The Crystal Mountain by Thomas M. Reid Page A

relax.
    Foulness assaulted him in every conceivable way. He could sense the taint of evil hanging in the hot, fetid air. He felt it in the very stones beneath his body, tasted it on his parched and swollen tongue.
    “I am forsaken,” he gasped. The words were barely more than a croak.
    “Just about,” came a reply in a familiar voice.
    Tauran turned toward the sound. A dim glow filled the otherwise dark space around him. He lay upon hard ground, uneven rock that poked and dug into his shoulder and thigh. Overhead, the jagged ceiling of a cave hung low, with several stalactites dangling even lower.
    Beside him, another figure sat slumped in dejection. The figure looked at him, ebony skin and red eyes framed by silvery hair.
    Kael.
    “My friend,” Tauran tried to say, but the words got lost in a choking cough. He was desperately thirsty.
    “Easy,” Kael said, scooting toward the angel. “It will take a while for you to recover.”
    Tauran could tell that the half-drow was bound, shackled at wrists and ankles. He realized his own body was similarly restrained, and that bands of tight, constricting material wrapped around his torso, pinning his wings to his back.
    Kael moved until he was right next to the deva, then he helped Tauran rise into a sitting position. “There,” he said. “Now you can see our guest chambers a little bit better.”
    Tauran peered around the cavern and spotted a third figure on the opposite side of the room, cowering. The odd glow that filled the room came from that figure. Long flowing hair and mustaches warned the angel of imminent danger,
    but the shaking, timid body language was at odds with that assessment.
    “Zasian,” Tauran said, his voice still hoarse. It stung to speak. His thoughts screamed at him to beware, that the priest of Cyric would immolate him, would bring every last bit of his foul, unholy magic to bear against him. In panic, Tauran tried to roll away, to escape before the searing pain struck him.
    “Easy,” Kael said, reaching out with his bound hands to take hold of the struggling Tauran. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    “Zasian!” the angel repeated, trying to wriggle free. “Must stop him!”
    “Stop,” Kael said, his voice soft. He pressed his hands down, holding Tauran still. “He’s no threat to you, my friend. His mind is gone.”
    Tauran continued to fight his bonds for a moment longer, until the words at last sunk in, and he quieted.
    “Here,” Kael said, reaching down beside him. “Drink this. It’s foul tasting, but it’s just water, and you need some.” He held out a badly dented bowl with both hands so that Tauran could take a sip.
    Tauran leaned forward as best as he could and took a whiff of the water. It smelled tainted with disease. He made a disgusted noise and flinched away.
    “I know, but you must drink,” Kael said, still holding it out. “You’ve been unconscious for days. Your body is in bad shape. Help it heal.”
    Tauran wondered if the damage of drinking such sickening water would offset any benefits it might provide, but he took a deep breath and leaned forward once more to gulp the proffered substance.
    The taste was ten times worse than the smell and it made Tauran want to gag. It felt slimy in his mouth. He could sense the evil essence of it, and he was sure he was being poisoned. He jerked his mouth away and spat out what he had not already swallowed.
    “Oh, that’s awful!” he complained, but already, his throat felt better, and his voice sounded clearer, stronger.
    “Well, don’t waste it,” Kael grumbled, righting the dish before any more spilled out. “This is all we have!”
    “Sorry,” Tauran said. He shuddered at the disgusting aftertaste. “But it’s truly unpalatable to me. The stench of evil wafts from it.”
    “I imagine it does,” Kael said. “Maybe it’s no good for you,” he added, sounding pensive.
    Tauran tried to rise up straighter, but his bonds made it impossible for him to do