The fire beast howled in triumph. In his mind’s eye, he forced the wizard to crawl to the man lying prone on the ground.
Bring them, the beast thought. He bore down on the link between his mind and the wizard’s, pressing mental tongues of flame against Varan’s will. He enjoyed reducing the wizard to little more than a dog, herding his prey to exactly where he wanted them.
Embrace our bond, the beast cooed, and heard the silent screams of the wizard trying to resist the mental command. Join me, and witness power unimaginable. I know your thoughts. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Who would deny such a dream?
The wizard sobbed pitifully, and the beast reached out to stroke him again with fire and claws. He gloried in the ensuing screams, as the wizard went to carry out the beast’s will.
Kall broke into a run, heedless of the danger. Cold dread welled up inside him. He swept aside a blade that came at his flank and kept going. He was almost to Dantane when pain exploded in the back of his neck.
Kall went down in a protective crouch. He swung around and saw the halfling reloading his sling. Aazen motioned the halfling back and stepped to block Kall’s path. Behind him, Varan rolled Dantane’s unconscious body over, feeling inside the wizard’s robes. He removed the portal key and turned. Kall saw his face clearly for the first time.
Varan looked terrified.
Kall sprang up. He raised his weapon to cut a path, but Aazen was there, his blade ringing off Kall’s enchanted sword. “I need him alive,” Aazen said, shoving Kall back.
“He’ll kill us all!” Kall swung the blade high, angling it at his best friend’s head. He did it without thinking, putting killing force behind the blow.
Aazen ducked, maneuvering to attack from Kall’s wounded side. Kall twisted and blocked, but was forced to retreat a step away from Varan.
“That’s it, Kall,” said Aazen, stalking forward, inviting Kall to continue his attack. “This is exactly how I need you to be.”
Kall swung again, bewildered. Had Aazen gone mad as well? “Meisha!” he shouted. If she could get Varan’s attention, get through to him, they might have a chance.
Varan took the key and crawled to the dark pit. Tears streamed from his good eye, and he clutched the empty socket, making pitiful mewling noises as he moved.
“Please, don’t!” Varan cried as he approached the edge of the chasm. He stared down into the dark, his terror magnified by whatever he saw. “Don’t make me!” He grabbed the pouch at his neck, as if to tear it away. His hands locked into claws around the bag, and he screamed. With a violent motion, he reached inside the pouch and pulled out something small and black. Fumbling, he pressed the object against his empty socket.
It was an eye, Kall realized, but it was no human orb.
Black, with thready gray veins bulging from the sides, the eye was too large for the space Varan intended. Kall watched, sickened, as the wizard forced the organ into place with a howl of agony.
Varan lifted the stolen portal key in his other hand and slammed it down against the rocks. Words of power, dredged up from some unwilling place deep inside him, spilled out into the darkness.
The cavern began to shake in great, wracking tremors. Light flared, a halo that burst from the chasm, momentarily blinding everyone in the cavern. Meisha tried to fly, but a falling stalactite struck her out of the air. The blow knocked her senseless. She dropped, straight toward the pit.
Kall saw her fall, saw her body disappear into the green light. He cried out in wordless grief that manifested in a jarring blow against Aazen’s sword.
She was gone, Kall thought. He hadn’t been able to save her after all.
Grief melted into rage. Kall batted aside Aazen’s unresisting blade and knocked him to the floor. For a moment, he fought the urge to keep going, to run his blade through Aazen’s heart.
“Kall!” Morgan cried.
Chest heaving, Kall tore himself away from his friend’s prone body and ran for the chasm. The cavern was still shuddering. The tremors seemed to come from deep below ground. More stalactites and rock shook free of the ceiling and dropped in a deadly rain. He dodged a spear that plunged to the floor where he and Aazen had just been fighting. Aazen had gotten to his feet and was looking to his own remaining men, issuing commands Kall could not hear over the rumbling.
Kall made it to Dantane. He hauled the wizard up into a sitting position. Varan had collapsed on the stones.
Dantane opened his eyes. They widened—he grabbed Kall by his uninjured forearm. “ ’Ware!” he cried.
Kall reversed his blade, stabbing backward blindly, but Garavin was already there, using his maul to pluck a Shadow Thief off his feet like a rag doll.
“We have to go!” the dwarf shouted over the rumbling. “The place’ll come down on our heads.”
“Tunnel’s blocked!” called Laerin from the far side of the cavern. He held Morgan by one shoulder, Talal the other. They limped across the room to join the group. The Shadow Thieves left alive had ceased their attacks in light of the greater danger. “It’ll take a while to clear it.”
“We don’t have any time,” said Kall.
“It’s another portal,” Dantane said, pointing to the glowing green halo, which had formed over the chasm rather than the shaft above. “The wizard wanted someone to go through it.”
“Like Hells,” said Morgan. “I say we go back through the shaft—take our chances with the Shadow Thieves.”
Kall stared down the chasm. “Meisha’s down there,” he said. “She may still be alive. The rest of you use the key to activate the other portal once I’m gone, but I’m going through this one.”
Garavin called Borl to his side. “I’ll take my chances with ye,” he said simply.
“As will I,” said Laerin.
Morgan spat. “Don’t be believing him!” he said. “He’s just doin’ it to make me look bad.” He faced the portal reluctantly. “Let’s go then, if we’re goin’.”
Kall helped Dantane to his feet. One by one, they stepped off the stones, into the green light, until only he and the wizard remained.
“What about him?” asked Dantane.
Kall knew he meant Varan, but Kall stared across the room at Aazen. He’d gathered his remaining forces under a protected shelf of rock near the blocked tunnel, but even that meager cover was cracking, coming apart like the rest of the cavern.
“He’s on his own,” said Kall. “So are you, Dantane, if you leave now.”
The wizard shook his head. “I haven’t gotten my reward yet. I go with you.”
“Suit yourself.” They stepped off the edge, into nothingness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Keczulla, Amn
5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Balram stepped into Morel’s main hall. He felt as if time had reversed itself. Suddenly he was back in Esmeltaran, his men at his side, seeking Morel’s death.
But the setting had changed, and it wasn’t Morel or his son who faced him from the top of the ballroom staircase. A woman stood there, wrapped in a hooded cloak, her face painted in forest colors. A long spear rested comfortably in the crook of her right arm. She looked like a savage carved from stone—beautiful and cold—staring at him as if she craved his death.
“Lady Morel.” He bowed in greeting, allowing his men to fan out across the hall. If she was intimidated by the show of strength, her expression did nothing to give it away. She walked down the stairs, her soft boots padding against the wood. She stopped on the first landing.
“Might I have the pleasure of knowing you?” Balram asked when she said nothing.
Certainly, sir, she replied, but Balram could not hear her voice. He could only follow the movement of her lips to make out her words. She tipped her spear horizontal and threw. A soft, singing chime filled the ballroom. The spear impaled the man standing just to Balram’s left, one who’d been taking slow steps toward the base of the stairs.
Keeping his eyes trained on the w
oman, Balram bent to see that the man was dead. As he did so, his eyes fell on the druid’s spear. Tied among its decorations was the emerald-stone symbol of Morel. When Balram’s fingers brushed it, the woman spoke again. This time her voice rang out clear across the hall, making Balram startle.
I am Cesira of the Starwater Six, Quiet One of Silvanus, and the lady of this house—she inclined her head stiffly—and the doom of Balram Kortrun. She glided back a step and pressed her hand to the banister rail in a certain spot.
Balram’s eyes widened in shocked recognition. Gods, she couldn’t know the locations of the …
“Fall back!” he cried, much too late.
The floor tiles running down the center of the hall creaked from years of lying stationary, but the trap still functioned.
Spikes exploded from the floor, catching the men behind him in a deadly hedge. Two went down as the sharpened edges burst through the backs of their legs. The rest managed to leap away, but the trap had cut them off from the exit.
Balram turned to the stairs, but Cesira had climbed back to the top. She stood behind the balcony rail, a second spear resting on her shoulder.
“You won’t get out of here alive, bitch,” he snarled at her. He motioned to one of his men, who began moving along the outer wall, smashing lanterns and spilling oil in streams across the floor. Fire licked up in tall pools. “You’ll burn with this house, if we don’t get to you first.”
Then by all means, Cesira said, holding out her arms, Come to me.
The fire beast exalted in his find. Magic raged wildly above his head, fueled by the mad wizard and their mental link.
The mortals were scattered throughout his domain. He could smell them leaving their imprints on the Delve in a complex web, moving, trying to find each other.
The woman of fire and one other—they were closest to his former prison. The beast dismissed them at once as too easy. Let them have a start on the game. He relished the challenge of two well-prepared magic wielders.
His senses drifted outward. Two more were near the thoroughfare, and a larger party was across the bridges—but wait. The beast picked out the scent, distantly, in the Howling burrow. Four fighters, moving stealthily—deeper into the mazelike tunnels constructed by the dwarves.
There lay his hunt, a chase through the labyrinth to claim the first of his prizes.
The beast rumbled in satisfaction. He stretched his lean muscles and began to run, tracing the faint scents to their source.
Meisha felt as if her bones had been dashed over rocks. Perhaps they had been. She felt a hand prod her shoulder and hadn’t even the strength to fight it off.
“Meisha.”
Dantane’s face swam into focus. The wizard leaned over her with a vial in his hand identical to the one he’d given her in the portal room. “Drink,” he said, putting the glass to her lips.
Meisha drank, and gradually felt the strength returning to her aching arm and leg. The magic faded, leaving only a dull pain. “Where are we?”
“We came through a second portal,” Dantane said. His voice sounded odd, uncertain. “The chasm in the floor. I found you not far from where I appeared. I don’t know where we are, but you need to see something.”
“What is it?” she asked.
Dantane hesitated. “I believe it’s you.”
“What?” Meisha sat up, gazing over the wizard’s shoulder.
She recognized where they were immediately. The circular chamber was crowded with pedestals of rock rising up four, six, sometimes ten feet into the air, separating the chamber into various levels. Two exits lay at opposite ends of the room. At the ends of those tunnels would be similar testing chambers.
“The star,” she murmured.
Meisha suddenly realized they weren’t alone. She looked up at the shortest pedestal, where a child stood. She was bald but for a dark fuzz beginning to sprout from the top of her head. She waved her arms in the motions of a spell. Below her, a man in well-kept robes watched her casting with a critical eye.
Varan—but not the mad wizard trapped in the Delve. This Varan was whole, and appeared much younger. For Meisha, seeing the little girl was like seeing a ghost.
“We’re in a testing chamber,” she said, for Dantane’s benefit. “Varan designated one for each apprentice, arranged like the points of a star. When I was here, these caves could only be reached through Varan. He teleported us down.”
“You didn’t know the portal led down here?” asked Dantane.
“No. I didn’t know Varan knew of the portal,” she admitted. “The markings on it don’t match his sigils. Perhaps that was how he discovered the secret tunnels,” she murmured, half to herself, “through the portal.”
“There are more caverns?” Dantane prompted. “Do you know where?”
“Varan said they adjoined the testing chambers somehow. We looked, as apprentices, but the entrance was magically concealed. I suppose it’s possible, now his other magics are breaking down, that the connecting passage has been revealed.”
“So we’ll have to explore each chamber,” Dantane said. “Our companions might be there, or in the other tunnels.” He looked at her. “Do you know what they contained?”
Meisha laughed humorlessly. “Whatever great Art the Howlings saw fit to store. You were deposited in the wrong place, Dantane, if you seek treasure down here.”
The wizard grimaced. “Such seems to be the course of my life,” he said.
Meisha stood up, her eyes drawn back to the phantom image atop the pedestal. She watched, fascinated, as the air in front of her double seemed to split in two. Out of the breach came the head of a being that only vaguely resembled a human. Hairless, outlined in white flame, it stared at its summoner curiously. Though she felt no heat, Meisha recalled well how the air around the creature rippled with burning. It was the first time she’d ever interacted with a fire elemental.
The scene blurred and faded, leaving them alone in the chamber.
“What was that?” asked Dantane.
“A memory,” answered Meisha, “from soon after I came to the Delve. I was a Wraith—half-feral—in Keczulla, when Varan found me. He took me on as an apprentice because he sensed my talent. I remember when he brought me down here to converse with the fire elemental. I could feel it burning, just like I burned inside. It’s part of every savant’s training, to recognize how their spirit matches the element they’ve chosen. With proper training, eventually, the spirit melds with that force and becomes part of it,” Meisha said, her voice oddly hushed.
“Is that what you aspire to?” Dantane asked, “to join with the fire and become as an elemental creature?”
She glanced at him. “It’s what every savant wants.”
“But do you? ”
Without answering, Meisha stood up, her eyes scanning the floor where the phantom images had been. “There.” She bent down, lifting a small piece of glittering crystal from the floor. “The source of the memories,” she explained.
“Your master’s work,” Dantane said, impressed. “He has great power.”
“Obviously, not enough,” Meisha said, “or he failed to follow his own teachings.”
Had Varan recorded all his past sessions with his apprentices? she wondered, and if so, how many crystals, how much Art would be required for such a task?
“Why do you despise him so much?” Dantane asked. “He awoke the power in you. Without it, you might have died a Wraith.”
“I know,” Meisha said. “He cared about me, as much as he was capable of such feelings. He offered me magic and a place in his world, but I couldn’t accept it.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I hadn’t possessed that power and if Varan hadn’t sensed it, he would have passed me by on that street without looking twice. It was the power that fascinated him most, not any of us. And yet, I still wanted to love him.”
“Then why did you come back?” Dantane asked. “Why help him now?”
“Because he was r
ight. He was the only one who understood me, and I still love him for that,” Meisha said bleakly. “That bond—the one I see reflected in Kall’s group—I’ve known nothing like it, not since the night Shaera left the candle in my room.”
“Shaera?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Meisha waved the memories away. “She’s gone now—they’re all dead—and Varan is not the master I knew.”
“What about the boy,” Dantane persisted, “the one who followed you?”
“Talal,” Meisha said, and something inside her constricted. She’d avoided thinking about the boy. “Talal is … he has no scrap of magical power in him, and yet I find myself wanting to mentor him, in life, if not in the Art. It’s strange. Then, in the next breath, I remember what I am and what I could do. When I remember, I want to put him as far from myself as I possibly can.”
“It seems he would choose otherwise,” Dantane observed.
Meisha shook her head grimly. “I pray that choice doesn’t bring about his doom,” she said, “if it has not already.”
She touched the crystal, and the phantom Varan appeared again, drawing Meisha’s attention back to the pedestals. This time the apprentice was not Meisha, but a young man with short blond hair cropped in a bowl shape.
“Prieces,” Meisha said. “The earth savant. I’ve never seen this.”
The young man appeared pale and drawn, even by the blurry magic illuminating the memory. His gestures were not as crisp as the child-Meisha’s had been. His arms weighed heavily with fatigue, but he pressed on under Varan’s encouraging gaze.
The earth elemental crawled up from the ground opposite Varan, but it was bigger—twice as broad as the creature Meisha had helped to summon. The force of its arrival shook the cavern, knocking Prieces from the pedestal. Varan reacted instantly, throwing out a spell to keep the apprentice from injuring himself. He didn’t see the earth elemental smash the pedestal Prieces was standing on in half. Stone shards flew, striking Varan in the back. The wizard turned, intending to banish the creature, Meisha thought, but the thing rose up, crashing headfirst into the ceiling. Cracks fissured through the stone, and the chamber, unstable from all the tunnels carved in one place, began to come apart.
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