Howling Delve

by Jaleigh Johnson

  A bubble popped on the pool’s surface. Next to her, a small, blind fish with twisted horns floated to the surface on its side. Another followed, and still Meisha let the heat build. Her calves ached from holding the same crouched position, but she dared not move or risk breaking the spell. Steam brushed her face. She heard another loud pop, and the water churned. Meisha thought it was the spell, but suddenly a fleshy mouth broke the surface of the water, followed by twin webbed claws.

  Meisha threw up her hand in automatic defense, realizing she might lose the appendage in her foolishness. Spiky teeth closed around her wrist, but Meisha felt no pressure, no severing of bone or tissue.

  With a hissing cry of pain, the creature released her and thrust back, churning water in its wake.

  Meisha realized her hand was smoking. She’d burned the creature with her touch.

  Varan stepped in front of her when the creature came around to attack again. Filmy eyes dominated the ripples of flesh that made up the creature’s head. Below them, the mouth gaped from a nest of four tentacles. The creature’s body tapered from a humanoid trunk to that of a serpent or an eel. Meisha couldn’t tell from above the water.

  Varan’s hands traced the air in a scythe-cut. Slashes of light streaked across the chamber, cutting into the monster’s flesh. Black ichor shed into the still-boiling pool.

  Meisha crawled to a safe corner to watch the grim spectacle play out. She had no doubt Varan would win the battle. He stood so confidently; Meisha wondered if he’d ever lost a duel, with a creature or another wizard. The power he expended seemed immense. Her own spell had drained her completely. The heat she’d created in the chamber, blending with the flashing light, mesmerized Meisha. Her last sight of the mysterious creature was bathed in that light, sharp against the black blood. Her vision dimmed, and she passed out.

  When she awoke, Varan knelt beside her, supporting her head. His hard expression softened when he saw her eyes open and aware.

  “I feared you would not wake,” he said.

  “And you would have wasted an apprentice after all,” Meisha said faintly.

  Varan did not smile at her jest. Gently, he helped her sit up and gave her a long draught from his waterskin.

  “You passed every test but one,” he said, after she’d collected herself.

  Meisha waited expectantly, and Varan nodded toward the pool, which still gave off clouds of steam. The black blood and the creature were gone.

  “You tapped too deeply into the fire,” he said, “The power overwhelmed you, yes?”

  Meisha nodded, for once listening without comment or judgment. Varan was right. She’d felt a depth to the magic, a power just out of reach. She thought if she’d stretched a little bit farther, she might have brushed its source.

  “When you’re ready, we’ll explore how deep the fire goes,” Varan promised. “Be patient a few years. If you act too soon, the power may burn you from within, or deteriorate your health, as it has mine.”

  Meisha looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected Varan to admit any weaknesses to her. Was it a gesture of trust?

  “What was the creature?” she asked, glancing at the water. “Will there be more?”

  “I think not,” Varan said. “It was a kopru, a sea creature, adapted somehow to the fresh water. He was aged, else he would have been more difficult to kill, I think.”

  Difficult enough, Meisha thought, as weakness gripped her again. She swayed; Varan steadied her and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  He was concerned, Meisha thought, and marveled at the notion. No one had ever expressed concern for her before, and now it had happened twice in one night.

  “I’m tired,” she said, admitting her own weakness.

  Varan nodded. “You’ll sleep deeply tonight,” he said, “and tomorrow.”

  “But our lesson—”

  “Will keep,” he said firmly. “I’m spending the next few days in another part of the Delve. You can use that time to recover.”

  “What part?” Meisha asked, curious. She had only a vague picture in her mind of the layout of the Delve. The upper chambers were laid out roughly in the shape of a spider, with the apprentices living and studying in the main body, protected by Varan’s wards from the tunnels branching out on all sides.

  Far below them, the testing chambers were arranged and connected like star points. Varan had designed them personally as training grounds for his apprentices. Meisha knew of no other large cavern systems within the Delve.

  “Is the way hidden?” she asked.

  “Quite well hidden,” Varan said, “and magically sealed. I managed to unravel the spells and for my efforts discovered a set of caverns adjoining the testing chambers. In all my years here, I never knew of their existence. They will take several tendays, perhaps longer, to explore fully. I am hoping they will contain something of value to make the effort worthwhile.”

  “Show me,” Meisha pleaded. She didn’t like the prospect of spending several nights alone in her room, with only the other apprentices for company. “I could go with you, aid you.”

  “You could, and I’d be glad of a warm fire, so deep in the earth, but you need to rest. When you’ve regained your strength, I’ll show you the way in, and I’ll be glad of your aid.”

  He touched her shoulder, and Meisha, weary but flush with her small victory in the Art, forgot to push him away.

  Varan’s prediction held true. Meisha slept all through the next day and night, rising only to take small meals. Gradually, her energy returned and with it the brush of power, just out of her reach. She left it alone, as Varan had instructed, but she was eager, for the first time, to tell her teacher what she felt.

  When she knocked on his door the third day, there came no answer, nor was there on the fourth or fifth. Meisha returned every night, and during the day, when their water supply ran low, she collected bucketfuls from the newly vacant pool.

  After a tenday, they began to worry, not just for Varan’s safety, but for their own continued survival. None of them knew how to get to the surface without Varan’s magic, and they were quickly running out of food.

  Meisha and Prieces ventured out into the Delve seeking fresh meat, while Shaera and the rest returned to the training tunnels to search for the wizard and the secret cavern entrance.

  When Meisha returned to her chamber, empty-handed and hungry, she saw the green light coming from Varan’s workroom.

  Running to the door, she felt the same burst of electrical heat, but this time she ignored it and tried to force the door. The spell lock sizzled along her fingers, hot but not burning. The door was sealed tight.

  “Master!” she shouted, pounding on the door. “Are you in there?”

  She heard glass breaking and what sounded like Varan’s workbench being dragged across the floor. The wizard’s voice rang out above the din.

  “I’m all right, firebird,” he called. “Go back to your room.”

  “Where have you been?” she persisted, banging harder on the door. “We’ve been searching the tunnels for you. The food is almost gone.”

  “I apologize for that, little one, and I’ve corrected the oversight. You’ll find the larder filled, and the next time I leave, you will not be left without provisions.”

  “The next time?” Meisha cried. “We thought you dead; now you’re leaving again? Varan, open the door!”

  “Calm yourself,” Varan said soothingly. “We will continue your lessons as I promised. I will not be leaving for some time. The objects I brought back will occupy all of my attention for a while.”

  “What are they?” Meisha asked. “What did you find?” “Amazing things,” Varan said excitedly. His voice drifted away from the door, and she heard more objects being moved around the room.

  “Varan,” she called. “Varan!”

  Light flared through the door, blinding her. When her vision cleared, Meisha heard nothing more from the room. She sensed, without knowing
how, that Varan had gone.

  She slumped to the floor, wondering what it all meant. Her stomach growled loudly, and Meisha recalled their most pressing need. She headed to the larder, hoping that Varan had indeed stocked it well.

  Perhaps, when Varan had sorted out whatever it was he’d found in the caverns, he would show her where he’d been.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Howling Delve

  11 Uktar, the Year of the Serpent (1359 DR)

  She’s run off!” Jonal cried.

  Meisha opened her eyes, her meditation ruined. Annoyed, she turned to glare at the water apprentice. “What?”

  “Shaera,” Jonal said. “She’s gone beyond the wards, seeking the master’s tunnels. She wants to know where he goes.”

  “Don’t we all,” Meisha muttered. She began pulling on her boots. “Does Varan know?”

  Jonal shook his head. “He hasn’t come out—”

  “Of the workroom,” Meisha finished disgustedly. In the three years since finding the secret tunnels, Varan had squirreled away an unknown number of treasures. He barely left his chambers anymore, for toying with them. “Perhaps it’s time to remind him of his responsibilities … again.”

  “But you can’t,” Jonal sputtered. “If he’s in the middle of an experiment, you could be killed.”

  “We’re out of food again,” Meisha snapped. “The north wards failed last night, letting in two deep bats and gods know what else we haven’t seen. All the while Varan’s been tucked away in his nest. It’s time someone shook the branches.”

  The workroom was lit and locked again, but Meisha was three years older, and Varan had grown careless with his simple magics.

  She grabbed the door latch and summoned fire to her hand. Wood disintegrated into black charring, and she dropped the searing latch to the ground.

  Meisha burst into Varan’s chamber, and immediately saw the glowing circle centered on the wizard’s worktable.

  Varan stood with his back to her, his attention on an object hovering above the table.

  “I’ll ask you to repair that door at your earliest convenience, Meisha,” he said testily. He moved his hands over the object: a glove that appeared to be made of liquid metal, a shimmering waterfall of steel. “I’ve grown accustomed to your late night poundings on my door; but what brings you so suddenly and so violently into my room? Risking your own life in the process, I might add.”

  “Shaera’s gone missing,” Meisha said. “Jonal says she went beyond the wards.”

  “Gone exploring, I expect.” Varan still hadn’t turned around. His shoulders drooped as if he carried sacks of stone, but he maintained the swirling pattern of magic around the glove. “Does Jonal know where?”

  “The Climb,” Meisha said uncertainly. “I didn’t know what he meant.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Varan, “because I have not gotten around to showing the passage to you or warning you that to attempt it is beyond stupidity. Shaera, if she turns up injured, will have taken care of both tasks quite capably.”

  Meisha, her jaw clenched, stared hatefully at the wizard’s back. She fought the temptation to shove him into the bright sphere of his Art. Anything to get his attention for one breath, even if it turned out to be her last on Toril.

  “Don’t you care?” she spat. “If nothing else, she is air. Your training will have gone to waste if she dies!”

  Varan made a gesture, and the floating miasma froze in place. Slowly, the orange glow of torchlight replaced the magical light in the room. He turned to face her.

  Meisha flinched involuntarily at the haggardness of his face. Gray hairs shed from his beard to litter the front of his robes. Meisha did not know if stress or the force of his Art had caused them to fall out. The magic seemed to be taking him a piece at a time.

  May any watching gods smite me if I come to this, Meisha thought. She found herself unable to feel a shred of pity for her master. She was too angry.

  For his part, Varan did not seem to notice her fury. “Did you come here to ask for my help, or my permission to go after Shaera?” he asked. He leaned against the table for support. “In either event, I’m surprised at your outburst. You’ve never shown any inclination of friendship to Shaera or the other apprentices. In fact, you consider yourself superior to all of them.”

  “Because I am.”

  “I won’t dispute you. But I do warn you: be cautious where you aim your righteous anger, little firebird.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Meisha snarled. “If you won’t help me, tell me what the Climb is.”

  “As you wish.”

  He told her.

  “The Climb,” Meisha chuckled bitterly. She regarded the round rat hole in the wall and the impenetrable darkness within. “More like a long fall.”

  Varan said hands other than his had tunneled the hole out of the stone. Meisha wondered briefly if those hands had been a dwarf’s, and if one of them had carried a broken battle-axe. Varan’s mark hung on the wall above the hole, warning the apprentices away.

  Jonal stood hesitantly at her elbow. “Do you think it’s true?” he asked in hushed tones, as if the wizard might overhear. “Do you believe the tunnel goes all the way down to the testing chambers?”

  “And beyond—so he claims,” Meisha said stiffly. She didn’t know what to believe. She had no idea how far down the testing chambers lay. Varan had always teleported them between the spider and the star, with no indication of the distance traversed. If Shaera expected to find the entrance to Varan’s hidden tunnels using the Climb, Meisha hoped she’d prepared for a long journey.

  “He hasn’t come out of the room?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “No,” Jonal said. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone since you entered his chamber. Will he come out,” Jonal asked, “to aid in the search?”

  “He will not,” Meisha said, “until his experiment is complete. He claims that releasing the magic prematurely could endanger us all.”

  “Will you wait for him?” Jonal asked hopefully.

  Meisha turned a stony gaze on him. The apprentice ducked his head.

  “I suppose if I don’t return, he’ll inquire about our fates eventually,” Meisha said, her voice rich with scorn. “Wait for me on this side,” she told Jonal, “and do not follow.”

  Meisha knew her warning was unnecessary. In his heart, Jonal was a coward. He would never enter the dark passage to come after either of them. She saw it in his eyes.

  She moved to the tunnel mouth and heaved herself up onto its stone lip. Speaking a word, Meisha blew on her outstretched palm. Her fingers began to glow. The orange light spread down her palm to her wrist. Varan had taught her the spell for light; the variation was her own.

  By the glow of her palm she saw the tunnel stretching ahead of her in a narrow tube, and above her in a slender shaft. If Shaera was trying to find the testing chambers, she would have certainly gone forward. Meisha would have to follow, crawling on her belly for gods knew how many feet, and pray that at some point the path widened. She knew it would have to dip down. Far down, if the tales were accurate. And if she were attacked, it would be nearly impossible to mount a defense with spells.

  “Lovely,” she murmured, and she began to crawl.

  Waiting, his claws tense, the fire beast felt the magic coursing through the Delve. He willed it to falter and rage out of control, to shake the caverns and tear his prison apart—it would only take a single misguided stroke of power, and the dwarves’ ancient bonds would crumble.

  How fragile the structures of mortals were. The beast’s fire, his very presence, only served to corrupt the integrity of the Delve further—a consequence of his imprisonment that never ceased to delight him. By the time he won free, the entire stronghold would be suffused with his essence. His hunting ground would be complete, a place of nightmares that merely awaited prey. The beast relished the thought.

  Content in his future, the beast settled back into the fire and waited fo
r the dwarves to be reborn into their ghostly existence, so he could hunt again. He did not mind honing his skills.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Howling Delve

  12 Uktar, the Year of the Serpent (1359 DR)

  Meisha thrust herself forward another foot. Her stomach felt raw through her coarse linen shirt. Sweat poured down her face, dripping salt in her eyes, but she kept crawling. The physical discomforts kept her mind occupied. She would endure almost anything to keep the memory of the dream at bay.

  The beast of fire and claws. Every time she had the dream, the presence was there, stalking the helpless dwarves. She watched them die over and over again.

  Ten more feet, Meisha counted in her head. The stone chilled her flesh, making her lightheaded and feverish.

  She pressed her face against the ground. The taste of rock and dirt and something foreign filled her mouth.

  A wave of nausea hit her gut. Meisha turned her head to one side and gagged, spitting to clear her mouth of a taste worse than bile. Instinctively, she tried to curl up in a ball, but the tunnel bound her in the shape of a worm.

  Meisha forced herself to breathe deeply, to push away the tight fear in her chest.

  “You’ve slept on stone every night for the past four years,” she said aloud, just to hear the sound of her voice. “This should not disturb you now.”

  Perhaps it was because she found herself so far from Varan’s circle of protection. She’d always felt more at ease in the wizard’s presence. Possibly his magic in some way mitigated the oppressiveness of the Delve.

  Not enough, Meisha thought. She ached for the sunlight and the heat, almost as much as she craved the fire inside herself, the power of it. Living in a deep hole in the ground had never stopped feeling unnatural to her.

  Was the presence in her dream merely a manifestation of that wrongness?