The Howling Delve
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A tentacled arm whipped out from where the woman's stomach had been, catching Kall in the midsection. The blow threw Kall 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 Kall when he recognized Cesira's chanting voice. Damn her, the last thing he wanted was for her to be acid-seared while protecting him.
Steam rose in a cloud, hissing and stinging Kall's eyes, but the burning sensation eased. The druid touched the base of his neck, and Kall felt a faint, humming tingle spread across his skin. It lingered in his ears like the last thrum 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, Kall 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—Kall hacked them off, forming a buffer for Dantane and Cesira.
"Kall!" Dantane's voice was thick with magic. "The root in its throat—carve it out. Destroy it!"
Kall 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.
Kall 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 Kall, Dantane, and the creature from view.
Behind the vapor wall, Kall 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.
Kall fought down a rush of bile. Whatever shape it took now, the thing still had a woman's head, and Kall 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, Kall didn't allow himself to think. He yanked the mass of mud and root straight up.
The creature's head disintegrated around his arm. Kall lurched backward, hurling the root ball across the dais. It landed, writhing, at Dantane's boots.
"Kill it," Kall growled.
Dantane wavered. His eyes followed the movements of the dozens of tendrils branching off the mass, each quivering with something arcane.
"Dantane!" Kall 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.
Kall 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—"
Kall 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."
Kall's grip on his sword tightened, but Dantane didn't back down. "Perhaps you would like me to discern the woman's—or man's—identity?" The wizard'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.
Kall 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.
The stragglers had gone. Aazen had gone. Kall hadn't seen him leave with the crowd. "Close off the estate," he ordered the servants who'd dared remain within earshot. "Let no one back in except the guard, whenever they turn up." He had no doubt they would. Dantane was right, damn the man again. He had to find out who the lute player was and why she—or he—had turned up at the party with deadly magic.
Could it have been one of the families, attempting to strike at him? It seemed ludicrous, considering their aversion to magic and the rumors flying all evening about his generous-bordering-on-desperate attempts to make restitution among the merchants.
Attempts that might come to nothing after tonight, Kall thought. Fury spiked through him. Amn's retribution for magic use, especially magic that murdered, was second only to the collection of debts among the merchant families. He was about to be buried deep in trouble of both sorts.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Howling Delve
4 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
"This was a great idea," Talal said sarcastically as he held the torch around Meisha's body.
The Harper turned, flames catching in her eyes. Talal flinched. "Are you really going to walk at my heel with that thing, or can I carry it?"
"My torch, Lady," Talal said, holding it out of reach.
"Then would you care to lead?" She pointed down the dark, unfamiliar passage.