The Howling Delve
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"You're awake." His father entered the room and perched on the edge of the bed. "Much has happened that we must discuss."
Aazen immediately sat up straighter. His father issued commands. He rarely offered to discuss anything with him, as one man would to another. "Kall and I were attacked at the lake," Aazen said, "by Dencer and men of Morel."
"I know," his father said calmly. "I orchestrated the attack."
Aazen opened his mouth, but no sound issued. He thought his father must be jesting, but by the look in Balram's eyes, Aazen knew he was not. Fear uncurled in his belly like an oily serpent. He swallowed and asked, "Why?"
"To slay Lord Morel and his son, to show our strength to the Shadow Thieves, that we might eventually gain a place among them," Balram explained. When Aazen only gaped, he went on, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I intended. I realize Kall is your friend. Dhairr was mine. Nothing about this decision was simple, Aazen, but I am trying to secure our future—your future. My actions were justified."
Aazen nodded automatically. He had heard such reasoning from his father before. When he awoke facedown on the floor of his room with a loose tooth or swollen lips, or when his belly burned from lack of food two days after some transgression, the actions were always justified. "Is Kall... are they dead?" he asked, striving to keep emotion out of the question. "Haig was with us—"
"Haig is dead," confirmed Balram, "but not by my hand. Dhairr killed him."
"Why?" Aazen hid his horror beneath confusion, which wasn't difficult. Morel, kill an ally? It made no sense.
"Haig was a Harper," his father explained. "Morel has reason not to care for them. Dhairr still lives, but he is no longer a concern. He is under my control and believes his son to be a traitor. Kall, however, escaped. I do not know where."
Relief nearly caused Aazen to swoon. His friend was safe.
"Men loyal to me are searching for him right now," Balram continued. "The boy has seen too much to live." His gaze fixed intently on his son's face. "That's why I need your help, Aazen."
Aazen's fear intensified. "What can I do?"
"Nearly all of your time is spent with Kall. You must have secret places, hidden grounds for whatever foolishness the two of you concoct. Do not deny it," he warned softly as Aazen started to shake his head. "Kall has no other family, nowhere to run except such a place. If we do not find and silence him, if he manages to reach the authorities in Esmeltaran, they will learn what I have done.
"Think, boy," he said, mistaking Aazen's hesitation for a lapse of memory. "You must know a place. We have to hurry. If I am caught, I will be killed."
Aazen frantically searched for a way out of his father's trap. His heart thudded wildly against his ribs. Betray Kall? It was unthinkable. Yet if he didn't, his father would be taken away, and it would be Aazen's fault. "I... I know of a place," he stammered.
Balram's face lit with an ugly smile. "Where?"
He would have to tread very carefully, Aazen thought, or his father would sense the ruse. The serpent in his belly threatened to rise up and choke him, but Aazen forced down the fear and guilt. "Near the lake—the Veshpel estate." He named a house that had burned in mid-Tarsakh. He waited a breath and added, as if it were of no consequence, "Many of us go there to explore the ruins."
The spark of triumph in his father's eyes dimmed. "Will it be occupied, at this time of day?" Balram asked.
"Possibly," Aazen said, and in truth, many of the local boys his age spent their free time among the blackened stones. But Kall would not go there for safety, of that he was certain. The estate was too near Morel house and too open to the world. There were better places to hide.
His father was silent, trying to determine the best course to take. Aazen prayed he would let him act, but that decision depended entirely on how much Balram trusted his son. In his heart, Aazen had always believed his father had little faith in him, and so he was surprised—and shamefully warmed—when Balram said, "Then you will have to do it." He nodded, the idea seeming to gain merit the more he considered it. "Kall trusts you. Take my horse. Find Kall in the ruins and draw him out, away from any watching eyes. You need not be the one to slay him," he assured Aazen, squeezing his son's shoulder briefly. "Draw him away, and we will be waiting."
Aazen sat silent a long time under his father's penetrating gaze. This would be the critical test. If he gave in too readily, his father might grow suspicious. Aazen swallowed, hard and audibly in the quiet room. "No."
Balram's eyes narrowed a fraction. "No?"
"I can't betray him, Father." Aazen put a tremor in his voice, a weak, small titter that his father would not be able to tolerate. His father despised weakness. "Please don't ask me—"
The slap blurred the edges of Aazen's vision. His left eye immediately began to throb and water, but the blow had not been debilitating. His father meant only to silence him.
Obediently, he sat, teary-eyed, as Balram rose slowly to tower over him.
"I am asking you, boy," he said, his breath hot and sour on Aazen's face. "I am asking you to help me, to protect me, as I would lay down my life to protect you. Do you hate me so much that you would allow me to be taken, to be killed?" His eyes softened. The hurt crept in. The sight of it made Aazen sick to his stomach.
"No, Father!" he cried, "I don't hate you!" And that was the truth. The only person Aazen hated in that instant was himself. "No, of course not!"
"Of course not," his father repeated, his tone soothing. "You are becoming a man, a loyal son." He touched a large hand to Aazen's head and wiped the moisture away from his reddening eye. "I will bring my horse, and you will ride. Go swiftly, and do as I instructed. In the morning, all this will be a fading memory."