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.
Meisha started to sit up, but the woman caught the lip of the hole and Meisha’s shoulder, dragging her back and costing her the opportunity for another spell. She wrenched free, but the men were pushing through the wind and closing in on her.
Grabbing another dagger, Meisha drove the blade upward into the back of the first man’s thigh. He howled in pain and dropped heavily against her. She pushed him away and felt a hot sting at her lower back. Meisha went down with a cry, unable to recover as the leader came in from behind and grabbed a handful of her dark hair.
Meisha felt strands rip from her scalp as he dragged her backward. Stone scraped her skin, and she lost her grip on her dagger. She kicked and clawed until she felt empty air beneath her head.
The leader drew his dagger and straddled her, letting her head and upper torso fall free over the lip of the chasm.
Immediately, Meisha felt the blood rush to her head, her muscles tightening painfully as she tried to balance herself above the abyss. He snatched one of her flailing arms and brought the back of her hand down in a whip crack on a protruding stone.
Meisha screamed, her hand flopping uselessly in her attacker’s. He laid the broken wrist straight against her side and waited while the other pair of men helped the woman over the lip of the chasm. She smiled at Meisha’s white face.
“Stay still,” the leader advised when Meisha tried to move. “See to Warin and Tershus,” he told the rest of the group.
“I’m still kicking.” Picking himself up, the halfling lit a torch. He bent over the wizard Meisha had stabbed and shook his head. “He’s dead, Aazen.”
The leader sighed. “Retrieve the chest. They will have it waiting.”
When the group moved off down one of the tunnels, the leader turned his attention to Meisha. “If you fight me, I’ll stand, and your weight will pull you over the edge,” he said. “Your hand is broken. You can cast no spell without great pain. Do you understand?”
But Meisha’s attention was drawn to a pool of blood steadily spreading around the man’s boots. The sting at her back had been a stab wound. She was bleeding to death while the bastard sat atop her like a king on a throne. Flames blazed in her eyes, an awakening of raw, sorcerous power.
The leader leaned back. Meisha started to slide toward the darkness. She tried to finish the spell, but the strength slowly ebbed from her body, replaced by a numbing cold. She couldn’t concentrate. Her spell died half-formed on her lips.
“I might heal you,” the leader said, steadying her, “if you answer my questions.”
Meisha had the will to chuckle. “If you heal me, I’ll kill you.”
The man seemed unconcerned. “Who are you?”
Meisha didn’t answer. If she timed it right, she might be able to lock her knees around his waist, pull him back into the chasm. She could at least take the bastard with her.
A sharp blow across her cheek forced Meisha’s attention back to her murderer’s face.
“Varan Ivshar,” the leader tried again, and Meisha’s narrowing world came starkly back into focus. “So you do know the wizard,” the man said, seeing her reaction. “I hoped so.”
He knew of Varan. Meisha licked dry lips. “Where is he?” she asked.
The man didn’t answer. Meisha squirmed, moaning. The tautness of her muscles would only cause her to bleed out faster. The man eased back, drawing her away from the hole. He knew she was too weak to fight anymore.
“What happened to the wizard?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meisha said, her expression unfeigned. It seemed to satisfy him.
The man rose to his feet, gazing down at her indecisively. “I’d hoped you’d be able to offer me more,” he said. He reached down and his fingers brushed the silver pin of the Harpers. “I don’t believe I can justify letting you live.” He listened as voices echoed from the tunnel. “They won’t allow it.”
Meisha waited, expecting him to stab her again, or push her body over the edge with his boot. He did neither, instead turning his attention to the group re-entering the cavern. One of the men carried a large chest held together by rusted metal bands.
“Warin’s spell is gone,” said the halfling. “We can’t levitate the chest. It’ll take a bit to secure it by rope.”
“You have ten breaths,” the leader said.
“Take me that long to tie it off, won’t it? Gods only know what’ll happen if it falls, Aazen.”