“You have ten breaths,” the leader said.
“Take me that long to tie it off, won’t it? Gods only know what’ll happen if it falls, Aazen.”
The leader nodded but did not look pleased. “You’re right, of course.” He pointed at Meisha. “Cast the spell, and you will live.”
“How did you find this place?” It had taken her years of research to discover the main entrance to the Delve, and then she found it only because she knew there was something there to find. She had never known this portal room existed. Meisha tried to pull herself up to her elbows, to see the man’s face by the portal light. His hair was dark and shorn close to his head, as if he’d cut it with his own knife. Fine scar lines peppered a clean-shaven jaw, marring an otherwise attractive face. “Who are you?”
“We’re thieves,” the leader said.
“What could you hope to steal from a cave?”
“The Delve is much more than a cave. You should have known that, before you entered. Cast the spell.”
She lay back and closed her eyes. “I don’t know it.”
“Very well. I offered you your life.”
“Done, Aazen.” The halfling tossed the leader the other end of the rope. He looped it twice around his waist and tied off the end.
Meisha watched him hand a waterskin off to the halfling, who uncorked it and squirted a thick, pastelike substance into his small hand. The skin went around to each member of the group until it was empty, then the halfling tossed the container carelessly toward the chasm. It fell short, landing next to Meisha, but no one paid her any further attention. They were busy coating their hands and boots with the substance. The halfling trotted on the balls of his feet toward the cavern wall. He jumped, his arms outstretched, latching onto the walls like an insect. He scrambled up and across the ceiling, disappearing into the mouth of the shaft. The rest followed in the same way.
The leader came last, climbing slower than the rest and towing the chest behind him on the rope. When he’d ascended to the edge of the portal, the woman braced him as he hauled the chest up. Meisha got her first clear look at it as it passed in and out of the green light. As she’d suspected, the chest was Varan’s. What had they done to him?
With the chest secured, one by one the thieves disappeared up into the portal. When the last had gone, the green light faded.
Meisha rolled onto her side, crawling to the closest tunnel. She knew she would never make it out of the chamber, but anything was better than listening to her lifeblood drip down the walls of the chasm.
They’d nicknamed him “Dirty Bones,” and for good reason. Talal wriggled out from the pile of waste and garbage that had collected at the mouth of the refuse room. He sniffed. Dirty, yes. He didn’t mind dirt. But he was starving, too. That concerned him. He’d gladly be called “Fat Bones,” but there just wasn’t enough food.
“Not my fault. Can’t eat garbage.” He surveyed the room. “Plenty of that, but can you live on it?” No. Unquestionably. He’d already tried. His tongue curled at the memory.
Too much thinking, he decided. Time to scavenge. The raiding party had come and gone. He’d counted to make sure there were no stragglers, just as Gadi had warned him. Then came the green light, then silence. It was the same every time.
Talal moved quickly, pulling a mound of wax that only vaguely resembled a candle from behind one of the rocks. He held it out, duck walking along the winding tunnel to the portal room.
Gadi had taught him each step in the process. He paused to listen before entering the room. When he peeked to see what lay within, he let out a whoop of delight. The sound echoed in the vast chamber. Talal clamped a filthy hand to his mouth, his eyes darting over the tops of his fingers. When nothing stirred, he rose to his full five-foot height and practically skipped over to the bodies.
There were two of them—two thieves dead. Warmth rose in Dirty Bones. “Two less to worry about. They’ll be thrilled.” He would hurry, so he could return and tell them.
“Messy,” he muttered as he knelt next to the body of a young woman. Not a tidy kill—like Gadi, he thought—and shoved away all pity for the pretty-faced lass. He went for her boots first, feeling inside for pouches or hidden vials. He drew back with a hiss and raised a bloody finger to his mouth. Cautiously, he tried again, and pulled a pair of daggers from each boot. The lass bristled with them.
He worked his way methodically up her body but found no other treasures. There had to be more, the bitch was dressed too well.…
A low groan escaped the woman’s mouth.
“Ho!” Talal felt his spine bounce off something hard and realized it was the cavern wall on the far side of the room. He’d slammed into it in his rush to get away from the corpse, which continued moaning.
“The walking dead,” he squeaked. “I touched the walking dead.…” He stared at his hand as if the appendage might suddenly turn black and fall off. He wiped it furiously on his breeches. The damned things weren’t supposed to come back once they bled that much, were they?
Talal wasn’t going to take any chances. He felt around until he found a large rock. Holding it at eye level, he approached the body. Up close, he could tell her coloring was off, but it didn’t have the deathly pallor of the other bodies he’d seen. Gadi had been much worse. The woman’s eyes were closed, but the lashes fluttered as if she slept.
Talal bent closer and felt a shallow breath brush his cheek. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he shook away the sensation. “Not dead, that’s the problem.” Of course he’d known it all along. She didn’t look like one of them Shadow Thief bastards anyway. How did she get down here?
“Bad luck, that’s how, but we’ll fix it … maybe.” He wasn’t any sort of healer, after all. She could die on the way to the camp. But what in the Hells else was he going to do for fun?
Talal tossed away the rock so he could get an arm under her legs. He hauled her up, grunting as blood soaked into his breeches. “If I drop you, Lady, I’m taking it as a sign from the gods this was a bad idea.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Keczulla, Amn
2 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Kall passed through a wide stone archway crowned by a sapphire keystone. The gem inset on the opposite side of the arch, a lighter agate, was not nearly as impressive or flawless, but then again, the difference between districts in Keczulla often hinged upon the worth of a gemstone.
The Keczull clan first gave the city life when it struck iron and gold along the Ridge arm of the Cloud Peaks to the north. Unfortunately for all, the mines didn’t last, and a little over a century and a half later, the city was abandoned. It took Pulth Tanislove and his gem mines to bring Keczulla back in 1355 DR. The city had come twice from ruin to prosper in metals and gems, so naturally every aspect of its growth had followed suit, from the four districts: Emerald, Sapphire, Jade, and Agate, to their corresponding wards. The most prosperous families made their homes and businesses in the Mithral and Platinum Wards, and the hierarchy descended from there. Harbor Moon Ward was last in line and made no attempt to put a false sheen on itself. Kall appreciated that, and he suspected Rays Bladesmile did as well.
Traffic flowed around Kall, merchants bearing carts or wagons of goods packed wheel to wheel on the narrow streets. The ones loaded down with sacks dealt in grain or textiles. Those stacked with chests and lockboxes, their drivers’ furtive gazes darting all around—they were jewelers, like Kall. They carried identical bulging rings of tiny keys—one for every box—like the gleaming teeth of a hundred exotic creatures. The jostle of their carts on the pitted streets evoked a discordant jangle that echoed throughout the ward.
The Thirsty Gnome sat just on the other side of the archway. Kall waited in the shade of the building, his eyes straying to a particular set of towers nestled in the center of the Gold Ward. He’d been to his father’s house once, just after he arrived in the city, but seeing the structure from a distance like this was equally unnerving.
“S’only piss an’ ale if you try and sell it for three coppers!” shouted a voice from inside the tavern. Kall pushed away from the arch. Lord Rays was right on schedule.
The door to the tavern burst open, and Rays Bladesmile stormed out, the aforementioned ale streaming from his chin.
His eyes barely cleared the depths of their sockets, Kall noted, in a face that more resembled a skull, emaciated and paste white from too much time spent indoors licking the bottom of a tankard. Bladesmile stared angrily around the street as if searching for a fight. When none materialized, he tottered toward an alley, pulling at his breeches’ strings as he went.
Kall followed at a discreet distance. He didn’t want the inebriated Bladesmile’s wrath turned on him.
The roofs of the adjacent buildings overhung the alley in a crooked arch that swallowed light. Aromas of piss and garbage filled the air. Kall stopped at the alley’s mouth, waiting in amused silence as Lord Rays added his own offering to the bouquet.
“You wanting to hold it for me, lad?” Rays muttered without looking up.
“Ah, no, thank you,” said Kall.
“Hmph. Then what does Lord Morel want here, at the height of a business day? Yes, I know you,” he said, at Kall’s surprised look. “You can expect all the Bladesmiles to mark your face.”
“Actually, I was looking for Rays Bladesmile.”
Rays retied his breeches, adjusted himself, and spread his hands in a ready swagger. “Well, you’ve found him, lad, in all his glory. What can I do for the last scion of Morel house?”
“Just Kall, I think, for meetings in back alleys,” Kall said with a laugh. “I sought you out to discuss the debt my father owes the Bladesmiles.”
“If that’s so, you should have known you’d need to speak to Lord Rhor. The debt was substantial enough that accounting for it and any interest accrued—trust that there’ll be plenty to spread around—will fall to him and those immediately under his eye.”
“Yes, but I’m most interested in the sums already transferred to your family, the debt repaid in the form of mercenaries,” Kall said. “I understand you are still considered the master armsman for the Bladesmile family.”
“Gods, you want to talk true business.” Rays gave a mock shudder. “Good thing I’ve already begun drinking. Yes, I’m still head of Rhor’s companies, for as long as he deigns to put up with me.” He nodded at the inn. “Join me in a bottle, and I might even tell you how much I despise the arrogant bastard.”
“Another time, I’d like to hear it.” Kall smiled. “Today I’m expected to return to Morel house. I’m hosting a gathering tomorrow evening for some old friends of my father’s. Hopefully, by night’s end, they will be my friends.”
“By that, you mean you hope they won’t foreclose on you in the manner of Shilmistan wolves. They’re all coming for you, one way or another, and not just the Bladesmiles. Plenty of other families’ll turn up claiming ‘old’ or ‘half-forgotten’ debts that are neither. They wouldn’t mind taking those markers out of a former adventurer turned man of business.”
“Then it’s fortunate I’m more the adventurer and less the businessman,” Kall said. His smile had steel in it.
Catching the look, Rays laughed. “Well, you won’t get trouble from me. As you said, your father paid some of his debts in men, and I’ll be damned if Rhor didn’t cheat him something grievous in that deal. He added a fair number of seasoned fighters to my company. I’ve seen none finer. No, I’ve no complaints against your father, no matter what people said about him.”
“And these—my father’s men—do they serve the Bladesmiles still?”
“They do.”
“I see.” Kall took in a breath, pausing to consider his next words. “I wonder … what a man would have to do to reacquire such fine and loyal warriors.”
“The price would be high,” Rays warned.
“And worth every copper,” Kall said quietly.
Overhead, a familiar cry rang out. Kall lifted an arm as the goshawk glided easily between the narrow buildings and alighted upon his gauntlet. “Welcome back,” he said.
“Impressive.” Rays scrubbed at the black stubble on his chin. “Is she one of Dhairr’s?”
“No,” Kall said, “but my father’s aviary is extensive. I have not taken a full inventory, but I know of at least two goshawks, a peregrine that flies faster than any eye can follow, and others I couldn’t identify.”
“Do you intend to maintain it, now that you’ve taken up residence at the estate?” Rays asked, interested.
“I had not considered it,” Kall admitted. “Other matters have been occupying my thoughts. Do you have an interest in hunting birds?”
“Not for that purpose,” said Rays. “The greater Bladesmiles”—he spat again in distaste—“constantly seek the means to make information travel faster, short of using magic to fuel its steps.”
“Of course. I have no doubt my father’s specimens could be trained as messengers. If such a service interests the Bladesmiles, I’m certain we could come to an arrangement,” said Kall. He went on, “If I may, Lord Rays, I would be honored to have you attend my gathering tomorrow. Beyond the pleasure of your company, I wouldn’t mind continuing this discussion in my home.”
“In more delicate surroundings?” Rays looked genuinely curious. “Well, lad, if you’re brave enough to want me at your table, I accept your invitation and wish you good business.” He slapped Kall on the back.
Jostled by the sudden movement, the goshawk let out an ear-splitting shriek and took flight, leaving gouge marks in Kall’s leather gauntlet. She soared up between the buildings to glide huffily over the Gold Ward.
The raptor flew gracefully through the wide window of the aviary but came to rest on the ground instead of one of the perches scattered in tiers around the room.
The other raptors screeched in alarm as magic flooded the narrow space. The goshawk’s wings twisted vertically, folding feathers and membrane slowly into the flesh of bare arms. Claws shrank into slender, feminine toes, which gripped the cold stone floor reflexively as the change wracked her body. When the transformation was complete, Cesira stood, instinctively reaching out with her thoughts to calm the frightened birds.
Forgive me. I will be more thoughtful in the future.
Cesira had no idea what her true voice sounded like. Mute from birth, she did not know why she could touch animals with her thoughts but not her voice, nor did she understand how Silvanus granted her speech when in animal shape, or heard her spells when she chanted in silence. She had simply accepted long ago that the gods must know the hearts and minds of their followers, and answer accordingly.
Forgive me, she repeated.
When all was quiet, Cesira strode briskly to the door of the tower, which led to a steep flight of stairs. On the landing, she put on the long brown cloak she’d left hanging on a peg earlier that morning. Time to become mistress of the house, she thought, blowing a stray feather out of her tresses.
A servant met her at the base of the stairs—the cook, if Cesira remembered correctly. “My lady,” the woman said, curtseying quickly. “I’ve a message for Lord Morel.”
Lord Morel, Cesira thought. Gods help her. She looked the woman over, noting with some relief that she bore the new symbol of Morel woven with ribbon into the collar of her frock: an emerald joined by an elaborate setting to a rather plain-looking stone. The official story was that Lord Morel meant the symbol as a tribute to Keczulla’s roots, its rise from nothing to become the backbone of the Morel jewel business. Conveniently, it also bore the enchantment that allowed Cesira to converse with people, making the plain stone in essence more valuable than the emerald. Cesira did not miss the irony. What is it? she asked.
“It’s from Master Dantane,” the cook said, a little uneasily. “He again requests an audience. He wants to know when Lord Morel will be deciding whether he is to stay or go from the house.” The woman’s tone left little doubt of her feelings on the matter. If the rest of Amn was in the dark about Dantane’s profession, it was certainly no secret to the house. “He’d like to speak with Lord Morel as soon as possible.”
I’m sure he would, Cesira said. Please tell him Lord Morel will speak to him just as soon as he returns.
The woman curtseyed again and hurried away. Cesira’s gaze strayed across the hall, in the direction of the other tower. The spire had formerly housed Morel’s private offices. At some point it became the wizard’s living quarters.
Must they all flock to towers and high places, Cesira wondered. She didn’t see the appeal. Then again, she knew nothing of Syrek Dantane or his tastes. That worried her, more than she liked to admit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Keczulla, Amn
2 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Aazen approached the Contrall Estate from the rear, nodding to Isslun as she strode forward to bar his path. “I need to see him.”
“He’s waiting for you. We’ve already heard from the buyer”—she cast a quick glance around the deserted patio—“and the Cowl. We were set up.”
“I was set up,” Aazen corrected her sharply. “And two Gem Guards are dead for it.”
Isslun shrugged, unconcerned. “If they cannot identify us, what’s the worry?”
“I see your sister took the lion’s share of the wits between you,” Aazen sneered. “We’re starting to attract attention. If this incident draws concern anywhere near the Council’s hearing, how long do you believe the Shadow Thieves will continue to support this operation?”
The Council of Six, Amn’s anonymous body of rulers, saw to the needs of the land primarily by keeping business running as smoothly as possible between the merchant families—business which would not include an influx of black market magical items, not with two Gem Guards dead in the Harbor Moon Ward.
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