Depths of Madness

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Twilight twisted in mid-dive and the blast scorched across her back. Only her ring's protective magic kept her skin intact. She landed lightly and kicked out. Davoren scowled and threw himself aside just in time to avoid the blow.

Feeling rather than seeing the miss, Twilight wasted no time reversing her momentum, spinning, and slamming an elbow into the warlock's chest. Davoren recoiled and fell back a step, but his eyes were already blazing with ruby light. The warlock snarled an infernal oath and jerked his hands apart.

"Damn and burn," Twilight snapped, throwing herself back, trusting instinct.

The elf maid somersaulted back as a fan of ruby fire cut over her chest. She flipped completely over, landing on her feet in a crouch. She rose halfway into a combat stance, keeping her eyes on Davoren. The man had backed away and was holding up burning, clawed hands, one forward, one at his ear.

"Come, fiend-spawn." Twilight hissed as she dipped and wove. "You can do better than that, eh?"

The warlock grinned as they both circled. "You think you can elude my power, do you?" he said. "You await a strike, thinking you will dodge and I will be open, eh?"

"How clever." Twilight never took her eyes off him. "And your solution?"

Davoren lifted his left arm. The diabolic face molded into his leather bracer chuckled for an instant. The air rippled and a chittering giggle floated forth that matched the gauntlet's mirth. A tiny winged creature with night black flesh-an imp, Twilight realized-appeared a few paces at her back, laughing and hissing.

Summoned aid, Twilight thought. How original.

Davoren threw his blasts of flame past her, and she understood. With a curse, she sprinted toward the warlock.

The flames consumed the imp before it had the chance to move or even squeak in protest, then the heat arced from its ashen remains to strike Twilight in the back, blowing her out of her charge and slamming her body against the wall.

Davoren laughed uproariously. "Fool!" he said. "You think you can outwit Hellsheart?" He fell into the grip of fiendish power once again.

Fighting against the pain that ripped through her, Twilight struggled to her feet. Little trails of smoke rose from her back. The ring's magic had absorbed much of the blast, but not all. Limping, she extended the rapier toward Davoren and bent low.

Davoren's right gauntlet shimmered with magic. A second imp, identical to the first, appeared at her back. Wonderful.

Twilight didn't give Davoren the chance. She straightened, pulling her rapier back to throw, and ran toward him. She might not cover the five or six paces between them in time, but her blade would. The warlock's eyes went wide and he shot flame at her. Had he blasted the imp, it would not have arced to Twilight in time.

Even in panic, though, he had not abandoned all aim. The ruby ray struck her rapier's hilt, superheating it in an instant and unleashing a tremor upon her hand with the kind of force that would have shattered bone had she not released the weapon to fly over her shoulder.

Cursing in pain and consternation, the shadowdancer watched as Betrayal skittered along the ground behind her. A thumb's breadth lower, and his blast would have destroyed her hand to the wrist. Davoren cursed his missed blast and danced back, power flickering in his eyes as he invoked his lord's gifts again.

"I will destroy you, whore!" Davoren sneered.

Always insults about my lovelife-or my profession, she mused as he threw fire that consumed his imp. It darted for Twilight.

This time, the elf managed to dodge, but only by leaping onto Davoren. The flames jetted over her head and slammed into the wall, sending chips of stone flying. The elf and the warlock went down in a heap of bodies, kicking and scrabbling.

Davoren slammed Twilight to the ground, but she hit his stomach with her knee. The warlock reeled, rolling away, and Twilight seized the chance to pounce atop him, hands going for his throat. He caught her wrist in both hands and pried at her grip.

They locked, pitting wiry muscles against each other. She had his throat in her right hand. Her left slapped her belt, searching for some weapon. She knew she didn't have the strength to choke the life from him or shatter his neck. One of her lockpicks would do; a quick thrust to the eye or temple would put the warlock down.

Then a thin blade appeared in Davoren's hand, snatched from a sheath inside one of his demon bracers, and it darted for Twilight's face. Her hand shot out and caught Davoren's wrist. The warlock spit and slavered, straining against Twilight, the point of his stiletto just a hair's breadth from her jugular.

The tip scratched her neck and a bright spot of blood welled up.

"Almost, filliken." Davoren hissed through clenched teeth. "Almost."

"Almost nothing," she said.

Twilight squeezed the tendon in his wrist just so, and Davoren squealed in pain. She slammed his hand against the ground once, twice, knocking the blade free. The warlock, to his credit, kicked Twilight off him, but she was already extricating herself. She rolled free, over the fallen stiletto, and went for Betrayal where it lay.

Davoren struggled up, aimed his fingers at her back, and spat dark words, taking his time to articulate the brutish syllables.

In mid-roll, Twilight reversed direction and came up in a crouch, her hand crossbow pointing at the warlock's face. Moving for the rapier had just been a distraction, meant to keep the warlock's eye on the steel while he ignored the real threat.

By the time he saw the crossbow, the bolt was streaking for his face. Davoren wasn't quick enough to flinch.

Or perhaps he had no reason to fear.

The crossbow bolt skipped off Davoren's cheek, causing less damage than it would have to a mountainside.

"Sand," Twilight swore. She had forgotten Davoren's fiendish skin.

The failed attack allowed Davoren to complete his invocation, and a curtain of black-laced fire appeared around Twilight, trapping her in a circle that measured no more than five paces across. Discarding the crossbow in favor of the rapier she had collected, she growled at her foolishness.

"Davoren!" she snapped. "Face me, coward! I have steel in hand. Face me!"

The only response she received was the roar of the infernal flames, growling and laughing around her.

Twilight realized that he could be preparing any number of deaths for her, so she switched tactics. "Why not face me, warlock?" she asked. "I stand here, shaking, and you hesitate? Surely you do not fear me-a weakling wench like myself, eh? You don't have the sand, perhaps-or maybe the sword?"

Davoren laughed derisively, a sound much louder than the fires. "Ah yes, the courageous Fox-at-Twilight, always so witty, always so much better than others," he said. "Is that why you chose us, I wonder, because you think yourself superior?"

Ducking below the smoke that was filling the chamber, Twilight opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of that, but he was already rattling on.

"I wonder if Telketh and Arandon ever knew how little you thought of them. Or perhaps they were too distracted, having shared your bed. They were so eager to give their lives for you. I wonder if they ever realized you meant them as little more than monster feed. I wonder about Quelin, the sniveling paladin, or even that bitch Galandra. Did you seduce her too, I wonder?"

His voice came from all sides, as though he were stalking about her fiery prison. She loathed evil monologues, but they were a typical consequence of an assault on a spellslinger's pride.

"You disappoint me, Davoren," Twilight said. Without any stealth-knowing that he couldn't see her beyond the flames or through magic-she reached back with the warlock's stiletto and slid it, point-first, into a flask at her belt. "I would have thought one such as yourself would recognize the value of ruthlessness."

"Nevertheless," Davoren growled, but said no more. Twilight was grateful.

"I thought I was hiring a spellslinger worth a dozen gold a day in Westgate," she called, "but I see now you're nothing but a pathetic worm. You're too afraid to confront-what did you call me on the way to this expedition? — a 'two-copper trollop with a flimsy metal twig she calls a sword'?"

"I'm sure I was more imaginative, whore," came the warlock's reply. "But I wasn't far off the mark. Your meager skills and your pathetic powers are nothing compared to mine. Your sniveling changeling god is as nothing against the might of the Lord of Baator."

"Why not stand and face me, and show me this supposed might?" Twilight asked. "If you are truly as great as you claim, there is little a poor lass like me can do to defeat you." She stretched her back and grinned. "Unless, of course-you aren't."

Davoren strode through the flames, dark power licking at the fringe of his robe. His eyes pulsed with ruby energy and his face contorted with rage. Fire leaked from his fists as he bore down upon Twilight.

"Insolent, mongrel bitch!" he growled. "I shall see you beg!"

"Many have spoken thus," said Twilight. "All are dead."

"You'll join them!" Davoren lunged, power streaming from his hands and eyes.

Twilight put out the dusky rapier and dropped, a low stop thrust that would have spitted any sword-dancer foolish enough to charge thus. Davoren, however, merely sent the sword clattering aside with a pulse of his power and loomed over Twilight. She spun with the blow and buried the stiletto in his side.

The darkness abated and the wall of flames flickered out, leaving an eerie, vile smoke hanging at the edges of their vision.

Davoren, shaking off his surprise, gave her a mocking grin. He looked down at the little trickle of blood making its way down the stiletto's edge. "Not cold iron this time, eh?" the warlock asked. "I hardly feel it."

"Not the blade." Twilight smiled. "The poison."

The warlock blinked in confusion-once, then a second time slowly, then a third time, in which he fought to move his eyelids. He felt it then, a subtle chill that flowed through his veins. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened, but he could not move.

Twilight glared in his face. "My nar'talas venom. Locklimb, humans call it," she said. "Brewed from the juice of a rare breed of centipede native to Evermeet. Causes mild euphoria when inhaled and instant paralysis when introduced to the blood."

She yanked the dagger free. Davoren didn't flinch-couldn't, Twilight thought-and wiped it clean on the warlock's robe.

"Only a little bit flows in your veins, enough to keep you frozen a few moments-enough to silence your spit hole while I make a few things perfectly clear. Understand?"

She knew Davoren could not reply. His outraged eyes, though, said enough.

"Before we get to business, while I've got you transfixed, perhaps you can help me understand something I've always wondered about." She paused. "If you're the descendant of demons, how is it you serve Asmodeus?"

That got his attention, and Twilight saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eye.

"I wonder," she said. "The grandson of a demon prince, a servant of archdevils, who takes his power from both the Hells and the Abyss? Which was it, by the way-Graz'zt or Orcus? I'm curious. The latter, I bet. You look like the son of a corpse."

Unsurprisingly, no reply was forthcoming.

Twilight knelt down to stare into Davoren's eyes. "Hear this now," she said. Her voice was soft. "You cannot comprehend what it would mean to cross me. Your master does not frighten me-I have spat in his eye myself."

Silence for a heartbeat. Twilight knew he believed her. The truth of that mattered not at all.

"And if you think for a single moment that your power frightens me, you are making a fatal mistake."

He offered no response but a hateful glare.

"Now then, to the real business at hand," she said. "I know you had something to do with Asson's fall. I heard the magic, the word of command. I could have been mistaken, perhaps, but if it were just me, I'd gut you right now and leave your entrails for the scavengers, just to err on the more pleasant side."

Twilight paused, allowing Davoren to drink in her entire meaning.

"But it's not just me. I have to think of us all, and if we're going to get out of here alive, we need to work together. We all need allies to survive this, and you've got none-not even your own tongue." Her eyes narrowed. "So let me make this clear-from here on, you're either with us, or you're dead. Savvy?"

Twilight could tell from the way the color began to bleed out of Davoren's face that the poison was starting to dilute through his blood, and he could feel his body once again. Soon, he could speak. "Ye-yes," he managed. "Yes, that's clear."

Twilight slammed him against the wall again. Though she was not a big woman, or a strong one, she knew exactly what angles to ply for sufficient leverage.

To further emphasize her point, she stabbed him again for good measure.

"Aack-" Davoren managed. Then he could only look at her, stung and furious.

"I wasn't finished," she said.

She wrenched the dagger out, causing Davoren's eyes to water, and raised it before his face. His dark blood mingled with an amber jelly smeared along the blade. Then she reached down and pulled out the vial of poison, to wave it in front of his face.

"I carry more of this than you might think. If you try something like that again-if you even think it-I'll pump you so full of venom you'll be able to do nothing but lie helpless while the vermin of this hellhole start with your eyes and work their way toward your brain." Her eyes bored holes into his face. "How does that sound, Lord Hellsheart, servant of Asmodeus?"

Davoren could do nothing but stare daggers at her. She saw a touch of pain in his eyes, and she took it for fear. So he was just a bully.

"Remember," she said. "You betray us again, and I won't bury you."

The warlock kept silent. He could speak again, but he could barely move, Twilight knew. She left him then, and Davoren could not follow.

"Twilight?" his voice floated after her. It was pained-broken. "Twilight!"

She rounded the corner, losing sight of the half-paralyzed warlock. Try as he might, Twilight knew that he could not catch up, not for a while. Long enough, hopefully, to make her point sink home, like a finely crafted blade between a certain pair of ribs.

Twilight shook her head to clear the image. One could dream.

Davoren's despairing cries echoed as she went farther down the tunnel, just loud enough for her to hear, but not for the others to do so.

"Twilight!" he shouted. "Come back here! Don't leave me alone like this! Help! Please! He-" Then the sound faded. He would catch up.

Probably.

Twilight's grin widened.

When Twilight found her, Taslin was sitting alone, in a chamber far from the others. Wrapped in a grimlock cloak, her acid-eaten armor removed, the priestess sat with knees pulled up to her chin. She was on the edge of a chasm in a great chamber where many sewer passages met. The place probably smelled foul centuries before, when waste flowed through the sewers, but the cool emptiness of the deep underground had replaced it. Only a slight mustiness hinted at the filth that filled these halls in an era long dead.

As though the priestess sensed her, Taslin spoke as Twilight crept up behind her. "You would have loved Asson as well, had you known him as I did-as he was once."

"He was not always such a noble old man?" Twilight sat and pulled her knees to her chest, as Taslin did.

"He was not always so old, as humans measure the years," said Taslin. "Asson lay in my arms for fifty summers and fifty winters. I knew that our parting would come one day. I have dreaded the moment of loss, but not the leave-taking itself."

"You did not fear to lose your lover, then," said Twilight.

"Not a fear that I would lose him-that fate I knew to be inevitable," the priestess said. "Rather an acceptance of the truth and a choice to see past it."

"See past death?" Twilight kicked a stone off the edge of the chasm, watching it disappear into the darkness. Hollowness spread through her. "You'd have to be dead."

"Endings and leave-takings are of this life, just as meetings and beginnings," said Taslin. "To fear losing what you love is to abandon loving it here and now. To fear losing one you know you will lose makes less sense still."

"Life to be lived in the moment… I've heard it before. The life of a human."

"The life of an elf," Taslin corrected. "You are young, and do not understand what it is to live as we do. To know the joy of every moment, to release love of the past and fear of the future."

Twilight looked at her. "No." She meant to be firm, but her voice betrayed the slightest tremble. What was this she felt? And what did Taslin know of her?

The priestess met her gaze. "Asson and I knew many years of happiness together. And while they endured, each of us loved to the fullest, knowing that our time together would end. And now those years have ended, and I can be content, knowing that he rests. It has been the same for the four lovers I have known-all of them human."

Twilight raised a brow at that. She looked into the chasm- its beckoning darkness comforted her. Or at least so she told herself.

"I lost a lover once," she said. "His name was Neveren. He died in my arms. I understand how you feel."

Taslin sighed. "You know what the greatest irony is? If we could recover his bones, by Corellon's grace, he could be restored to me."

Twilight's gaze snapped to her. "You have that power?" she said, stunned. "Why not use it? Would Asson not answer?"

"He would return if I called him," said Taslin. "But I would not call."

"You do not grieve for him?" Twilight reached out and laid her hand, ever so lightly, on Taslin's shoulder.

The priestess closed her eyes gently. "I do, in my heart," she said. "But I…" She trailed off, her eyes soft. Her hand reached for Twilight's.

Twilight eluded Taslin's touch and brushed a lock of her golden hair away. With techniques long practiced, Twilight ran her fingers through Taslin's golden hair and over her shoulders and neck. She felt the tension in the sun elf's body-sensed the vibrations in the priestess's bones that spoke of buried grief. Twilight shifted, leaning against Taslin's back, and stroked her hair gently. She told herself to stop, but that self didn't listen.

"Sometimes," whispered Twilight, knowing the words, "grief can-cannot…"

Then, inexplicably, she stumbled. She couldn't say it-couldn't speak that lie. Who was this priestess, who had such power over her? Was this Erevan's doing?

In a matter of heartbeats, tears began to fall down Taslin's cheeks, through the acid-etched furrows like streams of pain and sorrow. The priestess wept in Twilight's arms for a long time, her strength and endurance bleeding away into a fragility not even Twilight would have thought possible. It staggered her.

Twilight knew that Taslin did not weep as a champion of Corellon Larethian, or as a mighty priestess, or even as an elf who had seen more than three hundred winters. In that moment, Taslin was merely a woman, crying from her heart for the man she had loved-still loved, though he was gone.

And through it all, Twilight felt again the terrible pain and anger in her own heart, boiling and festering like a sore, a canker that would never heal.

Never would she let herself weep for love. She had known too much treachery for that. It was an aptly named sword she carried, Betrayal, its blade dyed the dusk of stone after the darkness that had bled from her pierced heart into its steel.

Twilight was so lost in her rage that she almost did not notice when Taslin turned in her arms. She did notice, though, when the sun elf bent in and pressed her lips to her own. For a single, stunned breath, Twilight did nothing but let Taslin kiss her.

Then hot blood flowed through her veins. She looked into green-gold eyes and saw there the light and hope she wanted-desperately needed. Her hands clasped both sides of the priestess's face and pulled her deeper into the embrace. As though Taslin suddenly realized what was happening, she tried to break the kiss, but Twilight clung to her, pulling her and throwing them both to the stone.

Then the priestess let out a muffled gasp and Twilight felt her surrender. Supple arms wrapped around her back, and she felt nails through her blouse but she was hardly aware of the world outside the kiss.

All of Taslin's fiery passions poured into that kiss-all her wrath and rage about Asson's death, all her determination and love. She kissed hard, violently. Her hands gripped Twilight's arms with white-knuckled force, the nails nearly drawing blood.

Then it was broken. Twilight rolled away to lie beside Taslin, both of them panting heavily in the murky torchlight. The two women looked at each other for many heartbeats, neither speaking. They merely breathed.

Twilight's heart raced so fast it scared her. No, she thought. No!

Then Taslin made a sound that made Twilight's heart fall back into shadow. It was a mere giggle at first, but soon it became an outright laugh.

She laughed alone.

How much the mirth stung startled her. Twilight felt like weeping, for she had been wrong about Taslin, but no-no tears. Instead, she bound that hurt deep inside.

While the priestess seemed capable of letting it pass, Erevan's servant was not so carefree. Perhaps the Maid was toying with her again, or even the Trickster himself. He had ruined everything else in her life, why not this?

"My thanks," the priestess said. "Perhaps there is more to wisdom than holding it all within the heart." Then she smiled innocently, and her eyes softened.

Twilight wanted to agree-she wanted to reassure Taslin, to tell her all would be well. She could see that Taslin needed only those words and her heart would be whole once more. It should have been so easy to give her those, to give her the comfort and love she needed. Even if Taslin did not want her as a lover, Twilight should have been able to take Taslin into her arms and let the sun elf weep on her shoulder, sharing the pain.

But it would've been a lie-an inward lie. She could not tell Taslin that grief had to be entrusted to others-she did not believe in trusting others. And the priestess, much as she possessed the warmth Twilight's cold heart craved, did trust, and that made her a fool. More than that, she was stupid enough to want Twilight for a friend.

Twilight believed in only three breeds of people in the world: lovers, enemies, and those who were both. That left no room for something so naive as friendship.

All trust and friendship had earned her, in her young life, had been more than her years' worth of heartbreak and loss.

Without a word, Twilight stood and walked away. She didn't look back.

She thought she heard Taslin say something behind her, but the words hurt less than those pained eyes, stabbing into her back.

"May Corellon guide you," the sun elf said. "And may you accept his hand."