Dark Heart tms-3

by Tina Daniell

  "Owl What's that for?" asked Caramon.

  "For being stupid," Kit replied. "Keep the real sword at home until you're bigger. If there's one thing that my father taught me, it's don't show a sword unless you're ready to use it. And you won't be ready for some years. Meanwhile, a wooden sword is fine for a runt like you."

  "Aw," said Caramon, chastened.

  "Why, Kitiara, you're back."

  Kit started at hearing her name and turned around to see Rosamun standing in the doorway of her and Gilon's bedroom. Her mother had woken up, smiling and lucid for the moment. Her skin seemed to hang on her bones; she looked withered before her time.

  Neither Rosamun's spectral appearance nor her mood shift seemed to make much impression on Caramon, who happily skipped over to his mother for hugs and kisses.

  "Yeah, isn't it great. She came back last night before supper. She brought me a real sword, Mother, a valuable one."

  Caramon took Rosamun by the hand and led her toward the kitchen area. He dropped her hand now and ran to a high-backed ashwood armchair whose surface had mellowed to a satiny patina: Rosamun's chair, crafted by Gilon's handiwork. Caramon pushed it near the window into a pool of sunlight. Rosamun sank down into the chair and rested her head against its back, evidently wearied by the simple task of crossing the room.

  Kit saw how fragile Rosamun's state was. Caramon would not be going to school today. "Would you like me to heat some water for tea, Mother?" the boy asked.

  Rosamun smiled vaguely. "That sounds fine, dear."

  Caramon grabbed the kettle eagerly. Kit could tell he wanted to show off to her how he could make tea all by himself now.

  As Rosamun sipped a mug of tea, Caramon proudly showed her the sword Kit had brought him. As he knelt by her side, she stroked his golden brown hair. All of her mother's rapt attention was on the boy; though Kit had been gone for weeks, Rosamun barely noticed her daughter. The longer Kit stood there, ignored, the more irritated she became at the cozy domestic scene from which she was excluded.

  "Well, Caramon?" she interrupted brusquely. "Are we going to practice our swordplay or not?"

  "You bet!" he said, jumping up.

  "Get my sword, too, will you?" she asked him.

  Caramon reached under his bed and retrieved both Kitiara's old wooden sword and the small-handled one that Gilon had carved for him. As the would-be warrior waved both blades in the air with glee, Kit glanced at Rosamun, who was sunk in her chair, a look of hurt on her face.

  "First we have to check on Cinnamon," reminded Kit. "I'll give you some lessons in taking care of a horse. That's a good thing for a warrior to know."

  Caramon raced out the door without a backward glance at his mother.

  Caramon and Kitiara practiced for hours. Kit used her old wooden sword, feeling childish, but she knew better than to bring out Beck's sword and let Caramon, much less anyone who happened to be passing by, get a look at it. Caramon wielded the sword Gilon had made for him, which was shorter than hers, but heftier. Both toy weapons were sharp enough that it hurt when they made good contact.

  The sister and brother went at each other hard, down by the shed. Kit had to admit that Caramon had improved by leaps and bounds. What he lacked in technique, he more than made up in agility and determination. She could whack and stab him, but she couldn't back him down. Frowning with concentration, his hair stuck to his head with perspiration, the plucky six-year-old was beginning to tire. So was Kit, but neither would surrender.

  "Let's go down by the lake," proffered Kit as an olive branch.

  Not far from their home was Crystalmir Lake-Crone Lake, the kids sometimes called it, in reference to the legend of a witch who was believed to haunt it. Now and then the crone was spotted by a fisherman who'd had too much to drink, or a gnome traveler who, having heard the legend, would sit on the banks of the lake for two or three days, brandishing a See-Through-Virtually-Anything Aquascope.

  "Sure thing," said Caramon, taking off in front of her. Kit easily passed him at a lope.

  The shore was mossy in parts, sandy in others, the lake placid. Sticks, leaves, dead bugs, seaweed, and lily pads had washed up on the shoreline.

  For an hour they explored the beach, stopping frequently to turn over big rocks and skip smaller ones across the surface. Caramon waded into the water, trying to catch crawfish that eluded his stubby hands. Kit laughed as he screamed epithets at one of them that had managed to pinch his fingers. When her brother fell backward into the water and came up sopping wet, she laughed all the harder.

  Up on the bank, Caramon was wringing water out of his shirt and Kit was lazing on her back, marveling to herself at how quickly she was becoming bored by old, familiar Solace.

  "Kit?" Caramon asked, strenuously squeezing his shirt.

  "Yes," she answered dreamily.

  "You ever seen the crone?" he wondered.

  "What crone?" she asked back.

  "The Crone Lake crone."

  "Oh," she said, her eyes closed. "That's just a story they tell to little boys and girls to scare them."

  "That's what Raist said," said Caramon in a small voice.

  Afterward, they went back to the house, checked on Rosamun, who was napping, and decided to take Cinnamon out for some exercise. As Kit readied the mare, she turned her back on Caramon, who was idly scuffing his feet and poking around in the shed.

  "Kit! What's this? You've been holding out on me. Where'd you get it? It's wonderful!"

  Kit turned back to see Caramon swaggering with Beck's sword. Furious, she snatched it away from him and quickly wrapped it up again. Then she thrust it farther into the straw, behind a pile of field stones.

  "Never mind where I got it," she said fiercely. "Nobody must know I have it. Understand? Nobody! On your honor as a warrior, promise to forget about it." She stood over her little brother intimidatingly.

  "Aw, why?"

  Kit raised a hand.

  "OK, OK. I promise."

  Later they rode. Kit sat behind Caramon, her arms encircling him, and they shared the reins. Guiding the chestnut mare beyond the forest into the tall grass, they rode for several hours, crisscrossing the open country, laughing and almost falling off. How good the wind felt!

  By the time they returned from riding, it was approaching late afternoon, the time when Raist was expected home. Caramon told Kit that some days his twin stayed late and slept overnight at Poolbottom. A number of the students there came from far greater distances and boarded at the mage school, so there were good accommodations. But Raistlin preferred to walk the long way home most days. When Kit asked why, Caramon looked thoughtful while he replied.

  "He doesn't have many friends there. He told me they call him the 'Sly One.' I think it's because he's smarter than all the other students. He's always the first to finish his assignments, and he's the best at remembering spells." Caramon paused for a moment, looking at his feet and kicking a stone as he walked along. He was frowning.

  "Morath doesn't seem to like him much, either. The master mage thinks up a lot of extra work for him. That's the only time Raist stays overnight, when he has too much extra work to finish."

  Caramon stopped on the walkway near the Majere cottage, fists clenched at his sides. "I know I ought to help him, but I don't know how. I know I got to worry about Raistlin and Mother, when you're not around. Father tries, but he works from sundown to sunup just trying to keep food on the table."

  At that moment Kit was proud of little Caramon. Wasn't he just like her in some ways? Hadn't she been only seven when Gregor had left her alone with Rosamun? And at eight, hadn't she taken on almost all the responsibility of caring for the twins?

  Just then Raistlin appeared in their path. His clothing was ripped and disheveled. One eye was already swelling shut, and his upper lip was bleeding.

  "Who did this to you?" Caramon demanded.

  Raist, his lower lip trembling, pushed past them into the cottage without saying anything. Inside, Rosamun fell on him instan
tly, exclaiming and weeping. She sat him in a chair and wiped at his lip and scratches. Caramon paced up and down in front of the door, swearing revenge. Kit stood off to one side, watching everything anxiously.

  Afterward, Rosamun retreated to her room, and Raistlin and Caramon started quarreling.

  "If I had been with you, this never would have happened," said Caramon, puffing out his chest.

  "Don't be ridiculous. This is between me and-"

  "Caramon, calm down," Kit commanded. "Now, Raist, tell us what happened. I think we can all agree that any revenge devised by all three of us will be three times as sweet as anything you can concoct by yourself." Her tone brooked no argument.

  "I was on my way home from school, on the outskirts of Solace where there's that stand of young trees," Raistlin began slowly. "I had just entered the shade of that grove from the bright sunlight, and my eyes were still adjusting to the dimness so I'm not sure exactly what happened. But someone or something pounced on me from above at the same time that I tripped, I think over a rope drawn tight across the path. I hit my face on some rocks as I fell down, which is how I got the cut lip.

  "Before my head had cleared, my hands and feet were tied up. I saw who was tying me-it was Dune Wister. His brother, Bronk, was with him. They made fun of me for being a magic-user. They looked in my pockets for anything of value. There wasn't any gold or silver, of course, but they took the pouches you gave me, for holding my spell components, and they filled them instead with… bat dung. They ran off laughing, and it took a while for me to get untied."

  For an instant Raist looked as if he were about to cry, then he fiercely blinked back the tears.

  "Those scum!" Caramon exploded.

  "Quiet!" snapped Kitiara.

  "Dune and Caramon are in the same class at the village school," Raist continued. "Dune's just like his brother, a pint-sized bully. Every time he sees us, he makes a crack about Mother." Raistlin's voice dropped a notch in the telling.

  "Tell her about the last time," urged Caramon.

  "The last time," said Raistlin, shooting a glance at his brother, "I was ready. We haven't learned many spells at Poolbottom yet, just some simple illusions. There was one that only called for dried beetle wings, which are easy enough to get, so I was carrying some with me. So as soon as Dune started saying something about Mother, I had Caramon pin him down and I made the spell. Every time he opened his mouth to say something, bugs fell out." Raistlin and Caramon grinned at the memory.

  "Bugs?" repeated Kit.

  "You know, beetles and ants, centipedes and flies. Dune couldn't open his mouth without spitting out bugs. The spell was supposed to last for a couple hours, so I don't think he had much fun teasing anyone the rest of that day."

  Despite his scratches and swollen lip, Raist looked slyly pleased with himself. Caramon, though, had stopped grinning. "We ought to settle this my way," he declared vehemently, "We're three against two. Bronk and Dune won't dare jump Raist again."

  Raistlin glared at his twin, but Kit spoke first.

  "One good brain is worth more than a dozen stout warriors," she said emphatically. That was one of Gregor's maxims, and the twins had heard Kitiara repeat it before.

  "Come here," she said, drawing her younger brothers close in a huddle. "I have an idea."

  The sun had just risen when Kit slipped the note under the door. She hoped that, as the oldest, Bronk was up first to help with the chores. If Aureleen had been right all those months ago, Bronk wouldn't be able to resist an invitation from Kitiara, even if what little common sense he had told him the circumstances were suspicious.

  My heart's beating quickened when I saw you the other day. Meet me at the end of the path to Crystalmir Lake tonight at dusk.

  Affection, Kitiara

  Pleading aches and pains from the previous day, Raist stayed home from Poolbottom. Gilon raised his eyebrows at the excuse, for Raist had always been eager to go to school, even on days when he'd had a raging fever. But Gilon was preoccupied with his own concerns, and Raist's acting job convinced him.

  After solicitously serving the twins breakfast, Rosamun, her strength depleted, dozed in her favorite chair.

  Kit, Raist, and Caramon spent the day coming and going on mysterious errands. After one final whispered conference between the three of them in the late afternoon, Kit disappeared with a bundle under her arm. Not one of the three came home for supper, and Rosamun became very worried.

  "Don't fret," said Gilon, when he returned to the cottage. "They must be up to something." He stroked his wife's white hair soothingly. But Gilon was worried, too.

  Kit had found a vantage point on a hill overlooking the path down to the lake and was keeping watch. As she expected, Bronk showed up a good hour before sunset, nervously checking the area for any traps. He made a more thorough job of it than she would have guessed, then settled down on a stump at the edge of the sand leading down to the water.

  Bad luck. Earlier that day the twins had tethered a line to the far side of that exact stump, burying it under the sand and running it down into the water. Kit didn't want Bronk to start poking around the stump, so quickly she shrugged out of her tunic and leggings, then unrolled the bundle from home.

  A gauzy, flowered dress, one of Rosamun's old ones, fluttered in the lively breeze. Kit regarded the garment with some distaste, then slipped it on. The rich colors set off her dark hair.

  Bronk had started to idly dig into the sand with the toe of his boot. Kit looked up the path toward Solace. No sign of the twins, yet she had no choice but to begin the charade.

  Making certain Bronk did not see her, Kitiara hurriedly crept around to the back of the hill where she had been perched, then stepped onto the path. Fortunately, he caught sight of her right away and stopped his idle digging.

  She sighed with relief. "I'm so glad you came, Bronk," Kit murmured. "I didn't think it was going to be so dark on the path down here."

  Bronk mistook her sigh for a flirtatious gesture. When she glided closer to him, Kit could see that his mouth was hanging open. He was definitely off his guard.

  "Gee, I, uh, I… what's all the mystery, Kitiara?" he stammered, thrusting out his chest and striking a virile pose.

  "Well," Kit began, "it's just that I haven't seen you for an awfully long time."

  "You've been gone," Bronk said, sounding a little miffed. He glanced around nervously. "Everybody wondered where you went. Nobody knew for sure. Not even your brothers, I don't think. Where'd you go anyway?"

  "What does it matter?" she said, lowering her head. She tried some sniffling. "It's all over anyway."

  "What's over?" he demanded to know.

  "What does it matter?" Kit repeated mysteriously. Sniffle, sniffle.

  Bronk sidled over and clumsily put his arm around her shoulder.

  Where were Caramon and Raist? How long was she going to have to put up with this dunce and keep him dangling around this tree stump!

  "Well," Bronk said petulantly, "I'm glad you realized the error of your ways. I always thought that us… that is, you and me… I mean, even if I don't like your dumb brothers, I always thought that you and me could be friends. More than friends."

  This had been a long and almost articulate speech for Bronk. He seemed winded and confused, as if he had said more than he'd meant to. Again his eyes darted nervously around. Then Bronk gave Kit a tentative little squeeze.

  "What do you mean, 'more than friends'?" she asked ingenuously, batting her lashes. Where were her darn brothers? But Bronk, preoccupied with his next move, didn't notice the tension in her shoulders.

  His arm tightened around her shoulders. Kitiara smiled up at him, hoping he wouldn't notice she was gritting her teeth.

  Please! She couldn't take much more of this.

  Just then, the sound of boys' voices reached them, coming from the path.

  "What's this?" Bronk asked with considerable irritation.

  The voices grew louder, until Kit and Bronk could make out som
e of the words.

  "You'll eat those words," Caramon was saying.

  "My brother would never-"

  "See if you believe your own eyes." That was Raist.

  Bronk had dropped his hand from Kit's shoulder and was looking at her with revived suspicion. When he finally realized that it was Dune's voice he was hearing, along with the twins, he grew agitated.

  "Say, what is this?" he said, shoving Kitiara's shoulder.

  Dune came around the bend. He was wedged between Caramon and Raistlin, almost being propelled forward by the twins. His eyes grew big when he spied his brother standing next to Kit.

  Dune was a thick-witted little boy who worshiped his bully brother. Caramon and Raistlin had told him that Bronk was secretly romancing Kit. Dune couldn't believe that his brother was wooing the very girl about whom Bronk had said so many terrible things. On a bet, the twins had brought the boy to Crystalmir Lake to sneak up on the two supposed lovebirds and prove the romance.

  "Bronk!" Dune cried in dismay.

  "It's a dumb… rotten…" Bronk sputtered a few more words, but they were unintelligible.

  Kit had intended to maneuver everyone closer to the water, but decided she had better act right away, while Bronk was momentarily unnerved. She edged around the stump and pulled on the hidden rope.

  Nothing.

  She pulled again, harder. This time she could feel something give on the other end.

  Kitiara signaled Raist, who was hanging back. He stood ready in his best spellcasting stance.

  After a few murmured phrases from Raist, the surface of the lake near the shore where they stood began to bubble and seethe. The odd noise captured Bronk's and Dune's attention. Immediately, the two brothers lost interest in their private drama. They froze, their eyes riveted to the lake.

  "What's that?" Bronk whispered fearfully to Kit.

  Good. They've forgotten all about Raistlin.

  Dark plumes of smoke and fingers of flame erupted from the sandy banks. The surface of the water roiled, and a huge shape began to emerge.

  With the smoke and the dim light, it was difficult to see exactly what the shape was. A thing, a creature, manlike but much larger, with wet tendrils of slimy plants clinging to its sides. Suddenly its empty eye sockets blazed with orange fire, and its upper limbs began to sway, making it appear as if the horrible creature were moving toward shore.