The ghost seemed to focus on him for the first time, but he said nothing.
“Who are you?” Kall asked.
The ghost lowered his battle-axe. Kall got a good look at his hands and realized the dwarf had lost parts of multiple fingers. They flexed against the wooden handle.
“I have given my warning,” the dwarf said simply. “By Dumathoin’s command.”
“Wait!” Kall cried, but the ghost had already gone. With him went the brilliant light, and as the clouds of swirling dust began to settle, the full extent of the damage to the tower was revealed.
The ceiling was obliterated. Boards and blocks of broken stone littered the floor. Most of Dantane’s equipment was destroyed.
Cesira had her hands over a deep wound in the wizard’s throat. She murmured a prayer, and soft, yellow light spooled from her fingers. The physical manifestation of the spell covered Dantane’s bloody gash, closing and mending the tender flesh.
“Is he going to live?” asked Kall, when she’d finished.
A dry wheeze answered him as Dantane spat a clump of dirt and blood on the stones. He coughed again, and Kall realized the wizard was laughing. The humor looked ghastly on his bloodstained lips.
“This house … is a tragedy—a treasure. You are cursed, Morel.” Dantane hacked more blood, shuddered, and began to breathe normally. “I’ve explored Netherese ruins and never encountered such a clash of the Art. Mystra in her humor leads me to power in the most magic-barren country in Faerûn. I shall never doubt the Lady again.”
Cesira helped Dantane to a sitting position. It appears you’ve given him an epiphany, my lord, she said.
“Wonderful,” said Kall. “I’m delighted someone’s enjoying this.”
Do you think it’s genuine? Cesira asked.
“The message? Yes. And if Balram’s involved …”
“So you’ll be going after her?”
These last words were from Dantane. Kall looked at the wizard, at his torn robes, and the shambles of the room. “Why should that concern you?” he asked. “I would have thought you’d be lamenting the loss of your workshop and demanding restitution from me.”
“Oh, I’ll get to that,” Dantane assured him. “But if you’re going into the Delve, I’m coming with you.” Before Kall could protest, he said, “Consider that the beginning of your restitution.”
“Why?” Kall wanted to know. “Is it just for the power you smell, Dantane? Pity you didn’t learn a lesson just now, when it nearly killed you.”
“You’re hardly in a position to judge me, Morel. Kindly refrain.” Dantane wiped the blood from his mouth, but his gaze never left Kall’s. “The magic tempts me greatly. I don’t deny what I am, the power I want. But there’s something else—and this will interest you both.” He sifted through the rubble until he uncovered his ruined magic circle. “The incoming message disrupted my spell, so I could not identify young Chadossa’s magic item, but it hardly matters anymore. The Art is identical. The spells came from the same source. They collided and became wild magic. If you find your sorcerous friend, you’ll find the cause of Chadossa’s death.”
“The Shadow Thieves,” said Kall. “Balram.” And Aazen. Kall remembered his friend’s words as Aazen watched the lute player sing his last song. Can you believe I may have found other companions? Kall never dreamed Aazen would number the Shadow Thieves among his friends.
“Now we know the reason the Chadossas didn’t pursue a murder investigation,” said Dantane. “The family has been dealing in dangerous magics through the Shadow Thieves. Chadossa can’t have that information known to the general public. For myself, I want to find the source of the power I felt, and I would be more than willing to help you take it from the Shadow Thieves.”
Kall wondered in whose hands the magic would do the most damage. “Do you have contacts in the city? Wizards?”
When Dantane hesitated, Kall snapped, “Speak. You want power—come to the Delve and take all you want. If your speech about ancient magic is true, that should be more than fair compensation for risking your friends’ identities. I’m no threat to them, especially not after this explosion, which was likely witnessed by half of the Gold Ward. The merchant families will have taken my head long before they get around to your friends.”
Dantane didn’t disagree. “You’ll let me choose my reward—for myself and my contact, should he agree to aid us?”
“If Meisha allows, so do I, just set up the meeting. Find someone who knows about this portal.”
Dantane nodded and left them. Kall waited for the echo of his footsteps to fade before rounding on Cesira. “You’re staying silent in this?”
No, said the druid, surprised. What’s angering you, Kall? Surely not the loss of a tower or Dantane’s greed?
Kall shook his head. “I sent her,” he said, “to her master. I sent her right into Balram’s hands.”
Meisha is more than capable of seeing to herself and this is larger than Balram, said Cesira. You heard Dantane. There are forces at work neither you nor Meisha could have predicted.
“It was the same with Haig, my father, and Aazen,” said Kall, as if he had not heard her. “I couldn’t save them. Now Meisha may die. And Aazen …”
You believe he’s involved? Cesira asked.
“Yes, and I’m afraid I’ll be forced to put a blade through my best friend to accomplish what I must.” Kall had prayed, nightly, that it would not come to that. He prayed Aazen had escaped, or if he hadn’t, that he would let Kall save him from his father’s shadow. Merciful gods, shouldn’t Kall be allowed to save at least one of those closest to him?
An image of Meisha flashed before his mind, drawing his deliberations to a close. “Dantane will find the portal,” he said.
Yes. Cesira nodded.
“Setting up the meeting will take time.”
Time enough to send a message of your own? Cesira asked, crooking an eyebrow.
Kall nodded. She knew what he was thinking. She nearly always did. “I want to know more about this Howling Delve.” And if they were going underground, who better to aid them than a digger?
He cupped the sword’s emerald between his palms and called out in his mind. His voice traveled across miles and mountains, to reverberate with the sword’s sister stone. The gem graced a new weapon, a weapon that was not of Morel house, and yet the owner was no less than family to Kall.
Chapter Twenty-One
Garavin Fallstone strode back and forth on a patch of empty air before a large expanse of cavern wall. He held up a taper that had burned down to threaten his thumb and had coated his arm in a waxy cast. He noticed neither circumstance, and continued to read the historical record etched deep into the stone.
The runes were inscribed with the same care and precision taken by a Candlekeep scribe, and Garavin should know. He’d been such a one, though it seemed like a lifetime ago: a scribe, a digger—Deepwarden for his clan. Garavin had worn many mantles, but all of them felt at home in the Earthvault.
The cone-shaped cavern rested far beneath the Marching Mountains. Mages of Shanatar, the ancient kingdom of the shield dwarves, had created it centuries ago. The vault was, to Garavin’s mind, the most impressive archive to be found outside Candlekeep’s doors. From the lowest point, where only worms burrowed, to the highest ridge, the history of the shield dwarves and their great realm unfolded for any of dwarf blood—and only those—to read.