Erik de Bie - Downshadow

The previous night blurred in his mind-he had an eye for detail but his awareness had ruptured against her. She existed to him as a forbidding yet alluring ideal-a memory of pleasure and shadowed pain. *"You have to tell me if I'm hurting you," he had told her.

"Why?" had been her reply.

She whispered a word in his ear that filled him with shuddering agony. He fought through the dizziness to kiss her harder. His fingers dug into her flesh, wrenching a gasp from her lips.

"I can't tell my own strength-I can't always feel everyrhing. You have to-"

"You misunderstand." Nothing about her smile was innocent or confused. "Why?"

He shivered again and the image faded.

There had been pain, yes, but none of it physical. It had been in their hearrs. Things had broken rhat had needed breaking.

He shook his head to clear it. He wandered, in only his loose hose, to the door.

In the main room, all looked much as it always did. But he saw immediately that the coals that kept the simmer stew hot through the nighr in preparation for the morn had gone out, yet the pot still hung over them.

Kalen frowned. Had no one eaten today?

And-when he entered the room fully-he discovered an oily red-black puddle spreading across the floor, coming from the other bedchamber.

Instantly, Kalen was on alert and listening. He heard weak, haggard breathing and recognized it immediately. Heedless of an attack, he hurried to Cellica's room.

The halfling lay within. Her middle was a mess of red and she was paler than chalk. Kalen would have thought her dead if he hadn't seen her chest moving, just barely.

"Cellica," Kalen said, kneeling beside her. "Gods. Gods!"

The halfling's eyes opened and her lips parted. "Well… met. Coins bright?"

Kalen cupped her face. "Cellica," he said. "Sister…"

"Look at this, Kalen." One feeble hand indicated the black mess that soaked the front of her linen shift. "Killed me, Kalen. Knife cur all my insides. Poisoned. Too much for you."

Kalen's fingers lingered over her breast. He knew she was right. The wounds were too deep, and puckered black by poison. He couldn't heal her-not with his meager powers.

But he had to try. He had to.

He cupped his hand around his ring and closed his eyes. Eye of three gods, Helm, Tyr, Torm, whoever you are-hear my prayer.

"No, Kalen-even if you'd come four hours gone… it's too late."

"Shut up." Kalen gripped his ring tightly, driving the symbol of Helm into his skin. He had sworn he would never beg, but he would beg for any god who might heal his sister…

"Don't do it, Kalen," Cellica said. Her suggestive voice was cracked, broken, but still made him pause. "Not for me."

He looked into her eyes and tried to speak through a choked throat. "Let me save you."

"You can't." She shook her head. "Save it for her. The dwarf… he took her."

Rath, Kalen realized. "Who?" he whispered. "Who did he take?" "Myr

… Myrin."

Cellica shook her head sharply, prompting a series of heaving, gagging coughs. Kalen thought she might spit forth shards of glass. "And Fayne."

"What about her?" Kalen coughed, burying his mouth against his arm. "Did you see her?"

Cellica shook her head. "I saw-" Her eyes widened as though aftaid. "Not important."

"I don't understand," he said. Anger suffused him.

"I know-" Cellica clutched his arm hard. "I know that look in your eye."

"Cellica," Kalen said. "Cellica, I swear to you. I will find him, and when I do-"

"Please don't," she said. "Don't make me die listening… to dark words." Tears filled her eyes. "If it takes… me dying to remind you-to save you from…" She gestured feebly, as though to indicate the world entire.

"You're not going to die," Kalen said. Cellica grinned wanly. "Just remember who you are." Kalen swallowed. "I'm nothing. Just a shadow of a man-not fit for-"

"Shush." The halfling rolled her eyes. She reached for his face and slapped him lightly on the cheek. "You idiot."

Then blood poured from her lips and she gasped for air. Kalen held her tightly, felt her heart hammering in her chest. "Remember," she whispered.

"I-" Kalen squeezed her hand tighter. "I will, but you'll be right here to remind me."

"So charming." She smiled dizzily. "Always so-" And then her eyes quaked and saw nothing.

The world swam back gradually, in layers of gray and black. Myrin struggled for several moments to remember who she was, and even longer to reason out where she was: a darkened chamber with a stone floor and walls. A slim shaft of sunlight fell through a high window, lighting the chamber dimly. Ovethead and all around her, she heard a great clicking and whirring, as though from some sort of mechanism-grinding stone and metal against one another.

Fayne sat next to her, looking up at the ceiling and murmuring softly. A bruise colored the right side of her face, and something was wrong with her left arm-it hung oddly from her shoulder.

"Fayne?" Myrin tried to ask. Something lumpy and soft filled her mouth.

"Oh good, you're awake," the half-elf said. She was not gagged. "I'm almost… there."

Fayne's hand slipped out from behind her. Myrin heard a fleshy pop, and Fayne's arm shifted back into its socket. Her stomach turned over.

Fayne looked around and reached toward Myrin. "Now," she said, "promise not to cry out or try any magic-something the dwarf might hear?"

Myrin nodded.

Fayne removed Myrin's gag. "Kalen will come to rescue you soon, I think," she said. "I left him a note, and I don't think he knows how to give up." She ran her fingers through her hair.

"What's going on? Who was that gold woman?" Myrin asked, hardly daring to speak. Then she struggled against her bonds. "Why aren't you untying me?"*

"Don't be silly-we can't both escape," Fayne said. "If we do that, Rath will get away-and you want him to pay for Cellica, right?"

"I suppose." Myrin didn't want anyone else to be hurt. "But won't he hurt me when he finds you gone?"

"I don't think so," Fayne said. "He's been paid to take us alive, I think." She patted herself as though searching for something. Her hand settled over her belly. "Here it is."

"What?"

Myrin watched as Fayne drew from her bodice a shaft of gray-white wood about twice the length of a dagger. It didn't look at all familiar and Myrin had no idea what it was.

"Wait." Fayne moved to put it in Myrin's hand, but paused. "I can only give this to you if you promise you'll be careful, and only use it when the time is right."

"I promise," Myrin said. "But what is it?"

Fayne slipped the item into Myrin's manacled hand and she knew its touch instantly, though her mind had no memory of it. A wand-her wand.

Fayne slid it gently into the sleeve of Myrin's nightgown. "Remember your promise-only if you think you can defeat Rath." Fayne stood.

"Yes," Myrin said. She longed to feel the wand again, but she could wait. "Hold-"

Fayne had turned to leave. "Aye?"

"Can't you stay with me?" Myrin asked. "Can't we fight him together?"

Fayne knelt down again. "Child-"

"Don't call me a child," said Myrin. "I'm not that much younger than you. Maybe five or six winters-no more." Fayne's eyes glittered. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Myrin lied. She wasn't, now that she thought about it. "But what's more important, I know what you said." "Oh?" Fayne looked dubious.

Myrin narrowed her eyes. "You said Kalen would rescue me-and I also know you aren't unbinding me and putting the wand in my hand because you think I might use it against you. Now why would you do that-unless you were afraid of me?"

"Not convinced by my performance, eh?" Fayne smiled and gestured to the manacles she'd discarded. "I'm afraid you're right. I'm an opportunist, Myrin-and I see my chance. It's nothing personal, you understand."