Then a hissing sound came from below, as of metal grinding against metal. The inert disk gave a shudder and sank. They backed away and hefted weapons. When the disk returned, standing upon it was a familiar, dark-haired elf.
“You called?” she asked, wearily.
“’Light!” said Liet, moving forward.
Twilight stopped him with a raised hand. Something had unnerved her, clearly.
“What is it?” demanded the warlock. “More foes, coming from below?” He spat.
“What did you find?” Liet asked.
Twilight shut her eyes. “A mythallar,” she said.
Davoren scoffed. “And so? This is a Netherese city, and such was the magic of the empire of magic—”
Twilight shook her head. “It isn’t that simple,” she said. She gestured to the lifting disk that had just carried her up. “The mythallar I found—it’s still active.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sitting in a corner of what Liet had taken to calling the Forge of the Seven Stars, Twilight blew out a long, troubled sigh. Liet had called this a smithy, though there was no pit for fire or water. Neither of these oversights surprised Twilight. If she had seen them—meaning the owner hadn’t used magic—that would have surprised her.
Netheril.
That they were inside one of the fallen cities of that mighty age was something Twilight could accept. That the city’s mythallar still functioned, however—at least partly—unnerved her deeply.
The others hadn’t seen the significance until Twilight explained it. Aside from its own essence, she had sensed three types of magic emanating from the mythallar—conjuration, enchantment, and transmutation—which must reflect dweomers that it maintained. That was its purpose, after all, to maintain the function of magical devices—the question in this case was what sort of devices?
Somehow, the mythallar maintained life in this cave, but would that continue? Would Twilight and the others find the limit of the mythallar’s range, where the air would simply disappear and they would perish? Or, worse—would the mythallar finally expire, and whatever life-supporting spells it maintained vanish in an instant, killing them no matter where they were in the city?
These considerations fueled Twilight’s desire to find a way out, and soon.
The bee-creatures Liet described had not reappeared, but Twilight had seen black forms moving in that strange amber substance. Was it a hive of some kind? That might explain the flowers. A veritable madman’s garden bloomed outside, and in here as well. Moss and vines crept through cracks and empty windows.
Nature has conquered this city, Twilight thought.
She looked around at her companions. Davoren lounged against the wall, seeming to sleep but really watching them all. In contrast, Liet snored against the opposite wall. Gargan sat sharpening the band’s blades—excepting Twilight’s rapier and the stiletto she’d taken from Davoren.
Twilight saw the halfling sitting still—gathering her focus for healing, likely—her face nothing but tranquility. The group was hungry—they had eaten little since Taslin’s death a day and a half before, rationing out the remaining food—but calm.
Curious. Even in such tense, dark circumstances, the little one could know peace.
“Slip,” said Twilight. The halfling’s ears perked up and her eyes opened. The shadowdancer slid to the floor beside her. The others weren’t watching. “Tell me of yourself.”
“I’m hungry,” she said. “And thirsty. It’s been near a tenday without food, aye?”
Twilight resisted the urge to chew on her lip. Water was worse—they had almost exhausted the last of the waterskins filled with Taslin’s conjured water.
“No,” Twilight said. “I mean of your life—where you come from.”
Slip grinned. “’tisn’t a riveting tale,” she said. “Life in Crimel would bore woodpeckers to slumber faster than a Candlekeep sage’s lecture on the life of the meadow cricket—even if there were crickets provided.”
Twilight was not to be parried so easily. “Why did you leave?”
Slip shrugged. “The usual reasons—adventure, the open road, see the Realms, meet new faces, and …” She trailed off and her face went dark. “Reeman.”
“Your sometime mate.”
“A rascal if ever there was one!” Slip rolled her eyes. “He did say the nicest things, and he was ever so convincing.” Her eyes closed, and a look came over her Twilight recognized only too well.
There was much to this story the halfling would not tell, and Twilight found no fault in the omitting. We all have our secrets, she thought.
“He was a kind lad, my Reeman—all of us loved him. Could talk a dwarf out of his beard or a dragon out of its hoard, then the both of them into leg wrestling. Which the dragon would win, of course.” She smiled. “He had a trustworthy face, you understand.”
“Perfectly.” Twilight knew exactly what she meant, and it occurred to her that Slip possessed such a visage herself. “And that’s where the troubles began.”
Slip sat silently for a moment, and Twilight did not press her.
“One night, Reeman convinced me to play at hiding with him, as a prank on my da—to get all of Crimel stirred up. I’d hide in the woods, and he’d tell everyone a mouther got me.” She squinted. “You know what—”
“Yes,” said Twilight. She knew the distorted abominations, with their four gangly limbs and tusks, by description if not by sight.
“Anyway,” Slip said. “When everyone was gone looking, Reeman helped himself to all the gold at the temples and the warden’s office, and set fire—accidentally, he said—to a few houses … while younglings were inside.”
Twilight felt a chill creep through her body even as Slip hugged her arms tight about her own breast. This had stopped being an innocent tale.
“March wardens followed Reeman, and he came to me for help. I watched as h-he killed—murdered!—two of them with his magic, and tried to run. When he tried to take me too, I—I …” She looked down at her hand, as though a bloody knife had just appeared that only she could see.
Then she looked up at Twilight. “I had to do it, you see? ’twas the—the right thing, and they cast me out for it!”
After a long moment, Twilight put out her arms.
Slip hesitated a few breaths, her lip trembling. Then her eyes softened with sudden tears, and she snuggled into Twilight’s embrace. “Oh, ’Light!” she cried, as that of a child to a mother. “What else could I do? He killed two of my cousins afore my eyes and younglings besides!” Great sobs wracked her body.
Twilight closed her eyes in helpless sympathy and held Slip as she cried. She stroked the halfling’s filthy hair—they were all filthy. Filthy, cold, tired, and heartsick.
How cruel she had been to suspect Slip—Billfora, Twilight remembered, for the story had allowed her to see the true halfling—how heartless. She knew all too well how easily a smile could conceal sadness, and how well tragedy could hide behind innocence.
Finally the tears stopped, and Slip breathed easier. Twilight made no move to release her.
“I was wed, too, once,” she said, letting the words slide out. “Neveren. He—”
“Lilten, you mean?”
The world froze. Twilight blinked. “What?” Slip blinked up at her. “What?”
There was a pause. Twilight looked at her very carefully. Ideas shot wildly through her mind—fears, anger, betrayal.
“Slip,” she said slowly. “I’ve something important to do, and I need your help.”
“Of course!” Slip said. “Anything, ’Light! You’re my greatest friend!”
Twilight let that pass. “Can your magic recognize lies?”
“Aye. I know that spell! I can hear lies when others tell them.” So it was magic, and nothing else. “How can I help?”
Twilight nodded, and explained. Slip listened. In conclusion, Twilight pointed to a back room, which must have been some kind of storage for tools. “Go into yon chamber and wa
it. I shall join you shortly.” She brushed the back of her hand along Slip’s cheek. “And you need not cry—all shall be well.”
The halfling wiped the tears away and beamed at her as only a comforted daughter could. Then she scurried into the side chamber and shut the door behind her.
Twilight blew out a long sigh and rose. So that was it.
She touched the sapphire pendant. Was its magic fading?
“I need everyone else to wait here,” she said as she dusted herself off. She gestured to the side room. “Davoren—come with me.”
“What is it?” the warlock asked.
Ten heartbeats later, Slip guarded the door and Twilight faced the mage from the other side of the room, arms crossed. Davoren had answered his own question.
“An outrage!” His hands gripped the back of a chair and they dripped with flame. The half-circles that formed the seat glowed red. “How dare you? I ought to …”
“Have peace, demon-spawn,” Twilight said. “Just answer the question.”
The warlock sneered at her and twisted his lip. He shoved aside the curious chair—all curves, no angles, like all this Netherese city. “I have suffered your humiliations long enough. You and your sniveling little rat—”
“That sniveling little rat can hear the truth in your words,” said Twilight. “So if you just answer the question, we’ll know of your innocence and you can be on your way, back to pray to your devil-god with a hand in—”
Slip blushed a fiery red and stared at her, horror-struck, so Twilight stopped. “Just answer,” she repeated. “Are you a spy, or otherwise in league with our enemy, watching our movements so as to catch us in our weakness, or lay ambushes in our path?”
Davoren glared at her, and his eyes promised death. “Nay, I am no spy.”
“He speaks true,” Slip said behind Twilight.
Davoren sniffed. “Satisfied? I do not need trickery to slay you, filliken.”
“Not there, however,” the halfling said with a shrug.
The warlock gaped at her and his lips curled into a snarl. “How dare—?”
“Ah,” Twilight said. Betrayal’s dusky point tapped at Davoren’s groin. “Careful. You had better not say something you might regret.” She winked at him. “Now. Pass through yon portal.” She waved at a rear door with Betrayal. “And wait outside.”
“‘Wait outside’? That’s meant to be safe?” he asked. “Or do you wish merely to kill me with those foul insect-men?”
“That’s why I called you first. You are, after all, the most powerful.”
The warlock hesitated for a moment before grumbling an agreement. He spat at the shadowdancer’s feet, then stomped off, cursing to himself in Infernal.
Slip grinned at Twilight. “I was halfway hoping he would be the one,” the halfling said. “I would’ve liked to see that fight.”
“Yes,” Twilight agreed, and from Slip’s expression, she knew it was not a lie.
Gargan was next, pacing in with his arms crossed, and Twilight shifted uneasily. The goliath wore the great black sword on his back—a weapon he could wield in one hand—but he could easily powder Twilight’s skull and shatter Slip’s delicate bones with just those fists. She did not grip Betrayal’s hilt, but her fingers were not far from it.
“I come,” the goliath said in the Common tongue. He looked to Twilight and spoke in his own gruff language, which she understood by virtue of Taslin’s earring. “Why have you brought me?”
“I have questions,” she replied in Common, the only way to be understood.
“I have answers.”
“Let us see if they fit.”
There was a breath’s pause as he contemplated what that might mean. Then he nodded. “Blades in scabbards,” the goliath agreed in Common.
That would have to do. “Are you Gargan Kaugathal, called the Dispossessed?”
“So I am called.” Slip frowned at his words—she didn’t understand them.
Twilight tensed. “In the trade tongue,” she said. “Are you our enemy?”
The goliath did not seem surprised. “No,” he said.
A quick glance at Slip told her it was true. “Are you a spy, or otherwise in league with our foe?” Gargan shook his head, but Twilight cut him short. “You must speak it.”
He did, and Slip nodded.
“You may go.” Twilight pointed. “And take my thanks.”
The goliath nodded once, then walked away to join Davoren in the alley behind the smithy. The shadowdancer blew out a long sigh.
“One left,” the halfling said.
“Yes,” Twilight said, shivering. “One left.”
Twilight held her breath as Liet came in. She had been dreading this, but she knew it had to be done. Of course she knew Liet was innocent, but she had to ask. It had to look convincing.
The youth gave her that familiar smile, as much to reassure Twilight as himself.
“A private audience.” He eyed both Slip and Twilight. “Can I be of aid, lovelies?”
His comfortable manner—increasingly suave, she noted, and fancied she had something to do with that—put her at ease, but Twilight hesitated to show it. Her investment was likely common knowledge by now—their kiss had made that obvious—but it would not do to show favoritism.
“Just questions,” she finally said.
“Pity,” Liet said. He sat down, none too comfortable on the strange chair. It had nearly cooled since Davoren had heated the metal, for which Twilight was glad. A seat made answering thinly concealed accusations much easier.
“Are you Liet Sagrin, son of Harrowdale, and sometime swordsman?”
“And are you Fox-at-Twilight, daughter of mystery, and sometime thief?”
“This is no game,” Twilight said. “You must answer my questions. Billfora has cast a spell that detects lies, and so she must hear your truths—and falsehoods.”
Liet’s eyes widened and his mouth trembled, pained. “You doubt m—” he paused, then finished the question another way. “You doubt your own ears?”
“Let us simply say,” Twilight replied, “that I need a second opinion.”
Liet’s shoulders slumped. He was defeated. “Very well. Ask.”
“Are you a loyal member of our band?” She raised a hand to cut off his objection. “Loyal to our well-being, and to the success of our venture.”
“As best I’m able.” She frowned. “Aye. I serve.”
“But serve who, Liet?” She took a step toward him.
“But surely I serve you, Twilight,” said Liet, rising toward her, “if I’m loyal to our well-being and the success of this venture of ours.”
“Unless you think me mad or wrong.” She stepped up to him.
“Unless that.” He faltered for a heartbeat. “Though I don’t think either.”
They stared at each other, eyes not a pace apart. Theirs was a battle of will, rather than of words or swords. The world fell silent around them and they existed alone.
“Ahem?”
Twilight tore her eyes from Liet and looked at Slip. The halfling fidgeted.
“I …” Twilight trailed off. Asking the question should have been a simple matter, and yet it was not.
“Ask, Twilight,” Liet said, and her eyes snapped back to him. He caught up her hand, and she could feel the warmth pass into her like a spark of power. The youth brought her fingers up to his lips. His next words were a whisper. “I’m not afraid.”
Twilight could not say the same.
“Very well,” she said. “Are you, Liet Sagrin, a spy?”
“Nay.” He was telling the truth, as Slip confirmed with a nod. Twilight looked back, locking Liet’s mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—with her own stare. She wondered what color her eyes seemed. They changed like her face—like herself.
“Are you in league with our enemy?”
“Davoren? Nay.”
“The force that is attempting to slay us,” Twilight said. “That Mad Sharn, perhaps, or whatever dark lord is
responsible for the deaths of our friends—the murderers of Asson and Taslin … whoever our enemy is. Are you a servant of our foe?”
Liet’s eyes searched her own. “Nay,” he said.
Not a lie. Did she detect the hint of a smile? Just her imagination.
“Are you our enemy?” Twilight asked, inspiration striking. “Have you deceived us all this time, hiding your true identity in an effort to slay us and drive us mad?”
Liet stared, perfectly calm. “I suppose …” He shrugged.
“Aye.”
Twilight’s eyes widened. His voice had not wavered; his heart had not palpitated. All the subconscious signs were absent. Her senses had not found any falsehood. Liet stared at her with absolute sincerity and, she thought, contempt.
“Lady Doom!” Twilight leaped back and snapping out Betrayal. How …?
Liet’s mismatched eyes blazed, and she knew it was true.
“Oh!” Slip screamed. “Oh, gods! ’twas a lie!”
Twilight flicked her eyes to the halfling, who was panting, terrified. Liet grinned.
“What?” Twilight asked.
“’twas a lie, of course.” He gave an awkward, insufferable smile. “I’ve been taking your lessons.”
“Slip?”
The little woman stared at her intently. “I swear, by all the gods I know, that he tells a lie,” she said. “I mean, that’s the truth—that ’tis a lie … I mean … he …”
“No.” Twilight let out a sigh and turned back.
“’Light—” the Dalesman started, but her slap cut him off.
“You think this is a game, boy?” she snarled. “Get out of my sight.”
“But—” Liet started. He stopped when Twilight half-drew Betrayal and gave him a look no yet-living foe had ever seen on her delicate features. Liet stiffened and suppressed a sound that was much like a strangled cough. The mirth had gone out of his eyes, replaced by sheer horror. “Oh, ’Light, I’m so—”
“I won’t say it again,” Twilight said, her voice flat.
The young swordsman’s face went ashen and his eyes gleamed with tears. “Sorry!” he cried, and fled.
A long while passed, the silence filled with heavy, angry breathing. Twilight was hardly aware of Slip’s searching gaze, her frightened features.
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