The Howling Delve - Jaleigh Johnson [37]
"He hasn't come out of the room?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"No," Jonal said. "He hasn't spoken to anyone since you entered his chamber. Will he come out," Jonal asked, "to aid in the search?"
"He will not," Meisha said, "until his experiment is complete. He claims that releasing the magic prematurely could.endanger us all."
"Will you wait for him?" Jonal asked hopefully.
Meisha turned a stony gaze on him. The apprentice ducked his head.
"I suppose if I don't return, he'll inquire about our fates eventually," Meisha said, her voice rich with scorn. "Wait for me on this side," she told Jonal, "and do not follow."
Meisha knew her warning was unnecessary. In his heart, Jonal was a coward. He would never enter the dark passage to come after either of them. She saw it in his eyes.
She moved to the tunnel mouth and heaved herself up onto its stone lip. Speaking a word, Meisha blew on her outstretched palm. Her fingers began to glow. The orange light spread down her palm to her wrist. Varan had taught iter the spell for light; the variation was her own.
By the glow of her palm she saw the tunnel stretching ahead of her in a narrow tube, and above her in a slender shaft. If Shaeta was ttying to find the testing chambets, she would have certainly gone forward. Meisha would have to follow, crawling on her belly for gods knew how many feet, and pray that at some point the path widened. She knew it would have to dip down. Far down, if the tales were accurate. And if she were attacked, it would be nearly impossible to mount a defense with spells.
"Lovely," she murmured, and she began to ciawl.
Waiting, his claws tense, the fire beast felt the magic coursing through the Delve. He willed it to falter and rage out of control, to shake the caverns and tear his prison apart-it would only take a single misguided stroke of power, and the dwarves' ancient bonds would crumble.
How fragile the stmctuies of mortals were. The beast's fire, his very presence, only served to corrupt the integrity of the Delve futther-a consequence of his imprisonment that never ceased to delight him. By the time he won free, the entire stronghold would be suffused with his essence. His hunting ground would be complete, a place of nightmares that merely awaited prey. The beast relished the thought.
Content in his future, the beast settled back into the life and waited for the dwatves to be reborn into their ghostly existence; so he could hunt again. He did not mind honing his skills.
CHAPTER 11
The Howling Delve 12 Uktar, the Year
of the Serpent (1359 DR)
Meisha thrust herself forward another foot. Her stomach felt raw through her coarse linen shirt. Sweat poured down her face, dripping salt in her eyes, but she kept ctawling. The physical discomfotts kept het mind occupied. She would endure almost anything to keep the memory of the dream at bay.
The beast of fire and claws. Every time she had the dream, the presence was there, stalking the helpless dwarves. She watched them die over and over again.
Ten more feet, Meisha counted in her head. The stone chilled her flesh, making her lightheaded and feverish.
She pressed her face against the ground. The taste of rock and dirt and something foreign filled her mouth.
A wave of nausea hit het gut. Meisha turned her head to one side and gagged, spitting to clear her mouth of a taste worse than bile. Instinctively, she tried to curl up in a ball, but the tunnel bound her in the shape of a worm.
Meisha forced herself to breathe deeply, to push away the tight fear in her chest.
"You've slept on stone every night for the past four years," she said aloud, just to hear the sound of her voice. "This should not disturb you now."
Perhaps it was because she found herself so far from Varan's