Depths of Madness - Erik Scott De Bie [71]
"Now!" Liet shouted. "Burn the ropes!"
"But magic doesn't work, remem-?" the halfling said.
"Torches!" Liet said. "Flints! Anything!"
Slip looked confused, almost hesitant. Then she looked down at the limp Twilight, who had saved her life. She pulled out one of the flints they'd collected and struck a torch. Then she produced several vials of lantern oil from the small bag at her waist-why she had them, Liet had no clue, but he didn't care-and in heartbeats, the thtee had doused the quivering ropes. Liet threw his torch on the pile, and the hangman golem twitched and thrashed its way to motionless oblivion.
For a moment, all was terrible silence in the aftermath.
Then Twilight coughed where she lay. Liet rushed to her side to help her up, and she took his hand. She offered a kind of smile, marred by the blood trickling down her slashed cheek. Then, as though just realizing their proximity, she pushed at his chest.
Her finger had hurt like a punch-a two-handed punch. Nothing had struck him so hard-not the guardians, not the golem, not even Taslin…
Taslin.
Silently, Twilight limped from Liet's side to where Slip stood over the unmoving Taslin. Liet wanted to go to her, but he could only stare at Taslin's body. The golem had been destroyed, yes, but the toll was heavy. Even at this distance, Liet knew there was nothing to be done for the golden elf.
"Well then," said a voice, startling them. "Enjoyed ourselves, eh?"
Liet turned, numbly, to see Davoren walking toward them. He had not been injured-likely, he had spent the entire battle hidden, safe.
The words stabbed into Liet's numb, shocked ears. He looked at the sword in his hand, and almost ran over to ram it down Davoren's throat right then. It was illogical to blame Davoren for Taslin's death, but Liet wasn't feeling logical. He was afraid of the warlock, yes, but he could do it. He could…
Then he noted something new: a gold rod carved like a snarling dragon hanging from Davoren's belt. That must have been what he had collected during the battle. Rather than giving aid against the golem, he had gone instead for treasure. Liet couldn't sense magic the way Twilight seemingly could, but he guessed that Davoren had become a little stronger, while the rest of them had become weaker.
"At least the rest of the time we spend getting out of this wretched place will be quiet," said the warlock, prompting a roomful of horrified looks.
Liet couldn't reply in the face of such vitriol. He looked instead at Twilight, kneeling beside Taslin. She was shaking. "Are you well?" he asked.
Twilight did not respond. Her hand kept caressing the dead elf's hair.
"Of course she is," Davoren said behind him. "Spared of scar-cheeks, who wouldn't be?"
"Don't you care?" Slip cried. Her cheeks flushed, streaked with tears. "Don't you care that she's dead? Don't you care about anything?"
Davoren shrugged. "Of course I care." He nudged Taslin's corpse with his boot and looked down disdainfully. "Her magic was the source of our food."
Fighting outrage, Liet clenched his sword hilt with white knuckles. He had to suppress his anger-he had to. Then he looked at Taslin again and felt empty.
"That raises a point," Davoren asked. "Can your pitiful Yondalla conjure us up something more filling than unsweetened cakes and seeds? Else, this journey is liable to be a hungry one."
The halfling hissed at him with surprising vehemence and huddled against the staring priestess, sobbing.
" 'Light?" It was Liet.
Twilight did not reply except to gaze down. She pulled her hand away from the ravaged face and hair. The elf's eyes bugged out at her, and her mouth hung open, tongue distended. What acid and heartache had not managed-ruining golden beauty-death seemed to have accomplished.
Unsurprising, that. Twilight knew all too well the power of death.
Twilight felt the constriction about her neck again, and almost wished it real-that she could die in Taslin's place.
She wondered what