Depths of Madness (25 page)

How cruel she had been to suspect Slip—Billfora, Twilight remembered, for the story had allowed her to see the true halfling—how heartless. She knew all too well how easily a smile could conceal sadness, and how well tragedy could hide behind innocence.

Finally the tears stopped, and Slip breathed easier. Twilight made no move to release her.

“I was wed, too, once,” she said, letting the words slide out. “Neveren. He—”

“Liken, you mean?”

The world froze. Twilight blinked. “What?” Slip blinked up at her. “What?”

There was a pause. Twilight looked at her very carefully. Ideas shot wildly through her mind—fears, anger, betrayal.

“Slip,” she said slowly. “I’ve something important to do, and I need your help.”

“Of course!” Slip said. “Anything, ‘Light! You’re my greatest friend!”

Twilight let that pass. “Can your magic recognize lies?” “Aye. I know that spell! I can hear lies when others tell them.” So it was magic, and nothing else. “How can I help?”

Twilight nodded, and explained. Slip listened. In conclusion, Twilight pointed to a back room, which must have been some kind of storage for tools. “Go into yon chamber and wait. I shall join you shortly.” She brushed the back of her hand along Slip’s cheek. “And you need not cry—all shall be well.”

The halfling wiped the tears away and beamed at her as only a comforted daughter could. Then she scurried into the side chamber and shut the door behind her.

Twilight blew out a long sigh and rose. So that was it.

She touched the sapphire pendant. Was its magic fading?

“I need everyone else to wait here,” she said as she dusted herself off. She gestured to the side room. “Davoren—come with me.”

“What is it?” the warlock asked.

Ten heartbeats later, Slip guarded the door and Twilight faced the mage from the other side of the room, arms crossed. Davoren had answered his own question.

“An outrage!” His hands gripped the back of a chair and they dripped with flame. The half-circles that formed the seat glowed red. “How dare you? I ought to…”

“Have peace, demon-spawn,” Twilight said. “Just answer the question.”

The warlock sneered at her and twisted his lip. He shoved aside the curious chair—all curves, no angles, like all this Netherese city. “I have suffered your humiliations long enough. You and your sniveling little rat—”

“That sniveling little rat can hear the truth in your words,” said Twilight. “So if you just answer the question, we’ll know of your innocence and you can be on your way, back to pray to your devil-god with a hand in—”

Slip blushed a fiery red and stared at her, horror-struck, so Twilight stopped. “Just answer,” she repeated. “Are you a spy, or otherwise in league with our enemy, watching our movements so as to catch us in our weakness, or lay ambushes in our path?”

Davoren glared at her, and his eyes promised death. “Nay, I am no spy.”

“He speaks true,” Slip said behind Twilight.

Davoren sniffed. “Satisfied? I do not need trickery to slay you, filliken.”

“Not there, however,” the halfling said with a shrug.

The warlock gaped at her and his lips curled into a snarl, “How dare—?”

“Ah,” Twilight said. Betrayal’s dusky point tapped at Davoten’s groin. “Careful. You had better not say something you might regret.” She winked at him. “Now. Pass through yon portal.” She waved at a rear door with Betrayal. “And wait outside.”

” ‘Wait outside’? That’s meant to be safe?” he asked. “Or do you wish merely to kill me with those foul insect-men?”

“That’s why I called you first. You are, after all, the most powerful.”

The warlock hesitated for a moment before grumbling an agreement. He spat at the shadowdancer’s feet, then stomped off, cursing to himself in Infernal.

Slip grinned at Twilight. “I was halfway hoping he would be the one,” the halfling said. “I would’ve liked to see that fight.”

“Yes,” Twilight agreed, and from Slip’s expression, she knew it was not a lie.

Gargan was next, pacing in with his arms crossed, and Twilight shifted uneasily. The goliath wore the great black sword on his back—a weapon he could wield in one hand—but he could easily powder Twilight’s skull and shatter Slip’s delicate bones with just those fists. She did not grip Betrayal’s hilt, but her fingers were not far from it.

“I come,” the goliath said in the Common tongue. He looked to Twilight and spoke in his own gruff language, which she understood by virtue of Taslin’s earring. “Why have you brought me?”

“I have questions,” she replied in Common, the only way to be understood.

“I have answers.” “Let us see if they fit.”

There was a breath’s pause as he contemplated what that might mean. Then he nodded. “Blades in scabbards,” the goliath agreed in Common.

That would have to do. “Are you Gargan Kaugathal, called the Dispossessed?”

“So I am called.” Slip frowned at his words—she didn’t understand them.

Twilight tensed. “In the trade tongue,” she said. “Are you our enemy?”

The goliath did not seem surprised. “No,” he said.

A quick glance at Slip told her it was true. “Are you a spy, or otherwise in league with our foe?” Gargan shook his head, but Twilight cut him short. “You must speak it.”

He did, and Slip nodded.

“You may go.” Twilight pointed. “And take my thanks.”

The goliath nodded once, then walked away to join Davoren in the alley behind the smithy. The shadowdancer blew out a long sigh.

“One left,” the halfling said.

“Yes,” Twilight said, shivering. “One left.”

Twilight held her breath as Liet came in. She had been dreading this, but she knew it had to be done. Of course she knew Liet was innocent, but she had to ask. It had to look convincing.

The youth gave her that familiar smile, as much to reassure Twilight as himself.

“A private audience.” He eyed both Slip and Twilight. “Can I be of aid, lovelies?”

His comfortable manner—increasingly suave, she noted, and fancied she had something to do with that—put her at ease, but Twilight hesitated to show it. Her investment was likely common knowledge by now—their kiss had made that obvious—but it would not do to show favoritism.

“Just questions,” she finally said.

“Pity,” Liet said. He sat down, none too comfortable on the strange chair. It had nearly cooled since Davoren had heated the metal, for which Twilight was glad. A seat made answering thinly concealed accusations much easier.

“Are you Liet Sagrin, son of Harrowdale, and sometime swordsman?”

“And are you Fox-at-Twilight, daughter of mystery, and sometime thief?”

“This is no game,” Twilight said. “You must answer my questions. Billfora has cast a spell that detects lies, and so she must hear your truths—and falsehoods.”

Liet’s eyes widened and his mouth trembled, pained. “You doubt m—” he paused, then finished the question another way. “You doubt your own ears?”

“Let us simply say,” Twilight replied, “that I need a second opinion.”

Liet’s shoulders slumped. He was defeated. “Very well. Ask.”

“Are you a loyal member of our band?” She raised a hand to cut off his objection. “Loyal to our well-being, and to the success of our venture.”

“As best I’m able.” She frowned. “Aye. I serve.”

“But serve who, Liet?” She took a step toward him.

“But surely I serve you, Twilight,” said Liet, rising toward her, “if I’m loyal to out well-being and the success of this venture of ours.”

“Unless you think me mad or wrong.” She stepped up to him.

“Unless that.” He faltered for a heartbeat. “Though I don’t think either.”

They stared at each other, eyes not a pace apart. Theirs was a battle of will, rather than of words or swords. The world fell silent around them and they existed alone.

“Ahem?”

Twilight tore her eyes from Liet and looked at Slip. The halfling fidgeted.

“I…” Twilight trailed off. Asking the question should have been a simple matter, and yet it was not.

“Ask, Twilight,” Liet said, and her eyes snapped back to him. He caught up her hand, and she could feel the warmth pass into her like a spark of power. The youth brought her fingers up to his lips. His next words were a whisper. “I’m not afraid.”

Twilight could not say the same.

“Very well,” she said. “Are you, Liet Sagrin, a spy?”

“Nay.” He was telling the truth, as Slip confirmed with a nod. Twilight looked back, locking Liet’s mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—with her own stare. She wondered what color her eyes seemed. They changed like her face—like herself.

“Are you in league with our enemy?”

“Davoren? Nay.”

“The force that is attempting to slay us,” Twilight said. “That Mad Sharn, perhaps, or whatever dark lord is responsible for the deaths of our friends—the murderers of Asson and Taslin… whoever our enemy is. Are you a servant of our foe?”

Liet’s eyes searched her own. “Nay,” he said.

Not a lie. Did she detect the hint of a smile? Just her imagination.

“Aie you our enemy?” Twilight asked, inspiration striking. “Have you deceived us all this time, hiding your true identity in an effort to slay us and drive us mad?”

Liet stared, perfectly calm. “I suppose…” He shrugged. “Aye.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. His voice had not wavered; his heart had not palpitated. All the subconscious signs were absent. Her senses had not found any falsehood. Liet stared at her with absolute sincerity and, she thought, contempt.

“Lady Doom!” Twilight leaped back and snapping out Betrayal. How…?

Liet’s mismatched eyes blazed, and she knew it was true.

“Oh!” Slip screamed. “Oh, gods! ‘Twas a lie!”

Twilight flicked her eyes to the halfling, who was panting, terrified. Liet grinned.

“What?” Twilight asked.

” ‘Twas a lie, of course.” He gave an awkward, insufferable smile. “I’ve been taking your lessons.”

“Slip?”

The little woman stated at her intently. “I swear, by all the gods I know, that he tells a lie,” she said. “I mean, that’s the truth—that ‘tis a lie… I mean… he…”

“No.” Twilight let out a sigh and turned back.

” ‘Light—” the Dalesman started, but her slap cut him off.

“You think this is a game, boy?” she snarled. “Get out of my sight.”

“But—” Liet started. He stopped when Twilight half-drew Betrayal and gave him a look no yet-living foe had ever seen on her delicate features. Liet stiffened and suppressed a sound that was much like a strangled cough. The mirth had gone out of his eyes, replaced by sheer horror. “Oh, ‘Light, I’m so—”

“I won’t say it again,” Twilight said, her voice flat.

The young swordsman’s face went ashen and his eyes gleamed with tears. “Sorry!” he cried, and fled.

A long while passed, the silence filled with heavy, angry breathing. Twilight was hardly aware of Slip’s searching gaze, her frightened features.

All she could see were those horrible eyes, Liet’s eyes, laughing at her—mocking her hard-trained abilities, her confidence to tell truth from falsehood by ear. Laughing… always laughing… what was he doing, trying to drive her mad?

From behind her, Slip shifted nervously—loud enough for Twilight to hear. “Ah,” she said. “Are—are you well?”

“Oh, indeed.” Twilight closed her eyes and forced an easy smile onto her pale face. “Friend.” She turned and favored the halfling with her most dazzling grin. “How sure are you that none of them is a spy?”

Slip brightened considerably, smiling back as though nothing were the matter. “Absolutely certain,” she replied. “Why?”

When the screech came from the Forge, Liet bolted up from where he had slumped, his hands on his knees, against the wall of the alley. Gargan similarly unfolded himself from the shadows and laid his hand on his sword. Even Davoren paused where he had been pacing.

The rear door flew open and Slip staggered out. The halfling immediately whirled and drew her little dagger, but a dusky blade sent it whirling from her hand with a deft flick. The gray-white point of Betrayal hissed under Slip’s chin. “Help me!” Slip cried. “She’s gone mad!” “What’s going on?” Liet asked, hand going to his sword. “Back,” was all Twilight said, but the fire in her pale eyes— almost red in the ruby light of Davoren’s pulsing energies—told him much more.

“Do you not see?” The warlock sneered. “She has eliminated the options—me, you, the giant—and has but one left. The only one who could have lied—the half-witch.” Darkness passed over his eyes and his arms pulsed with flame.

Slip, with Twilight distracted, stammered out the words to a spell, but Davoren chanted along with her, invoking harsh and vile names and deeds better spoken of in a tongue of pure evil. The halfling’s magic faltered, defeated by the warlock’s voracious powers, and tears ran down her cheeks. Twilight dealt Slip

a savage kick to the stomach, stifling further magic. She pulled Betrayal back, lining it up with the little one’s back.

Hissing black steel knocked it aside when she thrust. Gargan was there, sword drawn, and he and the elf locked blades and stares, waging a private battle. Their swords sparked against each other, bubbling acid hissing on the hot steel. The light flickering above her, like a hissing sun, plunged her face into light and shadow.

Liet shivered. From their stares, it was clear a life would be lost should it come to blows, and knowing Gargan’s strength, it would likely be hers. The goliath didn’t try to break her parry, only hold her sword back. If he attacked, maybe she could dodge, then riposte, perhaps, and…

What was he thinking? Had the world gone mad?

“Please!” Slip moaned. “Don’t let this happen! Please!”

“Silence, traitor,” hissed Twilight without taking her eyes off Gargan.

“Come, Twilight,” said Davoren. As he spoke, he inched his way toward Slip, lying huddled and helpless. “Together we can slay them. We no longer need their aid.”

The elf should have retorted but she did not, causing Liet to gape. Was she considering it?

Liet looked at Davoren. Lightning crackled around the warlock’s scepter and flames licked his hands. Liet realized that if he did nothing, one of his friends would die.