Erik de Bie - Depths of Madness

Twilight scowled. The gods toyed with her-one in particular.

"Damn you, Erevan," she murmured as weariness claimed her. "Damn you."

The useless one paused outside her chamber, not quite within Gestal, where he stood watching. " 'Light?" he called through the open door.

No response.

Gestal waited, watching as she lay. He was certain she slept, but that was not all he awaited. The large one went off for watch, and the small one stirred in her blankets. She looked in his direction, eyes wide, then rolled back and huddled.

Satisfied, Lord Divergence entered, closed the door behind them, making sure it was locked, and stood over the one he wanted. She hadn't bothered to dress, but had fallen to slumber in clad only in her cloak. He knelt and traced the hands a hair above the soft, lithe body. He passed over her curves, made note of her scars. Their eyes lingered.

The elf's lip trembled and her face went white, but she did not wake.

"I could be your lover," he whispered. "I understand. I see."

No response.

"I see through your lies," Gestal said.

Gestal stayed, their eyes not an inch from her own. He wouldn't touch her-not any part of her body. No, Gestal would do far worse.

He bent low, their lips just a hair's breadth from her throat. The elf's hands shook and she sobbed in her sleep. "Lilten," she murmured.

"No," Lord Divergence said. "A better lover."

Twilight's eyes snapped open. It was dark and quiet-so still that she might have awakened in another world. Somehow, the tranquility was not tranquil, and she shivered. Something wet and cold was upon her, like sweat. She brushed idly at her face and her hand came away sticky.

She realized she had not dressed. Instead, she had fallen asleep wrapped in the roughspun cloak upon which she and Liet had held one another.

"Silly wench," she chided herself. "Don't you realize that's not safe?"

Then she looked at her hand and froze. Blood was on her fingers.

It wasn't her own blood, she knew. She immediately fell into awareness of her body-no injury, no soreness. Nothing had damaged her-not physically, anyway.

The room suddenly seemed much larger, and she was terribly aware of her solitude. "Liet…" she whispered. Her voice came soft and weak-vulnerable.

Hardly daring to move, Twilight looked at her bare chest and belly. Her eyes widened. Bloody handprints covered her-hands on her breast, hands on her stomach, hands on her arms, hands on her legs. She felt the stickiness on her throat and face. The prints were not violent-they were what might be left by the caress of a lover, but they were not Liet's hands. The blood she didn't know, but the hands…

The hands were Taslin's.

"No," Twilight said, searching her skin. "That can't… can't be…"

She thought she heard laughter, soft and hidden, behind her.

Twilight shrieked and scratched at herself, desperate to get it off, but it only smeared. She tore open the precious waterskin and splashed it over her. She scrubbed, furiously, with the sweaty cloak, cleansing herself as best she could. All the filth of days trapped in these caverns came back to her, and she moaned and cursed the cloak that it would not cleanse her-not fully. She looked to her tinderbox.

Then something slammed into the stout, locked door. She screamed again and scrubbed harder. Harder. Knuckles split, and the scratches drew blood.

She didn't stop, couldn't stop. She couldn't let them see. Couldn't let them…

Gargan finally bashed the door open and Liet tumbled in, sword drawn, to defend Twilight from whatever could be attacking her. Slip danced in behind him, mace in one hand and obsidian dagger in the other. Even Davoren was there, scepter in hand.

Liet saw Twilight standing nude in the center of the room,

Betrayal in both hands. Scratches covered her body. Shaking, midnight hair wild, she stared at them with terrible vehemence. In the corner of the chamber, something burned smokily.

" 'Light?" He thought to sheathe the sword, but wasn't sure it was prudent.

"Stay away," Twilight snapped. "Stay back! Traitors! Liars!"

Liet stepped toward her. The rapier pointed at his face. "Back!" she screamed.

There was tense silence punctuated only by her heavy breathing.

"Davoren," Liet said quietly. "Davoren-give Slip your cloak."

For once, the warlock did what he was bid. Despite a weighing smile, he stripped off the black fabric, tattered as it had become, and handed it to the halfling.

"Slip," Liet said.

She hesitated, trembling.

"Slip, please."

The halfling looked up at Gargan for support, and the goliath nodded. Slip crept into Twilight's chamber and proffered the cloak. As Liet had thought, the elf did not attack her. She accepted the garment, looked at Slip with something like thanks, then collapsed like a discarded marionette.

They rushed to her side.

In her own clothes, having had some water from Liet's skin, Twilight felt more herself, though the shudders hadn't quite passed. Of course she hadn't told the others what happened-a nightmare, she said. She wasn't even certain that had been a lie, though she suspected not; she smelled like blood. She worried they noticed.

Davoren stretched and moved about his tasks of the morning with a spring in his step that had nothing to do with the lack of food. "I halfway enjoy life in this labyrinth without the golden bitch constantly whining," said the warlock. "Ah, silence."

"You said that already," growled Slip from her cloak.

"Ah yes," Davoren replied with a smile. He bent down next to her and looked her in the eye. "I just wanted to make sure my point came across quite fully."

The halfling bristled but said nothing, prompting the warlock's grin to widen. Slip shoved the rest of her gear in her pack and scurried over to where Twilight sat against the wall, clasping her arms about herself. Twilight met the halfling with an easy smile.

"Good morn, little one," she said as Slip thumped down with a sigh. She reached over and put an arm around the halfling's shoulders, as one might a child. Since her horror of the night before-which might have been a dream, anyway-she had found nothing as comforting as the small one-not her clothes, not her sword, not Liet.

After a time, Slip spoke, quietly and hesitantly. " 'Light, I've a favor to ask." Her innocent voice sounded particularly meek in the dark cavern.

"I'm a great proponent of conversation. Say on."

"Well," the halfling started. She contemplated the dark spot she was busy scuffing on her boot. "If I paid you enough… would you… kill Davoren for me?"

Twilight bit her lip, not a little stunned. Slip was always so compassionate, so loyal, so… good, for lack of a better term. Twilight could hardly believe the little woman could ask such a question.

"What could you possibly have to pay me?" asked Twilight.

"I could save the strongest healing magics of me lord for you," the halfling said. The words sounded so blatantly strategic. "If you'd do this thing, I-"

"Firstly, there can be no alliances," Twilight said. "If any of the others perceive us as partners, or even as friends, it will spark a schism. I do not want to worry about the others plotting against me, or you, or both of us."

"But-"

"No alliances. If I'm wounded, it's just the same as if Gargan, Liet, or, aye, even Davoren were wounded." She clutched Slip's arm tightly. "I want your word on that."

Slip's eyes fell and she sniffed. "Fine," she said, defeated.

"Secondly, do I look like an assassin?" asked Twilight. "Gods, no. I'm a thief, just like you. I don't kill for coin. Might as well be a dinger, or a fen, for that matter, winning with brute force and manual labor what I couldn't get through finesse." That she slipped into cant, referring to a thug and a prostitute, should have told Slip something. From her blank eyes, it didn't, so Twilight stopped. "I have a little more self-respect than that."