The Howling Delve d-2

by Jaleigh Johnson

  "Varan is coming for us," Meisha said urgently, even as the light in the woman's eyes started to waver. "Do you hear me, Shaera? You have to hold on a little longer." Her voice quivered; tears burned her throat. "I can hear them in the tunnel. Listen, they're coming down the slope."

  Shaera licked her lips and whispered something barely audible. Meisha didn't understand the language, but the rise and fall of the words was familiar-the rhythm of prayer. When the words trailed off, the light in Shaera's eyes went dark.

  Meisha sat perfectly still for a long time. Shaera's cheek rested heavy and cold on her hand. Absently, she wiped the blood from the girl's face with her sleeve. She should have done it earlier but hadn't thought to. When her face was clean, Meisha laid the girl's head back and closed her vacant eyes.

  "He didn't come."

  Meisha heard her voice, but the words seemed to come from far away. Dazed, she rose to her feet. Her movement awoke fresh scurrying in the shadows. The rats waited just outside the pale circle of her light, ready to dart in for a meal.

  Meisha stared into the darkness. Fire awakened within her. Heedless of the danger, Meisha reached deep inside herself and found the untouched well of power Varan had warned her about.

  She gazed down at Shaera's corpse, half-buried in the rubble. Fire sprang up in quivering columns, forming a protective ring around the girl's body.

  Illuminated by the fire ring, Shaera's face appeared peaceful. Meisha committed it to memory, then made a swift gesture with her hand.

  The columns fell inward like spokes on a flaming wheel. Shaera's body ignited, the fire burning so hot and fast that it consumed her flesh in less time than it had taken to cast the spell.

  When the fire died, Meisha tried to slow her breathing. She quickly gave up. She would not find calm again. Only one thing would satisfy her now.

  Kneeling among the stones, Meisha scooped up a handful of ash and put it in one of her empty pouches. Whatever else remained of Shaera would have to stay in the tunnel. Meisha prayed her spirit would find the halls of whatever god or goddess she'd been praying to.

  Taking up her rope, Meisha started the long climb back to Varan's sanctuary. She could feel the heat building within her. Darkly, she welcomed it.

  He was waiting for her. Jonal must have warned him. Meisha made sure he felt the heat before he saw her.

  She came around the corner at a leisurely walk. She projected no flame, but she could see Varan's eyes watering as he beheld her. Swiftly, he cast up a barrier against her spell.

  "Gods, you are magnificent to behold," he whispered. "You are fire."

  She didn't answer, only increased the heat. She would burn through the spell shield if she had to.

  "Meisha," Varan said calmly, "can you hear me? Are you all right, firebird?"

  She stood like a statue. "Where is Shaera?"

  "You went to look for her, Meisha. Don't you remember?"

  Meisha shook her head from side to side. The air rippled in the wake of the movement. "That is the question you should be asking. 'Where is Shaera?' " Meisha saw the red glow now, the magic radiating in an aura around her. "Say it!"

  "Where is Shaera?" Varan said.

  "Burnt on a pyre," replied Meisha. "She rests in the Climb alone." Her voice turned deadly. "I think one of us should join her."

  "Do you want it to be you, Meisha?" Varan asked sadly. "Because it will be, if you persist in this. Powerful as you are, you are overwhelmed by grief and exhaustion."

  "This is all because of your discovery!" Meisha spat. "Whatever great treasure lies buried beneath our feet that's more important than the lives of your charges!"

  "I don't expect you to comprehend it, Meisha," Varan said, "but I thought you at least understood my own nature. I told you I was selfish. My Art is the only thing that brings me joy. You, the other elementalists, are a means to that end. I have no interest in being a father to any of you. The choices you make in the world are yours. The consequences of this, you alone will bear."

  He stepped back, dropping the barrier. Moisture sizzled on the tunnel walls.

  "Make your choice, Meisha," he offered her. "Use me-as I am using you-to learn what you can, and all Faer?n will be open to you. Or hurl your fire, and I will strike you down, grieve for a day at the horrendous waste of potential, and go back to work." His voice was harsh. "What will it be?"

  Meisha's eyes leaked tears that evaporated almost immediately on her cheeks. She closed her eyes and let out a strangled, miserable scream that echoed off the cave walls. Her head snapped back, and she poured her power into the ground. Still, there was no visible flame, but the stone at her feet bubbled, burning through the soles of her boots. The release of power wracked her body; her neck muscles pulled taut.

  Varan watched her until gradually the convulsions diminished and ceased. She pitched forward, senseless.

  Jonal told her later that Varan had gone down the Climb to retrieve Shaera's ashes.

  He kept a spell lock-his personal sigil-on Meisha's door during her long recovery. At Varan's behest, the water elementalist tended her basic needs, but left her chamber as soon as he could.

  If the apprentices had not been sufficiently afraid of her before, they were certainly terrified now, Meisha realized.

  Shaera had been the only one among them not truly frightened by her power.

  When she'd healed enough, she went to Varan.

  "Where will you go?" her master asked.

  He stood in his workroom, as usual. Meisha stood in the doorway. She refused to enter the room ever again.

  "To the Harpers," she said.

  "An interesting choice." Varan had cleared the walls of magical writing. The room glowed with torchlight. "Much like wizards, the Harpers are not well thought of in Amn. You'll find them eager to take you, if you can find them, though I wonder if they will understand you as I do."

  "I don't see how that matters," Meisha said. Her face was expressionless.

  "Perhaps it does not. They may be able to give you what I could not, and that may be enough." He walked to the doorway, and might have touched her, but Meisha stepped back, a warning shining in her eyes.

  Varan sighed. "You must let me say good-bye, firebird, and give you some words of caution. If you let the fire consume you, or use it to lash out, the Harpers will never take you. My promise to you stands. You have a home here for as long as you need it. You have my ring," he said, looking at her hand.

  Meisha closed her fingers into a fist. The gold band pressed into her skin. She'd considered leaving it behind, and part of her wondered why she still wore it at all. She would never return to the Delve, even if the Harpers forsook her, and no matter how badly she might need Varan's sanctuary.

  "Farewell, Master," she said.

  "Good luck, Meisha Saira." The wizard smiled at her, the same affectionate smile she remembered adoring as a child.

  Even now, the smile affected her, made her think he actually cared about her and her future.

  Meisha forced herself to turn away, and she didn't look back as he chanted the spell that would send her back into the sunlight.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Amn

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

  Meisha listened to the rush of the river Vudlur beneath her feet and watched the man stride up the western bulge of the Star Bridge.

  He wore tarnished chain mail and a plain but well-kept tunic of mud-brown, with gauntlets and a studded belt to match. Standing easily at six feet, he had broad, muscled shoulders. His hair and mustache were bronze; his skin burned Calishite dark, but his blue eyes belonged in the North. Meisha knew better on both counts. Kall Morel was a son of Amn, and up until a tenday ago, Amn had believed him dead.

  "Well met, Kall," she said, extending a hand.

  "It's been a while, Meisha." Kall glanced at her bare fingers. "I don't think so."

  The Harper smiled. "Still afraid I might burn, even after all these years?"

  "Wh
y do you think we're surrounded by water?" Kall leaned against the bridge rail. "I take it you've heard the news?"

  "There's talk of little else," Meisha said. "Dhairr Morel's death shocked and saddened Amn, but she is inconsolable to learn his only son yet lives to claim his estate."

  "I'm not surprised." Kall turned in the direction of distant Keczulla. "Thank you for making the journey. My father spent his last years in Keczulla. It's the only city where Morel assets survived intact, after the war."

  Meisha nodded. In the years after Kall left Esmeltaran, humanoid armies led by two ogre mages-Sythillis and Cyrvisnea, allied with followers of the church of Cyric-had attacked the city and a fair portion of southern Amn. Amn's defenders-Meisha among them-hadn't been able to beat back their armies, and the port city of Murann had fallen to the new Sythillisian Empire. The cities of Esmeltaran and Imnescar had been devastated in the attack, and many of the merchant families lost their entire holdings. In the year since the war began, the humans and monsters had contrived an uneasy truce between them, but Amn had only just begun its recovery.

  "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

  Aran

  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?