Depths of Madness - Erik Scott De Bie [114]
"The Stoneslayer lost his way, and thus he became the Dispossessed," Mehvenne said. "He is blind. This is not his destiny, no matter what he believes. Not this doe."
"Fox," Gargan corrected. "She is the fox."
Then the elf squeezed his hand.
Gargan looked at the soft skin stretched over delicate features. Her eyes blinked-red-rimmed, shot with blood, oozing tears, but alive. Mehvenne took a step back, startled and ready with a spell should she need to fight a demon.
But the next sound Foxdaughter emitted was a simple sigh.
"Gys sa salen," she murmured, bringing one dainty hand to her forehead.
Gargan hardly spoke the Common tongue, much less Elvish. He wondered if his heavy mouth could even form such dainty syllables. But he, like all goliaths, was a student of body language and expression. Even though he did not catch the exact meaning of her words, he understood het basic desire.
As did Mehvenne, who knelt and offered the water bowl to Foxdaughtet.
"No, my good lady," she sighed. "Not that kind of drink."
The druid furrowed her brow, almost looking at Gargan before she caught herself. Gargan could only blink and look down at Foxdaughter blankly.
"What was"-the elf paused-"that game… I saw?"
Gargan felt a smile tugging at his mouth. He squeezed her hand. "Kukanath kuth," he said. Then he remembered that she wore no earring, so he exercised the few words he knew in the trade tongue. "Goat ball."
The elf smiled, and it was the most reassuring thing Gargan had ever seen.
CHAPTER Twenty-Seven
As their escorts led the pair into the desert, the sheer size of the goliaths struck Twilight once more. Even standing at about seven feet tall, Gargan seemed stunted and short beside his clan brothers. There was a certain feral strength and speed about him, though-rage tempered by the wisdom that shone in his emerald eyes, and it was this that convinced Twilight he was the most dangerous of all.
And it was part of what had led her to doubt the goliath, Twilight remembered with a pang of guilt. Well, no more of that.
They had stayed at the goliath camp for six days-three that Twilight had slept, three more that she had taken to recover. The poultices and chants had done wonders for her damaged bones and bruised hide, though she could not shake the soreness, regardless of how much walking and stretching she had done. She had spent those days as an observer in the goliath camp, watching the simple joys they took in boasts and tales, the artisans at their trade, and racers leaping the crags. She'd sat with storytellers, weaved necklaces and baskets, and learned some of the songs. She wore several goliath earrings, now, and they'd bound her hair with bone combs.
The goliaths knew peace, and Twilight wished she could be part of it, perhaps forever. But she had left many tasks undone in her life, and it was her lot-her purpose in this world-to see them done. There were many wrongs to be righted, many friends to be avenged. Asson, Taslin, Slip, Liet… Gestal.
During her time in the encampment-after the dreams- Gargan had scarcely left Twilights bedside, nor had the Shroud left her neck. The farthest he had gone from her had been to the tent flap, to sit cross-legged without, keeping watch. After that, he had been as her shadow, staying beside her at all times.
Twilight did not know if he had remained so near because of some sense of companionship, or if he was simply trying to remain within the protection of her amulet. She figured it was the latter. After all, the goliath had showed no real warmth toward her-they were as survivors of a shipwreck, joined by fate rather than blood or desire.
Why was he following her back into the depths? She had to go, but why him?
On the other hand, what proof did she have that he wasn't a traitor, like Liet had been-unknowingly, even? Perhaps her old suspicions of the goliath was true.
Ultimately, it did not matter.
Twilight hardly cared whether her suspicion was true, ot whether her mistrust hurt Gargan. It was cruel, but