Wingbeats sounded behind Kall, and the scrape of talons on stone as a hawk landed in the open window. A moment later, Cesira stood beside him. Her familiar presence bolstered him.
What is he doing? Cesira asked, nodding at Dantane.
“Either divining the secrets of an ancient magic or preparing to blow the tower apart,” Kall answered, as the light brightened to a blinding intensity.
Cesira’s eyes narrowed. What is the second magic originating from?
“The second—what?” Kall swung toward her sharply.
Cesira pointed, but Kall saw it—the second blue glow reflected in her eyes. Twin rectangles of light outlined Dantane’s cupboard on the far side of the tower.
“Dantane!” Kall shouted. He started forward, but Cesira grabbed his arm.
Do not, she said. You could injure him.
The point quickly became moot as the light from the circle soared upward in one explosive beam, trailing shattered symbols and throwing Dantane flat on his back. The wizard stared vacantly at the tower’s ceiling as the wild magic ripped it apart. Support beams and planks flew into the empty sky. At the same time, the glow from the cupboard burst from its confines, blowing the cupboard doors off their hinges.
In a darkness lit only by columns of ancient, glowing stone, the fire beast stirred, awakened by the brutal release of power. It came from within the Delve and without at the same time, strong enough to awaken him from his forced sleep.
The beast sensed he had slumbered a long time, dreaming strange dreams of dark chambers filled with whispering mortals. They lived and scurried about like rats above his head, rats ripe for hunting.
In the beast’s dream, his fire and claws were gone. He was a one-eyed wizard surrounded by bright power. He’d used the human form, and wielded magic he’d never known before to strike at someone—a woman. Where had she come from? She was a threat. She’d come too close to his secret. The beast had tried to eliminate her, but he interfered—the wizard.
Now that the beast was awake, he started to remember. Rage burned tracks of fire in the stone beneath his feet. He remembered the one-eyed wizard who had maimed him. Was it his power that had awakened him? Had the fool undone his own spell? No—it was the dwarves. The magic clearly had their mark upon it.
The realization brought the beast fully awake. He stood, muscles flexing, and filled the narrow chamber to its ceiling. The ancient columns reacted slowly—too slowly—and the creature remembered that the columns were not columns at all. The dwarves were still here, silent watchers hoping to keep him contained by the will of their pathetic god.
Not anymore, the beast thought. He let out a satisfied howl that shook the stone foundations. He dived at the nearest dwarf and bit it in half, his massive jaws tearing its spectral limbs.
He remembered the taste of dwarf flesh, the sound of dwarf screams as he ate each one alive. He found the sound as pleasing now as he remembered. The wailing of the pitiful soul was lost, and the beast turned to face its comrades.
He was free, and soon he would have living prey to hunt. He had the tools; all he needed was the opportunity.
Kall tackled Cesira, pressing her beneath him as wood and stone rained down around them. He gritted his teeth as splinters embedded themselves in the flesh beneath his collarbone.
He looked out of the bare hole where the ceiling had been. Debris struck the earth at least ten feet out from the tower in a destructive ring, slicing through the Morel colors flying on the opposite tower.
Kall looked across at Dantane but couldn’t tell if the wizard still breathed. Kall started to rise but fell back again as the light from the cupboard shot across the room, seeking release in what was left of the confined space. It struck the tower wall but did no discernible damage. Kall gave silent thanks. If the light had punctured the wall, the resulting explosion would have caved in their skulls and buried them in stone. Instead, the beam thickened and began to take shape—a humanoid shape, to Kall’s eyes. He could make out little else in the dust-choked room.
Cesira raised a hand and clasped his shoulder. Dantane, she said, and Kall nodded, keeping his eyes on the shape.
Kneeling beside the wizard, the druid probed his wounds with careful fingers. At her touch, Dantane blinked his eyes open, focusing on her blearily. He seemed beyond speech.
Kall positioned himself in front of the pair as a dwarf figure stepped out of the dust and into the sunlight that now poured through the roofless tower. He was half Kall’s height but easily his equal in girth and stride-length. The dwarf carried a broken battle-axe and a visage completely devoid of expression. His body passed through furniture and debris as easily as if he walked through dust. His boots made no sound, and left no footprints on the stone.
“Greetings, Kall.”
Kall startled so badly at the sound of the voice he nearly dropped his blade. The ghost’s lips formed the greeting, but the voice that came from the dwarf’s throat was not the deep grating of the mountain folk, not at all like Garavin’s steady rumble.
The voice was female.
The voice was Meisha’s.
Kall turned, daring to take his eyes off the spirit to look at the cupboard. Cesira followed his gaze, and her eyes widened.
The magical light had incinerated his mothers pouch. It had also consumed any mundane items the pouch might have contained. All that remained was Alytia’s silver Harper badge, standing up on end. The light emanating from it shone straight out to the dwarf’s form like a banner in a high breeze.
Kall looked back at the specter. “Meisha?” he asked. He couldn’t believe it. “What is this?”
There was a long pause, but just as Kall started to ask another question, the dwarf spoke again. “I don’t have long, and I can’t answer the questions crowding your tongue, so listen well to what I can tell you.
“I need your aid, Kall,” the ghost continued with Meisha’s voice. “I’m trapped in the Howling Delve with a group of Esmeltaran refugees. They escaped the siege, the same one that drove your father out of the city those years ago.
“The Delve is a stronghold long inhabited by my master, Varan Ivshar. Its location is underground roughly twenty miles southwest of Keczulla, but that information will do you little good. The entrance to the Delve has been hidden and sealed magically, by agents of the Shadow Thieves.”
Cesira caught her breath in surprise, and Kall muttered a curse.
“The only way in or out now is a portal used by the Shadow Thieves, a portal that leads to somewhere within Amn. I’m asking you to find the door in, if you can, and come to get me. The Shadow Thieves are after magical items. There’s a warehouse worth stored in the Delve, and they’re putting considerable manpower behind removing and selling them on the black market.”
The message paused. “There’s something else down here, a beast of fire. I haven’t seen it, except in nightmares, but my friend the ghost says it’s worse than the Shadow Thieves. I think … I think it might have done something to Varan, as well—changed him. I can’t be sure.
“The only thing I can tell you about the portal is that the dwarves probably used it when they were still alive. Varan’s markings aren’t on it. The dwarves used the Delve as a stronghold, so they must have had the portal connect to a major city, a place to sell what treasure they collected. Keczulla is closest, but it could just as easily be Athkatla or Murann, gods forbid.” There was another short pause. “If you receive this message, come soon, Kall. I need eyes, and blades, and whatever else you’ve got. It’s not just the Shadow Thieves, old friend. When the Shadow Thieves come, Balram and his son come with them.”
The dwarf fell silent. Kall took an unsteady breath. Indeed a thousand questions swirled in his thoughts, but he forced his lungs to work instead. He addressed the messenger. “Can you speak?”