by Tina Daniell
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 water 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.
The tunnel was littered with objects-rusted pieces of armor, clumps of smelly clothing, stained rugs, broken pottery, old farm tools. Webbing and moss hung down from the ceiling, tangling with her hair. Spiders and bugs as big as saucers dangled over her head. She could hear rats and other small creatures skittering into their hiding places as she passed.
"By the gods," she muttered, using her sword to sweep away the webs. "I must have got the worst of the two choices."
After almost an hour of wending forward, Colo came to a dead end, a slagheap of stone, timber, and assorted junk that formed a veritable wall, stretching up to the ceiling. She was about to turn back when she noticed a pinprick of light showing through from the other side. When she got down on her knees to peer through the tiny hole she could see that the tunnel continued with less impediment on the other side of the mass.
With a sigh she took her sword and jabbed at the opening, working at hollowing out a wider egress. When it looked big enough to crawl through, Colo wriggled in head first and found that, with some effort, she could snake forward. After crawling on her belly for some minutes in this fashion, she was well coated with dirt and slime and dust.
Holding her knife in front of her, she found that she could chip away a path. She progressed a couple of feet at a time until she came upon a particularly large rock, whose jagged, down-slanting edge blocked any further advance. After some time she managed to pry it loose, but when it dropped out, she could feel the weight of the slagheap above her creak.
Colo thrust herself forward as quickly as she could, considering how narrow the burrow was. But there was a tremor, and behind her, just before she was able to push out the other side, the rock and junk pile collapsed, crushing her left ankle.
"Damnation," Colo screeched, trying to twist her head to get a look at her foot. The pain was excruciating.
She managed to corkscrew around and, lying on her side, poke her sword around near her foot. With some twisting, she was able to work her foot out of the mess. She had just yanked it free and lurched forward when the entire blockade started to tremble and groan.
Colo rolled forward as it came crashing down.
The dust and noise settled. Propped up a safe distance away, rubbing her bloody, mangled ankle, Colo looked back and observed that the entire slagheap had flattened out, so that now there was easy passage over it.
Ahead of her was another section of tunnel, relatively clean and lit with torches, angling sharply to the right. Her ankle was hurting badly, but it was twisted, not broken, and Colo could put some awkward weight on it.
She tore off a piece of sleeve and wrapped it around her foot, then hobbled forward, using the wall for support, dragging her crippled foot.
As Colo followed the angle of the tunnel, she realized that she was in a sort of underground jail, with rows of cells on opposite sides of the sconce-lit corridor. The cells were mostly empty, with old bones in some, twitching rats in others. As she continued on, she counted at least one hundred of the stone pens, each the size of a horse stall. She pulled herself along by the bars to steady her balance.
Up ahead the tunnel veered to the right again and beyond the bend she could hear some vague noise. She thought it might be another creature like the one in the pit, and her first impulse was to scan the floor and make sure she was not about to plunge into another camouflaged trap. But this noise was different, more subtle, a padding and shuffling, followed by throat-clearing noises.
Human breathing!
She limped forward, clutching her sword, and peered around the corner. What she saw, a short way up ahead, was a narrow flight of stairs leading upward to the right and a cell larger than the others that was set into the far end of the tunnel. In the cell paced Ursa Il Kinth, wearing only a pair of pathetic leggings.
"Colo!" he cried out, grabbing the bars, when he spotted her.
"Ursa!" She rushed forward as best she could, alternately hopping and dragging her injured foot.
>
Coming closer, she could tell that Ursa was badly battered, thin, and weakened. His face was heavily bruised, cuts streaked his bare chest, and his shoeless feet were swollen and blotched with purple. Inspecting him sorrowfully.
Colo became aware that he was gazing likewise at her, focusing on her injured foot, whose make-do bandage had turned dark red with blood.
Their eyes raised at the same moment, and Ursa could not help but give a barking laugh, so kindred were the pitying expressions each wore on the other's behalf.
It is good, thought Colo, he has not lost his humor.
"What happened to you?" Ursa asked.
"A sort of cave-in, back in the tunnel," she indicated. "But it's nothing. I won't win any races today, but I can walk on it. What about you?"
"Hungry. Sore. Weak." His dark eyes gleamed. "Alive!"
Unlike the other cells, his space was lined with two rows of thick, iron bars; a firm shaking of the set that was closest to Colo proved they would be hard to break. A water trough with a muddy trickle ran between the two rows of bars, separating Ursa and Colo by roughly a dwarf's height.
Glancing around Ursa's cell, Colo could see only two wooden buckets, no cot.
"One pail for water they give," said Ursa grimly, noting her searching eyes, "and one for what I give them in return. Believe me, there's no way out."
"Are there keys?" she asked, cursing herself for having left the rusty ring behind. Only the inside row of bars seemed to have a door, a heavy slab of metal that did not show any lock.
"Pah!" he snorted. "The door is opened by some magic, and the only person who can open it is 'the Lady.' "
"Lady Mantilla?"
"Yes," Ursa said. "She is crazed and dangerous. Kitiara, is she… is she with you?"
"Yes," Colo answered nervously. "Searching another of the tunnels."
"You must find her and warn her," said Ursa urgently. "She is in line to be killed. The only reason I've been kept alive is that I haven't told the Lady who Kit is or where she can be found."
Colo glanced over her shoulder, and down at her bloody, mashed-up foot. She was wondering how she would find Kitiara and how fast she could retrace her steps. "What's up there?" Colo asked, indicating the narrow steps leading upward.
"I'm not sure," Ursa answered, also glancing down at Colo's foot caked in blood, reading her mind. "It's where she always comes from."
When Colo met his eyes again, her look was decided. "This place seems practically abandoned. Is anyone else here-any mages? We encountered an old man who spoke of this Iron Guard…"
"She has a retinue of guards," said Ursa tersely. "They are formidable. As far as mages, she has a new one every week. They don't last very long."
Colo handed over one of her swords, hilt first, through the bars, and shifted toward the stairs. Ursa pushed his face against the inner bars.
"I tell you, Colo, she is dangerous and insane."
"I can be dangerous too," the small woman said with a brave wink, slowly starting to ascend the stairs.
Kitiara was exploring her tunnel. It was adequately lit, but there was nothing to mark the way except for loose rock and human debris. The corridor became almost tedious in its sameness, and Kit was able to go quickly, displaying the only weapon she had left, Beck's sword.
After a time, the tunnel made a turn to the left, where a small flight of steps led down to another level. Seeing nothing threatening, Kit cautiously took the steps. The ceiling was so low here that Kit had to stoop or scrape her head. Indeed, as the corridor continued on, the ceiling tamped downward.
At last Kit was forced to get down on her knees and crawl forward. There seemed no danger other than the obvious one of getting stuck.
The ceiling's height was beginning to concern Kit when, ahead of her, she saw the tunnel veer to the left again. Creeping around the corner she saw with some relief that the ceiling shot up once more, and the stone corridor opened up to another small flight of downward steps. The steps led into a more clean and spacious section of tunnel. And at the end of the corridor stood a huge, shrouded, boxlike structure that gave off distinct pawing and snuffling sounds.
Kit hesitated. What could it be? Should she go back and find Colo?
First she would investigate.
Kit glided slowly forward. The light here was poor, but she could see that the huge box structure was draped in heavy black velvet.
As Kit drew closer, the noises grew louder with intermittent roars that made her tremble. But nothing leaped out to interfere with her. Standing in front of the structure, which was roughly square and twice as high as she was tall, Kit noticed narrow, winding stone steps, leading steeply upward, etched into the left wall behind the shrouded box.
Edging forward, Kit extended her sword toward a pulley rope on one side and made a swipe at it.
She leaped backward as the black velvet drapery swooped upward and then swirled to the ground around the cage-for that is what it was, a gigantic, wooden cage. And in the cage prowled an animal as large and ferocious as it was beautiful, a black panther.
El-Navar!
If Kit recognized the Karnuthian in his panther form, El-Navar showed no recollection of her. As soon as the velvet drapery was lifted, the animal leaped against the bars, baring sharp teeth as big and white as candlesticks. Its eyes were blazing. Its coat had a wild sheen. Foam lined its mouth.
Actually, there were two sets of bars, one inside the other, which gave Kit the advantage of trying the outer bars without getting her arm chewed off. Made of some thick cane, the bars did not budge and only yielded chips to her sharp-edged blade.
Again the panther, screaming its rage, hurled itself against the interior bars. Even at the distance of several feet, Kit could feel the hotness of its breath. She was so startled by the attack that she fell back. The powerful animal paced back and forth in frustration, eyeing her, swishing its long, elegant tail.
Could this really be the alluring Karnuthian with whom she had first made love? For long minutes she stared at the cat, reflecting on that seemingly long-ago time.
If only Raistlin were here, he would have an idea what to do, Kitiara thought to herself.
Even as she thought of Raistlin, her eyes drifted to the left, where the steep winding steps led upward. With a sympathetic backward glance at El-Navar-who was still pacing furiously in the wooden cage-she began the climb.
Chapter 15
Love Lost
"Come in," a voice said. "I've been expecting you."
Kitiara pushed the door open wider and stepped boldly into the room.
She was in a large circular hall at the top of the only tower of Castle Mantilla that had remained intact through the years of madness. Kit could not see much around the perimeter-the room was dark with only a small number of windows, which were curtained. In any case, it must have been night outside.
In the center of the room, in a straight-backed chair under a cone of pale light, whose source Kit could not discern, sat Lady Mantilla. Although Kit could see the woman plainly, she wondered if her foe could mark her, in the shadows, as easily.
Formally arrayed behind Lady Mantilla were the vaunted Iron Guard-four of them, to be precise. They were garbed from head to toe in heavy armor, with mere slits for eyes, nose, and mouth. Each held a jeweled sword. They stood almost ceremonially, as still as statues. Indeed, Kit wondered if they could move at all.
Sitting to one side, on a faded throne, was a stout mage whose vermilion cloak concealed his features. He also did not move, but seemed to stare at Kitiara reproachfully. As she moved into the room, Kit tried to keep him in her line of vision, wary of his magic.
The room was preternaturally cold and dry. When Kitiara took a step, the sound crackled across the space.
"Come in, I say," cackled the voice. "Time is short. Your time is certainly short, at any rate. You'll be dead soon enough."
Her hair was long and white, the tendrils knotted and ratted, cascading over her shoulders and almost
down to the ground. She had pink eyes and deathly pale, bluish skin, except for bright, rosy cheeks. Luz Mantilla couldn't have been much older than Kitiara, but she gave the impression of an ancient sea hag.
The Lady-for that was the name by which her servants knew her-was dressed in a white lace gown that was ripped and torn, with one sleeve missing entirely. It was, or would have been, Kit realized, her matrimonial gown. She gripped the armrests of her chair tightly as she leaned forward, staring hard at Kitiara.
Kit had remained along the perimeter, beginning to circle the room and take stock of its defenses. The room may have been splendid once. Now it was disgusting, layered with dirt and grime and excrement.
Black velvet covered the walls and furniture, adding to the dark atmosphere. In one corner stood a four-poster, neatly made up, albeit dusty and cobwebbed and perhaps never slept in. A glance above her told Kit that the ceiling of slate and timber was in an advanced stage of rot.
The walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings and once-grand tapestries in faded oranges and purples. Glancing at one of these works, that of a moon-faced maiden sitting at the foot of a regal gentleman, Kitiara found herself looking at Lady Mantilla as a young innocent, before she had been ravaged by time and tragedy, and probably by dark magic.
"Yes," said the voice that fluttered out of the decrepit woman's mouth, "that is I. Then." With a wave of her hand she indicated the painting that Kit had been staring at. "My father, too-" her voice suddenly dripped contempt "-before I killed him, of course. He was my first victim. He was behind the whole nasty business, you know. He thought he knew what was best for me. I had revenge on him for the sake of my beloved."
She leaned on the chair and peered at Kit.
Kit stopped circling and took a step toward the woman, trying to get a closer look, while at the same time angling nearer to the stout mage, who seemed to regard her with stony, hate-filled eyes.
"Before he died," Lady Mantilla continued in a bored voice, "my father was good enough to tell me that Radisson's brother had set up the, uh, episode that resulted in the death of my-" here her voice faltered "-my beloved. That one died rather abruptly. I would have preferred to let him suffer a little more. Of course I was a novice in these matters at that time."