tanar'ri's lips.
'Tell me.'
Karfhud's only reply was a long, gurgling wheeze. The fiend licked his lips, but shook his head. 'You… already peeled me… once.'
Theseus swung his hand over the tanar'ri's lips and tightened his fist, squeezing a long red stream into Karfhud's mouth. He allowed the fiend to drink for several seconds, then pulled his hand away again.
'Now, tell me how to find Tessali.'
Karfhud licked the blood off his cracked lips, then a raspy laugh rumbled up from deep in his chest, and the embers in his eyes went cold.
Theseus wasted no time trying to revive the fiend, for he knew well enough when he had been swindled. Instead, the Thrasson rolled the tanar'ri's heavy body onto its side and cut the fiend's battered back-satchel free. If there was a secret to entering the lair, Karfhud would certainly have marked it on his beloved maps. Theseus rifled through the parchments until he found the freshest one, then pulled it out and, as he unfurled the chart, found a clump of nappy white bariaur fur still clinging to one pink-tinged edge.
It is true, despite all I promised, that someone else is dead. It happened this way: while we were looking elsewhere, Karfhud jumped the bariaur from behind. Before Silverwind realized what was happening, all his legs and both his arms were broken, his skin was being peeled from his back, and he was already making plans for what he will imagine better the next time around.
I wish I could say the bariaur's multiverse ended quickly, but that is not how tanar'ri do things. They are masters of the slow death, with a thousand ways to prolong the torment, and each more agonizing than the last. Sometimes, the torture lasts even beyond death; the bariaur was spared that, at least, for the price of becoming a map.
A pity for Silverwind, of course, that he never found his way out of the mazes, but he was hardly a great loss to us: a boring, self-centered old fool, the likes of which you can find sleeping in any gutter in Sigil. And, really, what did you expect from a tanar'ri? Wisdom and goodwill? Consider yourself lucky the fiend settled for a bariaur's hide when he could have had prime, olive-skinned human.
The Thrasson, of course, was right about the map. It took him only a moment to find the pillar, a moment longer to see the three circles, no time at all to realize what he had to do. Already, he has hurled Sheba's writhing parts back into die adjoining passages; already, he has rounded the column twice; already, he has tossed aside the unfurled map and set himself to the task.
Staved ribs aching and bloody slashes throbbing, Theseus staggered the third time around the pillar and did not notice the peace gift in his path. He only saw the dark door opening before him, then heard his foot shattering the pottery, felt the broken shards crumbling beneath the palm of his borrowed foot, and looked down to see the black ribbons swirling round and round, rising up one after the other, circling his body once, twice, three times. He remembered, once before, standing in the mouth of a dark, fetor-filled cavern. His young wine woman had been there with him, pressing a ball of golden thread into his hands.
'I will hold the end, brave Theseus. After you have slain the minotaur, follow the string back to me.'
'You may be certain I will, Princess.' Theseus had kissed her long upon the lips. 'And then will I carry you away from cruel Minos, across the sapphire sea to make you Ariadne, Queen of Athens.'
Ariadne.
No sooner had the name come than the Thrasson felt the bursting of a husk; he looked down and saw black ichor oozing down his breast. His chest went hollow, and inside he felt a cold, bitter wind scraping across his raw ribs.
'No morel' he cried. 'I have remembered too much already!'
But the memories continued to come; with each, another black pod ruptured and spilled its dark purulence over his body. He saw dearly what he had only glimpsed before: his callous betrayal of Ariadne, how his neglect caused his own father's death, how his own prideful blindness cost the lives of two wives, how his fury destroyed his innocent son. From the moment of his first victory, he had lost the very thing that had made him a hero.
And now, here the monster was, offering the same terrible bargain that had brought him so much misery before: a life, a single life, in exchange for eternal fame and renown; Tessali for all his memories of glory and fame. This time, Theseus knew better than to accept. With the black ribbons still whirling about him and the black pods still spilling ichor down his chest, the Thrasson raised his sword and rushed through the black door.
He found himself in a dark, vaulted chamber thick with the smell of sweat and fear, where gloom clung like smoke to the ceiling and the rasp of anguished lungs echoed from every wall. The room was cluttered with iron cages of every size and shape, some square, some round, some shaped like pears, some big enough to hold Sheba herself and others barely large enough for a gnome. Dozens of manacles and shackles dangled from the support pillars; many of them still held the rotted remains of their latest prisoners.
In the center of the room, Tessali hung by the neck on a long rope, kicking his legs and rasping for breath. His arms were not bound, and he was rubbing his raw wrist stumps across the noose in a vain attempt to keep himself from strangling. The monster was nowhere in sight, though the Thrasson knew she would be lurking somewhere within easy reach of the elf.
Theseus took off at a sprint, taking no precaution other than to curve around so he could approach from the side. Though he was rushing into a certain ambush, he had no time to be prudent-not if he wanted to save Tessali.
As the Thrasson neared the rasping elf, he was nearly overcome by the mordant smell of ash. He dodged behind a pillar, narrowly avoiding a swiping claw, then pivoted around behind the column to sprint past Sheba's back. Tessali's eyes were already bugging out and his face was contorted with suffocation, so Theseus could not say how surprised the elf was to see him charging to the rescue. The Thrasson crossed the fast few paces of floor in a flying leap, his blue-glowing sword flashing like lightning as he slashed through the rope.
Theseus's blade had barely cut the line before a deafening roar exploded in his ear. He felt himself flying sideways through the air, then landed in a crumpled, aching heap beneath the beast Pods of pain burst by the handful. He opened his mouth to scream and found his cry smothered by the monster's slimy red hide. She began to burrow her maw down toward his throat. The Thrasson tried to bring his shoulder up to protect himself, but she was too powerful to resist.
Then, suddenly, there was an opening between their bodies. Theseus rolled onto his back and saw a length of
