The Howling Delve (19 page)

Dantane’s eyes fixed on the lute. The bard’s instrument, or something inside it, was the source of the magic—an illusion,

possibly glamour to conceal some defect on the patt of the singer. Dantane scanned the crowd for Morel, wondering if he should inform the young lord.

When Dantane spied him, Kail was still speaking to the drunken man. The wizard headed for the stairs, but halted when he saw Kail’s face blanch. Dantane traced the room, seeking a threat, but Morel simply stood, as frozen as one of the statues, staring at a spot beneath the balcony. He said something to the drunkard and stepped away.

Fascinated, Dantane watched him walk across the ballroom like a man caught sleepwalking out of a dream. Whatever Morel saw disturbed him greatly, Dantane thought. He couldn’t describe all the emotions that passed ovet Kail’s face, but the still, ravaged look, the vulnerability—that interested Dantane, so much so he forgot the lute player and her song.

“Seven—there it is!” The serving table quivered as Morgan slammed his handful of emerald-stone clusters in front of Laerin. “That you can’t beat.”

The half-elf flashed him a lazy smile. “Datling, must we compete? It’s unseemly.”

Morgan turned purple, clenching his fists as if he might . cram the stones down Laerin’s throat. “Empty yout pockets. Turn em out, or by the gods I’ll do it for you!”

Laerin fluttered his lashes. “Now you’re just being saucy.”

Morgan took a step forward, reaching for a weapon.

“Oh, all right.” The half-elf sighed and emptied a pouch of stones next to Morgan’s pile.

“Only six!” Morgan spouted triumphantly, as Cesira looked on with an expression of helpless bemusement.

Laerin raised a hand to either side of Morgan’s head, and with a flourish produced two more stones from the man’s haity ears. “Your pardon,” the half-elf said.

Morgan swatted his hands away, fuming. “Ptetty-faced whore’s brat—”

Quiet! Cesira hissed. Hide yourselves. Kail is… As she looked, she realized Kail wasn’t headed their way. He’d stopped, frozen next to the drunken Bladesmile. At first Cesira thought he was listening to the bard, but then she saw him staring at something through the crowd.

I’ve never seen that look, she murmured. She traced Kail’s stunned gaze across the room to a corner, where a man stood leaning sedately against a marble column. He ignored the rest of the room, and appeared to be listening intently to the lute player. Broken from whatever spell had smote him, Kail began walking directly toward the man.

“I’ve seen it,” Laerin spoke up, a frown creasing his smooth forehead. “When I first met Kail, he had the same look.”

Morgan nodded agreement. “Like he just lost his best friend.”

Cesira paled, gripping Laerin’s arm. Aazen, she whispered.

“Greetings, Lord Morel,” said Aazen, as Kali came to stand between him and the dais. He offered Kail one of his rare, genuine smiles. “It is good to see you again.”

Kali was at a loss. The man before him was older—and leaner, if possible—than the boy who’d been his best friend. His datk hair was short and shaved. He dressed in black leathers with a cloak of silky midnight blue thrown over one shoulder. The armor was stained, but the cloak pristine”—a halfhearted attempt to blend with the throng. Despite the changes, he was still Aazen—a quiet, shadowed young man. Kail had imagined many fates befalling his best friend in the years since their last meeting, but seeing the man grown, greeting him here in his father’s house, had never been among them.

When Kali temained silent, Aazen said, “You don’t recognize me? I can’t blame you. It’s been a long while since we spoke.”

“Aazen,” Kali said, recovering himself. “You haven’t changed so much. You were always more adult than child.”

Aazen considered. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Are you well, Kail?”

“Well enough, but more than a little shocked to see you here.”

“You’ve been looking for me?” “Ever since I returned,” said Kali.

“Most of Amn thought you dead,” Aazen said. “But I doubted it.”

Kali grunted. “Thanks. You had more confidence than I did, considering the condition I was in when we parted.”

“Yet here you stand, in your house reclaimed.”

“Such as it is. Aazen, you know I’m after Balram,” said Kali bluntly.

“Of coutse. I’d be disappointed if you weten’t, especially after that passionate speech you gave at our last meeting,” said Aazen sardonically. “Have you enjoyed any success in your search?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t. My father and I parted company some time ago.”

“Oh?” Kali didn’t bother to hide his disbelief. “When you left, you seemed bent on staying by his side, in spite of everything. ‘Don’t come after him,’ you said. ‘I’ll have to kill you, if you do.’ “

“I was a child. I didn’t know what I wanted.” Aazen searched his eyes. “Can you grant me that, Kail? Can you believe I may have found other companions, as you have, or do you think I’ll say anything to protect him?”

“I don’t know,” Kail said. “But I never held any hope or desire to get at Balram through you. I only prayed he hadn’t killed you.”

“But think, if you’d found me dead, you would have had yet another reason to slay him.”

Kali didn’t comment. There was too much tension in the room already. “If you can stay long enough, I’d like to introduce you to my companions,” he said, changing the subject.

“I’ve heard many whispers about the beauty of the Lady Morel,” said Aazen. “You’ve done well for yourself, even without my constant looking after you.”

“Yes, Cesira is a beauty, and were she mine, I’m sure my manhood would be subjugated to her will within a tenday,” Kali said, laughing. “Luckily for me, her affections ate not settled on me.”

“Aren’t they?” Aazen seemed surprised. “Then why—”

“She’s playing the part of my wife until affairs here settle down,” Kali explained. “Two other friends are looking out for my physical well-being. I’m sure we can find them if we look. They haven’t managed to conceal themselves all evening—I don’t see why they should start now.”

A terrific crash from the dais had both men turning, their hands straying to theit swotd hilts in a mirrored gestute. The lute playet had apparently decided to finish het tune with a flourish, smashing het instf ument against the floor. The startled crowd backed away as she crouched to gather the broken bits.

“Lovely,” Kail murmured. “The musicians have obviously taken more than theit share of spirits fot the evening. Excuse me, old friend.”

The crowd blocked his path, but Kail could see the woman clearly. She knelt in the center of the stage, cradling a mass of what appeared to be mud and protruding roots that she’d hidden inside the lute. Her gaze was feverishly bright as she stared at the mass.

A wave of ttepidation swept over Kail. He was no wizard, but he knew the effects of mind magic all too well. He pushed through the crowd, shouting, “Everyone, stand back! Dantane!”

Shocked gasps rang out as the woman began shoveling the strange mass into het mouth. She swallowed and immediately began to choke, the mass lodging grotesquely in her throat.

Black veins speared out beneath het skin, spreading from her windpipe to her shoulders and up her face. Her tan skin bulged, turning purple-black as her head lolled to one side.

A woman in the crowd screamed and fainted. People tripped and fell over her in their tush to get away. Kail found a gap and jumped onto the dais, his swotd raised.

“Laerin!” he shouted.

The half-elf appeared below him, lifting the senseless guest over his shoulder. Morgan stood across the room, herding the crowd to the exit. “We’ll get em out,” Morgan assured Kali. “Cesira’s coming.”

“Find Dantane!” Kail’s gaze remained fixed on the grim transformation unfolding on the dais.

The lute player’s flesh rippled and shimmered like a heat mirage, her form lengthening and filling out into that of a young man with shoulder-length brown hair and finely tailored clothing. Kail could not tell his identity, for the black blemish remained on his face and continued to spread, exploding up from the flesh of his arms, legs, and torso as boils and bleeding wounds. He seemed to be filling up everywhere, and the strange, oozing black substance had nowhere to go but through his skin and vital organs.

The thing that had been human lurched up to its legs and swiped with a too-long arm at Kail’s face. Kali raised his sword and felt the blade sink into the ooze. The creature howled and pulled back, leaving a ttail of black gore that sizzled into the wooden platform.

“Tarshz mephran!” came a shout from the balcony, and a spray of electricity yanked the hairs on Kail’s arms. Bolts of energy ripped into the creature, spraying black blood in all directions.

Kali jumped back, cursing as drops hit his exposed arm and burned.

Dantane climbed onto the balcony tail and floated to the ballroom floor, his robes flaring at the sleeves as his hands shaped anothet spell. He aimed the Aft directly over Kail’s head at the cteature. Kali dived behind a harpsichord, pulling its heavy bench over onto its side as a shield when the spell erupted.

Bolts of ice burrowed from Dantane’s palms, then streaked across the toom to impale the oozing mass. Gore sprayed the bench, burning black pockmarks into the wood.

Kail rolled to his feet behind the creature. He hacked at it, the emerald sword finding flesh that was human and monster and sometimes a bizarre hybrid. The blade penetrated, and what was left of the lute player’s voice rang out in screeches of pure agony.

A tentacled arm whipped out from where the woman’s stomach had been, catching Kail in the midsection. The blow threw Kail back; he smelled melted leather He fumbled at his armor buckles, flinching when he felt hands come around him from behind. Fingers pressed flush against the acidic burning.

“Get back!” roared Kail when he recognized Cesira’s chanting voice. Damn her, the last thing he wanted was for her to be acid-seated while protecting him.

Steam rose in a cloud, hissing and stinging Kail’s eyes, but the burning sensation eased. The druid touched the base of his neck, and Kali felt a faint, humming tingle spread across his skin. It lingered in his ears like the last thtum of a fading song. Silently, Cesira drew away to stand beside him.

You’ll have protection from the acid, she told him, for a time. She cocked her head, listening to Dantane’s chants, watching the measured release of power. Go now!

Trusting her, Kail charged in under another rain of bolts, but they seemed targeted only to the creature and sailed harmlessly around him. Tentacles burst at random from the creature’s hips and groin—Kail hacked them off, forming a buffer for Dantane and Cesira.

“Kail!” Dantane’s voice was thick with magic. “The root in its throat—carve it out. Destroy it!”

Kail risked a glance at the throng retreating from the ballroom. A few stragglers had stayed behind—Lord Rays among them—to watch the horrific spectacle.

Kail yelled to Cesira. “Don’t let them see!” The last thing he wanted was for the merchants to witness him butchering

the girl, even if she no longer resembled anything human. He waded into the mass of tentacles as the druid backed down the dais’s steps, chanting a familiar spell and arching her arms above her head.

The air immediately grew thick and moist. Dense fog billowed from the portal of Cesira’s arms, curling around the dais in a concealing bubble that hid Kail, Dantane, and the creature from view.

Behind the vapor wall, Kail wedged his sword in the harpsichord bench and grabbed blindly at the creature with his gloved hands, trusting Cesira’s protective spell to hold long enough for him to finish his grim task. He punched into the thing’s mouth and felt teeth and tongue give way with a wet crunch.

Kali fought down a rush of bile. Whatever shape it took now, the thing still had a woman’s head, and Kail had just rendered it a ruin. Steeling himself, he bore down, ignoring the choking and mewling sounds coming from the monster. When his hand met an obstruction, Kail didn’t allow himself to think. He yanked the mass of mud and root straight up.

The creature’s head disintegrated around his arm. Kail lurched backward, hurling the root ball across the dais. It landed, writhing, at Dantane’s boots.

“Kill it,” Kail growled.

Dantane wavered. His eyes followed the movements of the dozens of tendrils branching off the mass, each quivering with something arcane.

“Dantane!” Kali shouted.

The wizard flinched, stirred from his trance. He pointed to the mass and muttered something. Flames erupted from the root ball, consuming it in a flash of blue light and searing heat. Dantane raised his sleeve against the glare and stink. “Done,” he said.

Kail strode to the bench, yanked his sword free, and kept moving until the point threatened to slice Dantane’s nose in half. “If not for Cesira, I’d be smoking on the floor next to that thing. Mind telling me why you tried to get me killed?”

Breathing heavily, Dantane matched the furious lord’s stare.

“I was fighting to prevent the creature from tearing your guests apart. If you’ve a problem with my methods—”

Kali interrupted, “You’ve as well as told the whole of Keczulla I’m hiding a wizard under my skirts!”

Dantane hesitated. Something that might have been chagrin came and went across his sweat-soaked face. “I’m not accustomed to fighting under these circumstances,” he stammered. “As to the rest”—his white lips thinned—”had I intended you harm, Lord Morel, rest assured, your head would now be in as many pieces as that unfortunate creature.”

Kail’s grip on his sword tightened, but Dantane didn’t back down. “Pethaps you would like me to discern the woman’s—or man’s—identity?” The wizatd’s voice sounded smug. “It might prove useful, even vital, to have such information at hand when the Gem Guard come calling about this incident.”

From somewhere outside the fog, Morgan’s voice rumbled, “Two red inks say he skewers him.”

“No bet, I can’t see his face,” was Laerin’s reply.

Kail lingered over the raised steel a moment longer. Abruptly, he sheathed his sword, his eyes still spearing Dantane with hostility. He kicked at the harpsichord bench and jumped off the dais.