“For curiosity’s sake,” Dantane affirmed. At Meisha’s revolted expression, he added, “Fueled by arrogance, I grant you. Your master saw a new vehicle to test his spells and acted accordingly, believing his will would be enough to overcome the jarilith. He discovered differently, to his doom. The spell drove him mad.”
Dantane’s voice was coldly matter-of-fact, but he was right. Meisha accepted the truth, though it filled her with a profound anger and disappointment in her former teacher. “Are they still linked?” she said. “Is that why Varan opened the portal and cast us down here? Is the demon fighting him for control?”
“Fighting him, fighting the dwarves,” said Dantane. “There may be hope for us and your master, if that’s the case.”
“But if the demon escaped from Varan’s spell, why is he still down here? Why has he not tried to get to the surface?”
“Can’t you feel it?” Dantane asked. “The demon’s aura? It’s everywhere.”
Meisha nodded. “I’ve felt it ever since I was a child. I still wake at night blanketed in the dread and the cold. I just never had a name for it before. What does that have to do with the demon’s escape?”
“He doesn’t want to escape,” Dantane said. “From the dwarves, yes, and from Varan’s control, but the Delve has been absorbing the demon’s essence for a century or longer. The Delve has become part of him—the ideal hunting ground. I suspect all the demon wants is something worthwhile to hunt.”
“Through Varan, he’s gotten everything he needs,” Meisha said bitterly. “All he has to do is pick us off one by one.”
“An appealing fate for the Shadow Thieves that may have followed us,” Dantane said. “In fact, without the demon’s interference, we might have died at their hands.”
“Astounding how the gods sort matters out,” Meisha muttered. “This way,” she said, leading Dantane on to the next testing chamber. “We have to move quickly. We don’t know where the demon is now.”
As with the other chambers, raised rock platforms dominated the next room they entered, but the entire back wall of the cavern had gone, plucked from the surrounding stone like a cork from a wine cask. Darkness, impenetrable by her spell light, stretched down a long passage Meisha had never seen before.
“A permanent tunnel of darkness,” Dantane said. “Small wonder your master concealed this entrance. There will be traps and wards, unless he cleared them himself.”
“Let’s hope so,” Meisha said. “We’ll have enough to worry about when we find the jarilith.” She took stock of her weapons. Her stilettos were gone, but she still had one dagger. Fire crackled in her mind. “Ready?”
Dantane nodded and stepped forward. They were almost to the mouth of darkness when they heard the demon roar.
Talal didn’t look back. He knew the creature had turned to pursue them. He could hear the sizzle-click of his paws hitting the stone. The beast’s huge strides would have overtaken them immediately if the passage hadn’t kept making sharp corners.
Morgan swung around a bend and came up short, shouting, loo narrow!
Talal fetched up behind Laerin. He saw the bigger man wedged between two slabs of stone. Beyond lay an open chamber.
“We can’t go back!” Laerin shouted, before he plowed into Morgan from behind.
Morgan’s tunic ripped as Laerin’s weight pushed him through the narrow gap. The half-elf followed, and Talal, grateful for once to be the slightest, had no trouble slipping through the crack.
In the chamber beyond flowed an underground river.
Talal stopped and stared at the black water darting with shadows under the torchlight. The river rushed from a fissure in the northwest corner of the room, flowing out through a wishbone shaped crack at the opposite end. On the other side of the water, the cavern dead-ended.
Morgan crouched at the river’s edge. He splashed handfuls of water on two wicked slashes across his chest where the stone had cut into his flesh. “That’s got it,” he wheezed. “Game’s over before it began.”
Talal looked at Laerin. “We’re trapped,” he said. “Maybe if we double back—”
A loud keening drowned out the rest. Talal went down in a protective crouch, while Laerin and Morgan turned to see what had made the sound.
Curved claws raked the stone, stabbing through the gap in the rocks. Stone chips flew, and the smell of brimstone filled the chamber.
Every coherent thought fled Talal’s mind. Rationally, he knew the demon couldn’t penetrate the layers of rock, not quickly, but all he could hear were the claws shearing away the stone.
“Get in the water!” Morgan shouted to be heard over the awful sound. “Swim to the other side!”
Talal backed away—he’d never liked water—but Laerin dragged him into the river, and soon he was forced to swim.
The current threatened to pull him down. Talal fought it, but it took Morgan’s strong arm to haul him out on the other side, else he would have been carried away.
On the opposite bank, the sound of the river muffled the demon’s claws enough to allow them to talk.
Morgan, his hair dripping in lanky strands around his exhausted face, said, “Figure it drove us in here?”
Laerin nodded. “I probably cracked a pair of your ribs, pushing you through that gap. He’s wearing us down.”
“Not much need for that,” said Morgan, “once he corners us.”
“I don’t think he’ll do that yet,” said Laerin. “He’s just stretching his legs. He knows we’ll get out of here.” The halfelf pointed to the wishbone in the wall. “That way.”
Talal blanched. “We don’t know how far the river runs, do we? That thing won’t need to kill us if we drown first.”
“I’m willing to bet there’s another chamber nearby,” said Laerin. He looked at Morgan. “What do you think? Can’t be much longer than that sewer tunnel in Waterdeep.”
“Least the water’s cleaner,” Morgan said. “I think I got enough breath in my lungs.”
Talal couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were all lunatics.
“Give me back the fire-woman,” he muttered.
“Sorry,” Morgan said, “Fire can’t go where we’re headed.” He inverted the torch he carried into the river.
Instantly, Talal went blind. The oppressive darkness of the Delve closed in around him. He felt Laerin’s hand on his shoulder, prodding him toward the rushing water. Reluctantly, Talal waded back into the frigid river and let the current snare him.
Treading water, he felt the downward sweep to the wishbone just before his shoulders brushed rock.
For a moment, Talal panicked. He braced his hands on either side of the passage, resisting the water’s pull with all his strength. He didn’t want to drown. He’d end up a blue corpse in the dark, and no one in Faerûn would care.
“You can’t fight it forever,” said Morgan’s voice in his ear. “But you can go on your terms.”
Talal forced a steadying breath into his lungs. Calmer, he closed his eyes and remembered how it was to feel his way in the dark. He’d done it before. He could do it underwater. Cautiously, he let his hands slide down the stones, following the curve of the wishbone.
Pretend it’s a lass’s legs, Dirty Bones, and stop your whining.
The water closed over his head.
Froglike, Talal swam with the current. He kept one hand above his head to brush the stone ceiling, searching for air. The river propelled him forward at a quick pace. He sensed Morgan and Laerin beside him now and then, though he could see nothing in the dark. The water dragged at his shirt. Talal stripped it off and left it for some deep-dweller to find.
Ten feet farther Talal’s shoulder banged against something rough and unyielding. Talal hoped it wasn’t alive, or if it were, that it couldn’t swallow him. He kicked sideways and realized the river bent, angling off to his left. He had no choice but to follow the path.