blood, oozing tears, but alive. Mehvenne took a step back, startled and ready with a spell should she need to fight a demon.
But the next sound Foxdaughter emitted was a simple sigh.
'Gys sa salen,' she murmured, bringing one dainty hand to her forehead.
Gargan hardly spoke the Common tongue, much less Elvish. He wondered if his heavy mouth could even form such dainty syllables. But he, like all goliaths, was a student of body language and expression. Even though he did not catch the exact meaning of her words, he understood her basic desire.
As did Mehvenne, who knelt and offered the water bowl to Foxdaughter.
'No, my good lady,' she sighed. 'Not that kind of drink.'
The druid furrowed her brow, almost looking at Gargan before she caught herself. Gargan could only blink and look down at Foxdaughter blankly.
'What was'-the elf paused-'that game… I saw?'
Gargan felt a smile tugging at his mouth. He squeezed her hand. 'Kukanath kuth,' he said. Then he remembered that she wore no earring, so he exercised the few words he knew in the trade tongue. 'Goat ball.'
The elf smiled, and it was the most reassuring thing Gargan had ever seen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As their escorts led the pair into the desert, the sheer size of the goliaths struck Twilight once more. Even standing at about seven feet tall, Gargan seemed stunted and short beside his clan brothers. There was a certain feral strength and speed about him, though-rage tempered by the wisdom that shone in his emerald eyes, and it was this that convinced Twilight he was the most dangerous of all.
And it was part of what had led her to doubt the goliath, Twilight remembered with a pang of guilt.
Well, no more of that.
They had stayed at the goliath camp for six days-three that Twilight had slept, three more that she had taken to recover. The poultices and chants had done wonders for her damaged bones and bruised hide, though she could not shake the soreness, regardless of how much walking and stretching she had done. She had spent those days as an observer in the goliath camp, watching the simple joys they took in boasts and tales, the artisans at their trade, and racers leaping the crags. She'd sat with storytellers, weaved necklaces and baskets, and learned some of the songs. She wore several goliath earrings, now, and they'd bound her hair with bone combs.
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.'
