his raised arms, twisted her wrist to s
horten her grip, and thrust once, twice, thrice, skewering the creature each time.
“Hmm?” she asked idly as the grimlock fell.
“My question,” Liet finished, panting. Blood flowed down his shield arm. “You never answered it.”
“Because it was a foolish question,” Twilight said simply. She turned back to the business of escaping. They’d broken the grimlocks’ circle and she hauled Liet back. They fought a retreating battle toward the others, near what Twilight hoped was an exit tunnel.
Asson spun out of the way just in time to keep his head, and threw a lightning bolt into the worm’s body. The worm jerked and whipped, caught in a fury of electricity, but only for a moment. The beast was as tough as a serpent of stone and as fast as a dragon. Twilight knew Asson could not flee to save himself, for he was the only thing distracting the beast.
The shadowdancer couldn’t think about strategy; she fell fully into instinct and bladework. Over and over, she parried and retreated, parried and retreated. She deflected a blow meant for the staggering Liet and leaped back, wrenching the youth by his good shoulder. His shield went up to block spears, but weakly, slowly—barely.
The grimlocks pressed the two groups of foes—Twilight and Liet one, Gargan and Slip the other—into a circle around Taslin, who cast spells from the middle. Together, they backed toward the exit. Davoren stood aloof, off to the right. He blasted at the worm, and every so often, any grimlocks that dared to approach him.
“Asson!” A chopping axe stole away any other words Taslin might have screamed, and she fell into a chant, calling on Corellon’s power as she parried and cut.
The old mage threw a ball of webbing directly into the purple worm’s hiss. The sticky threads exploded into a wagon load of webs, coating its face and fangs, just as another ray of Davoren’s power struck the creature ten feet below the maw. The creature spat and sputtered, trying to clear its mouth. Its acid was making progress slowly. Asson took the opportunity to fly backward, keeping as much distance as he could between himself and roaring, serpentine death. In its thrashings, the worm narrowly missed clubbing him down.
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