One was a solid ruby, carved as a soldier in ancient armor, carrying a mighty axe of the same precious stone. One was clay, a hugely muscular dwarf of thirty hands with a mace. Another was iron-the same creature they had seen slaughtering the lizards what seemed tendays ago-an unstoppable knight with a sword longer than Gargan was tall. The fourth stood even taller and dark as night, shaped as a mighty sorceress with four great arms, each of which held a hooked dagger. Spiderstone, Twilight realized.
The creatures looked at them, then lifted their respective weapons.
'Gargan,' she murmured. 'Slowly… put the sword… down…'
The goliath seemed to understand, and he lowered his black blade. He put a hand on Twilight's shoulder and stepped in front of her, protectively. It was a gesture she hadn't expected but appreciated nonetheless, as ludicrous as it might have been.
It was a great and spacious hall. Pillars wider than four dwarves standing shoulder to shoulder held up a tall dome whose belly was decorated with mosaics depicting suns and flames. In the center of the room, lying before an altar, a vast slab of black metal rested, looking like nothing so much as a great hatch. A sun with a grim face hung at an angle above the altar. A faded sun mapped the floor, a withered candelabra at the tip of each of its twenty rays. It reminded her of the symbol of Erevan.
A strange golden moss marred the formerly beautiful architecture, and it was only when she looked away that Twilight realized it was moving, pulsing slightly. She fell into magic sense. The walls exploded with light, and she dismissed the sense with a wince.
Something Lilten had told her came back-a bit of knowledge that she shouldn't have, yet did. She'd thought it a lie, but she realized what she was seeing. Her face went pale. 'Oh, gods,' she murmured, finding breath hard to come by.
'Fox-at-Twilight? ' Gargan's hand clutched her shoulder.
'Heavy magic,' she breathed. 'The walls… the walls are covered in it.'
Indeed, the golden stuff dripped from the stone, caking it as mud on the soles of a boot. It covered the interior of the cathedral almost completely. No magic could penetrate the barrier that surrounded the cathedral, and only the strongest archmage could even think of the Art within its walls.
And, as though to address that point, Twilight saw a silvery window open in the air before a section of wall. A black mass reached through-she recognized it after a breath as a muscular arm-and pushed the gold jelly back into place as though caressing the flesh of a yielding lover. Twilight trembled as she watched the arm snake back through the shimmering window, and another window opened across the room, then another just a few paces from them. Gargan leaped back with a growl, his sword hissing from its scabbard.
Then a portal of light, reflecting the back of the cathedral upside down, appeared before them, and through it came a creature of such power and majesty Twilight found herself forced to her knees. All her tales of seducing archmages and staring down archdevils fled her mind and she was emptied. In short, she was terrified.
For Twilight, who had never had the gift of verse, its form was almost indescribable. The best she could manage was brute analogy. Its body was that of a bulbous tree with three limbs that split into six branches, each a muscular arm thicker than Gargan's chest. These arms ended in clawed fists that contained an eye in each palm. The arms constantly shifted location, as though the flesh were jelly. Sprouting from its body came three fanged, and nosed, but otherwise featureless heads amongst the arms, all of which spoke at once, making for a nigh incomprehensible cacophony.
'Welcome to my realm, dusssstlingssss,' it said, echoing itself. The sheer majesty of the sharn, understandable or not, was enough to make Twilight want to bow down and worship, but she couldn't move.
Then the mouths began alternating syllables, but spoke them all at once, so three beats became one. 'Sssshort lived racessss go by like dusssst in the wind. But you have not died thussss far.' Then it ceased speaking, glaring down with eyeless faces and eyes dotting its six hands.
Twilight realized it was probably the closest the creature would come to complimenting them.
She could not see the details of its body well, even with eyes so attuned to darkness. It was a shapeless bulk of black and silver flesh constantly shifting in a way simultaneously sensual and discordant. Tiny sparks of magic burst and squeaked into being around it constantly-if anything about it could be said to be constant. Its heads and mouths twitched, as though it skipped through time and space every few heartbeats, the number varying as time passed. The six empty hands waved about, casting blank gazes this way and that.
'Chaos embodied,' she whispered in a tone both bleak and awed.
Even though she had never seen one, nor wanted to, Twilight could tell at a glance that something was the matter with this sharn. Multicolored veins stood out along its sinuous frame, and here and there, tightly clustered matrices of light gleamed through its skin like radiant bones. Its mouths constantly oozed green-white fluid, and half its eyes had gone white, as though blinded, or burst entirely, leaving dripping sores.
'My-my lord Sharn,' Twilight said with a bow.
'Ruukthalmuramaxamin,' it corrected in two syllables, not looking at her. 'Elf ssssings like bird on the wing.'
From its display of Art and the presence of its guardians, Twilight realized that this creature controlled the golems they had seen. And that meant… Taslin.
'Not I. The hangman not mine, the death of thine not mine.'
'What do you…?'
'Ssssilence!' it shouted thrice, its voice shaking the temple. She heard the scream in her mind louder than outside it, a vice that crushed her head.
Twilight fell to her knees. Doom was upon her-how dare she speak, or even think. The sharn could snuff out her existence with a thought. She had no right to…
Liet.
She knew she was mad to show spine to a sharn. But Twilight was simply too tired and heartbroken-too worn-to care. She struggled onto one knee, looked it in the eye-an eye, anyway- and said, in a tone that would brook no argument, 'What have you done with my friends?'
Silence reigned in the chamber.
One warm afternoon, Lilten had told her a legend of a sharn who turned a cabal of mighty sorcerers to toadstools and fed them to a gibbering mound-which it had summoned with a gesture much like what mortals use to stifle a sneeze. This was simply for pausing, confused, when the sharn asked for goblin pelt tea. Then it annihilated an unseen servant that delivered the noxious brew, on the grounds that it tasted bad.
In short, questioning a sharn was madness.
The sharn laughed. Rather, its central head laughed. The head on the right muttered homicidal promises in a long forgotten language Twilight only understood with the talisman. The third serenaded her with an ode to a desert posy in some ancient dialect of Elvish that predated the Crown Wars.
'Very well,' it said. 'Prisonerssss.'
'Release them,' she said, then quickly amended it to, 'such I desire. Name-'
The sharn just laughed. 'You dessssire, detesssst, dessserve nothing!'
The declaration rippled through the air, and the golden ooze caked on the ceiling hissed with a thousand spells and memories flooding through it.
Twilight found herself prostrate on the ground. Betrayal lay beneath paralyzed fingers. 'Test me, then,' she said.
The sharn did not pause, as though it expected this, and immediately shouted at her again, this time in a sort of half-mad, half-ordered poem. 'Child of liessss, liar in love, lover of children,' the sharn's three heads said, each beginning at the last's final word, eerily like a roundsong. 'Do you know your mother, father, daughter?'
'My lord Sharn, this is not what I ask,' Twilight said, rising to her feet.
For the first time, Ruukthalmuramaxamin turned all of its eyes upon the shadowdancer, and Twilight sank to her knees with a cry. Her head burst into flame within and she screamed, pressing her palms to her temples. This wasn't the mind-scream. It was reading her thoughts, tearing deep down into her memories. It took all her willpower not to tear out her own eyes to get at the agony or crush her own skull, much less resist. Tears poured down her face and she whimpered. She could do nothing else.
'He emptiessss you firsssst and fillssss you after,' Ruuk continued unabated. 'Chokessss with blood and ssssoakssss with laughter, but give him up you will, leading him to the kill.'
'My lord, I do not under-' Her head felt as though it would rip itself free if her hands didn't tear it off
