The Howling Delve (6 page)

Kail watched as torch-and candlelight bobbed in the darkness at the bottom: more diggers. “What are they doing?” he asked.

Garavin glanced up from the table, where he’d spread out a map. “Forging an outpost, of sorts. Goblins are stirring to the south and east of here, and with Myth Unnohyr hanging above our heads in the north, I—and certain other interested parties—would like to see a wall put between them.”

He looked up as a squat, crooked-nosed dwarf appeared at the door. The newcomer’s beard was as fair as Garavin’s was dark.

Garavin tucked his spectacles away and nodded at Kali. “Take the lad out and get him a bow), Aln.” To Kail, he said, “I won’t be long.”

Aln jerked a thumb toward the door, and Kail reluctantly followed him out into the yard.

” ‘Ere.” The fair-bearded dwarf thrust a bowl and a mug of water under Kail’s nose. “Eat. We’ll be ‘ere a while. Fool elf brought down the wrong trees—think an elf d know better, but ye’d be wrong. Garavin’ll be a while patching things up.”

Kail nodded, tearing the end off his sausage with his teeth. The meat scotched his tongue, but he barely noticed. He’d had nothing to eat since the previous morning.

Aln eyed Kail as he wolfed down the food. “What of yerself? Are ye staying, then?”

Kail shook his head, though in truth he had no idea where he intended to go. With the immediate threat of pursuit lifted, he had time to think, but he had no gold, no food, and now no horse to carry him. All he had were the items he’d dug up in the cemetery, and he wasn’t desperate enough to try to sell them. Not yet.

A shadow fell on either side of Aln as Laerin and Morgan joined them on the grass.

“We were just talking about ye,” Aln said darkly.

Laerin gave a good-natured wince. “Feeling better?” he asked Kail.

Kail started to nod, then yelped, “Stop!”

But Morgan had already unfolded the wrappings on the latgest of his packages. “Whatevet you’ve got in here’s going to rot under these moldy things.…” He caught his breath. “Abbathor’s hoard,” he murmured, drawing out a length of blade.

“Don’t speak that name here!” Aln hissed, holding his bowl high as Kail practically crawled over the dwatf s lap to get at Morgan.

“Put that down,” Kali snarled, but by now the whole group could see the sword.

The blade was unremarkable, in need of polish and sharpening. But the hilt—veins of platinum ran in swirling designs like a wild river across the guard. The largest Morel emerald lay embedded in the pommel.

“Flawless,” Morgan said as Kail tote the weapon from his reluctant hands.

“Are you sure?” Laerin asked, leaning forward curiously.

“Boy probably stole it,” Aln muttered.

” ‘Course I’m sure,” insisted Morgan. “I’ve appraised more gems than this lot has fingers and toes. Look here, no imperfections.” He reached for the sword again, but Kail reacted without thinking, slapping Morgan’s knuckles with the flat of the blade.

“Hey, watch it, you!” Morgan half-rose, and Kail scuttled away, raising the blade to chest level. The bigger man immediately took a step back, lifting his hands.

“Stay away.” Kail’s arms trembled with the effort of holding aloft the big sword. He swung it clumsily between Morgan, who still glared angrily at him, and Aln, who simply looked bored. Some of the camp turned to watch, but most had gone back to their own conversations.

“It’s all right, Kali.” Laerin stood, and as Kail swung to face him, caught the dull blade in his bare palm. “No one here is going to hurt you, or attempt to take what is yours.” He shot a meaningful glance at Morgan. The big man threw up his hands and sat back down, muttering to himself.

“A fine sword,” the half-elf said, apparently heedless of the dot of blood that welled between his flesh and the blade. He gave Kali a level look. “Yours?”

“My father’s,” Kali said carefully. “Now mine.”

“Too heavy for you now,” Laerin said. When Kail only stared at him mulishly, Laerin casually released the blade. The point thudded to the dirt.

Aln snorted with laughter.

“You need a lighter weapon,” Laerin said, ignoring him. “Morgan”—he flicked a hand—”give me your fairer blade.”

Morgan looked up from his meal, scowling. “Don’t call it that. And if you think I’m giving anything to that little piece of—”

“You owe him,” Laerin cut in. “You put your hands where they didn’t belong.”

“Your self-righteous arse does the same thing whenever it’s given half a chance!”

“Fine, then. Shall I tell the boy how Gatavin’s prying into your own past was rewarded, when we first came here?”

For whatever reason, that shut the man up. He stood, glared at Laerin, and unsheathed a short sword from his belt. He tossed it at the half-elf, who caught it easily, this time by the hilt.

“My thanks. Now.” He offered the weapon to Kali, wiping his bloodied hand on his breeches.

Cautiously, Kail placed the priceless sword lengthwise between them. He grasped the hilt of the offered blade and raised it with one hand.

“When you are older,” Laerin said, “you will be as tall and as broad as I am. My father was of your blood—thick in the chest and arms. People will think you’re a brawler, but you’ll be able to wield that”—he pointed a toe at the sword lying in the dirt—”with grace and ease.”

Kail nodded, then noticed Garavin silhouetted in the hut’s doorway.

“Laerin is correct about yer abilities,” said the dwarf. He came forward, lifting Kail’s sword from the dirt. “Ye should be taking care of such a precious thing.” His eyes closed briefly, as if he were absorbing some invisible resonance from the blade. “It will serve ye more than well… but not today,” he said, addressing the last part to Laerin.

The half-elf nodded solemnly. Then he bowed briefly to the dwarf, winked at Kali, and left them.

Kali watched him move gracefully around the camp, giving instructions, until he realized Garavin still held his sword. Awkwardly, he took the blade, letting it rest beside him.

“I’m afraid we must put off out talk a bit longer, lad,” Garavin said, his brow furrowing apologetically.

Kail nodded, though he couldn’t imagine what the two of them had to discuss. Just before the dwarf disappeared inside the hut, Kail said, “I’m not staying here.”

Garavin paused and gave a nod. “Then it looks to be a very short conversation.”

Forest of Mir, Calimshan

13 EUasias, the Year of the Sword (1365 DR)

Garavin’s diggers worked in shifts of six, with two torch-bearers standing nearby to offer additional light and water when needed. Every few candles the shift would change, but the resting group would stay together in its own cluster, eating, talking, and occasionally shooting glances Kail’s way. He ignored them, preferring to spend the time resting and watching.

As night fell, Morgan brought out tin buckets filled with tallow and arranged them in circles throughout the camp. When lit, the bucket candles gave off a peaceful glow like grazing fireflies. The evening meal came next: seasoned bread chunks and ham sliced off the bone by the same man who had served bteakfast. The diggers, drawn by the smell of food, gathered again in the clearing, and Garavin joined them, the great dog Borl trailing behind him.

The dwarf chewed a short-stem pipe and had a book wedged beneath one aim. He bypassed the food line, instead heading for one of the few trees in the bowl-shaped clearing.

Large silver-sheened leaves hung around a trunk that looked as if it had been split, long ago, by weight or perhaps

by a lightning strike. One half had died, but the other portion thrived. Garavin sat in the space between the living and the dead halves. With his datk, weathered skin, he looked almost a part of the tree, a face staring out of the bark. He smoked, read, and watched the activities of the camp, while the mastiff slept at his feet.

Kail ate with Laerin and Morgan again, listening to them discuss the day’s progress, but his eyes kept straying to Garavin. Finally, Laerin nudged him.

“Go,” he said simply.

The dwarf did not look up from his book as Kali approached, and Kali wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then a plume of smoke rose from Garavin’s pipe, and his eyes followed. He nodded at the withered bit of stump, and Kali sat.

“Well? What do ye think of my diggers, Kail?”

It wasn’t the question Kali had expected, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “They’re not like you.”

Garavin smiled. “Well, let’s suppose ye and I were to mark a map of Faerun with the birthplaces and travels of all those lads and lasses ye saw today. Ye’d still be about it when winter came, and it would take a lifetime and more to walk in theit footsteps.”

“They came all that way, just to end up here—to dig?” Kail asked in disbelief.

“Not by intent,” Garavin said. “They came because they had nowhere else to go—much like ye, which is why I thought we should be talking.”

“I have a home,” Kail said. “I never wanted to end up here.”

“I understand, and I can send ye back to Amn quick enough,” said Garavin, “but that way leads to a quick death, or am I mistaken?”

Kali shook his head. “But I will go back someday,” he said, meeting Garavin’s eyes.

“I do not doubt ye,” Garavin said, acknowledging the vow solemnly. “What I mean to do is offer ye a course for the intervening time. My diggers have been following a generally westward

path since Nightal last,” he said. “Our work in Mir and the surrounding area will take a pair of years, perhaps more, but once we reach the Shining Sea, I intend to run north for a bit. I could offer ye a place with us now, and give ye the option of leaving us when ye choose. Understand, I’m not in the habit of making this gesture to everyone. I need to keep a certain number of diggers in the company at a time. If I have too many, food will run short. Too few and we’re weak on defense. But this way, ye could remain near the place ye’re most wanting to be, and learn my trade in the meantime.”

“I already know how to dig,” Kail said, but he listened.

“This is different,” Garavin said. “The first tenday will break yer back. Ye’ll hate it, curse it… and me, come to think. The second tenday ye won’t be able to keep yer eyes open, so ye won’t have time to be thinking or cursing about anything—not the past, nor the future beyond putting one boot in front of the other. After that, as ye adjust, ye’ll be having nothing but time. That is precious time—to consider yer place in the world and what ye intend to do with it.”

Kali didn’t need to consider eithet of those things. He pictured Balram, secure in his father’s house, as night fell in the Forest of Mir. He replaced the image with one of himself, plunging his father’s sword deep into the guard captain, feeling whatever magic the blade contained slide out, into his enemy. His father would be free-—Aazen would be free—and Kail’s life could return to what it once had been. Nothing else mattered.

“Why do you dig?” Kail looked at the dwarf, and a glint of green winking from a gap in his beard drew Kail’s eyes downward. “What is that?” he asked.

Garavin lifted the object—a pendant—by its chain. Kail recognized the components first: smooth carnelian worked into the shape of a mountain; nestled within it, a faceted emerald shone like a doorway.

“Dugmaren Brightmantle is why I dig,” Garavin said. He pointed to the swaying pendant. “Dumathoin guides the shovel.”

“Dumathoin.” Kail touched the seam, the joining of emerald to mountain, and felt the scratch of electricity run through his fingers.

“I serve the gleam in the eye and the keeper of secrets,” Garavin continued, “because in addition to having an awful curiosity, I’ve dug far enough into the earth to uncover things that should—and shouldn’t—be made known to greater Toril. Dumathoin helps me with the sorting out of which is which.”

“You hunt knowledge,” Kail said, remembering what Garavin had told him in the forest.

“Yes—and secrets. I can find them, and I can keep them. Ye should remember that, if ever ye’re needing someone to talk to.” He puffed unconcernedly on his pipe as Kali looked away. “If ye do stay, Laerin could teach ye things—they all could, I’m knowing that. But first ye’d learn to dig. That rule never changes.”

The sound of raucous laughter at some unheard jest drifted out to them from the camp.

“They’re gods, then,” Kali said, listening to the forest stir with nighttime sounds. “Dugmaren and Dumathoin.”

“Of the dwarf folk,” Garavin nodded. “Most of my band is of Dugmaren’s mind. They are discoverers—explorers. Dwarf or human, they fit nowhere else, so Dugmaren takes them all.”

“Why should a dwarf care what happens to me?” Kali said without thinking, and felt heat rush up his neck. He plunged on. “I don’t want to be an explorer. I’ve got nothing to offer Dugmaren.”

“Ye have two hands, and an active mind, as I’ve already noted,” Garavin said. “Even if Dugmaren wasn’t interested, I’d still take ye.”

Kali refused to meet the dwarfs eyes. “Why?”

“Because at one time or another, we all get trapped in the place ye are now.” Garavin leaned forward, his grave face filling Kail’s vision. “Do ye know what we do about it?”

Kali started to shake his head, but stopped when he saw

Garavin’s eyes twinkling with humor. He caught on and said, in perfect unison with the dwatf, “We dig ourselves out.” Kali snorted—not quite a laugh, but something lighter than what had been in his mind. His voice only shook slightly when he said, “I’m going to need a large shovel.”

“There ye go.” Garavin chuckled, jostling the pipe and sending ashes flying. “Ye’ll be fine, Kail.”

He slept in the map room the fitst night. That’s what. Garavin called the curtained off loft at the rear of the hut. The tiny room was jam-packed with maps, drawings, and rolls of parchment filled to the edges with scrawled notes. In one corner, a cot and blankets were wedged under the eaves, almost as an afterthought.

Kail lay on his back, his nose inches from a ceiling beam, wide awake. For lack of anything to do, he circled the room with his eyes again and again—past Garavin’s pipe, left lying on a table next to a comfortable-looking chait, then to the oval cut-out window, with Sehine’s pale glow filtering through, then back to the beam.