Dark Heart

by Tina Daniell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “The mage,” whispered Colo, pointing.

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

  Still they spied no living soul.

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

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

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

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

  “This way?” questioned Colo.

  “Either that or turn back,” said Kit.

  “We’ve come too far already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What?” Kit shuddered.

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

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

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

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

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

  “Here! Here!” The man proffered the hoop of keys.

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

  “I think he’s dotty,” said Kit acidly, still looking around warily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Which way?” demanded Colo in exasperation.

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

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

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

  Kit held Colo’s arm. “Let him go,” she said. “He’s harmless.”

  “Maybe he’s a spy,” said Colo.

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

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

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

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

  “Well?” asked Kit.

  “I think we should stick together,” said Colo. “I didn’t like that talk about the Iron Guard.”

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

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

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

  “We’ll probably end up back where we started,” offered Kit wearily after a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The snarling monster let out another roar from below.

  “Just hold on. I’ll pull you up!” Colo shouted out between gritted teeth.

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

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

  “Definitely not a slig,” Kit remarked at last.

  “No,” said Colo, sitting up. After a moment, she added wryly, “Now we’re even anyway.”

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

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

  Sprawled on some rocks, Colo spoke. “As I see it,” she said sensibly, “if each of the two other tunnels takes as long to explore as that one, we will be underground all day and far into the night. And even then, we may not have found what we are looking for.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” responded Kit cautiously.

  “I don’t want to spend two days in this hellish place,” said Colo, looking around warily.

  “Nor do I,” admitted Kit.

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

  “Agreed.”

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

  “Don’t worry,” said Kit with her crooked smile. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

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

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

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