Depths of Madness - Erik Scott De Bie [117]
Then Gargan's foot slipped, his leg crunched into the stone, and he went over, pulling Tlork with him. Twilight could do nothing but gasp, tasting leather pressed against her lips, as she watched her last ally plummet to his death.
"Foxdaughter!" he shouted as he fell. Twilight saw Betrayal, its gray edge burning, spinning, end over end, up from the chasm. It clattered, sparking, to the floor. With his last act, Gargan had thrown her the sword.
Then something struck her head sharply, she felt wetness, and darkness fell.
Gestal watched Tlork fall in to the depths of his blood pool. The troll and the goliath still fought, wrestling and punching, all the way into the darkness.
He didn't bother to watch their inevitable demise. Gestal was much more interested in Twilight. The pool couldn't find her-she had her Shroud-but Gestal knew she had returned. Somewhere.
Well enough, he decided. She shall be along presently.
With a hand that had only three and a half fingers-the others were still growing-he swirled the bowl of blood. The image died.
Her senses returned soon after the hands released her to rest and recover against the stone wall. Twilight coughed, pointedly aware of the trickle of salty blood that ran over her split chin. Broken ribs. She hoped nothing bled inside… much. Her right arm was useless, splintered by the troll's fury. She needed to catch her breath.
"Thank you, Davoren," she murmured. "I never expected you to save me."
The warlock, scanning the darkness they had just left with his fiendish eyes, grunted. The sounds of Tlork's roars and squeals had vanished, presumably down the pit, but he would return. They both knew it.
Slowly, as she panted and groaned, Twilight climbed to her feet with Davoren's help. She leaned against the wall, her head still aching and the respective agonies in her stomach and breast biting at one another. Her fingers itched for Betrayal; it lay just visible a dagger's cast distant, at the end of the tiny crawl tunnel through which the warlock had dragged her. She started that way. She had to save Gargan-she had to…
"It's appropriate how you word your thanksgiving," Davoren said behind her, the chill of his words freezing her in mid limp. "I did save you-for myself."
As Twilight turned, Davoren's shoulder slammed beneath her breast, crunching the broken ribs and crushing her against the wall, and the warlock rammed the poisoned stiletto into her side.
Twilight had time only to gasp before she felt the freezing venom course through her blood. Her eyes widened-and stayed that way.
"A taste of your own trickery, then," Davoren said. "I couldn't let some brute kill you-not when I have blessed you with my oh-so exquisite hatred for so long."
Twilight's mouth hung open as though to scream. His wound had not been a fatal stroke, but a stab in the gut. It would take painful hours to expire. Especially…
Especially with that milky potion Davoren dangled teasingly before her eyes-exactly the same way she had dangled her poison vial what seemed so long ago.
"Death is yet a ways off," he said redundantly. "We shall enjoy its process, no?"
He must have misinterpreted the undying rage in her eyes as terror-Davoren had never been good at reading others-for he continued. "Do not fear, filliken-it isn't for your flesh I have reserved you, but for a higher purpose." His eyes roved her body. "Though, if my will overcame your decrepitude, I might reconsider…"
Silently, Twilight wondered if she truly looked so old and decayed, or Davoren meant something different. Somehow, it didn't seem like something she should point out.
"You always thought yourself better than me, but no more," the warlock said. "Perhaps I will leave you, as you would have left me-food or prey, or worse. Perhaps you'll be lucky-perhaps the troll won't be the first to find you."
Twilight's throat contorted with fury.
"How does it feel now, Shrew-at-Twilight? To