All she could see were those horrible eyes, Liet’s eyes, laughing at her—mocking her hard-trained abilities, her confidence to tell truth from falsehood by ear. Laughing … always laughing … what was he doing, trying to drive her mad?
From behind her, Slip shifted nervously—loud enough for Twilight to hear. “Ah,” she said. “Are—are you well?”
“Oh, indeed.” Twilight closed her eyes and forced an easy smile onto her pale face. “Friend.” She turned and favored the halfling with her most dazzling grin. “How sure are you that none of them is a spy?”
Slip brightened considerably, smiling back as though nothing were the matter. “Absolutely certain,” she replied. “Why?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When the screech came from the Forge, Liet bolted up from where he had slumped, his hands on his knees, against the wall of the alley. Gargan similarly unfolded himself from the shadows and laid his hand on his sword. Even Davoren paused where he had been pacing.
The rear door flew open and Slip staggered out. The halfling immediately whirled and drew her little dagger, but a dusky blade sent it whirling from her hand with a deft flick. The gray-white point of Betrayal hissed under Slip’s chin.
“Help me!” Slip cried. “She’s gone mad!”
“What’s going on?” Liet asked, hand going to his sword.
“Back,” was all Twilight said, but the fire in her pale eyes—almost red in the ruby light of Davoren’s pulsing energies—told him much more.
“Do you not see?” The warlock sneered. “She has eliminated the options—me, you, the giant—and has but one left. The only one who could have lied—the half-witch.” Darkness passed over his eyes and his arms pulsed with flame.
Slip, with Twilight distracted, stammered out the words to a spell, but Davoren chanted along with her, invoking harsh and vile names and deeds better spoken of in a tongue of pure evil. The halfling’s magic faltered, defeated by the warlock’s voracious powers, and tears ran down her cheeks. Twilight dealt Slip a savage kick to the stomach, stifling further magic. She pulled Betrayal back, lining it up with the little one’s back.
Hissing black steel knocked it aside when she thrust. Gargan was there, sword drawn, and he and the elf locked blades and stares, waging a private battle. Their swords sparked against each other, bubbling acid hissing on the hot steel. The light flickering above her, like a hissing sun, plunged her face into light and shadow.
Liet shivered. From their stares, it was clear a life would be lost should it come to blows, and knowing Gargan’s strength, it would likely be hers. The goliath didn’t try to break her parry, only hold her sword back. If he attacked, maybe she could dodge, then riposte, perhaps, and …
What was he thinking? Had the world gone mad?
“Please!” Slip moaned. “Don’t let this happen! Please!”
“Silence, traitor,” hissed Twilight without taking her eyes off Gargan.
“Come, Twilight,” said Davoren. As he spoke, he inched his way toward Slip, lying huddled and helpless. “Together we can slay them. We no longer need their aid.”
The elf should have retorted but she did not, causing Liet to gape. Was she considering it?
Liet looked at Davoren. Lightning crackled around the warlock’s scepter and flames licked his hands. Liet realized that if he did nothing, one of his friends would die.
And with that realization, something snapped inside him.
All the times he had watched Twilight confront the warlock fearlessly, all the wry smiles, throwing herself over Slip, all the memories of Twilight’s courage came back to him in a single white-hot moment of bravery, and swelled into something inside that Liet had never imagined.
“No,” he commanded. He stepped in Davoren’s way.
All other sound in the cavern withered into silence. Twilight stared at him.
The warlock snickered, but Liet stayed firm. “I won’t say it again.”
“I see.” Davoren slit his eyes. “The boy thinks he’s pretty enough and wily enough to split our fearsome leader, so that makes him worthwhile, eh? Allow me to explain how that isn’t—”
“Enough talk,” said Liet. He drew his battered, chipped sword and pointed it at Davoren’s face. “You want to kill us, do you? Then do it now.”
“Suddenly he’s become brave,” Davoren said, irritation in his eyes.
“Only braver than a coward,” said Liet.
The warlock’s eyes burned at him and his face contorted. Flames licked about fingers curled into talons. Davoren’s face promised swift death and—
And went pale. The warlock’s eyes widened, he backed away, and his gaze slid from Liet, as though he saw something that genuinely frightened him. He backed away and those red eyes showed real terror, and … something else. Pain. Hurt.
Liet felt a tingle in the back of his mind. Was this ability to frighten the warlock, whose unholy power dwarfed Liet’s mediocre swordsmanship, a manifestation of that potential Twilight saw in him? Did he have a sorcerer’s potential? Was he a hero?
He realized it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had stood between Davoren and Slip, and the warlock backed down. Now he posed no threat to …
“Twilight!” Liet said suddenly. She spun where she stood, facing both halfling and goliath with sword drawn, murderous fury in her eyes. “Don’t do this! Slip’s innocent! We all are! There’s no spy! You’re being ridiculous!”
“Lies,” Twilight growled. “You all passed the test. She’s the only one who could have escaped—the only one whose word wasn’t tested. She’s a liar and a traitor! She’s the only one it could be! The only one!”
No, Twilight, she’s not, Liet thought suddenly. She’s the only one except—
“Except yourself, filliken,” Davoren said. Liet glared and the warlock receded as before, but he kept a hand on the scepter at his waist.
A trifle unnerved but more worried for Twilight, Liet turned back only to see that the damage had been done. Twilight had gone paler than usual and her lip trembled, fighting against a cruel thought—a grave doubt. Liet felt his heart clench in his chest, torn between love and not a little fear that maybe, just maybe, the warlock was right.
Perhaps she saw it in Liet’s eyes, or perhaps she thought the same. Her shoulders slumped and all emotion vanished from her face. She appraised Liet more as a dull blade than a companion, or even a living thing, and his stomach knotted.
“Very well,” she said slowly. “The halfling may indeed be innocent, but—”
“Thank you, Mistress!” Slip threw herself down and kissed Twilight’s ragged boots. “Thank—”
Twilight shoved the halfling away with a foot, eyeing her. “But I won’t trust her.”
“I’ll watch her,” Liet volunteered.
“No.” Twilight shook her head.
“I,” Gargan rumbled, drawing gazes from the other four. “I watch.”
The silence lasted a long breath before Twilight finally nodded. “Very well,” she said. “But you will watch her close, blade to hand.”
“Blade to hand,” Gargan repeated.
She turned away, casting Liet an angry glare, and slipped into the smithy. That gaze both thanked and warned him.
Unable to stand it, he looked away and thought he saw another of those black hands—with the eye in its palm—reaching out of a wall opposite the smithy. When he looked hard, it was gone.
Liet suppressed a chill.
The length of a candle later, Twilight sat naked, alone, and crying.
They had moved from the Forge into a larger complex, nearer the center of the city. With Twilight’s talents at stealth leading them, they had evaded the bees who came to investigate the shouts. This new building—a mansion, by comparison—might well have belonged to Nega himself, the high arcanist. Twilight didn’t really care. It may as well have been hers now. Its wards and defenses had failed (clearly not the mythallar’s priorities) and possession of the manse, as in all things, passed to
the strong and alive.
Twilight had found an ancient bedchamber for herself—complete with an eerie floating bed of withered velvet, powered by the mythallar. She had stripped off her worn, ochre-stained garments, feeling filthy in them, and flung herself on the blankets, daring them to crack and disintegrate. They had not, and there she remained.
Though the room was far from the others, she did not mind. In fact, it suited her, for here she could scream and curse in privacy, without any of them thinking her mad.
Not that she did so. The day was more one for weeping than for expressions of fury.
Her tears had formed a damp spot on the bed cover nearly the size of a buckler when the door opened of its own accord—magic, of course. She wondered what manner of monster had come to slay her. Fiendish lizards, perhaps, or one of the bees. Maybe even the troll, though she imagined she would have smelled Tlork’s approach. Perhaps even whatever beast had attacked her in the night, unless that had been a nightmare. She didn’t know—she didn’t know anything anymore.
“’Light?” came a soft, hurt voice.
A sigh. It was far worse than any of the possibilities she had considered.
“Why do you frown, love?” Liet stepped forward, undeterred by her discontent—yet another aspect of him she loved and loathed. “It makes you too pretty.”
She wouldn’t take the bait. Twilight just looked away. He stepped closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed. She let him disrobe, stripping to his smallclothes, and his shirt, of course. He reached to embrace her.
“Surely this incident has told you—”
Twilight shoved him and he tumbled out of the free-floating bed. Liet landed on his bottom with an unceremonious thump. He looked so adorable—and pounceable—but she ignored that observation.
“There are three possibilities,” said Twilight, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “One, that it is Slip.”
“That’s out,” said Liet. He rose, winced, and dusted himself off. The stone must have been cold under his bare feet. Twilight couldn’t say she objected to the view, and for that reason she cursed him again.
“Two,” she continued. “One among us can defeat her spell and my sense.”
“Certainly not,” Liet said. “No one can tell lies from truths better than you, love.”
Twilight didn’t bother to correct him. “And the third …”
“That there is no spy,” the youth said.
Twilight bit her lip, then her eyes narrowed. “Have I been acting strangely of late?”
Liet gaped. “You can’t be serious,” he said. His surprise was a lie.
“It could be me,” said Twilight. Her voice came out calm, a lie to the turmoil within. “How long was I unconscious without the Shroud? Any of my foes could have done this. I could be acting under magical compulsion—a spell I’m not even—”
Liet caught the shadowdancer by the shoulders and shook her. “Nonsense!”
No one did that to her. No one.
She formed a rebuke, but he laid two fingers across her lips. “This has been hard on us all—you especially, as our leader.”
With effort, Twilight calmed herself. She’d hurt him without steel. “I have seen you lie once, well enough to deceive me.”
Liet grinned. “I’ve watched you with open eyes and ears.” He climbed onto the bed on hands and knees, aiming for her lips. “I lie in your bed. I don’t lie in it.”
“I’m no stranger to enemies lying to me,” she said. “In my bed, to my face, or otherwise.” Twilight stared at him levelly. “You’re just one more.”
She watched his face fall, then a surge of anger. “Like your Uncle Nemesis, eh?”
Twilight felt cold. “Fair even, Liet.” She dismissed him with a wave.
The youth’s face went pale. He realized once again that he had just said the wrong thing. “I—I didn’t mean it,” he said, suddenly sad. “It just—ah—”
Twilight slapped him. “Aren’t you angry? Do you have a spine, or do you just apologize for everything?” She fended off his damnably comforting hands.
“Why don’t you scream at me, or beat me if you want—at least something. Aren’t you going to fight for me?” She shoved him off the bed. “Why don’t you say something, damn you?”
Liet stared at her, shocked. “I—I’m sorry, I …”
Twilight sighed, the fire in her blood dying down. It was pathetic, but it was endearing. A soft smile came over her face, and she hated herself for it.
“I know,” she said. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” She felt that way, too.
She reached down to help him up, and her fingers scraped his wrist. Liet gave a shiver but didn’t pull away. He looked at her, his eyes so sad and longing …
She pulled away. “I just—” she said. She was shivering. “I just can’t do this.”
The youth looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded. “I understand.” He gave a knight’s bow. “Fair eve, for a fair maid.”
“Sweet water,” she whispered, “and light laughter.”
Then he walked away, and Twilight turned to weep as quietly as she could against the wall. No tears came—her eyes were dry.
After a ten-count, she sprang up and pushed the table against the door. No one would intrude—not companion, nor monster, nor nightmare. Not her mysterious attacker, if it even existed. And if it did after all, well, she could die.
That would be all right. Without Liet.
She knew, somehow, that they were done. Some things are not forgivable.
The youth walked away, but he didn’t leave.
Sinking against the door, Liet thought about Twilight’s drawn, haggard face. Nearly two days without food, and little water, and that mysterious incident that morning had taken their toll on the lovely elf. But her nerves hurt her far worse than that.
The tragedies of the last days, especially the deaths of Asson and Taslin, had struck them all, but none harder than Twilight, who seemed to take full responsibility. And now that her suspicions about the spy had come out, and she had been proven so wrong in an incident that might have condemned their friend …
Liet tried not to think about Twilight going mad before his eyes. He contemplated the others. The way Gargan had stared at Twilight, murderously, still chilled Liet. And Slip—clearly she had been a bit unhinged from the beginning. Ironically, Liet thought the sanest, safest of his companions was the power-hungry, blood-thirsty Davoren.
His hands clenched open and closed. He couldn’t get angry, but how could he do anything if he …
It only took the thought of her tears, her shoulders shuddering with repressed strain to stir up pain in his heart and push the anger aside.
Liet promised himself he wouldn’t give up—not on her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Are we sure this’ll work?” Slip asked, for perhaps the eightieth time.
“’twas your plan,” Twilight sighed, for perhaps the eightieth time.
“Oh.” Slip considered. “Right.”
Twilight could tell by the way Davoren’s lips moved that he prayed to Asmodeus, perhaps for strength. Having an archdevil on one’s side wasn’t all bad, she decided. She wouldn’t pray to Erevan. What was the point?
The five had risen after a reasonable amount of sleep. Day was night in the cavern, though Twilight knew it to be several bells after midnight on the surface, from her “gift.” They could not have been imprisoned by Tlork long, but it seemed years had passed. Had her entire life until this point been an illusion, and the notions of “bells” and “midnight” just dreams? Perhaps Erevan did not really exist, and she truly was free—if freedom existed in a place like this.
That terrified her.
Twilight suppressed a shiver and shoved the thoughts violently aside. Liet had attempted to convince her of her sanity the previous night, but her own mind seemed Hells-bent on proving him wrong.
“If we climb that tower,” Slip repeated, “we should be able to get
out, right? I mean, we’re underground, and going up takes us aboveground, aye?”
Twilight didn’t have the heart to bring up complications like cave ceilings or the inability to fly. “If only it were that simple,” she muttered.
“Aye, love?” Liet whispered at her side.
Twilight just shook her head. She wished he wouldn’t call her that.
The High Tower—Davoren had assured them it must be the High Arcanist’s Tower, if this had truly been a floating enclave, but Twilight was not comfortable so naming it—was free of the hive but not the garden. The Nocturnal Garden, he’d called it, and that name, Twilight did not dispute.
They wandered through a nightmare landscape of twisted, alien stalks and blossoms of myriad, disturbingly vibrant colors. Fumes and spores that could only come in dreams threatened to send them dizzily to the ground, but Gargan seemed able to guide them around the more dangerous plants. When they saw one giant snapping beast indistinguishable from the surrounding ferns lash out with its tentacles to pull a passing bee-creature down its pod-gullet, Twilight was glad she wasn’t leading the way.
They made their way slowly, in relative silence, avoiding carnivorous flowers and attention from the bees. Several times, they ducked and hid in the shadows of Negarath to avoid a flight of three or four. Most of the time, the creatures stopped to harvest nectar from the various unearthly plants, and Twilight understood the purpose of the garden. The necter-dependent bees would be hard pressed for a for a food source if anything were to happen to their garden.
Within a bell’s time, they entered the overgrown, moss-ridden High Tower.
The rooms had long since faded into a dizzying array of vast, empty affairs that must have held opulence beyond reckoning in the days of Netheril. Tapestries remained, but they had withered to blank sheets of cloth canvas. Most of the rooms and the curled furniture were entirely of some sort of metal—iron or steel—coated with cracked marble, sandstone, or obsidian, while some—the dangerous ones—were but broken glass.
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