Dark Heart

Chapter 14

Kitiara woke up, cold water splashing on her face. She was lying on her back on the banks of the river and looking up into the face of Colo, who was crouched beside her, water cupped in her hands. Kit gave a start as everything-the slig hunt, the ambush, the destructive gale-came back to her.

"Shh!" whispered Colo.

Kit propped herself up on her elbows. This didn't look entirely familiar. "Where am I?" she asked.

"About half a mile from where we were," said Colo, still whispering.

"How…?"

"I had to drag you! Now be quiet or you'll give us away!"

In a daze Kit heard distant tramping in the underbrush, muffled voices arguing, horses riding off. After what seemed an eternity, the noises tapered away, and she and Colo were surrounded by silence.

"What-" she began anew.

"Quiet," ordered Colo, placing her hand over Kit's mouth for emphasis. "Sleep now. In the morning…"

They went behind some rocks. Colo covered Kit with a layer of branches and leaves so that she couldn't be easily seen and then made a similar blind for herself. As she fell asleep, trying to piece together what had happened, Kit was aware of Colo's watchful eyes peering out from the camouflage.

Kit woke early the next morning. Colo was on her haunches next to her, throwing her dice and bones and muttering to herself.

They were on the edge of the woods, near the bend of the river where the four mercenaries had first begun tracking the slig the previous day. Obviously, the menace had passed, for Colo had no compunction about being spotted.

"Who were that bunch? What did they do with Ursa?" Kit asked insistently. "Will you please tell me what has happened? Why did that mage summon a whirlwind?"

"I don't know," Colo stopped her soothsaying and answered grimly.

"How did you-we-manage to escape?"

Colo smiled slyly. "When they came upon us, I had my hand in Cleverdon's bag and was able to grab one of the poison blow darts that I knew he carried. It was tiny enough to fit into my hand and slip in my mouth. I waited for the right moment, when the stupid man who was going to kill me reached for his weapon. I spit it into his face. The poison is fast-acting, and in the confusion we were able to get away. Some of them tried to find us afterward but couldn't, because I dragged you downstream."

"Where are they now?"

"I think they have given up," said Colo. "Now it's our turn to look for them." She had walked to the riverbank and bent over to sip some water from her hands. "Drink some," Colo advised. "It'll be good for you."

Both drank their fill. Colo thought it best if they were to stay away from the river during daylight, and double back to the site of the whirlwind by a roundabout way through the forest.

They had one sword-Beck's-which Kitiara had managed, to hold onto during the entire episode. Setting off through the brush, they took turns with it now, hacking away undergrowth wherever their path was impeded.

After a short but grueling press through the forest, Kit recognized the general vicinity where they had tied the horses the day before. There were majestic trees with yellow leaves and some clearings dotted with bare rock. Coming into one of the clearings, she and Colo stopped dead in their tracks at the sight that awaited them.

Cleverdon-Droopface-hung from a tall tree, his body stark naked, covered with cuts and oozing pus and blood. The look on his pathetic face was almost peaceful, but his eyes had been dug out. They lay on the ground at his feet where some birds had pecked at them.

Beneath him to one side was faithful Cinnamon, staked out on the ground and horribly flayed. She lay on one side, her flank skinned so that her innards lay exposed, rotting in the sun. Droopface had been killed before he'd been hung, but Cinnamon had died slowly, tortuously bleeding to death while woodland scavengers feasted on her.

Kitiara couldn't bear to look at the sight. She fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands, fighting nausea.

Colo crept forward, looking around warily. Reaching Cinnamon, the tracker gave the dead horse a hard kick, raising nothing but flies. Likewise she gave Droopface a push. Though the sad-faced one swung back and forth crazily, there was no other movement or sound. Cleverdon had been dead for many hours.

Confident that no one else was around, Colo stalked back to Kit and shoved her in the back.

"What's that for?" demanded Kit hotly, jumping up to face Colo with a hard-set jaw.

"Because we don't have time for that schoolgirl stuff," Colo said angrily.

"That was my father's horse," said Kit softly.

"So what? Who's your father?"

"Gregor Uth Matar," Kit said dejectedly. Her father seemed farther away now than ever.

Colo looked surprised by this information. "The one Ursa rode with?"

"Ursa!" responded Kit, even more astonished than her companion. "What do you mean? He never said anything about riding with my father."

"I don't know," said Colo guardedly. "Maybe I'm wrong. I have a knack for getting names mixed up."

"Tell me what you know." Kit pushed her.

"I don't know anything," insisted Colo. She stood chin to chin with Kitiara, not in the least intimidated.

Although Kit wanted to fight it out, she also had to admit that she trusted Colo, who had saved her life-twice so far. Perhaps Colo was honestly mistaken. Anyway, how could Ursa have ridden with her father and never mentioned it?

"We don't have time for this anyway," Colo repeated.

"What do you mean?"

"They killed your horse, but not the others. That means three horses might be running free in the woods. We have to find at least one of them if we are going to stand a chance of catching up."

Kit thought a moment. "If the raiders didn't take them, the horses would have followed our scent and ended by the waterfall and the slig's cave. That means if we keep going in this direction we stand a good chance of running across them."

"Right," said Colo, setting off again through the woods. Kit looked over her shoulder at Droopface and Cinnamon. Colo turned around. "Coming?"

"Yes," said Kit, hurrying after her.

After another two hours of slowly making their way, they came upon the knoll within sight of the waterfall, the same spot where they had made camp, and been attacked, the night before.

The sight that greeted them was even more eerie than the one in the other clearing. Trees were bent and twisted, even uprooted. The ground had been swept clean of rocks, leaves, and everything else. Over the site hung a strong, gassy odor.

There was no evidence of Ursa or the slig's head or the guard whom Colo had killed, no evidence of anyone or anything from the day before. The place looked not destroyed, but strangely emptied.

"What does it mean?" asked Kit, unnerved.

Colo was stomping around, trying to pick up a trail of something. "Powerful magic. Evil magic. I think they were after Ursa and, for some reason, you. When they captured him, they spirited him away-somewhere. That great cyclone was a magic wind. It took him and everything else away."

"A powerful mage must be his enemy," said Kit wonderingly. She was thinking about what Colo said, and wondering why anyone would be after both her and Ursa.

"Or somebody with enough money to hire a powerful mage," added Colo thoughtfully. Suddenly she cocked her head. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Kit.

"There it is again!" shouted Colo and took off, sprinting through the forest. Kit had to run as fast as she could, leaping over branches and rocks, to keep her in sight. They burst into a clearing, and there was Droopface's mule, calmly munching grass. The mule shied away from them, but Colo grabbed it. Stroking its head soothingly, she jumped on and then extended an arm down to Kit, pulling her up.

It took them all afternoon, traveling in ever-widening circles, to pick up a trail, although they did not understand why there were signs of only two horses, heading west.

After another hour it grew dark, but Kit and Colo kept going. They only had Beck's sword between them, so Kitiara wondered not only who they were following, but what they would do when they caught up. Long past midnight they saw a campfire ahead. They dismounted and crept forward on their hands and knees.

Once they got closer, Kit saw that it was the two dark elves, who were bickering. Closer still, Kit could make out some of the words. She realized they were arguing over her-"the shadow girl," as one of them put it-and which of them was to blame that she had absconded.

"If you had done it my way-"

"You agreed!"

"Well, it will be your job to explain."

Colo put a finger to her lips and circled to the right. Kit had no idea what her plan was, but she held the hilt of her sword firmly, waiting for some signal.

Colo emerged from behind the elves, leaping at them with such breathtaking speed that Kit was taken aback. The tracker carried a big rock. She flung herself on the back of one of the dark elves, bringing her rock down on his head with a sickening crunch.

Even as she did so, Kit sprang out of hiding and rushed ahead with an impromptu battle cry. The other elf had jumped up and grabbed a dagger. Now he rushed toward Kit, but she had the advantage of surprise and a longer reach. She knocked his blade out of his hand with one swipe of her arm, then plunged her weapon into his chest. He fell dead.

It was over in a matter of seconds. Kit saw that Colo was stripping the weapons off her unconscious victim, attaching a knife and various pouches to her belt. She looked up at Kitiara with a confident grin.

"What now?" asked Kit, wiping her sword blade.

Colo sat down on a log and took a bite out of the haunch of venison that was roasting over the fire.

"We wait," she said, gesturing to the elf she had downed, "until this one wakes up."

Eventually, the dark elf groggily came to. His expression hardened when he saw Kit and Colo standing over him. He squirmed to sit up. Colo had bound his hands and feet, and tied a rope around his neck, then to a tree branch, so that he could not move very far without cutting off his breath.

It was the elf Kitiara remembered from the Silver Gar. For the first time Kit could see him close up, with his almond-shaped face, large, pointed ears, and haughty expression. The dark elf refused to show any fear and, struggling to stand, stared at them insolently.

Colo matter-of-factly hit him across the face, drawing a streak of blood from his lip. There was a long pause, and the dark elf slowly bared his teeth in a bitter smile. Colo hit him again.

"Where is he? Where did they go?" she demanded.

"Far away from here," he answered tightly.

"How?" she asked.

"Magic wind."

Colo nodded to Kit.

"Why didn't you go with them?" she asked.

"Because we lost the girl," he said, indicating Kit.

Kit's eyes widened. "You were following me on the boat, weren't you?" she probed.

"No," he said. "That was accidental. I wasn't following anyone. Then I noticed the sword that Patric was carrying."

"You killed him!" Kit said fiercely.

Now Colo was listening with wide eyes, trying to add it all up.

"I killed him," the dark elf said, "and I was going to steal the sword, but I was interrupted. The sword disappeared, and I realized you had taken it. I thought you had drowned, but after your horse was stolen, I began to figure it all out.

It wasn't Patric I should have killed, it was you. Who are you anyway?"

"Kitiara Uth Matar," she said proudly. "What is that to you?"

His face showed that it was nothing to him. He had never heard her name before.

"What do you want with Ursa?" Colo took up the questioning again.

"It is not personal with me," the elf said arrogantly. "My mistress has paid well for him. She would pay more for you."

"Who is she?" Kitiara demanded.

"Luz Mantilla. A lady who wants revenge on the persons who murdered her beloved."

"Lady Mantilla!" exclaimed Kit.

"You have heard of her," the elf said with satisfaction. "She is a crazed person who has the money to employ the services of dozens of mages, spies, and assassins. Her life is devoted to finding the mercenaries who waylaid and murdered her fiancйe, an innocent nobleman. There were five of them. We have only ever been able to name four. We don't dare return without the fifth-and that is you, Kitiara Uth Matar."

"Return where?" asked Colo.

The dark elf spoke with an almost sinister glee. "To a small, once-thriving kingdom on the other side of the Eastwall Mountains, now a land of rubble and death and dark magic. A hellish place. I have never been there. Kraven there-" he indicated the dead elf with an unsentimental nod "-he was the contact and the purser."

There was a long, heavy silence.

"I think I know where," said Kit to Colo.

Colo pulled her aside so that they could speak out of range of the elf. They squatted in the moonlight, speaking in low tones. Colo's face was serious. "So you know something about this, after all?"

Kit waited a moment before speaking. "It was one of Ursa's jobs. I tagged along and played a part to trick the pursuers. From what he told me, the job was botched and this Beck, a young nobleman, was killed."

For an instant Kitiara flashed on that night-the memory of Beck, his lifeless face and mutilated body.

"You didn't get the money?" asked Colo.

"Well, I didn't get the money," said Kit with wry bitterness, "but the others did, Radisson, Droopface, Ursa and-" her voice faltered "-El-Navar. They cut me out of the payoff and rode off without me. Ursa gave me this sword as a 'reward,' Beck's sword." She indicated the sword in her hand, whose tip was restlessly prodding the ground.

"Then?" asked Colo.

"Beck Gwathmey was pledged to be married to a gentlewoman on the other side of the mountain," Kit continued. "A road was being built to seal the marriage. When he died, everything fell apart. I got stuck in a place called Stump-town for several months and heard a lot of gossip about what happened. Luz Mantilla went insane, people said, and murdered her own father. He had planned the ambush to prevent the marriage. She vowed to track down the hired killers. Nobody ever knew I was part of that business."

"Except the other four," Colo said.

"Radisson must have died before telling," Kitiara mused. "Nobody knows what happened to the Karnuthian. And now Luz has Ursa…"

"Where is this place?" asked Colo.

"Across the channel, then a week's ride, hundreds of miles, through not one but several mountainous areas."

"The magic wind must have taken them there."

Kit said nothing. Both of them glanced over their shoulders at the dark elf. He stood there, knotted in rope with a tight loop around his neck, staring hatefully.

"They don't know your name yet, that you were part of it," mused Colo.

"Unless Ursa tells them."

"If he is still alive."

"That was so long ago," mused Kitiara. "Three years. I had almost forgotten. Except…"

"Except what?" Colo looked deeply into her eyes.

Kitiara averted her glance. "Nothing," she said.

Colo got up and took a long draw of water out of a tin cup by the campfire, watching the dark elf. He laughed and spat in her direction. She went to their two horses and meticulously riffled the saddlebags, pulling out a few precious items-a heavy purse, some dried food, and a crumpled map that she held up with satisfaction for Kit to examine.

"What are you going to do?" asked Kit.

"What do you think?" replied Colo with annoyance. "I'm going to ride after Ursa. What about you?"

"I–I don't know," said Kitiara.

"Don't you owe that to a man who made love to you?"

"What do you mean?" said Kit, flushed.

"Ursa," said Colo. "I owe him that much. Don't you?"

"I never made love to Ursa," declared Kitiara angrily.

"You're lying."

"No."

Kit met her eyes. Long seconds passed. Colo had just started to turn away when Kit made up her mind.

"I'll come," she declared.

Colo pulled out the dagger she had taken from the dead dark elf and handed it over to Kit. "What about that one?" asked Colo pointedly. "He knows your identity now."

Kitiara hesitated just a moment before taking the dagger and walking to the prisoner. The tall dark elf stared at her, his eyes sour. "Don't expect me to beg," he said coldly.

Kit grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and slit him across the throat. He died without another word.

"That's for Cinnamon," she murmured. And for Patric, she added to herself.

She pulled the knife out and wiped it on her leggings, then handed it back to Colo, meeting her eyes. Kit chose one of the two elven steeds, Colo the other. Both were strong black animals. Droopface's mule, which had served them well, was set free.

In spite of the late hour they bounded onto their horses and rode off.

With feverish speed they headed south and east toward one of the seacoast villages north of Vocalion, where Kit would not be recognized. The dark elf's crude map showed them the most direct route back to the deep valley stronghold of the Mantilla family in the Eastwall Mountains. But first they had to make the crossing of the channel to Abanasinia.

Reaching the coast in the morning, they settled in a sleepy town named Conover, whose harbor was filled with vessels of all types. Taking care not to call attention to themselves, Kit and Colo climbed the gangplanks of a dozen ships, trying to book passage for themselves and their horses. But sea travel slowed during cold months, so most of the ships were moored for the season. And no captain was willing to carry them for the amount of money they could spare.

At the end of a frustrating day on the waterfront, Kit spotted a broad-bottomed cargo ship anchored out in the harbor, away from the dock. They rowed out to speak to the captain, a barrel-chested seaman who was in transit with a delivery of furs and wool. He agreed to take them on condition they pitch in as deck hands, for he was short one sailor, and reckoned two females might make up one man.

Colo was ready to grab him by the throat, but Kit acted first. "Done," she agreed, shaking his hand on the bargain.

His ship, the Fleury, left early the next day. The week's sail was an agony to Kit and Colo-not the hard work, which at least used up the time, but the slowness. When not occupied with duties, they paced the desk ceaselessly, saying little, finding it difficult to sleep.

When the Fleury finally reached the coast, the crew lowered them and their mounts into the waves. Rather than wait to be ferried, one by one, on the loading barge, they swam ashore.

They were at the far edge of Abanasinia and knew from the map that they had to travel west and north, around the spur of the Kharolis, before turning south toward the peaks of Eastwall.

For six days and six nights Kit and Colo rode, sleeping for only an hour or two each night, then rising before dawn to take the saddle again. Stopping periodically only to gulp strong tea and gobble down some dried fruit, they made good time, driving their horses hard. Colo set the pace. She was a natural rider and perhaps had the strongest animal at the outset; but Kitiara was never far behind.

On the third afternoon Kit's horse collapsed at full gallop, and by the time Kit had staggered to her feet, the animal was in its death throes. They had to double up for a few miles and then stop to buy another horse from a farmer.

On the fourth morning, Colo's horse was not able to get up, and she had to put the sword to it. Again they doubled up until a few hours later when they stopped at a roadside smithy to buy another steed.

As they made distance the sky turned gray and the cold alternated with drizzle and fog. In the morning, patches of ice dotted the ground and, as they moved away from the coast to higher elevations, a light carpet of snow. At times the snow covered the ice, making treacherous going for the horses.

The weather seemed intent on breaking their speed. When it wasn't snowing or drizzling, it was foggy. The damp seeped into their bones. On top of being exhausted and saddle-sore, almost numb from the exertion, they could not rid themselves of the constant chill, even in the sunlight.

Kit had never been this far north and seen this vantage of the Kharolis. She was in awe of the peaks that stretched on for miles in the distance, filling the horizon-great, jagged ribs of brown and purple clumped with snow.

By the sixth day the landscape had become more familiar as they entered the northwest slopes of the Eastwall range. According to the elven map, they could follow an elusive course here, winding through trails and ravines and small valleys, into the fiefdom that was Mantilla Vale.

The way was quite treacherous, slicing up rocky country around big, toothy peaks and steep gorges, through hewn foot trails and barely passable areas, at times doubling back and rounding on itself. The horses had to pick their way slowly at times. Other times, Kit and Colo had to dismount and walk alongside their jittery steeds. Still, the map was precise, and they ate up ground.

Eventually the twisting rocky ground took its toll on one of their horses, which stumbled and ruined a foreleg. They had no choice but to finish off the suffering animal and share a single horse again. Kit and Colo were close enough to their destination now that, if necessary, they could travel the final miles down into Mantilla Vale on foot.

On the afternoon of the seventh day, they came to a snowy crest with a ribbonlike waterfall. The crest overlooked a deep, irregular valley that, from the distance, was obscured by a thick, yellow mist. Charted on the map was a narrow trail down the gentle slope.

Kit had never felt more drained. Every bone ached, her eyes were bleary, her clothes torn and dirty. Colo, standing beside her, gazing out over Mantilla Vale, looked no stronger. Indeed, as they stood there, without making a move toward their destination, Colo slumped to her knees.

Realizing they needed to rest and regain some of their strength, Kit and Colo decided to camp for the night on the ledge. As it was not yet dark, they had a leisurely amount of time in which to tether their horse and make camp. They oiled and dried and laid out their weapons. With melted ice and snow, they managed to clean up a little, which helped them to feel refreshed.

Colo built a small fire behind some rocks so that its glow could not be seen even from the valley. When night fell, they could glimpse nothing in the valley below and, even stranger, nothing in the sky above. It was a night for neither moons nor stars. Only empty darkness.

At first the two companions spoke little to each other. Weary but thoughtful, they sensed they were on the verge of something-something that they might or might not live through. With food cadged along the trail, Kit prepared a meal, but hungry as they were, they were too wrought up to eat much.

After a long time Colo began to speak. What she told Kitiara was how she had met Ursa. It was only nine months before. He was traveling with Cleverdon alone, through Southern Ergoth, at a particularly low point in his adventures. According to Colo, Ursa was dressed shabbily and scrounging for any kind of work.

At an inn on a highway where Colo had stopped for the night, she was accused of cheating at cards-which, indeed, she had been. Ursa, too, was in the game, saying very little and playing very well, although he was losing steadily, mostly to Colo herself. Yet he took her side in the argument, and when a yokel drew a knife on Colo, Ursa responded in kind, at some risk to himself. The two of them, with Droop-face, backed out the door and got out of town one step ahead of a mob.

Once safely away, Ursa told Colo that he knew all along she was cheating and demanded half of her earnings. They had been traveling together ever since.

"I didn't know he was much for playing cards," mused Kit. What she really meant was that she didn't realize Ursa would stoop to such a tame way of conniving some money.

"I think he can do a little bit of everything," said Colo admiringly.

After that, Colo lost energy and, before long, fell asleep.

Feeling restless, Kitiara walked to the edge and looked out over Mantilla Vale. The map said the family manor was in the center of the small, oval valley, roughly five miles down and another five to the west. She stared hard in that direction. The dire blackness gave up no clues. No light pierced the valley.

Kitiara wondered about Ursa Il Kinth, whether he was still alive and how, when she stopped to think about it, he had loomed so importantly in her life thus far.

For the first time in many weeks Kit found herself wondering about Caramon and Raistlin, too, about how they were faring. Caramon would be growing bigger and stronger and bragging about his skills. Raistlin was probably growing more inward, silent, and clever. Kit felt certain he was every bit Caramon's equal, but that his abilities would show themselves in a different way.

She hoped she would see her twin brothers again sometime. But tonight, she was not so sure that hope would ever be fulfilled.

As for herself, Kit felt that she was finally living a life her father would understand. Looking out over the valley, thinking ahead to the next day, she silently mouthed the maxim she had heard Gregor Uth Matar repeat many times: The sword is truth.

Beneath the thick, yellow mist, the road leading to the Mantilla castle bore evidence of waste and apocalyptic calamity. Carts and wagons lay abandoned with broken wheels. Farms were half-burned, the fields charred. Tools, equipment, clothing, furniture, and household objects were scattered along the road.

A pall hung over the land. No familiar babble of birds or animals, no sounds of people broke the eerie silence. No wind disturbed the unearthly mist that did not lift or waver.

They rode. Kit behind Colo, on their only horse, fidgeting with their weapons. At first they rode cautiously, but seeing no one, they picked up speed.

As Kit and Colo drew closer to the castle, the first bodies began to appear. People hanging from blackened trees. Skeletons in the field. Scorched bodies, as well as pieces of bodies, lying where they had fallen, in gullies and on top of each other. Some were obviously months dead, others relatively fresh and putrid.

"Look!" cried Colo, pointing to one dangling from a tree.

Kit nodded as she recognized a soldier in the full armor of the unit that had surrounded them two weeks earlier. It was one of that troop, or certainly one who had belonged to that troop at one time. And he was only the first of many from that armored militia, brutally slain, whom Kit counted as they passed.

The spectacle was more terrible than either of them could have anticipated. Kit had never dreamed such unspeakable horror, and she had to steel herself to endure it. Colo's eyes looked straight ahead, but she too was reeling with disgust.

They passed a section of land that was sprinkled with upright corpses hanging on poles like scarecrows. Their faces suggested gargoyles, distorted grotesquely; some of them were ancient and rotting, some of them newly slain. These were all mages, and some had signs hung on their bodies. One of them, covered with cruel wounds, had a board slung around his neck:

This mage failed my purpose and paid the price-Luz Mantilla

"The mage," whispered Colo, pointing.

"Yes," said Kit, recognizing the robes of the one who had performed the magic cyclone that had whisked Ursa away only two weeks before.

Still they spied no living soul.

Now they caught sight of the towers of the castle. But something was wrong. The towers were crooked, distorted, some parts smashed to the ground. Only a needle spire in the center of the mass rose high into the sky above the yellow mist. This one tower seemed separated from the rest, an island adrift in a sea of rubble.

It was as if the fist of a god had smote the castle down, shattering it and driving it underground in several directions.

Closer on, the yellow mist became even more oppressive and it was impossible to see very clearly things more than a few yards away. All of a sudden a monolith of brick and rubble jutted up before them, ending the road and making a blockade. In the middle of the jumble of stone was a maw framed by timber that showed descending steps. They could ride no farther.

Except down. The stone steps led into a passageway. No sentries barred their way. Light flickered ahead.

"This way?" questioned Colo.

"Either that or turn back," said Kit.

"We've come too far already."

Kit nodded, but took a moment to check her weapons. In one hand she wielded Beck's sword and in the other she carried a copper dagger that she had taken from one of the dark elves. She glanced over at Colo.

The tracker had two swords taken from the elves, a short blade, and a coil of rope. Kit's companion had risen at first light, painted her face and braided her long, sandy tresses with feathers. Now Colo tied up the horse and turned to lead.

Kit felt a rush of warmth for the diminutive female, who was the very opposite of a homebody such as her mother. Colo was one of the most truly admirable women she had ever encountered.

Without speaking to each other, Kit and Colo began to inch down the stairs and through a long stone corridor that stretched endlessly in front of them. Torches set high along the walls gave what little illumination there was. The women stuck close to the walls, staying clear of the center in case of traps. They scuttled a few feet at a time, weapons alert, feeling for side passages.

At times the stone corridor eased downward, other times it buckled and elevated slightly. Unseen creatures scurried out of their path. The tunnel was damp; water trickled somewhere. Unpleasant fumes hissed through cracks in the walls. At times the way was so dark that Kit and Colo could see very little, except the outline of the other against the opposite wall.

After a time they came to a large, high-ceilinged chamber that was better lit, but seemed half caved in at one end. There were four exits-five, counting the one from which Kit and Colo had entered. They branched off in four forward directions that, with the entrance, made up a star shape.

In the center of the room was a high mound of bodies, heaped on each other like firewood. Some were propped up whole, seemingly alive, frozen in mid-gesture; others were mere skeleton parts. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of corpses, with skulls white and rotting, clothes in tatters, body organs everywhere, and rats darting in and out of openings.

Kitiara gave a gasp and brought a hand to her mouth, while Colo involuntarily stepped closer to her, gaping at the sight.

"What?" Kit shuddered.

"Breathe shallow," said Colo firmly, steadying Kit with a hand on her shoulder.

They shuffled closer to better see the gruesome death heap, to look for any evidence that Ursa was among the dead. Suddenly a ghost of a man sprang up from the middle of the pile, all yellow skin and bones and leer, wispy white hair and goatee, dressed in fetid, flapping rags.

Colo and Kit separated in an instant, their weapons up and flashing. But there was no other movement in the room, and the old coot seemed more daft than dangerous. He was leaping from foot to foot, chattering to himself. In his hand was an iron ring of rusty keys.

"She has come! I be free! Which one is she? Maybe I be seeing double. After all this time, I be free!" babbled the old fellow.

"Stand still," ordered Colo. "What are you saying, grandfather?"

"Here! Here!" The man proffered the hoop of keys.

Kit gingerly outstretched a hand and took the ring. The metal was lime-encrusted.

"1 think he's dotty," said Kit acidly, still looking around warily.

"Who are you old man? What's happening here?" Colo demanded again. She sheathed her sword and belted her knife, perhaps to reassure the codger.

The old man had leaped close to Kit and Colo, and now pranced in a circle around them, conversing merrily with himself. His long, white hair shimmered like cobwebs. He kept pointing off in various directions.

"The Great Lady, she says I can go when you come. I been loyal. Last of the loyal, that's me. I been keeping the jails for many years. Many, many years. I'm all that's left. Except-" he bit his tongue and lolled his eyes "-except the Iron Guard." He halted his dancing nervously and said loudly, "Except the Iron Guard. I don't forget thee, no sirree. I pay homage to thee." He bobbed his head spasmodically.

"Take," he said, indicating the keys. "Yours now. I go! She promised." He gave a little wave and started off.

"Wait!" cried Kit fiercely, grabbing his arm and gesturing threateningly with her dagger. "Where is the lady you speak of?"

He turned to regard her, stroking his goatee. "Five tunnels there be," the old man said thoughtfully. "You will find her by traveling the right one, I do believe. Which one? I do not speculate. Myself-" he looked fretful "-I have not laid eyes on the Great Lady for many months now. She leaves me alone. That is my reward. Others not so lucky. Advise extreme carefulness."

He bent and whispered conspiratorially. "I seen the Iron Guard, though. They come and go. Go get visitors. My job," he said with a proud chuckle, "is to take care of the visitors. Only," he beckoned Kit closer with one thin, yellow finger, "two left. Tch-tch."

He put the finger to his lips. "The Great Lady is very angry," he added knowingly. "Shush," he said, swiveling to cut off Colo's question. "I risk my life telling you this."

The old man swaggered around, his chest puffed out. "She up in tower somewhere, very angry. Everyone fail, everyone disloyal. Big killing." He tilted his head toward the death pile in distaste. "Not me. I'm very trustworthy. I keep the keys! I be loyal!" he bragged.

"Which way?" demanded Colo in exasperation.

He stroked his goatee. "Yes. That is the question. I used to know the answer-" he gave a shudder "-before. Before." He wheeled slowly, seeming to ponder each of the exits, his eyes rheumy. "I forget," he said plaintively. "Which way is out?"

Colo jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the stone corridor where they had entered.

In a blur the gibbering old man pushed past her and darted into the tunnel. "Gods bless you!" he shot over his shoulder as he disappeared out of sight. "I be free! Free!" For several minutes they could hear the echo of his footsteps, trailed by his chortling.

Kit held Colo's arm. "Let him go," she said. "He's harmless."

"Maybe he's a spy," said Colo.

"No doubt," said Kit. "But Lady Mantilla knows we're here by now. We're stuck with the problem of fighting her, one way or another. He's nothing to us."

Kit adopted an almost amused expression. She held out the moldy ring of keys. "What about these?" she asked.

Colo took the ring in her hand and made a fist, crumbling one of the ancient keys into bits. "I don't think they'll be of much use," she said drily.

Turning back to the huge chamber, Kit and Colo were greeted once again by the grisly tableaux of death. With somber expressions, their eyes swept the timbered doorways leading out, assessing their options. One was obstructed by fallen rock. Otherwise they looked like identical holes of darkness.

"Well?" asked Kit.

"I think we should stick together," said Colo. "I didn't like that talk about the Iron Guard."

They looked again, uncertain. "Well, we needn't worry about that one," Kitiara said, pointing to the exit that was obstructed with rock and debris. "And we know that behind us is the way out," she continued, indicating the tunnel behind them, "or at least the way in. We may as well start there." She pointed to the tunnel farthest to her left. "We can work to the right from there."

Colo nodded. Looking down the tunnel's expanse from the mouth, they could see even less well than before. This way was more dimly lit than the first one. Kit and Colo stuck close to the walls at first, inching along, weapons low and ready. After a time, hearing and seeing nothing, they could go more quickly.

At first, although the torches in the walls were set farther apart, the tunnel appeared the same-empty, damp and noxious. As they went on, the torches began to diminish in number and appear at greater intervals. Kit and Colo began to stumble over fallen timber, wide crevices, and loose rock; smelly vegetation hung from the low ceiling, and vines and roots grew out of the walls, latching onto the women as they passed. The stone corridor rose and fell slightly, angled and veered.

"We'll probably end up back where we started," offered Kit wearily after a time.

The unrelieved tension as much as the effort of trudging through the dank tunnel made their shoulders slump, their faces shiny. Kit had sheathed her sword and was using her knife to hack away at the tough spider-webbing and vines that slowed their progress. Colo, on her side of the tunnel wall, had glided ahead.

All of a sudden the tracker pricked up sharply. "What's that?" Hurrying to catch up, Kit heard a strange furtive noise, a low whooshing and thrashing. Squinting ahead, they could not pinpoint its source. "Careful," Colo warned.

As they moved farther down the stone tunnel, more alert now, the sounds grew and subsided. Bursts of smacking were followed by intervals of silence. Still they could make out nothing ahead. Both had their weapons poised, edging forward stealthily.

Kit was a few steps ahead of Colo, peering hard into the murk, when abruptly she slipped and slid forward as if down some steep chute. She screamed and let go of her copper knife, managing to close the fingers of her left hand around a thick, knobby root. With her other hand she held onto her useless sword.

She dangled in space. Below her she could see nothing, just a dark, bottomless chasm.

But she heard a tremendous roar, followed by the swishing and thrashing of some creature far below in a pool of water. The reek that wafted upward stung her nose.

Shouting, Colo uncoiled her rope. She came forward as far as she dared, so that she could just make out Kit's fearful face. The tracker missed her first throw. The second time, Colo got too close and lost her footing, almost falling forward herself. The third time, Kit managed to swing up her arm and grab onto the rope with the hand that was also clutching the hilt of Beck's sword.

The snarling monster let out another roar from below.

"Just hold on. I'll pull you up!" Colo shouted out between gritted teeth.

The rope cut into Kit's hand, and a trickle of blood ran down her wrist. She could barely hold on to the rope and Beck's sword at the same time. Colo's strength was remarkable for someone her size, but even so it took her long minutes of strenuous hand-over-hand pulling to raise Kitiara up over the steep edge.

Crawling forward, Kit rubbed her wrist ruefully. Colo was stretched out with fatigue. It was several minutes before either of them could speak. They could hear the roars and thrashing of the water beast below. No doubt the creature was disappointed by Kit's narrow escape.

"Definitely not a slig," Kit remarked at last.

"No," said Colo, sitting up. After a moment, she added wryly, "Now we're even anyway."

They rose slowly and began their way back. They could hurry but even so, it was some time before they re-emerged into the chamber of death. Two clear tunnels remained to be explored.

Kit figured it was already past midday, and they were hungry. They shared their modest provisions in the presence of the victims of Luz Mantilla's lust for revenge. They were almost becoming accustomed to the grotesque surroundings.

Sprawled on some rocks, Colo spoke. "As I see it," she said sensibly, "if each of the two other tunnels takes as long to explore as that one, we will be underground all day and

far into the night. And even then, we may not have found what we are looking for."

"I was thinking the same thing," responded Kit cautiously.

"I don't want to spend two days in this hellish place," said Colo, looking around warily.

"Nor do I," admitted Kit.

"We should split up. Each take a tunnel. If nothing pans out, meet back here."

"Agreed."

"Take it slowly," urged Colo. "Carefully. Watch out for traps and… the Iron Guard."

"Don't worry," said Kit with her crooked smile. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

They stood and clasped each other's shoulders. Kit realized she had grown fond of the tracker's company. Colo's eyes shone with similar feeling.

Turning first, Colo made for the far tunnel and disappeared into its entrance. Kit waited for several minutes, but heard nothing other than her companion's receding footfalls. Then, with trepidation, Kit headed toward the last tunnel.

After about ten minutes Colo's tunnel became virtually impassable for all of its debris. Not just rock and timber, but junk and clutter. Perhaps, the tracker debated with herself, this stone tunnel was no longer in use, and she ought to turn back and hook up with Kitiara.

The tunnel was littered with objects-rusted pieces of armor, clumps of smelly clothing, stained rugs, broken pottery, old farm tools. Webbing and moss hung down from the ceiling, tangling with her hair. Spiders and bugs as big as saucers dangled over her head. She could hear rats and other small creatures skittering into their hiding places as she passed.

"By the gods," she muttered, using her sword to sweep away the webs. "I must have got the worst of the two choices."

After almost an hour of wending forward, Colo came to a dead end, a slagheap of stone, timber, and assorted junk that formed a veritable wall, stretching up to the ceiling. She was about to turn back when she noticed a pinprick of light showing through from the other side. When she got down on her knees to peer through the tiny hole she could see that the tunnel continued with less impediment on the other side of the mass.

With a sigh she took her sword and jabbed at the opening, working at hollowing out a wider egress. When it looked big enough to crawl through, Colo wriggled in head first and found that, with some effort, she could snake forward. After crawling on her belly for some minutes in this fashion, she was well coated with dirt and slime and dust.

Holding her knife in front of her, she found that she could chip away a path. She progressed a couple of feet at a time until she came upon a particularly large rock, whose jagged, down-slanting edge blocked any further advance. After some time she managed to pry it loose, but when it dropped out, she could feel the weight of the slagheap above her creak.

Colo thrust herself forward as quickly as she could, considering how narrow the burrow was. But there was a tremor, and behind her, just before she was able to push out the other side, the rock and junk pile collapsed, crushing her left ankle.

"Damnation," Colo screeched, trying to twist her head to get a look at her foot. The pain was excruciating.

She managed to corkscrew around and, lying on her side, poke her sword around near her foot. With some twisting, she was able to work her foot out of the mess. She had just yanked it free and lurched forward when the entire blockade started to tremble and groan.

Colo rolled forward as it came crashing down.

The dust and noise settled. Propped up a safe distance away, rubbing her bloody, mangled ankle, Colo looked back and observed that the entire slagheap had flattened out, so that now there was easy passage over it.

Ahead of her was another section of tunnel, relatively clean and lit with torches, angling sharply to the right. Her ankle was hurting badly, but it was twisted, not broken, and Colo could put some awkward weight on it.

She tore off a piece of sleeve and wrapped it around her foot, then hobbled forward, using the wall for support, dragging her crippled foot.

As Colo followed the angle of the tunnel, she realized that she was in a sort of underground jail, with rows of cells on opposite sides of the sconce-lit corridor. The cells were mostly empty, with old bones in some, twitching rats in others. As she continued on, she counted at least one hundred of the stone pens, each the size of a horse stall. She pulled herself along by the bars to steady her balance.

Up ahead the tunnel veered to the right again and beyond the bend she could hear some vague noise. She thought it might be another creature like the one in the pit, and her first impulse was to scan the floor and make sure she was not about to plunge into another camouflaged trap. But this noise was different, more subtle, a padding and shuffling, followed by throat-clearing noises.

Human breathing!

She limped forward, clutching her sword, and peered around the corner. What she saw, a short way up ahead, was a narrow flight of stairs leading upward to the right and a cell larger than the others that was set into the far end of the tunnel. In the cell paced Ursa Il Kinth, wearing only a pair of pathetic leggings.

"Colo!" he cried out, grabbing the bars, when he spotted her.

"Ursa!" She rushed forward as best she could, alternately hopping and dragging her injured foot.

Coming closer, she could tell that Ursa was badly battered, thin, and weakened. His face was heavily bruised, cuts streaked his bare chest, and his shoeless feet were swollen and blotched with purple. Inspecting him sorrowfully.

Colo became aware that he was gazing likewise at her, focusing on her injured foot, whose make-do bandage had turned dark red with blood.

Their eyes raised at the same moment, and Ursa could not help but give a barking laugh, so kindred were the pitying expressions each wore on the other's behalf.

It is good, thought Colo, he has not lost his humor.

"What happened to you?" Ursa asked.

"A sort of cave-in, back in the tunnel," she indicated. "But it's nothing. I won't win any races today, but I can walk on it. What about you?"

"Hungry. Sore. Weak." His dark eyes gleamed. "Alive!"

Unlike the other cells, his space was lined with two rows of thick, iron bars; a firm shaking of the set that was closest to Colo proved they would be hard to break. A water trough with a muddy trickle ran between the two rows of bars, separating Ursa and Colo by roughly a dwarf's height.

Glancing around Ursa's cell, Colo could see only two wooden buckets, no cot.

"One pail for water they give," said Ursa grimly, noting her searching eyes, "and one for what I give them in return. Believe me, there's no way out."

"Are there keys?" she asked, cursing herself for having left the rusty ring behind. Only the inside row of bars seemed to have a door, a heavy slab of metal that did not show any lock.

"Pah!" he snorted. "The door is opened by some magic, and the only person who can open it is 'the Lady.' "

"Lady Mantilla?"

"Yes," Ursa said. "She is crazed and dangerous. Kitiara, is she… is she with you?"

"Yes," Colo answered nervously. "Searching another of the tunnels."

"You must find her and warn her," said Ursa urgently. "She is in line to be killed. The only reason I've been kept alive is that I haven't told the Lady who Kit is or where she can be found."

Colo glanced over her shoulder, and down at her bloody, mashed-up foot. She was wondering how she would find Kitiara and how fast she could retrace her steps. "What's up there?" Colo asked, indicating the narrow steps leading upward.

"I'm not sure," Ursa answered, also glancing down at Colo's foot caked in blood, reading her mind. "It's where she always comes from."

When Colo met his eyes again, her look was decided. "This place seems practically abandoned. Is anyone else here-any mages? We encountered an old man who spoke of this Iron Guard…"

"She has a retinue of guards," said Ursa tersely. "They are formidable. As far as mages, she has a new one every week. They don't last very long."

Colo handed over one of her swords, hilt first, through the bars, and shifted toward the stairs. Ursa pushed his face against the inner bars.

"I tell you, Colo, she is dangerous and insane."

"I can be dangerous too," the small woman said with a brave wink, slowly starting to ascend the stairs.

Kitiara was exploring her tunnel. It was adequately lit, but there was nothing to mark the way except for loose rock and human debris. The corridor became almost tedious in its sameness, and Kit was able to go quickly, displaying the only weapon she had left, Beck's sword.

After a time, the tunnel made a turn to the left, where a small flight of steps led down to another level. Seeing nothing threatening, Kit cautiously took the steps. The ceiling was so low here that Kit had to stoop or scrape her head. Indeed, as the corridor continued on, the ceiling tamped downward.

At last Kit was forced to get down on her knees and crawl forward. There seemed no danger other than the obvious one of getting stuck.

The ceiling's height was beginning to concern Kit when, ahead of her, she saw the tunnel veer to the left again. Creeping around the corner she saw with some relief that the ceiling shot up once more, and the stone corridor opened up to another small flight of downward steps. The steps led into a more clean and spacious section of tunnel. And at the end of the corridor stood a huge, shrouded, boxlike structure that gave off distinct pawing and snuffling sounds.

Kit hesitated. What could it be? Should she go back and find Colo?

First she would investigate.

Kit glided slowly forward. The light here was poor, but she could see that the huge box structure was draped in heavy black velvet.

As Kit drew closer, the noises grew louder with intermittent roars that made her tremble. But nothing leaped out to interfere with her. Standing in front of the structure, which was roughly square and twice as high as she was tall, Kit noticed narrow, winding stone steps, leading steeply upward, etched into the left wall behind the shrouded box.

Edging forward, Kit extended her sword toward a pulley rope on one side and made a swipe at it.

She leaped backward as the black velvet drapery swooped upward and then swirled to the ground around the cage-for that is what it was, a gigantic, wooden cage. And in the cage prowled an animal as large and ferocious as it was beautiful, a black panther.

El-Navar!

If Kit recognized the Karnuthian in his panther form, El-Navar showed no recollection of her. As soon as the velvet drapery was lifted, the animal leaped against the bars, baring sharp teeth as big and white as candlesticks. Its eyes were blazing. Its coat had a wild sheen. Foam lined its mouth.

Actually, there were two sets of bars, one inside the other, which gave Kit the advantage of trying the outer bars without getting her arm chewed off. Made of some thick cane, the bars did not budge and only yielded chips to her sharp-edged blade.

Again the panther, screaming its rage, hurled itself against the interior bars. Even at the distance of several feet, Kit could feel the hotness of its breath. She was so startled by the attack that she fell back. The powerful animal paced back and forth in frustration, eyeing her, swishing its long, elegant tail.

Could this really be the alluring Karnuthian with whom she had first made love? For long minutes she stared at the cat, reflecting on that seemingly long-ago time.

If only Raistlin were here, he would have an idea what to do, Kitiara thought to herself.

Even as she thought of Raistlin, her eyes drifted to the left, where the steep winding steps led upward. With a sympathetic backward glance at El-Navar-who was still pacing furiously in the wooden cage-she began the climb.