Текст книги "The Howling Delve"

Автор книги: Jaleigh Johnson

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She'd promised Kall she would look into where the crystal came from. Meisha clutched the small object in her hand. She'd sooner destroy the magical toy than question its owner. She'd sworn long ago never to return to the Howling Delve.

How she could consider breaking that vow for a man who'd once threatened her life, Meisha had no idea.

Obviously, something about Kall Morel affected her. Maybe it was that night in Esmeltaran, when he'd been willing to burn alive rather than let her get to his father. She'd never witnessed such loyalty. Or perhaps it was what she'd learned of his family in the years since meeting him.

Or maybe it had nothing at all to do with the merchant's son, and everything to do with her own private demons. If she could make peace with her former teacher, perhaps she could move forward. She could feel as if she belonged to the Harpers instead of merely fulfilling a role.

Meisha shook her head in disgust. Keeping her emotions buried had softened her.

She lifted her hand, examining the small gold ring on her finger. She'd never gotten rid of the magical gift—in fact, she rarely took it off.

"I don't want to go," she whispered aloud, surprised at how frightened her voice sounded, "but I don't have a choice, do I, Master?" A part of her still lived in the Delve, whether she chose to admit it or not.

She spoke the command word on the band, and the ring winked with a brief, magical burst. The radiance spread outward to engulf the Harper's entire body.

The sunlight disappeared.

* * * * *

Meisha blinked the white light from her eyes as the ever-present chill of the underground seeped through her jerkin. Water dripped in a distant rhythm, a sound from her earliest memories of Varan. With it came the familiar sense of intangible dread, a feeling she'd tried to forget in the years since her tutelage had ended.

She took comfort in the fact that she was still in Amn, albeit far beneath the land's surface. Varan had wisely scorned the idea of taking up residence in a populated area. A wizard living openly in a tower or estate would not go unmolested. Amn had persecuted wizards longer than Varan had been alive—for crimes he'd had no part in, but that didn't matter. The people still remembered the plagues, the waves of magical death wrought by practitioners of arcane magic. Amnians were not forgiving, which made Syrek Dantane's presence in Kall's house all the more confusing. What had Morel been thinking?

Meisha pushed the thoughts aside. She had more troubling concerns. She had to find Varan and learn how one of Balram's men came into possession of her master's work.

As Meisha's eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized the cavern in which she stood was unfamiliar. Her ring should have teleported her directly to her old chamber, unless some magic of Varan's had malfunctioned.

Automatically, Meisha drew a stiletto from her boot and listened. Three of Varan's enspelled stalactites cast a dull glow from the ceiling. By their light, she could see two tunnels branching off opposite ends of the cavern. The only other features of the chamber were two gaping holes: a wide shaft dug into the cavern's ceiling and a deep chasm in the floor directly beneath.

Cautiously, Meisha approached the edge of the chasm and looked down. Chaareff, she chanted, and her stiletto burst into flame. The fire licked along the blade to stroke her fingers, but she ignored the heat. Twisting her wrist, she flicked the blade, dropping a tiny ball of fire down the hole. It plummeted quickly out of sight, the last burst of light in some dying creature's eye. The fire illuminated writing on the walls of the chasm, but the script was unlike the markings on her ring. Not Varan's work, then—some other wizard? Either way, Varan must have known they were here.

Off to the side of the chamber lay a pile of rope that looked like it had once been a net. One end was tied to a nearby stalagmite, but the rest was hacked into several pieces.

Meisha extinguished her blade with a word, but at the same time, she found herself bathed in green light. She dived away, landing hard on her elbow just as a circle of light filled the ceiling shaft and shot downward. The green thread briefly connected the two holes.

A portal, she thought. She got to her feet as the first figures dropped through the magical doorway.

There were six in total, but they came through in pairs. Magic slowed their descent, allowing them to twist in midair to avoid plummeting down the chasm. They landed opposite her across the hole.

A woman and five men—one a halfling. Meisha managed to note that much before they saw her. The chasm yawned between her and any close-range weapons, but the woman had a crossbow. She and the halfling stood off to one side. Three other men stood behind them, one in robes with a wand swinging from his belt. Their leader was sizing her up just as she evaluated them.

The wizard drew his wand and loosed a flame arrow, illuminating a black beard curled around thick lips. Not bothering to dodge, Meisha readied her stiletto. The missile streaked toward her. At the last instant she braced herself for the impact and watched the attacking wizard's eyes widen when she simply absorbed the spell against her chest.

"My turn," she said around a plume of smoke, but she had already buried her blade in his abdomen. She turned to face the halfling and the woman.

"Take her alive," said the leader, but Meisha drowned him out with a spell. Her eyes glowed red in the semi-darkness. The woman raised her crossbow, but Meisha finished her spell, thrusting both hands out from her body, the flats of her palms pressed tightly together. A searing jet of wind like the breeze off a coal fire shot across the chasm, slamming into the halfling. The gust lifted him off his feet, driving him into the far wall. The crossbow bolt skittered away across the cavern floor as the woman fell to the ground.

The other men charged, coming from both sides of the chasm. The hot wind stalled them. Meisha ran straight at the dark abyss, the spell sweeping before her in a billowing arc.

She jumped, buoyed up by the wind, clearing the chasm easily and landing on the other side. This caught her attackers by surprise, leaving her only the woman to contend with. She reached out, grabbing Meisha's arm, thinking the Harper meant to run, but Meisha instead dropped flat to her back. Her momentum pulled the woman down. Continuing the movement, Meisha wedged her foot in the woman's abdomen and pushed, somersaulting her backward and down into the chasm.

Meisha started to sit up, but the woman caught the lip of the hole and Meisha's shoulder, dragging her back and costing her the opportunity for another spell. She wrenched free, but the men were pushing through the wind and closing in on her.

Grabbing another dagger, Meisha drove the blade upward into the back of the first man's thigh. He howled in pain and dropped heavily against her. She pushed him away and felt a hot sting at her lower back. Meisha went down with a cry, unable to recover as the leader came in from behind and grabbed a handful of her dark hair.

Meisha felt strands rip from her scalp as he dragged her backward. Stone scraped her skin, and she lost her grip on her dagger. She kicked and clawed until she felt empty air beneath her head.

The leader drew his dagger and straddled her, letting her head and upper torso fall free over the lip of the chasm.

Immediately, Meisha felt the blood rush to her head, her muscles tightening painfully as she tried to balance herself above the abyss. He snatched one of her flailing arms and brought the back of her hand down in a whip crack on a protruding stone.

Meisha screamed, her hand flopping uselessly in her attacker's. He laid the broken wrist straight against her side and waited while the other pair of men helped the woman over the lip of the chasm. She smiled at Meisha's white face.

"Stay still," the leader advised when Meisha tried to move. "See to Warin and Tershus," he told the rest of the group.

"I'm still kicking." Picking himself up, the halfling lit a torch. He bent over the wizard Meisha had stabbed and shook his head. "He's dead, Aazen."

The leader sighed. "Retrieve the chest. They will have it waiting."

When the group moved off down one of the tunnels, the leader turned his attention to Meisha. "If you fight me, I'll stand, and your weight will pull you over the edge," he said. "Your hand is broken. You can cast no spell without great pain. Do you understand?"

But Meisha's attention was drawn to a pool of blood steadily spreading around the man's boots. The sting at her back had been a stab wound. She was bleeding to death while the bastard sat atop her like a king on a throne. Flames blazed in her eyes, an awakening of raw, sorcerous power.

The leader leaned back. Meisha started to slide toward the darkness. She tried to finish the spell, but the strength slowly ebbed from her body, replaced by a numbing cold. She couldn't concentrate. Her spell died half-formed on her lips.

"I might heal you," the leader said, steadying her, "if you answer my questions."

Meisha had the will to chuckle. "If you heal me, I'll kill you."

The man seemed unconcerned. "Who are you?"

Meisha didn't answer. If she timed it right, she might be able to lock her knees around his waist, pull him back into the chasm. She could at least take the bastard with her.

A sharp blow across her cheek forced Meisha's attention back to her murderer's face.

"Varan Ivshar," the leader tried again, and Meisha's narrowing world came starkly back into focus. "So you do know the wizard," the man said, seeing her reaction. "I hoped so."

He knew of Varan. Meisha licked dry lips. "Where is he?" she asked.

The man didn't answer. Meisha squirmed, moaning. The tautness of her muscles would only cause her to bleed out faster. The man eased back, drawing her away from the hole. He knew she was too weak to fight anymore.

"What happened to the wizard?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Meisha said, her expression unfeigned. It seemed to satisfy him.

The man rose to his feet, gazing down at her indecisively. "I'd hoped you'd be able to offer me more," he said. He reached down and his fingers brushed the silver pin of the Harpers. "I don't believe I can justify letting you live." He listened as voices echoed from the tunnel. "They won't allow it."

Meisha waited, expecting him to stab her again, or push her body over the edge with his boot. He did neither, instead turning his attention to the group re-entering the cavern. One of the men carried a large chest held together by rusted metal bands.

"Warin's spell is gone," said the halfling. "We can't levitate the chest. It'll take a bit to secure it by rope."

"You have ten breaths," the leader said.

"Take me that long to tie it off, won't it? Gods only know what'll happen if it falls, Aazen."

The leader nodded but did not look pleased. "You're right, of course." He pointed at Meisha. "Cast the spell, and you will live."

"How did you find this place?" It had taken her years of research to discover the main entrance to the Delve, and then she found it only because she knew there was something there to find. She had never known this portal room existed. Meisha tried to pull herself up to her elbows, to see the man's face by the portal light. His hair was dark and shorn close to his head, as if he'd cut it with his own knife. Fine scar lines peppered a clean-shaven jaw, marring an otherwise attractive face. "Who are you?"

"We're thieves," the leader said.

"What could you hope to steal from a cave?"

"The Delve is much more than a cave. You should have known that, before you entered. Cast the spell."

She lay back and closed her eyes. "I don't know it."

"Very well. I offered you your life."

"Done, Aazen." The halfling tossed the leader the other end of the rope. He looped it twice around his waist and tied off the end.

Meisha watched him hand a waterskin off to the halfling, who uncorked it and squirted a thick, pastelike substance into his small hand. The skin went around to each member of the group until it was empty, then the halfling tossed the container carelessly toward the chasm. It fell short, landing next to Meisha, but no one paid her any further attention. They were busy coating their hands and boots with the substance. The halfling trotted on the balls of his feet toward the cavern wall. He jumped, his arms outstretched, latching onto the walls like an insect. He scrambled up and across the ceiling, disappearing into the mouth of the shaft. The rest followed in the same way.

The leader came last, climbing slower than the rest and towing the chest behind him on the rope. When he'd ascended to the edge of the portal, the woman braced him as he hauled the chest up. Meisha got her first clear look at it as it passed in and out of the green light. As she'd suspected, the chest was Varan's. What had they done to him?

With the chest secured, one by one the thieves disappeared up into the portal. When the last had gone, the green light faded.

Meisha rolled onto her side, crawling to the closest tunnel. She knew she would never make it out of the chamber, but anything was better than listening to her lifeblood drip down the walls of the chasm.

* * * * *

They'd nicknamed him "Dirty Bones," and for good reason. Talal wriggled out from the pile of waste and garbage that had collected at the mouth of the refuse room. He sniffed. Dirty, yes. He didn't mind dirt. But he was starving, too. That concerned him. He'd gladly be called "Fat Bones," but there just wasn't enough food.

"Not my fault. Can't eat garbage." He surveyed the room.

"Plenty of that, but can you live on it?" No. Unquestionably. He'd already tried. His tongue curled at the memory.

Too much thinking, he decided. Time to scavenge. The raiding party had come and gone. He'd counted to make sure there were no stragglers, just as Gadi had warned him. Then came the green light, then silence. It was the same every time.

Talal moved quickly, pulling a mound of wax that only vaguely resembled a candle from behind one of the rocks. He held it out, duck walking along the winding tunnel to the portal room.

Gadi had taught him each step in the process. He paused to listen before entering the room. When he peeked to see what lay within, he let out a whoop of delight. The sound echoed in the vast chamber. Talal clamped a filthy hand to his mouth, his eyes darting over the tops of his fingers. When nothing stirred, he rose to his full five-foot height and practically skipped over to the bodies.

There were two of them—two thieves dead. Warmth rose in Dirty Bones. "Two less to worry about. They'll be thrilled." He would hurry, so he could return and tell them.

"Messy," he muttered as he knelt next to the body of a young woman. Not a tidy kill—like Gadi, he thought—and shoved away all pity for the pretty-faced lass. He went for her boots first, feeling inside for pouches or hidden vials. He drew back with a hiss and raised a bloody finger to his mouth. Cautiously, he tried again, and pulled a pair of daggers from each boot. The lass bristled with them.

He worked his way methodically up her body but found no other treasures. There had to be more, the bitch was dressed too well. . . .

A low groan escaped the woman's mouth.

"Ho!" Talal felt his spine bounce off something hard and realized it was the cavern wall on the far side of the room. He'd slammed into it in his rush to get away from the corpse, which continued moaning.

"The walking dead," he squeaked. "I touched the walking dead... ." He stared at his hand as if the appendage might suddenly turn black and fall off. He wiped it furiously on his breeches. The damned things weren't supposed to come back once they bled that much, were they?

Talal wasn't going to take any chances. He felt around until he found a large rock. Holding it at eye level, he approached the body. Up close, he could tell her coloring was off, but it didn't have the deathly pallor of the other bodies he'd seen. Gadi had been much worse. The woman's eyes were closed, but the lashes fluttered as if she slept.

Talal bent closer and felt a shallow breath brush his cheek. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he shook away the sensation. "Not dead, that's the problem." Of course he'd known it all along. She didn't look like one of them Shadow Thief bastards anyway. How did she get down here?

"Bad luck, that's how, but we'll fix it. . . maybe." He wasn't any sort of healer, after all. She could die on the way to the camp. But what in the Hells else was he going to do for fun?

Talal tossed away the rock so he could get an arm under her legs. He hauled her up, grunting as blood soaked into his breeches. "If I drop you, Lady, I'm taking it as a sign from the gods this was a bad idea."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Keczulla, Amn

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

Kall passed through a wide stone archway crowned by a sapphire keystone. The gem inset on the opposite side of the arch, a lighter agate, was not nearly as impressive or flawless, but then again, the difference between districts in Keczulla often hinged upon the worth of a gemstone.

The Keczull clan first gave the city life when it struck iron and gold along the Ridge arm of the Cloud Peaks to the north. Unfortunately for all, the mines didn't last, and a little over a century and a half later, the city was abandoned. It took Pulth Tanislove and his gem mines to bring Keczulla back in 1355 DR. The city had come twice from ruin to prosper in metals and gems, so naturally every aspect of its growth had followed suit, from the four districts: Emerald, Sapphire, Jade, and Agate, to their corresponding wards. The most prosperous families made their homes and businesses in the Mithral and Platinum Wards, and the hierarchy descended from there. Harbor Moon Ward was last in line and made no attempt to put a false sheen on itself. Kall appreciated that, and he suspected Rays Bladesmile did as well.

Traffic flowed around Kall, merchants bearing carts or wagons of goods packed wheel to wheel on the narrow streets. The ones loaded down with sacks dealt in grain or textiles. Those stacked with chests and lockboxes, their drivers' furtive gazes darting all around—they were jewelers, like Kall. They carried identical bulging rings of tiny keys—one for every box—like the gleaming teeth of a hundred exotic creatures. The jostle of their carts on the pitted streets evoked a discordant jangle that echoed throughout the ward.

The Thirsty Gnome sat just on the other side of the archway. Kall waited in the shade of the building, his eyes straying to a particular set of towers nestled in the center of the Gold Ward. He'd been to his father's house once, just after he arrived in the city, but seeing the structure from a distance like this was equally unnerving.

His father had had the house in Keczulla built identical to the one in Esmeltaran. The gods alone knew why. It certainly wasn't in keeping with the fashions of Amn, which Amnians themselves freely admitted tended to change like light off a gem facet.

"S'only piss an' ale if you try and sell it for three coppers!" shouted a voice from inside the tavern. Kall pushed away from the arch. Lord Rays was right on schedule.

The door to the tavern burst open, and Rays Bladesmile stormed out, the aforementioned ale streaming from his chin.

His eyes barely cleared the depths of their sockets, Kall noted, in a face that more resembled a skull, emaciated and paste white from too much time spent indoors licking the bottom of a tankard. Bladesmile stared angrily around the street as if searching for a fight. When none materialized, he tottered toward an alley, pulling at his breeches' strings as he went.

Kall followed at a discreet distance. He didn't want the inebriated Bladesmile's wrath turned on him.

The roofs of the adjacent buildings overhung the alley in a crooked arch that swallowed light. Aromas of piss and garbage filled the air. Kall stopped at the alley's mouth, waiting in amused silence as Lord Rays added his own offering to the bouquet.

"You wanting to hold it for me, lad?" Rays muttered without looking up.

"Ah, no, thank you," said Kall.

"Hmph. Then what does Lord Morel want here, at the height of a business day? Yes, I know you," he said, at Kall's surprised look. "You can expect all the Bladesmiles to mark your face."

"Actually, I was looking for Rays Bladesmile."

Rays retied his breeches, adjusted himself, and spread his hands in a ready swagger. "Well, you've found him, lad, in all his glory. What can I do for the last scion of Morel house?"

"Just Kall, I think, for meetings in back alleys," Kall said with a laugh. "I sought you out to discuss the debt my father owes the Bladesmiles."

"If that's so, you should have known you'd need to speak to Lord Rhor. The debt was substantial enough that accounting for it and any interest accrued—trust that there'll be plenty to spread around—will fall to him and those immediately under his eye."

"Yes, but I'm most interested in the sums already transferred to your family, the debt repaid in the form of mercenaries," Kall said. "I understand you are still considered the master armsman for the Bladesmile family."

"Gods, you want to talk true business." Rays gave a mock shudder. "Good thing I've already begun drinking. Yes, I'm still head of Rhor's companies, for as long as he deigns to put up with me." He nodded at the inn. "Join me in a bottle, and I might even tell you how much I despise the arrogant bastard."

"Another time, I'd like to hear it." Kall smiled. "Today I'm expected to return to Morel house. I'm hosting a gathering tomorrow evening for some old friends of my father's. Hopefully, by night's end, they will be my friends."

"By that, you mean you hope they won't foreclose on you in the manner of Shilmistan wolves. They're all coming for you, one way or another, and not just the Bladesmiles. Plenty of other families'll turn up claiming 'old' or 'half-forgotten' debts that are neither. They wouldn't mind taking those markers out of a former adventurer turned man of business."

"Then it's fortunate I'm more the adventurer and less the businessman," Kall said. His smile had steel in it.

Catching the look, Rays laughed. "Well, you won't get trouble from me. As you said, your father paid some of his debts in men, and I'll be damned if Rhor didn't cheat him something grievous in that deal. He added a fair number of seasoned fighters to my company. I've seen none finer. No, I've no complaints against your father, no matter what people said about him."

"And these—my father's men—do they serve the Bladesmiles still?"

"They do."

"I see." Kall took in a breath, pausing to consider his next words. "I wonder ... what a man would have to do to reacquire such fine and loyal warriors."

"The price would be high," Rays warned.

"And worth every copper," Kall said quietly.

Overhead, a familiar cry rang out. Kall lifted an arm as the goshawk glided easily between the narrow buildings and alighted upon his gauntlet. "Welcome back," he said.

"Impressive." Rays scrubbed at the black stubble on his chin. "Is she one of Dhairr's?"

"No," Kall said, "but my father's aviary is extensive. I have not taken a full inventory, but I know of at least two goshawks, a peregrine that flies faster than any eye can follow, and others I couldn't identify."

"Do you intend to maintain it, now that you've taken up residence at the estate?" Rays asked, interested.

"I had not considered it," Kall admitted. "Other matters have been occupying my thoughts. Do you have an interest in hunting birds?"

"Not for that purpose," said Rays. "The greater Bladesmiles"—he spat again in distaste—"constantly seek the means to make information travel faster, short of using magic to fuel its steps."

"Of course. I have no doubt my father's specimens could be trained as messengers. If such a service interests the Bladesmiles, I'm certain we could come to an arrangement," said Kall. He went on, "If I may, Lord Rays, I would be honored to have you attend my gathering tomorrow. Beyond the pleasure of your company, I wouldn't mind continuing this discussion in my home."

"In more delicate surroundings?" Rays looked genuinely curious. "Well, lad, if you're brave enough to want me at your table, I accept your invitation and wish you good business." He slapped Kall on the back.

Jostled by the sudden movement, the goshawk let out an ear-splitting shriek and took flight, leaving gouge marks in Kall's leather gauntlet. She soared up between the buildings to glide huffily over the Gold Ward.

The raptor flew gracefully through the wide window of the aviary but came to rest on the ground instead of one of the perches scattered in tiers around the room.

The other raptors screeched in alarm as magic flooded the narrow space. The goshawk's wings twisted vertically, folding feathers and membrane slowly into the flesh of bare arms. Claws shrank into slender, feminine toes, which gripped the cold stone floor reflexively as the change wracked her body. When the transformation was complete, Cesira stood, instinctively reaching out with her thoughts to calm the frightened birds.

Forgive me. I will be more thoughtful in the future.

Cesira had no idea what her true voice sounded like. Mute from birth, she did not know why she could touch animals with her thoughts but not her voice, nor did she understand how Silvanus granted her speech when in animal shape, or heard her spells when she chanted in silence. She had simply accepted long ago that the gods must know the hearts and minds of their followers, and answer accordingly.

Forgive me, she repeated.

When all was quiet, Cesira strode briskly to the door of the tower, which led to a steep flight of stairs. On the landing, she put on the long brown cloak she'd left hanging on a peg earlier that morning. Time to become mistress of the house, she thought, blowing a stray feather out of her tresses.

A servant met her at the base of the stairs—the cook, if Cesira remembered correctly. "My lady," the woman said, curtseying quickly. "I've a message for Lord Morel."

Lord Morel, Cesira thought. Gods help her. She looked the woman over, noting with some relief that she bore the new symbol of Morel woven with ribbon into the collar of her frock: an emerald joined by an elaborate setting to a rather plain-looking stone. The official story was that Lord Morel meant the symbol as a tribute to Keczulla's roots, its rise from nothing to become the backbone of the Morel jewel business. Conveniently, it also bore the enchantment that allowed Cesira to converse with people, making the plain stone in essence more valuable than the emerald. Cesira did not miss the irony. What is it? she asked.

"It's from Master Dantane," the cook said, a little uneasily. "He again requests an audience. He wants to know when Lord Morel will be deciding whether he is to stay or go from the house." The woman's tone left little doubt of her feelings on the matter. If the rest of Amn was in the dark about Dantane's profession, it was certainly no secret to the house. "He'd like to speak with Lord Morel as soon as possible."

I'm sure he would, Cesira said. Please tell him Lord Morel will speak to him just as soon as he returns.

The woman curtseyed again and hurried away. Cesira's gaze strayed across the hall, in the direction of the other tower. The spire had formerly housed Morel's private offices. At some point it became the wizard's living quarters.

Must they all flock to towers and high places, Cesira wondered. She didn't see the appeal. Then again, she knew nothing of Syrek Dantane or his tastes. That worried her, more than she liked to admit.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Keczulla, Amn

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

Aazen approached the Contrall Estate from the rear, nodding to Isslun as she strode forward to bar his path. «I need to see him.»

"He's waiting for you. We've already heard from the buyer"—she cast a quick glance around the deserted patio—"and the Cowl. We were set up."

"I was set up," Aazen corrected her sharply. "And two Gem Guards are dead for it."

Isslun shrugged, unconcerned. "If they cannot identify us, what's the worry?"

"I see your sister took the lion's share of the wits between you," Aazen sneered. "We're starting to attract attention. If this incident draws concern anywhere near the Council's hearing, how long do you believe the Shadow Thieves will continue to support this operation?"

The Council of Six, Amn's anonymous body of rulers, saw to the needs of the land primarily by keeping business running as smoothly as possible between the merchant families—business which would not include an influx of black market magical items, not with two Gem Guards dead in the Harbor Moon Ward.

Isslun comprehended none of that. She pouted, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "If you place so high a value on my sister's wits, perhaps she will welcome you to her bed when you grow cold tonight."

"She already has," Aazen said, closing the door on the twin's shocked face.

His father waited in the library. The few books remaining in the tall, narrow room had gathered a thick blanket of dust. For as long as they'd dwelled here, his father had shown no interest in them.

"Are you all right?" Balram asked as Aazen closed the library door.

Aazen felt the abrasions at his wrists where one of the guards had briefly put him in manacles. "Minor wounds. We have a problem."

"I'm aware," Balram said grimly. "A watch commander, Aazen?"

"It was the only way I could see to escape. I took him as hostage. His own men fired the bolts."

Balram nodded, letting it pass. "Jubair was here before you. It seems a member of the Chadossa family approached a contact within the Cowled Wizards concerning a rumor he'd heard about black market magic."

"A rumor including the location of the exchanges and the contents of the latest shipment?" Aazen asked.