Depths of Madness (20 page)

The warlock groaned.

The door, however, ended that debate for them. With a scrape of stone on stone, the heavy portal swung back into place, despite their best efforts to restrain it. In place, it looked no different from the rest of the wall, and it had the appropriate lack of door handles, clasps, hooks, pulleys, and opening catches.

“I suppose you’re all pleased,” said Twilight. “I don’t even know how to begin opening it. Probably a command phrase.” A mechanical thunk and rasp from the other side struck her ears. “And that would be the locks sliding into place.” She folded her arms and looked away.

“All’s well,” said Liet. He put a reassuring hand on Twilight’s shoulder—an act no one but the oblivious halfling missed—and smiled gently. “Be not afraid.”

“Only of those things that warrant it,” Twilight snapped. She shook Liet off roughly, hoping it would be an action none of the others would miss.

Slip, alert halfling that she was, remained completely oblivious. “I know what’ll lighten this up,” she said. “Let’s figure out the mystery!”

“Mystery?” Liet asked, turning from Twilight, who signaled that they might as well explore these rooms in greater detail.

“Of where we are, silly,” the halfling explained. “Where lies this dungeon?”

“Please,” Davoren said with a dismissive wave. “It’s hardly a dungeon. Deserted ruins, more like it.” He gestured at the sloping, twisting, curving walls. “The deserted ruins of some mad child’s doll house.”

The image of a blood-soaked doll flashed through Twilight’s mind.

“Speak louder, and we shall see how deserted it is,” promised Taslin.

“Can we not move on?” asked Twilight, tapping her foot nervously.

“Praise be to the Lord of the Hells,” said Davoten. “The filliken offers a glorious suggestion.” He grinned at Taslin. “We should listen, scarred one.”

“I am curious as to Slip’s thoughts,” said Taslin. “Say on, noble small one.”

It took Slip a moment to realize the priestess was addressing her. “Well,” said Slip. “I’m trying to figure out…”

Ignored by the others, Twilight pressed ahead, examining the darkened corridor. An exceptionally stout portal had once closed off the casting chamber from the hallway, exactly opposite the hall of prisoners, but it had since fallen into rubble. Probably aided, Twilight thought as she glided carefully through the darkness, by the fiendish lizards.

She deemed traps unlikely, since the lizards had gotten through unscathed, but there was no such thing as being too careful. She sensed multiple auras of magic, so she crept onward slowly, searching. At the other end, having walked the hall untouched, she waved the others forward.

“We stepped through a portal near Longsaddle,” Taslin was saying. “And it did not lead where we thought it would.”

“Ah,” said Slip. “Same with my band. Though not Longsaddle, but Dambrath.”

“Band?” Taslin asked.

“Aye! Four, originally. Me, a blue-haired girl, a thick dwarf, and Liet, of course.”

The youth squinted. “I’m sorry? What—?” Even as he chuckled, Davoren narrowed his fiendish eyes in confusion.

Slip blinked. “Oh,” she said finally. “I must be taking you for someone else.”

Twilight did not flinch. “We should be silent,” she said. “An ambush may await.”

“Oh, Belial’s pisspot,” growled Davoren. “An ambush like that of the lizards, perhaps? Some leader you are, always overestimating the danger.”

The shadowdancer narrowed her eyes but made no reply. She crossed into the next chamber, casting about for some foe, but she found nothing there to distract her.

The room in which they stood might once have been a monster’s fighting arena, with stone floors that sloped gradually down to a pit at the center. The remains of sigils drawn in crimson paint around the pit indicated a ward of some kind, perhaps a summoning circle.

Four statues of rusted, broken armor stood at the corners of the room, two shattered beyond the faintest possibility of repair, and the others propped against the wall like inebriated knights set there by obedient squires and left to rust by those less loyal. Six doors led from this chamber.

“What do you suppose—?” Liet started.

In retrospect, Twilight should have seen it coming.

“Wheel” Slip exclaimed, sliding down the slope to the bottom of the shallow pit. She bounced and landed face down with a great “oof!” and moved no more.

“Are you well?” shouted Liet.

“Oh aye!” Slip called back. “My face broke my fall!”

“Pity,” Davoren murmured.

He might have said more, but there was a sudden creak of metal too long left to mold and dust. The two statues that still resembled upright people shuddered into motion.

Too late, Twilight understood the significance of the statues. Too late, she realized what would trigger their purpose: a creature at the center of the circle when the runes of protection

were not operating. Wizards sometimes kept guardians for just such an occasion, particularly when they summoned creatures strongly resistant to magic.

“Slip!” she shouted. “Run! The—!”

That was as far as she got before the first of the helmed horrors drew its tusty blade and lunged at her. The weapon burst into flames as the creature charged.

Everything seemed to happen at once, in that moment. Twilight rolled away from the one that swung at her, only to see Liet stumble into its path and be dashed to the ground. Gargan leaped upon one of the horrors as it loomed over Davoren and Taslin, his acid-coated swotd smashing it. Slip blinked, transfixed by the statues’ sudden movements, and screamed.

That doesn’t help, thought Twilight as she dived between a pair of armored legs. With an upturned wrist and a dip, she thrust her rapier up through the monstrosity’s breastplate, an angled strike that would have unmanned, disemboweled, and slain a living man, but had no such effect on the creature. Her sword did stab into the horror’s essence, and a blue-white mist began to leak between the fringes of its armor.

The construct shuddered but did not slow. It swung down one rusty fist with not-so-rusty speed, which Twilight narrowly dodged. She danced back, keeping impeccable balance, until Liet sent her stumbling as he charged at the horror.

“Fool!” Twilight cursed in anger and fear.

Liet might have replied, but Twilight saw energy crackling around the horror and her eyes went wide. She hissed, and Liet dived just below a swath of flame that sliced the air overhead, erupting from its breastplate. She dodged, but just barely.

“Davoren!” Twilight shouted, gritting her teeth against the pain and the heat.

The warlock didn’t need to be told twice. Crimson power erupted from his hands and dark tendrils appeared from the ground, surrounding the helmed horror, enwrapping and entangling it. The creature swung its deadly, flaming blade at Twilight and Liet, but it could not reach them—its sword cut just a hair too short. Twilight flinched away, putting as much

distance between herself and that burning steel as she could, and the flames kissed her cheeks. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Gargan and his foe, and that stunned her.

The goliath faced his opponent in a sword duel that rivaled a tropical storm at sea. Swords flew and spun, cutting like scythes caught in a whirlwind.

The horror might have spent centuries moldering and rusting, but it moved as though it had been built a tenday past—like the deadly weapon it was meant to be. Its attacks left and right, up and down, flowed through continuous motion as though launched by an elf duelist with a mithral saber, rather than a suit of armor with an iron greatsword. All the while, the horror itself was the picture of mechanical calm, simply fulfilling its appointed task.

Its unruffled exterior, however, made for a poor reflection of Gargan. While many swordsmen fought with their muscles, backing fierce blows and counterstrokes with hot fury, and those trained in the fencing arts like Twilight fought with their heads, knowing every strategic attack, parry, and riposte through long practice, this was something far different. Gargan fought not by heart or mind, but by spirit.

Gargan’s face was serenity itself, and no rage burned beneath its surface. The blade in his hand danced seemingly of its own accord, turning away strikes Twilight barely saw coming. The goliath never batted an eye as he parried steel a finger’s breadth from his nose. He slapped the sword wide, reversed his grip as though spinning a baton, and slashed back in underhanded, tearing a burning gash across the creature’s helm. The blade’s acid took its toll upon the thing, impeding its flexibility and movements.

Davoren bellowed with fiendish laughter and threw blast after blast at the horror. Taslin summoned Corellon’s power to melt away its armor, piece by piece. All the while, it slashed at Twilight and Liet, where they cowered, with the determination only the dead and the mindless possess.

“Corellon!” Taslin cried, throwing her melted sword-and-symbol skyward, where it stopped and hovered in the air just

out of reach. White fire crackled around it, and the blade blazed suddenly whole. Twilight thought she saw something skitter out of the way above, but it fled her mind when she had to turn away to keep from being blinded.

A column of divine flame tore down through the ceiling, engulfing the monstrosity. The Lord of the Seldarine’s wrath tore through the suit of armor with its flaming sword. A biting squeal of metal rose over the roar of the inferno. The smoking horror gave a disappointed hiss and crumbled to the floor, inert and useless. Its form fell with a solid thump, fused by the extreme heat of Taslin’s spell.

A heartbeat later, Gargan slashed and ripped his foe to scrap. The horror gave a pitiful hiss as the goliath spun with his final backhand and lightly tapped the sword point to the floor. Behind him, it clattered into a pile of half-dissolved rubbish.

“Well,” breathed Twilight.

“What a deep thought,” Liet said with a grin.

So…” Slip said in the resulting silence. Her demeanor could not have been more tranquil. If a battle had been fought, she seemed not to have noticed. Liet decided to bite. “Aye?”

“So we all came from different places!” exclaimed Slip. “Through different portals!” Apparently, she truly hadn’t noticed.

“Remarkable concentration,” scoffed Davoren.

“Belt up, and give the little one a chance,” Taslin shot back.

Slip continued undaunted. “Thus… thus!”

Liet thought the brainless halfling should get a third chance. “Thus?” he prodded.

“We all have different dirt upon our boots!” the halfling said excitedly.

The others rolled their eyes and Liet sighed. Twilight gestured to the floor.

Slip looked down at her bare feet. “Oh.”

“You twit,” growled the warlock. “It means we have come to this foul place by means of twisted Art. Someone is interfering with our portals, likely.” His eyes fell on Twilight venomously. “I recall that the leader of my band led us through just such a conveying path, without regard to the consequences, of course.”

Liet looked at Twilight as well, but the elFs face was blank. Her eyes, though, shifted back and forth uneasily. That struck Liet as odd. He felt perfectly calm, the thrill of combat fled. Hadn’t the battle ended?

“So some force has drawn us here,” said Taslin, standing amongst the group, “bringing us through various portals, all to the same place. The question is why.”

Gargan said something then, in his strange goliath tongue. Deep and rough, yet noble. He had no idea what the words meant, but he could see the impact they left on Taslin, who could understand somehow, and Twilight, who seemed to have a sense of such things.

“You did not come through a portal,” Twilight said softly.

“Eh? Wait a breath—” Slip started.

Gargan said something, and Taslin nodded her head.

“It seems he came upon a cavern while hunting a troll that had been spotted in the area,” she said. “He followed the beast in and—”

“And there must be more of them,” said Twilight.

“Why must—?” Liet asked. He was so confused.

“Goliaths are social creatures, even more so than humans,” she said. She looked at Gargan sharply. “Where are the other goliaths?”

It took Gargan a breath to understand her question. He shook his head and spoke.

“He is an exile from his people,” said Taslin. “Called… hmm. The closest word in the Common tongue is ‘dispossessed.’ “

Gargan nodded. “Dispossessed,” he repeated.

“I see,” Twilight said. “Second time I’ve heard such a name. The first wasn’t so pleasant, as I recall.”

Liet looked at her, expecting more, but she left it at that. He wondered if that was true—and what it all meant. She resumed pacing about the room.

Gargan continued speaking to Taslin, who translated for the others. Liet assumed it was magic of some kind. “The troll he was tracking—Tlork—ambushed him in the cave, and they fought. Blackwyrm, his acid-weeping sword—the one he carries

now—was key, but the creature defeated him. When he awakened, he was in the dark cell.”

“This begins to make sense,” Twilight said. “The master of these depths—”

“The Mad Sharn,” hissed Davoren.

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Twilight. “This labyrinth…”

“Whatever he calls it,” Slip said. “Midden’s more like it. A foul pit!”

Gargan eyed her curiously, but Twilight didn’t know why. “It’s not so foul, as dungeons go,” the shadowdancer said. “I’ve seen—”

“Stranger?” filled in Liet.

“Fouler,” Twilight corrected matter-of-factly. She turned to Gargan. “What land have you come from? Where do these caverns lie?”

Gargan looked away, something like sadness falling across his stony face.

With a shiver, Twilight understood somehow. “What awaits us above?”

“Death,” said Gargan.

Taslin let out a hiss, her eyes narrowing. Her voice sounded upset, eager, and her face gleamed in frustration. “Death?” she asked. “Can you not be more specif—?”

Then a long cord slithered down from the ceiling, curled about Taslin’s throat, and drew the priestess into the air with a quick jerk.

Twilight was too shocked to do anything more than stare at the ceiling, from which hung the struggling Taslin and her attacker. The creature was vaguely humanoid, if twice the height of a man, fashioned out of slithering, whipping ropes of black silk. Two white orbs blazed where its face should be.