“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.”
Kall 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 trace 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,” Kall 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.”
“There is also a wizard,” Kall 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 truth.”
Meisha nodded slowly, considering. “Difficult, but I can try. Waterdeep is too large. The most accurate information 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.” Kall 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 Balram 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 crystal. Its weight in her 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?” Kall 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,” Kall said. “Or maybe it’s desperation. The trail has gone cold. I have to pick it up somewhere.”
“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.”
Kall’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. All I see is a murder almost ten winters old and no one to pay the price. I’ve been waiting a long time, Kall.”
“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,” Kall said.
“I don’t need it.” Meisha untied the strings of a scarred leather pouch that hung from her belt and offered it to Kall. “This is for you.”
Kall took the pouch. “What is it?”
“Another inheritance—it belonged to your mother.”
Kall 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 either 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.”
Kall 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,” Kall said.
“My father sold me for 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.”
Kall 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, Kall.”
She turned and strode from the bridge, leaving him with the rush of the river and old memories for comfort.
Overhead, a goshawk cried out. Kall 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 learned. But could he trust it? Could he trust Meisha? Although the volatile Harper had kept her word, never harming his father, Kall knew little about her or her past. Why should she take such an interest in his?
He looked again in the direction of Keczulla and forced his attention to the matter at hand. One legacy at a time, he thought.
Midmorn the following day, Rays Bladesmile would be entering The Thirsty Gnome. Kall merely had to wait for the man to quit the place in his usual drunken stupor.
His first test as a merchant lord, Kall thought as he rode to the city. He’d best not be late to his first business meeting.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Amn
1 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Meisha walked blindly, absorbed in her thoughts. Kall 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 her anger—mostly—in check.
The thought of her 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 Kall 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 return 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 Kall Morel affected her. Maybe it was that night in Esmeltaran, 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 her 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 Kall’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 her 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 her 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 burst 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.
Off to the side of the chamber lay a pile of rope that looked like it had once been a net. One end was tied to a nearby stalagmite, but the rest was hacked into several pieces.
Meisha extinguished her blade with a word, but at the same time, she found herself bathed in green light. She dived away, landing hard on her elbow just as a circle of light filled the ceiling shaft and shot downward. The green thread briefly connected the two holes.
A portal, she thought. She got to her feet as the first figures dropped through the magical doorway.
There were six in total, but they came through in pairs. Magic slowed their descent, allowing them to twist in midair to avoid plummeting down the chasm. They landed opposite her across the hole.
A woman and five men—one a halfling. Meisha managed to note that much before they saw her. The chasm yawned between her and any close-range weapons, but the woman had a crossbow. She and the halfling stood off to one side. Three other men stood behind them, one in robes with a wand swinging from his belt. Their leader was sizing her up just as she evaluated them.
The wizard drew his wand and loosed a flame arrow, illuminating a black beard curled around thick lips. Not bothering to dodge, Meisha readied her stiletto. The missile streaked toward her. At the last instant she braced herself for the impact and watched the attacking wizard’s eyes widen when she simply absorbed the spell against her chest.
“My turn,” she said around a plume of smoke, but she had already buried her blade in his abdomen. She turned to face the halfling and the woman.
“Take her alive,” said the leader, but Meisha drowned him out with a spell. Her eyes glowed red in the semi-darkness. The woman raised her crossbow, but Meisha finished her spell, thrusting both hands out from her body, the flats of her palms pressed tightly together. A searing jet of wind like the breeze off a coal fire shot across the chasm, slamming into the halfling. The gust lifted him off his feet, driving him into the far wall. The crossbow bolt skittered away across the cavern floor as the woman fell to the ground.
The other men charged, coming from both sides of the chasm. The hot wind stalled them. Meisha ran straight at the dark abyss, the spell sweeping before her in a billowing arc.
She jumped, buoyed up by the wind, clearing the chasm easily and landing on the other side. This caught her attackers by surprise, leaving her only the woman to contend with. She reached out, grabbing Meisha’s arm, thinking the Harper meant to run, but Meisha instead dropped flat to her back. Her momentum pulled the woman down. Continuing the movement, Meisha wedged her foot in the woman’s abdomen and pushed, somersaulting her backward and down into the chasm.
Meisha started to sit up, but the woman caught the lip of the hole and Meisha’s shoulder, dragging her back and costing her the opportunity for another spell. She wrenched free, but the men were pushing through the wind and closing in on her.
Grabbing another dagger, Meisha drove the blade upward into the back of the first man’s thigh. He howled in pain and dropped heavily against her. She pushed him away and felt a hot sting at her lower back. Meisha went down with a cry, unable to recover as the leader came in from behind and grabbed a handful of her dark hair.
Meisha felt strands rip from her scalp as he dragged her backward. Stone scraped her skin, and she lost her grip on her dagger. She kicked and clawed until she felt empty air beneath her head.
The leader drew his dagger and straddled her, letting her head and upper torso fall free over the lip of the chasm.
Immediately, Meisha felt the blood rush to her head, her muscles tightening painfully as she tried to balance herself above the abyss. He snatched one of her flailing arms and brought the back of her hand down in a whip crack on a protruding stone.
Meisha screamed, her hand flopping uselessly in her attacker’s. He laid the broken wrist straight against her side and waited while the other pair of men helped the woman over the lip of the chasm. She smiled at Meisha’s white face.
“Stay still,” the leader advised when Meisha tried to move. “See to Warin and Tershus,” he told the rest of the group.
“I’m still kicking.” Picking himself up, the halfling lit a torch. He bent over the wizard Meisha had stabbed and shook his head. “He’s dead, Aazen.”
The leader sighed. “Retrieve the chest. They will have it waiting.”
When the group moved off down one of the tunnels, the leader turned his attention to Meisha. “If you fight me, I’ll stand, and your weight will pull you over the edge,” he said. “Your hand is broken. You can cast no spell without great pain. Do you understand?”
But Meisha’s attention was drawn to a pool of blood steadily spreading around the man’s boots. The sting at her back had been a stab wound. She was bleeding to death while the bastard sat atop her like a king on a throne. Flames blazed in her eyes, an awakening of raw, sorcerous power.
The leader leaned back. Meisha started to slide toward the darkness. She tried to finish the spell, but the strength slowly ebbed from her body, replaced by a numbing cold. She couldn’t concentrate. Her spell died half-formed on her lips.
“I might heal you,” the leader said, ste
adying her, “if you answer my questions.”
Meisha had the will to chuckle. “If you heal me, I’ll kill you.”
The man seemed unconcerned. “Who are you?”
Meisha didn’t answer. If she timed it right, she might be able to lock her knees around his waist, pull him back into the chasm. She could at least take the bastard with her.
A sharp blow across her cheek forced Meisha’s attention back to her murderer’s face.
“Varan Ivshar,” the leader tried again, and Meisha’s narrowing world came starkly back into focus. “So you do know the wizard,” the man said, seeing her reaction. “I hoped so.”
He knew of Varan. Meisha licked dry lips. “Where is he?” she asked.
The man didn’t answer. Meisha squirmed, moaning. The tautness of her muscles would only cause her to bleed out faster. The man eased back, drawing her away from the hole. He knew she was too weak to fight anymore.
“What happened to the wizard?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meisha said, her expression unfeigned. It seemed to satisfy him.
The man rose to his feet, gazing down at her indecisively. “I’d hoped you’d be able to offer me more,” he said. He reached down and his fingers brushed the silver pin of the Harpers. “I don’t believe I can justify letting you live.” He listened as voices echoed from the tunnel. “They won’t allow it.”
Meisha waited, expecting him to stab her again, or push her body over the edge with his boot. He did neither, instead turning his attention to the group re-entering the cavern. One of the men carried a large chest held together by rusted metal bands.
“Warin’s spell is gone,” said the halfling. “We can’t levitate the chest. It’ll take a bit to secure it by rope.”
Howling Delve Page 11
