The Howling Delve (17 page)

The lights in the sphere flared, drawn to its center. Suddenly, a sound like shattering glass echoed in the toom, and the lights went out. Gray mist tendtils flowed from the gaps in the iron bands, curling up sinuously to touch Varan’s beard.

The wizard’s hands shook, as if the sphere had suddenly doubled in weight. It dragged the old man’s arms down, and the mist swirled and dissipated. The sphere hit the cavern floor with a thud that Meisha felt through her knees.

Distaste flickered in the wizard’s eye. He pushed the sphere aside and tore the drawing from the wall.

“Broken.”

Meisha’s head snapped up at the sound of the wizard’s voice. “Varan?”

“Hello, little firebird,” he replied, but his gaze never left the drawing. Carefully, he tore it into strips of glowing green, flicking each aside like magical confetti.

Relief flooded Meisha at the sound of the old nickname. “Master. What happened to you, to your eye?”

Varan seemed not to hear her. “I broke another one.” He selected a brittle piece of meat from the plate and tore off a bite.

“What do you mean, you ‘broke’ it?” Meisha asked.

“Broken,” Varan repeated. “Some of them work, some break. And yet they cling to me, just like you did, firebird. Cling to me, wanting to be fixed. I suppose I’ll fix them all, eventually.”

“Varan,” Meisha said, choking back her revulsion at the white, squirming maggots crawling in the hair around the wizard’s lips, “where is Jonal? And Prieces—the other apprentices? Why didn’t they aid you?”

“Oh, they’re here,” Varan said. He patted the small sack he wore tied around his neck. He reached inside and drew out three rings. He dropped them into her cupped hand one at a time. They were identical to the ring Meisha wore, but for the bloodstains.

“Dead?” Meisha couldn’t believe it. Three apprentices, and even Jonal, the lowliest among them, bore powerful elemental magic, defenses known only to themselves and Varan. “How?”

But Varan had gone back to his drawing. Meisha picked up

the sphere, but whatevet magic it had held appeared spent.

What happened to the wizard? Her attacker’s words drifted back.

“Talal, what…”

But Talal was no longet in the room. Meisha tutned back and found Varan staring at her as if he’d only just discovered she was in the room.

“Firebird, it is good to see you,” he said. He lifted a hand to touch her shoulder. The gesture of affection was so familiar it made Meisha’s chest constrict.

“Master, how did this happen?” she asked, cupping the melted side of his face gently in her hand.

“This?” Varan twirled a finger in the empty socket. “I believe he took it—or I had to give it away—hard to remember. Bad things are here,” he said. Then he shifted the finger, tapping his temple. “But here …” He grinned at her. “Gods are at work.”

“Oh, Master—”

“I’m glad you’ve returned, little one. Yes, you can help me fix them—the broken ones.” He touched his hand to the wall next to where the drawing had been. His fingers passed through the rock as if it were water, until he’d sunk to the elbow in stone. When he pulled his hand out, he held a second sphere, smaller than the first and copper-hued.

“What is broken, Varan? Where are those coming from?” Meisha asked. She lifted the pouch away from his neck, slipping the rings back inside. “What happened to the apprentices?”

“I told you, they’re here. Don’t fret.” His hand closed tightly over hers. With the other, he stroked her hair.

“But what—”

“I told you.” Ancient muscles flexed with astonishing strength, slamming her head into the unforgiving stone wall. “Don’t fret.”

Meisha went down in a burst of red pain and horror. Blindly, she lurched to her back as her teacher towered over her, a terrible, crumbling column of rage and power.

“You should leave now, firebird,” he said, his face dark. He

murmured something inaudible, and the chamber sparked to life with newly kindled magic. “Leave me alone.”

Gasping, cradling her head, Meisha opened her mouth in time to taste fire. The chamber darkened and blurred as if she’d been cast into a deep pool. She could no longer see Varan.

Trembling, Meisha raised herself to her knees and crawled to where she thought the doorway must be. Somewhere along the way the fire went out, but she could smell the smoke of things still burning: rotted meat, clothing, and hair—her own, of course. She slid onto her face and rolled jerkily to put the fires out.

Hands caught her armpits, and Meisha felt herself being dragged out of the room into cooler air. She heard the door grind shut, and Talal’s terrified face filled her vision.

“He t-tried to kill me.” Meisha coughed on the smoke from her own burnt clothing.

Talal nodded grimly. “The ball. You touched one of his toys. Shirva Tularin did the same thing. There wasn’t enough of her left to show her husband. You should be dead,” he said, half-accusingly.

Meisha shuddered. Her skin was unburned but red and raw, as if she’d stumbled through a bramble bush. “I’m protected— somewhat—against magical fire,” she said, lifting a hand to touch her head. “I wish I could say the same fot blunt trauma.” She looked up at Talal imploringly. “What happened to him? How did—”

“We don’t know,” Talal said. “He was like that when we found him, but worse—starved nearly to death, and sick. We brought him out of it, but his head’s gone….” Talal still gazed at het suspiciously. “You believe me now? That thing isn’t your teacher anymore, Lady.”

“Then what is he?” Meisha snapped. “What has he become?”

Talal had a quick answer to that. “He’s out doom.”

Keczulla, Amn

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

T)ut of course the family stands happy to extend whatever jLJ assistance young Lord Morel may require, provided he understands the weight of the favors his father has already accrued.”

“Your point is clearly taken, Lady.” Kali bowed to the coldly smiling Lady Rothtes and continued his trek across the ballroom.

Absently, he scanned the second floor balcony for Cesira. She was nowhere in sight, but that was hardly a surprise. With its open view of the main ballroom, the second floor was a popular spot, and thus quite crowded.

Kail left the echoing chatter of the ballroom and crossed the dark gatden to the tower staiis. The double-arched windows of his fathei’s former offices stood exactly as they had in Esmeltaran, though the current occupant of the tower hardly cared what view he had.

Sytek Dantane stood bent ovet a table, examining a book that was easily the length of his arm. The wizard had to shuffle a step left and fight to read the text.

“I’d love to see the bookshelf that came out of,” Kail said by way of gfeeting.

The wizard did not immediately answer. When he did, he lifted only his eyes from the tome. They were as clear and as blue as Kail’s, with a matching sheen of barely concealed hostility.

“I’m sure it would astound you. One actually has to read books on a regular basis to appreciate that knowledge comes in many forms.”

Kail ignored the insult. “Surely you can agree inscribing a tome that’s impossible to lift botders on the absutd?”

“Whatever you say, Lord Morel. In fact, I was just about to gathei my absurd bits of lore and be gone from your house.”

Kali leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t tecall asking you to leave. Could be my mind is slipping. We Motels are famous for our scattered wits, you know.”

“As it happens, I do,” Dantane said. “No, you haven’t asked me to leave, but judging from the fact that you’ve avoided my requests for an audience since you came here, I’m assuming my eviction cannot be far off.”

Kail shrugged. “You may be right. Eatlier today, I was going to throw you out without a conversation, but I changed my mind.”

“What brought about that bit of charity?” “I have questions about my father.”

Dantane gathered his robes about him, perching on the edge of the table. “Ask.”

“When did you come to him?”

“Deepwinter. I was traveling through the city and ran into a bit of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Dantane looked irritated. “The kind that comes when ignorance is allowed too free a rein.”

Kali smirked. “Amnians are quite vocal about their wizard-hatred, aren’t they?” he said.

“Your father was able to intervene on my behalf, although why he took the trouble—”

“Is the mystery I’m most concerned with,” Kail interrupted.

“My father hated magic more actively than most.”

“So he took great pains to explain to me. Yet, he claimed a greater need drove him to hire me. He suspected someone close was using magic against him. He wished me to find the source.”

Now Kail listened intently. “Did you?”

Dantane pushed away from the table. He strode to a locked cupboard in the corner and murmured something. A door creaked open, and Dantane reached inside, withdrawing an object that was unfamiliar to Kali: an ornate silver brooch set with a square, thumb-sized amethyst. “I removed this from your fathers person, though its magic was already drained to nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Exactly what it appears, but your father’s blood is on the pin. That blood bore traces of a subtle mind-altering magic. I’ve seen similar pieces before. The spells make a person extremely susceptible to suggestion, but only from those they trust— friends or family. For instance, if the lady of the house doesn’t approve of the way her husband is using the family finances, instead of throwing a fuss, she can use this to influence him in new directions.”

“But the lord would be unaffected in business dealings with enemies and rivals?” Kail asked.

“Precisely. Tailored to fit any Amnian merchant, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed.” So that was it, Kail thought. Magic had tainted his fathet’s blood. “How did my father discover the spells affecting him?”

“He may have noticed when one ot both elements of the enchantment began to break down,” Dantane said, “the spells… and his own mind.”

Kali nodded. It made sense. Over time, the enchantment had slowly destroyed his father’s sanity. He’d seen it that night in the gatden. “When my farher hired you, was he …”

“Lucid?” Dantane smiled sardonically. “He had stretches,

long enough to keep his business scraping by. I could prolong some of them, with magic. Do you have any other inquiries, Lord Morel?” he asked impatiently, “or may I go?”

Kail considered the man. He knew what Cesira would say if she were here. Dantane was young, tidy with his speech and possessions, but with an unkempt ait about his person. His dark hair was too long and shaggy, his eyes perpetually jumpy and fatigued. And he was hungry, Kail thought. He’d watched the wizard poring over his books. The man was too eager for magic to have come willingly to a land so beteft of it. Kail had no doubt there was more to his reason for being here, but whethei it had anything to do with the Morel family was what he needed to know.

He knew what Cesira would say. Cesira would send Dantane away without hesitation.

• “I want you to watch the party,” Kail said, surprising them both.

Dantane raised an eyebrow. “Watch it for what?”

Kail had no idea. “I have no mercenaries, no guards employed to see to the security of the house. You can act in that capacity.”

Dantane hesitated. “Lord Morel, you claim a powerful druid as your companion—”

“Yes, but she’s fairly intractable …”

“—so I fail to see what added benefit I can be.”

“You’re saying you don’t want to continue to receive the impressive mound of coin my fathet paid?”

“I’ve seen your guest list, Lord Morel. It more resembles a creditor account. How long will you be able to retain my services once this evening’s festivities are concluded?”

Kail had no notion of that either. “Start with the party. We’ll go from thete.” On the heels of one problem settled, another occurred to Kail. He took out his mother’s pouch, held the sttings, then tossed the pouch to Dantane.

The wizard caught it, a puzzled frown crossing his face. “What’s this?”

“A task for after the party,” Kail said. “Search its contents for any dangerous magic.” He still didn’t completely trust Meisha.

“And if I find some?” Dantane asked.

Kail paused at the top of the stairs. “Destroy it.”

Later, Kail sat at his father’s desk, his arms folded behind his head as he listened to the muffled sounds of the party going on outside the study. He was still sitting when the door opened, and Lord Marstil Greve stepped inside.

Lord Greve was a handsome man just entering middle years, but his muscles had begun to soften. He wore a jeweled knife at his belt, inset with two gems—one a ruby in a nest of gold, the other a glimmering emerald.

“Lord Morel? I believe we had an appointment,” said Marstil.

“My apologies, Lord Greve,” Kail said, coming around the desk to offer his hand. “My mind was consumed by other thoughts—old memories.”

The merchant nodded. “Understandable. It must be strange to come home after so long an absence. My sympathies on your father’s death, he was—”

“Suicide,” Kail corrected.

Marstil blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“My father took his own life,” Kali repeated pleasantly. “In this study, as a matter of fact.”

Marstil appeared extremely uncomfortable. “I hope you don’t mind my speaking with you privately, Lord Morel… and speaking plainly,” he added, watching Kail’s face.

“Not at all.”

“Being newly arrived in Keczulla, I’m sure you’re unaware that among the merchants of the city, my family is growing in prominence, though we do not have the history associated with the Tanisloves, the Bladesmiles … or the Morels.” Marstil paused, waiting for Kali to comment. When he was

met by bland silence, he continued, “Yet, I have been given to undetstand that the house of Morel has suffered from…” he paused again, and Kail almost smiled. Marstil was searching for a delicate way to say that Morel was a coin toss away from destitution.

Kali saved him the trouble. “Motel would be foolish to ignore an offer of alliance, should it be extended,” he said, and Marstil immediately relaxed. “Since we’re speaking plainly, I confess my circumstances are such that I’m finding it difficult to pay the daily expenses of a house of Motel’s stature, even so far as to be unable to pay the servants’ wages or—” he stopped, as if afraid he’d said too much.