They cleared the landing not a second too soon, for a wave of emerald fire washed over them. It beat upon his back like heat from an oven into which the sun had misplaced itself. Liet felt his skin hissing in the heat, but was relieved when he didn't burn. He stared down, down into green fire that more than matched the rune's fury above.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it ended. The storm of flame snuffed itself out in a matter of heartbeats. The corridor seemed darker and quieter in its absence.
Liet felt its cessation, but only distantly. His eyes were fixed downward, staring at Twilight's white face. Her wide eyes stared back, daring him to blink. The green went out of her eyes and they settled back into the silver of Asson's staff mingled with the firelight from Slip's torch and the ruby power tracing Davoren's fists. Liet's arms were around Twilight's shoulders, hers around his waist.
"Well, I think we've all learned a lesson this day," Slip said, breaking the awkward silence. "Best to ignore the scenery."
The others stared. Twilight's eyes flicked to the side, and Liet looked at the halfling, who beamed. "What?" Slip asked.
Liet looked back down at Twilight. The luminous eyes were upon him again.
"Well," she whispered. "Are you going to move?"
Liet scrambled to do just that. His hands skimmed a few parts of her body as he did so, for which he cursed himself even more.
That's the second time I've leaped on that boy, Twilight thought as Liet groped his way off her. Best not make a habit of it.
She rose, fluidly and gracefully. Gargan and Slip seemed indifferent. Taslin and Asson had politely turned their backs. Only Davoren stared. Twilight shot him a kiss, and he turned away.
She waved them on and they continued up the steps, avoiding the walls.
"What language was that?" she asked Asson, who had seemed to understand it.
"Netherese," the old wizard said. " 'Tis a difficult dialect, though." Taslin, Twilight noted, scratched at an earring she wore. "The words were… inverted, somehow. Curious. I shall ponder this."
"Well, keep pondering," said Davoren. "It's all you'll be good for."
Twilight hissed them to silence. The top of the steps opened into a new chamber.
Motioning Slip to join her, Twilight drew Betrayal and crept up the stairs, leaving the others a few paces behind. The dusky blade felt light and eager in her hand. Flames, alternating with a humming pulse of lightning, hissed up the blade out of the corner of her eye. Twilight was accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of the rapier, so much that they reassured her. They provided a kind of constancy in a world defined by change.
She and Slip crept to the opening, staying low to the floor.
"I can't see in the dark," whispered the halfling.
"I can," replied Twilight. She scanned the rough-hewn walls and the myriad runes inscribed on stone slabs that lay strewn about the room. "A crypt." She eyed the sarcophagi, many of which were upset or torn open. "A disturbed crypt."
"By the Matriarch," said Slip with a shudder. "A crypt? I hate crypts!"
"We're probably coming from the lowest point in these catacombs," said Twilight. "Why? Because that's always the way it is."
She could see no movement in the crypt, but that didn't mean nothing was there. Possessed of the silence and patience of the grave, undead could elude the most delicate eyes. Twilight saw red streaks that traced a path from this stair deeper into the chamber. She didn't have to smell or taste it to know what it was.
"Slip." Twilight turned to her companion, who was huddled against the wall beside her. She reached out and touched the halfling lightly on the shoulder, which evoked a gasp. "Does Yondalla grant you power over the dead?"
"Well, um, I, uh," said Slip. Some of her confusion might have come from shock at Twilight's guess-some from fear. "I'm not really, um, a priest, uh, exactly."
"Fair enough." She turned back and beckoned. "Taslin."
The elf moved up to Twilight's side. Clad in full armor, hand on her sword hilt, the eldritch priestess looked bold and strong compared to the hesitant halfling at her side. Slip crossed her arms and assumed a pout.
Twilight's eyes narrowed. "Do you have power over the walking dead?"
"The power of Corellon shall smite them if they dare rise against us," Taslin said.
"An 'aye' would do as well, sun-but onward. Conjure some light and let us go."
Twilight, Slip, and Taslin strode into the room. In her armor, the priestess made enough noise to wake the dead, but Twilight decided that was irrelevant. If anything objected to being roused, Taslin would give them a morning feast of Corellon's power. The Seldarine had their uses.
Slip, not to be completely undone, sent a flicker of magic into a stone that she held, lighting it.
The crypt was wide with a low ceiling. Compartments for the dead were carved in the walls. Decorating the walls were runes and crumbling mosaics. The former she could not read, and the latter depicted great battles between spellhurlers, dragons, and creatures she didn't recognize-strange worms shaped like cones, with arms that flung fire. The humans seemed to be winning, but Twilight knew appearances could be deceiving. A central mosaic on the ceiling depicted a number of casters-one crowned wizard in particular-surrounding a black creature in a cage of magical force.
She and Slip scanned the coffins but found nothing. Neither rat nor insect moved, and not a shadow stirred. They found no corpses, nor bones become half-dust-though the fresh stains were curious. In several of the compartments, Twilight also found teeth-broken and discarded-which she didn't reveal to the others. No sense worrying them.
Twilight waved forward the others. Gargan and Liet, blades at the ready, stood at the flanks of Davoren and Asson. The warlock sneered, uncertain whether to be insulted at the concern or pleased at the attention. Jaw set, Asson gripped his walking staff with its silver flame.
From the way Taslin, Asson, and Gargan moved, Twilight could tell they had delved into crypts before. Slip and Liet, not so much.
Several long breaths passed and nothing sprang from the darkness to attack. Each visibly relaxed, and even the nervous Slip breathed easier.
"Aye," she said, making them all jump. "Why do you suppose we're here?"
"Philosophy is a waste of schooling," Davoren said with a dismissive wave.
"No, silly," Slip said. "I mean here in this dungeon, of course."
That got a reaction. Twilight saw Davoren staring at her. His mouth opened, and she held up a hand to stop them all. "Perhaps later," Twilight said. "Keep your guard."
"Twilight is correct," Taslin said, though the words didn't seem to please her. "We cannot be too careful." She fell into a chant, then, beseeching Corellon's aid.
"A meaningless gesture," said Davoren. He leaned against an open sarcophagus and illuminated its interior with ruby fire. Empty. "There hasn't been anything alive in these catacombs for many years."
Twilight thought of a riposte, but Asson beat her to it. "Undead are, by definition, dead," he said.
Davoren spat on the floor.
Taslin finished her spell and laid a hand on Asson's shoulder. A golden aura surrounded him, then faded. "So you will need no aid," she said to Davoren.
The warlock scoffed. "As though I would accept your pathetic spells."
"As you say," said Taslin. "I can cast the spell once more." She looked at Gargan, but the goliath stepped away.
"No," said Twilight when Taslin turned to her. The sun elf didn't seem convinced, so Twilight added an explanation. "As much as I can avoid it."
Though her eyes remained suspicious, Taslin shrugged. She looked to Liet, who made no protest. Tenderly, she laid her hands on his cheeks, fostering the aura around him, and Twilight felt a twinge in her stomach. Suppressing a growl, Twilight broke away from the others.