Dark Heart tms-3

by Tina Daniell

  "Well…" said the weaselly man.

  "C'mon, Radisson!" boomed El-Navar. "Don't be a jackass. Shake hands with our new partner!"

  They continued riding northeast all the next day and the day after that.

  Except for Radisson, who maintained his wary demeanor toward her, the others appeared to accept Kit. However, where they were going and exactly what they were going to do remained a mystery. At least Kit could extract no further details, no matter how hard she tried. "Be patient," said El-Navar whenever she brought up the subject. "All in good time."

  El-Navar was most enigmatic. Like the people Gregor had once told Kit about, by day he seemed one person, by night another. When the sun was out, El-Navar disappeared into his cowl; indeed he seemed to disappear from the group. He became sleepy-eyed, almost somnambulant, with little of the extroverted personality that he displayed after dark. He kept up with the other riders, but rode slumped over, saying very little.

  Under the sun, Ursa was definitely the leader. But after a long day's ride, after making camp and eating supper, Ursa

  was usually so tired that one feared he would not make his watch. At just around that time, the Karnuthian grew exuberant and full of energy. There was obviously some understanding between Ursa and El-Navar, and neither sought the upper hand.

  The tall, sad-faced one continued to say very little to anyone. His responsibilities included the horses and the meals, cooking the small game they managed to trap or shoot along the way. Kit had asked him his name and been told. It was Cleverdon, a name she had a hard time remembering in connection with such a strange character. So Kit called him "Droopface." The others were so amused by this that the nickname stuck.

  Much to Kit's annoyance, Ursa continued to treat her coldly. She decided to be grand about it and tried to bolster their friendship by riding alongside him and drawing him out. On the first day she could barely get him to nod in her direction.

  On the second, she had better luck. Ursa smiled when she rode up. Surprised and pleased, Kit decided to ask him about Gregor, who was much on her mind these days, or rather, nights.

  "Ursa, that day we first met you said you had heard of my father. Have you heard of him since?"

  Ursa looked away. "No," he said shortly when he glanced back in her direction.

  "I remember you told me that Gregor was in the north, the last you heard," she persisted. "Was that anywhere near where we're going? Do you think there's any chance our paths will cross?"

  Despite her best efforts to remain in control of her emotions, Kit knew she sounded plaintive.

  "Kitiara, that was a long time ago and very far from where we are bound. Let me give you some advice. If Gregor Uth Matar chose to go so far away, either he doesn't want to be found by you-" here Ursa paused "-or he is dead."

  "Dead! Why do you say that?" But Kit's queries only reached Ursa's back as he galloped off to scout what lay ahead.

  * * * * *

  North by east they rode until they were high in the Eastwall Mountains, surrounded on all sides by rocks and slopes. On the third night they stopped early. Kit picked up a distinct air of anticipation as the others sharpened weapons and checked their equipment. The horses also received special care; Radisson made sure they were amply fed and watered.

  Droopface made a haricot stew that they all gulped down hungrily. Afterward, he retreated some distance from the others and read his favorite book, slobbering over the pages until he fell asleep the way he always did, sitting upright. Radisson wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down on the ground near the fire. Ursa and El-Navar were studying a piece of parchment-obviously a map-taken from one of El-Navar's pockets, and carrying on a low debate.

  After some time, El-Navar came over to where Kit was sitting. "Let's get to work. I'm going to cut your hair." He took his short, double-edged blade out and ran it over a rock, watching her.

  "Why?" she asked in surprise, raising her hand protectively to her head. "Isn't it short enough?"

  Kitiara heard Ursa grunt with amusement as he turned to his bedroll. It was the first characteristic laugh out of him in several days, albeit at her expense.

  "It has to be shorter yet," explained El-Navar, "and I need to collect some for tomorrow. Tomorrow's the day the… plan goes into action, and you are going to have to look more like a certain man."

  "Gwathmey's son?"

  El-Navar didn't answer, but Kit let him come closer and comb her hair.

  "Ah," rhapsodized El-Navar. "You have beautiful hair, Kitiara. Black as midnight. Pity we must chop some of it off." He began to cut at it, pulling off small bunches and placing them in a tin bowl. "But it's necessary."

  El-Navar seemed surprisingly practiced at the task, cutting delicately, particularly at the nape of her neck. Kit shuddered involuntarily as he placed his strong hand on her neck to bend her head forward, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. He worked in silence for a long while.

  Kitiara was lulled by his touch, which was as gentle as it was assured.

  "What is Droopface always reading?" Kitiara asked.

  "Oh," said El-Navar as he worked. "It's some book he picked up in a market somewhere. Magic tricks and potions. I can't read for beans myself. He thinks he's studying to be a mage. He has managed to teach himself a couple of simple spells that do come in handy. I expect we'll see some of his expertise tomorrow."

  El-Navar was meticulous. He worked for a time on her bangs, shortening almost up to her hairline. And as he worked he stared right into Kit's eyes. She was startled to realize his eyes weren't as hard and metallic as they first appeared. She could see through them, to their essence, which was lush and sensuous. His breath was hot and aromatic, suggestive of faraway lands.

  "But," continued El-Navar, "Droopface has no real affinity for magic. It is all stunts and illusions. If you ask me, magic is a plague sweeping Krynn, and there are too many people trying their hand at spellcasting who ought to be doing something else with their lives."

  "Tell me this," asked Kitiara, changing the subject, "who is Gwathmey's son, and why are we so interested in him?"

  The Karnuthian laughed lustily, baring his white teeth, shaking his curly snake hair and sending the gold hoop into a frenzy of motion. "You don't give up, Kitiara," he said, taking a few final snips of her hair, "but you will know everything soon enough. Not yet. Not tonight…" His voice was a rich, soothing purr.

  The sky was tranquil. The other three men appeared to have fallen asleep. Clouds hid Lunitari, though Kit could still tell that the red moon was full.

  "Done!" The Karnuthian stood up, reached into his pack, and pulled out a piece of cut glass which he proffered to Kitiara.

  She examined herself and found a curiously new face with a wide expanse of skin at the forehead and temples, framed by sideburns and a neatly trimmed cap of black hair. The effect did make her look for all the world like a young gentleman.

  El-Navar placed select tufts of hair into a small pouch. "We will finish off the mustache in the morning," he said.

  "Mustache?"

  "You are to be the decoy, Kitiara," said El-Navar. "We are not after Gwathmey's son. More precisely, we are after what he is carrying. When we attack him, you will lead his guards on a merry diversion. From a good distance, you will look almost exactly like the young fellow."

  El-Navar strode to Radisson's horse and took something out of his saddlebags. "Radisson was going to play that part, but your appearance was fortuitous. We can use him closer to the action. Here, try these on," he added, tossing a small bundle of clothing at her. "Make sure they fit."

  Kitiara took them and went behind a tree. The costume consisted of leather breeches, a brocaded shirt, and an expensive vest. A jacket finished the ensemble. The outfit fit a little loosely, but Kitiara made do and came around the tree for El-Navar's appraisal. He was cleaning his blade with water. When he looked up at her, his expression was almost startled. Slowly he sheathed his blade and stood up to gaze more closely at Kitiara.


  "Yes," he said, with obvious satisfaction.

  She frowned at him. "I feel silly. Can't I do something more important?"

  "You'll be doing something very important," said El-Navar. "Do not fear."

  "How much of a fortune is the duke's son carrying?"

  "Tomorrow, Kitiara," El-Navar replied, with good humor. "Tonight, get some sleep,"

  Kit stole another glance at herself in the piece of glass; if she had to admit it, she liked the way she looked in these luxurious clothes. As she angled the mirror, Kit caught El-Navar gazing pointedly at her. Suddenly she discovered herself trembling. Kit held his gaze for several long seconds before bringing the mirror down.

  "I like it," she said, turning to meet his glittering eyes.

  Kit handed the mirror back to the Karnuthian before going behind the tree to change again. She had managed to slip out of the leather breeches and was just unbuttoning her shirt when El-Navar's voice came to her in an enchanting whisper.

  "It will be cold tonight, Kitiara," El-Navar said. "I would share my bedroll with you."

  She came out from around the tree, half undressed. "Say what you mean," she said evenly.

  "Come to me," El-Navar replied.

  For some reason she could not have put into words, Kit glanced over to where Ursa slept. His back was to her. She could not see that his eyes were wide open, that their expression was stony. But he lay still, apparently asleep. Without further hesitation, Kitiara went to El-Navar.

  Chapter 7

  The Decoy

  Kitiara had a dreamless night. When her eyes fluttered open, she stretched and yawned. Then, with a start, Kit realized the sun was bright in her eyes, and she jumped up, clutching the blanket to herself, embarrassed.

  She was the last one awake. Radisson, who was tying something to his horse, smirked at her. Droopface was already astride his mule, with its pouches, pots, and pans, looking more alert and purposeful than he had for days.

  Her face burning, Kit slipped behind some bushes to change into her gentleman's garb. She could hear Radisson chuckling, and Ursa saying something to him. Radisson muttered something else, and Ursa told him to shut up. Furiously she fixed her costume and came out from behind the bushes, ready.

  Ursa came over, glaring. He reached into his pocket and got out a bushy swatch of Kit's hair that had been affixed to a strip of muslin. With some paste he stuck the makeshift mustache under her nose, roughly enough that she winced. "Yes," Ursa said approvingly, appraising her mannish disguise.

  Among them all hung an air of tension that had been absent before, when their mission had not been so immediate. And where was El-Navar?

  She spotted the sinewy Karnuthian on his white stallion, atop a rise some distance away, shading his eyes and looking off toward the northeast. El-Navar was slumped in the saddle, almost humpbacked, reverting to his strange daytime languor. He did not even so much as glance in Kit's direction.

  She realized that she was staring too hard at the Karnuthian and that Ursa was watching her carefully, so Kit turned her face sharply toward the mercenary.

  "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" she demanded angrily.

  "Why didn't you wake yourself up, sleeping beauty?" piped up Radisson from his horse. Droopface gave an uncharacteristic guffaw.

  Kitiara took a step toward Radisson, her hand reaching for a knife that was not there-indeed, she was unarmed, and on her costume there were no belts or loops for weapons.

  "You had a good rest," Ursa said tersely, stepping in front of Kit to block her. "There was little for you to do anyway. Now, let's hurry." He looked at the sun, already midway through its morning arc. "We don't want to miss our… appointment."

  Kit couldn't help but glance again at El-Navar, but the Karnuthian hadn't budged, still hadn't even looked toward her. He seemed as if he were sleeping, or dead, as if only his eyes were alive, searching the horizon.

  Damn your soul, Kitiara thought coldly.

  She made sure Cinnamon was all right while the others waited. Then she pocketed Gilon's small carving knife, just in case. In a matter of minutes Kit climbed onto her father's chestnut mare and rode out last in the mercenary band, their sparse column stretching out for a quarter-mile. Today El-Navar was far in the lead, still hunched in the saddle, never looking behind him as he rode.

  They rode hard for about an hour and were now in steep, rocky territory that led into the Eastwall Mountains. Kitiara reckoned they were about an hour from Silverhole, and that the road they could see at intervals, below them to the right, was the main one that took several days to wend around this perimeter range. She had never been this far north, but knew from crude maps that Silverhole was at the foot of the range which became, farther upcountry, all but impassable except at select spots.

  After riding for a short time, they entered a maze of gorges and ravines. They maneuvered closer to the main road, and then, up ahead, El-Navar gave a signal. He pointed off to the east, dismounted, tied his horse, and melted into the rocks. Radisson and Droopface rode on, waiting near El-Navar's horse. When Kitiara, too, began to move forward, Ursa grabbed the reins of her horse and pointed up and in back of them, toward a sharp incline.

  "Up here," he said, turning his gray. Kit followed him for several minutes, heading directly up the slope. Ursa kept going to the east, with Kitiara following, until they reached a ledge that jutted out over the area, offering a good view of a place where the main road took a sinuous bend through the rocks. No longer could she see El-Navar or his horse, nor either of her other two comrades.

  Ursa gestured for her to be as quiet as possible. He tied his horse and crept to the edge of the overlook. Kitiara followed his lead, advancing slowly on her hands and knees until they were both peering over the side. There was no one in sight below. Ursa gestured for her to follow him back, and she did, until they were near the horses.

  "This is the place," said Ursa in a low voice. "Here's what you do…"

  Quickly Ursa reviewed her part in the plan. Kitiara still had not gotten over the humiliation of the morning, and her face showed resentment as she listened. Though she now knew what her part was in the scheme, no one had bothered to tell her what her share of the take would be when it was all over. Or what the job was all about. El-Navar had told her last night just to do her part and forget about everything else. But she was tired of being left out of all the important decisions.

  "What if something goes wrong?" Kit asked Ursa. "What if I need to… help… or rescue you?"

  Ursa's face was taut, more so than ever now that the deed was close at hand. He had been very ironic and amusing when she'd first met him, but there was none of that in his steely look now.

  "If something goes wrong," snapped Ursa, "you run away. You have a simple job: Do your part and don't get caught. Stay ahead of your pursuers, don't let them get a good look at you. Double back and meet us. That's all you have to do. If you do that much, you'll be doing fine."

  Kit said nothing, her lips pursed.

  "If something goes wrong, remember, you don't know us and you were never here."

  He clapped Kit on the arm and mounted his horse. Turning the horse, he looked over his shoulder at her. His expression relaxed and for a moment there was something of the former Ursa in his dark eyes, something genial and warm. "Luck," he said to her, waving as he rode off.

  Another hour passed. There were few trees up this high to shade Kitiara. The sunlight reflecting off the rocks was blinding, the heat almost palpable. Kitiara heard only the sounds of occasional birds and animals, and she looked down below so long at the spot where the road snaked into a bend, seeing nothing, that her eyes began to swim with dots. She felt as if she was in the middle of a swirling snowstorm, a whiteout of all color. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes, lie down, and go to sleep, but she remembered what El-Navar and Ursa had said. She had to stay awake and do her part.

  Then she heard approaching sounds, and immediately crouched low. Tensely Kit eased forw
ard on her hands and knees, until she could just see over the precipice. Surely they would not be able to spot her, with the unrelenting sun in their eyes. But she took no chances and stayed low.

  Kitiara could see a stretch of the pebbly road as it appeared among the jutting rocks. After the road continued for several hundred yards, it disappeared back into the rocks, before once again winding into full view. She watched the first stretch of road carefully, knowing that Ursa and his mercenaries waited behind the wall of rocks that concealed the narrow, second bend.

  With no warning, a man on a horse appeared at the head of the road. He was dressed in fine armor that shone like silver in the sun. He was helmeted and carried a short lance with a plume of purple feathers. Obviously wary, he moved slowly into the open area, his horse, a magnificent sorrel, prancing nervously. But the helmeted leader did not break pace, and close behind him followed other men and horses.

  By the gods, there were more than a dozen of them, fully armed and armored. Some were dressed in colorful regalia, others plainly. The armored men carried a variety of estimable weaponry, while the others, probably estate workmen, carried spears. They looked like a formidable bunch, and they outdid the four waiting to waylay them in number and arms.

  Alarmed, Kitiara wondered if she should somehow signal Ursa and the others. Did they realize how many men they would be up against? Had they plotted all along to overcome such odds?

  Kit uttered a low gasp as she spotted a figure riding in the center of the group, on a pale roan which was the most beautiful of the horses. Strapped to his ornamented saddle was a small decorated chest that, Kit guessed, held the object of their mission.

  This horse's rider was young, slender, mustachioed, with short-cropped black hair. He carried no weapons. He wore a black gentlemen's vest and white lace blouse, and even from overhead, at a distance of several thousand yards- especially at a distance of several thousand yards-Kitiara saw how he might be mistaken for herself.