After that breath, though, pain overwhelmed the elf, and the illusion wrapping her shadow faltered. The false Twilight's skin shivered and vanished into ephemeral black-features bled away, leaving only darkness. The elf-shadow did not fade, though, and slashed at Tlork with unnaturally stretching fingers. The troll tried to smash it with his hammer, but the weapon passed through harmlessly, giving Twilight hope.
Then a gem embedded in Tlork's chest flared golden, and the shadow recoiled soundlessly. It cowered, as though rapt, then fled. Twilight knew only one thing that could scare a member of the living dead: the power of a god or, in this case, a demon.
Tlork spun back, slavering.
Then Gargan was there, catching Tlork's hammer haft in two mighty hands. He locked his muscles, holding the deadly weapon perhaps a pace from Twilight.
As Twilight had planned, Gargan attacked from hiding, but why did he not deal a deathblow with his sword? Was he a fool, thinking to save her and sacrifice his chance?
No, Twilight realized with a shudder. He must have seen Betrayal's failure, and surmised that Blackwyrm would fail as well. Neither could slay Tlork. And instead of running, as he should have, he had killed himself in a vain play to save her.
Twilight wanted to scream, but a hand came out of the darkness and covered her mouth. Another arm encircled her torso, under the shoulders, and she could do nothing but watch Tlork and Gargan struggle, heavy muscles one against the other, as her limp form was dragged back through the shadows. She saw the troll and goliath approaching the edge of the chasm Gestal's spell had torn, pushing and pulling…
Then Gargan's foot slipped, his leg crunched into the stone, and he went over, pulling Tlork with him. Twilight could do nothing but gasp, tasting leather pressed against her lips, as she watched her last ally plummet to his death.
"Foxdaughter!" he shouted as he fell. Twilight saw Betrayal, its gray edge burning, spinning, end over end, up from the chasm. It clattered, sparking, to the floor. With his last act, Gargan had thrown her the sword.
Then something struck her head sharply, she felt wetness, and darkness fell.
Gestal watched Tlork fall in to the depths of his blood pool. The troll and the goliath still fought, wrestling and punching, all the way into the darkness.
He didn't bother to watch their inevitable demise. Gestal was much more interested in Twilight. The pool couldn't find her-she had her Shroud-but Gestal knew she had returned. Somewhere.
Well enough, he decided. She shall be along presently.
With a hand that had only three and a half fingers-the others were still growing-he swirled the bowl of blood. The image died.
Her senses returned soon after the hands released her to rest and recover against the stone wall. Twilight coughed, pointedly aware of the trickle of salty blood that ran over her split chin. Broken ribs. She hoped nothing bled inside… much. Her right arm was useless, splintered by the troll's fury. She needed to catch her breath.
"Thank you, Davoren," she murmured. "I never expected you to save me."
The warlock, scanning the darkness they had just left with his fiendish eyes, grunted. The sounds of Tlork's roars and squeals had vanished, presumably down the pit, but he would return. They both knew it.
Slowly, as she panted and groaned, Twilight climbed to her feet with Davoren's help. She leaned against the wall, her head still aching and the respective agonies in her stomach and breast biting at one another. Her fingers itched for Betrayal; it lay just visible a dagger's cast distant, at the end of the tiny crawl tunnel through which the warlock had dragged her. She started that way. She had to save Gargan-she had to…
"It's appropriate how you word your thanksgiving," Davoren said behind her, the chill of his words freezing her in mid limp. "I did save you-for myself."
As Twilight turned, Davoren's shoulder slammed beneath her breast, crunching the broken ribs and crushing her against the wall, and the warlock rammed the poisoned stiletto into her side.
Twilight had time only to gasp before she felt the freezing venom course through her blood. Her eyes widened-and stayed that way.
"A taste of your own trickery, then," Davoren said. "I couldn't let some brute kill you-not when I have blessed you with my oh-so exquisite hatred for so long."
Twilight's mouth hung open as though to scream. His wound had not been a fatal stroke, but a stab in the gut. It would take painful hours to expire. Especially…
Especially with that milky potion Davoren dangled teasingly before her eyes-exactly the same way she had dangled her poison vial what seemed so long ago.
"Death is yet a ways off," he said redundantly. "We shall enjoy its process, no?"
He must have misinterpreted the undying rage in her eyes as terror-Davoren had never been good at reading others-for he continued. "Do not fear, filliken-it isn't for your flesh I have reserved you, but for a higher purpose." His eyes roved her body. "Though, if my will overcame your decrepitude, I might reconsider…"
Silently, Twilight wondered if she truly looked so old and decayed, or Davoren meant something different. Somehow, it didn't seem like something she should point out.
"You always thought yourself better than me, but no more," the warlock said. "Perhaps I will leave you, as you would have left me-food or prey, or worse. Perhaps you'll be lucky-perhaps the troll won't be the first to find you."
Twilight's throat contorted with fury.
"How does it feel now, Shrew-at-Twilight? To be helpless before me? To know that there is nothing-absolutely nothing you can do to stay my hand?"
The edge of Twilight's lip twitched. Then she brought her good knee up between his legs. Hard.
"Except that," she said.
With a soprano moan, Davoren crumpled into a quivering heap. Twilight fell on him, unable to stand on her broken leg. She slapped away his feeble hands and took the healing potion he had taunted her with. She jabbed an elbow into his face, stunning him once more.
Twilight crawled away and uncorked the flask. She drained the sweet liquor, letting it spread to her broken limbs and ribs. It did not heal her entirely, but the pain receded. With a little exertion, she could stand again.
And as soon as she did, she kicked the warlock in the gut, just to stifle any spells, curses, or whatever else he might have mustered.
"H-how?" Davoren managed as he pawed at her without strength.
"Typical Davoren," Twilight said brokenly. "You may be strong… you may be crafty, and you may be powerful… but you don't know the first rule of poison. Never carry one that can harm you."
The warlock's face twisted in a mixture of agony and fury. Dark, perverse words started to form on his lips.
Twilight put a stop to that with her boot. "You'd be surprised the tolerance a wench can build with a century on her hands."
In reply, Davoren spat a pair of incisors.
"What biting wit," Twilight noted. Then she coughed and almost fell. The healing helped, but there was little enough a single potion could do for ribs as broken as hers.
Without the fear of the warlock striking her down from behind, she limped toward Betrayal. Where it lay, shadows flickered along its edge, and she remembered its former wielder. Her eyes grew bleary for a heartbeat, but only for a heartbeat.
"Thtop!" Davoren commanded, with Asmodeus's authority.
But Twilight was unmoved. Of her own will, she stopped and turned halfway to look.
"You neeth me," he said through blood and spittle, his voice slurred without some of his teeth. "My power-to ethcape thith plathe. You'll never make it witho'w help!"