Pushing aside the doubts that threatened to overtake him, he pulled his sleeve over his arm and clapped a hand on Thrain’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. I couldn’t have asked for more.”
The dwarf grunted, gripping Thrain’s arm. “I wouldn’t have told a beautiful woman I had the trots for anyone else.”
Vaskel grinned at this before he thought of another question. “Did you see Cali? Was she with Marina?”
Thrain frowned. “She wasn’t. I don’t know where she is.” Another lift of the shoulder. “Maybe Marina has her locked up?”
Would Marina have put Cali in the dungeons with Malek? Was that how Malek knew about the hellkin?
A chill convulsed his body as he thought about Cali at the mercy of Malek. He needed to go down into those dungeons.
“Your job is done here, friend,” he said, locking his gaze on the dwarf. “You should get back to the tavern.”
“And leave you here?” Thrain shook his head. “We might not have been crew mates like you and Cali, Rog, and Lira were, but that doesn’t mean we’re any less family.”
Vaskel’s heart swelled. “Any crew would have been lucky to have you, and you’re right, we are family now.”
Thrain’s grin split his face. “It’s settled then. Now, what do you want to do next? Confront Marina? Alert the guards?”
The hellkin tipped his head toward the stone archway that led down. “We’re going to the dungeons.”
“Argh, spawn of a moldy goblin’s knob,” the dwarf muttered darkly.
Forty-Five
Vaskel and Thraincrossed the courtyard and entered the archway that led to the dungeons, walking in silence through the shadowy corridors. When Vaskel’s neck prickled and his tail quivered, he flattened himself against the wall and pulled the dwarf with him.
The shadows hugging the stone walls kept them out of sight until the hellkin was almost on top of them. Vaskel kept his arm across Thrain until the last possible moment, and when the dwarf leapt out, the hellkin fumbled for his blade.
Vaskel used the distraction to slip behind him and fasten the crook of his arm around the fighter’s neck, jerking him off his feet before he could grasp his knife or turn.
“Sorry about this, laddie,” Thrain whispered as the hellkin’s feet danced across the top of the stone floor as he tried to find purchase.
Vaskel squeezed until he lost consciousness and was sure the hellkin would be out for a while. Then he let him slump to the floor.
That was two hellkins he’d taken out without drawing his dagger, but he still hadn’t found the important one. “You don’t know how many hellkins are in Marina’s crew, do you?”
“As far as I know, there are two.” Thrain produced a length of twine from one of his pockets. “I’ll tie up this one.”
“You carry rope?” Vaskel eyed the dwarf and the many layers of leather he wore.
Thrain’s teeth flashed white through his whiskers, and he patted his greatcoat. “I carry a lot of things.”
Once they tied up the hellkin and shoved him into a murky corner, they continued along the corridor until they found the stairs that coiled down into the earth. Vaskel led the way, keeping his back to the cool, stone wall as he edged down the spiraling steps, his nose twitching with the loamy scent of earth, the fetid odor of mold, and the stink of something rotting.
At the bottom of the stairs, he hesitated long enough for Thrain to catch up and for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. A single undulating flame glowed at the tip of a torch that sagged in an iron sconce.
Vaskel snatched the torch, holding it in front of him to light the way as he walked along the dirt floor and stepped around bleak puddles with the dwarf echoing his path. They passed empty cell after empty cell, the iron bars warped and rusted. Then the back of his neck prickled, and he waved a hand behind him so Thrain would fall back.
Vaskel continued a few more steps until he reached the farthest cell and stopped. His tail lashed behind him as he locked eyes with the mage. His former friend was gaunt with sallow skin stretched tight over sharp bones. Dark lines still crawled likehungry vines beneath his skin. Lines that looked too similar to his own.
“Hello, Malek.”
“Vaskel.” Malek’s sharp features contorted into a malevolent smile. “My old friend. My old crew mate who had me locked away to die.”
Each word was like a blade, intended to cut and wound.
Vaskel merely returned the smile, although fury seethed beneath his own placid expression. “You killed Pirrin, and you tried to kill the rest of us. You abandoned your friends for dark magic. You brought this one yourself, old friend.”
