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.