“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 caverns 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.”
Talal squatted next to Braedrin’s body, his back to her. “Don’t they all say that?” he muttered.
He started to say something else, but a tentacle roped him from above, jerking his head to one side.
“Talal!” Meisha bit back the spell that instinctively jumped to mind. She followed the tentacle to the corner, between two rock outcroppings, where a mass of gray, mottled flesh writhed.
With a gesture, Meisha cast the flame rope in the direction of the surrounding stone. The creature wailed at the brightness but did not loosen its grip on the boy.
Braedrin’s fate, Meisha thought. A choker, by all the gods, and it had a decent grip.
Talal’s eyes bulged as his throat disappeared under layers of spongy flesh. The choker flexed muscles that had no clear definition, trying to yank the boy off his feet, but Talal dug in, the sticky substance keeping him rooted in place.
Looping one arm around the tentacle, Meisha prepared to cast another spell. If she could heat the thing’s flesh sufficiently, the pain would make it release the boy. She’d used the same spell to try to escape from Kall, long ago. Somehow, she didn’t believe the choker would be as tenacious as the merchant’s son.
Her hands began to glow with the weight of the spell. Heat rose to bathe her face and she heard Talal’s choked whimpering.
She looked to the boy, afraid she might be too late. Talal’s panic-stricken eyes met her own, and Meisha realized he was afraid of the heat. He was choking to death, but he feared her magic more.
Meisha hesitated, then released the spell on a muttered curse. She drew a dagger from her boot. The ropey tentacle was too thick to slice in half, so she brought the steel down overhand into its soft flesh. The choker writhed, releasing its prey and scuttling back.