Dark Heart

Chapter 8

Kitiara struggled awake, feeling as if she had been drugged. The throbbing pain that came a moment later made her wish she was still asleep. The memory of her nasty confrontation with Ursa flooded her mind.

Anger tugged her to her feet as surely as if a rope was pulling her up. Brushing off her clothes, Kit noticed a long, thin bundle laying at her feet. Beck's sword, she realized. Ursa must have left it. Little enough for my trouble, she thought. The image of El-Navar, his diamond eyes and black hair like writhing snakes, flickered across her mind. There had been that too, a rite of passage that she no longer had to anticipate with either curiosity or trepidation.

The dusky morning light revealed ugly bruises spreading across Kit's jaw and neck. She touched them gingerly. Well, she thought to herself, they can't leave the daughter of Gregor Uth Matar in the dust.

Kit picked up the sword and strapped it to her back before untying Cinnamon and hobbling alongside her horse, tracking Ursa's hoof prints. As she might have guessed, after about a half an hour of painful walking, the search ended at a stream where the tracks vanished. Ursa was too practiced a mercenary to have not made an effective escape. Kit knew she would never pick up his trail and, if she did somehow, it would vanish again somewhere down the line.

Standing there, Kit realized how hungry she was. She bent to the water and drank deeply. Then, with a few encouraging words to Cinnamon about the likelihood of a warm, well-stocked stable at the end of the day, she stiffly mounted her horse and set off-to where, she had no idea.

Silverhole was ten or twenty miles to the north, but she didn't dare go there; the men who had been chasing her would certainly scout that place as a likely hideout. But Kitiara figured there would be smaller settlements, feeding off the road builders, directly to the south and west.

By midday Kit found herself in the southern foothills and felt safe. Silverhole was a half-day's ride distant. She was on the edge of territory where the forest dwindled and the land rose sharply into miles of knifelike ridges. Farther to the west, the terrain became barren and inhospitable. Not even mercenaries would seek to escape in this direction, she thought confidently.

Kitiara approached a small group of dwellings. Not much of a town, it was more a hastily thrown together assemblage of tents, huts, and shacks, with the occasional timbered building. Stumptown, a lettered sign read, no doubt because the trees hereabout had been leveled by lumbermen, and all that remained were scarred stumps. A motley assortment of people moved about on muddy, makeshift streets. Still, there was at least one food and drink establishment, Kit saw, and she was ravenous.

Of course there was a slight problem in that she didn't have any money.

As Kit drew closer, she saw a sign proclaiming: Piggott's Hospitality. The place was large enough, though the wood was weathered and the paint peeling. The windows were dingy where they were not cracked or boarded over. The single midafternoon customer-an ancient, grizzled dwarf-wobbly ascended the wooden front steps, looking as if he had just emerged from a barrel of soot and ash.

Nothing like the well-being and hospitality that emanated from Otik's inn back in Solace, Kit reflected, feeling a momentary pang of homesickness. She shook her head.

"Must be my aching body and empty stomach taking over," Kit muttered to herself as she dismounted and led Cinnamon around to where she supposed the kitchen entrance must be.

After tying her horse to a post, Kitiara secreted Beck's sword among some bushes. Squaring her shoulders, she knocked on the door, determined not to appear to be a beggar. A fat man with a thick, slack jaw, wearing a grease-stained apron, answered. Taking his time, he looked Kit up and down. One of his ears was clotted and misshapen, no doubt the souvenir of an altercation.

"Well, you look a little worse for wear, m'lady. Lover's quarrel was it? I likes 'em sassy, meself, but not too lippy. Now, what can I do for you?"

The man hadn't budged from the doorway. His considerable bulk filled the frame, blocking Kit's view of the interior. The smells wafting out, while no comparison to Otik's famous fare, were tempting enough to make Kit fight down the immediate revulsion she felt for this oaf and reply civilly.

"I'm passing through your town and have lost my purse along the road. Is there some work I could do in return for a meal?"

The man's attitude toward Kit took on a more calculating edge. "Know your way around a kitchen, do you?"

Kit, who had been hoping for some more physical chore, got a sinking sensation in her stomach, but hunger impelled her. "Yes, I can wash dishes, and in a pinch I can cook."

The man startled Kit by grabbing her arm and yanking her inside the door. "I do the cooking, m'lady, but if you can wait tables and wash dishes you can pitch in. The fellows who work here need all the help they can get. We don't get many ladies helping out, cuz the ladies in this town don't waste their time with kitchen work. They've turned their talents to more profitable ventures, if you know what I mean."

He threw his arm familiarly around Kit's shoulders and steered her toward one corner of a long table in the middle of the messiest kitchen Kit had ever seen. Dirty dishes, pots, and pans covered every available space. A gigantic black iron cauldron filled with something or other bubbled away over the fireplace, splattering into the flames and onto the hearth. Spilled water, grease, and all manner of foodstuffs glinted on the floorboards under which ran a shallow crawlspace. Gaps between the boards allowed most of the spillage to run off below. And from the rustling she heard beneath her feet, Kit surmised that none of it was going to waste.

"Piggott's the name, as in 'Piggott's Hospitality.' Hey, Mita, get the new girl some of that stew you're burning," Piggott yelled to a slightly built teenage boy skulking in the corner.

He turned back to Kit. "Work the dinner shift, and we'll see how it goes. One bowl now, all you can eat afterward. Them's my rules. If you work out, we'll see if I can think up anything else for you to do." He leered at her meaningfully before heading toward the doorway that led into the public room and tavern.

"What about my horse?" Kit called out after him. "She's tied up in the back."

Piggott paused to glance over his shoulder at Kit. "If you want me to feed your horse too, then count on staying through breakfast tomorrow. I'm not running a charity. One way or another-" he winked lewdly at her "-you'll have to pay for what you get."

Kit was too tired and hungry to shoot him the insult he deserved. She sank wearily onto a bench at the table. The boy named Mita brought her a bowl of some stew, setting it down in front of her. Kit spooned it up hungrily even though it was so hot it burned her tongue. It was tasty, though.

Mita hovered at the edge of the table. He had yellow hair that bristled like cornstalks, a pockmarked face, and a pink slab of a tongue.

"Well," Kit said after several mouthfuls, "if you're waiting for me to tell you how good this is, it's decent enough, but could use more pepperoot. My father always said, when in doubt, add pepperoot. And Piggott is right. You've burned it."

Seemingly disappointed, the boy's pink tongue disappeared, and he turned away silently. As he walked toward the hearth, Kit noticed that he limped slightly. For some reason, she was reminded of Raistlin and immediately warmed to the boy. It makes more sense to have him as an ally than an enemy in this place, Kit thought reasonably.

"My name's Kitiara," she called after him, her tone more congenial. "You aren't that clodhopper's son are you? I hope not. I'd rather be his slave than his kin."

Mita turned and cracked a wan smile. He was almost as grubby as the kitchen surroundings, but his smile was sweet and genuine. "I get paid a little, and my meals. I stay in the barn."

"Tonight," said Kit, returning his smile, "the barn'll be my home, too."

She returned to her stew, and for the next several minutes gulped the rest of it down. Mita went out to tend to Cinnamon for her, and when he returned, Kit was already getting started, dumping dishes into an empty wooden tub.

"Start filling this with water from the well out back," she ordered. "Carry two buckets at a time if you can. We've got to get organized here."

Mita hesitated for a minute, as if deciding whether to challenge Kitiara's assumed authority. He was about her age, maybe a year or two older, in fact.

Just then the rumble of voices from the public room grew louder as people began arriving for supper. Mita shrugged his shoulders, picked up two buckets, and went out the door.

Soon Piggott was yelling numbers through the door, and Kit and Mita were doing their best to keep up. There was only one dish served every night, always some variety of stew, and the numbers signified how many bowls needed to be dished up. It wasn't long before Mita and Kit were filling up bowls whether they had time to clean one beforehand or not.

"Don't worry, nobody expects cleanliness-and-godliness when they eat at Piggott's," Mita advised Kit good-humoredly as he hurried in with a dirty bowl, wiped it with a dirtier towel that dangled from his waist, and spooned in a helping for the next customer. "Leastwise they don't if they live around here. If they do mind, they're probably just passing through and won't be back anyway. This is the only place for miles around that serves hot food."

Dashing in and out of the kitchen, ferrying empty and filled bowls of stew. Kit hardly had time to look around the public room. A bar and counter stood at one end of the place, near the kitchen door, where Piggott filled drinks and took orders. Along the floorboards stood tight rows of colored bottles-a fixture in lowlife Krynn bars-and at eye level, cheap, framed watercolors of snowy mountain peaks and cascading waterfalls were hinged to the walls.

The clientele consisted mostly of dwarves, plus a few grime-covered humans. Most were miners or loggers; some were from the road crew, which was obvious by their heavy-stitched clothing, backpacks, and belts of implements. The noise was shrill, and as she passed by the tables, Kitiara could make out only snatches of excitable conversation.

"It's a ploy, some kind of damn trick, if you ask me…"

"They say Sir Gwathmey's son was himself killed…"

"I still don't believe it, and I won't believe it till I spit on the evidence…"

"You drink any more of that stuff tonight, and you'll be asleep and wetting your own pants…"

"Are you going back to work…?"

"What do you take me for, Aghar? I won't be gulled…"

Kitiara pricked her ears as she moved easily among the grumbling customers, for nobody was paying much attention to her. And nobody was looking to tie a young woman into the crime-or hoax, some said-they were all steamed about, the hijacking of the road gang payroll. The road builders among them had already packed and made plans to head home.

"Somebody made off with a fortune," Mita said when the dinner rush was over and they had a chance to talk. "The dwarves think it's all a stunt to deceive 'em into working for free a little longer. Dwarves are shifty and suspicious types," he added knowingly, "and they don't like to be made fools of."

"Anybody hurt?" asked Kitiara innocently. At least, she hoped the question sounded innocent.

"Just a nobleman's son," shrugged Mita. "The robbers killed him but good. Made it look like a wild animal, though, which is one reason why the dwarves smell something funny. One thing's for sure, dwarves don't work on credit, and that road's never gonna get built now."

"Won't Piggott's business suffer?" asked Kit.

"Some," conceded Mita. "At first. But seems there's no end to dwarves and travelers. And if you want to get hot food and strong drink and-" he lowered his voice a little apologetically "-female company in these parts, you've got to come to Stumptown."

Kit and Mita had served helpings of stew until the black iron cauldron was almost empty, at which point, Piggott had announced that the kitchen was closed. By that time, the crowd in the public room had already thinned out considerably.

"Don't get much of a crowd after dinner time," Mita confided as he limped around the kitchen, stacking empty bowls to be cleaned. "Piggott waters his beer, and the place t'other side of town doesn't."

"What place across town?" Kit asked. "I thought you said this was the only spot to get hot food?"

"It is that," said Mita, lowering his voice again. "The other one is, well, you know… what Piggott was talking about before. Women what sells themselves to men. Even dwarves, if they can pay."

Mita's cheeks were flushed. Kit looked at him scornfully, not the least bit offended or embarrassed.

Mita busied himself with banking the fire. Piggott, out in the public room, had fallen asleep. Only one or two customers remained, nursing their tankards. Piggott was sprawled on a table, snoring obscenely.

"Never mind him," said Mita to Kit, who stood at the door to the big room, observing the fat proprietor. "He has a tendency to wake up just as the last customer leaves, and then he usually locks up. We can go now. We got a dwarf, name of Paulus Trowbridge, who comes in most mornings to clean. He didn't show up this morning, which is why the place was worse than usual. Come on, I'll show you where to bed down."

Mita led Kit out back where there was a small, sturdy building, less than a barn but more than a shed. Cinnamon was stabled inside, and there was some extra room. The mare whinnied softly when she caught Kitiara's scent. Clean hay was stacked against the wall, and Kit saw that Cinnamon had plenty of water, too. She was grateful to Mita for his thoughtfulness.

"This is it. I sleep in that corner. I added some layers to the wall so it keeps the wind out better." Mita rummaged around in the hay and pulled something out. "I see you have a blanket. Here's an extra. It's not much, but you'll need them both to keep you warm."

Numb with fatigue, Kit took the worn blanket and added it to her own gratefully. She was too tired to care much where she lay down. She trudged over to the corner opposite Mita's, plumped up some straw, and felt herself falling asleep even before her head hit the ground.

Kitiara had climbed into a tree. From her hiding spot she watched, transfixed, as El-Navar in his panther form ripped open Beck Gwathmey's body. Suddenly the sleek, black panther paused and looked up, directly at Kit. His gleaming diamond eyes invited her down, to partake…

She woke with a start, hay dust in her nose, Mita kneeling down and gently shaking her. "I let you sleep as long as I could, but Piggott's going to be up soon, and if you're gonna stay, then we have to get ready to serve breakfast," he told her.

Kitiara shook off the dream and, rubbing sleep from her eyes, slowly stretched. Peering through the doorway behind Mita, she saw by the quality of the light that it was barely past sunrise. She rose crankily and brushed the straw off her clothes.

"Hurry!" Mita insisted, limping off toward the back door.

Kit resolved to stay through breakfast at least. She had no money and no immediate plans. Piggott's place seemed like a magnet for all kinds of road flotsam, and she might pick up some valuable information and new companions. She decided to try and work out some deal with the horrid man.

Kit almost changed her mind when she entered the kitchen and experienced one of Piggott's foul moods. He was cursing in several dialects, knocking over stacks of dishes, and kicking at the table. A young dwarf-young for a dwarf, that is-was trying to ignore the innkeeper's temper while methodically stacking pots, pans, and dishes, well out of Piggott's immediate reach.

Piggott caught sight of Kit, seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, he huffed and puffed out into the back courtyard, where he could be heard screaming at the chickens.

Mita slipped in the back door a moment later with an armful of wood for the fire. Kit went to help him.

"What was that about?" she asked in a low voice as together they stoked the flames.

"Road project's officially shut down," Mita whispered back. "Most of the dwarves have gone back to Thorbardin. Just like I predicted."

"Foreman had a mile-long bar tab, included him and his eight cousins," the dwarf, who was scrubbing dishes, tossed over his shoulders. "Left in the middle of the night, conveniently neglecting to pay up. Name of Ignius Cinnabar. Real tinpot on the job. Drinks half a barrel in his one night off, and his cousins just as much-each."

The dwarf was wearing patched coveralls that absorbed the water and slop splashing onto him. He had long silver hair tied in a pony tail behind his neck. His eyes were light brown. If stubby and arrogant, he was quite handsome for a dwarf.

"Sooner or later he'll be back," the dwarf said. "Ignius is honest; his faults lie elsewhere. He'll pay his due, but maybe not for months. Meanwhile, Piggott can fume all he wants."

Kit looked at the dwarf, and Mita took the cue to introduce them.

"This is Paulus Trowbridge. He's been here longer than me, off and on, and I've been here for going on five years."

Kit heartily shook the dwarf's hand. His grasp was more powerful than she expected and matched the strength that shone in his face.

"I was over at Silverhole when they broke camp," said Paulus by way of explanation. "They had been shorted, so they couldn't pay any bills even if they cared to. But try telling that to Piggott. He thinks the whole world is out to cheat him. Especially-" he spat on the floor for emphasis "-dwarves."

He went back to cleaning and stacking dishes, but talked to Kitiara and Mita over his shoulder as he worked.

"Did they catch the ones who did it?" asked Kitiara, as nonchalantly as she could manage, her heart beating fast.

"Nah," said Paulus, "and they won't. They're long gone from hereabout. And even the ones who know, who saw them and maybe can recognize them again, they're gone too. The guards and the estatemen, they scattered but fast. They got to answer for their own failure, and the daughter what was gonna marry the young nobleman once the road was finished, she's posted a big reward for all accomplices, dead or alive. They say she's holed up in a tower somewhere, stark crazy with grief."

"Enough small talk!" snapped Piggott, who had come in the back door without them realizing it. He glared at Paulus. "You, get those dishes done and stop your dwarven chatter. Mita and Kitiara-if you're planning on dining off my generosity this morning, get to your chores. The customers are already arriving."

Sure enough, there was the sound of clomping from the dining room, signifying the arrival of customers. Paulus showed an indifferent mask to Piggott's hostility and turned to his work. Mita and Kit began to run around the room, preparing food and readying servings.

Within minutes, things were better organized, in part because Kit was not shy about giving orders. "Paulus, don't stack dishes so far away from the tub," she told the dwarf. "Move them closer. And see if you can find a different tub for the pots and pans."

The young ponytailed dwarf did as he was told, eyeing her with faint amusement.

"Mita, this is how you should beat biscuits." Kit took the bowl away from the kitchen helper and gave an expert demonstration. "And make sure the oven is hot enough before you put them in, or it won't matter if you mixed them right, they still won't turn out."

This was the type of work that Kit detested, but her years of virtually running the Majere household had left her with more than a few organizational and culinary skills. Anyway, if she got things running right, there would be less actual work for her to do.

Just then Piggott bustled into the kitchen, somewhat mollified by a good turn-out of breakfast customers, but ready from habit to explode. His eyes showed his surprise. Kit pulled the fat proprietor aside.

"After the rush, I'd like to talk to you about staying on here for a while and for a price."

Piggott, surveying the improved organization in his kitchen, nodded.

Mita, overhearing the request, smiled to himself.

Piggott agreed to pay Kit a small amount every week, in addition to room and board for herself and Cinnamon.

Bringing some order to the chaotic kitchen proved well within Kit's capabilities. Mita showed himself to be a willing and able apprentice cook. And Paulus Trowbridge, stoic about his chores, was a good worker. With a smile and a joke at Piggott's expense, Kit could keep both kitchen helpers in good humor while prodding them to move faster.

The money did not add up to much, but if Kit was going to be forced to return to Solace, at least she wouldn't have to slink back, penniless. Laying in the barn at night after a tiring day, Kit often found herself thinking about her home, and more particularly, her twin brothers. She wondered how Raist was doing in the mage school and whether Caramon was watching over him well. She savored these weeks away, but she had almost made up her mind to go back.

If Kit had had any idea where her father was, she would have gone there, or at least in that direction. During her first days at the inn, Kit found many excuses to go out into the dining room where she always looked over the crowd carefully, watching for a familiar face-Gregor's, or even Ursa's. There was never anyone she had seen nor met before. Now and then a grizzled warrior or roving Knight of Solamnia wandered into the place. Kitiara always contrived to wait on their tables. And if she could get a word in edgewise, she asked them if they had ever heard of a particular someone, the legendary mercenary, Gregor Uth Matar.

Some had heard of Gregor, or at least they thought so, but no one had any information that was reliable or up-to-date. After a while, Kit stopped asking.

At first Kit overheard much talk about the ambush of Sir Gwathmey's payroll expedition. Bits and pieces of information as well as unfounded gossip kept travelers and the locals buzzing. But the upshot was that none of the perpetrators had been identified, nobody arrested or captured. The dead man's fiancйe, across the mountains, had offered an astronomical sum-people said it was three times the amount of the robbery-for revenge against the murderers. Lady Mantilla had turned to dark magic, it was whispered, and employed a veritable army of spies and mages, as yet to no avail.

Kit stuck close to Piggott's place; indeed, she had little time or interest in poking around Stumptown. She figured it was wise not to attract attention. Beck's sword remained hidden among some bushes where no one ventured.

After a while, the rumors died down, until nobody talked about the payroll robbery anymore. Kit gave up hope of ever tracking down Ursa and getting her fair share of the booty. The episode seemed increasingly distant to her. Without the responsibility of caring for her half-brothers for the first time in years, and with a little change in her pockets, Kit gloried in her independence.

The companionship offered by Mita also helped make her time pleasurable there. She regarded the lad as the equivalent of another younger brother, though in age he was her peer. Although she suspected that Mita saw her more romantically, Kit was thankful he never said anything nor acted on that mistaken impulse. They slept within yards of each other every night, platonically, comfortable in each other's company.

One hazy afternoon when they were together in the courtyard, searching for eggs laid by Piggott's hens, Kitiara asked Mita why he limped.

"Don't know really," he said, averting his eyes because she had raised a delicate subject. "I always did. I used to live not too far from here with my grandmother. She tended a herd of goats to help keep food on the table. When I used to ask her how come, she wouldn't tell me. She'd just shake her head and look away, sadlike. Piggott said he supposed a big goat of hers must have stepped on my leg one day, 'cause of this."

Mita pulled up his pant leg to reveal a curved imprint on his lower right leg, the one he favored. Kit peered at the scar, but wasn't at all sure it looked like a hoof mark.

"What did your parents say when you asked them?"

"I didn't ask. Didn't ever know 'em. First I remember, I was living with Grandma."

Kit was standing close to Mita, and when her eyes met his, she had the oddest sensation he was going to try and kiss her. But the moment passed. How different from El-Navar's bold assurance, Kitiara couldn't help thinking to herself.

Piggott was not quite as gentlemanly as Mita, and more than once the fat, greasy owner had planted himself squarely in front of Kitiara, leering and saying something offensive. But Piggott never pressed his point when Kitiara brushed him off. He knew she always carried a small knife on her, concealed inside her tunic.

The one time Piggott had leaned too close, his beery breath hot in her face, Kit had slipped the knife out and pressed its tip against his prominent gut. "Well, aren't we rough and ready," Piggott had cracked, but the menace was gone from his voice, and his eyes darted around nervously as he looked for a way to retreat without losing face.

Piggott's mood was habitually foul. At times he would cuff Mita on the back of the head and berate him; or if the dwarf, who was part of their alliance, happened to drop a plate or come in late, Piggott would dock everybody's pay.

One morning, late in the summer, Kitiara woke having made up her mind to leave. Not because of Piggott, really- she could handle him-but her prospects for finding adventure in Stumptown seemed dim. She had enough money; she'd had her time away from Solace; so now she would return home.

Right away she told Mita, and he astonished her by saying that he would go with her. "I'm sick of Piggott's bullying," he declared. "I've got quite a bit of money saved up, and I'm going with you."

"What about your grandmother?" Kit asked. "Won't she miss you?"

"Oh, she died three years ago," said Mita matter-of-factly. "That's how come I decided to move in here and work for Piggott in the first place."

Kitiara said that, no, she was going home to help take care of her brothers, Mita couldn't come and stay with her, and he wouldn't like Solace anyway. Mita responded that he would go with her partway, then, and turn south toward Haven somewhere along the road.

Kit shrugged. Mita grew so excited about it that Kitiara caught some of his mood and became enthusiastic, too. Together they scurried around the barn, beginning to organize and pack their scant belongings.

Later, inside the kitchen, before the breakfast customers showed up in force, Kitiara and Mita were whispering about their plans, laughing, when a hand clapped Kitiara on the back. She turned to see Paulus giving her an unaccustomed glowering look.

"Let me in on the big secret," said the ponytailed dwarf, his eyes shifting between Mita and Kit.

They told him they were getting ready to quit, and Paulus astonished Kit further by announcing that he would quit, too, and go along with them. And when Mita split up with Kitiara, Paulus would keep heading south with the boy. "I can't wait to see that fat buzzard's face when we tell him," grinned Paulus.

Only minutes later, all three of them got that opportunity, when they cornered Piggott and informed him they were leaving after breakfast. The beefy innkeeper flushed a dark shade of crimson and erupted in expletives. He yelled and screamed insults at them, and they hurled their own insults back. Then Piggott switched tactics and plaintively entreated them to stay, at least for a couple of days, to give him time to find new kitchen workers.

"How can you leave today?" he pleaded. "You, Mita. How will you travel? You don't have a horse!"

"I'll buy one," Mita said proudly. "I have enough money saved up to buy three or four."

"No," said Paulus grandly. "Let me buy you one, friend. I have enough money for a dozen!"

"Kit, where's your gratitude? Mita, I've been practically a father to you. Paulus-"

Their laughter cut off his futile pleading.

Piggott changed his tack again, his face taking on a sly cast. He tugged at his cauliflower ear. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll give you twice your normal weekly salary, if you stay for two more nights. That's all. Just to let me make some arrangements. Twice your salary. After that, no hard feelings."

Kit, Mita, and Paulus exchanged looks. That offer was too good to pass up, and, in any case, they could use the time to gather supplies and prepare for their journey.

"Done!" said Kit, offering her hand to Piggott. He took it coolly, wiped his own on his apron afterward, then brusquely told them all to get back to work.

Two days later, the night before they left, Piggott counted out two week's salary, a tidy pile of coins, into each of their outstretched palms. The disagreeable man had said almost nothing to them during their extended time, and he was not around when the trio set out early the next morning, before sunrise.

Kit felt good to be riding Cinnamon again, after all this time. She carried only the few simple things she had arrived with, her purse of earned income, and Beck's sword, which she had retrieved from its hiding place. The sword was still wrapped, but Paulus's glance indicated that he guessed that Kit was carrying some prized weapon strapped across her back.

Mita was riding a palomino he had purchased from an old forester, and Paulus was astride a small pony. Both horses were draped with bundles and bags, some of which bulged and others of which conspicuously jingled. Where Mita had squirreled all of his trove away while they were living together in the backyard shed, Kit could not figure. She realized she was gawking at her two companions.

"Saved it all up," beamed Paulus, noticing her wide-eyed stare. Mita nodded with a big grin. Kit shook her head, then spurred Cinnamon forward.

Laden so, they rode slowly. They only covered twelve or thirteen miles from Stumptown, heading roughly southwest through the low mountains and dense forests, before making an early camp for the night.

The three of them argued over who should make dinner, and Paulus-as the least likely candidate-won. To Kit and Mita's surprise, the clever dwarf cooked up a delicious frying pan meal of twice-sizzled eggs and sausage bits. The other two were amazed that Paulus had contented himself all that time at Piggott's place as a lowly dishwasher and kitchen helper, without volunteering his hidden culinary talents.

All were in a buoyant mood, laughing easily and swapping stories about themselves, as Lunitari emerged from behind a cloud. The wind shifted, a slight breeze came up, and Cinnamon whinnied. So innocent of all treachery were the trio that none of them realized anything, until Kit looked up and saw that three figures stood just outside their circle of light, waving weapons.

Immediately Kit and Paulus jumped up. "Don't move!" shouted a vaguely familiar voice. That one belonged to the largest of the three shapes and the one deepest in the darkness. Despite the moonlight, Kit could make out little about this cloaked and hooded man. At least, he had spoken in a man's voice.

One of the other two figures slid forward, waving a short sword. His hood had fallen back, revealing black hair, pointed ears, and a face painted with exotic designs. Wild elves, Kit thought to herself. She had seen very few in her time, and indeed had a prejudice against the entire elven race, believing they were not as forthright as dwarves or as innocuous as kender.

The Kagonesti with the short sword hurriedly patted each of the three travelers down. On Paulus he found a dagger and a small pegged cudgel, and, on Kit, her concealed knife. He missed the bundled sword, which Kit had taken off and lashed unobtrusively to Cinnamon, under her saddle blanket. Mita, who had risen, half-stupefied, was found to be unarmed.

Another of the brigands went to the horses, where Mita and Paulus had unloaded and stacked their accumulated wealth. He was Kagonesti, too. The two elves spoke back and forth in their own tongue, which was unknown to Kit, while the third, larger figure stood silently-nervously Kit thought-in the background.

Paulus glanced at Kit, but she shrugged, not sure what to do. Kitiara began edging backward, toward her horse.

The Kagonesti with the short sword shouted what was obviously a warning at Kit, and Mita looked over at her, alarmed. But the figure in the background called out something to the Kagonesti, in heavily accented Elvish. It sounded to Kit distinctly along the lines of, "Don't worry about her."

The Kagonesti with the sword backed toward his fellow elf, watching the three friends carefully, holding his swordpoint in front of him. Kit was able to take a few more steps backward toward Cinnamon. As the Kagonesti reached his confederate, he turned half away from the prisoners to help his fellow finish searching the saddlebags.

Kit made her move. She whirled behind Cinnamon, slid out the concealed sword, and worked desperately to take off its tight wrapping. She heard the third man-she was sure now that he was not a Kagonesti-shout something and rush forward, wielding a wicked, curved knife. Peering over the rump of her horse as she unwrapped the sword as fast as she could, Kit saw the big one lumbering toward her, followed by one of the Kagonesti. Paulus had dropped down to the dirt. Mita just stood there, mouth open, seemingly frozen in terror.

Kitiara confounded them by charging. She came at them from the other side of Cinnamon, her sword finally at the ready. There was a gasp from the big man, and he stepped back. The Kagonesti kept coming, so Kit leaped into the open, away from her horse.

As she did so, Mita seemed jolted into action, and with a keening war cry that took everybody by surprise, made a running jump. Despite his limp, he managed to land on the back of the big, hooded figure, who dropped his knife in astonishment. With his arm around the man's neck, choking him, Mita pulled off the hood, revealing none other than their fat, scabrous former employer.

"Piggott," Kit spat in disgust. She should have guessed.

His tongue was protruding, and Piggott was doing his best to whip around and throw off his assailant. But Mita was hanging on and had the good sense to use his free arm to pound the fat innkeeper's bad ear. Piggott was shouting and cursing unintelligibly.

Things happened so fast, then, that Kitiara found it hard later to reconstruct everything in her mind.

The first Kagonesti had reached her, and she was fending him off with feints and short, quick attacks with her sword. He was a capable fighter, but Kitiara's sword, unsheathed, was intimidating. It caught the moonlight and sparkled in her hand, and she could tell that the Kagonesti, although he stood his ground, was worried by it.

The other elf had also rushed forward to help his cronies. As he reached the almost comical struggle that was going on between Piggott and Mita, the innkeep spun around. The Kagonesti lunged forward and stabbed poor Mita in the side. The boy cried out, lost his grip, and slumped to the ground.

Kitiara saw all this only out of the corner of her eye, for she had troubles of her own. The Kagonesti worrying her had proved resourceful. He had managed to back her against a tree, but had also managed to stay out of the way of her increasingly wild slashes. Now she had nowhere to retreat, and he was closing in.

Running to his side came the other Kagonesti, shouting in their incomprehensible language.

Piggott was just standing up and catching his breath, when from underneath him thrust his own knife, hard and fierce, deep into the underside of his fat belly. The awful man screamed out in agony. As Piggott gaped downward, his best kitchen knife slit the front of his stomach, up to his chest bone. Gripping its hilt was Paulus.

The first Kagonesti made the mistake of looking over his shoulder at what was happening, and before he knew it, Kitiara had lunged forward and stabbed him, deeply and with finality, through the heart.

Now Paulus came running over, carrying a big rock from the campfire in one of his bare hands, the knife in the other. The look on his face was fearsome.

The second Kagonesti had stopped, angled around, and now was holding both the dwarf and the young woman off, pointing his sword in front of him. He was clearly panicked.

Slowly Kitiara and Paulus closed in. With a surprising movement, the elf darted toward them, his sword threatening. When they took a necessary step back, he whirled and vanished into the bushes so quickly that they could barely react.

Kit and Paulus stood there for long seconds, looking after him, hearing and seeing nothing. At last, the dwarf dropped his weapons.

After stripping their corpses of valuables, Kitiara and Paulus left Piggott and the Kagonesti to the forest predators, but they buried Mita as best they could, under a shallow mound of branches and leaves.

"He was foolish," said Paulus, standing over the grave, his voice trembling with emotion.

"No, he was brave," said Kitiara.

They rode south for two more days, taking Mita's horse and all of his belongings with them. On a high ridge, where the mountains cleaved and two roads went off in opposite directions, they decided to separate. Kit had urged Paulus to take all of Mita's things, but he wouldn't hear of it. She herself had no appetite for the leavings of her friend's life, so on the ridgetop they removed everything from the boy's palomino, then let the horse go free.

The ridge overlooked a deep narrow valley, and one by one Paulus threw all of the carefully packed bags and bundles as far as he could, out over the steep sides into the canyon. They could not hear them hit bottom.

"Seems a waste," said Kit.

"His life was a waste," answered Paulus, looking off.

"Where are you heading?" asked Kit as she got back on Cinnamon and prepared to leave.

"I dunno," said Paulus, getting on his horse. "Somewhere different, I know that."

"Will you do me a favor?" asked Kit solemnly. "Don't tell anyone about, er, all this… but especially, my sword." She reached down and patted the valuable weapon. The wrapped blade was looped to the saddle she had taken from Piggott's horse.

"I won't," said Paulus, his eyes meeting hers. "And I won't ask why."

"Luck," she said.

"Luck!"

Paulus was the first to turn away, his demeanor as nonchalant as when they had first met. Kit sat there, astride Cinnamon, and watched the handsome, ponytailed dwarf as he disappeared down the smaller trail that led toward the main road west. After a time, she galloped off in the direction of Solace.