Depths of Madness (14 page)

“Blind-dims!” roared Tlork, hefting his hammer. “They’s mine!”

Only half a dozen paces from Liet and Twilight, the grimlocks skidded to a halt. They turned and charged Tlork, hissing with rage.

“Run!” Twilight snapped, snatching Liet’s arm. “Come on!”

Together, they followed Davoren back to the side tunnel, fighting the exhaustion seeping into their limbs and the fire tearing at their lungs. Gargan waited there, the last grimlock’s black sword in hand, ready to fend off any that pursued.

He needn’t have bothered. Drawn to the troll by some unknown animosity, the grimlocks lunged at Tlork with flailing axes and the troll beat back at them. The troll outpowered the grimlocks—his muscles, fiendish body parts, and ferocity made him the perfect killing machine—but there were so many that Tlork would be long delayed.

“Poetic, really,” said a voice at Twilight’s shoulder. She turned to find Davoren watching the battle with more than passing interest. “Playing one foe against another. Amusing to watch so much death, isn’t it?”

Twilight kept calm. She wiped Betrayal on her thigh and sheathed it. For now.

“Should we—ah—help?” asked Slip.

“Help who?” put in Liet. “I’m thinking we’d best flee before—”

A massive hand on his shoulder stopped the boy, and Twilight looked up to see Gargan there. The goliath, still holding the unconscious Taslin, did not speak, but his gaze conveyed volumes. His eyes fixed upon Tlork—analyzing, weighing, judging. He had looked at Twilight and Liet in the same way, as though sizing them up for a duel.

“Aye,” said Twilight. “The longer we watch, the more we learn about the troll.”

Tlork’s massive warhammer appeared awkward in his ten-foot skeletal arm, but the troll wielded it with exceptional skill and balance. Each swing of the weapon knocked two or three monsters aside, and his fiendish stinger caught those the hammer missed. When a grimlock came inside his reach, Tlork would simply flatten the eyeless wretch with his elephantlike leg or eviscerate him with a snap of his claws.

Twilight had to wonder. Why had the grimlocks been drawn to the troll, if they could not defeat—nay, couldn’t even injure—the creature?

As Twilight studied the foes, the assault made perfect sense. The grimlocks’ world was one of sounds and smells. The troll had bellowed loudly enough to rival the purple worm, and his stench was so pungent Twilight could catch it even at her distance, a spearcast away. Tlork was perceived as a much greater threat than the seven of them.

Six, Twilight corrected herself with an inward wince. She felt empty, as though something had been clawed out of her.

Then Tlork broke through the grimlock horde, shattering a monster’s chest with a pulse of the mighty hammer. Those that

did not lie dead had already fled in terror before the half-fiend, half-troll monstrosity. The path cleared, Tlork fixed his mad eyes on the six companions, and charged.

“Time to be going!” Liet hissed.

Twilight stayed him. “Wait.”

Summoning her will, she wrenched the shadows to her and sent them forth. This was not the dance—it would not consume all her strength. The shadows coalesced and melted into scything blades—a wall of shadowy steel that flashed through the air— sweeping straight for Tlork and the few remaining grimlocks. She heard Liet gasp beside her, and knew it was because her gray eyes had flashed black.

Twilight was used to it. She preferred it to her other powers. The shadows were another aspect of Neveren’s legacy, rather than part of her service to a god who hated her.

The fleeing grimlocks who yet lived ignored the shadowy wall of razors—the illusion was only visual, and they had no eyes—emerging unscathed and oblivious. The troll, however, immediately fell to the important business of knocking the blades out of the air and smashing them to splinters against the ground. Not surprisingly, the hammer passed through the swords like the shadows they were.

“Let us see how—” she started.

“Enough of this,” Davoren snapped. With a flicker of will, he shot a pair of fiery bolts up at the ceiling. The power burst and sent a web of cracks through the stone.

“Ah,” said Slip. “What—?” Twilight shoved the halfling down the tunnel and pulled Liet behind her as she ran. Gargan shot the warlock a glare but followed.

Not a heartbeat later, the ceiling cracked and collapsed, sealing off the tunnel with a shattering crash of stone.

Tlork skidded short of crushing his body against the tons of stone piled up around the tunnel mouth.

Then a chunk of stone tumbled down from the top of the pile and smashed into the troll’s face with enough force to snap his

head back and shatter his spindly nose.

Tlork merely blinked, confused, as the carrot-shaped member straightened of its own accord and sucked in the blood dripping down his patchwork face. The troll’s regeneration left very little that went uncured.

“Dumb them!” Tlork growled. “Dumb dims!” He hoped some of the dims had survived, so he could squish them.

The troll turned to see the floating blades coming again.

Those things wouldn’t give up, even after Tlork made sure they were good and dead. Or had he just run past them? He couldn’t remember.

Tlork hammered at the first one, but his weapon went through the blade like so much air. It wavered a bit, but kept slashing at his chest. Funny, it didn’t make any noise—not even a good whistle through the air—and Tlork didn’t feel the sting.

Any creature possessed of reason higher than that of an overripe turnip would have seen through the shadowy illusion, but Tlork had never been all that high in the garden hierarchy. Sun-baked green squash, slightly moldy, was about his level.

Tlork kept fighting the shadow swotds until they faded from view—only a few breaths. Then, unnerved at how they disappeared, the troll set to work dispensing with the rocky barrier.

As the dust settled, the adventurers found themselves breathless and in silence. Gargan lowered Taslin to the ground and stood ready with his blade, just in case the troll burst through the rubble. Slip moved stiffly to the sun elf s side and murmured healing prayers. Liet put a hand on Twilight’s shoulder, though whether it was to comfort her or himself, she did not know.

She shook him off. Why would she want to feel, right now, rather than think?

Twilight scanned the dark corridor. It was not a worm’s corridor but one carved by hand and pick. Nor was it of the shabby, rough craftsmanship of the grimlock city. She ran her fingers along the walls, feeling the subtle symmetries and imperfections.

Not dwarf work, either. Nor was it rounded and curved like the sewers. Rather, the tunnel was straight and smooth, traveling perhaps twenty paces before it branched right and left.

A new section of the depths? The concept made her uneasy.

“Liet,” she said.

His eyes glazed and he did not respond for a second, seemingly lost. Twilight clenched her hands and bit her lip, uncomfortable at being patient.

“Liet!” Twilight snapped.

The youth started and looked over at her.

“Did you come through these tunnels to rescue us, or another set?”

“Can—can you not give us but a moment?” His voice was plaintive and weak. “I mean, Taslin, and Asson—he’s—well, he’s—”

“Dead,” Twilight finished. Liet recoiled as from a slap. “As we shall be, unless we make sure no grimlocks can come after us. Sentiment comes only when we’re safe.”

Twilight could feel them staring at her—hard. Good. It distracted her, and them.

She continued. “Now, do those tunnels lead back to where you came from, or—?”

The youth scratched his head. “These… are the same tunnels, I think… but they seem different.” He shrugged, and his eyes were damp. “We only got through guided by Gargan, and… and…” He trailed off.

So that’s how it would be. Well, she could play this game. Twilight was adept at eliciting attention. “A maze?” She scowled.

As though shaken, Liet looked at her. “What’s wrong?” “Bad experiences,” she said, drawing his attention. “What do you find in mazes?”

“Ah,” said Liet. “Twists and turns? Lots of dead ends?” Twilight shook her head. “Treasure at the center?”

“Minotaurs. And depending on the local wildlife, often ravenous ones.”

“Oh. That.” Liet’s eyes were far away. It hadn’t worked. “Just staying optimistic.”

Twilight growled. “What?” she asked. “Are you all so stunned that you can’t even hide to stay alive? Come on!”

No effect.

As though he heard and understood, Gargan thrust the sword through his belt and stepped to her side. The weapon shimmered in the torchlight. A row of emeralds met carvings of wind and flame along the back of the blade. The golden hilt depicted a coiled serpentine creature—its profile resembled a black dragon. Too lovely for a grimlock anvil, Twilight thought distantly. It must have been stolen.

The goliath rummaged through his rucksack and pulled forth a skull with two broken horns.

“That’s a good sign—I guess others must have gotten here first.” She ran her fingers across the skull. “Unless, of course, minotaurs eat their mates after season.”

Liet gaped at her. “Th-that was a jest, aye?” he asked, trembling.

Twilight grinned at him.

“Ah.” Liet’s face scrunched. ” ‘Tisn’t a matter I’d thought of—ah—overmuch.”

Slip cast a final healing spell upon Taslin. The priestess coughed and awoke. Acid had eaten holes in her mail, ruined her boots, and burned red marks across her cheeks. The sizzling fluid had not ruined her fine features, but the scars remained apparent. Her sword had incurred the most damage—its blade broken and the crescent moon symbol pitted and scorched. Twilight hoped it was still usable.

“There, lass,” the halfling said to the moaning priestess. “You’re safe now.”

If any of us are safe, Twilight thought.

The priestess said nothing, but looked at Slip in confusion, anguish, and thanks. Then her eyes fell on the warlock, and her face turned to anger. Slowly, she climbed to her knees, then with the aid of the halfling, to her feet.

An awkward silence fell.

“Now then,” Davoren said to her, out of his dark hood. The wounds on his face had faded entirely, it seemed, his skin once again sallow and smooth. “Feel free to thank me for saving your life. I might even look upon you with favor—assuming, of course, sufficient groveling transpires.”

Taslin’s lips narrowed.

“Yes?” the warlock asked. “Did you want to say something?” He did not give her a chance to speak. “It was rather foolish of you to take such a risk. Your wounds were unnecessary and your weapon was destroyed. We could have easily escaped without either loss, and now we must waste healing. I hope your idiocy is a source of pride.”

Silence hung. Twilight almost drew her rapier and ran the warlock through. The only thing stopping her was doubt; she was fairly certain that they would need the warlock’s magic to survive, let alone escape.

Taslin had no such considerations to stop her.

Ruined sword gripped in both hands, the priestess lunged at Davoren, angry tears streaking her cheeks. “Monster!” she screamed. “You will pay for what you’ve done!”

Twilight stepped between the cleric and the warlock, but it was Taslin she restrained, twisting an arm back and wrenching the blade free. Davoren assumed his wicked smile, but the intrusion of Gargan’s massive form kept him from saying anything else. The goliath made no move, but his thick hand was not far from his sword hilt.

“Now is not the ft’ťŤ,”Twilight hissed in Elvish.

“Away, child,” growled Taslin. Then, outside the tongue of the People, she rounded on the warlock. “He murdered my Asson! He’ll murder us all!”

“Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t,” Davoren sneered. “Who’s to stop me? You? Without your pet cripple?”

Twilight and Liet both blanched. Slip sobbed. Even Gargan scowled.

A hoarse, despairing cry came from Taslin’s lips. “I know it was you! I know it!” She squirmed. “Let me go, Twilight—let me go!”

“We need him!”Snapped Twilight. “Controlyourself!”

Taslin struggled for a few tense heartbeats, but finally relented. She relaxed against Twilight, shuddering, and stared daggers at Davoren.

“I’ve said it before,” said Twilight, “but I’ll repeat. If any of us plans to make it out of here alive, we need to work together.” Then she added, so only Taslin would hear and understand: “We don’t know if any of us helped or harmed Asson. Have your suspicions if you will, but don’t let them jeopardize us all.”

“Asyou &zy, “Taslin said. She turned to Davoren. “But as soon as we leave this place, human, I shall cut out your heart for this. Upon Corellon’s bloody tears—”

“No!” Twilight hissed, trying to stop the cleric, but it was too late.

“—you will not see another sunrise,” Taslin finished. “This I swear.”

Twilight fought to stop a scowl. A blood oath was never taken lightly by either party. She knew then that the two might work side by side, but their mutual hatred would leave a crack in the band. And their survival relied upon cooperation.

The warlock only smiled. In his eyes was a bitter promise—he would see Taslin dead, for no other reason than because he could.

Twilight knew what she had to do—weakened thought she might be.

She handed Taslin over to the goliath. “Go,” she said slowly and levelly to the others. “Follow Gargan. Skirt the labyrinth, find the sewers, set camp. Leave markings.” She turned back and looked upon the warlock, who smiled. “Davoren and I shall join you presently.”

“But ‘Light, ah—” Liet started.

“No argument,” she said. “Davoren and I have some words to share. Lead them, Gargan.” She nodded to Liet without looking at him. “We shall join you.”

Liet nodded slowly and began walking. Taslin kept her eyes on the warlock, but let Slip tug her along.

Gargan stared at Twilight hard, and she flicked a gaze to him. She was reminded once again of the keen intuition behind

those emerald eyes. Without words, they conversed, and Gargan understood entirely what Twilight intended. He made her an offer, but she declined. She had to do this alone. He nodded and turned.