The Howling Delve

CHAPTER TWELVE

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?”

“Why 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.