The Howling Delve (33 page)

“Listen to what I’m telling you!” Morgan shook the boy by the shoulder, ignoring his whimper of pain. “We’ll meet up with him at the next intersection. He’ll be there, waiting, and then—”

His head snapped to the side. Stars filled the corners of Morgan’s vision. He looked at Talal in bewildetment. It slowly dawned on him that the boy had punched him in the jaw. He raised a hand; Talal flinched. Tears streamed down his thin face.

Morgan blinked several times to clear his head. Calmly, he forced all thoughts of the half-elf to a dark corner of his mind. Later, after he had spilled enough blood, he would take them out and examine them.

He grabbed the boy by the collar, pushing him toward the tunnel. “Run fast, little mouse,” he growled. “Or we’re all meat.” At Talal’s uncertain expression, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.”

5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Aazen tensed when he heard the distant howls. He raised a hand to halt the party, surveying what resources he had left.

Isslun and Aliyea were still above, probably slain. Tershus was there too. Falling rock had obscured Aazen’s last glimpse of the halfling. The rest of his party had either been slain by Kail’s group or separated by the journey through the portal. Aazen had only five left with him. One of them, Kiliren’s apprentice, had to be half-carried due to his wounds. If he didn’t succumb, Aazen was tempted to leave the man, especially in light of what he intended to do.

“Straight ahead, torches low unless absolutely necessary,” he said. “Kail is nearby.”

“Whatever’s down here’s killing them already,” said Bardie, shifting his weight against the man supporting him. “We should wait to see if any survive.”

“If they do, we may never find them again in these tunnels,” said Aazen. “We could wandei down here until we starve, or until whatever made that noise finds us. Kail—or one of his group—had to have come through the main portal. To find the way out, we go to him.”

Bardie laughed, drawing uneasy glances from the men standing near him, but the apprentice’s eyes wete wide, delirious with pain and blood loss. “You’re a fool, Korttun. You want to find your friend. Balram knew you wouldn’t be able to kill him.” 1:

Aazeri stopped, his expression frozen. Slowly, he tutned and walked back to the man. He lifted his sagging head by the hair. “What an interesting observation. Please enlighten me. What is my father planning?”

Bardie coughed and tried to shake his head, but Aazen heid him firmly.

“Very well.” Aazen removed his hand and pressed his knuckles into one of Bardie’s open wounds. The apprentice howled and thrashed, but Aazen pressed him back with his other forearm. “What is his plan?”

“Another party,” Bardie choked out. “I overheard my… master speaking of it. He was communicating with Daen magically. If you betrayed us, he was to send word to the other party.”

“Thank you.” Aazen removed his hand, wiping his bloody fingers on Bardie’s robes. The apprentice collapsed against the tunnel wall, sliding down to the floor.

Aazen’s thoughts raced, but his eyes stayed on the men surrounding him. They kept theit faces averted, their expressions schooled to reveal nothing of their thoughts. And why should they? They were well trained and knew that Aazen, traitot of not, was the best hope they had of getting out of the caverns alive. But how many of them had known? How many of his “family” plotted against him?

“We go on,” he said at last. When one of the men moved to lift Bardie from the floor, Aazen shook his head. “Leave him. He’ll slow us down. Scout ahead, but do not be seen. We follow Kail’s party.” he paused, looking at each of them, making them meet his eyes. “Unless anyone else has objections they’d like to voice?”

They had none. The scout started to move away down the

tunnel. He turned a corner, and Aazen saw him stop and take a jerky step to the side, as if he’d lost his footing. The man behind him moved forward to steady him. “Wait!” shouted Aazen.

The scout fell sideways. A triple line of gashes ran vertically from his chest to his bowels. The ribs and organs in between were mauled. The scout had died before he knew what killed him. The man behind him cried out as he was yanked forward, around the corner into the darkness. This time Aazen heard the swish of claws passing through air and smelled the unnatural fire reek.

Grabbing the man nearest him, Aazen dived into one of the narrower tunnels off the main route, one they’d decided not to take for fear it would dead-end or become impassable. He heard the screams of his men, of Bardie trying to remember the words to a spell as the horror overcame him.

“Keep moving,” Aazen snapped to the man he’d saved. He did not look back.

Cesira lay on the floor, her vision encompassing all of an inch-tall gap between the storeroom door and the ground. Her forked tongue passed over her fangs, touching wood and tasting dust. At last, she saw the shadows of feet approaching. The lock rattled, and’ the footsteps retreated. Scant breaths later, a loud crack echoed in the dark space as a foot connected with the door, busting the old lock and splintering the doorframe.

A man poked his blade in among the stacks of linens, searching for a place a human woman might hide. He failed to notice the snake lying parallel to the threshold.

Cesira struck once, and then again, sinking her fangs into the flesh behind his knee. The man cried out, falling forward into the closet.

The black snake slithered away as the man’s legs, sticking out into the dimly lit hall, began to twitch from the poison.

“Meisha once told me Varan believed the Delve to be an outpost of Deep Shanatar,” said Kail. He looked out over the vast expanse of cavern. “I suppose this confirms it.”

But the dwarf shook his head. “This is Deep Shanatar, lad.” ‘

Kali lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t believe yout memory for maps has failed you,” he said. “So I don’t have to remind you that we are not where Deep Shanatat should be.”

“Who says so?” atgued Garavin. “I’m telling ye—and having studied far longer than ye’ve been alive, I should know—we’re in Shanatar, and I’m guessing a part of it that’s never been known. An outpost, maybe, but a grander one I’ve never seen.”

“Kept a secret, even from Iltkazar?” Kail asked, naming heretofore the only known surviving kingdom of Deep Shanatar. Garavin had told him stories of the place long ago. “Why does one build a secret outpost?” he asked. “Unless they’re doing something other folk might not approve of?”

Garavin looked at him. “Yer point?”

“You dig strongholds for people who have secrets or who want to protect knowledge. Is it possible the dwarves did the same hete, with magic? Did the Howlings, and by extension, Varan, stumble upon that work?”

“If they did, it was all tainted by the Howlings’ greed when they turned to Abbathoi.” Garavin said, shaking his head sadly.

“Why are Abbathor and Dumathoin fighting over such a small group of souls?” Kail asked.

“Because the Howlings are fighting,” Gatavin replied. “These gods of the Morndin Samman, our pantheon, are forever locked in snuggle. The Howlings are olorns, stories that become symbols. Whichevet side wins in this will gain mote than souls.”

“They gain a victory in lore,” said Kali, understanding. “Yout stories will reflect the tedemption of the Howlings from their greed. Dumathoin’s powet grows.”

“And his children would rejoice,” said Garavin.

“Are the Howlings powerless in this? If they seek redemption, why do they not renounce Abbathor and ask Dumathoin’s forgiveness?”

“Because they made a pact with the god of greed and accepted his blessings and aid. That gives Abbathor power over the Howlings that isn’t easy to forsake. Dumathoin can only intervene so far as to hold them between life and death. For the rest, they must atone.”

“But Meisha’s master disrupted that process,” said Kail. “So her message—the dwarPs warning—was also a cry for help.”

“Issued to one who might carry and keep a dangerous secret,” Garavin affirmed, “and risk everything for the sake of a friend. Meisha was wise to seek ye out.”

Kail did not voice his doubts on that score. “And do you think it’s a coincidence that I count among my friends a devout servant of Dumathoin?” he asked instead.

Garavin smiled. “Little in this world is a coincidence, lad.” He nodded up and down the abyss. “Which door?”

“I don’t think it matters,” said Kali, “but whichever we choose, we can’t lose track of these doors.” He looked back at the open portal. “That’s our way back to the surface.”

“The Shadow Thieves are sure to block it,” Garavin pointed out. “If they haven’t already. Might be we’ll have to find a different exit.”

Kali didn’t need to tell the dwarf how monumental a task that would be. Their odds of surviving long enough to collect the others and find the way out seemed slim indeed at the moment.

“We could call out,” he said finally, “from the bridge. The echo will carry down at least a dozen of these tunnels. If they’re nearby, one of them might hear us.”

“As could any number of beasties foraging in the tunnels,” Garavin said.

Kail nodded. “Better to encounter them in the open than a bottleneck in a tunnel, where traps may be waiting to spring.”

“Agreed,” said the dwarf. He drew his maul out and cradled it in both hands.

Kali strode to the center of the bridge. His bootsteps echoed in the vast chamber.

Thousands of feet must have trodden these bridges, Kail reflected, a testament to the forgotten legacy of the dwarves, and far grander than all the merchants of Amn above. The enoimity of such a lost existence humbled Kali.

He raised a hand to the side of his mouth. “Meisha!” he shouted. The Harper’s name carried far down the cavetn in either direction. “Laerin! Morgan!”

He shouted until his lungs ached. Nothing stirred in the vastness.

Kali turned back to Garavin, seeking a new suggestion, when Borl began to bark furiously. The dog pushed his head between the stone slats of the bridge.

Kali looked down. Thirty feet below, Talal ran from a tunnel in the opposite wall onto a btidge, so fast and stumbling so much that he nearly toppled ovet the edge. Sheer luck kept him upright as he plowed across.

“Morgan!” Kail yelled as the tall man came out behind Talal. “Up here!”

Neither slowed. Morgan flung his head back and hollered, -“Stay there!” Spinning, he flung a dagger at the tunnel mouth. The throw broke his stride, and the normally graceful thief fell sprawling on the bridge.

Kali saw Morgan’s dagger stick to the hilt, and his eyes traveled upward in horror to see the demon. The beast stalked onto the bridge, his four legs spread to block any possible tetreat. Blood ran from his mouth all the way to the stone. Crouching down, the demon leaped into the air, springing toward Morgan.

The Howlings’ penance—Meisha’s beast, with blood-soaked claws—and Kail’s friend, lying helpless on the bridge without Laerin to back him up.

“No! Gods of stone damn you!” Kail shouted. He vaulted

over the rail and dropped, curling his body and praying he could hit the beast in mid-spring. If nothing else, he would take the demon over the side with him.

They collided in the air. Kali felt the heat, the blast of brimstone, before he even touched the demon’s hide. He landed flat on the beast’s back, surprising him and driving him aside of his intended target. The demon’s claws raked for balance; his hindquarters fish tailed back and forth on the bridge, trying to shake Kail off.

Kali felt blood on his hands. They were covered with small wounds ripped open on the spines sprouting from the demon’s back. And he burned. He felt slick blisters form on his palms and remembered the sickening smell of his campfire burns. If the nerves in his hands hadn’t been dulled, he wouldn’t have been able to withstand the pain.

The demon reared onto his hind legs. Kail slid off his back to the walkway. He no longer needed to worry about taking the attention off Morgan. The demon’s smoldering, malevolent gaze was firmly fixed on Kali. The beast lunged at him, his claws poised to rake whatever exposed flesh they could find.

Kali had no space to maneuvet or dodge on the bridge. Without really considering it, he jumped over the rail and off the bridge, plunging straight down again. Reaching out, he caught the bridge’s stone ledge. The sudden, snapping weight jarred his shoulder, nearly wrenching it from its socket. Kail gritted his teeth and reached up with his other hand.

The demon hit the bridge where Kali had stood and turned, coming back for anothei attack.

In his peripheral vision Kail saw Morgan on his feet, climbing a rope Garavin had tied onto the upper walkway. The dwarf fired his crossbow at the demon. Dangling from the rope, Morgan threw another dagger.

The demon hardly seemed to feel the stings. The beast shook out his long, red mane and stalked Kail. Up close, Kali could see a fresh piercing wound had rent his abdomen, but the maimed socket where his eye had once been was an old wound.

Hatred emanated from the orb that still functioned. Kail felt it as a cteeping fear that worked its way up his spine, thteatening to patalyze him.

The beast was playing with him, ttying to shake him loose from his perch without an effort. Blood dripped from his fangs onto Kail’s face. When Kail didn’t move, the beast stepped back, and a veil of datkness descended around them.

Agony exploded in Kail’s injured hands. Sickeningly, he realized the demon had sunk his jaws into the backs of them.

With a shout of pain, Kali let go, and found to his horror that his hands were impaled, tangled in the thing’s mouth. Curling his legs, Kail kicked out against the bridge, away from the demon’s face. The demon’s hot breath was a furnace of filth and rot. He pulled his hands free, and then he was falling.

He passed out of the globe of darkness in time to see a shower of magical bolts stteak above him, into the sphere. Kail prayed the magic came from Dantane, that the wizard would be able to save the others.

He looked beneath him, but all the bridges were out of teach. He plummeted past the last one and down into anothet, gteatet darkness. His vision failed as the light from above faded. His ears filled with tushing ait, then suddenly, nothing. His descent came to an abtupt halt.