"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.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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?