Jaleigh Johnson - The Howling Delve

"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.

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?

Meisha pushed the thoughts aside. She had more troubling concerns. She had to find Varan and learn how one of Balram's men came into possession of her master's work.

As Meisha's eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized the cavern in which she stood was unfamiliar. Her ring should have teleported her directly to her old chamber, unless some magic of Varan's had malfunctioned.

Automatically, Meisha drew a stiletto from her boot and listened. Three of Varan's enspelled stalactites cast a dull glow from the ceiling. By their light, she could see two tunnels branching off opposite ends of the cavern. The only other features of the chamber were two gaping holes: a wide shaft dug into the cavern's ceiling and a deep chasm in the floor directly beneath.

Cautiously, Meisha approached the edge of the chasm and looked down. Chaareff, she chanted, and her stiletto burst into flame. The fire licked along the blade to stroke her fingers, but she ignored the heat. Twisting her wrist, she flicked the blade, dropping a tiny ball of fire down the hole. It plummeted quickly out of sight, the last burst of light in some dying creature's eye. The fire illuminated writing on the walls of the chasm, but the script was unlike the markings on her ring. Not Varan's work, then-some other wizard? Either way, Varan must have known they were here.

Off to the side of the chamber lay a pile of rope that looked like it had once been a net. One end was tied to a nearby stalagmite, but the rest was hacked into several pieces.

Meisha extinguished her blade with a word, but at the same time, she found herself bathed in green light. She dived away, landing hard on her elbow just as a circle of light filled the ceiling shaft and shot downward. The green thread briefly connected the two holes.

A portal, she thought. She got to her feet as the first figures dropped through the magical doorway.

There were six in total, but they came through in pairs. Magic slowed their descent, allowing them to twist in midair to avoid plummeting down the chasm. They landed opposite her across the hole.

A woman and five men-one a halfling. Meisha managed to note that much before they saw her. The chasm yawned between her and any close-range weapons, but the woman had a crossbow. She and the halfling stood off to one side. Three other men stood behind them, one in robes with a wand swinging from his belt. Their leader was sizing her up just as she evaluated them.

The wizard drew his wand and loosed a flame arrow, illuminating a black beard curled around thick lips. Not bothering to dodge, Meisha readied her stiletto. The missile streaked toward her. At the last instant she braced herself for the impact and watched the attacking wizard's eyes widen when she simply absorbed the spell against her chest.

"My turn," she said around a plume of smoke, but she had already buried her blade in his abdomen. She turned to face the halfling and the woman.

"Take her alive," said the leader, but Meisha drowned him out with a spell. Her eyes glowed red in the semi-darkness. The woman raised her crossbow, but Meisha finished her spell, thrusting both hands out from her body, the flats of her palms pressed tightly together. A searing jet of wind like the breeze off a coal fire shot across the chasm, slamming into the halfling. The gust lifted him off his feet, driving him into the far wall. The crossbow bolt skittered away across the cavern floor as the woman fell to the ground.

The other men charged, coming from both sides of the chasm. The hot wind stalled them. Meisha ran straight at the dark abyss, the spell sweeping before her in a billowing arc.

She jumped, buoyed up by the wind, clearing the chasm easily and landing on the other side. This caught her attackers by surprise, leaving her only the woman to contend with. She reached out, grabbing Meisha's arm, thinking the Harper meant to run, but Meisha instead dropped flat to her back. Her momentum pulled the woman down. Continuing the movement, Meisha wedged her foot in the woman's abdomen and pushed, somersaulting her backward and down into the chasm.