Howling Delve

by Jaleigh Johnson

  “I’m flattered. But you shouldn’t have come back,” said Balram. “Now all this will end in much the same way it began. Except this time”—he touched Aazen’s shoulder, and the look of paternal pride in his eyes sickened Kall—“my son will kill you.”

  Aazen lowered the wizard to the floor and handed his father the dagger. Balram took the blade and settled it back against the wizard’s throat. Aazen drew his sword.

  Meisha took a step forward, but Balram pivoted so she could see the folds of Varan’s skin lying atop the steel. “Move again, and my hand will slip,” he promised.

  Dantane drew her back. They stepped aside as Kall and Aazen approached one another. To the surprise of all, it was Kall who moved in first, banging his blade off Aazen’s with a loud ringing.

  “You’re not hesitating, Kall,” Aazen said, swinging through the parry. “Won’t you try to convince me to stand down, to help you kill my father?”

  Kall blocked a low thrust. “I told you I would never use you to get at Balram. I asked you to turn from the Shadow Thieves. You’ll never be able to trust them.”

  Aazen drew his blade back, following up with a snapping kick aimed at Kall’s midsection. Kall dodged, but caught the brunt of the kick against his bound arm. The pain teased stars from the corners of his eyes.

  “I trusted you,” Aazen said. “No matter what mischief you convinced me to take part in, you always looked out for me. In your house, I was safe.”

  “But you trust your father more, because no matter how twisted his love, you believe blood will never betray you,” Kall replied.

  “Yes.” Aazen blocked a flurry of short attacks and reeled when Kall surrendered his advantage to strike with his fist. The punch glanced across Aazen’s throat. He folded into a defensive crouch, but Kall followed, forcing him to move back and block while he choked for breath.

  “But it’s you, Aazen, who loves him beyond reason. He’s buried you so deep in his control you don’t know the way out. I thought I could convince you to come with me, but I lost you that night in the cemetery, didn’t I? I didn’t even realize.”

  “Shut up,” Aazen said, whipping his sword around and biting Kall’s arm again. The pain was brilliant, but it was still nothing compared to being burned by a demon. Kall stepped into the move, allowing Aazen to deepen the wound. In doing so, Kall put himself right in Aazen’s space. Aazen pressed the attack, oblivious. He believed Kall would weaken, favor his arm, and retreat.

  Kall batted Aazen’s blade aside, flipped his own blade to his off-hand, and grabbed Aazen by the throat, lifting him bodily from the floor. Blood streamed down Kall’s arm, but he held on, pressing his fingers in under Aazen’s jawbone until his sword fell from his hand.

  “Aazen!” Balram cried, and for the first time there was real fear in his voice.

  “Kall, stop!” yelled Meisha, who saw what he intended.

  Kall ignored them both and released Aazen. His friend dropped, falling onto Kall’s angled blade. Aazen grabbed Kall’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Kall held him steady. He leaned forward and spoke against his friend’s ear, but he meant the words for Balram.

  “He was always faster, more graceful, when I was all limbs and bone. Laerin taught me better. A half-elf taught me how to beat him.” He slid the blade from Aazen’s stomach. “A dwarf taught me how to live.”

  He stood up, but Balram’s eyes were fixed, horrified, on his son. “Aazen,” he whispered. The knife went slack in his hand.

  Kall reacted, closing the space between him and Balram with speed that would indeed have made the half-elf proud. Kall’s sword, wet with the son’s blood, found the father’s heart with no fight at all from Balram. Kall drove him back and off the ground, drawing the knife away from Varan’s throat.

  Balram’s body hit the ground in a pool of the spilled oil. The latent flames from Meisha’s fireball touched the puddle and ignited, and Balram joined the fire that slowly consumed the wood skeleton of Morel house.

  Kall backed away, making no move to put out the flames. He took Aazen’s arms and slung his friend’s body across his shoulders. Dantane lifted Varan, and Meisha took Varan’s other side as they headed for the doors.

  “This way,” said Meisha. She waved an arm and the flames covering the door folded aside, boiling in orange swirls. The group slipped out through the small opening into the outer yard.

  “Dantane,” said Kall, laying Aazen down on the grass.

  Glassy-eyed, Aazen watched in resigned silence as his lifeblood soaked the green lawn. The scene reminded Kall of that day on the Esmel shore, when Haig had saved Aazen’s life. Those boys were long dead, Kall thought. “Hurry,” he said.

  Meisha took Varan, and Dantane handed Kall his last vial. “You should have killed him,” the wizard said impassively.

  “Garavin would have been disappointed if I had.” Propping Aazen against his shoulder, Kall poured the healing potion down his friend’s throat. Aazen choked on the concoction, but Kall held his mouth. “Swallow, damn you. You’re not gone yet.”

  Aazen swallowed. Selûne’s light reflected in his eyes as he stared upward. Gradually, they cleared and swiveled around to focus on Kall. “I thought you had done it,” Aazen said hoarsely. “I thought you’d killed me.”

  “I would have been returning the favor,” Kall pointed out. “You tried to kill me.”

  “I had to,” said Aazen, sitting unsteadily. He stared over Kall’s shoulder, through the gap in the front of the house. His father was in there. He would never come out again. It took a moment for the gravity of that truth to sink into Aazen’s soul.

  He looked back at Kall. “If I didn’t make you fight in earnest, you couldn’t have won,” Aazen said. “I would have killed you before you got to him.” He paused, remembering. “But I never thought you would use me that way. I didn’t think my father could be so distracted.”

  “He loved you,” Kall said, “as much as he was capable. You were right about that.”

  Meisha looked at Aazen incredulously. “You wanted Kall to win,” she accused him. “You wanted him to—”

  “Kill me,” Aazen said. “Yes.”

  “Gods, why? If release was what you wanted, why didn’t you kill Balram yourself?” she demanded.

  “He couldn’t,” said Kall. He wiped his blade on the grass and resheathed it. “No more than I could accept that my father murdered Haig by his own will and took my mother from me. He was right. We were both in a cage. He wanted me to win.”

  “When did you figure that out?” asked Aazen.

  “After we fought in the Delve,” Kall said, “I suspected. I knew it later, when the portals were unguarded. I should have known long before.”

  “Why didn’t you kill me?”

  “Because you wanted to be free of Balram. Your death wasn’t necessary.”

  “Free,” said Dantane, looking at Meisha. “To face justice?”

  Aazen shook his head. “To return to the Shadow Thieves.”

  “No,” Kall and Meisha said, almost as one. Dantane smiled.

  “You will still answer for the refugees in the Delve,” said Meisha, “for Varan.”

  “And for you,” Aazen said, looking at her. “I did try to kill you. I thought I had succeeded. But now you of all people should want me to go free.”

  Meisha laughed scornfully. “The excuse would have to be profound,” she said.

  “Balram is dead. The Shadow Thieves’ work in the Delve has been compromised, but Varan is alive, and they will not give him up easily,” said Aazen. “If I return, I can report his death, and you will be free. Keep me for your Harper friends and there will be no safe place for you and the mad wizard.”

  “The Harpers are more than capable of protecting their own,” Meisha said, “and no bond of friendship holds me. I need nothing from you.”

  Aazen smirked. “And will the Harpers welcome a mad, dangerous wizard into their fold?” he asked. “You know there’s only one place for him now, and if I do
n’t go back, he’ll never be able to get there. It’s your choice.”

  Kall imagined Meisha’s inner struggle. He fought his own feelings on the matter, but he wasn’t surprised when Meisha finally nodded. “I accept,” she said reluctantly, and added, “on the promise that if anything happens to Varan—if he is attacked, kidnapped, or suffers a mysterious ‘accident’ in his bed at night, the Harpers will come after you.” A red glow suffused her skin, or perhaps it was just the reflection from the burning house. “And I will be leading the way.”

  Aazen nodded. “You, on the other hand,” he said to Kall, “will be much harder to convince.”

  But Kall shook his head. “Go your own path,” he said. “I won’t hinder you, but choose any way but the Shadow Thieves. I spoke the truth. You’ll never be able to trust them.”

  “I know,” said Aazen. “And so they will never have a hold on me. I claim no love … or friendship,” he said pointedly, “and so no one will ever control me—ever again.”

  The conviction in his voice, the look in his eyes struck Kall with sadness. “True love doesn’t control,” he said.

  “Of course it does,” said Aazen. “Love and friendship are flawed emotions. They can be twisted, manipulated, as we’ve both experienced. Never again,” he said. Then he added softly, “You’ve found better companions, Kall. Keep them.”

  When Aazen walked away, Kall did not cry out for him to return. For a second time, he watched the darkness swallow his friend, but this time Kall was not alone. Meisha and Dantane stood on either side of him, and later, Morgan, Talal, and Garavin joined them. They stood, silhouetted in the light of the fire, until the Gem Guard came.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Keczulla, Amn

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

  The following days saw widespread rumors. Whispers said the fire that consumed the estate had killed Morel’s heir and an undisclosed number of assassins. A surprising public statement from the Bladesmile family partly fueled the rumors, reporting that all Morel assets were now in the care of Rays Bladesmile, per Kall Morel’s request. The furor arising from the announcement, combined with Kall’s disappearance from the city, led to rampant speculation about the fate of the Morel line. Many believed it to be extinct at last.

  Kall was content to let the speculation drift where it may.

  Garavin rode beside him as they left the city behind. “Has there been any word since that night?” he asked.

  “No,” Kall replied. “But I’ll find her.”

  “And ye’re sure she’s alive?”

  Kall gripped the gem from Garavin’s axe in his gloved palm. “I’m sure.”

  They rode in silence for a while. Kall glanced down at the dwarf. “I like your new ornament,” he said, pointing to a gray streak running through the center of Garavin’s beard. “Distinguishes you—channeling a god, and all that. Lucky for me, it hasn’t made you insufferably self-righteous.”

  Garavin laughed. “If ye mean because I haven’t argued against Meisha’s plan, ye’re wrong. I think Dugmaren would approve, even if Dumathoin does not.”

  “Oh? Why so?”

  “Because as much as Shanatar needs protecting, there’s another school of thought says it needs to be explored, its magic understood. Otherwise it gets misused, as the Howlings misused it—as the Amnians suffered from what they didn’t understand.”

  “Some would argue—myself included—that a mad wizard is the last person to take on such a task. Truth, old friend—should he really be allowed back in the Delve?”

  “Yes,” Garavin said without hesitation. “He’s been touched by a god and a demon, and still he’s trying to find his way back. That’s what the lass believes. As long as there’s hope, she can’t give up on him, just as ye couldn’t give up on yer father or Aazen.”

  “I left Aazen to the Shadow Thieves,” Kall said. “What good can that possibly do his future?”

  “Nothing,” Garavin said, unwilling to lie to his friend. “But ye set his mind and heart free from his father, something he couldn’t do for himself. He’ll find his way on his own. Whether ye approve of his path or not, ye can’t change him. Ye’ve yer own course to follow now.”

  “And you’re coming with me?” Kall asked, trying to make it sound casual.

  Garavin wasn’t fooled. “Aye, lad, I’m coming, if only to see ye don’t get trampled on by that wizard and the Harper firebrand.”

  “I’m hoping Morgan and the boy will mitigate some of that,” Kall said, though he privately wondered if he weren’t setting himself up for a world of hurt when he finally did track down Cesira, with a fire-loving Harper, a thief, an orphan, and a rogue wizard in tow. He suspected Dantane’s motives for joining the group had everything to do with Meisha’s desire to take a leave from the Harpers and come along, and not any real concern for Cesira.

  He looked up at the sky, but there were no birds today. The clouds threatened rain. They would be soaked by the time they got on the road, but Kall didn’t care. His path, now that he’d found it, spanned Amn, the Sword Coast, to the frozen North if necessary. Whichever road led him to Cesira, he would follow it gladly.

  “Where are we meeting Meisha?” Garavin asked.

  “Outside the Delve,” replied Kall. “After she takes Varan home.”

  Meisha guided her master back to his pallet in the small workroom. With a word, she lit newly placed torches along the walls, flooding the room with warmth.

  Varan did not seem to notice. He sat right down and reached into the wall, pulling out fresh tools and components as if from nowhere.

  Meisha suppressed a shudder at how comfortably he fell into his old routine. Now that she knew just what his hands touched—what ancient power—was she doing the right thing?

  “I’ll be back to look in on you,” she said, hoping some part of him heard her. “Between visits, someone else will come to take care of you. You won’t be alone.”

  Varan made no reaction, so she turned to go.

  “Fixed.”

  “What?” Meisha asked, turning back to him.

  Varan held up an object: a small, square disk that seemed to be made of fluid metal. “Fixed now, firebird,” he said confidently. “I’ll fix them all.”

  “Eventually,” Meisha said. She smiled a little as Varan’s face blurred in her vision. “Fix them all, Master. Maybe when you do, you’ll find your way back to me.”

  Talal waited for her in the hall. Meisha’s anxiety, deep as it was, couldn’t hold under the boy’s shy grin. “Ready?” she asked.

  “More than,” he said. His eyes fell on the pouch in her hand. She’d removed it from Varan’s neck. “He let you take that?”

  “The demon’s eye has been destroyed,” Meisha explained. “The jarilith—and in turn Varan—only ever guarded it because it served as the link to Varan and to this plane. That’s why he killed Shirva Tarlarin and attacked me—to protect the link.”

  “What will you do with it?”

  “Give it to Dantane. He needs payment for his contract in Keczulla, and he wasn’t able to salvage any magic items from the Delve. I offered this, and whatever’s inside.” But she’d removed the apprentices’ rings. They now rode on a chain around her neck.

  Talal looked disappointed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t like him,” Meisha guessed. “Dantane.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Talal countered. “Neither does Kall,” he added.

  “Kall trusts him. He just doesn’t like him,” said Meisha, smiling.

  “Why not?”

  Meisha shrugged. “Maybe because Dantane was able to relieve Kall’s father from his enslavement—if only for a little while. It was something Kall couldn’t do. I think it chafes him a bit, though he’d never admit it.” She glanced sidelong at him. “I still don’t know why you’re coming with us,” she commented.

  The boy shrugged. “Nothing better to do,” he said.

  Meisha raised an eyebrow. “Th
ere will be more battles,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “There always are,” she said dryly. “And more magic, more fire. I know you’re afraid of it.”

  Talal nodded. They walked on in silence, and were almost to the tunnel entrance when he said, “But I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Oh.” Meisha felt the warmth grow inside her, a heat that didn’t burn. The feeling was so alien she didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  Was this what she wanted, an existence somewhere between fire and cold, between anger and love? And if so, how could she ever hope to maintain such a delicate balance? Varan hadn’t been able to teach her that skill. Maybe Talal and the others could.

  They stepped into the sunlight, where Kall and his party waited.

  EPILOGUE

  Keczulla, Amn

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

  Aazen wasn’t surprised to see Daen waiting for him at the Contrall estate. Daen stood in the library behind his father’s desk, pouring two glasses of wine.

  “I’ve been awaiting your report,” Daen said, regarding the hole in Aazen’s tunic curiously. “I assume you encountered some trouble?”

  Aazen reached for one of the glasses. “My father is dead,” he replied. “The operation can no longer continue.”

  “I suspected as much.” Daen didn’t seem the least moved to hear of Balram’s demise. “But we’ll go on.”

  “You’re not upset,” said Aazen, draining his glass.

  “Not at all. The profits from Balram’s venture were exceptional, and the planning and intelligence behind the initial scheme equally so. True, his loss is a blow, but you are alive, and not the traitor he believed you to be. I received great things from Balram. I expect no less from his son.” He saluted Aazen and drank. “In fact, I believe you’ll come to mean a great deal to our organization in the future. That is, assuming you still wish to walk with us?” He smiled faintly at Aazen. “Or should I be upset about something?” he asked.