Kall was content to let the speculation drift where it may. Garavin rode beside him as they left the city behind. “Has there been any word since that night?” he asked.
“No,” Kall replied. “But I’ll find her.”
“And ye’re sure she’s alive?”
Kall gripped the gem from Garavin’s axe in his gloved palm. “I’m sure.”
They rode in silence for a while. Kall glanced down at the dwarf. “I like your new ornament,” he said, pointing to a gray streak running through the center of Garavin’s beard. “Distinguishes you—channeling a god, and all that. Lucky for me, it hasn’t made you insufferably self-righteous.”
Garavin laughed. “If ye mean because I haven’t argued against Meisha’s plan, ye’re wrong. I think Dugmaren would approve, even if Dumathoin does not.”
“Oh? Why so?”
“Because as much as Shanatar needs protecting, there’s another school of thought says it needs to be explored, its magic understood. Otherwise it gets misused, as the Howlings misused it—as the Amnians suffered from what they didn’t understand.”
“Some would argue—myself included—that a mad wizard is the last person to take on such a task. Truth, old friend—should he really be allowed back in the Delve?”
“Yes,” Garavin said without hesitation. “He’s been touched by a god and a demon, and still he’s trying to find his way back. That’s what the lass believes. As long as there’s hope, she can’t give up on him, just as ye couldn’t give up on yer father or Aazen.”
“I left Aazen to the Shadow Thieves,” Kall said. “What good can that possibly do his future?”
“Nothing,” Garavin said, unwilling to lie to his friend. “But ye set his mind and heart free from his father, something he couldn’t do for himself. He’ll find his way on his own. Whether ye approve of his path or not, ye can’t change him. Ye’ve yer own course to follow now.”
“And you’re coming with me?” Kall asked, trying to make it sound casual.
Garavin wasn’t fooled. “Aye, lad, I’m coming, if only to see ye don’t get trampled on by that wizard and the Harper firebrand.”
“I’m hoping Morgan and the boy will mitigate some of that,” Kall said, though he privately wondered if he weren’t setting himself up for a world of hurt when he finally did track down Cesira, with a fire-loving Harper, a thief, an orphan, and a rogue wizard in tow. He suspected Dantane’s motives for joining the group had everything to do with Meisha’s desire to take a leave from the Harpers and come along, and not any real concern for Cesira.
He looked up at the sky, but there were no birds today. The clouds threatened rain. They would be soaked by the time they got on the road, but Kall didn’t care. His path, now that he’d found it, spanned Amn, the Sword Coast, to the frozen North if necessary. Whichever road led him to Cesira, he would follow it gladly.
“Where are we meeting Meisha?” Garavin asked.
“Outside the Delve,” replied Kall. “After she takes Varan home.”
Meisha guided her master back to his pallet in the small workroom. With a word, she lit newly placed torches along the walls, flooding the room with warmth.
Varan did not seem to notice. He sat right down and reached into the wall, pulling out fresh tools and components as if from nowhere.
Meisha suppressed a shudder at how comfortably he fell into his old routine. Now that she knew just what his hands touched—what ancient power—was she doing the right thing?
“I’ll be back to look in on you,” she said, hoping some part of him heard her. “Between visits, someone else will come to take care of you. You won’t be alone.”
Varan made no reaction, so she turned to go.
“Fixed.”
“What?” Meisha asked, turning back to him.
Varan held up an object: a small, square disk that seemed to be made of fluid metal. “Fixed now, firebird,” he said confidently. “I’ll fix them all.”
“Eventually,” Meisha said. She smiled a little as Varan’s face blurred in her vision. “Fix them all, Master. Maybe when you do, you’ll find your way back to me.”
Talal waited for her in the hall. Meisha’s anxiety, deep as it was, couldn’t hold under the boy’s shy grin. “Ready?” she asked.
“More than,” he said. His eyes fell on the pouch in her hand. She’d removed it from Varan’s neck. “He let you take that?”
“The demon’s eye has been destroyed,” Meisha explained. “The jarilith—and in turn Varan—only ever guarded it because it served as the link to Varan and to this plane. That’s why he killed Shirva Tarlarin and attacked me—to protect the link.”
“What will you do with it?”
“Give it to Dantane. He needs payment for his contract in Keczulla, and he wasn’t able to salvage any magic items from the Delve. I offered this, and whatever’s inside.” But she’d removed the apprentices’ rings. They now rode on a chain around her neck.
Talal looked disappointed, but he didn’t say anything.
“You don’t like him,” Meisha guessed. “Dantane.”
“I don’t trust him,” Talal countered. “Neither does Kall,” he added.
“Kall trusts him. He just doesn’t like him,” said Meisha, smiling.
“Why not?”
Meisha shrugged. “Maybe because Dantane was able to relieve Kall’s father from his enslavement—if only for a little while. It was something Kall couldn’t do. I think it chafes him a bit, though he’d never admit it.” She glanced sidelong at him. “I still don’t know why you’re coming with us,” she commented.
The boy shrugged. “Nothing better to do,” he said.
Meisha raised an eyebrow. “There will be more battles,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“There always are,” she said dryly. “And more magic, more fire. I know you’re afraid of it.”
Talal nodded. They walked on in silence, and were almost to the tunnel entrance when he said, “But I’m not afraid of you.”
“Oh.” Meisha felt the warmth grow inside her, a heat that didn’t burn. The feeling was so alien she didn’t quite know what to make of it.
Was this what she wanted, an existence somewhere between fire and cold, between anger and love? And if so, how could she ever hope to maintain such a delicate balance? Varan hadn’t been able to teach her that skill. Maybe Talal and the others could.
They stepped into the sunlight, where Kall and his party waited.
Epilogue
Aazen wasn’t surprised to see Daen waiting for him at the Contrail estate. Daen stood in the library behind his father’s desk, pouring two glasses of wine.
“I’ve been awaiting your report,” Daen said, regarding the hole in Aazen’s tunic curiously. “I assume you encountered some trouble?”
Aazen reached for one of the glasses. “My father is dead,” he replied. “The operation can no longer continue.”
“I suspected as much.” Daen didn’t seem the least moved to hear of Balram’s demise. “But we’ll go on.”
“You’re not upset,” said Aazen, draining his glass.
“Not at all. The profits from Balram’s venture were exceptional, and the planning and intelligence behind the initial scheme equally so. True, his loss is a blow, but you are alive, and not the traitor he believed you to be. I received great things from Balram. I expect no less from his son.” He saluted Aazen and drank. “In fact, I believe you’ll come to mean a great deal to our organization in the future. That is, assuming you still wish to walk with us?” He smiled faintly at Aazen. “Or should I be upset about something?” he asked.
Aazen set the glass back on the desk with a soft clink. “You should perhaps be concerned that I’ve poisoned your drink,” he said bluntly.