[Meetings 03] - Dark Heart

by Tina Daniell - (ebook by Undead)

  "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."

  She tilted her head back and gave a long, trilling laugh that would not have been out of place at a royal costume ball, save that it was tinged with madness.

  Kit wondered what she ought to do. She didn't think she could defeat four of the Iron Guard, plus the mage and the crazy woman, yet it was too late to go back and get Colo. And strangely, no one had made a move toward her. She was edging imperceptibly—or so she hoped—toward the mage, who sat there, cloaked and hooded, inscrutable.

  "It was easy to connect Radisson to his brother, but it took a little longer than I hoped to track Radisson himself down. I got lucky. He was with the panther-man. El-Navar, I believe is his name?"

  Kit controlled her voice. "Why didn't you kill El-Navar, as you did Radisson?"

  The lady's brows furrowed. "I'm very upset about that. That the strange man could turn himself into a panther was something I didn't anticipate. In that form he is evidently protected by some ward, and I cannot communicate with him. Or kill him. Believe me, I tried. I tried! I've got the obnoxious beast caged underground. I'm still deciding what to do about the nuisance."

  Kit had maneuvered close enough to the mage so that she was able to act, bringing her sword up in a swift arc and, in a flash, down again. She severed the man's right hand, which fell to the floor. Yet no blood flowed from the limb and, incredibly enough, the mage did not even move a muscle, did not so much as wince.

  Lady Mantilla shrieked with laughter. "Oh, my dear," she cackled, "you have been worrying about that idiot mage. He is number seventy-three, the latest of those who have been employed to assist me. I killed this one days ago, as I have killed them all for their failures and artifice. After a while I pick up their tricks, and they bore me with their airs."

  Kit held herself in a guarded stance, wondering if she looked as silly and confused as she felt.

  The Lady's voice shifted into a lower, baritone register. Despite the ominous tone, there was a hint of anguish. "You don't know what it's like," Luz Mantilla said to Kit, "to lose someone you love. To dream your life with someone else, and to lose that dream. To be left alone. All alone. Alone!" She gave up any pretense, and sobbed with her head in her hands.

  Kit studied the quartet of armored guards who stood behind the lady. She could not make out their eyes or any other indication of their humanity. Through their narrow slits they seemed to regard her coldly. Were they also dead, like the mage, or simply empty shells of metal?

  As if reading her thoughts, Lady Mantilla's head snapped up. With a bony finger she traced a contour in the air. The quartet of knights began to spin and move with such grace and agility that Kitiara was astonished. The only noise they made was the clanking of their equipment. They did not go toward her, but instead, in some choreographed maneuver, moved toward the perimeter and took up prearranged positions at four equidistant points around the room. Kit noted uncomfortably that she was the focus of their pattern.

  Holding both her knife and sword in front of her, Kitiara did her best to look threatening.

  Lady Mantilla's face shone. Her rotting yellow teeth were bared in a smile. "You are wondering about my Iron Guard," she said with almost a wink. "They are more alive than my mage. Well, only half-alive, or half-dead to be sure, but I like them better that way. I only have four left, more's the pity. I think I've been rather hasty with the rest of them. But the important thing is—" she made a clucking sound and put a finger to her head "—the important thing is they are created so that they will do anything for me—even die at my bidding. They are exceedingly loyal about that, dying I mean. Shall I demonstrate? Zierold!"

  One of the armored men took a step forward, his armor creaking. Kit braced for a challenge, but Lady Mantilla said airily, "Jump out a window for me, will you, Zierold?"

  The heavily armored Zierold went to one of the windows curtained with velvet. With ballet-like moves he hoisted himself up to the ledge, turned to salute the Lady, then, without an utterance, hurled himself out the opening. There was a long moment of silence, followed by a muffled crash. Lady Mantilla positively squealed with glee.

  Good, Kit thought, one less. She shifted her position slightly so that none of the remaining three Iron Guard stood directly behind her.

  "Yes," continued the Lady, "it was easy to catch up with Radisson and El-Navar, but a little harder to find that sneaky Ursa. He seemed to disappear, be swallowed up. He separated from Cleverdon for a while. We followed Clever-don, but then he managed to lose us as well. They donned disguises, camped in the outlands, traveled hundreds of miles outside of my purview.

  "I found out all I could about Ursa. I had spies and agents everywhere. He never visited the same place twice and always managed to stay one step ahead of us. But in the end I came to know more about him and his habits than his own mother did, and I knew I would eventually track him down."

  She shifted tone, velvety now, like her curtains. "To find out who you were proved harder than locating Ursa, my dear," the Lady cooed. "Radisson didn't have a chance to tell me before he died, and El-Navar does not converse very well as a panther. I know from the eyewitnesses that five people were involved, but I never considered that one of them might be a woman. Not until, purely by chance, one of my operatives was traveling on a boat and spotted my beloved's sword. But even then, we thought it was this fellow, Patric. Of course he claimed to know nothing. But he had to be killed anyway. Just to be on the safe side."

  While the Lady was preoccupied with her tale, Kitiara had edged clos
er, until she was only a few dozen paces away. With her next step, Kit entered the cone of pale light that enveloped Luz so that, for the first time, the wretched woman could get a clear look at her. And as she did, Lady Mantilla gave a gasp.

  She shrank in her chair from horror. Kit was so startled by her reaction that she froze, then took a step backward, retreating into the shadows. Then Kit realized that to the deranged Lady, she, with her short hair and fighting garb, must still resemble Beck Gwathmey.

  Kitiara stepped back into the glare, Beck's sword glinting in the light.

  "It is you, then?" whispered the Lady. "It is you! You have the sword."

  Behind her Kitiara could hear the clanking of the armored men as they began to move again. She took another step closer.

  'The sword I gave to my beloved . . ." the Lady moaned plaintively. "His betrothal gift. He was carrying it with him when he was . . . assassinated."

  "I had nothing to do with that," Kit said truthfully.

  The expression on the Lady's face changed. She bent over and gave a shiver, then straightened up. Her face contorted with fury. "You will die for your part in it," Lady Mantilla screeched. "You will die! Die! I have sworn!"

  Kit could hear the armored men clanking behind her. She lunged toward the Lady, holding out her sword so that the crazy woman was trapped against her chair.

  Close up, Kitiara could see that Lady Mantilla's face was deeply creased with lines and garishly made up with white powder and rouge. "Call them off," Kit said tersely.

  "You can't kill me," the Lady countered. "I've been dead for a long, long time. Ever since that day."

  "Call them off," Kit repeated, bringing the tip of the sword up to the Lady's neck, glancing nervously over her shoulder. The three remaining guards were gliding closer to her, moving to a different rhythm, slower, more cautiously. Yet they still came forward with that peculiar grace that, despite their heavy armor, they were able to muster. They had formed a tighter triangle now, with Kit in the center, and were gradually closing in.

  "Tell me your name!" the lady hissed.

  "Kitiara Uth Matar!" Kit proclaimed.

  All of a sudden, she heard a low sliding noise that she could not account for, then a high-pitched cry; from behind her, out of a door hidden behind a tapestry, charged someone she had almost forgotten—Colo.

  The tracker was clumping on one foot, but made the short distance before anyone could react. She leaped gamely onto the back of one of the Iron Guard, wrapping herself around his neck and trying in vain to find a spot without leaden protection to plunge in her knife or sword.

  Kit's attention was diverted for all of three seconds, yet by the time she had turned back to Lady Mantilla, the woman had gone from the throne. She stood in another part of the room, cackling. Kitiara didn't have time to ponder this failure, however, because she heard more clanking and wheeled just in time to see the danger, ducking beneath the swing of one of the Iron Guard.

  Twirling like a dancer, this Iron Guard leaped behind Kit and aimed another blow at her head. She raised Beck's sword up in time, and their weapons smote each other with tremendous force. The superior strength of the armored guard drove Kit back and smashed her up against a wall. Reeling, she stabbed upward with her knife, striking only metal.

  Colo was faring no better. She was riding the broad back of the Iron Guard who careened around the room, knocking into furniture and walls in an attempt to dislodge her. She hung on stoically, her weapons futile, screaming curses at her enemy.

  The third Iron Guard seemed momentarily unsure as to what he should do. He stood closer to Kit and her struggle, but Colo and her opponent covered a lot of ground, swooping and stumbling around the room. This third opponent took tentative steps toward Kit, then whirled and took a few steps toward Colo.

  From one side of the hall, Lady Mantilla watched the melee with relish, shouting derision at Kit.

  As if in reply, Kitiara feinted with her sword, then suddenly went limp. The Iron Guard, thrusting forward, was not able to break his heavy momentum. He crashed his helmeted head into the wall, and by the time he was able to turn around, Kit had slithered out from under him and was back near the center of the room.

  Although somewhat dazed, Colo finally had figured out that her sword was of no use. She let it drop to the floor. Then, with her legs still wrapped around the guard's chest, she reached around with two hands and stabbed her knife upward into the exposed eye-slots of the Iron Guard. An unearthly wail of anguish filled the room. He dropped to his knees, clawing at his eye-slots, as Colo held on and drove the knife home repeatedly.

  Kit's antagonist was coming hard at her again, and she backed up, dodging and feinting. Suddenly the Iron Guard took a step back and surprised her with a graceful, almost hypnotic gesture that did not involve his sword arm; he swept some object off a table, some decorative ceramic, and hurled it at her. It smacked Kit neatly in the chin. She buckled and then straightened, bleeding and wobbly.

  "Kit!" Colo called out, breathing hard.

  Kitiara managed to look over to her and give her a reassuring nod. But as she did, Colo was distracted for too long a moment. The third Iron Guard, who had been circling for a vantage behind her, found his opening and drove his sword into Colo's back. Her face froze, and she slumped to the floor.

  At the same moment, the Iron Guard with a knife stuck in his eye-slots collapsed into a twisted clump.

  Kit gave a cry. Turning her back on the guard who had been stalking her, she vaulted across the room to the other side, straight toward the one who had stabbed Colo. The Iron Guard watched her charge with—surprise? Fear? Caught without his sword, which was still embedded in poor Colo's back, the armored man struggled to pull his knife out of its sheath.

  Kitiara knocked him over backward with her momentum, straddling his chest. The armored man flailed at her. But Kit swung the hilt end of Beck's sword at his face, hard and fast, again and again, pounding the mask into a dented, twisted shape.

  The Iron Guard clawed at his mask, choking and strangling.

  Kit got up and, as gently and swiftly as she could, pulled the sword from Colo's bloody back and rolled her friend over. Colo's mouth and eyes were open. Her face was pallid.

  "Colo . . ." Kit tried to say something. She had no time to think of appropriate words, though, because she heard clanking. She looked up just in time to roll away from the last Iron Guard, who had heaved himself at her.

  His sword fell and hers skittered away, knocked from her grasp by the narrow escape. He had a knife still; Kitiara had no weapon. He lunged at her, but she grabbed his mailed wrist.

  They wrestled and writhed across the floor, spitting and cursing into each other's faces. She was only vaguely aware of Lady Mantilla, crouched and hovering several feet behind her, hissing words. The Iron Guard weighed twice what Kit did. It was all she could do to keep him from crushing her.

  They bowled over furniture as they rolled to the middle of the room. The struggle took its toll on both of them, but Kitiara was losing strength more rapidly. Finally the guard shook off Kit's hold and managed to get on top of her, raising his knife high. Desperately Kit twisted her head to one side. She felt the Iron Guard's dagger graze her skull and break its point on the floor.

  Her left hand groped around on the floor, coming up with nothing. Her right hand reached out and touched the point of Colo's sword.

  The Iron Guard was frantically trying to pull out his other knife when Kit swung the tracker's sword and smacked him in the head with its hilt. The blow knocked the guard off balance and caused him to drop his second knife.

  Kit jumped up and stumbled backward. She managed to steady herself as the Iron Guard rose to his feet. Now she was the one with a sword, and he was weaponless.

  Her opponent glided backward toward a wall. Kit wrapped both hands around the sword's hilt, lowered her head slightly, and charged, thrusting upward at his helmet. Her aim was good. The sword ran through his mouth slit. The guard was effectively pinn
ed against the wall, groaning and twitching.

  Kit felt spent; her clothes were torn, nicks and bruises covered her body. It took all the effort she could muster to pull out her sword. The Iron Guard slid to the ground.

  Kitiara turned toward Luz Mantilla. She had returned to her chair in the center of the room, encircled by the cone of pale light.

  Kit picked up her own sword and approached her warily, scanning the room for other enemies or magical devices. The Lady observed her with a smirk.

  "Pity about your friend," oozed Lady Mantilla. "Colo? Was that her name?"

  The Lady made a subtle hand gesture that, if she had not known about such things from Raistlin, Kit might not even have noticed.

  Kitiara had come within a few feet of the Lady, but now found herself unable to get any closer. Some sort of force field, something like an invisible wall, stopped her. Stooping, Kit felt around with her hands to try and determine where the barrier started and ended.

  "I lost a friend once," said Lady Mantilla in her baritone. "The only dear friend I ever had. The only person I ever loved, who ever loved me. Now you know how it feels, Kitiara Uth Matar."

  Kit realized, with a shiver of apprehension, that the force field did not protect Lady Mantilla. It was surrounding her. Kit could move only a few feet forward or backward or sideways. The wall rose so high over her that she could not feel its top. She was caught like a spider in a jar.

  Looking at Luz Mantilla, Kitiara noted that the Lady's eerie gaze rested on the sword in Kit's hands. Where the sword moved, Lady Mantilla's eyes followed.

  "My beautiful sword," said Lady Mantilla in a low moan, stroking her white, tangled hair abstractly. "My precious gift of love. I should like to have it back. I should like to have it as a . . . memento."

  "You will get it back, witch," murmured Kitiara, "right through your heart."

  "What did I ever do to you, Kitiara Uth Matar?" the Lady crooned mournfully, her eyes following the sword as Kit shifted it from one hand to the other. "What did I ever do to you that you would help kill my beloved?"