Текст книги "The Howling Delve"

Автор книги: Jaleigh Johnson

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Varan sat across the pit from her, his robes pillowed beneath him on the cold cavern floor. Their hem still dripped wet from the water whip spell she'd used on him. "Though you've been blessed with none of those things, Meisha, you have a great gift slumbering within you. I am offering you a home—food and shelter, education, and power. What child would deny such a dream?"

Meisha met his eyes across the pit. Flames surged up between them, the fire reaching the ceiling. Varan never flinched, though the girl swore his beard was singed.

When the fire shrank away, the wizard sighed. "Very well, I concede the battle. Jonal will study water. Fire shall be your element. I cannot deny that flames match your nature. Fire's inherent power will help you survive, until you embrace it for the right reasons."

"What reason is there for hurling flame, except to kill things?" The little girl sneered.

"When you've completed your studies, you will have the answer to that question," said Varan.

"And when I've finished, you'll let me go?" Meisha asked, watching him closely.

"Of course. You are not a prisoner here. The apprentices walk around as they please. You may do the same, but there are rules," he cautioned her. "You're not a Wraith anymore. You will wash the mud from your body and let your hair grow in, though perhaps you'll wear it short"—he rubbed his bearded chin as he regarded her—"to keep it from being singed. Yes, I think that will do. The Delve is my home as well as my fortress, and the caverns are secure, within the confines I've mapped. For your own safety, I ask you not to venture past my wards into the outer caves."

"What's out there?"

"Things you're not ready to see, little firebird," he said.

Meisha bristled at the childish nickname. "I can take care of myself." She looked away and caught movement from the mouth of one of the tunnels.

A small figure stood watching them—a dwarf in dented plate armor holding a large battle-axe. The handle of the weapon was broken, rendering it useless, but the dwarf clutched the remaining piece as if his life depended upon it.

"Varan—" but as soon as Meisha spoke, the dwarf vanished.

Varan smiled. "Did you see something?"

Meisha kept her eyes on the tunnel, but the apparition did not reappear. "Who is he?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"You've seen him before?"

"He watches me," said Meisha. She suppressed a shudder. "I didn't know he was. . . that he wasn't..."

"Alive?" Varan supplied. "I believe he is one of the Howlings."

"Howlings?"

"This place was called the Howling Delve, long ago. The Howlings were dwarves—adventurers who made these caves a secret home. They rode on the backs of giant wolves and amassed quite a fortune beneath the earth, or so the dwarven olorns—magic stories—tell."

"What happened to them?" Meisha asked.

"Obviously, they died," said Varan, with a careless shrug, "as adventurers often do."

"Then why are they still here?" The sense of unease tucked around Meisha like an ill-fitting cloak. How could Varan live among ghosts?

"They are only echoes of the past, child," said Varan. "Lingering memories and nothing to fear. My magic can create similar effects."

"How?" Meisha asked curiously.

"Would you like to see? To learn?"

Meisha heard the challenge in the question. She nodded slowly.

Varan reached into a small sack tied around his neck. "You'll see these again when we begin your testing," he said, pulling forth a small, square crystal. "They help me to gauge your progress." He touched one clear surface, spoke a word, and suddenly there were two more figures in the room. The man and child were perfect doubles of Varan and Meisha.

Meisha stared as her mirror image raised a hand and brought it down in a chopping motion. A jet of water rose from the ground and slapped the image of Varan, soaking his robes. The real Varan chuckled and spoke another command. The images shrank and returned to the crystal.

Meisha looked at her teacher. "How long can you keep the memories?"

"As long as I wish," Varan said. "Though perhaps I might erase that one, if you'd care to begin anew?"

Meisha stayed silent, so Varan continued, "I don't expect you to trust me yet, but you can trust this: I am a selfish old man, too curious about magic for my own good. I like to experiment, and I know the value in rearing a fire elementalist, a true savant. You may have a home here as long as you wish, no matter how many hurts you attempt to inflict upon me. I will not send you away. When your training is done, you may go back into the sunlight, if that is what you want." He removed another object from his sack, a small ring, which he handed to her. "When you leave, should you ever wish to return, all you need do is speak the command word on the band. The ring will bring you to the Delve." He leaned closer, so close to the pit she wondered how he stood the heat. "What say you, firebird?" He stretched his bare hand over the flames and met her gaze in another challenge.

Without hesitation, Meisha reached across and touched his wrinkled palm. Pain scalded her arm, but if he wouldn't back down, neither would she.

Varan's eyes shone with approval. "There will always be flame in you, child, for the whole of your life. But it will not always hurt so. Trust me."

Meisha nodded, bearing the pain. She looked over Varan's shoulder and saw the ghost again, watching her from the tunnel mouth. A large pendant hung around his neck with the figure of a mountain inscribed upon its surface. A hole sat in the center where once a charm or gem might have nestled.

What do you want from me? Meisha wondered. If the dwarf was beyond pain, why did he look so afraid?

As if in answer, the memories faded. The child Meisha had gone, and the sleeping Meisha found herself in a place she'd never been in her waking life. Only in her dreams had she been trapped in the stone chamber.

Meisha felt the surge of the campfire in time with her accelerating heartbeat. She knew what was coming, but she didn't want to face it.

This time, the fire was no friend. It held a living presence, awesome and terrifying and buried deep in a stone prison.

The presence, if it possessed a name, never spoke it to her. As far as Meisha was concerned, the creature was the Delve, and the Delve him. No further identity was needed.

She never saw a face, but she could feel the fire emanating from the creature's body—a beast of fire and claws, claws that tested the walls of his prison and the ring of guards on silent vigil.

The dwarves—his keepers. Meisha sensed the beast desired to hunt, but the dwarves kept him sealed inside the cavernous prison. So instead, he hunted them all down, one by one in the vastness. Their screams echoed off the stone as each one fell to the fire-clawed menace. They were still here, trapped alongside him for eternity.

He could slay them again, over and over, but Meisha sensed him growing weary of killing ghosts.

With renewed fear, Meisha thought, he wants to hear living screams.

But the fire beast was patient. His time would come. He could feel it. Until then . . .

"No!" the sleeping Meisha cried out. She watched helplessly through the eyes of the fire beast. He stalked forward and immediately met one of the dwarves. The small figure raised his broken axe in defiance. His pendant flashed briefly, brilliant silver, but the beast flexed his claws and ripped the broken weapon out of the dwarf's hands.

Screaming, Meisha sat up in her bedroll. The campfire flared in one giant stalk that reached almost to the tops of the trees.

Meisha swept an arm out, panting. The flames died, becoming so much smoking wood.

I'd been doing so well; I hadn't had the dream in months, Meisha thought bitterly.

Just when she thought she might be free of the Delve and her master, the memories came surging back like the fire—memories mixing with strange visions. How could she recognize truth from fever dreams?

There was one way, but Meisha would never take it. Her master might be able to explain the dream. She'd never had it before coming to the Delve. The Delve and her master were inextricably linked.

She would never face either of them again.

CHAPTER NINE

The Howling Delve

1 Kythorn, the Year of the Worm (1356 DR)

Twelve Years Ago ...

When Meisha rolled over in the darkness, she knew she wasn't alone. Lying perfectly still, her eyes tracked every shadow in the small room, seeking a hidden foe.

Her gaze fell on the open chamber door. Meisha knew she'd closed it tightly before going to sleep.

She leaned forward, toward the crack of light filtering through the gap between the door and its roughly worked frame.

In the passage beyond, the dwarf stood quietly watching.

Icy needles crawled up Meisha's back. Every night, she saw him—sometimes passing her in the narrow halls, sometimes in her room, standing at the foot of her small cot.

"What do you want!" she cried, raking her hands through her short hair. "Speak, or leave me be!"

But the ghostly apparition had already vanished. Meisha dropped her head into her hands, fighting the urge to run from the room. She fought the same internal battle every night. She longed to run to the wizard, to demand he return her to Keczulla, or Waterdeep, or to the frozen North for all she cared. Anywhere that was not the Delve, where she felt buried alive.

A knock at the door made Meisha jump.

Shaera, apprentice of air and one of Varan's older students, came into the room. She cradled a candle in one hand. "Did you call me?" she asked.

"No," Meisha said, her customary sullen gaze snapping into place. "Why would I want you?"

"Why, indeed?" the girl murmured. She walked right past Meisha, ignoring her hissed curses. "I came to leave you this." She crouched next to the cot and spoke a soft, breathy word.

A small column of fire rose up from the floor, floating in midair as if suspended from an invisible wick.

"Just until you learn the spell yourself," Shaera explained. "Always carry a light down here. If nothing else, light frightens the rats away." She smiled encouragingly. "You'll grow used to the Delve. We'll help you."

"You think I need your help to make fire," Meisha said cuttingly. Her eyes rounded, and the flame soared higher, almost touching Shaera's belt.

The girl's smile didn't falter. "He said you were powerful. I'm impressed. But can you make the fire last the whole of the night?"

Color rose in Meisha's cheeks, matching the slow-burning flame. She said nothing.

"I thought not." Shaera paused at the door. "If you get scared again, you can sleep in my room."

"Get out!" Meisha yelled, mortified that the girl had heard her distress. "Leave me alone!"

Shaera nodded and closed the door behind her.

Meisha seethed. Never on her worst night in Keczulla had she cried out, not when she'd been beaten by the Wraiths for holding back food, not when she'd been starving because they'd denied her for a tenday afterward. Through it all, she'd never made a sound.

How dare she, Meisha thought, how dare she come into her room uninvited? What would Varan think of such an invasion of privacy?

She snorted. Varan had probably sent the girl.

"Maybe you'd like the favor returned," she muttered. Her fear pushed aside by anger, Meisha slammed her door and headed for Varan's chambers.

She listened at the doors to each of the apprentices' rooms: Jonal, the water student; Prieces, the earth apprentice. Shaera and Lima were both air, and shared a room across the passage. Meisha had never bothered to learn beyond their names and elements.

Each room was quiet, the occupants undisturbed by her earlier shouts.

Did none of them feel the unnaturalness of the Delve? Meisha wondered. Or had they been in the place too long? All the apprentices here were at least two years older than Meisha and more advanced in their training. Perhaps they had grown used to the underground setting.

The thought of ever growing accustomed to life without sunlight made Meisha's skin go cold. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

That would never happen to her, she swore. She would always crave the Morninglord's touch.

When she came to Varan's door, she hesitated. A thin, green beam of light limned the crooked wooden planks. Enspelled globes, she thought. Varan used them in place of torches to light various parts of the Delve.

She reached up to rap on the wood and felt a tingle of electricity race down her arm: strong magic—dangerous, if she disturbed Varan in the middle of a casting.

The spell glow died away. Varan's muffled voice came through the wood.

"Come in, Meisha."

Scowling, Meisha dragged open the door to the chamber Varan used as a workroom. Her mouth fell open.

"Close the door, please," the wizard said crisply.

Meisha shut the door and turned a slow circle in the chamber, the better for her eyes to take in the writing scribbled on every wall's surface.

She could decipher only a handful of the arcane phrases. Inscribed and illuminated with green light, the writing blurred her vision if she stared at it too long. As if that were not disconcerting enough, Meisha swore she saw the writing move, rearranging itself as she tried to read.

"You couldn't sleep?" Varan inquired, when Meisha continued to gape at the wall of power.

She shook her head. "What is all this?" she breathed, her earlier anger forgotten.

"Some of we poor practitioners still have to rely on spellbooks —the written word—to fuel our Art," Varan explained, "especially when we create new magic."

"Do you often?" Meisha asked. "Create new magic?"

"As often as I am able," Varan replied. "Creation, as I see it, should be the ultimate goal of all who study the Art. That and teaching apprentices are the only ways our magic truly lives on. It matters not if the magic is used for protection or destruction, as long as it exists and can be turned and forged into something new."

"And you think I will be your destructive force," Meisha said, turning at last to regard the wizard.

"I've decided to reserve judgment in your case," he hedged, "as you so often surprise me. But I do not think I will be disappointed, whichever path you choose to take."

He waved a hand, and the light faded from the writing. "So you're having trouble sleeping," he mused. "It may be my stirrings of the Art woke you. In such a confined space, the magic has few places to go. The Delve is old, and the walls are worn with the imprints of old magic and the tread of feet—human and otherwise."

"Why do you live here then?" Meisha asked. With no chair in the room, she settled on the cold floor. "If the Delve is so old, aren't you afraid one day it will collapse?"

Varan chuckled. "From what I've been able to discern, the Delve has withstood far more than an old wizard's spells and come out intact. Now it is my sanctuary. The walls will hold." The wizard shrugged into a thick robe and plucked up a crooked staff as he spoke. "But we haven't solved your problem; you need sleep."

He ushered her out into the hall, spell-locking the door behind them. "When I can't find calm, I work until I'm weary, and I still have a task to finish before I seek my bed tonight. This task will weary both of us, if you'd care to join me?"

Meisha nodded eagerly. Anything would be preferable to returning to her boxlike room in the dark, even with the flame burning all night. The weight of the Delve still pressed down on her, but in Varan's presence the feeling seemed to diminish.

She followed the wizard down a side passage typically forbidden to the apprentices. Meisha recognized the boundary of Varan's wards inscribed on the tunnel wall. They walked right past the sigil, led by the glow from Varan's staff.

They entered a wide-mouthed, bell-shaped chamber that Meisha saw was entirely submerged in water. The cavern's ceiling reflected unbroken across the clear surface of the water, making it impossible to tell where the bottom lay.

Varan released his staff, causing it to hover over the center of the calm pool. "Fresh water source," he said. "Something we're always in need of down here. Close, too, so I'm considering extending the wards."

"So other creatures won't intrude on the watering hole," Meisha surmised.

"Correct—ordinarily—but I've observed this particular watering hole is rarely used by wandering creatures," Varan told her. "Can you guess why?"

Meisha looked at him sharply, at the same time taking a step back. "What dwells in the water?"

"Very good," Varan said, "and to answer your question, something big."

"So I'm to be your bait?" Meisha asked sullenly. She'd thought Varan would let her attack the thing.

Varan laughed. "Hardly, little one. I am not an ogre, or a Red Wizard, with apprentices to squander—and a waste it would be, for the creature that lives beneath the surface would rend you unrecognizable. Besides," his eyes glinted, "I do not require bait."

"How, then?" Meisha asked, intrigued. The wizard's enthusiasm infected her. She trailed his steps around the rim of the pool.

"First, I'll need your aid." Varan twirled a finger, and his staff inverted, shining the light close to the water's surface. "For all its might, the creature is shy and comes to ground only to hunt. It will need an inducement to reveal itself."

He waited, and Meisha realized he proposed a test. Varan wanted to see how she would solve the problem.

Meisha squatted next to the pool and placed her hands above the water. The words came to her haltingly. She envisioned the words dredged up from the bottom of the pool like so many buried coins, humming with power and warmth. She spoke faster, and the power turned to heat. She felt the glaze of it along her palm, a blown-glass ball she shaped using only her mind.

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 from 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."