Erik de Bie - Depths of Madness

The arm twisted back toward the wall and searched along its surface. Then, as Liet watched, it dipped its fingers into the stone as though into pudding and reshaped it. The hand simply tore a gash in the wall, revealing a new passage. The stone bled drops of black onto the floor. Liet's stomach rose. He looked back, fearful, wondering whether Taslin or Davoren could arrive soon enough to save him.

Clutching himself tightly, Liet massaged his arms and winced at the sudden burning pain. Why did they hurt now?

Then the hand was gone, snaking back into that shimmer, which winked out, leaving him in blackness-blackness that was complete except for the torchlight flickering from the new passage. He crept up to it, wary that the hand would reappear, and looked in. More sewers beckoned that they had never been in before.

" 'Light," Liet said. He needed to tell her of this. " 'Light!"

In the darkness-less than a pace from where the useless one hid-Gestal took careful note of the hand from the wall. It did not please Lord Divergence, being this far into the lower domain. Certain forces would not welcome his presence.

The eyes turned back down the passage whence the useless one had come. Yes.

Gestal had an appointment to keep.

He found her after only a few breaths-silent, still, in the middle of the corridor. Twilight's head was bowed as though she were praying. Liet's heart hammered in his throat. He opened his mouth but forgot whatever he had been about to say. As he tried to remember, his thought slipped away.

Liet was about to speak when Twilight's hand shot out and grasped his collar. Before he could say a word, she slammed him against the wall and put a thin, sharp knife to his throat. Liet squeaked, and she withdrew the blade and sighed.

"Torm's name!" he cried. "You can't just say 'well met'-like a sane lady?"

"You can't just approach from the light, spouting poetry, like a conventional suitor?" Twilight put the knife away.

Heat shot into his face. "I, ah, I guess I'm sneakier than I thought." His eyes widened. "I'm-I'm really not trying to sneak up on you!"

The elf smiled halfway. "A lass can never be too cautious," she said. "Strange men, creeping about dark corners, watching lasses from hiding, carrying sharp steel?"

"I see your aim," said Liet. "I'd have spoken, but I reasoned you'd hear…"

"And you were correct," said Twilight. "Just here to gawk as I take my rest, or do you have a purpose?" As she spoke, she slipped out of her breeches and blouse, shaking them out. Liet gulped, and though his mouth opened, he had no words, only shock.

After a moment, Twilight raised an eyebrow, and his flush only deepened. He finally thought to whirl around just as she wrapped a dark cloak around her bare body.

"Little point now," she said. "So speak. I have little enough time for wandering lads who fancy watching lasses more than a century their senior strip bare."

Liet turned about, hesitantly. "Ah," he said. "Well…"

"Now there's a deep thought," the elf observed.

"I need to tell you, ah…" Liet trailed off.

"Are all men of the Dales this eloquent?" Twilight's face contorted. "Out with it! Did you come to berate me for letting Asson die? Or question my methods with Davoren and Taslin?" She eyed him fiercely. "Or perhaps just a quick tumble on the stone here? It's been a long day. I could certainly use some vigorous comforting, how about you?"

"I'd settle for a vigorous handclasp," murmured Liet, not thinking. Then he froze.

Twilight blinked. "What?"

In an instant, the angry gleam in her eyes took on a new tone.

"Uh, ah, that is, I-"

"What did you say?" she asked softly.

"Ah," Liet said. "I merely wanted to-make sure you're well, after ah, today."

Twilight looked at him as if no one had ever said such a thing to her before. "Why?" she asked finally.

It was Liet's turn to be speechless. "I just, ah-just concerned, that's all." Hadn't he wanted to tell her something? Something important?

"You're not breaking one of my rules, are you?" Twilight asked with a wry smile.

"Most maids would call me chivalrous," said Liet, "and not accuse me of-"

"Do you know how to please an elf, manling?" Twilight's eyes narrowed dangerously. "A kiss upon the tip of the ear or a lick on the palm of the hand is quite a thing."

"Uh, 'tisnt, ah, why I'm here," Liet managed.

"Really? You're certain you're"-she slid up to him and pressed herself against his chest, using her lithe curves to full effect-"not breaking"-Liet stiffened, but only from surprise, as she traced her fingers down many days' stubble-"rule number"-she finished, pressing her nose against his, caressing his lips with her own-"four?"

"And what-what if I am?" Liet was almost breathless.

With a little laugh, Twilight shoved him away.

"I could make an attempt at poetry," Liet said. "If that's what y-"

He instantly regretted it. In her face, in her stance, he saw that whatever fire had been lit had vanished. He felt like a child.

"Go to your rest, boy," she said. "I present far too wild a beast for you to tackle, this night or any night. You do not wish to try."

He sniffed. "Is that not my choice?"

When Twilight raised an eyebrow, he cursed inwardly again. Why must she be so clever?

"Ah, I mean, not whether I tackle you-uh, but whether I wish to, ah, try?"

"Go to your rest," she repeated. "And that's the end."

Liet turned away, defeated. Then he caught himself on the wall and looked back. He was tired of being treated like a child, so he decided to say something not boyish. Of course, as soon as it came out of his mouth, it sounded quite juvenile. "I'm not afraid of you, Twilight."

Her reception, however, was not what he expected. She stared at him, her skin white, as though he'd said something quite mature. "You're certain?"

"Aye," said the man Liet had suddenly become. "The question is, are you so certain you're not?"

She did not answer, but merely stared at him until-a little more confident-he went back to his blankets.

Twilight awoke the following morning to screams. Cursing, she fumbled out of her cloak and grabbed Betrayal. She ran down the tunnel to her companions.

Taslin sat in the middle of the room, screaming and moaning, rocking back and forth. There was something red on the floor in front of her. Gargan stood over Davoren, axe ready, and Slip huddled behind him. Liet had his short sword at the warlock's throat.

"Hold!" Twilight shouted. "What is this?"

"He… he did something," Liet stammered, "to Taslin."

"You saw him?" Twilight demanded. "What was it?"

"N-no," Liet said. "But he did something!"

"Not I," the warlock said. Liet put pressure on the sword and Davoren fell silent.

Wary, Twilight walked to Taslin. A rag-wrapped bundle lay beside her, the size of a loaf of bread, perhaps. The rags were simple roughspun, and were soaked red. "Taslin?"

The sun elf shook her head violently.

Twilight prodded the bundle with Betrayal. No reaction. She knelt to examine it, moving the swaddling aside with her steel. Then she flinched back with a curse.

A pair of red buttons stared out of a rag face. The doll wore rough, tattered robes dyed with what looked like blood. It was flattened, its stuffing leaking out from a hole in its chin. It looked like a scraggly beard.

"Someone has done this," Taslin said. "I will have blood." Taslin glared at her. "Someone…" Then she trailed off, staring at Twilight's face.

Twilight looked around, moving only her eyes. All of them looked far too horrified. Trying her best not to tremble, Twilight lifted her fingers and felt sticky wetness on her cheek. She did not need a mirror to know what must be there-a mark of some kind, traced in blood. She turned and wiped it away.