Dark Heart

Chapter 15

"Come in," a voice said. "I've been expecting you."

Kitiara pushed the door open wider and stepped boldly into the room.

She was in a large circular hall at the top of the only tower of Castle Mantilla that had remained intact through the years of madness. Kit could not see much around the perimeter-the room was dark with only a small number of windows, which were curtained. In any case, it must have been night outside.

In the center of the room, in a straight-backed chair under a cone of pale light, whose source Kit could not discern, sat Lady Mantilla. Although Kit could see the woman plainly, she wondered if her foe could mark her, in the shadows, as easily.

Formally arrayed behind Lady Mantilla were the vaunted Iron Guard-four of them, to be precise. They were garbed from head to toe in heavy armor, with mere slits for eyes, nose, and mouth. Each held a jeweled sword. They stood almost ceremonially, as still as statues. Indeed, Kit wondered if they could move at all.

Sitting to one side, on a faded throne, was a stout mage whose vermilion cloak concealed his features. He also did not move, but seemed to stare at Kitiara reproachfully. As she moved into the room, Kit tried to keep him in her line of vision, wary of his magic.

The room was preternaturally cold and dry. When Kitiara took a step, the sound crackled across the space.

"Come in, I say," cackled the voice. "Time is short. Your time is certainly short, at any rate. You'll be dead soon enough."

Her hair was long and white, the tendrils knotted and ratted, cascading over her shoulders and almost down to the ground. She had pink eyes and deathly pale, bluish skin, except for bright, rosy cheeks. Luz Mantilla couldn't have been much older than Kitiara, but she gave the impression of an ancient sea hag.

The Lady-for that was the name by which her servants knew her-was dressed in a white lace gown that was ripped and torn, with one sleeve missing entirely. It was, or would have been, Kit realized, her matrimonial gown. She gripped the armrests of her chair tightly as she leaned forward, staring hard at Kitiara.

Kit had remained along the perimeter, beginning to circle the room and take stock of its defenses. The room may have been splendid once. Now it was disgusting, layered with dirt and grime and excrement.

Black velvet covered the walls and furniture, adding to the dark atmosphere. In one corner stood a four-poster, neatly made up, albeit dusty and cobwebbed and perhaps never slept in. A glance above her told Kit that the ceiling of slate and timber was in an advanced stage of rot.

The walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings and once-grand tapestries in faded oranges and purples. Glancing at one of these works, that of a moon-faced maiden sitting at the foot of a regal gentleman, Kitiara found herself looking at Lady Mantilla as a young innocent, before she had been ravaged by time and tragedy, and probably by dark magic.

"Yes," said the voice that fluttered out of the decrepit woman's mouth, "that is I. Then." With a wave of her hand she indicated the painting that Kit had been staring at. "My father, too-" her voice suddenly dripped contempt "-before I killed him, of course. He was my first victim. He was behind the whole nasty business, you know. He thought he knew what was best for me. I had revenge on him for the sake of my beloved."

She leaned on the chair and peered at Kit.

Kit stopped circling and took a step toward the woman, trying to get a closer look, while at the same time angling nearer to the stout mage, who seemed to regard her with stony, hate-filled eyes.

"Before he died," Lady Mantilla continued in a bored voice, "my father was good enough to tell me that Radisson's brother had set up the, uh, episode that resulted in the death of my-" here her voice faltered "-my beloved. That one died rather abruptly. I would have preferred to let him suffer a little more. Of course I was a novice in these matters at that time."

She tilted her head back and gave a long, trilling laugh that would not have been out of place at a royal costume ball, save that it was tinged with madness.

Kit wondered what she ought to do. She didn't think she could defeat four of the Iron Guard, plus the mage and the crazy woman, yet it was too late to go back and get Colo. And strangely, no one had made a move toward her. She was edging imperceptibly-or so she hoped-toward the mage, who sat there, cloaked and hooded, inscrutable.

"It was easy to connect Radisson to his brother, but it took a little longer than I hoped to track Radisson himself down. I got lucky. He was with the panther-man. El-Navar, I believe is his name?"

Kit controlled her voice. "Why didn't you kill El-Navar, as you did Radisson?"

The lady's brows furrowed. "I'm very upset about that. That the strange man could turn himself into a panther was something I didn't anticipate. In that form he is evidently protected by some ward, and I cannot communicate with him. Or kill him. Believe me, I tried. I tried! I've got the obnoxious beast caged underground. I'm still deciding what to do about the nuisance."

Kit had maneuvered close enough to the mage so that she was able to act, bringing her sword up in a swift arc and, in a flash, down again. She severed the man's right hand, which fell to the floor. Yet no blood flowed from the limb and, incredibly enough, the mage did not even move a muscle, did not so much as wince.

Lady Mantilla shrieked with laughter. "Oh, my dear," she cackled, "you have been worrying about that idiot mage. He is number seventy-three, the latest of those who have been employed to assist me. I killed this one days ago, as I have killed them all for their failures and artifice. After a while I pick up their tricks, and they bore me with their airs."

Kit held herself in a guarded stance, wondering if she looked as silly and confused as she felt.

The Lady's voice shifted into a lower, baritone register. Despite the ominous tone, there was a hint of anguish. "You don't know what it's like," Luz Mantilla said to Kit, "to lose someone you love. To dream your life with someone else, and to lose that dream. To be left alone. All alone. Alone!" She gave up any pretense, and sobbed with her head in her hands.

Kit studied the quartet of armored guards who stood behind the lady. She could not make out their eyes or any other indication of their humanity. Through their narrow slits they seemed to regard her coldly. Were they also dead, like the mage, or simply empty shells of metal?

As if reading her thoughts, Lady Mantilla's head snapped up. With a bony finger she traced a contour in the air. The quartet of knights began to spin and move with such grace and agility that Kitiara was astonished. The only noise they made was the clanking of their equipment. They did not go toward her, but instead, in some choreographed maneuver, moved toward the perimeter and took up prearranged positions at four equidistant points around the room. Kit noted uncomfortably that she was the focus of their pattern.

Holding both her knife and sword in front of her, Kitiara did her best to look threatening.

Lady Mantilla's face shone. Her rotting yellow teeth were bared in a smile. "You are wondering about my Iron Guard," she said with almost a wink. "They are more alive than my mage. Well, only half-alive, or half-dead to be sure, but I like them better that way. I only have four left, more's the pity. I think I've been rather hasty with the rest of them. But the important thing is-" she made a clucking sound and put a finger to her head "-the important thing is they are created so that they will do anything for me-even die at my bidding. They are exceedingly loyal about that, dying I mean. Shall I demonstrate? Zierold!"

One of the armored men took a step forward, his armor creaking. Kit braced for a challenge, but Lady Mantilla said airily, "Jump out a window for me, will you, Zierold?"

The heavily armored Zierold went to one of the windows curtained with velvet. With ballet-like moves he hoisted himself up to the ledge, turned to salute the Lady, then, without an utterance, hurled himself out the opening. There was a long moment of silence, followed by a muffled crash. Lady Mantilla positively squealed with glee.

Good, Kit thought, one less. She shifted her position slightly so that none of the remaining three Iron Guard stood directly behind her.

"Yes," continued the Lady, "it was easy to catch up with Radisson and El-Navar, but a little harder to find that sneaky Ursa. He seemed to disappear, be swallowed up. He separated from Cleverdon for a while. We followed Clever-don, but then he managed to lose us as well. They donned disguises, camped in the outlands, traveled hundreds of miles outside of my purview.

"I found out all I could about Ursa. I had spies and agents everywhere. He never visited the same place twice and always managed to stay one step ahead of us. But in the end I came to know more about him and his habits than his own mother did, and I knew I would eventually track him down."

She shifted tone, velvety now, like her curtains. "To find out who you were proved harder than locating Ursa, my dear," the Lady cooed. "Radisson didn't have a chance to tell me before he died, and El-Navar does not converse very well as a panther. I know from the eyewitnesses that five people were involved, but I never considered that one of them might be a woman. Not until, purely by chance, one of my operatives was traveling on a boat and spotted my beloved's sword. But even then, we thought it was this fellow, Patric. Of course he claimed to know nothing. But he had to be killed anyway. Just to be on the safe side."

While the Lady was preoccupied with her tale, Kitiara had edged closer, until she was only a few dozen paces away. With her next step, Kit entered the cone of pale light that enveloped Luz so that, for the first time, the wretched woman could get a clear look at her. And as she did, Lady Mantilla gave a gasp.

She shrank in her chair from horror. Kit was so startled by her reaction that she froze, then took a step backward, retreating into the shadows. Then Kit realized that to the deranged Lady, she, with her short hair and fighting garb, must still resemble Beck Gwathmey.

Kitiara stepped back into the glare, Beck's sword glinting in the light.

"It is you, then?" whispered the Lady. "It is you! You have the sword."

Behind her Kitiara could hear the clanking of the armored men as they began to move again. She took another step closer.

'The sword I gave to my beloved…" the Lady moaned plaintively. "His betrothal gift. He was carrying it with him when he was… assassinated."

"I had nothing to do with that," Kit said truthfully.

The expression on the Lady's face changed. She bent over and gave a shiver, then straightened up. Her face contorted with fury. "You will die for your part in it," Lady Mantilla screeched. "You will die! Die! I have sworn!"

Kit could hear the armored men clanking behind her. She lunged toward the Lady, holding out her sword so that the crazy woman was trapped against her chair.

Close up, Kitiara could see that Lady Mantilla's face was deeply creased with lines and garishly made up with white powder and rouge. "Call them off," Kit said tersely.

"You can't kill me," the Lady countered. "I've been dead for a long, long time. Ever since that day."

"Call them off," Kit repeated, bringing the tip of the sword up to the Lady's neck, glancing nervously over her shoulder. The three remaining guards were gliding closer to her, moving to a different rhythm, slower, more cautiously. Yet they still came forward with that peculiar grace that, despite their heavy armor, they were able to muster. They had formed a tighter triangle now, with Kit in the center, and were gradually closing in.

"Tell me your name!" the lady hissed.

"Kitiara Uth Matar!" Kit proclaimed.

All of a sudden, she heard a low sliding noise that she could not account for, then a high-pitched cry; from behind her, out of a door hidden behind a tapestry, charged someone she had almost forgotten-Colo.

The tracker was clumping on one foot, but made the short distance before anyone could react. She leaped gamely onto the back of one of the Iron Guard, wrapping herself around his neck and trying in vain to find a spot without leaden protection to plunge in her knife or sword.

Kit's attention was diverted for all of three seconds, yet by the time she had turned back to Lady Mantilla, the woman had gone from the throne. She stood in another part of the room, cackling. Kitiara didn't have time to ponder this failure, however, because she heard more clanking and wheeled just in time to see the danger, ducking beneath the swing of one of the Iron Guard.

Twirling like a dancer, this Iron Guard leaped behind Kit and aimed another blow at her head. She raised Beck's sword up in time, and their weapons smote each other with tremendous force. The superior strength of the armored guard drove Kit back and smashed her up against a wall. Reeling, she stabbed upward with her knife, striking only metal.

Colo was faring no better. She was riding the broad back of the Iron Guard who careened around the room, knocking into furniture and walls in an attempt to dislodge her. She hung on stoically, her weapons futile, screaming curses at her enemy.

The third Iron Guard seemed momentarily unsure as to what he should do. He stood closer to Kit and her struggle, but Colo and her opponent covered a lot of ground, swooping and stumbling around the room. This third opponent took tentative steps toward Kit, then whirled and took a few steps toward Colo.

From one side of the hall, Lady Mantilla watched the melee with relish, shouting derision at Kit.

As if in reply, Kitiara feinted with her sword, then suddenly went limp. The Iron Guard, thrusting forward, was not able to break his heavy momentum. He crashed his helmeted head into the wall, and by the time he was able to turn around, Kit had slithered out from under him and was back near the center of the room.

Although somewhat dazed, Colo finally had figured out that her sword was of no use. She let it drop to the floor. Then, with her legs still wrapped around the guard's chest, she reached around with two hands and stabbed her knife upward into the exposed eye-slots of the Iron Guard. An unearthly wail of anguish filled the room. He dropped to his knees, clawing at his eye-slots, as Colo held on and drove the knife home repeatedly.

Kit's antagonist was coming hard at her again, and she backed up, dodging and feinting. Suddenly the Iron Guard took a step back and surprised her with a graceful, almost hypnotic gesture that did not involve his sword arm; he swept some object off a table, some decorative ceramic, and hurled it at her. It smacked Kit neatly in the chin. She buckled and then straightened, bleeding and wobbly.

"Kit!" Colo called out, breathing hard.

Kitiara managed to look over to her and give her a reassuring nod. But as she did, Colo was distracted for too long a moment. The third Iron Guard, who had been circling for a vantage behind her, found his opening and drove his sword into Colo's back. Her face froze, and she slumped to the floor.

At the same moment, the Iron Guard with a knife stuck in his eye-slots collapsed into a twisted clump.

Kit gave a cry. Turning her back on the guard who had been stalking her, she vaulted across the room to the other side, straight toward the one who had stabbed Colo. The Iron Guard watched her charge with-surprise? Fear? Caught without his sword, which was still embedded in poor Colo's back, the armored man struggled to pull his knife out of its sheath.

Kitiara knocked him over backward with her momentum, straddling his chest. The armored man flailed at her. But Kit swung the hilt end of Beck's sword at his face, hard and fast, again and again, pounding the mask into a dented, twisted shape.

The Iron Guard clawed at his mask, choking and strangling.

Kit got up and, as gently and swiftly as she could, pulled the sword from Colo's bloody back and rolled her friend over. Colo's mouth and eyes were open. Her face was pallid.

"Colo…" Kit tried to say something. She had no time to think of appropriate words, though, because she heard clanking. She looked up just in time to roll away from the last Iron Guard, who had heaved himself at her.

His sword fell and hers skittered away, knocked from her grasp by the narrow escape. He had a knife still; Kitiara had no weapon. He lunged at her, but she grabbed his mailed wrist.

They wrestled and writhed across the floor, spitting and cursing into each other's faces. She was only vaguely aware of Lady Mantilla, crouched and hovering several feet behind her, hissing words. The Iron Guard weighed twice what Kit did. It was all she could do to keep him from crushing her.

They bowled over furniture as they rolled to the middle of the room. The struggle took its toll on both of them, but Kitiara was losing strength more rapidly. Finally the guard shook off Kit's hold and managed to get on top of her, raising his knife high. Desperately Kit twisted her head to one side. She felt the Iron Guard's dagger graze her skull and break its point on the floor.

Her left hand groped around on the floor, coming up with nothing. Her right hand reached out and touched the point of Colo's sword.

The Iron Guard was frantically trying to pull out his other knife when Kit swung the tracker's sword and smacked him in the head with its hilt. The blow knocked the guard off balance and caused him to drop his second knife.

Kit jumped up and stumbled backward. She managed to steady herself as the Iron Guard rose to his feet. Now she was the one with a sword, and he was weaponless.

Her opponent glided backward toward a wall. Kit wrapped both hands around the sword's hilt, lowered her head slightly, and charged, thrusting upward at his helmet. Her aim was good. The sword ran through his mouth slit. The guard was effectively pinned against the wall, groaning and twitching.

Kit felt spent; her clothes were torn, nicks and bruises covered her body. It took all the effort she could muster to pull out her sword. The Iron Guard slid to the ground.

Kitiara turned toward Luz Mantilla. She had returned to her chair in the center of the room, encircled by the cone of pale light.

Kit picked up her own sword and approached her warily, scanning the room for other enemies or magical devices. The Lady observed her with a smirk.

"Pity about your friend," oozed Lady Mantilla. "Colo? Was that her name?"

The Lady made a subtle hand gesture that, if she had not known about such things from Raistlin, Kit might not even have noticed.

Kitiara had come within a few feet of the Lady, but now found herself unable to get any closer. Some sort of force field, something like an invisible wall, stopped her. Stooping, Kit felt around with her hands to try and determine where the barrier started and ended.

"I lost a friend once," said Lady Mantilla in her baritone. "The only dear friend I ever had. The only person I ever loved, who ever loved me. Now you know how it feels, Kitiara Uth Matar."

Kit realized, with a shiver of apprehension, that the force field did not protect Lady Mantilla. It was surrounding her. Kit could move only a few feet forward or backward or sideways. The wall rose so high over her that she could not feel its top. She was caught like a spider in a jar.

Looking at Luz Mantilla, Kitiara noted that the Lady's eerie gaze rested on the sword in Kit's hands. Where the sword moved, Lady Mantilla's eyes followed.

"My beautiful sword," said Lady Mantilla in a low moan, stroking her white, tangled hair abstractly. "My precious gift of love. I should like to have it back. I should like to have it as a… memento."

"You will get it back, witch," murmured Kitiara, "right through your heart."

"What did I ever do to you, Kitiara Uth Matar?" the Lady crooned mournfully, her eyes following the sword as Kit shifted it from one hand to the other. "What did I ever do to you that you would help kill my beloved?"

Kit said nothing.

"I don't understand you," said Lady Mantilla. "Now that I know your name, I am even more mystified by your behavior. By your allegiances."

Kit stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Your name-Matar. Your father was Gregor Uth Matar?

"What do you know about my father?" asked Kit, her confident tone wavering.

"I told you I gathered a long file on Ursa," said Lady Mantilla, almost petulantly. "I told you I found out all about him-where he had been, what he had done, how he operated."

"What are you saying?"

"What am I saying?" repeated Lady Mantilla. "I mean to say, how can you be in league with the turncoat who betrayed your own father?"

"What!"

Lady Mantilla's eyes revealed complete astonishment. "You don't know," she murmured. "You really don't know…"

"What trick is this?" Kit took an angry step toward the lady. Futile. The invisible barrier stopped her.

Lady Mantilla tilted her head back and gave a long, high-pitched shriek of laughter. "It was in Whitsett, far to the north, four years ago. Ursa was part of a force of mercenaries that fought a climactic battle under the leadership of your father. Gregor's men were successful, and when the contest was over it was Gregor who set the terms of surrender. Surrounded by his loyal entourage, he waited in an open field as the other army rode in to relinquish its arms.

"What your father didn't know was that among his own men there was a faction that thought he did not fairly divide the spoils of his victories, who thought that he was growing rich at their expense. Among them was a man, a first lieutenant who until then had ridden faithfully at Gregor's side. He organized the faction in a secret conclave. They pledged to betray Gregor. This group, under the leadership of Ursa Il Kinth, helped to fake the victory and conspired to arrest Gregor at the peace council."

"Liar!" Kit shouted, but the accusation was half-hearted. The tale Luz told was very similar to the one that Captain La Cava had told Kit aboard the Silver Gar. Perhaps the Lady had heard the same story and is embellishing it now to set me against Ursa, Kitiara wondered hopefully.

"No," cooed Lady Mantilla, reading her thoughts, "not a lie. Too terrible a truth to be a lie, don't you think? Ursa's men surrounded your father, bound him in leather straps, and delivered him to the other side. Ursa took twice the purse your father had agreed to, apportioned it among the conspirators, and then they split up. Your father was led in chains to the dungeon to await his beheading. What a coincidence that his daughter would turn out to be partnered with his traitor!"

Again Lady Mantilla tilted her head back and let go with screeching laughter. The cackling went on for several minutes before, strangely, it disintegrated into choked sobs.

Kit's head reeled. She clenched her fists and buried her face in them. As she turned away from the lady, a tremor went through her body. She dropped Beck's sword.

A rustling made her look up. Lady Mantilla, her face changed, her composure almost placid, had stood. She was pointing toward the door behind the tapestry where Colo had entered.

There was a moment of silence.

Kitiara made a quick movement and kicked Beck's sword, which lay at her feet, over to her captor. Lady Mantilla stooped to clutch it fervently. As she did. Kit heard a sibilance-the release of the force field. She dashed toward the tapestry door.

Behind her, Lady Mantilla, a strangely serene smile on her face, sat down again, fondling the sword of her beloved.

Kit bounded down the steps, only to come face to face with Ursa, who was squatting at the far end of his cell. The mercenary leaped up excitedly and grabbed the first row of bars.

"Kit! Where's Colo? Can you get me out of here?"

For a minute, she couldn't say anything, just stared at Ursa, remembering when she had first met him, entirely by chance, and how, in unexpected ways, he had marked her life. He looked more dead then alive now; so did she, probably. Yet his eyes gleamed at her. Through it all, he'd kept that likeable, roguish aspect.

In other circumstances she would have been drawn to him, far more than to El-Navar. Yet she knew what Lady Mantilla told her was true, and at this moment she hated Ursa with all her heart.

"What's the matter?" he asked when she did not respond immediately. "Did something go wrong?"

Kit leaned her back against one wall, and slid to the ground, exhausted. "Colo is dead," she said simply.

"Dead!" He seemed genuinely shaken. "First Radisson, then El-Navar, Cleverdon, too, I suppose. Now Colo…"

"El-Navar isn't dead," she said in a flat tone.

"No?"

"I've seen him. He's in another of these tunnels, changed into a panther. He didn't recognize me. Lady Mantilla said she tried to kill him but couldn't."

"You've seen her then! You've bested her." That old grin of his.

"No," Kit said dully. "She bested me."

"But," said Ursa, bewildered. "You're still alive. How-?"

She stood up. "I gave her Beck's sword. That's all she really wanted-the sword that you took from Sir Gwathmey's son… and gave to me."

He thought about that for a second. Then Ursa cocked his head and gave a laugh that, in spite of his ragged appearance, bespoke strength. "Good. Now, can you get me out of here?"

She looked at the cell without much enthusiasm. "I can't," she said, "and even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Why not?" he asked, confused again.

"In return for the sword she told me the truth-about you."

"What truth?" he scoffed.

"That you betrayed my father."

His eyes widened. Ursa opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He turned, walked back to the wall, scuffed at something, and returned to the bars. His face had hardened, become wary.

"You believe that, I suppose," he tried.

"Shouldn't I?"

He shook the bars desperately, to no avail, and a craven note crept into his voice. "You've got to get me out of here, Kit," he pleaded. "You've got to help me. You can find a way."

"I want to know this. Why did you do it? Why?"

His eyes rolled. "Don't be naive, Kit," he said dismissively. "It was business. Business! It was money. It had nothing to do with your father. I happen to have liked your father."

"You were his friend!"

He shrugged and put on a smile. "Not much of one."

She glared at him. "You led him to his death."

"But he didn't die!" Ursa protested. "He was condemned to die, yes, a month and a day after he was seized, but I put aside some money for the jailer. I'm certain he got away."

"Another one of your lies."

"I didn't wait around to find out," he said stubbornly. "I can tell you that, not only had I turned on him, but some of his men had to be put to the sword. But Gregor didn't die, I'm sure of that. Not Gregor. He always had the luck of a kender."

"You expect me to believe that, after you admit you betrayed him?"

"I didn't betray you," he argued. "I didn't betray you. I was beaten, starved, but I didn't tell her your name. I didn't tell her that you were in on it."

"Pah!" she spat. "You didn't tell her because you wanted to save your own skin. If she knew who I was, she wouldn't have had any further use for you. She would have killed you instantly. You would betray anyone."

"Not you," he said, his voice cracking.

In the circular room of the high tower, Luz Mantilla sat in her chair and gazed upon the painting of herself in a faraway place and time. She held the sword of Beck Gwathmey, whom she had loved, and lifted its blade high in the air, turning it and examining it in the cone of pale light. She had forgotten all about Kitiara and El-Navar and Ursa and all the rest-about everybody and everything. She only thought about Beck, dead, gone these many years, waiting for her. Somewhere.

She clasped the hilt and turned the blade around until it was slanted down. Then, with a joy that she had not felt for a long time, Luz Mantilla drove the point into her heart.

Kit was staring at Ursa with hate-filled eyes when a low rumble shook the stone corridor. The first row of bars to his cell vanished before her eyes, and the innermost door clicked open.

Kit blinked. Ursa, too, was slow to react.

Kit's eyes went to the sword that Colo had left for him, but Ursa was closer than she and had already bent to grab it. Now he stepped through the door and over the line where the bars had been.

Kit took a step back.

"Get in," he said, waving the sword toward the cell.

She didn't move. "How will you lock it?" Kitiara asked scornfully.

That gave Ursa pause. He scratched his head. "I guess I'll have to kill you," he said matter-of-factly.

He rushed her, but Kit was a better fighter than when they had first met, when she was but a girl. She grabbed his wrist and kicked upward, cracking his arm. As weak as he was, he slammed her backward, each of them struggling for control of the sword. His face was up against hers, but it was the face of Gregor Uth Matar that swam before Kit's eyes. She felt a surge of adrenalin.

"Just like before!" Ursa tried to joke as Kit jerked the sword away from him and slammed him across the face with her elbow. He fell on his back, off-balance, and looked up at her in amazement-just in time to see Kit lodge the sword in his chest.

He tried to stand, but collapsed onto his side. With his free arm, Ursa reached up to Kit, fell back, and died.

For long seconds, Kitiara looked at him, feeling revulsion yet also some pity. She could not bring herself to yank out the sword. Weaponless, she ran back down the tunnel.

Later-it could have been hours, days or years, for she had lost all sense of time-Kitiara stumbled out of Castle Mantilla.

The mist was slowly lifting.

A body lay near the entryway in a pool of blood. It was the dotty old jailer, trampled and clawed. He had not gotten away fast enough. Looking down in the dirt, Kitiara saw the tracks of the old man's murderer, the prints of a huge panther.

El-Navar was free.

She could barely lift her legs. She moved as if she were slogging through quicksand. Her head was on fire. Her muscles felt dead. One arm hung at her side, limp. Luckily, her horse was still alive, waiting for her.

El-Navar had left a clear trail. For a moment Kitiara considered following him, but the tracks led south. She struggled to climb up on the horse and, barely conscious of what she was doing, turned the animal north. North was where she was headed, to find news of her father.