presence illuminated the room in soft light. “That
“You.” All of Kalen’s contentment drained away and he reached for the sun elf, but Sithe stepped in the way. He shot a glare at Lilten. “You led us into a trap.”
“Perhaps he did, perhaps he did not,” Sithe said. “Either way, we need him.”
“The lady makes a fine point,” Lilten said. “And recall, I need
Sithe scythed her axe toward his throat, stopping only a thumb’s breadth away. “We need you,” Sithe said. “But not intact.”
Lilten’s smile remained. “I see we’re to have a conversation,” he said.
“We’ll move on, but not before answers,” Kalen said. “If you did not bring Eden, how did she find us? Who are you and what is this game you play?”
“As to the first, well, you don’t think you’re particularly subtle, do you? I suspect Eden’s been watching you since the market. As to the second and third”-Lilten shrugged-“would you settle for my healing your wounds as a show of good faith?”
“How does that prove anything?” Kalen asked.
“Every ounce of your strength makes it just that much harder for me to kill you?”
Kalen might have protested, but Myrin put a hand on his arm. He saw the gash across her brow from Eden’s shield-it hadn’t healed fully-and he nodded.
“Very well,” Kalen said. “But I will be watching.”
“Promises, promises.” With a sly wink, Lilten turned to Myrin. “My lady, you acquitted yourself quite well, but you seem to be short a weapon, no?”
Sadly, Myrin looked at the broken halves of her wand on the floor.
“Perhaps you’ll consider carrying this. I should be very honored.”
His hand opened to reveal a crystal ball that glowed with an inner blue mist. It was sized exactly for Myrin’s hand.
“What-what is that?” Myrin reached for the orb, seemingly without thinking.
“A weapon,” Lilten said. “It belonged to a great wizard for whom I once did a service. As I have no use for it, I thought I should pass it to one who is worthy.”
“We don’t want anything from you,” Kalen said.
“Kalen!” Myrin nudged him in the ribs. “I am honored, sir.”
Lilten gave it to her and she gazed into its depths, blinking only after a long time.
“May it do better service to you than me,” he said. “Now, healing, yes?”
He sang sweet chords and the magic in his words caused their wounds to heal and their weariness to vanish. Kalen had felt only a gnawing ache from the arrow, but now even that vanished. If he listened hard, he could almost make out the words of Lilten’s song-something lyrical and Elvish and deeply sad.
When he was done, Lilten picked up his grimy package and turned to a passage Kalen had not noticed before. “Follow,” he said, and he walked into the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
7 FLAMERULE (NIGHT)
The constant drone of the swarm demon was giving Myrin the great goddess of all headaches. The pains of her beating from Eden had faded-thanks to the spell she’d borrowed from the Coin Priest and to Lilten’s magic-but the ceaseless hum seeped into every pore. Once, it seemed to grow louder and her heart thundered a dozen times before she recognized it as the rattle of her own teeth.
Gods. If they didn’t find either death or escape soon, she would go mad.
The passages, lit only by Kalen’s flickering torch, were treacherous. More than once, they slipped on mounds of things better left unidentified. They saw claw marks on the stone and gnawed bits of wood and rubble, but not a single living creature. Luskan’s sewers had become crypts, devoid of life. Perhaps Scour had subsumed it all-or devoured it.
Lilten led them through a crumbling archway, down a tunnel deeper into the earth. It grew oppressively warm as they descended and Myrin’s thoughts grew heady in the thick air. It wasn’t just the orb, which pulsed warmly in her belt pouch as she walked. Dull heat spread through her body, making her anxious and fidgety. She found her eye drawn to her companions. She watched how they moved in the torchlit darkness-the curves of their bodies-and a hunger descended upon her: the hunger to take and possess.
“Be wary, hero.” Lilten touched Kalen on the shoulder with his lithe, gloved hand. “The magic of dark and alluring rituals lingers about this place.”
Myrin-who had found herself picturing Kalen and Lilten in quite the same pose with many fewer clothes- knew exactly what he meant. When Kalen turned to her, she looked down and away, less ashamed of what she might see in his eyes than afraid. Instead, she saw Sithe walking beside her and found herself rather appreciating the genasi’s body. Those black lips looked rather tempting of a sudden.
“Focus,” Myrin told herself. “Remember the imminent death.”
That helped.
The chambers through which they strode showed signs of violence. Moldering skeletons were strewn throughout the halls, fallen in battle many years past. The party picked its way among the detritus of an old compound of some sort-complete with a barracks, dining hall, and a midden for residents to relieve themselves. Only bones attended the chamber.
The tunnel opened into what might once have been a bedchamber. Rot had claimed most of the furnishings, but Kalen recognized the remnants of a bed covered in dusty, mold-blackened blankets. The walls abounded with manacles on chains, all of which hung open. A great black stain marred the floor, as of long-dried blood.
The chamber seemed familiar to Myrin, like a dark dream recalled from long ago. “I know this place,” she said.
“Do you, my lady?” Lilten looked at her, unsettled. “I think you must be mistaken.”
“No,” Myrin said, staring down at the black stain. “No, I’m
She closed her eyes and focused. At her bidding, the dust rose from the floor and collected itself into swirling blue-white images: a man stood between two arguing women. A spell struck down the man and a crossbow bolt burst through the heart of one woman, who fell in the center of the chamber-right over the dark stain. She twitched and finally went still.
She remembered them: A demon cultist-the elf Cythara-and her brother-Yldar. The one who had come between them was Lady Ilira, though Yldar had called her something else. And where was Fayne, whose eyes had been the vantage point of the memory. She concentrated, willing more magic to come-
Suddenly, her magic fell apart, quite as thought it had never been. She lost her focus and the dust fell to the floor. “Huh,” she said. “What-?”
“Fascinating,” Lilten said. “To my considerable knowledge, Lady Myrin has never been in this chamber. I believe you both know several folk who have, however.”
He whistled and the dust that had formed Myrin’s players swirled again. Figures reformed, taking on a crimson cast, chained to the walls. Five of them materialized: a dwarf, an elf, a human, and two halflings. The last two were alike in size and in face.
Kalen abruptly rounded on Lilten. “Why have you brought me here?”
“Kalen, calm-” Myrin said, but stopped when he turned to her, his eyes blazing.
“This is the cult-the demon cult that-” he said, words falling madly from his lips. “Cellica-Toytere, too!” Kalen motioned to the wall. “They were tortured here.”
Myrin’s face felt cold. “Gods,” she said. “I–I didn’t know-”
“Talk, trickster.” Kalen released the torch and drew and pointed with a dagger. “Who are you? Is this some
