The stone-skinned creature regarded him flatly, his eyes judging, deciding, and dismissing. Twilight made a note of it. She had already guessed the answer.
'He's a goliath.'
Gargan nodded and bowed his head slightly. 'Kuli gumatha goli kanakath.'
Twilight extended her hand, and the goliath looked down at it, curious.
'What was that?' Liet whispered.
'I've no idea,' Twilight said through a clenched smile.
CHAPTER THREE
In less than a quarter bell, the prisoners were assembled in the guard chamber, as far from Tlork as they could manage. Each waited in his or her distinct fashion.
Gargan the goliath leaned against the back corner of the room, arms folded. He had spoken no more since being released, a fact that did not surprise Twilight. She had heard of the goliath race, but had never heard them called verbose. At his feet lay the locked chest, carried from Tlork's chamber through the application of stony muscles.
Liet paced, shivering and casting wary glances around. When he saw Twilight looking at him, he visibly relaxed, but she wouldn't give him that. She looked away, letting him grow progressively more nervous.
Taslin and Asson stood together in a different corner, the woman protectively in front of her companion. Taslin had enough strength for both of them. 'How long?' she questioned.
'Soon,' Twilight said. 'I need all of us together.'
No sooner had she spoken than Slip entered. The uneasy look on the halfling's face, even before Twilight saw the cowled figure that walked behind her, told her that she should reconsider gathering all the prisoners.
'I brought the one from the wizard cell.' Slip bit her lip. 'He's got himself a nasty streak, this one. Beware!'
Slowly, Twilight nodded. She'd sensed evil in that cell, and she'd been right.
'Spare me this runt's drivel,' the man snapped. 'Who among you speaks sense?'
Taslin stepped forward. 'Who are you?' she asked, defiant, shoulders back.
Twilight cursed. That a champion of the Seldarine could sense what she herself had felt failed to surprise her. She was entirely too familiar with the devout.
The cowled man shot his dark eyes over them all and a glittering sneer of sharp teeth appeared in the depths of the cowl. The air around his hands shimmered, and ruby energy crackled to life in his palms. The prisoners stepped back, all but Twilight, who palmed the iron shard. Her eyes went to the locked chest-perhaps she should have opened it before releasing the others, but she couldn't have carried it without Gargan.
'I am the warlock Davoren Hellsheart,' the cowled man said. 'And from now on, you will speak only when I speak to you, yellow whore.' He accentuated the point with a glare that promised swift, magical death. 'You as well, whitebeard.'
Taslin's face went white. 'In Corellon's name-'
Twilight stopped her with a hand on her arm and a sharp look, at which Taslin frowned. She looked away. 'Well met, Davoren,' Twilight said pointedly.
The warlock's eyes flicked to her and he paused, cruel mouth twisted. His gaze was chill. 'Indeed,' he said. 'You know my name, and I-'
'Fox-at-Twilight,' she said, cutting him off. 'And I say we waste no more time.'
Davoren pulled back his hood, revealing surprisingly well-groomed, yellow-white hair and a brush of grayish stubble across his chin and throat. The features were not ugly in and of themselves, but the whole was hideous. His dusky skin was odd-as though it were made of something other than human flesh.
'What do you propose, Fox-at-Twilight?' Davoren said.
'Simple-we choose a leader for this band, then get the Hells out of this place.'
'Band?' The warlock scoffed. He gestured at the other six. 'All I see are huddled weaklings.'
'None of us know what's beyond the troll,' Twilight said. 'And none of us can make it alone. We either work together to escape, or we stay here and rot.' Though she didn't say it, she realized that second option would likely involve bloodshed.
'Right!' piped up Slip. 'And in this here band, we should all rule over each other, and have equal voice, and… and be best companions!'
'Equal voice?' Davoren laughed. 'Spare me.'
Everyone but Slip glared at him. 'Why not equal?' she asked, blinking.
'Equality is the crutch the weak impose on the strong.' Though he spoke to Slip, Davoren's eyes remained on Twilight. 'Thus do rabble rule where they have no business doing so. If you wish to indulge in such narcissistic tripe, leave my sight.'
'You may be gone,' said Taslin. 'We have no need of arrog-'
Twilight spoke over her. 'I'm not going to impose anything on you.' She disdained the implications of those words; he'd twisted her into calling herself weak. 'Ordinarily, I'd say every elf for herself, but we will die if we can't work together.'
In the silence that followed, heads began to nod, and even Davoren's scowl gradually faded. Twilight felt she was right-none of them knew what they faced, but all of them knew they could not face it alone. Even the warlock.
To a point. 'I see no reason why we should have equal voice. Our voice should be weighted based on our relevance, or whether we exist only for comedy and amusement.'
Slip blinked. 'Why's everyone looking at me?'
'And you are to judge this?' Taslin asked, stepping forward again.
'As though you would be better, spellbegger.'
At that, Asson brought his hand up as though to shape a spell.
In response, Davoren clenched his fist and narrowed his eyes. 'Suddenly grown a backbone, whitebeard?' Crimson eldritch energy swirled around his forearm. 'Let us see who is stronger.' He grinned. 'Especially without your precious powders and trinkets.'
'Enough!' snapped Twilight. She stepped between the two and stared Davoren in the eye. 'We can stand here arguing until the Abyss gleams with holy light, or we can establish a leader and get out of here while that troll yet sleeps.'
The warlock smiled cruelly. 'Very well, she-elf,' he said. 'I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking. As my first command…'
A rumble vibrated the room. It took all the adventurers a full breath to realize that it had come from the mottled giant of a man who sat behind them. It was the second time Gargan had spoken. Though Twilight did not understand his words, she understood the meaning of his finger well enough, pointing at her. Taslin nodded, almost imperceptibly. Could she understand the goliath somehow?
Davoren's face contorted in indignation. 'Speak a civil tongue,' he snapped. 'Then perhaps we might consider your input, monster.'
'Twilight,' said Liet. 'It's got to be Twilight.'
Silence fell. Davoren stared, dumbfounded and furious, at Liet. The youth receded, as though shrinking back into the shadows under that gaze. Twilight might have interposed herself, but she had a feeling that would anger the warlock more.
Finally, Taslin stepped toward Liet. 'Say on, lad,' she bid.
'Well…' Liet scratched the back of his head. 'Slip's too loud of mouth, Gargan too soft. Asson's too old, and Taslin favors him too much. We need someone who represents us all.' The priestess stiffened, but bowed in concession. 'Davoren's too divisive'-Davoren scoffed at that-'and I… I'm too young.' He spread his hands. 'Who's left but Twilight?'
In the pause that followed, Twilight kept her silence and her eyes on Liet, weighing and watching.
'So it's Twilight,' said Taslin. 'Objections?'
