The cleric turned to Idaria. “My lady, make them stop! This isn’t right!”
But Idaria instead watched grimly as her people struck out at one of their great tormentors. A part of her-a small part of her-urged her to do as Stefan pleaded, but the rest of Idaria had witnessed too much of the atrocities of slavery.
The other elves were in a frenzy. The Titan managed to raise one hand-whether to plead or seeking to attack, it was impossible to say-but then he sank back in defeat. Elves who had been driven to the brink of starvation and exhaustion found the strength to vent their anger.
And though she might still have been able to stop them, Idaria remained silent and still.
It was over quickly. With bloody hands, the attackers shambled back, giving both the Idaria and the knight a glimpse of what remained of the Titan. There was little recognizable of the once-handsome sorcerer. His face was smashed in; his chest had been crushed. It was an unforgettable sight, and yet it was not the most terrible that Idaria had witnessed since the fall of Silvanost.
Stefan was the only one to express horror. He looked from the other slaves to Idaria. “This was wrong! You’re not Titans, not ogres! You’re elves!”
Idaria answered for her people. “And you have never been a slave.”
The cleric’s eyes widened. He looked again at the sea of embittered, beaten elves. His voice mirroring his own exhaustion, he muttered, “Kiri-Jolith forgive us.”
“He did not stop us,” she responded as harshly as before. Turning to her people, Idaria commanded, “The entrance … and hurry!”
The elves flowed on. As promised by the dead Titan, the way was open. By the scores, the slaves vanished from the dread chamber.
Idaria joined the exodus. She did not look back to Stefan. Whatever gulf lay between them, the silver-tressed slave could only think of her fellow prisoners …
And think how she more and more acted like Golgren.
Outside, the corridor was filled. The moment Idaria stepped through, eyes turned and fixed with desperate hope on her.
Pushing to the front, she wasted no time. “This way.”
Murmurs arose as the elves journeyed through the sanctum. It was not the same structure through which they had been marched. Idaria paused long enough to tell them that it was no concern to them. All that had to happen was for Safrag-or any Titans, for that matter-to return and the escape would fail.
Idaria gave thanks when the exit from the sanctum came into view, even though that meant they had to traverse the sinister forest. However, compared to the evils of the Titans’ underground chamber, skeletal ogres and such paled.
That did not mean that the throng could travel blithely through the wooded area. Once outside, Idaria quickly organized the slaves into groups, with those who looked healthiest becoming part of a defensive force. True, they had only their hands, but that would have to do. Older and injured elves were taken within the ranks, where they could be better protected.
Stefan finally caught up with her. He still did not look pleased with what had happened inside, but the medallion was around his own neck. There were no signs of blood upon it.
He nodded satisfaction with her arrangements. “You could be a Knight of Solamnia.”
“Or a Nerakan?” she could not help retorting.
He grimaced. “I’ve no right to put myself above those who’ve suffered so greatly. Let’s now concern ourselves with getting your people to freedom.”
A face abruptly filled Idaria’s thoughts. “Sir Stefan, I must ask one thing. Do you know where Golgren is? I must know because I realize now that I must stay away from him.”
“But why?”
She studied the dark forest, her thoughts on both the past and the future. “Because the gargoyles’ master indicated that I still had some role he wished me to play. I will not be his puppet.”
“As you wish. The path I intend for us will take your people toward Solamnic-controlled lands and, coincidentally, far away from Garantha. Is that to your satisfaction?”
Idaria stiffened. “Yes. Thank you.”
The cleric shrugged and, without another word, walked to the front of the makeshift column. Brandishing his sword, he pointed at the forest. “Stay close to one another, and ignore all sounds and images. The Titans are distracted, but we must get as far as we can from this place! The forest is dangerous, but with our numbers and faith in Kiri-Jolith, we will prevail!”
Some of the slaves looked doubtful, but they nonetheless followed the Solamnic. Idaria took up a place at the back of the column to make certain no one was left behind.
The column proved far more lengthy than Idaria had expected, and yet not nearly so great as the elf had once hoped. So many slaves had died, and more were likely to perish before journey’s end. Idaria fought back tears.
There was at first a sinister silence when the refugees entered the dread forest, as if the elves had trespassed upon some realm of the dead. The silence was broken only by the ominous sound of the rustling of leaves. The escaped slaves huddled close to one another. The stronger ones kept a wary watch, although what they would do if the forest attacked was a question no one could answer and all prayed would not be necessary to discover.
Curiously, there were no signs of the skeletal guards. In fact, there was no sign even of those that had sprouted from the sanctum grounds. Nor was there any hint of Chasm’s fate. Neither Idaria nor Stefan had spoken of Tyranos’s servant when they had stepped out of the Titans’ lair. What both believed was that the gargoyle had given up his life for them, and all they could do was prove themselves worthy of the winged creature’s sacrifice.
The party moved on for hours. They had no food, no water. They had not dared stop to look for any inside the sanctum. One benefit of the terrible spell cast upon them had been that they were no thirstier or hungrier than when they had first been made prisoners, but that would not be enough to see them through their ordeal.
So when the column came to a sudden halt, Idaria knew why. She quickly joined Stefan, who looked as pale as the elves and seemed in some unsettling manner even less substantial.
“Are you all right?” the elf asked in concern.
“I’ll last,” he responded. But then he added, “We need to feed them, and I fear this is as far as they’ll be going this night. We made good progress, though not nearly so much as I wished.”
Idaria gazed up at the trees. “But what can we do for sustenance here? Or water, even? Anything in this forest would surely be poisoned or worse. Do you have some miracle in mind?”
“If there’s a miracle this time, it’ll be your doing.” He removed the medallion then handed it to her. “You were able to touch some part of the forest the last time you wielded this. Perhaps you can do so again.”
“I will certainly try.” However, Idaria did not know how to begin. She awaited instruction from the cleric, but Stefan only smiled ruefully. The forest was not the domain of his patron, although Kiri-Jolith had already done much for them.
She walked a short distance away from the column, giving her just enough seclusion to concentrate better.
“Habbakuk,” Idaria whispered. “If it is you, please hear me. I do not know if you can help us, but I must ask. You have every right not to listen, but if you could merely show us food and water, or how to acquire them, it would greatly help us.”
Her father would have reprimanded her for such an inglorious prayer, lacking in ornate verbiage and so sparse. But both he and that time were long dead.
Nothing happened. Idaria turned to Stefan, but he stood in silence. Focusing again, she repeated her makeshift prayer and waited.
Still, nothing happened.
Frustrated, she walked back to Stefan, the medallion already stretched toward him. “There is no point, it seems. Neither Habbakuk nor any other power heard-”