The Howling Delve (9 page)

She smiled thinly. “What makes you think I need anothet?”

Kali felt his skin grow warm. Sweat broke out on his neck, and alarm rose in his chest. He looked down at the Harper. Her skin, pressed against his, was painfully hot.

“Let me go, Motel, or I will burn you,” she said, her voice echoing with deadly powet. “All I want is your father.”

Gazing into her eyes, Kail saw she told the truth. Slowly, he

slid his other arm around her waist, steeling himself against the intense pain. “If you’re willing to kill me for him, get it over with,” he rasped.

For a breath, the heat wavered. Kali waited, but then, as suddenly as it had started, the burning sensation ebbed. The Harper stiffened, her eyes going wide.

Kail looked up and realized immediately what had cooled the fire. He nodded a stiff greeting to Motgan. The rogue had a stiletto point pressed against the back of Meisha’s neck. “I seem to remember telling you I’d handle this on my own,” he said, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“Doing a fine job of it too,” Morgan snorted. ” ‘Sides, it was his idea.”

Kail released Meisha and stepped back. He looked ovet Motgan’s shoulder, expecting to see Laerin. His mouth fell open when Garavin entered the garden, flanked by Cesira and the half-elf. “You all followed me?”

“Not at first,” Laerin said. He handed Kali back his blade as Garavin patted Meisha down for weapons.

Cesira knelt next to his father’s unconscious body. We followed your sword, she said.

Laerin tossed an emerald to Kail, pretending to look abashed.

Kail sheathed his weapon, amazed but still angry at the deception. “You shouldn’t have taken it… again.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Laerin agreed. “But it was our only link to you. Morgan was distraught at the thought you might get into trouble without him.”

“How fares yer father?” Garavin asked, speaking for the first time. He nodded at Meisha. “And what have we here?”

“Garavin Fallstone, meet Meisha Saira,” Kail said. “She just tried to kill me.”

“Probably won’t be the last time,” Morgan predicted.

The Harper remained silent, her eyes darting among the new arrivals. Kali went down on one knee next to the druid, who was examining his father. “Can you break the enchantment?” he asked, addressing both Cesira and the dwarf.

Cesira shook her head. There’s magic about him, but whatever the source, it’s long spent. The marks it left on him can’t be erased with more magic.

Garavin nodded agreement. “Take him back with us. We’ll make him comfortable, and ye can stay with him, Kail.”

Kail wiped the fever sweat from his father’s brow. “No. I can’t be there when he wakes up. Seeing me put him in this state. He believed I was trying to kill him.”

You can’t mean to leave him here, said Cesira. You’ve been waiting three years to save him.

“Balram’s gone,” said Kali. “My father is no longer in danger from him. He’ll be as safe here as anywhere else.”

“And yerself? What will ye do?” asked Garavin.

Lost in thought, Kail stared down at his father’s face. He remembered the violence in Dhaitr’s eyes during their sword fight. “I’ll go back with you,” he decided. “Gods willing, when my father wakes up, he won’t remember any of this. He’ll go on as before, when I wasn’t here.”

“How?” asked Laerin. He took in the damaged fountain, and the garden showing further signs of neglect. “The house mirrors your fathet’s condition. “How long will Morel be able to sutvive lying vulnerable among the merchants of Amn?”

“Longer than he will if I remain,” Kali said. “I’ll come back after, to salvage what I can.”

“After?” Morgan asked, but surprisingly, it was Meisha who answered.

“After he dies,” she said quietly, wincing when Morgan tightened his grip on the stiletto.

Kail nodded. “When that happens, all that is Morel will pass to me. I can rebuild from its ashes.” He regarded Meisha warily. “But only if I know my father will not go prematurely to the grave. Will your death be my only guarantee of that, Meisha Saira?”

“If the lass ttacked down your father, she might be able to aid ye in tracking Balram,” said Garavin. “Might be a shame to be killing her.”

But can she be trusted? Cesira asked.

“I can speak for myself,” said Meisha sharply. She stared at Garavin, at the symbol around his neck. Kali couldn’t imagine how, with a blade at the back of her neck and enemies boxing her in, she could focus on the object so completely.

“If I help you, you’ll see that Balram pays for his crime?” Meisha asked, her eyes finally moving from the pendant to Kail’s face.

“Whether you help or not, Balram will die by my hand,” said Kali. “I promise you.”

“Then Dhairr Morel is safe from me,” said Meisha. “You have my word.”

“We’ll be watching to see you hold to it,” said Morgan. He took his blade from the back of her neck.

Dhairr stiired, murmuring in his sleep. Kali backed away. “It’s time to go,” he said, but he lingered in the garden with his father until the others had gone. He put his father’s dull blade next to him by the fountain, so he would find it when he woke.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as Dhairr twitched in the throes of some agitated dream. “I failed you, but I won’t fail our family. I’ll come back. I’ll restore everything Balram took away and send him to the Nine Hells for what he did to you.”

“My son,” his father murmured. Kali froze, but Dhairr’s eyes remained shut. His struggles slowed, and he slept on, peacefully.

Kail turned away, and saw Cesira silhouetted in the doorway to the gatden. She said nothing when he moved to join her, and neither looked back as they walked from the house.

Tossing in feverish dreams, Meisha curled unconsciously closer to her campfire. She needed the warmth. She was back in the cold, back in the Delve. Was it calling the fire that had triggered the dream? No, Kail’s friend, the dwarf, had done it.

nr. T 1 .?-L T 1

The dream always started the same way—as memory. She could recall every detail with perfect clarity.

The child Meisha huddled in a sullen hall on the floor of the cavern. She stared into the firepit, feeling only a vague sense of unease she could not explain. She’d felt it ever since Varan had brought her to the Delve. It had been three days, but she already felt she’d spent a lifetime out of the sun.

“Areyou so determined to be angry with me?”

Varan’s voice echoed from the tunnel, but Meisha did not turn to face her teacher. Flames beat down on her shaved skull; heat from the fire made the mud covering her chest crack and crumble. The heat reminded her ofhighsun in Keczulla, during the markets. The mud had protected her skin from the burning sun, but she didn’t need it now—in the dark. She missed Amn, missed the smell and color of the crowds. The Delve seemed unnaturally quiet. Varan preferred it that way.

“Do you imagine, in allFaertin, you are the only child ever to have been deprived of something—a home, loved ones, a dream?”

Varan sat across the pitfrom her, his robes pillowed beneath him on the cold cavern floor. Their hem still dripped wet from the water whip spell she’d used on him. “Though you’ve been blessed with none of those things, Meisha, you have a great gift slumbering within you. Iam offeringyou a home—-food and shelter, education, and power. What child would deny such a dream? “

Meisha met his eyes across the pit. Flames surged up between them, the fire reaching the ceiling. Varan never flinched, though the girl swore his beard was singed.

When the fire shrank away, the wizard sighed. “Very well, I concede the battle. Jonal will study water. Fire shall be your element. I cannot deny that flames match your nature. Fire’s inherent power will help you survive, until you embrace it for the right reasons.”

“What reason is there for hurling flame, except to kill things?” The little girl sneered.

“When you’ve completed your studies, you will have the answer to that question, “said Varan.

“And when I’ve finished, you’ll let me go?” Meisha asked, watching him closely.

“Of course. You are not a prisoner here. The apprentices walk around as they please. You may do the same, but there are rules,” he cautioned her. “You’re not a Wraith anymore. You will wash the mudfrom your body and let your hair grow in, though perhaps you’ll wear it short”—he rubbed his bearded chin as he regarded her—”to keep it from being singed. Yes, I think that will do. The Delve is my home as well as my fortress, and the caverns are secure, within the confines I’ve mapped. For your own safety, I ask you not to venture past my wards into the outer caves.”

“What’s out there?”

“Things you’re not ready to see, little firebird,” he said.

Meisha bristled at the childish nickname. “I can take care of myself.” She looked away and caught movement from the mouth of one of the tunnels.

A small figure stood watching them—a dwarf in dented plate armor holding a large battle-axe. The handle of the weapon was broken, rendering it useless, but the dwarf clutched the remaining piece as if his life depended upon it.

“Varan— ” but as soon as Meisha spoke, the dwarf vanished.

Varan smiled. “Didyou see something?”

Meisha kept her eyes on the tunnel, but the apparition did not reappear. “Who is he?”she asked, her voice hushed.

“You’veseen him before?”

“He watches me,” said Meisha. She suppressed a shudder. “I didn’t know he was… that he wasn’t…”

“Alive? ” Varan supplied. “I believe he is one of the Howlings.” “Howlings?”

“This place was called the Howling Delve, longago. TheHowlings were dwarves—adventurers who made these caves a secret home. They rode on the backs of giant wolves and amassed quite a fortune beneath the earth, or so the dwarven olorns—magic stories—tell.”

“What happened to them? “Meisha asked.

“Obviously, they died,” said Varan, with a careless shrug, “as adventurers often do.”

“Then why are they still here?” The sense of unease tucked around Meisha like an ill-fitting cloak. How could Varan live amongghosts?

“They are only echoes of the past, child, “said Varan, “Lingering memories and nothing to fear. My magic can create similar effects.”

“How?” Meisha asked curiously. “Wouldyou like to see? To learn?”

Meisha heard the challenge in the question. She nodded slowly.

Varan reached into a small sack tied around his neck. “You’ll see these again when we begin your testing,” he said, pulling forth a small, square crystal. “They help me to gauge your progress.” He touched one clear surface, spoke a word, and suddenly there were two more figures in the room. The man and child were perfect doubles of Varan and Meisha.

Meisha stared as her mirror image raised a hand and brought it down in a chopping motion. A jet of water rose from the ground and slapped the image of Varan, soaking his robes. The real Varan chuckled and spoke another command. The images shrank and returned to the crystal.

Meisha looked at her teacher. “How long can you keep the memories?”

“As long as I wish,” Varan said. “Though perhaps I might erase that one, if you’d care to begin anew? “

Meisha stayed silent, so Varan continued, “I don’t expect you to trust me yet, but you can trust this: I am a selfish old man, too curious about magic for my own good. I like to experiment, and I know the value in rearing a fire elementalist, a true savant. You may have a home here as long as you wish, no matter how many hurts you attempt to inflict upon me. I will not send you away. When your training is done, you may go back into the sunlight, if that is what you want.” He removed another object from his sack, a small ring, which he handed to her. “When you leave, should you ever wish to return, all you need do is speak the command word on the band. The ring will bring you to the Delve.” He leaned closer,

so close to the pit she wondered how he stood the heat. “What say you, firebird?” He stretched his bare hand over the flames and met her gaze in another challenge.

Without hesitation, Meisha reached across and touched his wrinkled palm. Pain scalded her arm, but if he wouldn’t back down, neither would she.

Varan’s eyes shone with approval. “There will always be flame in you, child, for the whole of your life. But it will not always hurt so. Trust me.”

Meisha nodded, bearing the pain. She looked over Varan’s shoulder and saw the ghost again, watching her from the tunnel mouth. A large pendant hung around his neck with the figure of a mountain inscribed upon its surface. A hole sat in the center where once a charm or gem might have nestled.

What do you want from me? Meisha wondered. If the dwarf was beyond pain, why did he look so afraid?

As if in answer, the memories faded. The child Meisha had gone, and the sleeping Meisha found herself in a place she’d never been in her waking life. Only in her dreams had she been trapped in the stone chamber.

Meisha felt the surge of the campfire in time with her accelerating heartbeat. She knew what was coming, but she didn’t want to face it.

This time, the fire was no friend. It held a living presence, awesome and terrifying and buried deep in a stone prison.

The presence, if it possessed a name, never spoke it to her. As far as Meisha was concerned, the creature was the Delve, and the Delve him. No further identity was needed.

She never saw a face, but she couldfeel the fire emanatingfrom the creature’s body—a beast of fire and claws, claws that tested the walls of his prison and the ring of guards on silent vigil.

The dwarves—his keepers. Meisha sensed the beast desired to hunt, but the dwarves kept him sealed inside the cavernous prison. So instead, he hunted them all down, one by one in the vastness. Their screams echoed offthe stone as each one fell to thefire-clawed menace. They were still here, trapped alongside him for eternity.

He could slay them again, over and over, but Meisha sensed him growing weary of killing ghosts.

With renewed fear, Meisha thought, he wants to hear living screams.

But the fire beast was patient. His time would come. He could feel it. Until then …

“No!” the sleeping Meisha cried out. She watched helplessly through the eyes of the fire beast. He stalked forward and immediately met one of the dwarves. The smallfigure raised his broken axe in defiance. His pendant flashed briefly, brilliant silver, but the beast flexed his claws and ripped the broken weapon out ofthe dwarf’s hands.