by Tina Daniell
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 fiancee, 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 pony tailed 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 sword-point 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 kno
w 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.
Chapter 9
HOME AGAIN
———
After several more days, Kitiara reached Solace. It was late summer, and the branches of the majestic vallenwoods made an emerald canopy overhead. The familiar smells spurred Cinnamon into a trot. The horse didn’t need any help finding the way back to her old stall in the shed beneath the Majere cottage. Kit fed and watered the mare, then, mindful of Ursa’s warning, took Beck’s sword and buried it under an unassuming pile of hay. Later, she would sneak the weapon up to her room.
With mixed feelings she climbed the spiral stairs to home.
It was almost meal time. Kit knew that her whole family would probably be home. Just as she was about to enter, the door swung open. Caramon threw himself on her, squealing with excitement.
“You’re really back! Raist was right! He said you’d be standing there if I opened the door. I bet him a bag of rock candy that you wouldn’t be, but I’m happy to pay up.”
Caramon grabbed Kit’s hand and pulled her into the center of the room. Rosamun’s door was almost entirely closed, and Gilon was absent. Though the late afternoon was warm, Raistlin was sitting in a chair pulled up close to the hearth. A book lay open in his lap. Curiosity, admiration, resentment, and a little petulance mingled in the look he gave Kit.
