“So some force has drawn us here,” said Taslin, standing amongst the group, “bringing us through various portals, all to the same place. The question is why.”
Gargan said something then, in his strange goliath tongue. Deep and rough, yet noble. He had no idea what the words meant, but he could see the impact they left on Taslin, who could understand somehow, and Twilight, who seemed to have a sense of such things.
“You did not come through a portal,” Twilight said softly.
“Eh? Wait a breath—” Slip started.
Gargan said something, and Taslin nodded her head.
“It seems he came upon a cavern while hunting a troll that had been spotted in the area,” she said. “He followed the beast in and—”
“And there must be more of them,” said Twilight.
“Why must—?” Liet asked. He was so confused.
“Goliaths are social creatures, even more so than humans,” she said. She looked at Gargan sharply. “Where are the other goliaths?”
It took Gargan a breath to understand her question. He shook his head and spoke.
“He is an exile from his people,” said Taslin. “Called … hmm. The closest word in the Common tongue is ‘dispossessed.’”
Gargan nodded. “Dispossessed,” he repeated.
“I see,” Twilight said. “Second time I’ve heard such a name. The first wasn’t so pleasant, as I recall.”
Liet looked at her, expecting more, but she left it at that. He wondered if that was true—and what it all meant. She resumed pacing about the room.
Gargan continued speaking to Taslin, who translated for the others. Liet assumed it was magic of some kind. “The troll he was tracking—Tlork—ambushed him in the cave, and they fought. Blackwyrm, his acid-weeping sword—the one he carries now—was key, but the creature defeated him. When he awakened, he was in the dark cell.”
“This begins to make sense,” Twilight said. “The master of these depths—”
“The Mad Sharn,” hissed Davoren.
“We don’t know that for sure,” said Twilight. “This labyrinth …”
“Whatever he calls it,” Slip said. “Midden’s more like it. A foul pit!”
Gargan eyed her curiously, but Twilight didn’t know why. “It’s not so foul, as dungeons go,” the shadowdancer said. “I’ve seen—”
“Stranger?” filled in Liet.
“Fouler,” Twilight corrected matter-of-factly. She turned to Gargan. “What land have you come from? Where do these caverns lie?”
Gargan looked away, something like sadness falling across his stony face.
With a shiver, Twilight understood somehow. “What awaits us above?”
“Death,” said Gargan.
Taslin let out a hiss, her eyes narrowing. Her voice sounded upset, eager, and her face gleamed in frustration. “Death?” she asked. “Can you not be more specif—?”
Then a long cord slithered down from the ceiling, curled about Taslin’s throat, and drew the priestess into the air with a quick jerk.
Twilight was too shocked to do anything more than stare at the ceiling, from which hung the struggling Taslin and her attacker. The creature was vaguely humanoid, if twice the height of a man, fashioned out of slithering, whipping ropes of black silk. Two white orbs blazed where its face should be.
She ignored the sinking in her chest and yanked Betrayal free of its scabbard. As she did, she felt the choking herself, though nothing clutched her and fought it down. She knew Taslin was dead, and if she did not act, the others would soon be as well.
“’Light, what is that?” Liet stammered.
The tendril from which the priestess twitched and kicked recoiled and the other appendage extended toward them, sending a dozen ropes to claim their next victim.
“Down!” Twilight shouted, pushing Liet to send him staggering.
The quick motion saved him from being caught up by the rope tendrils, which went for her instead. Flicking like silent snakes, they lunged for her arms, and Twilight almost screamed despite herself.
She settled for a startled hiss and invoked her powers. Dancing into the shadows, she vanished before the ropes could catch her and reappeared across the chamber near Slip. Liet, running toward that spot, gasped when he saw her appear.
“A simple matter,” Davoren said calmly, preparing a blast of fiery energy to throw at the creature as it looked about for a new target.
“Wait!” Twilight shouted, but it was too late.
The warlock’s burning power stabbed into the creature’s chest but boiled away, fizzling to no effect. “What?” the warlock shouted furiously.
“As I thought,” said Twilight, dropping one hand to her belt. “A golem.”
“A rope golem?” asked Liet at her side. “What—?”
The creature, moving in absolute silence, snapped its tendrils, and Taslin jerked spasmodically. Her arms fell to her sides. It flung the sun elf to crunch against the wall, where she collapsed limply to the floor. Cowering behind Twilight, Slip screamed. Liet caught her and shielded her eyes in his chest.
With both limbs free, the hangman golem lunged at Davoren, who fled, and Gargan, who met its grasp with sword swinging. The ensorcelled steel, streaming its acid, caused only minor damage to the creature, scratching and nicking the rope limbs.
Davoren dashed to the wall and began searching it with his hands, as though he had detected something nearby. Twilight could not have sensed any magical emanations, not with such a huge magical creature attacking them.
“Get back here!” Twilight called to him, but the warlock did nothing of the sort. Soon enough, the wall opened and the warlock slipped through a hidden passage.
“What do we do?” shrieked Slip, tugging at Twilight’s belt.
“Anything,” she said, slapping the little hands away. She rummaged through the vials stuck through the laces of her belt. She retrieved one, which held a silvery liquid within. “You have power, aye?”
“B-but …” Slip said.
“Any spells of aid, cast them on Gargan,” said Twilight. With that, she dashed toward the combat. As she stalked, she picked out a rope tendril and followed it with her eyes, focused, making it the center of her world.
The halfling sent a twinkling star of white trailing toward the golem, where it burst into a discordant roar. The sound jarred Twilight and Gargan alike, sending them reeling, but it did little to the hangman golem.
“Magic does nothing!” Liet cried.
“Sorry! Sorry!” yipped Slip. “I’ll try harder!” She sprinted toward Gargan, tearing free of Liet’s grasp.
Stunned by the sonic blast, Twilight almost caught a rope in the face, but the goliath stepped in the way. He caught the rope in one hand and yanked, pulling the creature with him. It slithered along the ceiling, diverted from the others.
“My thanks,” shouted Twilight, but Gargan did not respond.
The goliath held the hangman golem in a toe-to-toe duel—a strange sight with the creature fighting upside down from the ceiling. His sword left dozens of rope pieces flopping like worms on the floor in its wake. This hardly slowed the golem, but the acid leaked by the black blade ate at the strands of its body hungrily. The creature sensed this damage and focused its attention on Gargan.
Mistake, Twilight thought. She saw her chance and jumped, rapier extended, and ran a single tendril through. The golem hardly noticed. What was one strand to a creature composed entirely of ropes? The rapier did not even sever the strand.
Holding tight to her blade with both hands, Twilight swung across the room on the rope and tossed a vial to the goliath in the same motion, praying that he understood. “Gargan!” she snapped.
As Twilight swung, her single rope slapped across dozens of seeking tendrils, tangling them all. The creature twisted and shook, thrown off balance and distracted.
Gargan spun and flung out a massive hand to catch the vial. In one smooth motion, he leaped away from the golem’s tendrils and shattered
the vial against his black blade, which suddenly gleamed with silvery-white radiance. At almost the same instant, Slip arrived at Gargan’s side and touched his hip, completing her spell. The goliath’s body showed no change, but his aura of strength grew.
Twilight dodged back and forth, twisting this way and that, avoiding the slapping ropes at all cost. She blocked ineffectually—the ropes simply whipped around her parries, regardless of how wide she held the blade. Here and there, her billowy blouse became stained with red, or open gashes appeared along her leather breeches.
Only reflex kept Twilight from being pummeled into a crimson stain on the stone. Even so, she screamed as the golem whipped her, desperate dodges or no.
“Strike it, Gargan!” Twilight shouted. “Stri—”
At that instant, a rope whipped under her high parry and struck her across the cheek. Twilight’s head snapped back and she spun to the ground. She heard her head strike the stone with a loud crack, and darkness took her.
Liet almost cried out when Twilight went down, but he was too busy panting, trying to drag his sword back and forth. He ran to her side, slashing at the tendrils again and again, but to no avail. The ropes were too hard. Then they knocked him flailing.
Unhindered, the rope golem flowed along the ceiling, soundless. It drew itself along the ropes that held it aloft and loomed over Twilight. If it had been a living thing, the golem would have hissed hungrily.
Liet knew Gargan could not have understood Twilight’s words, but from his actions, he understood her plan intuitively and acted accordingly.
With a pulse of powerful legs and arms, the goliath hurled his huge sword, slathered with the alchemical concoction, into the air, where it spitted the hangman golem’s chest. The creature reeled, though it made no sound.
Gargan wasn’t done. He followed the sword with a mighty leap, his legs strengthened by Slip’s divine magic, and caught the hilt in both hands at the apex of his jump. The goliath’s momentum carried him past the golem and his firm grasp on the sword ripped the weapon through its innards.
Gargan’s sword tore the creature in two in a way that was anything but tidy.
The golem reeled, pieces of itself flopping all over. The tendrils holding it precariously to the ceiling strained and snapped free of the stone, and the golem tumbled to the ground. It wheeled and writhed, trying to reform. Its tendrils slithered and whipped, caught in death throes.
Climbing to his feet, Liet breathed out in relief, but his eye fell on the fallen elf. “’Light!” he shouted, taking a step toward her.
When Twilight’s gloved hand moved, Liet’s breath caught. Then her blood-streaked face turned up to him. He smiled, and the tiny twitch of her lips might have been an attempt to return it.
Slip was on her way, healing at the ready, a tremendous smile on her face. “We got it!” she squealed.
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 t
he 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.
Depths of Madness Page 17
