The goliaths knew peace, and Twilight wished she could be part of it, perhaps forever. But she had left many tasks undone in her life, and it was her lot-her purpose in this world-to see them done. There were many wrongs to be righted, many friends to be avenged. Asson, Taslin, Slip, Liet…
Gestal.
During her time in the encampment-after the dreams-Gargan had scarcely left Twilight's bedside, nor had the Shroud left her neck. The farthest he had gone from her had been to the tent flap, to sit cross-legged without, keeping watch. After that, he had been as her shadow, staying beside her at all times.
Twilight did not know if he had remained so near because of some sense of companionship, or if he was simply trying to remain within the protection of her amulet. She figured it was the latter. After all, the goliath had showed no real warmth toward her-they were as survivors of a shipwreck, joined by fate rather than blood or desire.
Why was he following her back into the depths? She had to go, but why him?
On the other hand, what proof did she have that he wasn't a traitor, like Liet had been-unknowingly, even? Perhaps her old suspicions of the goliath was true.
Ultimately, it did not matter.
Twilight hardly cared whether her suspicion was true, or whether her mistrust hurt Gargan. It was cruel, but all she could think of were Liet and Gestal-two very different people in her mind, though they were the same man. She would give them peace, though she wondered if her current path was madness as deep as theirs.
Not that it matters, she thought, though she wondered if she lied.
As though he sensed her uncertainty, Gargan laid a stony hand on Twilight's shoulder. Some of the tension flowed from her.
"We go," one of the four escorts said to Twilight.
Taslin's earring, dangling from her left lobe alongside three new silver rings with colored stones, translated the words, though she fancied that the few days she had spent among the goliaths had taught her enough to understand. That this was cursed ground went unsaid, but she caught hints of it in their bodies. There was regret in their voices, but only a touch.
The goliaths purposefully ignored Gargan, bowed to Twilight, and turned, never to look back. Twilight knew the goliath would not talk to his clan brothers-ever. The escorts walked one way, toward the desert mountains, and the elf and her companion went the other, into a wide expanse edged with rock pillars and broken crags.
"Why do they treat you so?" she asked as the escorts vanished over a dune.
"Exile," Gargan said. His syntax was simple: declarative and efficient. "I am dead."
That made Twilight smile in helpless sympathy. Perhaps she and the goliath had more in common than she had thought.
She gestured to the red markings that patterned his flesh. "What do they mean?"
"My destiny," Gargan said. "My flesh is the parchment."
That made Twilight blink. "You have tried to read it?"
Gargan shrugged. "That is why-part of the why, not the whole why."
"But you know what they say."
The goliath nodded. "Follow the fox with the white claw," he said. "My destiny."
Twilight had nothing to say to that.
She spent some time within herself. Her hip felt light without a sword. Betrayal lay somewhere in those caves-lost in the confrontation. She had to get in, elude discovery long enough to recover the weapon, find Liet, then somehow defeat Gestal.
She wondered, abstractly, how she would do all these things. She wondered about Gargan. She wondered what had become of Slip. She wondered about her dreams.
The one thing she knew for certain was what she had to do.
"We arrive," Gargan said at last.
They had come to the center of a grove of stone trees two spearcasts in width-the Plain of Standing Stones, Twilight recalled, if her geography was correct. Gargan knelt in the sand and put his ear to the ground as though listening for approaching pursuit. Twilight knew better than to disturb him.
"His magic covered the hole," Gargan said. "I will find the cave I entered first."
The elf agreed, though she knew it could not fail to be a trap.
"There," Gargan said. "This sand is shallow. Whispers."
Twilight shivered. Whispers beneath the ground.
He pointed.
They walked to the nearest of the stone pillars and searched its base. Sure enough, between two boulders they found an opening just large enough for a goliath to squeeze through-or a fiend-stitched troll, perhaps.
"You are the stronger in a fair fight, but we will not fight fairly," she said.
He growled in his throat. "We fight without honor?"
"Best to eschew honor, when our foe can defeat both of us at once."
Gargan finally nodded. He put a hand to his sword hilt.
"Wait," said Twilight, motioning Gargan to stop. "I have a plan."
The goliath eyed her with uncertainty but obeyed.
Closing her eyes and falling into the shadow, Twilight reflected on the stakes. She hated using this power, as it meant letting part of herself go. She hesitated to let any part of herself out, but somehow, after her dreams, she felt calm. She wasn't so alone.
"This will only take a breath."
She began the ritual.
The elf padded through the tunnel to the catacombs, her hand on the rapier hilt. She cast her eyes one way, then the other, then proceeded, as though certain she was safe. She moved on, stealthy and hidden to all sight.
All sight except the sight that comes with a demon prince's power.
A massive form fell out of the darkness above, crashing down like a falling wall. There was no way she could dodge, no way she could evade impending death.
Tlork was stunned when his hulking maul passed right through her, to smash into the stone, and he landed with a roar on nothing. The elf danced in front of the troll, whipping her blade out of its sheath.
Meanwhile, a hand reached out of the shadows and plucked up a certain rapier, which had been lying against the stone.
He'd missed? How? He'd clung to the stalactites, waiting, then fallen when there had been no chance.
Only then-when the blade darted in-did Tlork realize he'd been tricked.
Twilight thrust the Hizagkuur rapier deep into the troll's side without a hiss or cry-only a grim frown that bespoke firm purpose. The keen gray-white steel laid aside hard sinew and muscle like warm pudding and speared one lung, then a heart, then the other lung. Electricity and fire burned along its length, searing the tissue before it could regenerate-at least, so the elf hoped.
Twilight's knuckles slammed painfully into the basket hilt as the blade abruptly halted against Tlork's far ribs, and she pushed harder, with all her strength. The hilt buried itself against the troll's nearer ribs. She felt that if she were any stronger, she might end up with her elbows inside him.
"Try fighting with that wound," Twilight dared Tlork.
To her disappointment, that was exactly what the troll did. With a mighty roar, he whirled and writhed, shaking her furiously.
If Betrayal had been strapped to her wrist, likely Tlork would have wrenched her arm from her body. As it was, the tension snapped her arm back and she shrieked. She thought she heard bones snap before Tlork finally flung her away like so much refuse. And if even she hadn't, then she certainly did when her ribs crunched against the stone.
Twilight sank, broken, to the ground with a breathless sob.
Still burning, Betrayal stayed inside the troll, but the flesh kept regenerating. Why hadn't she considered that the demonflesh might resist flame, as did that of true demons?
The troll barreled toward her, his hammer held high.
Without a sound, the second Twilight danced in and stabbed its own Betrayal into Tlork's back. The sword wasn't real, but neither was it illusion. Its chilling darkness sapped the troll's strength at a touch. Tlork faltered and the hammer dipped in a pace-wide circle whose edge was a thumb's length from the real Twilight's head. The troll spun and growled in confusion at its attacker, and Twilight dared to breathe.