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. "Uh… 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
"Ithilnin 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 gu
ttural 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.
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 th
e 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.
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