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 prima
rily 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.
Isslun comprehended none of that. She pouted, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "If you place so high a value on my sister's wits, perhaps she will welcome you to her bed when you grow cold tonight."
"She already has," Aazen said, closing the door on the twin's shocked face.
His father waited in the library. The few books remaining in the tall, narrow room had gathered a thick blanket of dust. For as long as they'd dwelled here, his father had shown no interest in them.
"Are you all right?" Balram asked as Aazen closed the library door.
Aazen felt the abrasions at his wrists where one of the guards had briefly put him in manacles. "Minor wounds. We have a problem."
"I'm aware," Balram said grimly. "A watch commander, Aazen?"
"It was the only way I could see to escape. I took him as hostage. His own men fired the bolts."
Balram nodded, letting it pass. "Jubair was here before you. It seems a member of the Chadossa family approached a contact within the Cowled Wizards concerning a rumor he'd heard about black market magic."
"A rumor including the location of the exchanges and the contents of the latest shipment?" Aazen asked.
His father nodded. "So it was Chadossa."
"No doubt the family is having second thoughts about dealing with the Shadow Thieves," Aazen guessed.
"But their son is not."
"What do you mean?"
"Chadossa broke off all contact with us just before their betrayal, all except the boy, the youngest son," said Balram. "He's still buying. There's an exchange tonight. I've left the location up to you. I trust you will be discreet."
Aazen shrugged. "Perhaps he was not privy to his family's intentions. Or they were not aware he was also our client and so failed to warn him. What do you propose to do?"
"I intend to send a message. Chadossa's son will bear it for me, and his sire will learn the price of betrayal."
"You risk the wrath of a powerful family," Aazen warned, but he already knew what his father would say.
"My own family's resources far outstrip any the Chadossas could gather," Balram said confidently.
"And will your family support such a bold action?" Aazen dared to ask.
Uncharacteristically, his father waved it off with a chuckle. "Even Daen could not argue with the profit already amassed in this venture. And if Chadossa acts anything like I expect him to, the authorities will never trace the message back to us." His father's expression changed as he looked on his son. "You'll have to deliver the item to him, Aazen." Aazen kept his face neutral.
"Is there no one else?"
"None of the others will touch the broken items," Balram said. "They're afraid."
So was his father, though the man would never admit it. He should be afraid, Aazen thought. Any rational person would be.
"I'll take care of it, Father," he said. "There is another issue."
"What is it?"
"When we retrieved the items, we encountered a woman in the Delve-a Harper."
Balram's lip curled. "They turn up in the most inconvenient places. Did you deal with her?"
"I left her to bleed out, but perhaps I shouldn't have. She knew the wizard. She may have been his apprentice. If so, we could have used her."
Balram shook his head. "Too risky. Secrecy is our best advantage in this, and it's possible she knows another way out. Your only mistake was in not making sure she was dead. We'll take care of that tomorrow."
Aazen nodded. If he had had his way, they would never have returned to the Delve at all. The memories it held for him were not pleasant ones. He still felt it-the distant menace, the sensation of being trapped-whenever he went down there. "What if more apprentices unexpectedly turn up?" he asked.
"As with the woman, they'll find the Delve a place much changed from what it was before," Balram said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Howling Delve
3 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Meisha opened her eyes to a blurry world of smoke and stink-the full, cloying smell of sweat and unwashed bodies, broken only by the pungent odor of some kind of herb.
She was still underground, lying on a pallet of blankets. She could make out the uneven rock ceiling by the light of a torch suspended on the wall above her head. Smoke from the brand drifted languidly in the air until it reached the ceiling, then it was swept away like river water to a darkened corner of the room. If Varan's magics still functioned, he must be nearby, Meisha thought.
She tried to sit up and felt pain lance through her lower back. The stab wound was still fresh. She should be dead. Someone must have found her and treated the wound-Varan?
Meisha felt a stiff bandage encasing her abdomen, which seemed to be the source of the herb scent. But she could tell at least some of the bones in her wrist had reknit while she slept. Whoever had treated her had done so with some magical aid, but not much.
She examined her surroundings. The chamber around her was wide, with a low ceiling that dipped almost to the ground in some corners and fluted upward sharply in others. This place Meisha recognized. She'd made her pact to become Varan's apprentice here, over a pit of flames.
As an apprentice, she'd taken meals here or used the space for study that did not involve casting. Despite the cold and damp of the underground environment, Varan had had the chamber richly appointed. Placed in the center of the room was a round, cherry wood table-with thicker legs than her own-surrounded by soft, wingback armchairs. Two couches with tasseled silk pillows had flanked a bookcase wedged along the wall. All of it had huddled around small fire pits, with Varan's ventilation magic handy to carry the smoke away through one of the carved flues in the ceiling.
But now the chamber was stripped of all furnishing. A sagging length of rope hung around her pallet and held a stained sheet for privacy. Meisha could make out dozens more of the boxed-off areas around the chamber. Distorted shapes moved within them like a complex shadow play. People, Meisha thought-a fair number, at that.
She could hear their voices, sometimes whispering in low tones, other times pitched loudly to carry across the chamber.
"I'm tellin' ye, pick one day for butchering, and we won't have that awful stink to wake to."
"Five toys just today-that's got it, my time's coming up. Always does when yer five times as likely to lose an eye."
"Where's Iadra? Somebody'd best tell her to be puttin' the mark up."
Footfalls tramped on the other side of her sheet. Meisha tensed, but the male voice that drifted over the thin cloth was somehow familiar.
"Tymora's best odds, all I'm saying. Tymora's best odds she don't live through the night."
"You said as much last night," an overly patient female voice answered him. "Return it, please."
"She's not gonna care! You didn't see this blood pool, Har. I pulled her out-no one else was there with her to do the honors. She'd want me to have it."
"Get out of my way, Talal."
"Fine. At least let's nudge her and see-see if she's still kicking."
Hands flung the sheet aside to reveal a pair of large eyes surrounded by a nest of dirty blond hair that had not been combed with anything more elaborate than fingers and spit for many years. The boy couldn't have seen more than two decades of life, and they'd been lean years. His wrists were the breadth of broom handles, and he crouched like a frog, his spindle legs thickening with muscle at the thighs, as if he squatted and crawled more often than he walked. He wore a baggy shirt and breeches. When he moved, the odor wafting off them made Meisha gag.
"It's awake," the boy said, too brightly, as if he were hiding disappointment. "See?" He pointed at her triumphantly, her Harper pin clutched in one dirty hand. "Did that last time. Thought she was dead and whew!" He waggled his fingers and pulled a
ghoulish face at the woman who was attempting to push him aside with her hip. "Back to life again." The boy didn't seem to notice the woman's exasperated shoving. "No one dies reliably these days."
Meisha's hand came up, snagging the boy's wrist like a snake after a mouse.
"Ho, there!"
"That's mine," she croaked, squeezing the mouse until the boy dropped the pin on the ground.
"Got 'im worms for wits, but Talal doesn't mean any harm," said the woman. She was much older and not nearly as dirty as the boy. Her hair was stark white in the dim torchlight, and so thin Meisha could see patches of skin through the wispy strands. Her eyebrows had worn away long ago, but she had a quick, affectionate smile for the boy even as she chided him.
"Are you in great pain?" she asked Meisha. The same pungent herb smell wafted from her hands as she probed Meisha's bandage.
"Only when I move," Meisha grunted. Truth was, she hurt all over, but part of that was from the cold. Despite the blankets piled on and beneath her, the cavern floor was colder than Meisha ever remembered it being. Not all Varan's enchantments were working, she thought, and her heart sank a little. "Who are you?" she asked, stopping the woman in her ministrations. "Where's Varan? What's happened to this place?"
"Easy," the woman said. "One at a time. I'm Haroun." She pointed to the boy. "This one's Talal. Your wound is healing. The knife managed to miss everything vital. Still, you were far gone when Talal brought you in. We're allowed only a small number of healing draughts, and we had to use two just to keep you from death."
"You have my thanks," Meisha said with feeling. She sat up gingerly, and with Haroun's help, got to her feet. "My attackers, do you know who they were?"
"Yes." Haroun's voice was strained. "The Shadow Thieves. They come through the glowing doors once every few tendays-the time varies. They don't want us to know when to expect them. She leaned closer, her milky eyes intent on Meisha's. "Tell me, child, did you come through the doorways? Do you know how to open them?"
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