by Mark Anthony
"But what does this have to do with me?" Mika asked hoarsely. The Vistana's words terrified her.
"Nothing," the gypsy crone answered. "Or everything."
A slightly manic smile touched Mika's lips. "Well, that about covers all the possibilities."
"It does indeed," the young Vistana replied. She grew solemn once more. "There remain in this land many relics of the ancient time when darkness ruled the world, objects of terrible evil. We are fortunate, for most are lost, or at least hidden away so deeply they will never be found. Yet a perilous few are not so well concealed. From time to time, such a relic is unearthed, and then only woe can follow."
Mika shivered. "You believe Wort has one of these… these relics?"
The Vistani nodded. For a time they spoke while Mika listened. She learned the names of the three women-Karin was youngest and most forthright, Riandra motherly and questioning, and Varith the wizened crone who wrapped herself in mystery.
"Ages ago, in another land, there was an arrogant and foolish king," Karin began the horrible tale. "In his kingdom lived a great smith, and one day the king demanded that the smith forge for him a bell of bronze and silver. The smith told the king that these two metals would not mix, and that such a bell would crack the first time it was rung. Because of his pride, the king would not recant his request, ill-considered though it was. He commanded that the smith forge such a bell, and if it cracked when it was rung, the smith's eldest child would be killed. In anger and fear, the smith set to his impossible task. At first he despaired, but then-and how we will never know- dark knowledge came to him. He discovered a way to make molten bronze and silver bind.
"When at last he unveiled the'bell, the king marveled at its beauty. The king commanded the smith to ring the instrument, and this was done. The bell's voice was pure and rich and like nothing those who looked on had ever heard. What was more, it did not crack.
"But the king's joy at this triumph was marred. As the bell rang out, the smith gleefully revealed how he had accomplished this impossible task. He had learned that there was one substance, and one alone, that would cause silver and bronze to bind, and that was human blood. 'Whose blood was spilled to forge this abomination?' the king asked in dread. The smith's laughter rang out as loud as the bell. 'That of your three sons,' he replied. 'It seemed fitting, since you would have gladly slain my child had I failed.'
"Before the king could call for the smith's death, the tolling of the bell faded, and suddenly the air darkened as three apparitions appeared. They were the spirits of the king's dead sons. The smith fell to his knees, begging for mercy, but as the others gazed on, the spirits tore his body apart. Then they vanished into the air once more. Forever after, it was the curse of the bell that, each time it was rung, someone was forced to pay for its music with his life."
After Karin finished, silence reigned for a spell. At last, Mika managed to ask the question whose answer she feared to learn. "What… what became of this bell?" "The bell's history is long and tangled," Varith replied in a voice like a crow's. "Eventually it came to lie in a cathedral, a cathedral whose ruins yet stand in the forest east of here." Riandra placed a motherly hand on Mika's shoulder. "Tell us, child. You have seen something in the bell tower, something that stirs fear in your heart even now. What was it?" Mika could barely speak for her trembling. "I saw him. I saw Wort in the belfry. He had rung one of his bells, and he… he was talking to… them." "Who, child? You must tell us!" Mika drew in a ragged breath. "Three dark spirits…" As one, the three Vistani nodded grimly.
Sixteen
Baron Caidin paced the length of the Grand Hall, his thumb stroking the darkly mottled Soulstone. The stone was now filled with the life-forces of over a hundred villagers. It was ready-and in two days the tower would be ready as well. Then at last it would be time to set his plans in motion.
He paused to pour himself a glass of wine, setting the stone down on an ornately carved table. Suddenly a faint spark of emerald light sizzled around the stone and plunged into the wooden surface of the table. The table shook, scuttling a few inches across the marble floor before becoming still. Caidin snatched up the stone.
"I had better be more careful," he whispered in fascination. "The stone is so full it is nearly overflowing."
He slipped the stone into a pocket. Abruptly the gilded doors of the Grand Hall flew open. Caidin spun on a heel. Surprise played across his regal visage, followed by smug awareness.
"My lady," he said with a white-toothed smile.
Even in her woolen dress of drab gray, the golden- haired doctor looked radiant. "Your Grace," Mika said breathlessly, rushing toward him. "I must talk to you."
Interest flickered in Caidin's green eyes. "My lady, it is dangerous for you to have come here."
She shook her head fiercely. "I know it wasn't you who committed the murders, Your Grace. That's why I came." She took a deep breath. "I… I think I know a way for you to prove your innocence."
Caidin raised a dark eyebrow. This was a curious turn of events. He reached out and took her hands. "Tell me, my lady."
Abruptly she pulled away, showing her back to him. "First… first you must promise me something, Your Grace." Her shoulders were trembling.
The baron stroked his oiled beard. Was the naive doctor actually attempting to weave some little web of intrigue? Very well, he would play along with her little charade. "You have only to ask it, my lady," he said gravely.
Slowly she turned around, her gaze intent. "Then swear to this, Your Grace. Mo matter what I tell you, you will do nothing to harm Wort."
Caidin clenched his teeth to keep from cursing aloud the bastard's name. Evidently the doctor still pitied the wretched hunchback. Her expression was resolute. It was clear she would say nothing more without his promise.
"On my honor as a baron, I swear it, my lady," he lied with perfect conviction.
She nodded. "This morning, three Vistani came to visit me…"
With growing interest, Caidin listened as Mika explained what the gypsies had revealed to her. At last she fell silent, her face pale.
"What… what are you going to do, Your Grace?" she asked finally.
"This," he replied. He drew her in close to his lean body and pressed his lips burningly against hers. Only for a fraction of a second did she resist, and then he knew that his corruption of the good doctor was almost complete. He swept her into his strong arms. She clung to him desperately, trembling like a small animal, as he bore her from the Grand Hall to his private chamber.
Later, as twilight gathered its purple mantle around the keep, Caidin sprawled among the tangled silk sheets of his bed. He held a crystal wine goblet upon his chest, its base cool against his bare skin. After hours in his embrace, Mika had left at last to return to the village before sundown. He pondered again what the doctor had told him. A bell that killed whenever it was rung-a fascinating relic, and Wort had been putting it to devious use. Now Caidin would use it against Wort. All these years he had not dared to kill his brother for fear that the Old Baron's secret would be revealed. Now, however, he could expose Wort as the fiend behind all the recent gruesome murders, and the folk of Nartok would kill the hunchback themselves. The Old Baron's secret would die with him.
"At last I'll be rid of you, Wort," Caidin crooned. He hurled the empty glass at the far wall, it struck a tapestry, then fell, shattering with a brilliant sound.
"Ouch!" came a muffled voice from behind the tapestry. "That hurt, Your Grace!"
Behind the weaving a strange lump slid to the floor, landing with a thump! A small purple form crawled from beneath the bottom edge of the tapestry on all spindly fours.
"Pock!" Caidin growled in annoyance.
"Your Grace!" Pock scrambled to his feet to offer a sweeping bow.
"Have you been spying on me again, you little maggot?"
"Of course not, Your Grace!" The gnome's pale eyes grew as big as saucers in a less-than-convinc- ing display of innocence. "I didn't see a thin
g, I swear. I only just arrived through the secret passage. The Lady Jadis is on her way to your chamber. I thought you might like to know."
Caidin swallowed his annoyance. "Strange as it may seem, you are correct, Pock. You may go now."
"You're welcome, Your Grace!" Pock slipped nimbly behind the tapestry. "By the way," the gnome's muffled voice came from behind the thick cloth. "Did you know that you look like a cross-eyed werefish when you pucker up for a kiss?"
This time a heavy bronze urn struck the far wall, but the shape behind the tapestry had already disappeared into the secret passage. Caidin did his best to forget the impudent little gnome. He needed to have a cool head when he faced Jadis.
Rolling out of the tousled bed, he pulled on a pair of tight-fitting buckskin breeches. Caidin knew well enough that Jadis had learned about his troop of zombies building the tower on the moor. Even Pock was not dim-witted enough to drink the cask of wine Jadis had left outside his door. Given the gnome's considerable experience with the sodden condition, it had been simple for him to feign drunkenness. Then Pock had followed Jadis to the cemetery and the tower.
"She is crafty, Your Grace, this pretty little kitten," Pock had reported afterward with a lascivious grin.
"That 'pretty little kitten' is a werepanther, Pock," Caidin had replied flatly. "She could gut you with once swipe of her paw."
"I know!" the gnome had said excitedly. "Isn't she marvelous, Your Grace?"
Caidin reached for a shirt to pull over his bare torso, then paused. Why not let his appearance disarm her? The baron knew well that there were few- if any-men in the realm of Darkon handsomer than himself. He dropped the shirt.)
A soft rap came at the chamber's door. Caidin moved toward the portal. As he did, he glimpsed a reflection of himself in one of the chamber's windows. The glass was ancient and warped, its surface flawed with imperfections, and the reflection gazing back at him seemed hideously distorted. One side of his torso was squat and compressed, the other stretched out to bizarre proportions. Worst of all was his face, a twisted mockery that looked more like one of the grotesque masks the villagers wore for the Festival of the Dead than any human visage.
The knock came again, moire insistent this time. Shuddering, Caidin managed to break himself away from the strange image of himself in the glass. It was only a reflection. There was no threat in it. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
The Lady Jadis gazed speculatively at his naked chest. "Have I come at an inconvenient time, Your Grace?"
He smiled broadly. "Not at all, my lady. Won't you come in?"
With a murmur of acceptance and a whisper of golden silk, she stepped into the chamber. Caidin poured them each a glass of wine. The hairs on his neck prickled. He could feel her gaze running over his back. The Kargat spy was a cool-headed professional, but she was a woman as well. He smiled to himself. Turning back, he handed her one of the glasses of wine.
"Your Grace, I've come to express my dismay at the turn of events in your fiefdom. The rabble have shown themselves for the animals they are."
Caidin nodded gravely. "Thank you, my lady." In satisfaction he noticed a rapid throbbing in the hollow of her swanlike neck. "Despite these troubled times, you need not fear for your person. I will keep you under my watchful eye, my lady."
A smile fluttered about her smoke-red lips. "I'm certain you will, Your Grace." She sipped her wine delicately. "Of course, the affairs that beckoned me to your land are nearly in order. Soon they will reach their conclusion."
"Indeed. Does this mean you will soon be departing my barony?"
"I'm afraid it does, Your Grace," she said demurely.
Caidin scowled at this. He found himself suddenly annoyed with this game of cat and mouse. "Come, my lady, let us forgo this little charade," he said suggestively.
"Your Grace?"
"You feign astonishment very well, Jadis, but truly you must know that your performance is wasted on me."
"I see."
"I grow bored with this game. I will do you a favor, my lady, and save you precious time. Tell your master that I seek to sit upon his throne. Tell him that I have slain my own subjects under the guise of a false inquisition to create a legion of zombie slaves. Tell him that I have used them to raise a dark tower for a purpose known only to myself. Tell him all these things. It will do.him no good."
Jadis smoothed her elaborately coifed black hair. "Very well, Your Grace. You wish to be candid. Then let us both be. You know as well as I that King Azalin could send an army here at a moment's notice, a force strong enough to take this keep apart stone by stone, and you with it. He suffers your machinations only so long as he is amused. As soon as that amusement wanes, he will cast you aside like a broken toy."
Caidin grinned. "And only then will Azalin realize that it is too late, that sometimes toys can turn against their masters, and that a tower in the provincial hinterlands can indeed challenge his great castle of Avernus in far-off Il Aluk."
Interest danced in her eyes. "I should thank you for the time you have just saved me in my investigation, Your Grace."
He bent his head toward her. "I can think of a way you might demonstrate your gratitude, my lady." He closed his eyes and felt her warm breath against his lips.
Suddenly four lines of searing fire traced themselves across his chest. Crying out in pain and surprise, Caidin stumbled backward. His bare chest bled from four parallel gouges. The wounds were not deep, but they did sting fiercely. Jadis flexed her hand, and for a disconcerting moment he thought her fingers ended in claws.
"Damn you to the Abyss!" he snarled, clutching at the scratch marks. Blood oozed through his fingers.
"I am sorry to be so cruel, Your Grace," she purred. "I thought it important for you to learn that one cannot always have everything one desires."
With sensual grace she drifted from the room. With burning eyes, Caidin watched her go, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps.
"You are wrong about that, Kargat," he spat. Yet for a troubling moment, he wondered if he had perhaps given away too much in his confidence. He quickly dismissed the thought. There was nothing Jadis could do to stop him now.
"Pock!" he bellowed. "Show yourself quickly, you wretch, or I'll pound your thick skull. I need you. Now!"
Jadis purred deeply.
She had concealed herself atop a high ledge outside the baron's chamber, the dark fur of her werepanther form blending perfectly with the surrounding shadows. Her little encounter with the baron had been quite intriguing. His overconfidence played right into her hands. Or her paws, as the case may be. Now all she had to do was wait to see what move he made next.
The door of the baron's chamber flew open. Caidin stepped out, clad now in a purple coat and gray breeches. He strode forcefully down the corridor. Jadis waited until he rounded a corner, then leapt to the floor. Silently, she padded after her quarry. She winced slightly as she moved, allowing herself a low growl of discomfort. The peculiar bruise below her left collarbone had grown larger over the last few days. It still did not hurt-in fact, it was oddly cold and numb-but it hampered her movements. She supposed she must have injured herself more seriously than she had thought.
Jadis kept out of Caidin's sight. She could easily trace his footsteps. Soon she rounded a corner and watched as Caidin entered the dark archway that led to the dungeon. Two blue-coated guards saluted him as he vanished into the darkness. This time there would be no circumventing the guards.
The first guard never knew what hit him. Jadis leapt from the shadows, striking him from the side. Her fanged maw clamped around his neck. She shook her head violently, and his spine snapped like dry kindling. He slumped to the floor. Tail twitching, she spun around. The other guard swore, staring with wide eyes as he fumbled to draw his saber. He was woefully slow. Jadis pounced, knocking him to the floor. He was a brawny man, but his struggling was useless against the muscular werepanther. She raked her hindpaws across his belly, spilling his guts onto the floor.
Blood spurted out of his mouth. Almost casually she bared her fangs and tore his throat apart.
She paused to lick the blood from her paws-she hated it when they were sticky. Satisfied, she slipped through the archway, leaving behind the mutilated remains of the two men. She padded through the dim labyrinth of the dungeon, her eyes piercing the gloom like emerald lanterns. The last time she had tread these dank corridors they had echoed with screams and moans. Now they were filled with tomblike silence. Yet if Caidin had slain all the prisoners for his mysterious purposes, why had he ventured down here? Jadis was determined to find out.
It was the light of their eyes that gave them away.
She turned to see a dozen crimson sparks bobbing down a darkened side passage. Despite their ungainly bodies, the creatures moved so stealthily even her sensitive ears might not have warned her of their advance. With cries of bloodlust, a half dozen goblyns leapt from the mouth of the passage into the wavering light of a smoking torch. Rags that might once have been clothes draped their twisted bodies, arid.they clutched barbed spears in arms knotted with tnuscle. Their flesh was a sickly green, and their bulbous heads were dominated by grinning maws filled with needle-sharp teeth. Swiftly they surrounded the black werepanther, their crimson eyes glowing murderously.
Jadis scratched her claws against the stone floor, sharpening them. She tensed, waiting for the right moment. As one, the goblyns lunged for her. Uncoiling her powerful limbs, shedeapt over them and landed gracefully, turning to see the goblyns crash into each other in the spot where she had crouched a moment before. Two of the creatures howled in agony and stumbled away, clutching the spears that protruded from their stomachs. Both fell to the floor, dead. The other goblyns untangled themselves and turned toward Jadis. They advanced more carefully this time. Goblyns were stupid, but they were riot completely without cunning.