Tower of Doom

Eleven

The dying man's screams echoed eerily down the corridors of Nartok Keep.

"This way, milady. Please-we must hurry. I don't… I don't think he can hold out much longer."

Mika strode swiftly after a rag-clad serving boy with tousled red hair. In a white-knuckled hand she gripped her satchel of doctor's tools. The screams grew louder, rising and falling.

"Can you tell me what is wrong with your uncle?" she asked the boy gravely.

He cast a white-faced look at her over his shoulder. "You'll see, milady."

Mika clutched the hem of her dark dress up above her ankles, breaking into a trot to keep up. A quarter of an hour before, the boy had burst into the Black Boar, explaining breathlessly that his uncle, a manservant at the keep, was ill. Mika had grabbed her black satchel and rushed outside to the carriage Baron Caidin had sent in which to take her up the tor. Whatever she thought of the baron, it seemed he took an admirable interest in his servants.

"In here, milady!"

The boy led the way through a squalid warren of servants' quarters to a dingy room. A cloying odor hung on the air, so thick it was almost palpable. On a rude cot, a gray-haired man writhed beneath a blanket, shivering despite the fire roaring in a stone fireplace only a few feet away. Several servants clustered around the cot, staring with frightened eyes.

Mika entered with an air of authority. "All right everyone, step back," she said briskly. "Somebody bring candles-I'll need more light." The servants scurried to obey her requests. "How long has the patient been like this?"

"Since he was bitten this morning, milady," a young maidservant replied nervously.

"Bitten?"

The red-haired boy nodded. "It was an insect, milady."

"I see." Mika approached the cot. The man gazed up at her, agony contorting his pallid face.

"Please," he gasped. "Please help me."

"Don't be afraid," Mika said reassuringly. "It will be all right. I promise."

She pulled down the threadbare blanket, then clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from gagging. The man's right arm was bloated to hideous proportions and covered with purple-black splotches. Even as she watched, the dark splotches inched their way onto his shoulder and chest. Mika steeled her will. This was not the first time she had faced a terrifying illness, nor would it be the last.

She began by making notes to herself about his condition. "The patient's right arm appears to be in an advanced stage of gangrene. Infection is spreading rapidly. Immediate amputation is the only-"

All at once, the manservant's arm dissolved into a puddle of thick slime. Letting out a bubbling cry, he arched his back, raising his body off the cot. Blood gushed from his mouth in a hot, dark fountain, splattering Mika's dress. He slumped back down, his eyes glazed with terror.

"Please.. His words gurgled wetly in his throat. "I don't want to die "

Choking back fear, Mika turned to the others who stared in horror. "What sort of insect stung him?" she demanded.

"I… I don't know," the red-haired boy gulped. "But… but uncle caught it after it bit him."

He picked up a jar and held it toward Mika. Inside a pale beetle scrabbled at the glass. Dark blotches marked-its waxy carapace, suggesting a grinning human skull. The beetle gnashed sharp mandibles, as if trying to bite through the glass. Without hesitating, Mika snatched the jar from the boy's hand and hurled it into the roaring fireplace. Glass shattered. The beetle scuttled over the hot coals, emitting a piercing shriek. Abruptly it exploded in a puff of noxious green smoke.

"A skull beetle," Mika breathed in revulsion.

The young maidservant cried out. "Milady!"

Mika whirled around. The man on the cot convulsed violently. As his arm did a moment earlier, with a wet sound his body collapsed into a shapeless mass of quivering yellow jelly. His face remained whole only long enough for him to let out a scream of pure agony. Then it too dissolved into thick fluid. Unaffected by the beetle's venom, two staring eyeballs floated atop the putrid puddle of slime.

Mika barely fought back the urge to vomit. Many of the others were not as successful. "Burn it," she choked. "Burn everything. And whatever you do don't… don't let any of it touch your skin."

She did not need to instruct the trembling servants twice.

Later, Mika stepped tentatively into the glittering Grand Hall of Nartok Keep. This time she was clad in a gown of indigo velvet. Baron Caidin spun on a heel to gaze at her, his hand resting elegantly on the hilt of the ornamental saber at his side. Outside the tall windows, purple twilight was drifting down from the sky.

"Ah, yes," the baron said with a wolfish smile. "That gown is better, my lady. Wouldn't you say?"

"It is, Your Grace. Thank you for lending it to me." Her voice was almost a gasp. The dress's bead- encrusted bodice squeezed her chest cruelly, making it difficult to fill her lungs. The thick velvet weighed down on her. She had the distinct sensation that she was not wearing the gown,but rather was imprisoned in it.

"I am sorry about your patient," the baron said gravely. "But I am glad that I could see you before you left the keep. I would not have had you returning to the village without my personal thanks. Oh-I am afraid my servants had to burn your other dress."

Mika only nodded. No amount of cleaning would have removed the bloodstains from it.

"You can keep this gown, of course."

An uncomfortable silence descended between them. Mika fumbled for words. "It was kind of you to send a carriage for me, Your Grace. I imagine few lords take such an interest in the welfare of their servants."

Caidin dismissed this comment with a casual wave of his hand. "It was nothing. I suppose I consider them my children, that's all. Wouldn't any man do the same if his child was ill?"

Mika smiled fleetingly at his words, wondering if she had perhaps misjudged the baron. Once again she was struck by how handsome he was. The blue coat he wore was less formal than the one she had seen before. It fell open to reveal a white shirt and crimson sash. He seemed as radiant as the nameless gods who appeared in the mosaic beneath his boots, floating in clouds above the scene of an ancient battle-naked deities with fierce eyes and sensual lips glowing in pagan majesty.

"Wine?" He proffered a silver goblet.

She accepted it with a murmur of thanks, taking a sip. The wine was cool and rich, tasting of cherries, cloves, and smoke. She looked up at him in surprise. "It's delicious, Your Grace."

"For you, my lady, only the finest."

His words startled her. Once again she thought she saw a hungry light glittering in his green eyes. Yet that was an utterly foolish notion. Caidin was a baron. He could have his pick of dozens of beautiful ladies of high birth. What could he possibly see in a vagabond healer whose blood was common to the last drop? Nothing, Mika told herself firmly. No doubt she had made an utter fool of herself two nights ago with her hasty departure after the feast. Surely she had misjudged his intentions.

Her certainty wavered as his gaze glided over her body like a caress. Hastily she swallowed more of the wine. "Did I ever tell you about my husband, Your Grace?" she blurted.

A bemused look flickered across his visage. "I don't recall asking, my lady."

She nodded jerkily, taking a few steps back. "His name was Geordin, and he was a tailor. Our daughter's name was Katalia, but I just called her Lia. We lived in a small flat ift II Aluk, overlooking the Vuchar River." Despite her nervousness, she smiled at the memory. "Oh, it wasn't much. Certainly nothing so grand as all this." She gestured around her. "But I planted geraniums in the box outside the window, and I used to love to look out and watch the gulls whirl and dive over the water." She sighed deeply. "We were happy there."

He poured more wine into her goblet from a crystal decanter. "Why do you say were, Mika?"

Just three whispered words escaped her lips, yet they explained everything. "The Crimson Death." She gulped down more of the wine. Its sweet aroma permeated her head, dulling her remembered sadness.

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "But remember, Mika-time will one day heal your hurting."

"No," she choked. "No, I don't want this wound to heal. Because… because then…"

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, trying to still her shaking. She tried to pull away, but the baron would not let her.

"Because then it might mean you no longer love him?" Caidin finished for her. "Is that what you think?"

She nodded.

"Look at me, Mika." Reluctantly, she let his powerful hands turn her around. "I would never presume to take away the sorrow of your past. But won't you let me grant you some joy-now, here, tonight?"

She shook her head in confusion. She felt dizzy- the wine, of course. She should not have drunk so much. It was difficult to think.

"I… I don't…"

His hands squeezed her tightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. By her soul, he was a handsome man.

"Please, Mika."

Geordin! she cried silently. What am I to do? Yet it was another voice that seemed to speak the faint words that fell from her lips. "Perhaps, Your Grace. For just a short while…"

The baron's dark mustache curled in a smile. He lifted her off her feet, whirling her around. The silver cup slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Dimly, she heard lilting music. Holding her around the waist, Caidin whisked her about in a whirling dance. It was like a delirious dream. Mika's senses were filled with the sweet strains of the music, the rustling of her velvet gown, and his body brushing against hers. It felt as if she were slipping beneath the surface of a lake, only the water was so wonderfully warm that she had to believe that drowning would be a pleasure.

A dull glint caught her eye. As they spun by, Mika saw that it was the silver goblet she had dropped on the floor. Red wine spilled from it, pooling like blood. Suddenly the wine evaporated, as if absorbed into the floor, and she glimpsed the images in the mosaic as they began to move.

Two shining armies marched toward each other across a green landscape. The serene, cruel-eyed gods floating in the clouds directed the creatures below like pieces on a gameboard. The mosaic armies clashed, swords gleaming. Chips of red- ochre stained the verdant landscape. The gory images shocked Mika to her senses. With all her strength, she pushed herself away from the baron, gasping for air.

Caidin watched her with a perplexed expression. "What is wrong, my lady?"

"Nothing, Your Grace. I… I only…" In desperation, she searched for something-anything- to say. "I only wanted to ask you something."

He took a step toward her. "If you require anything, my lady, you have only to request it."

"In the keep's bell tower, there's a hunchback." Trying to make it look as if she were not backing away, she edged to one of the tall windows. Her own ghostly image gazed back at her from the darkened glass.

"Yes?" the baron said impatiently.

"He rings the bells," Mika went on breathlessly. She had to talk fast. It was her only defense. "I was Wondering if you might be able to help him somehow, Your Grace. You see, he's all alone. And so very sad." The baron's pale image loomed behind hers in the window.

"You should not go to the bell tower, my lady," he said gravely.

The word leapt from her lips. "Why?"

"The hunchback you speak of-he is very dangerous. He is a violent man, perhaps even mad. You put yourself at peril just to go near him." She saw hatred glitter in the eyes of his reflection.

"Are you certain?" Mika said, suddenly unsure of herself. "He is… I mean, he seemed…"

"You must not go near the tower again, my lady." His voice was stern, like a father speaking to a child. "I implore you."

Mika only nodded dumbly. She had run out of words. Disturbing thoughts coursed through her mind. Could Wort truly be dangerous? He was so sad, so pitiful, and almost dear in the way he befriended the pigeons in the belfry. Yet, she knew he was also capable of rage. She had witnessed it herself. Still, she could not believe that he would ever harm her.

"Come, let us dance more," Caidin said, reaching out to take her hand.

Quickly, she turned away. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I must go. Please forgive me. I have patients to see early on the morrow."

Without waiting for his reply, she picked up the hem of her gown and rushed from the Grand Hall, back to the village, and the inn, and the familiar safety of loneliness.

As he often did when he was upset, Baron Caidin decided to make goblyns.

Dark water dripped down stone walls. Against one wall of the dungeon chamber-leaned an iron sarcophagus. Carved into its lid was the grotesque effigy of a man with a dog's head, lips pulled back from a wrinkled muzzle in a malevolent snarl. The sarcophagus was an intriguing artifact. Caidin had come upon it during his long search for the Soulstone. While not as powerful as the stone, it certainly had its uses. Clad in a robe of executioner's black, Caidin approached the coffin. Grunting, he threw back the heavy lid. Inside was empty darkness.

"Bring in the prisoner, Pock!" he commanded.

A peasant man clad in a ragged brown tunic stumbled through the doorway behind the Baron, hands and feet hobbled by'iron chains. Pock followed, clad in a dark robe that was Caidin's in miniature. The little gnome wielded a curved dagger that was long enough to serve him as a sword.

"Move along!" Pock commanded, waving the sharp dagger at the peasant. The man lurched forward as quickly as he could to avoid the slashing blade. Displaying small, sharp teeth in a nasty grin, Pock skipped after him.

"Enough of your antics, Pock," Caidin barked. He turned on the peasant. "You-into the coffin."

"Please, my lord!" the man wailed fearfully. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"So?" Caidin said disinterestedly.

When Pock jabbed his knife at the peasant, the man quickly scurried into the sarcophagus, huddling fearfully.

"What… what's going to happen to me?" he whispered.

"Oh, you'll see," Caidin replied with a mocking iaugh. "i' He slammed the sarcophagus shut, sealing the man within. Crimson light glimmered to life in the eyes of the dog-headed effigy carved into the lid. There was a desperate scrabbling sound on the inside of the sarcophagus, followed by muffled moans of pain. The eyes flashed brightly, then went dark. Slowly, Caidin opened the lid.

The form that stumbled out wore the peasant's brown tunic, but it was not human. The creature's skin was dusky green; its limbs were twisted and knotted with muscle. The thing's bloated head seemed too large for its body, and most of it was taken up by a maw filled with needle-sharp teeth. The newly created monster's eyes glowed dull red.

The goblyn groveled at Caidin's boots. "Master!" it hissed fawningly. "How can I serve you?"

"Go find the others like you, vermin," Caidin crooned. "Soon, I will tell you all what you must do." Bobbing its bloated head, the goblyn scurried from the chamber.

Caidin allowed himself a low chuckle. It was always diverting to create goblyns, and the mindless creatures usually proved useful as well. Caidin had a particular purpose in mind for these latest creations. Now that he was without a lord inquisitor, he would have to devise imaginative ways to detain the Lady Jadis in her investigations.

The revelation of Sirraun's betrayal had disturbed Caidin more than he cared to admit. He had begun the false inquisition simply as a way to collect lives for the Soulstone. Now he wondered if perhaps he should conduct a true inquisition throughout his fief- dom. Twice now he had caught men whose loyalty he had not questioned murdering people in his court. Perhaps there was genuine treachery afoot in Nartok. What was more, the game of cat and mouse he was playing with the Kargat was beginning truly to annoy him.

"If only I could simply murder Jadis and be done with it," Caidin whispered savagely. Though the thought was tempting, he knew he dared not try anything so overt.

Caidin worked late into the night, using the sarcophagus to transform a half dozen more fearful peasants into slavering goblyns. When that was done, he felt a little better, but not much. Pock could not help observing the baron's glum sigh.

"What's wrong, Your Grace?" Pock asked querulously. "Usually creating goblyns puts you in a cheerful mood."

"I don't understand it, Pock," Caidin grumbled. "How could Mika resist me a second time?"

No woman had ever scorned Caidin once, let alone twice. More humiliating yet, he had been, forced to stoop to an elaborate ruse to lure her to the keep in the first place. It was he who had placed the skull beetle-a gift from the darkling-in the manservant's chamber. Goodwill had been the furthest thing from his mind when he sent the carriage to the village to fetch Mika. Despite all his efforts to seduce the healer, still she had resisted him. Even more disturbing, he had learned that she had somehow met and befriended Wort. If the Old Baron's secret was ever revealed and Wort's existence made known, Caidin would be ruined.

"I still don't see why you're so determined to seduce the good doctor, Your Grace." Pock threaded his arms through a pair of iron rings bolted to the wall. He hung lazily between them, small pointed shoes kicking. "You could have any noble lady in the keep-or nobleman, for that matter-without having to go to all the bother of corrupting them. They've already all been corrupted for you. Wouldn't that be tor simpler?"

"You just answered your own question, Pock."

"Idid?" Pock's bald purple head wrinkled in confusion. "I must be even smarter than I thought."

"You said it yourself, Pock. The 'good' doctor." Caidin stroked his smooth black beard. "That's exactly what Mika is-kind, ingenuous, and so very innocent. That makes her all the more tempting."

"What if she resists you again, Your Grace?"

"I won't allow her to. She will submit, Pock." Caidin clenched a Fist. "In the end, no one can resist me."

"Actually, I can, Your Grace," the gnome chirped. "You see, I have a fondness for purple complexions, and your face is only purple when you're mad. Er, just like it is now." Pock swallowed hard. "Come to think of it, purple doesn't really suit you, Your Grace."

"Is that so?" Caidin growled dangerously.

"No offense intended, Your Grace!" Pock gulped.

"Oh, none taken, Pock." Caidin's voice was as hard and sharp as cut glass. "Believe me."

Thunder rolled ominously across the leaden sky as Jadis pushed through the rusting iron gate and stepped into the graveyard. Stinging nettles scratched at her ankles. Dry witchgrass rattled in the wind. Everywhere tombstones lurched at odd angles, some cracked and fallen over, others sunk deeply into the damp earth. Here the folk of Nartok buried their dead-and here they forgot them.

The gnome Caidin had sent to spy on her was proving to be a nuisance, but Jadis had managed to lead Pock astray with a false trail. No doubt the little cretin was even now huddled inside a festering heap of refuse as was his wont, keeping watch on the alley in the village where she had led him to believe she was to meet with a secret messenger. Meanwhile, she had things to investigate here.

In the dungeon, she had confirmed her suspicion that Caidin's inquisition was simply a false front. Whatever his ulterior motive, it had something to do with the prisoners in the inquisition chamber-prisoners who, though dead, somehow retained a supernatural sentience. She had come to the cemetery hoping for more clues. jadis continued on, moving with catlike grace even though she was jn human form. She reached a place where the graves were fresh. Nearby were several empty ones, yawning like dark maws, waiting for their occupants. Jadis doubted they would have to wait for long. Clutching a dark shawl around her shoulders against the chill wind, she went from grave to grave examining them. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but she did get the sense that Nartok employed two different gravediggers-one much more conscientious about his job than the other. Some of the graves were covered with neat mounds of damp earth, while others looked to have been filled in with careless shovelfuls of loose dirt.

"Wait a moment, love," Jadis whispered. Quickly, she bent down to read the epitaphs scratched into the wooden markers. A thrill coursed through her.

"Now, isn't that interesting…"

There was a curious distinction between the epitaphs of the two types of graves. All of the neatly packed graves belonged to people who had died recently of mundane causes-a man who was kicked by a horse, an old woman who had long been ill, a husband stabbed by a jealous wife. The denizens of the graves covered with the oddly churned earth all shared a common fate. Each had been found guilty of treachery by the inquisition and had been executed.

Jadis tapped a cheek thoughtfully. What if there weren't two gravediggers after all? What if the graves had been neatly filled at first, but those belonging to the victims of Caidin's inquisition had been subsequently unearthed? But why?

Jadis's green-gold eyes flashed. Perhaps it wasn't that somebody had dug up the graves. Perhaps the corpses themselves had risen from their resting places. After all, she had seen the way the dead man had twitched in the inquisition chamber.

The first cold, heavy drops of jrain began to splatter against the dirt of the freshly dug graves. Jadis decided to return to the keep to contemplate what she had learned. Shivering, she turned to make her way back to the gate. Suddenly the earth gave way beneath her. She had stepped too close to an open grave! Jadis threw her arms out, flailing to keep her balance, but with a cry she fell into the dark pit.

Jadis landed hard, the wind rushing out of her in a grunt of pain. Dirt rained down from above. Struggling, she tried to gain her feet, but she had become tangled in her shawl and soft gray dress. More earth tumbled down on her. The walls of the pit were collapsing, burying her alive. Pawing savagely at the damp earth, Jadis managed to gain her footing. She tried to scramble up the wall of the pit, but something tugged at her ankle, holding her back. She looked down, sick fear washing through her. A pale, waxy hand was looped around her ankle, pulling her down. Her hands scrabbled uselessly against the crumbling earth. The wall gave way and she fell. She screamed, but dirt filled her mouth, muffling the sound.

Gradually, the falling earth dwindled, then stopped. Everything went still. After a frozen moment, Jadis realized that she could move. She sat up, the loose dirt running off her in rivulets. In dread, she looked at the cadaverous hand that gripped her ankle. After a shocked moment slightly manic laughter rippled through her.

"Now, that's not like you, love," she whispered, "to let your imagination get the better of you."

For it was not a hand that clutched her ankle, but simply a tree root sticking up from the bottom of the grave. Jadis extricated her ankle from the root. Then, carefully, she pulled herself out of the pit. Lightning tore a rent in the sky, releasing at last the violent fury of the storm. Breathing a relieved sigh, Jadis hurried from the cemetery, leaving the empty grave for someone who needed it more than she.