His foot had become a pool of blood. She slipped into a healing chant, laying her hands upon Asson's forehead.
Slip scurried to the fallen mage and, bypassing chants and ritual, sent a flow of healing into him. Asson shivered, gave a ragged cough, and started breathing more regularly. Taslin looked at her, startled, but nodded in thanks.
Davoren groaned and rose. His face was shredded-three furrows ran from lip to brow. His eye had been spared by the space of a few lashes. 'Don't all bow at once.'
'What're you talking about?' Slip asked.
' 'Twas my power that saved you all,' Davoren growled. 'Have you forgotten?'
No reply arose from any of them.
Twilight stared at the fallen wight that had wounded Davoren. Her eyes went to its dropped battle-axe, then back to its agony-stricken face. She heard rasping-not like breathing, but more like growls through a shredded throat. Then the thing moved, she thought, itching one great hand toward its weapon. 'Lie,' it said. 'Lie.'
Twilight shook.
'Oh… look.' Davoren grinned. He lifted one gray hand toward the ceiling and fire, red like blood, danced along his fingers. He snapped the hand down, and the wight's head exploded, spattering Twilight's face. She didn't flinch- just watched him die again.
' 'Light?' a hand closed on her elbow. 'Are you well?'
'Away from me!' She threw Liet off. The youth staggered back, stunned.
Davoren smiled and gave her a look as pointed as his teeth.
What seemed the length of a bell later, Twilight sat on one of the sarcophagi in the empty room, spinning Betrayal's hilt between her hands. The steel made a soft hiss against the stone. It was vaguely comforting.
Slip and Taslin had seen to healing the others. Gargan and Asson required the most attention, having taken grievous injuries. Asson had lost one of his feet and was coughing and retching horribly. For his part, Gargan had borne the brunt of the wights' fury, and though he said nothing, the goliath could barely stay upright from fatigue and weakness.
Taslin could heal wounds, but she did not have the magic to restore a damaged spirit-to wipe away the wights' touch. The halfling was remarkable in her healing, seeming able to cast any of the sacred spells she desired as she needed them. The others found this curious, but none questioned. They were just pleased to be alive.
Asson needed much healing, and his old body hadn't done well. Nothing could cure his stump of a leg. If he had limped and breathed heavily before, he would be a wreck to travel with in his current condition. Taslin bore him shakily to the wall, where he could rest, then knelt at his side for a long while, patting his hand.
Meekly, Liet crept up to sit with Twilight, his hands clenching and unclenching.
'The way you distracted that wight just by shouting,' Twilight said without looking. 'How did you manage that? Latent magical talent? Favored of a god?'
'I know not,' Liet said with a shrug.
Twilight listened closely. It was not a lie.
'My thanks,' said the youth after a moment.
'For what?'
'Saving my life,' he said.
Twilight bristled. Whether it was resentment at the risk that saving him had brought her, or embarrassment that the others were watching, or annoyance because it was too easy to hear his gratitude, she couldn't say. Twilight looked at him venomously. 'It's what you asked of me, isn't it?'
Liet's eyes widened and he stood up. Whether out of respect or hurt, he made no sign. After a breath, he padded away.
'You're hurt,' came a soft, feminine voice, startling Twilight. She looked up and Taslin stood before her, her hands folded at her waist. Of course the sun would come to see if she needed healing.
The shadowdancer shook her arm. 'A nick. Hardly worth worrying about.'
'The wight's draining touch… Slip's power to heal a damaged spirit-'
'Save it for someone who needs it,' Twilight said, interrupting her. Her eyes remained distant-staring at the object of her malice.
Taslin saw, on the other side of the room, similarly isolated from the others, that Davoren sat glaring at Twilight. The girl returned the gaze in kind, spinning her sword with more conviction than before. Red-black blood still smeared her cheek. Perhaps she was not such a child after all.
The priestess glided cautiously to Davoren's side. The warlock sat slumped, his face still a flood of gore. He didn't look up as she approached.
'Davoren,' she said. No reply. 'I have come to heal you. Corellon's gifts…'
'Are neither required nor desired,' the warlock said icily. He spat, and blood dripped from his lips. He shifted and winced in pain. 'Be gone, and take your feeble tricks with you. I care nothing for the whimsy of a naive, spoiled god or his whores.'
The blasphemy rankled, but Taslin suppressed her anger. She turned on her heel and walked two steps, then stopped.
'I… I've also come to… thank you, Davoren,' Taslin said. 'You saved Asson and myself, and for that you have my grat-'
'I don't want your sniveling gratitude.' He still stared at Twilight.
Taslin stiffened. A hand went to her sword, but it would be dishonorable to draw on a foe in such pitiable state. 'What do you desire, then?' she asked.
'Your respect or your fear,' Davoren said. 'I don't much care which.'
'You shall have neither,' Taslin said. Her hand tightened on the hilt. 'Ever.'
There was a pause.
'Well, then,' Davoren said. 'Go back to your decrepit sack of bones, and leave me in peace from your whining. Have I earned that much?'
As Taslin walked away, she decided she hated him.
They made camp in the ruined mausoleum where they had fought the wights. They could have pushed on, but all were tired and Asson needed rest badly. He also begged for time to study his grimoire.
Leaving Taslin in charge, Twilight and Slip-the least wounded and stealthiest of the bunch-searched the other rooms of the crypt, but found them cleared of any residents. They chose not to disturb any of the sarcophagi, lest they discover more defenders. Had Twilight been alone, she might have done just that to see what treasures she might find, but she had a band of squabblers to look out for. And after Arandon, her heart wasn't in it.
In their search of the crypt, the women found little more than dust and ash, a great many claw marks, and a series of runes carved on the walls and sarcophagi, filled in with something that looked like dried blood. They looked much like the symbol they had seen earlier on the stairs, but Twilight prevented Slip from springing any traps.
By the time they return, Twilight and Slip found the others engaged in a familiar activity: bickering. A part of her supposed it wasn't so bad-they couldn't be panicked and fearful if they were busy. Still, it grated.
'If not for me, none of you would be alive,' growled Davoren. His face was still horribly cut, but the bleeding had subsided. It made him even uglier.
'And if not for Corellon's might,' countered Taslin, 'the first rush of those creatures would have overwhelmed us and slain you. Your art could hold only so many.'
Davoren seized on the approaching elf and halfling for more bolts to loose. 'If your accursed cave shrimp had paid attention, I would have destroyed them all.' He clenched his fist. 'If you blade swingers knew your role and served your purpose-'
