“What do you mean, ‘you’ will find?” asked Liet. “You’re coming with us, aye?”
“I rather fancy a jaunt through the east passage.”
“The east passage!” Slip exclaimed. “But why? And alone? ’Light!” She ran to Twilight and threw her little arms around her—or, rather, around her legs. “’tis too dangerous! You can’t leave us!” Tears started to roll from Slip’s eyes.
Liet opened his mouth, but he was too stunned to speak. Was she mad?
“Pitiful whining whelp,” mused Davoren. “Let her go—and good riddance.”
“Oh, worry not, little one,” said Twilight kindly. “I’m sure nothing will be awaiting. My scouting of last night revealed simply a door I had yet to open, perhaps a chamber yet to be explored. No markings of lizards upon it. I doubt any of the creatures has opened it. I plan to stroll in, without taking any precautions.” She gave Slip a thoughtless wink.
“Gods, ’Light—” Liet started, but Davoren laughed him to silence.
If the halfling had been afraid before, she was truly terrified at this news. She looked up with eyes wide as tureens. “You should come with us! Where ’tis safe—er, safer!” She buried her head in the shadowdancer’s belly. “I can’t lose you, too!”
The elf beamed at her as though she had not a thought in her head. “Do not worry for my safety, little one. ’tis but a morning stroll—like you took in Crimel, yes?”
“No!” The halfling’s eyes flashed. “At least take one of us—take me, aye?”
“The half-wench raises a decent argument,” said Davoren. “Perhaps you should take someone, to make sure you are not hunting treasure—or arranging to betray us.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Twilight with a laugh. “Survival takes priority over gold. The simple acceptance of this fact is precisely what keeps the numbers of folk in my profession breathing steadily. And if I meant to slay you, you’d be quite dead.”
Davoren would not be deterred, though he looked a little unsettled by her manic demeanor. “Yet, we have only the word of a thief and a liar. I insist you take another.”
“Insistence noted!” Twilight said brightly. “Liet—”
“Oh, very well,” said Davoren, rolling his eyes and turning away. He waved dismissively. “Take your handsome swain—this choice does not surprise me. And I’d be happy without his useless carcass slowing us.”
“Liet,” Twilight continued. “I place you in command.”
“What?” Liet and Davoren exclaimed at once.
Twilight pinched Liet’s cheek. “Listen to the lad’s word as you would mine,” she said. “As you have followed me, so you must follow him in my stead.”
“I ‘must’ do nothing!” Davoren roared, ruby energy flickering around his hands and arms. His fingers twitched toward the snarling dragon scepter at his belt. “I have sworn no oath—certainly none that involves following a bare-faced boy! I refuse!”
“Well then,” said Twilight, suddenly serious. “I shall simply have to kill you.” Betrayal hissed out and she leaned back into a fighting stance. Her eyes brooked no debate, and she showed no sign of mirth.
After a long, motionless breath, Davoren laughed. “Very well,” he said. “Play your game. I care not. I shall do as you ask, for now. Only know that mine shall be the last word, the last thrust, and the last smile.”
“You just keep reassuring yourself of that, handsome,” Twilight said as she sheathed the rapier. The warlock, it seemed, was successfully cowed.
As Gargan, Slip, and Davoren made the final preparations to move, Liet caught Twilight’s arm. “Is this wise?” he asked. “I don’t think—”
She touched his face with her fingers and traced down his stubbly cheek. “Nothing I do is wise,” she said. She touched her lips against his. “Only prudent.”
Then she kissed him, lightly at first, then harder, pressing her body against his. Not enough to warrant an outcry from the others, who stared.
Her farewell stunned Liet, remembering all the times Twilight had sent him from her side, so as to keep their affair a secret. Had she lost her mind? What was—
“Hmm,” Twilight murmured. She nuzzled at his chin.
“Be wary,” said Liet.
“I always am,” said Twilight whimsically. With that, she was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the yawning east doorway.
“She … kissed you,” Slip said, with awe, confusion, and something like jealousy. Liet wasn’t sure who Slip was jealous over.
Stupid, stupid, stupid wench. Twilight berated herself as she made her way down the other path. Are you falling in love, or are you falling apart?
Both, she guessed.
She knew she shouldn’t have kissed him. But she’d been mad, right—that’s what they’d think, right?
Reality intruded, and Twilight was thankful for it.
Thirteen fiendish lizards, brandishing sickle blades and whips, crouched hissing and slavering in alcoves along a tight, winding corridor. They waited for a foolish creature to wander down that hall, the better to pounce and devour.
Crouching in the shadows around the corner from all that black, scaly flesh, Twilight considered stepping out to say well met. She decided against it, however, tending to avoid death and dismemberment on her part whenever possible.
So there is an ambush this way, she thought. And the same fiendish lizards.
As she let the implications bounce around in the back of her mind, Twilight judged the length of the corridor. Two dagger-casts. Perfect.
Twilight did not bother to leave her hiding place in the shadows. She flowed into them, dancing through the darkness. Silently, she emerged at the far end of the corridor with none the wiser. Once again, she thanked Neveren Darkdance. The dastard had given her a great gift, even if he had ruined her.
Having expended much of her power for the day—she could not dance that distance again—it dimly occurred to her that she should consider how she would get back, but that was a matter for another time.
Ignoring the fiendish lizards at her back, Twilight strolled to the open archway.
This area did not suffer from the same filth and defacement that the rest of the complex evidenced. These lizards had not been here long, though how they could get past a locked door, Twilight did not know. She shuddered to think of what she might be facing, if it could somehow teleport its minions into position. Perhaps there was something to this “Mad Sharn” business after all, in which case Twilight was in trouble deeper than her pointy ears.
A glyph ran the archway’s length, and Twilight wished, not for the first time, that she had Asson beside her. The old man’s tranquility and magic would have been useful, as would his understanding of Netherese.
She tapped the earring she wore. If the words were spoken, she would understand them. Slip’s detection spell had set off the other warding, but Twilight did not …
Then an idea struck her.
She hated calling on her other powers, but sometimes blind curiosity got in the way of good grudges. Mouthing his name, she invoked a prayer he had taught her. It was not for detecting magic—thanks to Erevan’s kiss, she saw mystic emanations as she wished—but rather a spell for locating a missing item. In this case, she chose the archway. Though she knew exactly where it was, casting any spell upon it should …
Sure enough, a sibilant voice, speaking in an odd tongue, came to her ears, and she understood every word.
“The taint of evil kept without, the power safe within,” the ward said.
“Ah,” said Twilight. “Helpful.”
Just then, a horde burst into the chamber, screams of rage on their lips.
No choice, Twilight decided, and threw herself through the archway, hoping by Beshaba’s bodice that her instincts told her true.
Sure enough, nothing happened to her, but such was not the case for a few unfortunate lizards.
Green and blue fire arced from the runes along the archway, tearing into fiendish lizards, searing flesh
apart and blackening bones. The creatures put up pitiful wails, cut short by the furious wards that cut them to pieces with flame. The wards killed six before the remaining seven fiendish lizards panicked and trampled over one another in their haste to get away.
Twilight would have stood laughing but for the unpleasant odor of the destroyed lizards lying in a heap at her feet. Then she turned and strode though another archway, this one plain, and stopped dead, staring.
“Sand,” she cursed.
As Twilight had promised, the four found no ambush awaiting them through the south door. This tunnel was of different design than the twisting, turning sewers. Rather, it was straight, two paces wide and thirty hands high, and rose gradually. Gargan led the way, with Liet and Davoren trailing at a few paces, and Slip taking the rear.
Liet wasn’t sure he trusted the halfling entirely—certainly not enough to put her at his back—but keeping close to Davoren was sure, ironically, to keep him safe. No one watched his skin like the warlock.
Liet wondered when he had become so cold and calculating. When had he shed his youthful mentality, his naiveté? When had he ceased to trust others, and started thinking in matters of practicality, questioning the motives of all who surrounded him?
When had he become just like Twilight?
The day you broke rule four, he told himself with an inward sigh.
The corridor rose for forty paces before terminating in a space for a lifting mechanism, like the one they had used to escape the prison level of this labyrinth. The platform was down on the floor, and it would rise if someone stepped upon it—if the magic of the place yet operated.
The platform did not even tremble as they stood upon it, and Gargan boosted each of the others, one by one, before pulling himself up. The four moved down a tunnel toward a set of steps, and Gargan’s long strides took him swiftly to the front rank. Davoren watched approvingly, but Liet suspected it was more in quiet consideration of what the goliath could do to Davoren’s foes—his former allies—suitably armed and charmed. In all ways, the two seemed to be opposites.
Opposites … the thought bounced about in Liet’s mind, reflecting off walls of indecision and longing. He and Twilight were so opposite one another, yet so close.
He no longer tried to tell himself that Twilight meant nothing to him. The first night they spent together had changed that, but the feeling grew more intense as time passed. He dared not mention it, for Twilight would certainly …
Gargan hissed a warning note, and Liet looked up.
They had ascended the stairs into open air, but there was no breeze in the darkness. Liet was suddenly aware that he stood upon something much like grass, though the sun was not to be seen. Great forms loomed out of the darkness, and Liet had to draw his sword and gasp before he realized they weren’t moving.
All around them, the torchlight revealed huge bulks that looked, oddly, like flowers and vines of reds, oranges, and purples. Luminescence came from fungi on the walls, such as they had seen in the sewers below, and some plants shed light in many subdued colors. They felt as though they had come into some sage’s arboretum.
Some plants were normal, most were strange and twisted, but all were gigantic. Something like a daisy was taller than Liet, and Slip had to brush away petals of violets the size of her face. Mountainous moonflowers and firedragons the size of their namesakes swelled around them. Liet had to stomp his way out of the clutches of a rose vine with thorns like daggers. Most of the plants he could hardly recognize—turgid buds and whorls coming out of green stalks, knobby trees like heaps of flatcakes that wove from side to side with budding pink flowers up every inch.
How they grew in perfect darkness was beyond Liet.
“What is this place?” Liet asked. He started away from his echoing voice.
“We have arrived,” Davoren said. He held the scepter up and intoned deep, powerful words. A bolt of lightning arced from his hand, high into the air. It struck something like a steel rod and sizzled along it. In half a heartbeat, the bolt exploded out, illuminating the vast cavern in which the four found themselves. The great rod flickered, hissing at intervals like an unhappy dragon.
And occupying that cavern with them was a ruined, overgrown city.
“Negarath,” Davoren said with a glint in his evil eyes. If they had thought the architecture of the sewers odd, nothing could have prepared them for what lay before them. Negarath was a city of madness.
Buildings spread wider as they reached upward, almost as though built upside down. All around them, sprouting from the sides of buildings, coming up from the streets, were the strange flowers, some growing large enough to dwarf Gargan. There was not a single perpendicular edge in the place; all was a mixture of curves, waves, and obtuse or acute angles. Windows hung upside down and horizontally, as though the interiors of the buildings did not match the exteriors.
Most of the doors to the varying buildings were of odd shapes—circular, triangular, hexagonal, octagonal—anything but rectangular. Only one building seemed even remotely normal—a central tower that narrowed toward the middle, like a pyramid, but widened again as it rose toward the cavern ceiling. There, the tower hooked and curled, spiraling under itself. It looked as though they could stand atop it.
“The designers of this place must have been madmen,” said Davoren.
“Or geniuses.” The others stared, and Liet laughed nervously. “Art—heh.”
Gargan shook his head.
Slip beamed. “Magnificent,” she said.
The others looked at her this time.
“Well, it is,” she asserted with her hands on her hips.
The section of city in which they stood was markedly clear and empty, but such was not the case a few streets away. They saw something like a giant mound of clay, stretching from floor to ceiling—a calcified, golden-red web. “What’s that, I wonder?” Slip said.
The mass looked like red amber, with an eerie translucence. It glowed crimson from the inside, as though from a beating heart. Gold veins ran through it, like tunnels bored by a worm. The red substance ran over the buildings like glass, or perhaps ice that had frozen around them. It reached to the ceiling, holding fully half the city prisoner.
Then they became aware of a sound—a distinct humming, almost like buzzing, as though the air shuddered and crackled in expectation of a storm.
“Rain?” Slip asked.
“Magic?” Liet asked.
Gargan shook his head. He pointed.
Half a dozen black and yellow creatures swarmed out of holes in the mass of red amber and buzzed toward them. Flickering light twinkled off a hundred facets in their eyes, and gossamer wings zipped through the air. They might have been bees, if bees grew to the height of men and sported arms carrying spears, but these were abeil.
“Down!” Liet cried. A better command might have been “scatter,”
“ware,” or even “run!” But he said the first thing that came to mind.
Liet did not know why he took one of the iron bars from his pack and placed it between himself and the diving creatures. Nor did he understand how he knew to press the end of the rod. Instinct, perhaps—or that odd power Twilight had spoken of. The rod gave a little hum but did nothing else.
A lightning bolt streaked into the sky and tore the wings from one of the bees, which plummeted to the street with a buzzing screech. Hefting his crackling scepter, Davoren scoffed. “Fear not. I shall defend you.” He waved his hand and fire spread through the air.
Liet cursed himself. What had he been hoping for? A blast of fire, a protective shield? A flare of self-loathing came then, and he fought it back. Fury at himself, at Davoren. But he couldn’t get angry—not now. Seeing the bees fly around the fire, Liet pulled up the rod and prepared to retreat.
Rather, he tried to retrieve the rod, for it could not be moved. No matter how much he strained, the rod floated in place. The bees were coming, so he abandoned it.
A bee-thing crashed face first into the
immobile rod and crumpled around it, there to hang, broken. The rod did not twitch, as though a mountain held it still.
A hissing sound reached Liet’s ears then. Now what?
A bouncing motion caught his eye—it was Slip, waving at him and whispering his name from an open, crescent-shaped doorway. Above it floated the flickering image of a hammer emblazoned with seven stars. The seven stars of Mystra?
Whatever the failing image betokened, Gargan was ducking in and Davoren was tearing through the underbrush toward the door, cursing the incoming bees. Then Gargan yanked Slip off her feet and slammed the door.
Bees swarmed past their crushed, hanging comrade, throwing themselves against the crescent-shaped door and oddly curved windows in a killing fury. In reply, Davoren invoked his powers, and a forest of black tendrils sprouted from the building, flailing. The bees swarmed away before he could conjure fire.
Liet and Davoren reached the door at the same moment. It popped open and the men tumbled in past Gargan. The goliath slammed it once again and they collapsed in the darkness.
The four huddled behind the door, Gargan holding it shut. Liet sat near the shivering Slip and looked around. The room in which they found themselves could have been a smithy of some sort. Hammers and chisels and many things he couldn’t recognize lay scattered and shattered about them. In the center was something that looked like an anvil, or perhaps an altar—a simple block of jet black stone. Other doors were visible, all shaped like crescents, stars, and inverted triangles. In the center of the room was a black disk, like the trapdoor they had come through.
“I wonder if she sent us here intentionally,” the warlock said. He looked at Liet, panting heavily. “Come—what would your mistress say if she saw you cowering?”
Liet wanted to retort, “She would praise me for having the sense to stay alive under a surprise attack, but by all means, go play if you want. Try not to get yourself killed too messily,” like Twilight would have. As it was, he said, “My mistress?”
Depths of Madness Page 19
