The Howling Delve d-2

by Jaleigh Johnson

  "Who are you?" Kall asked, but he recognized the symbol she wore. He'd seen it once before, in this same garden.

  "Meisha Saira," the woman introduced herself. Of the Harpers, Kall added silently.

  "You're here because of Haig," Kall said, lowering his father gently to the ground. He stood, measuring the woman's intent. He didn't like what he saw. The spread of her feet and the tension in her neck and shoulders gave her away. She was here for a fight.

  "I owe you thanks. You've saved me the trouble of subduing his murderer." She looked down at his father with a mixture of disgust and pity. "Not that he appears to warrant great effort, in his current state."

  "You can't have him," Kall said steadily.

  The woman lifted a brow. "Oh? Was his confession the ravings of a madman, then?"

  "The man responsible for Haig's death is Balram Kortrun," said Kall. "My father acted under Balram's influence, and as you can see, he is no longer a threat to anyone."

  "He soon won't be," Meisha agreed. She cast his sword to the far end of the garden and raised her empty hands.

  Kall got to her first. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, slamming her against his chest with her hand bent at a painful angle against her lower back. "You're not listening," he said in her ear. When she struggled, he wrenched her palm back until she gasped. "If you want justice for Haig, let my father live, and I will get it for you."

  "He's no longer your father," Meisha argued. "He doesn't recognize his own son."

  "I know," Kall said, swallowing his grief. "What is left of him suffers more than enough."

  "Then why not end it? Give him a quick, merciful death."

  "No." Kall shook his head. "I won't kill him if there's a chance he might come back."

  Meisha fell silent. She relaxed her stance, but Kall kept her hand pinned. "You won't kill him," she said softly. "But are you willing to die to protect what he has become?"

  She brought her heel up, clipping his knee. Pain shot up Kall's leg. He released her involuntarily.

  Backing away, she flicked a wrist, fingers splayed, and traced a circular pattern with her other thumb in midair. She spoke as she cast. "Will it be your life for his?"

  Her eyes blazed red, and Kall thought for an instant they were afire, burning the orbs out of their sockets. The circle she traced filled with flame, swirling in on itself to become a ball of brilliant orange with a blue vortex.

  Kall had seen wizards cast spells in battle, and he'd even seen magical fire burn men alive. He'd once accompanied Cesira to the site of a massive spell duel between rival wizards. They'd watched from a protected distance, but after a time Kall's eyes could no longer separate one spell from another amid the devastation.

  He'd never seen a fireball form in a wizard's hands at such close range-shaped from nothing, a great ember falling from a god's furnace-never had he seen one directed at himself.

  The flames filled his vision as the deadly orb flew toward him. He felt the heat sear his face. Instinctively, he threw up his hands and covered his father's body with his own.

  He heard the explosion, but the pain didn't follow. Kall lifted his head and saw the twin, scorching trails marking the path the fireballs had made across the garden. They formed a perfect arc around his and his father's bodies.

  "You split them," Kall said, standing. His legs felt shaky. "Why?"

  "Curiosity." She dismissed it with a shrug. "Or a test of your convictions. Call it whatever you like, I-"

  She tried to dodge, but Kall had her again. He pinned her arms down to her sides. "I appreciate the reprieve. This is just in case you have another of those fire spells ready," he said.

  She smiled thinly. "What makes you think I need another?"

  Kall 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, Morel, or I will burn you," she said, her voice echoing with deadly power. "All I want is your father."

  Gazing into her eyes, Kall 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. Kall waited, but then, as suddenly as it had started, the burning sensation ebbed. The Harper stiffened, her eyes going wide.

  Kall looked up and realized immediately what had cooled the fire. He nodded a stiff greeting to Morgan. 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."

  Kall released Meisha and stepped back. He looked over Morgan'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 Kall back his blade as Garavin patted Meisha down for weapons.

  Cesira knelt next to his fathe r's unconscious body. We followed your sword, she said.

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

  Kall 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," Kall 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. Kall 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, Kall."

  Kall 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 Kall. "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, Kall stared down at his father's face. He remembered the violence in Dhairr'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 father's condition. "How long will Morel be able to survive lying vulnerable among the merchants of Amn?"

  "Longer than he will if I remain," Kall 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.

  Kall 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 tracked 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. Kall 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 Kall's face.

  "Whether you help or not, Balram will die by my hand," said Kall. "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 stirred, murmuring in his sleep. Kall 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. Kall froze, but Dhairr's eyes remained shut. His struggles slowed, and he slept on, peacefully.

  Kall turned away, and saw Cesira silhouetted in the doorway to the garden. 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, Kall's friend, the dwarf, had done it.

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

  The child Meisha huddled in a sullen ball 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.

  "Are you 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 of highsun 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 all Faer?n, you are the only child ever to have been deprived of something-a home, loved ones, a dream?"

  Varan sat across the pit from 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. I am offering you 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 mud from 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. "Did you see something?"

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

  "You've seen 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, long ago. The Howlings 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 among ghosts?

  "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.

  "Would you 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 could feel the fire emanating from 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 off the stone as each one fell to the fire-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 small figure raised his broken axe in defiance. His pendant flashed briefly, brilliant silver, but the beast flexed his claws and ripped the broken weapon out of the dwarf's hands.

  Screaming, Meisha sat up in her bedroll. The campfire flared in one giant stalk that reached almost to the tops of the trees.

  Meisha swept an arm out, panting. The flames died, becoming so much smoking wood.

  I'd been doing so well; I hadn't had the dream in months, Meisha thought bitterly.