The echo of Dantane's casting seemed to stick in the walls, building to a steady rumbling Kall could feel in the stone itself. The air felt thick, as if he were breathing rock dust or sand instead of air. The cavern seemed to grow smaller around them. A single rock in the center of the cavern swelled in size before his eyes, expanding to fill the chamber, forcing the refugees back against the far wall. A few of the people cried out or tried to run, but there was no room. A boy standing near the front of the crowd stumbled and went down on his knees. A foot scuffed the side of his face as he tried to stand. He fell again, harder.
"Cease!" Kall barked over the rumbling, and his voice, too, seemed eerily magnified. The crowd quieted, and Kall helped the boy to his feet.
Kall turned again to look at the rock, expecting it to have returned to its normal size as the disorientation cleared. It hadn't. It had, if possible, gotten larger, and now appeared to be breathing. Slow inhalations and exhalations like the wind through a long chimney flue were punctuated by a deep moan coming from somewhere beneath the thing.
Kall had listened to Garavin tell stories of the delvers, beasts friendly to the dwarves. The slablike tunnel dwellers were as large and as cumbersome as boulders, and this one was no exception. Moving by inches and trailing a stain of sticky fluid, the delver made its way to where Garavin stood with one boot propped on the rock pile.
The dwarf put out a hand—in greeting, Kall thought; but Garavin laid his palm gently across the ridges and slopes that might have passed for the thing's face and bowed deeply, his holy symbol falling against his nose.
The low moan came again, and Garavin nodded as if in answer to a question with no words. "A poor way to wake, to be sure," he said, in tones of sincere regret. "We would not have done so, if our need was not great, Iathantos. Dumathoin has asked, and so I must ask ye to aid us, for ye re the only one who can."
The delver fell silent. Kall looked around at the refugees, but they, too, were quiet, riveted in awe or horror at the exchange between the dwarf and the huge, living stone.
Finally, the delver shifted its great body, shuffled backward a step, and moaned again. Garavin inclined his head in response.
"My thanks." He pointed to the base of the rock pile, and the delver came forward again, engulfing the space with his bulk. There was a sharp cracking and a sloshing release of sizzling liquid. The stones turned dark with wet, and the delver began to burrow into the cavern floor.
Garavin walked back to the group, shaking his head, but he was smiling. He laid a hand on Talal's shoulder, guiding the boy to where he could see the churning as the delver took the stone into itself.
"He'll tunnel ye out, and do it gladly," the dwarf explained. "He absorbs minerals from the stone to nourish himself, and being that we're close to Keczulla, this rock is richer in them than most. That, and his loyalty to Dumathoin, made him answer our call."
"But it's not a dwarf," said Talal. "Not even a person. Why would it serve a dwarf god?"
"Because it thinks and understands like any other sentient creature," said Garavin. "It may take him longer, and he may never aspire to the intelligence of two-legged folk, but he's capable of despair and loneliness, and of needing to combat those emotions."
"Then why doesn't it have its own god?" Talal pressed. "Someone who understands him."
Garavin met Kall's eyes briefly, and Kall knew what he was thinking. Talal's questions were not unlike another cautiously stubborn boy's curiosity. "He might have," the dwarf allowed, "I only know he serves Dumathoin for the same reason I do: to keep the secrets of the stone, and to bring the rest into the light, whether it's gems and gold, fossils of history, or—"
"Us," Talal cut in, his expression thoughtful. "Down in the dark, where no one can see." He touched the patch of naked skin on his head. "Balram thought he could keep us a secret."
"But Dumathoin would not have it so," Garavin said. "Sooner or later, all secrets come to light, whether we want them to or not."
"Will they be safe?" Kall asked Garavin, watching the delver work.
"Yes. Iathantos will protect them. He's given his word," said Garavin. "If any Shadow Thief gets past us, they won't care for the fight they'll find waiting."
"What's he mean?" asked Talal, looking to Meisha for an explanation.
The Harper appeared torn. "We have to leave you now," she said, shaking her head when Talal opened his mouth to argue. "The Shadow Thieves will have learned about Kall's rescue party by now. They'll be coming, and we have to meet them. An all-out assault will give the creature time to tunnel deep enough to cross the boundaries of the enchantment."
"Once you're outside, head for Keczulla," said Kall. "The delver will take care of any guards outside the entrance, but I doubt there will be any. They don't expect you to escape that way. Use my name at the city gates."
"Ignore it when their visages pale and they soil themselves," said Morgan.
Kall glared him into silence. He slipped a ring off his finger and handed it to Haroun. The emerald and stone, in its gold setting, was the first symbol of his new status. Garavin had made it for him long ago using Cesira's enchanted speaking stone.
Haroun slid the ring onto her thumb. Her eyes swam with tears. "How can we thank you?"
"You saved my life," Meisha said. She looked at Talal, but the boy was shaking his head mutinously.
"I want to stay with you," he said, "for the fight."
"Ha," Meisha said. "You don't mean that, not when you're scenting freedom at last. No"—she shook him playfully by the shoulder when he tried to protest—"No more death-seeking for you, little Dirty Bones. We'll follow you out once we take care of the Shadow Thieves."
Morgan and Laerin filed back down the tunnel. Dantane and Garavin followed. Meisha took one last look at Talal and Haroun, who stood apart from the rest. Haroun had a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.
"They'll be safe," Kall said.
"I know." Meisha allowed the others to get some distance ahead of them, then she clasped Kall's wrist to slow him. "Balram's lived too long, Kall," she said fiercely, "taken too much. It's time to end him. You promised me."
"Meisha, I'm sorry about your master—"
"Don't," Meisha cut him off. "When I saw him sitting in that room . . . you can't imagine how it felt." She caught her breath and looked at him sharply. "No, that's wrong. You can imagine. You've seen it before."
He nodded grimly. "Rage blocks all reason. You'll do anything to fix things. You'll forgive him any terrible thing he's ever done." Kall touched his sword hilt. "I'll keep my word, Meisha." He pointed to the tunnel. "Let's go get Varan."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Keczulla, Amn
5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Cesira heard the servant calling her from the foot of the stairs. Since the explosion, none of them had dared venture into Dantane's tower. While the druid appreciated having a place where her privacy was guaranteed, she'd come to the tower for a very different purpose.
The stones formerly connected to the tower's ceiling were chipped and broken, forming rough crenellations. The tower had become her battlement—Cesira perched on one cloven stone in hawk form, gripping the ruined surface with her sharp talons.
The servant had come to tell her about the party approaching the house, but Cesira's keen eyes had already spotted them on the road.