'Look at her!' Theseus hissed. 'This won't take long.'
'It would take longer than you know, Thrasson.'
Karfhud forcibly pulled him back, then pointed at the string of black blood beads bobbing in the water. One of the globules sank as they watched.
'Besides, her blood trail will not last long,' the fiend said. 'Even if you do not care to save Silverwind, there is still your amphora to consider.'
'Zoombee, you… stay with me… no?'
'No, Jayk… I can't.'
When Theseus turned away, he did not see that last red husk burst. He felt it. Isle Of Despair
Down the twining canals they push, the Thrasson and the fiend, down the purling alleys between leafy walls looming dark and nebulous in the fog, down the meandering silver ribbons where sticky strings of black beads lie bobbing upon the waters. Thick in the air hangs the monster's stench: the acrid reek of her dark blood and the musty fetor of her matted fur. All around, the white haze sizzles with her quick, shallow breath. They see her flight in the arrow of ripples spreading across the channel; her fear, they taste in the sour bile of their own growing thirst. The Thrasson's zeal pounds heavy and hard inside his skull; they will run the monster down and save Silverwind – if Silverwind can be saved – but what of Jayk? Her heart has stilled, her blood has grown purple and settled into her haunches, all her Pains have passed.
There is an anger down in the Thrasson's stomach, sour and boiling hot and black as pitch. He would have us believe he rages at Karfhud, or even at himself, but who is fooled by that? His wrath is a lie – a foul perjury, a stain upon his name so shameful he will not concede it even to himself – and I know the truth. The Lady always knows.
He is no man of renown, this Thrasson; he is too selfish, too jealous by far. Rather than begrudge Jayk her freedom, he should rejoice in her going; he should celebrate the unraveling of her labyrinth and be light of heart – and so should you. There is no reason to lament, no cause for outrage. I have not betrayed my pledge. It is true that the tiefling has suffered torment unimaginable and endured anguish enough to crush a giant and borne grief that would shatter a god, all as I promised she would, but has she not also run her maze and found her prize? If the One Death is not the triumph for which you hoped, I am not to blame. I said she was a Dustman, and it is no concern of mine if you harbor a secret taste for the dead.
Down a haze-crashed canal they turn, the Thrasson and the fiend, still following that floating string of black blood and that arrow of spreading ripples, still breathing the monster's stink and still searching the pearl-white fog for her gray shape. The looming bog-trees have given way to walls of ash-drab granite, hardly discernible from the hanging still mist, and the channel's silty bottom has grown hard and rugged beneath the palm of the Amnesian Hero's gruesome foot. A low rampart has appeared at the end of the passage, visible in the fog only because of the dark cracks between its great limestone blocks and the small archway at its center.
Without a moment's pause, Karfhud sloshed up the channel to the gate.
'A sinking palace.' He ducked under the lintel and pushed forward. The silver waters drained from his battered wings as he ascended a submerged stairway. 'How I wish we had time to map.'
'There will be time later-after we slay Sheba.' Silently, Theseus added, if you don't make me kill you, too.
'You are very confident of yourself.' The tanar'ri reached the top of the stairway, where the water was only ankle deep, and stopped. 'That is good-especially if we are to defeat her trap.'
Karfhud flattened himself against the wall and motioned Theseus up beside him. Pressing tighter to the fiend's maze-blighted chest than he would have liked, the Thrasson squeezed into the opening and found himself staring down a narrow passage. The water was flowing away from him ever so gently, swirling over a layer of stone shards broken loose from the palace's ancient walls. The fog was thinner here. He could see a dozen paces down the corridor, to where a long pivoting gate stood edge-on in the center of a four-way junction. The Thrasson had stormed enough fortresses to recognize the ironclad gate as a manstile, designed to funnel attackers into a confusing labyrinth of side passages and deadly cross fire.
To one side of the manstile lay Silverwind, bloodied and motionless, save for his heaving ribs. Against the other side leaned the amphora. Sheba was lurking at the stile's far end, her matted bulk spilling past both sides of the thick gate. She was squirming restlessly, and she had a black-oozing circle where the Thrasson's blade had cleaved off her arm.
'She's trying to separate us.'
Karfhud shook his head. 'No doubt that would make her happy enough, but that is not what is in her mind. She is offering you a choice: the bariaur or the amphora.' The fiend lowered his gaze and curled his muzzle up in a yellow-fanged sneer. 'Now you must decide whether you are a hero. Will you choose your friend's life, or your lost memories?'
'Any man can choose; a hero takes both.' Theseus scraped a handful of dark blood from one of the many scratches on Karfhud's body, then smeared it over his sword btede. 'I'll rescue Silverwind. You retrieve the amphora.'
A red gleam shot from Karfhud's beady eyes. 'If you think to give me orders-'
Theseus squeezed past the fiend, at the same time striking a sharp blow to one of the golden husks dangling from the tanar'ri's blighted flank. The pod burst, spilling a stream of yellow ichor over the fiend's immense hip. Karfhud dropped to one knee, a long sizzle of pain hissing from between his lips.
'I don't want to waste time arguing.' The Thrasson laid his hand on another of the yellow husks. 'We are going-'
'Pain me all you wish,' Karfhud growled. 'If we separate, it will be as nothing to your suffering. Even lacking an arm, Sheba would flay you alive – and, were I to escape, I would do the same to your friends.'
The fiend glared at the Thrasson's hand, but made no attempt to remove it. Theseus scowled. Could Sheba truly be so terrible that, even one-armed, she struck fear into the heart of a tanar'ri lord?
'Tanar'ri hearts do not fear.' Karfhud slowly drew himself to his full height, then glanced down the passage. 'If you have no care about your friend, then let us make use of him. If we do not retrieve the amphora before he dies, Sheba will change her mind about letting us take it.'
'I will have both.'
