The Howling Delve

Chapter Nineteen

“This was a great idea,” Talal said sarcastically as he held the torch around Meisha’s body.

The Harper turned, flames catching in her eyes. Talal flinched. “Are you really going to walk at my heel with that thing, or can I carry it?”

“My torch, Lady,” Talal said, holding it out of reach.

“Then would you care to lead?” She pointed down the dark, unfamiliar passage.

“I’d care to go back to the warrens!” he complained, handing her the brand. “I showed you the wizard. Haroun says that’s enough, and she doesn’t even know he tried to kill you.”

“You told me your people explore these caves constantly, looking for ways to escape.”

“I told you we draw lots for the pleasure,” Talal argued. “Stain one stone with berry juice, put the rest in a sack, and choose. Tymora’s lucky whipping boy gets a torch, a weapon, and a trip down the tunnel to have his wits smashed all over the place. That’s what happened to Gadi.”

“He was killed?” Meisha shone the torch down a side passage and listened. She heard nothing but the distant, constant drip of water. When she’d lived here, Varan had always made his apprentices safe, no matter how dangerous the Delve could be. Now the apprentices were dead, and Varan …

Meisha suppressed a shudder. Varan had become one of the threats in the dark.

“Smashed, I said. By whatever roams the tunnels outside your wizard’s shields,” said Talal.

“Varan warned us not to venture outside the wards. Even I don’t know what lies at the end of many of these tunnels,” Meisha admitted. “You say you’ve sent someone out already?”

“Braedrin,” Talal said, nodding. “Hasn’t come back yet. Smash,” he murmured under his breath.

“What are these marks?” Meisha pointed to the walls.

“Tells us where people have been,” Talal explained. “Means no traps, either.”

“Traps,” Meisha echoed. A mask of blood and a dead apprentice’s face flashed before her eyes.

“Don’t know who strung ’em, but they’re all over the place. We lost two that way when we first started going out. Pressure spears. Hit you square, one’ll take your head clean off. More of Lady Luck’s favor, the well-meaning bitch.”

Meisha raised an eyebrow. “You’ve a ready insult for all the gods. Which one do you actually like?”

The boy shrugged, dislodging a scuttling beetle from his clothing. “None of them—easier that way.”

“You don’t believe in the gods?”

“Believe, yes. But I leave them be, and I wish they’d return the favor.” He flicked away the beetle. “Not so much to ask.”

“What about after this life? Don’t you worry for your soul?”

“Hells, no. I’m aiming to live forever. See how I avoid prancing down dark tunnels with death-seeking sorcerers? I get along fine, Lady; it’s the rest of Faerûn that wants to muck me up.”

“How many of you are there in the warrens?” Meisha asked, shifting the topic.

The boy spent a moment figuring. “Thirty-eight. We took count of everyone, after the first death, so we’d know names. Forty-nine came into the caves, not counting that bastard Balram and his son.”

Meisha stopped short. “The man who trapped you here was Balram?”

“Him and his son, Aazen—not so twitchy as his father, but quiet, scary quiet,” Talal said. “Never said more than a few words to any of us.”

Aazen. She remembered the name from the cave. The leader who’d stabbed her was Balram’s son. Meisha tried to take it all in. She pressed her hand against the crystal hidden in her jerkin. She’d almost forgotten it, but now its presence in the hands of Balram’s man made perfect, terrible sense.

“I never knew there was a son,” Meisha said. “I only knew Kortrun.”

Talal’s eyes widened. “You knew ’em?”

“I’ve been searching for Balram Kortrun on behalf of a friend.” Meisha resumed walking, and after a moment Talal ran to catch up. “They were refugees with you?” Meisha asked.

“We fled Esmeltaran together,” said Talal. “When we took up here, Balram—like I said, he was always twitchy—didn’t like the Delve or the crazy wizard. We couldn’t figure out why he kept going back to the wizard’s room, though, if he was so afraid. He’d come out some nights, looking almost sick with whatever he’d seen. Finally, he took his son, said he’d go for help to Keczulla. We all thought he was crazy, but we let him go. No one said so, but we hoped they might make it. We were too damn scared to go with them.” Talal stared off into the darkness, thinking. “I guess we’re paying for that, too. If we hadn’t been cowards, we wouldn’t still be here. If we’d’ve woken up and seen how it wasn’t the wizard but the wizard’s toys he was interested in …”

“But they did make it to Keczulla,” Meisha prompted.

“And came back with the Shadow Thieves. What a rescue,” said Talal sourly. “They made us take the wizard’s toys from his room while he slept, then they sealed the entrance to the Delve, trapped us inside. Told us if we took care of the old man, let him be to make his magic toys, they’d come back to collect them. When they came, they’d bring food—meat to butcher, chickens for eggs—clothing, maybe some weapons, if we didn’t try to escape—everything we’d need to live.”

“So you care for Varan, keep him fed and strong enough to make magic items, and in exchange they give you this existence.” Meisha marveled at the complexity of the system, but in reality, the risks and costs to the Shadow Thieves were minimal. What was feeding forty people when compared to the worth of magic weapons, amulets, rings … whatever Varan could conceive of in his current state? “You’re certain it’s the Shadow Thieves?”

“They didn’t bother hiding it,” Talal said. “We didn’t know how they even got in at first, until Gadi tracked them to the doorways. We tried to work them. Gadi said they used some type of key that wasn’t a key—he got close enough to see that much.”

“Gadi was very brave,” Meisha observed.

“My brother.” Pride swelled in Talal’s eyes, and Meisha’s heart twisted. “Runs in the family: brave, stupid—pick one.”

They entered a large chamber. Meisha shone the torch high, but the light refused to penetrate to the ceiling.

“I’m going to cast a spell,” Meisha said. When Talal didn’t answer, she looked at him questioningly. “Is that a problem?”

“No, just… not used to being asked, is all.” Talal barked a laugh, but Meisha could sense the unease behind his bravado.

“I’ll try to be gentle.” Meisha lowered the torch, fisting her hands into the flames. “Mephhisden,” she hissed.

Fire wound languidly around her fingers and upward into a narrow, twisting column, a length of hemp weaving itself from the air currents. Near the ceiling, it tapered off to a needle point of fire that illuminated the cavern’s ceiling and the corpse impaled upon one of the stalactites. Its arms and legs dangled in a spiderlike pose above their heads.

“Braedrin,” Talal murmured, recognizing the man’s vacant stare. “Pinned, not smashed,” he corrected himself.

Meisha wedged the torch between two close stones. The column of fire sparked and twisted, illuminating a pair of over-large shadows with long, triangular tails hovering around the body. “Dragazhars,” Meisha said, watching them scatter from the light. “Watch your head.”

Talal immediately dropped into a crab crouch, his eyes on the leathery cloaks of the deep bats—night hunters, Meisha noted—which billowed out like dark sails a full seven feet across the caverns ceiling.

Talal shuddered. “They wasn’t what stuck him on that spear.”

“No,” Meisha agreed. “I’d have to see the body up close to know what killed him.”

Unexpectedly, Talal said. “I can get it down.”

“The walls are sheer,” Meisha pointed out. “Unless you have rope hidden somewhere under that mainsail of a garment…”

In answer, Talal pulled a balled up object from under his shirt. Meisha recognized the waterskin the halfling had used and discarded when the Shadow Thieves escaped through the portal. Talal had twisted and flattened the bladder until a small bulge of the magical substance had collected around the mouth. “I’ve been waiting to try this,” Talal said.

Meisha blinked at him. “What about the bats? A moment ago you were terrified of them.”

“You’ll kill them if they come near me.” Talal glanced up from smearing his dirty toes. He appeared hopeful. “Won’t you?”

Meisha eyed the floating bats, calculating. “If you insist,” she said finally.

Talal stood, balancing on his heels. He trotted clumsily to the cavern wall and placed his bare palms on the stone. He shifted his weight, drawing himself up to his toes and holding the position until he was satisfied the substance would support his weight. Grunting, he hauled himself up the sheer stone wall, moving much faster than the halfling and his comrades had dared.

Meisha kept her eyes on the night hunters as Talal scuttled across the ceiling to the body. He stopped and freed his arms to dangle upside down, using his swinging momentum to carry him to the stalactite. He grabbed the stone tip protruding through the unfortunate Braedrin’s chest and hung on with one hand. The other he positioned at the man’s back and pushed, grimacing as the corpse slid off the stone into the crook of his arm.

The weight was too much, even for the magic. Reluctantly, Talal let the body fall away into space. Braedrin hit the floor with a loose thud, his arms and legs caught clumsily beneath him. Talal pumped his legs, swinging up to grab the ceiling again. Blood dripped from the stalactite, and the bats began to stir.

Talal turned, heading back toward the wall. The bats glided in a narrow circle and went for him at the same time.

Meisha was waiting. She stroked a hand over the flame column, her eyes widening as if she awoke to a lover’s touch. Her irises became rings of fire as she envisioned the shaping, how to use the raw power within her to sculpt the spell.

A pair of arrows—each as long as her forearm—burst from the twisting column and streaked toward Talal. The boy shrieked and ducked his head, but the flame arrows veered away from him to impale the bats. Leather wings caught fire and fell from the air. The bats’ tails whipped uselessly against the ground. Meisha watched them smolder as the light died out of her eyes.

Blinking, she felt herself come out of the grip of the magic as Talal dropped down beside her. A ghost of the expression he’d worn earlier—as he watched Varan play with his toy—passed over his face when he looked at Meisha.

The Harper felt a wave of regret. The boy had lived in Amn all his life, and had probably never seen or cared to see Art such as this. “Please don’t be frightened,” she said, trying to smile. “It’s not so worlds-shaking terrible as it all seems.”

Talal squatted next to Braedrin’s body, his back to her. “Don’t they all say that?” he muttered.

He started to say something else, but a tentacle roped him from above, jerking his head to one side.

“Talal!” Meisha bit back the spell that instinctively jumped to mind. She followed the tentacle to the corner, between two rock outcroppings, where a mass of gray, mottled flesh writhed.

With a gesture, Meisha cast the flame rope in the direction of the surrounding stone. The creature wailed at the brightness but did not loosen its grip on the boy.

Braedrin’s fate, Meisha thought. A choker, by all the gods, and it had a decent grip.

Talal’s eyes bulged as his throat disappeared under layers of spongy flesh. The choker flexed muscles that had no clear definition, trying to yank the boy off his feet, but Talal dug in, the sticky substance keeping him rooted in place.

Looping one arm around the tentacle, Meisha prepared to cast another spell. If she could heat the thing’s flesh sufficiently, the pain would make it release the boy. She’d used the same spell to try to escape from Kall, long ago. Somehow, she didn’t believe the choker would be as tenacious as the merchant’s son.

Her hands began to glow with the weight of the spell. Heat rose to bathe her face and she heard Talal’s choked whimpering.

She looked to the boy, afraid she might be too late. Talal’s panic-stricken eyes met her own, and Meisha realized he was afraid of the heat. He was choking to death, but he feared her magic more.

Meisha hesitated, then released the spell on a muttered curse. She drew a dagger from her boot. The ropey tentacle was too thick to slice in half, so she brought the steel down overhand into its soft flesh. The choker writhed, releasing its prey and scuttling back.

Talal collapsed on the ground, clutching his throat, and bats poured from a hollow in the upper corner of the chamber.

The light from the flame rope faltered as bats—not as large as the first two, but still impressive—filled the room. Meisha sank to her knees, her back throbbing from wielding the dagger. She felt warm moisture that was not sweat soaking through her jerkin.

Stupid, Meisha thought. She’d reopened her wound. The bats would love her now. Talal was still on the floor, half-hidden by a cloud of dark bodies. Meisha felt the rush of air from leathery wings stir her hair and clothing. Bites stabbed her flesh, a few at first, but gradually increasing as the bats narrowed their attacks. By some luck, the choker faired no better. The bats did not discriminate in their frenzied biting, and choker screams rang out, echoing Talal’s frantic cries.

A bat hit Meisha from behind, pinning her on her stomach to get at the source of the blood. Frantically, she rolled, but her vision was all leather and claws. Meisha stabbed with the dagger, making a slit in the creature’s wing. Slashing diagonally, she split the leather curtain in half and scrambled free.

She crawled to Talal and rolled the boy onto his stomach. Slapping the bats away, she lay flush against his back. Blood from a dozen bites soaked her as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Close your eyes and don’t move,” Meisha said against his ear. Without waiting for him to comply, she chanted a spell and prayed the pain wouldn’t make her lose consciousness.

The flame column wavered and dropped, falling into itself like a water spike in a dying fountain. Plunging straight down, the fire emptied into Meisha’s spine.

The Harper came up with a howl, her back arching. Flames burst from her wound, her eyes, and her mouth, smothering the bats in a blanket of charnel heat. She hoped her body was enough to protect Talal from the upward blast of flame. The oily scent of burning meat filled the air as bats rained around her.

Meisha came down on her back, gulping air that tasted foul but felt sweet on her lungs. Dizziness caused the caverns ceiling to waver and bend, but at least there were no more bats.

She looked around for the choker and found it huddling out of range of the fire cloud, dangling from the stalactite where Braedrin’s body had been. Lambent eyes watched them in the flickering light from the burning corpses.

It was weighing how much of a fight they had left to offer, Meisha thought.

Angrily, she flung out an arm, focusing on her tingling fingertips, gathering power until … there, just enough. A tongue of flame sparked from her finger, illuminating her nail with a purple glow. She followed that glow with her eyes as she traced a circle above her head and around Talal’s shoulder, past their feet and back up, encasing them in a ring of power only Meisha could see.

“Trothliese!” she cried, and fire sprang up where her finger had traced. The ward would last, even if she lost consciousness, but if the choker got brave and crossed the flames or dropped down on top of them, they’d be dead. Meisha hoped the fire and the deep dagger wound would be enough to convince the creature not to risk it.

She lay back, letting the flames from the circle wash over her. Her eyes slid closed. She had no strength left.

She awoke sometime later as if from a fever dream. Sweat poured off her skin, yet she shivered with cold. The ward fire still burned.

“Are you spent?” asked Talal. He was sitting up, his knees drawn under his chin. He looked like a small, terrified boy.

Meisha angled her head to look at him. She smiled crookedly. “Hardly,” she replied.

She looked beyond the ward, but the choker was gone. Braedrin’s body lay outside the circle, nipped and chewed by the deep bats. His eyelids were gone, making the whites appear huge in his ravaged face.

“I think I can walk. We should get out of here.” Meisha pulled her gaze away from the chilling sight, just in time to see the dwarves walk through the cavern wall.

They came through in silent procession, armed, ringing the fire ward with their own protective circle. There were ten in total, but Meisha’s shocked gaze fastened on the leader—a dwarf in dented plate armor, holding a broken battle-axe.