Page 79 of Astarion

The beams looked sturdy enough. Astarion shifted his weight to one hand and touched the wood lightly with one fingertip. It came away covered in powder.

The bridge went creeeeeeeaaaaak and rained dust.

“Not today, Tymora.” Astarion climbed the rest of the way down the wall, which was being supported by other bricks.

The door of the prison hung open, and there were more shattered skeletons around it. Astarion wondered how often den Suriel could abjure the undead. He hadn’t ever asked, and he hadn’t counted the flashes of light, but surely the paladin couldn’t keep doing it indefinitely.

He stuck his head through the door. No one had cleaned up the wreckage from the previous battle. An oily stain on the stones was the only evidence of the former jailor. That didn’t mean that there weren’t more skeletons inside. Astarion flattened himself against the wall, wishing briefly that he had Yousen’s ability to fade into the rock.

He needn’t have worried. By the time he was halfway down the hallway, he could hear metal on stone, accompanied by…was that singing?

It was. Den Suriel was singing in a language Astarion didn’t recognize, although you had to be somewhat generous with the term. The aasimar had a gravelly bass and attacked the notes as if they were sinners in need of smiting.

“What in the Nine Hells are you doing?” Astarion snapped, coming up to the cell bars.

“Smashing things,” den Suriel said, bringing a hammer down on the edge of the cement tank. Crack. Chips flew. “Why, what does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re nowhere near where you should be! Why aren’t you with the others?”

The paladin paused, resting the hammer on his shoulder. “They had the situation under control. And this needed to be done.”

“Yes, but…” Astarion took a deep breath through his nose, let it out, and reminded himself that the man was just a useful tool, nothing more, and any apparent suicidal recklessness on his part was not Astarion’s problem. “We need to get out of here.”

“Give me another five minutes. This is the last tank.”

“Then leave it!”

“And have them make more mummies? I don’t think so.” Crack. “You should go on ahead, and I’ll catch up.” Crack.

“What if more skeletons turn up? How many more can you possibly abjure?”

“Not a one,” den Suriel said cheerfully. Crack. “Used the last bit on the pack outside the door. Did you see the bones?”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I saw the bones.”

“Pretty good, huh?” Crack.

“I don’t know why every skeleton in the place hasn’t shown up, given that you’re singing loudly enough to wake the dead. What was that, anyway?”

“Old work song.” Crack. “My parents were human fisherfolk. They sang it to keep time when hauling the lines or pulling in nets.” Crack. “You really should go and let me catch up when I’m done.”

Astarion was about to explain why this was a terrible idea, an explanation he was rather curious to hear himself, when he saw den Suriel’s eyes. There was a plea there that could not be voiced, perhaps not even thought.

“Fine,” he muttered, and stalked away. Behind him, he heard the aasimar’s voice lift in another assault on song.

He didn’t go far. It hadn’t escaped his notice that den Suriel hadn’t asked whether he’d found the blood. As soon as he knows that I have the blood, our alliance is at an end, and he is supposed to kill me.

Running would be sensible. But if he ran, there was a good chance that den Suriel would simply throw himself at the enemy until the enemy overran him, and that was unacceptable because…because…

Because I still want the option to bring him back to Cazador. Yes. Astarion nodded to himself to cement this excellent reason firmly in his mind, then went up the side of the prison, rolled onto the roof, and surveyed the cavern.

It was much quieter now. The undead priest had stopped flinging bolts, and the winged creature he’d seen in the sky was gone. Perhaps they’ve killed each other?

Another small explosion rocked the ruins. No, apparently not.

From his vantage point, he saw a knot of skeletons approaching. There’s only three of them. Den Suriel can probably smash them to fragments without even breaking a sweat. Astarion rolled over to check the cavern’s sky again. With a levitating priest in the area, one didn’t want to take chances.

Because he was watching the sky, he missed one of the skeletons kneeling to set a trip wire. He noticed only when he heard “For the Badg—urk!” and watched den Suriel land flat on his face in the middle of the enemy.