The Howling Delve (13 page)

Shaera had been the only one among them not truly frightened by her power.

When she’d healed enough, she went to Varan.

“Where will you go?” her master asked.

He stood in his workroom, as usual. Meisha stood in the doorway. She refused to entet the room ever again.

“To the Harpers,” she said.

“An interesting choice.” Varan had cleared the walls of magical writing. The room glowed with torchlight. “Much like wizatds, the Harpers are not well thought of in Amn. You’ll find them eager to take you, if you can find them, though I wonder if they will undetstand you as I do.”

“I don’t see how that matters,” Meisha said. Her face was expressionless.

“Perhaps it does not. They may be able to give you what I could not, and that may be enough.” He walked to the dootway, and might have touched her, but Meisha stepped back, a warning shining in her eyes.

Varan sighed. “You must let me say good-bye, firebird, and give you some words of caution. If you let the fire consume you, or use it to lash out, the Harpers will never take you. My promise to you stands. You have a home here for as long as you need it. You have my ring,” he said, looking at het hand.

Meisha closed her fingers into a fist. The gold band pressed into her skin. She’d considered leaving it behind, and patt of het wondeted why she still wore it at all. She would nevet return to the Delve, even if the Harpers forsook her, and no matter how badly she might need Varan’s sanctuary.

“Farewell, Master,” she said.

“Good luck, Meisha Saira.” The wizard smiled at her, the same affectionate smile she remembered adoring as a child.

Even now, the smile affected her, made her think he actually cared about het and her future.

Meisha forced herself to turn away, and she didn’t look back as he chanted the spell that would send her back into the sunlight.

1 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Meisha listened to the rush of the tivet Vudlur beneath het feet and watched the man stride up the western bulge of the Star Bridge.

He wore tarnished chain mail and a plain but well-kept tunic of mud-brown, with gauntlets and a studded belt to match. Standing easily at six feet, he had broad, muscled shoulders. His hair and mustache wete bronze; his skin burned Calishite dark, but his blue eyes belonged in the Notth. Meisha knew better on both counts. Kail Morel was a son of Amn, and up until a tenday ago, Amn had believed him dead. “Well met, Kail,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s been a while, Meisha.” Kail glanced at her bare fingers. “I don’t think so.”

The Harper smiled. “Still afraid I might burn, even aftet all these years?”

“Why do you think we’te surrounded by water?” Kail leaned against the bridge rail. “I take it you’ve heard the news?”

“There’s talk of little else,” Meisha said. “Dhairr Morel’s death shocked and saddened Amn, but she is inconsolable to learn his only son yet lives to claim his estate.”

JArt T-l J. T.I–—

“I’m not surprised.” Kail turned in the direction of distant Keczulla. “Thank you for making the journey. My father spent his last years in Keczulla. It’s the only city where Morel assets survived intact, after the war.”

Meisha nodded. In the years after Kali left Esmeltaran, humanoid armies led by two ogre mages—Sythillis and Cyrvisnea, allied with followers of the church of Cyiic—had attacked the city and a fair portion of southern Amn. Amn’s defenders—Meisha among them—hadn’t been able to beat back their armies, and the port city of Murann had fallen to the new Sythillisian Empire. The cities of Esmeltaran and Imnescar had been devastated in the attack, and many of the merchant families lost their entire holdings. In the year since the wat began, the humans and monsters had contrived an uneasy truce between them, but Amn had only just begun its tecovery.

“You have a long road ahead,” Meisha said, “if the froth at the mouths of the Bladesmile and Angathi families is any indication. From the gossip I’ve gathered, your father had a fair share of outstanding debts, which you’ve also inherited.”

Kail sighed. “Judging by their eagerness, I’d say I have until Nightal to find a way to pay them.”

“And what will you do once you manage this miracle?”

“I’ll find Balram.”

There was venom enough in those three words to fill a hundred rivers. “Yet you’ve found no ttace of him or Aazen since before the war,” said Meisha. “Thus far, they have eluded you. They could be dead, and you would never know.”

“Balram’s a survivor. I’ll find him,” Kail said. “What I need from you is information about the people who served my father at the time of his death. I don’t recognize any of their names or faces.”

Meisha was confused. “To my knowledge, Morel could afford little more than a skeleton household staff. They would not be a threat.”

“Thete is also a wizard,” Kali said.

Meisha snorted. “Morel, hire a wizard? In Amn? Impossible.”

“His name is Syrek Dantane. He hails from Waterdeep and claims my father hired him a year ago for protection. I need to know if this is ttuth.”

Meisha nodded slowly, considering. “Difficult, but I can try. Waterdeep is too large. The most accutate infotmation will come from his time in Amn. Wizards are hard to hide. If he ever acted openly, someone will know of it.”

“There’s one more thing.” Kali reached in a pouch and produced a small object that captured the sunlight. “When I cornered Meraik, he had this on him. He hadn’t been in contact with Baltam for some time, but he was kind enough to point me on the path to finding the rest of Balram’s men.”

Meisha took the small ctystal. Its weight in het palm was so familiar that her skin prickled. The crystal was a mirror of the memory stone Varan had shown her as a child. She turned the crystal in her palm and saw the wizard’s mark on the underside.

Why would Balram’s man have one of Varan’s possessions? Meisha thought. As far as she knew, her master had never sold his creations. To him, they were beyond price.

Meisha’s heartbeat quickened, but she schooled her features to reveal nothing. “Beautiful,” she said.

“Is it magical?” Kali asked.

“The mark on the base indicates sorcery.” That much was truth, Meisha thought. “I can’t say what it’s used for, but I know someone who might. My former teacher, Varan Ivshar, is skilled in the making and identification of magical items. What makes you think this is connected to Balram?” she asked carefully.

“Just a feeling,” Kail said. “Or maybe it’s desperation. The trail has gone cold. I have to pick it up somewhete.”

“And in the meantime, you’ve not only returned to the silks and soft beds of merchant nobility,” Meisha said, deliberately provoking him to steer the conversation to safer territory, “but you go to salvage the house and fortune of Haig’s murderer.”

Kail’s expression darkened. “Are we going to tread that path again, Meisha? I never lied to you. My father acted under

Balram’s manipulation. I place the blame where it belongs.”

“As you say. AH I see is a murder almost ten winters old and no one to pay the price. I’ve been waiting a long time, Kail.”

“I know,” he said. “This crystal may be the key to finding him. Will you aid me?”

“Yes,” she said, reluctantly. “I can look into Dantane soon enough,” she said. “The crystal will take more time. I’ll be in touch when I have information.”

“You have my gratitude,” Kail said.

“I don’t need it.” Meisha untied the strings of a scarred leather pouch that hung from her belt and offered it to Kail. “This is for you.”

Kali took the pouch. “What is it?”

“Another inheritance—it belonged to your mother.”

Kail froze, looking stricken. “How did you find this?”

“I traced her from your description,” said Meisha. “She was killed fighting Zhents on the road east of Athkatla, if you’re curious. Haig’s account of her was accurate. She was banished from Morel’s house for her affiliation with the Harpers, and threatened with the death of her son if she tried to return to take him away. So she asked Haig to watch over you. I believe they were eithet onetime lovers or close companions for him to devote so much of himself to the task. At any rate, the pouch was all the material goods I could find of her. I’ve been keeping it, for just this sort of parting.”

Kail stood in shocked silence, absorbing the words. Finally, he said, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you tread in your father’s footsteps so readily,” Meisha said in disgust. “I wanted you to know the man you’re honoring.”

“He’s my father,” Kali said.

“My fathet sold me fot food,” Meisha said bluntly. “Blood means nothing to me, unless someone cares enough to shed it on my behalf. That, I would be a fool to ignore, as you are a fool to exchange your companions for a life among the merchant fops.”

Kali squeezed the pouch in a fist. “I don’t want this.”

Meisha nodded but didn’t take it from him. “Legacies are often that way,” she said. “This one is yours. Deny or embrace it as you choose, but you can’t change it. Welcome home, Kali.”

She turned and strode from the bridge, leaving him with the rush of the river and old memories for comfort.

Overhead, a goshawk ciied out. Kail watched its shadow cross the river. A sudden temptation to throw the pouch in the water seized him, but his curiosity proved stronger. He tied the long strings around his neck and tucked the pouch away. His thoughts were full of what he’d just leaf ned. But could he trust it? Could he trust Meisha? Although the volatile Harper had kept her word, never harming his father, Kail knew little about her or her past. Why should she take such an interest in his?

He looked again in the ditection of Keczulla and forced his attention to the mattet at hand. One legacy at a time, he thought.

Midmorn the following day, Rays Bladesmile would be entering The Thirsty Gnome. Kali merely had to wait for the man to quit the place in his usual drunken stupor.

His first test as a merchant lord, Kali thought as he rode to the city. He’d best not be late to his first business meeting;

Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)p>

Meisha walked blindly, absorbed in her thoughts. Kail had long left her sight, on his way to Keczulla. She hadn’t been back to the city of her birth since leaving the Delve and Varan’s tutelage. As the wizard had predicted, the Harpers were eager to welcome her, but Meisha could feel them always watching, gauging her power and temperament. Without acknowledging it, Meisha had followed Varan’s advice and kept het anger—mostly—in check.

The thought of het master and their final parting brought a swell of unpleasant memories to Meisha’s mind. Even the company she kept with the Harpers hadn’t been able to banish her past with the wizard and his underground home.

She’d promised Kail she would look into where the crystal came from. Meisha clutched the small object in her hand. She’d sooner destroy the magical toy than question its owner. She’d sworn long ago never to teturn to the Howling Delve.

How she could consider breaking that vow for a man who’d once threatened her life, Meisha had no idea.

Obviously, something about Kali Motel affected her. Maybe it was that night in Esmeltatan, when he’d been willing to burn

alive rather than let her get to his father. She’d never witnessed such loyalty. Or perhaps it was what she’d learned of his family in the years since meeting him.

Or maybe it had nothing at all to do with the merchant’s son, and everything to do with her own private demons. If she could make peace with her former teacher, perhaps she could move forward. She could feel as if she belonged to the Harpers instead of merely fulfilling a role.

Meisha shook her head in disgust. Keeping her emotions buried had softened her.

She lifted het hand, examining the small gold ring on her finger. She’d never gotten rid of the magical gift—in fact, she rarely took it off.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered aloud, surprised at how frightened her voice sounded, “but I don’t have a choice, do I, Master?” A part of her still lived in the Delve, whether she chose to admit it or not.

She spoke the command word on the band, and the ring winked with a brief, magical burst. The radiance spread outward to engulf the Harper’s entire body.

The sunlight disappeared.

Meisha blinked the white light from her eyes as the ever-present chill of the underground seeped through her jerkin. Water dripped in a distant rhythm, a sound from her earliest memories of Varan. With it came the familiar sense of intangible dread, a feeling she’d tried to forget in the years since her tutelage had ended.

She took comfort in the fact that she was still in Amn, albeit far beneath the land’s surface. Varan had wisely scorned the idea of taking up residence in a populated area. A wizard living openly in a tower or estate would not go unmolested. Amn had persecuted wizards longer than Varan had been alive—for crimes he’d had no part in, but that didn’t matter. The people still remembered the plagues, the waves of magical

death wrought by practitioners of arcane magic. Amnians were not forgiving, which made Syrek Dantane’s presence in Kail’s house all the more confusing. What had Morel been thinking?

Meisha pushed the thoughts aside. She had more troubling concerns. She had to find Varan and learn how one of Balram’s men came into possession of het master’s work.

As Meisha’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized the cavern in which she stood was unfamiliar. Her ring should have teleported her directly to her old chamber, unless some magic of Varan’s had malfunctioned.

Automatically, Meisha drew a stiletto from her boot and listened. Three of Varan’s enspelled stalactites cast a dull glow from the ceiling. By their light, she could see two tunnels branching off opposite ends of the cavern. The only other features of the chamber were two gaping holes: a wide shaft dug into the cavern’s ceiling and a deep chasm in the floor directly beneath.

Cautiously, Meisha approached the edge of the chasm and looked down. Chaareff she chanted, and het stiletto burst into flame. The fire licked along the blade to stroke her fingers, but she ignored the heat. Twisting her wrist, she flicked the blade, dropping a tiny ball of fire down the hole. It plummeted quickly out of sight, the last butst of light in some dying creature’s eye. The fire illuminated writing on the walls of the chasm, but the script was unlike the markings on her ring. Not Varan’s work, then—some other wizard? Either way, Varan must have known they were here.