The Howling Delve

Chapter Twenty-Two

Meisha came awake to total darkness and hands pressing her upper arms. She struck out, found a human throat, and dug her fingers into it. She heard a ragged cough and the smell of garbage hit her square in the nose. She relaxed her grip and heard Talal hiss, “Sune suck me, but you’re a mean one.”

“Why is it dark?” she asked. “I left a candle burning.”

“I blew it out. We have to move, Lady,” he said urgently, pulling her up from her pallet. “Don’t,” he hissed as she began chanting a spell. “No light. No damn fire. Give me your hand.” He took her down the passage out of the warrens toward Varan’s chamber. Meisha could see a faint line of light beneath the wizard’s door. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Shh! They’re coming,” Talal whispered.

“The Shadow Thieves?”

“Them—Balram too. And his son. One big, happy clan again.”

Meisha stilled. “Both of them? Why?”

“To make sure you’re dead. We have to hide you. If they find out we kept you alive …”

“Wait.” Meisha caught his arm, stopping him in front of Varan’s chamber. “You said they never go in here. They’re afraid of Varan.”

Talal shook his head so vigorously Meisha felt it through his entire body. “He’ll attack you again. They’ll find your corpse, and it’ll still be bad for us. Come on!”

“I won’t touch anything. I won’t disturb him.” Voices drifted out to them from the warrens.

“They’re gathering everyone together,” Talal said, fear rising in his voice.

“Then we’re out of time.” Meisha hauled the door open. Ambient light from the room cast shadow pits on Talal’s pale face. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. She reached out to ruffle his hair playfully, because she knew it would annoy him.

The boy darted away, snorting. “Oh, sure, rip my throat out then pet me like your lap dog. Don’t fret, Lady, my manhood’s unscathed. If you’re going to do this, give me your boots before you go in.”

“My what—why?”

“Just hurry!”

Rolling her eyes, Meisha pulled the buckles loose and braced herself against the door as Talal yanked off her thigh-length boots. Her stockinged feet instantly went frigid when they touched the floor.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered as the boy darted off down the passage in the direction of the voices.

Meisha pulled the door shut, sealing it securely from the inside. She stood a moment with her ear to the wood, listening for approaching footsteps, but she heard nothing. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the room and whatever doom might await her.

Varan was asleep. She’d looked in on the wizard from behind the door a handful of times since coming to the Delve, and each time he’d been awake and active, building his mysterious items. She’d never seen him at rest.

He lay in a half-slump in a corner, clutching sheafs of parchment in limp fingers, far away from the pallet Haroun had made for him. Meisha suspected he worked himself into exhaustion and simply collapsed wherever he happened to be sitting.

His pile of magic items had been depleted. Talal or one of the others had collected the tribute.

Moving along the wall, Meisha sat down a safe distance from the wizard. His breathing was deep and regular, but his arms and legs twitched erratically, like a dog in the throes of some disturbing dream.

“What are you seeing, Master?” she whispered aloud, knowing he could not hear her. “What is tormenting you?” Was it the fire beast? Meisha had always sensed a wrongness, a feeling of malevolence lurking at the edges of Varans underground sanctuary, but remembering the ghosts warning and her own strange dreams, she felt the sensation intensify a hundredfold.

And now the Shadow Thieves were here. Meisha ran a hand down her back, over the ridge of healing flesh. She hadn’t been strong enough to take them on when she was whole. She had no chance now. All she could do was pray to the Lady that Kall had gotten her message. The ghost had said only that he would deliver it. He hadn’t appeared since to confirm or deny its receipt.

Sighing, Meisha traced a circle in the dirt and sediment in front of her. “Chareff” The familiar power kindled—the first spell she’d ever learned.

Always have a candle for the rats, Shaera had chided her.

She placed the tiny flame in the circle. Meisha lay down on her side, curling around the fire so she could watch Varan sleep.

He continued to toss and turn fitfully. Meisha bit her lip as she felt power stir anew, magic awakened by the wizard’s violent trembles. It called to the sorcerous power within her, raking over her skin like hot coals. She shuddered.

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

The memory came out of nowhere, the words biting at Meisha’s heart. The woman who’d spoken those words to Kall was unrecognizable to her now. She had no desire to be reminded of the person she’d once been.

“Kall,” she whispered, feeling tears sting her eyes as she remembered the young man who’d stood defiantly in her path and watched his death smolder in her eyes. “I understand now.”

She could never kill Varan. Even had she the magical might, she had no will for the task. Not when there was a chance he might be saved.

She closed her eyes against the memories, retreating instinctively into a meditative trance. Varan had taught her that, as well. She would need to conserve as much strength as possible for what lay ahead. She’d been wrong—she couldn’t rely on Kall getting her message. Something had to be done to get the refugees out of the Delve before Varan became any more volatile. For if the fire beast didn’t kill them all, Meisha knew, deep in her soul, Varan would.

Haroun walked beside Talal to the front of the warrens, where the refugees stood herded together. The crowd stood tense and wary, fighting desperately to keep the guilt off their faces as Balram questioned each about Meisha.

“I don’t remember you.” Balram held the back of his hand to his nose as he spoke to Talal, but the boy only grinned innocuously.

“I was smaller when you were here last, sir,” he said. His voice was chipper and polite, as if he were trying to sell Balram goods on a street corner. “Cleaner too, I’ll warrant.”

Balram didn’t answer but looked back to where Aazen leaned against a wall. “You’re sure she was a Harper?”

Aazen shrugged. “She wore the pin. I left her body beneath the portal. Only the bloodstain remains.”

“I see.” Balram grasped a fistful of Talal’s dirty hair. He didn’t pull or shake the boy; he simply held the tender strands straight out behind his left ear, sifting them through his fingers. Talal stiffened, and the vacant smile on his lips slid away, replaced by a taut line as fear battled with anger.

Aazen waited. He’d been on the receiving end of this punishment when he was younger than Talal. He knew what would happen if the boy displeased his father.

“What did you do with the Harper’s body?” Balram asked. “These people—your friends—say you’re a scavenger. Did you scavenge her corpse? You don’t look like a vulture, though you’re filthy enough to be one.” He leaned closer, still holding Talal’s hair. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Your breath stinks of refuse. You’d eat your own droppings, wouldn’t you, if you thought they’d nourish you. Did you eat the Harper too?” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “Are you so very hungry? But that’s ungrateful. Don’t we feed you well enough down here—provide for your every need? Only an animal eats its own leavings.”

“I didn’t eat her,” Talal said. His voice trembled with suppressed rage. “I took her boots.” He pointed to his feet.

A pair of brown leather boots bunched up awkwardly around his knees, straps and buckles dangling. Scorch marks from old fires bruised the leather.

“They’re hers,” Aazen said. “I remember sitting on them.”

“Oh-ho.” Balram chuckled. “Straddled her like a two-taran whore, did you?” He clucked his tongue. “Isslun will be disappointed in you. Or is it Aliyea?”

Talal stirred. Balram snapped his hand straight out from the boy’s head without looking away from Aazen’s face.

Talal screamed out in pain and fell to his knees. He clutched at the patch of bare, bloodied skin behind his ear. Tears streamed from his eyes.

Haroun started forward, but Aazen caught the woman’s arm, roughly drawing her back. “You will only worsen the pain,” he hissed in her ear.

She glanced up at him, surprised, but kept her silence.

Balram calmly sprinkled bits of loose hair over Talal’s whimpering form. “It certainly sheds like an animal. What a mess you are.” He crouched down, snagging Talal’s chin. “If you’re truly the heartless vulture, why should you care what insult I give the Harper?”

“I don’t care,” Talal said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but it seemed like you did, just then. The look on your face was terribly affronted. I’m warning you, boy, if you value these people’s lives, you will give me truth. Where is the Harper?”

“We brought her here!” Talal shouted. Jerking away from Balram, he climbed back to his feet and stood defiantly before the gathered Shadow Thieves. Behind him, the refugees, though far greater in number, stood in stunned, terrified silence while Balram regarded the boy.

“Why?” he asked.

“We tried to heal her,” Talal said, calmer now. He wiped his running nose as blood dripped down his neck. “So she could help us escape.”

A collective tremor went through the crowd, but still no one spoke.

“Did you expect we wouldn’t try?” Talal asked mockingly, his eyes daring Balram to come at him again.

Balram smiled. “I wouldn’t have expected an animal to speak so boldly. Yes, I knew you’d try. Were your efforts rewarded?”

Talal shook his head. “She died during the first night. We didn’t want to waste our last healing draught on a lost cause.”

“Really?” Balram sounded impressed. “What little mercenaries you’ve become … that is, if you’re not little liars. Where is the body?” He raised his hand again, tracing the air alongside Talal’s head.

The boy refused to flinch. “Follow me,” he said. “I’ll take you to her.”

She awoke to a hand softly brushing her cheek. Meisha opened her eyes and saw Varan staring down at her.

Her hands were numb from being pressed against the cold floor. She clenched them into painful fists to keep from throwing herself away from Varan, but he merely sat before her, one hand endlessly shuffling his papers, the other resting on her skin, as if he had forgotten he’d laid it there.

Slowly, Meisha uncurled her body and slid out from under his hand. She came to an unsteady sitting position against the wall, still too close to the unstable wizard for comfort.

How long had she been meditating? No, that wasn’t true, she thought, berating herself savagely. Meditation had turned to sleep, and a deep one. That had never happened to her before, not unless she willed it. Had Varan used some magic to make her sleep? The thought was more than unsettling. Meisha knew what he could do to her when she was awake and aware. It was frightening to contemplate what he might have done to her while she was helpless in sleep.

Helpless in sleep.

Meisha stood up so quickly that Varan looked up from his reading. His smile struck her with a profound chill. “You’re dreaming, m’dear. Back to sleep now, child. There’s a good girl.” He resumed his shuffling.

Meisha slid back to the floor quietly, but her thoughts raced. Even in his current state, even asleep, Varan had sensed her presence in the chamber. He may have been confused about who she was or how old, but he knew someone was there with him. Of course—it should have dawned on her long before now.

Varan had known all along when the refugees were in his chamber. They shouldn’t have been able to take his discarded magics from him without his consent, not while he could still cast spells—and she’d had painful proof that he could capably defend himself. But according to Talal, he’d never attacked any of them, until Shirva Tarlarin and Meisha herself, after she’d picked up the banded sphere. Meisha looked around the room for the item, but it was gone, taken in the last delivery to the Shadow Thieves. Varan didn’t seem bothered by its absence.

Why, then, had he attacked her? Perhaps there had been another reason behind his violent outburst. Perhaps he’d killed Shirva Tarlarin for that same reason.

She watched Varan for a long time, but his face registered nothing and offered her no clues.

Meisha jumped at the sharp rap on the door.

“It’s just Talal,” Varan muttered without looking up from his papers.

Meisha’s mouth slid open and shut, but she had no time to marvel at Varan’s flashes of lucidity as the door opened a crack and Talal wiggled through.

“What happened to you?” Meisha demanded, seeing the dried blood on the boy’s neck and shirt.

“Lost some hair,” was all Talal would say. His hands shook slightly as he ran them through his dirty locks. His eyes were bright, hard chips of stone, but he smiled as he reached for her hand. “Still alive, I see. Good. Come with me. You’ll like this.”

Curious, Meisha followed him out into the corridor and down the passage he’d tried to take her through before. It arched away from the warrens and back up a tunnel in a rough horseshoe, emptying into a circular chamber bounded by steep flowstone sides. Scattered about the floor were piles of small- to mid-sized stones.

Meisha stepped around Talal to see at a better angle and realized the piles were arranged in tidy rows. A group of men with shovels scooped rocks onto a high mound at the back of the chamber.

“They’re graves,” Meisha said, counting the fallen and coming up with the exact number—plus one—of refugees Talal said had died in the Delve. Her gaze returned to the fresh stone pile.

Talal followed her eyes. “Like it? One of ’em’s yours. We dug it the night I brought you in,” he explained, and had the good grace to look sheepish. “You know—just in case. After you mended, we kept it for when they came back. Oh”—he kicked off her boots and held them out—“you can have these back. Don’t fit me anyway.”

“They believed I was dead?” Meisha asked, suspicious. “On sight of a grave alone?”

Talal exchanged grinning gazes with the circle of digging men. One of the men winked at Meisha. “Not at first,” the man replied. “But Talal told ’em we’d dig you up, ‘yes sir, right away sir—it’ll only take a few days with these little stick shovels you give us, sir.’ ” The digger laughed heartily.

“So we started in,” Talal said, frowning as he fingered the newly naked skin behind his ear. “We actually dug up Shirva. Aazen left with half the men and the latest shipment when we started digging, and Balram didn’t linger to look beyond that she was female and recently dead. It’s just like before,” he said, looking at Meisha. “Balram hates the Delve, everything about it makes him twitchy. It was all he could do to be down here smelling us.”

“Bloody cowards,” another man said. He spat on the ground.

Meisha smiled at Talal. “You have my thanks,” she said. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

The boy jerked his shoulders, but he was blushing fiercely. “Nothing to it, Lady. You get us out of here, Tymora puts us in balance.” He added quickly, “The bitch.”

“We have to talk about that,” Meisha said, looking at the gathered men. “Get everyone together, if you will. We can’t wait for Kall to find the portal. We have to try to escape on our own, and the only way out is through the Shadow Thieves.” There was restless murmuring among the men, but Meisha ignored them. “According to Talal’s brother, at least one of them has the key to activate the portal. We’re going to take it from the next party that comes through the door.”

Eyebrows soared around the circle of diggers, but Talal grinned, slapping an arm around Meisha’s neck. “What’d I tell you, boys? She’s going death-seeking again. That’s our Meisha.”

When the diggers had dispersed back to the warrens, Meisha pulled Talal aside. “I need to know about Shirva Tarlarin,” she said.

Talal looked surprised. “What about her?”

“Do you know which of Varans items she touched that set him off? Was anything found near her body?”

Talal thought for a moment. His eyes clouded. “She had one of his strings,” he said finally. “From his neck sack.”

“His neck pouch?” Meisha asked. She hadn’t expected that. Then she remembered the rings. She’d put the apprentices’ rings back in Varan’s pouch at the same time she’d been handling the sphere, just before Varan attacked her. Had Shirva Tarlarin touched the pouch too? “Is that why he killed her?” she wondered aloud.

“Don’t know, but the string was wrapped around what was left of her fingers. I think he”—the boy swallowed—“near as we could tell, he bit some of her fingers off taking it back.”

A mental picture of Varan attacking a woman with only his teeth made Meisha light-headed. She felt Talal steady her with a hand to her waist. “Why would he do it?” she asked. “He keeps nothing of great magic in there. What is he hiding?”