Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [84]
Moments later, a sharp blow crashed down upon him, and Taenaran fell headlong into darkness.
CHAPTER 22
The Year of Wild Magic
(1372 DR)
She was gone.
Taen knelt on the hard stone floor of the bridge and wept silently. Tears just barely held in check glistened wetly around eyes red with grief. He had failed once again. His own deficiencies had once more caused harm to someone for whom he had cared deeply. It hadn't mattered that the Song had come to him like an old friend instead of a bitter enemy, strengthening his arm and bolstering his swordplay, rather than stealing his strength with the fear of its presence. The half-elf knew that he had stood on the threshold of everything that he had trained and striven for in his life-and it hadn't been enough.
He hadn't been enough.
Marissa was gone-likely dead-and their mission in shambles. The knot in his chest confirmed what he already knew in the cold, dispassionate part of his mind. It was his fault. He should have seen the danger from above, should have anticipated the attack. Instead, he had allowed himself to get so caught up in the joy of finding the doorway to his art that he hadn't even heard her scream for help.
Taen saw her in his mind's eye, her skin sallow and puffy from the spider venom, withdrawing into the darkness. In that moment, Marissa's face blurred, became the face of another woman, wrapped in burial silk instead of spider webbing-but just as dead.
He felt a hand rest gently upon his shoulder. "Borovazk is sorry, little friend," the ranger said, and Taen could hear the grief hanging heavy upon the Rashemi like a great gray burial stone, "but we must push on. Is not safe for us to remain on bridge."
Taen looked up at the ranger and felt himself nod at the warrior's words. The action felt foreign, different, like the movement of a stranger. It was as if the half-elf gazed upon his body from across a vast chasm, so that he was at the same time within and without himself.
A sound caught his attention-high pitched and pitiful. It took his divided consciousness a few moments to recognize that someone else was weeping. Surprise turned to anger as he turned to face the source of the sound. Yurz lay on the ground, rolling across the uneven stone and wailing. The goblin's spindly arms flailed in every direction as he gave voice to his grief.
Taen's grief transformed into rage at the sight of the pathetic creature. "You," he shouted, leaping to his feet. "You did this!"
The half-elf crossed the distance between them quickly, almost pouncing on the bereaved goblin. Grabbing Yurz by the scruff of the neck, he hoisted the goblin up in the air. The creature shouted in fright as he hung above the bridge, kicking his bare, misshapen feet in a desperate attempt to break free.
"Tell me why I shouldn't throw you off this bridge," Taen shouted. "Tell me!" He dangled the goblin over the black mouth of the chasm below. "You led us into a trap, you filthy spawn of a dung troll, and now Marissa has been taken."
"No!" the goblin screamed shrilly in protest. "Me no hurt Pretty Lady. Me friend. Not know why tribe here. Ugly One must have known." The goblin shook his head piteously.
"You lie," the half-elf hissed between clenched teeth.
His anger rose like a tidal wave within him, threatening to sweep away the last vestiges of his reason. Part of him knew that his rage at the hapless creature was misplaced, but he couldn't stop it; it exploded out of him like the fiery breath of a red dragon.
"Taen," he heard Roberc call out to him, "we have to go… now!" the halfling shouted.
He turned, still holding Yurz over the edge of the bridge, and saw both Borovazk and Roberc running toward the open door to the citadel's undertomb. They were right, of course; he didn't have time to vent his anger and grief on the treacherous goblin. If there was any chance of rescuing Marissa and making it out alive, they had to push on, yet he wanted nothing more than to slake his need for