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 cavern's 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."