Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [88]
With Rillifane's name ushering forth silently from her lips, she opened her eyes and gazed steadily at her interrogator. "I can tell you nothing," she exclaimed, "and even if I did know something, I would never reveal it to you."
The half-orc smiled in response, and Marissa felt her heart begin to falter once again. "We shall see," she said and placed a rough hand upon the druid's head, whispering a prayer to her god as she did so.
Marissa tried to shut out the cleric's voice, but the harsh cadence and sibilant syllables of the half-orc's whispered devotion filled the room with a dreadful cacophony. She shuddered and twisted against her bonds, writhing in pain. Though she couldn't understand her torturer's words, Marissa felt their power; it washed over her, stinging and lashing her spirit with each phrase. Her cell grew dark once more-pitch black-and chilled, as if the half-orc's spell were drawing all of the energy from the room. The chill intensified, deepened, stealing her life with each knife-sharp breath that she took. Memories of her life beneath the sun, time spent with friends and loved ones, laughter, life, joy-all of it was falling away from her into an icy void. Marissa knew with a terrible certainty that there would soon be nothing left, that she was being hollowed out, emptied, until all that remained was ice and darkness.
The druid struggled against her fate, summoning thoughts from her childhood, shouting prayers to Rillifane and any god who might hear her cry. Nothing helped. She felt herself falling. Her last thought before the darkness took her was of Taenaran.
* * * * *
The corridor stood empty.
Smooth, polished stone-so different from the highly decorative craftsmanship of the citadel's undertomb- caught and reflected the dim light of torches that burned fitfully in iron sconces. The passageway ended in a solid stone door shut tightly almost twenty feet in the distance. Taen and his companions stood silently in the shadows and listened for any sound that might indicate the presence of their enemies.
They heard nothing.
Taen crept forward carefully, making sure his weapon did not scrape against either wall of the small passageway. When nothing jumped out at him, he waved for the others to follow. Despite their apparent safety, a sense of unease rose up in him, like delicate fingers of ice running along his spine. Bitter experience had taught him to trust his instincts. The half-elf peered intently down the corridor.
"I don't like this," he whispered to his companions. "Something's wrong."
"You're just figuring that out now," he heard Roberc's hushed reply from behind him.
Taen's sense of unease intensified-fingers turned to sharp daggers stabbing at his back. "Wait," he blurted out as Yurz reached for the closed door before him.
The goblin froze, one long-fingered hand nearly touching the dull gray stone. On a whim, Taen closed his eyes and cast a spell of detection upon the door. Immediately, three purplish-black glyphs flared into existence on the door's stone surface. The serpentine symbols writhed and roiled like grubs suddenly exposed to the light of day.
Yurz fell backward with a yelp, but Taen could spare the goblin none of his attention, as the power from the now-revealed glyphs hammered against the half-elf's mystic senses and threatened to overwhelm him. If any one of their group had actually laid a hand upon the door, it would have released unspeakable energy upon them all.
Taen walked toward the door with one hand extended.