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 swordpoint 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 know 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 un
assuming 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.
"I didn't expect to see you back so soon. Was your journey a worthwhile one?" Raist asked her gravely.
Kit grinned. Same old Raist. "Let's say it took some unexpected turns. Judge for yourself how worthwhile."
Caramon, sensing the imminent handing out of presents, began hopping up and down at Kit's side. "Oh, she brought us something. It better be good; you've been gone all summer."
With a flourish, Kit pulled two small packages out of her bag. Despite his desire to appear cool and collected, Raist hopped off his chair and ran up to Kit. She gave the first package to Caramon. He tore off the crude wrapping and exclaimed loudly over the sturdy short sword she had brought him.
"It must have been so expensive!" crowed Caramon, turning it around in his hand admiringly.
In truth, Kit had taken the sword off the dead Kagonesti, but there was no reason for Caramon to be told that. "Watch you don't cut yourself," she admonished.
Raist unwrapped his smaller package more slowly, but seemed equally pleased with his set of leather vials.
"Now, those were expensive," Kit said, winking at Raist. The dead Kagonesti had contributed those, too.
As each boy was examining his souvenir, Gilon walked in the door carrying herbs and other foodstuffs, appearing harried. He looked at Kit in surprise, then followed that reaction quickly with a grin of genuine warmth. Having his arms full, he was able to avoid the awkwardness that typically passed between them over whether or not to embrace.
"Well, the adventurer returns! You must have grown two inches in the last couple months. Welcome back, Kit."
Indeed, she had grown up over the time, physically and otherwise. Gilon could see that Kit carried herself with, not just adolescent swagger, but true assurance. And while someone who looked at her fleetingly might still mistake her for a boy, anyone whom she engaged more closely with her crooked smile and laughing eyes would not.
Gilon dumped the food he was carrying onto the table. Just then, Rosamun shuffled out of their bedroom, a glaze over her eyes. Her face didn't show recognition of Kit, nor anyone else in the room. Her hair was uncombed, and she'd obviously slept in her clothes.
Kit frowned. Gilon hurried over and led her mother back to the bedroom, speaking to Rosamun in soothing tones. The twins, occupied with their new possessions and probably inured to the ghostly appearances of their mother, didn't take much notice.
Gilon strode back into the room. "I'm afraid it will be a while before we eat," he said to Kit apologetically, "and the meal won't be much. I don't have your knack in the kitchen."
A cosmic conspiracy seems determined to keep me in the kitchen, Kit thought to herself. "Sit down, Gilon," she said with a sigh. "I'll do the cooking. I haven't gotten out of practice, especially in the last few weeks."
As she prepared a homecoming repast, Kit regaled Gilon and the twins with selected stories from her exploits. In these, Ursa became Trubaugh—she thought it wise to disguise as much about him as possible, including his name—a mysterious man she had met at the spring festival, who swore he knew where her father was. He agreed to lead her to him, far to the northwest, if she would cook for him and his gang of ruffians. When it turned out that he was luring her up there for more nefarious purposes—here she wrinkled her brows to imply that these were motives best left unspoken—she relieved this Trubaugh of some of his purse and left him and his hapless gang in the middle of the night.
"Good for you!" said Caramon approvingly.
"Yes, he deserved worse," chimed in Raistlin.
"What about Gregor?" asked Gilon hesitantly. "Did Trubaugh really know anything? Or was it all a lie?"
"As false as everything else about Trubaugh," said Kitiara, shaking her head sadly.
After leaving Trubaugh, Kit continued, she had made her way through perilous mountain trails until she came upon a congenial settlement of miners and lumbermen called Dragonshead. Better than Stumptown, she thought to herself with the pride of creative deception.
The inn there was a jovial place, and for many weeks she had a job and friends. Piggott became a hilarious buffoon, and the motley crew that frequented his inn all played comical supporting roles. She left out all mention of their true names and the dark side of her experiences. Gilon and Caramon laughed heartily at her inspired version of events, but Kitiara caught Raistlin gazing at her thoughtfully.
Caramon, who was normally easy to gull, asked a zillion innocent questions about the time she had spent away, and Kit found herself squirming to think of plausible replies.
"C'mon, didn't you fight anybody when you were gone? I bet you did. Who? Was it this guy Trubaugh, or somebody at the inn? What weapons did you use? Did you win?"
Kit just smiled and tousled her brother's hair. "Don't be so dramatic, Caramon. Do I look battle-scarred?"
Caramon seemed crestfallen at her disclaimer, while Gilon and Raist regarded her skeptically.
"What about you?" Kit asked Caramon, deftly changing the subject. "Have you been practicing with your sword? And how has mage school been, Raist?"
"Well, I haven't had anyone to practice with, but I was pretty good to begin with," bragged Caramon, "Y'know that fancy lunge and parry you showed me? I can do that easily now. I'll show you after dinner, OK?"
"And mage school?" Kit persisted.
Raistlin looked down at his plate. Kit saw that Gilon was observing Caramon's twin solicitously.
"I already know more than some boys who have been studying with Morath for a year," Raist responded in a low voice.
"Good!" exclaimed Kit enthusiastically. "And what about friends? Are you making any?"
"I don't really have much to do with the other boys there," he answered, fixing his gaze on his plate.
Kit's eyes met Gilon's. She mimed a shrug of unconcern. "They're probably all spoiled little bookworms," Kit declared. In her view, there were far more important things than being the most popular boy in the class.
Gilon left the table to try to coax Rosamun into eating something. Kitiara remained seated, joking with the twins, basking in their attention. When Gilon returned, unsuccessful at his mission, it was Kit's turn to leave the table, but only for a moment. She returned carrying a small pouch, which she emptied on the table in front of Gilon, creating a small pile of copper and silver coins.
"I don't know how long I'll be staying, but I want to pay for my room and board while I'm here. This should cover it."
The twins crowed at the sight of the coins. It was more money than they had seen in their lives. Gilon was momentarily speechless.
As he began gathering the coins from the table, the big woodcutter finally spoke, with evident emotion. "Thank you, Kitiara. This will help."
Kit had relished the gesture, and she did want to help out. But she suffered a twinge as she watched Gilon count the money. She had spent rather too freely on the journey home, enjoying a soft bed at a roadside inn on more than one night. Giving those coins to Gilon left her almost flat. It meant she was a little more stuck in Solace than she would have liked.
Oh well, Kit thought to herself. I've left once before without anything saved up. I can do it again if needs be.
That night,
Kitiara climbed the ladder to her sleeping loft and surveyed her old quarters. What once had seemed, if not exactly grand, then at least luxuriously set apart from the rest of the house, now looked cramped and dingy to Kit. Deeply tired, she stretched out on her straw pallet and received confirmation from yet another source that she had grown in the last few months, for her ankles overhung the edge of the bed by a good two inches.
In the cottage below, Kit heard Raistlin toss and moan in his sleep. The boys had stayed up past their bedtime and were overtired when they finally did go down. That often meant nightmares for Raist. Kit listened as Caramon roused himself to climb into bed with Raistlin and comfort him.
A rhythmic shuffling noise came from Gilon's and Rosamun's room. When Rosamun was in one of her wandering trances, Gilon actually had to put a cuff around her wrist and loop her to the bedpost some nights. Rosamun would pace back and forth alongside the bed, muttering weirdly to herself all night long. Such was obviously the case tonight.
Home, sweet home, Kit thought to herself. Well, she was glad to be back in Solace—temporarily. Her mind raced ahead to ways she could keep her stay short, but sleep overtook her before she could think of anything.
* * * * *
Waking up was hard business. Kit stretched on her too-small pallet. From the whispered conversations that drifted up from below, she surmised that Gilon and Raist were preparing to leave for the long walk to Poolbottom and that the rest of the household was still asleep. It was early, just after sunrise, when she heard them slip out the door.
Kit waited a moment to make sure they were gone before grabbing some clothes and climbing down from her loft. When she reached the first floor, Caramon was up, leaning on his elbows, regarding her with a sleepy smile.
"What about school for you, Caramon? What time to you have to be there?"
[Meetings 03] - Dark Heart Page 16
