'Indeed,' said Davoren. 'I've one.' He raised a fist, which crackled with spinning energy. 'What's to keep me from smiting your leader right now and taking her place?'
Then he raised his other fist, and the energy arced between them.
'And a second-a corollary, if you will.' He furrowed his brow, as though thoughtful. 'What's to keep me from smiting all of you right now? It seems to me that none of us are armed, and I need no weapo-'
As the words snapped out of his mouth, Twilight exploded into motion. She dived into a roll, came up inside the circle of Davoren's arms, and whipped the metal shard, which she had concealed behind her arm, against his throat.
The warlock chuckled. 'Meaningless,' he said. 'My powers are of the Nine Hells, and in my veins pumps the blood of demons-no mere metal can bite my skin.'
'Yes, but I'm willing to wager that if you've a demon's blood, you've a demon's weakness,' Twilight said. 'And this, if you hadn't noticed, is cold-wrought iron.'
Davoren did not move or blink, but the rage in his eyes said enough.
During the standoff, both poised to slay the other in a single flick of the wrist, the other prisoners watched, awestruck. No one spoke.
Then, of all assembled, Asson stepped forward. 'Davoren, Twilight,' he said, the trepidation clear in his voice. 'This gets us nowhere. That troll won't sleep forever.' Down the corridor, the room having gone silent, they could hear its snores.
Neither moved, but the tension slowly dissolved between them. Or, more appropriately, reality intruded and forced some of their rancor aside.
Some.
'Very well.' Davoren lowered his hands. 'I shall accept the filliken's leadership.' Taslin and Asson cringed at the words in Elvish for 'skirt' and 'open,' combined with Davoren's tone. 'For now.'
The elf smiled only slightly and drew her blade away. 'Very well,' she said.
Slowly, hot anger subsided into cold anxiety. Torches flickered where they lit the chamber, and the troll's hacking snores did not reassure Twilight. Who knew what other dangers might be in the darkness?
But she wouldn't think about it. She picked at her damp chemise and eyed the frayed cloaks and robes they all wore. Then she looked at the chest and the ring of keys.
I hope this isn't a jest, she thought. I'm near dead for some decent clothes.
Exactly three hundred heartbeats later, Davoren snarled for the sixth time, startling Liet. 'I thought our waiting was for a purpose,' he said. 'Was I mistaken?'
'Patience is not your specialty, then,' Taslin said. She kept watch at his side, gazing down the corridor and waiting for any sign of the troll, or other horror.
'No,' Davoren said. 'But rampant destruction… that I do quite well.'
Liet knelt next to a wall, his arms around his knees. He tried not to think about the darkness, or the cold, or the troll he could still hear snoring, or… then he caught himself, stopped, and shivered. He felt awkward-alone, even surrounded by the others.
He glanced at Twilight. The elf had tried every key and was now working on that black chest with her shard of iron. She'd shushed him when he'd tried to talk to her. The intensity in her eyes when she focused on a task disturbed him.
'Here!' Slip shouted from where she perched atop Gargan's shoulder. Her loud voice caused half of them to jump and the others to hiss at her in warning.
If Slip noticed, she made no sign. Fingers traced a crease in the stone. 'Found it!'
'Found what?' Liet asked, allowing himself to hope. 'A way out?'
He looked, and sure enough, she pointed to a line in the stone, a crack like the edge of a trapdoor. Slip knocked on one side of the groove, which gave off a stony thump, then upon the other, which produced a metallic ring.
Setting the halfling down gently, eliciting a giggle from the little creature, Gargan put his hands to the ceiling, only a head above him. The goliath pushed, gently at first, then with greater effort. With a scrape, the metal plate rose a good thumb's breadth. A trace of dust filtered down. The goliath pushed-slowly, so as not to produce noise, and revealed a disk of metal, like a trapdoor, which he shifted out of the way.
'From the lack of dust, 'tis a well-used portal, by my estimation,' Asson said near Liet's side, startling him. The old man was surprisingly quick and silent.
'Estimation? I'm surprised you can even see it, old one,' Davoren said. Taslin glared, but the warlock merely shrugged. ' 'Tis no great slight to call an old man old.'
Taslin drew back, but Asson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. The priestess looked away from Davoren and gave her husband a gentle smile.
Then the chest clicked, and Liet turned back to Twilight. The lithe elf perched over the strongbox, a wide smile on her face. 'Happy Naming Day, all.'
'Gold is meant to help us?' the warlock asked.
The elf snapped open the lock and flung back the cover, revealing weapons, armor, and gear. Eyes lit up around the room, and the adventurers fell upon it.
From the chest, Taslin claimed a mithral long sword. Liet chose a paired thrusting sword and dagger, and Gargan took a great battle-axe. Deep in the chest, Liet saw a dusky old rapier.
'Betrayal,' Twilight whispered as she lifted it.
'What?' Liet started.
Twilight didn't seem to hear. Her eyes locked on a certain blue gem medallion wrapped around the blade's hilt. Unobtrusively, she untangled it and secured the chain around her throat, leaving the pendant to hang beneath her torn chemise. Liet stared at her, curious, until Twilight returned the gaze. He looked away, balancing his sword.
'You know how to use one of those, then?' Twilight asked in his ear, and he whirled. He almost hit her in the face with the blade, and if she hadn't moved her rapier to parry, he would have slashed her. He thought he saw sparks.
'Well, uh, yes,' Liet said. 'The point, anyway.'
'Well,' Twilight said. She brought a hand up to her cheek and flicked the blade wide with a wink. 'See that you mind it well.'
Liet didn't know what she meant, but the way she said it made him flush.
Asson declined a weapon in favor of his staff. One item remained for Davoren and Slip to dispute-a small mace that would have been a weighty bludgeon in the halfling's hands.
'I care not,' Davoren said. 'My gifts are all the weapons I need.' As if to reinforce the point, flames danced in his eyes. Liet shuddered.
Farther into the chest came further spoils, including a suit of golden mail fitted for Taslin, a pair of vambraces too large for any but Gargan, and a shield Liet himself claimed. Built of stout wood, with a sheath on its reverse for a dagger, the shield pleased him greatly.
Asson laid claim to a pouch seemingly of spellcasting ingredients. Twilight discovered a black belt holding lockpicks, tiny crossbow quarrels, and myriad small devices. Beneath these lay a pair of black gauntlets decorated with snarling devils that no one would claim except Davoren. The chest held a further collection of mixed equipment, including empty waterskins, rope, and a grappling hook. Slip seized a largely empty sack that seemed to contain scraps of cloth and a strand or two of rope. Taslin's eyes lit up when she removed a cloth-wrapped bundle, and she handed it to Asson reverently.
And beneath, folded, stacked, and reasonably clean, were-to Liet's weary eyes and filthy limbs-the greatest prizes of all.
Clearly, Twilight agreed. 'Thanks be to Lady Doom,' she whispered. Then, without a thought to modesty other than turning her back, she threw off her tattered shift.
Liet stared. As the elf's prisoner garb was tossed aside, and before her long, loose hair could fall down her back, Liet glimpsed a black tattoo of a many-pointed star at the base of her spine. He heard a sharp intake of breath
