Steel and Stone (29 page)

Kitiara would have been braver than her mother had been in the throes of childbirth, she knew.

Believing that death was near, Kitiara comforted
herself with the knowledge that she would not have whimpered during the birth pains. She would have astounded the midwife with her bravery. Not, Kit reminded herself again, that she would have had the baby. Or, she amended, if she had given birth, certainly she wouldn’t have kept the baby.

She hadn’t taken precautions against a pregnancy, not ever. The thought had never occurred to her. How could her woman’s body have betrayed her like this?

Then Lida vanished—into a side channel.

Kitiara hurtled after her. As suddenly as if she’d passed from air to some thicker medium, her descent slowed. Below her, Lida floated, now feetfirst, to the bottom of a vertical tunnel. Kitiara landed next to her. She heard Janusz cough, and she whirled to see the mage standing thirty feet above in an opening along one wall. He raised a hand in a lazy parody of a welcome. Kitiara looked away.

They were in a dungeon, but it was unlike any dungeon that Kitiara had ever seen. This prison was built solely of ice, huge slabs of it. The walls extended, unbroken, hundreds of feet upward.

Around the periphery of the dungeon, hanging from the walls by no visible means, dangled a dozen corpses in various stages of decay. Kitiara heard Lida retch. The swordswoman recognized the clothing of the corpses—the white parkas of the Ice Folk. She looked back up at Janusz.

“The ice jewels originated in the Icereach,” the withered mage said quietly. “I’m sure of it. As certain as I am that the Ice Folk know where to mine the stones.” He gestured toward the decaying warriors. “So end the lives of those who refuse to yield the information I want. A point you might want to keep in mind, Captain.”

The walls of the dungeon were slick, as though
they’d been melted and refrozen, Kitiara thought. The floor, on the other hand, was covered with something that looked like thick canvas. There was no other padding, yet she and Lida had landed unhurt. Lida seemed hypnotized by the sight of the corpses. Her face was an ashy blue in the cool light that filtered from the walls.

Now the swordswoman leaned over and brushed snow from her leggings and parka. She was finally warm enough for a change, despite the ice walls that stretched upward as far as she could see. Kitiara moved toward the nearest corpse and extended a hand up toward the dead man.

“What holds them in place, do you think?” she whispered to Lida. “What—”

“Don’t touch it!” Lida called out. She thrust out a hand, too late and too far away to arrest the swordswoman’s movement.

Kitiara had rested her fingertips against the ice wall. It was cold, but not too …

Then she frowned and tugged.

The fingertips of her right hand were frozen fast to the wall. Behind and above her, she heard Janusz erupt into laughter.

Lida was at her side in an instant. “Don’t touch the wall with your other hand,” she warned as she examined Kitiara’s fingers. “Does it hurt?”

Kitiara shook her head. “What
is
this stuff?”

“Ice,” Lida replied irritably. “Didn’t you ever touch your tongue against frozen metal in the winter? The same principle is at work here. Anyway, I warned you. Don’t you ever listen to anyone but Kitiara Uth Matar?”

The upstart! “I’m not going to stand around and be insulted by the likes of you,” Kitiara snapped.

“No?” Lida asked. “And where are you going, Captain Uth Matar?” Faint steam curled from the frozen wall.

Kitiara glared at Lida. Then the swordswoman turned back toward the wall, wrapped her left hand around her right wrist and tugged. “I need some sort of dagger. I’ll cut myself free.”

She felt in her pocket for the sharp piece of rock she’d palmed in the wolf sledge. The angle at which she was forced to stand was difficult, but Kitiara began to chip clumsily at the ice around her trapped fingers with her left hand. The stuff seemed invulnerable. Janusz laughed again. Then the ancient mage stopped and barked a few words to Lida in another language. It sounded like Old Kernish. Kitiara had occasionally heard the Valdane’s servants speak in that tongue when they didn’t want the foreign mercenaries to understand them.

Lida looked wordlessly at her former tutor, who had not yet guessed her true identity. Then she turned to Kitiara. “Let me.”

There was no doubt that Lida would be able to work better with two hands than Kitiara could with one. Kitiara handed over the sliver of rock.

“Close your eyes,” Lida said. Kitiara, marveling at her sudden tractability, followed the orders of the lady mage.

Lida moved closer to Kitiara, speaking softly. She seemed to be offering entreaties to someone—some god. Kitiara heard rustling and knew that Lida was fishing in a pocket of her robe. A faint puff of warm air brushed against Kitiara’s left cheek, contrasting with the cold that flowed from the wall. She felt something hard tap at each finger, but she didn’t open her eyes.

Kitiara pulled on her hand, and the ice beneath her fingers moved. It was as though the ice had melted and refrozen in a heartbeat. But her fingers were still fastened to the wall.

“I thought your magic was impaired,” Kit whispered.

“Janusz has released me,” Lida replied in her normal voice. “He says I am no threat here, even with my normal powers.” She swallowed, then took a deep breath and continued. “Stay still. When you feel the ice quiver, pull back suddenly. Make sure you don’t touch the ice with your other hand, or with any bare skin. I think this will work. I’ve never done it before.”

Lida whispered fresh words of magic.

Kitiara’s eyes flew open. “You
think …
?”

“Pull!”

Kitiara pulled. There was a brief jolt of pain. Then her hand was free. She looked at the wall. Five dimples showed in the ice. As she stared, the wetness turned again to ice. She examined her hand. Her fingertips were pale and blue but unharmed. “Nice work,” Kit said grudgingly.

“Indeed,” Janusz commented from above. “A minor trick suitable for a carnival sideshow. I could show you so much more, Lida.”

Kitiara swung toward Lida. “That’s what he asked you back at the minotaur camp, wasn’t it?” Kitiara asked. “While I was gone. He asked you to join him. And you refused, didn’t you?”

“I’m no traitor,” Lida snapped. “I do not cooperate with the enemy.”

Suddenly Janusz was shoved to one side, and a new face, distorted with anger, protruded into the open space above them.

“Kitiara Uth Matar!” the Valdane thundered. His
red hair stood up from his head like a crown. Lida’s face convulsed, and she took an involuntary step backward.

“What are you afraid of, mage?” Kitiara asked Lida in a piercing whisper. “At the very worst, you’ll end up the consort of a powerful wizard. You’re not the one in real danger.” Kitiara addressed her next words at the Valdane. “Are you so weak that you must hide behind the skirts of your mage, Valdane?”

The Valdane seemed to gain resolve at her taunt. “You make it so easy to hate you, Captain. Yet I brought you here for a specific reason.”

“To regain the lost ice jewels,” Kitiara rejoined. “I do not have them …”

“Kill her,” the Valdane snapped to Janusz.

“… but I know where they are.”

Smiling, Kit locked gazes with the Valdane. Slowly, almost unwillingly, the ruler also cracked a smile. Cruelty gleamed in his stare, stubbornness in hers. “I know you well enough, Kitiara Uth Matar, to know that you will not respond to the best torture we have to offer. That’s what made you such an outstanding mercenary.”

“Whose error caused Dreena’s death,” the Valdane’s mage injected hastily, but the ruler ignored him.

“Perhaps, Captain, we can negotiate a compromise,” the leader said. “I can offer you almost limitless power.”

“As soon as you have the ice jewels, you’ll kill me,” Kitiara said.

“We could torture your friend here, my daughter’s former servant. Perhaps that would sway you.”

Kitiara cast a cool look toward the younger mage. “We are not friends.” Kitiara replied. “Do what you will with her.”

The Valdane laughed. “Then how about torturing a few of your lovers? My mage tells me two of them already head south, accompanied by a black stallion and a giant owl. Is not one of the men the father of your child? Certainly that must mean something, even to you.”

Lida spoke. “You were able to scry them? And the giant owl is with them?” She seemed near tears.

Janusz nodded. “Unfortunately for you, Kitiara and Caven left things of theirs when they fled from the Valdane’s camp. That gave me the personal artifact I needed to scry them. I know more about your life in the past few months than you may think, Captain.”

Kitiara thought fast. Clearly the mage believed she had hidden the ice jewels. That information gave her some leverage—for the time being. She needed time to scheme. And she needed reinforcements. If only she
had
hidden the ice jewels. As it stood now, they were either lying forgotten in the clearing in Darken Wood or Tanis and Caven were unwittingly delivering them to the Valdane’s stronghold.

“My friends and I are working together. They carry valuable information about the ice jewels,” she said smoothly. “You must allow them to arrive here safely if we are to strike a deal, Valdane.”

The leader fastened his piercing gaze on her. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “After all, if you are lying, I can always kill them later. And you, too. At the very least, a week or two in my dungeon may change your tune, Captain.”

With that, he was gone. Kitiara heard two pairs of footsteps resounding down some upper corridor.

Chapter 16
The Dust Plains

“X
ANTHAR, WHERE ARE WE
?” W
HEN THE GIANT
bird didn’t respond, Tanis leaned over the front of the owl’s wing and shouted his question.

The owl drew up with a start. He blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The feathers around Xanthar’s eyes were sticky with rheum. His night-seeing eyes hadn’t stopped watering in the week they’d been flying south.

The two had long since left the Kharolis Mountains behind. They’d entered the vast wasteland, great expanses of nothing but bare rock, the day before. But now, far beneath the owl and half-elf, wheat-colored sand glittered in the harsh sunlight, appearing to undulate in the heat. The wind never seemed to let up.
Pillars of swirling dust occasionally rose upward, then collapsed under their own weight.

We are …

Tanis waited, but the bird didn’t go on. “Where are we?” he finally shouted again.

South. Far south. The Plains of Dust, west of Tarsis, or maybe southwest of Tarsis. I don’t know exactly, Kai-lid
.

“I am Tanis.”

Ah. Of course. Tanthalas. The half-elf
.

Tanis let his gaze wander over the terrain. Sand and dust stretched far ahead.

“What did this wasteland used to be?” Tanis persisted.

An ocean, I believe—until the Cataclysm changed the face of the world. When the gods punished Krynn, some portions of Ansalon were flooded. Here the sea drained, leaving only sand and grit. Or so said my grandfather
.

And where was Caven? At first the half-elf had caught occasional glimpses of the horseman, who seemed to be driving Maleficent as hard as Xanthar was pushing himself. But Tanis had not spied Caven Mackid in two days.

Tanis had lost his nervousness after soaring miles above the ground, attached to the giant owl only by the jury-rigged leather harness. Xanthar was a steady flier. Since leaving Darken Wood, the owl had allowed only short respites, in which the half-elf cooked small game, replenished his water supply, and relieved himself. Tanis could sleep on Xanthar’s back as he flew, but as far as the half-elf could tell, the giant owl napped only during his brief time on the ground.

Kai-lid
.

“This is Tanis,” the half-elf repeated.

The owl shook his head dazedly. He opened his eyes to their fullest, and Tanis could see, when Xanthar turned his head, that the owl’s irises had dulled to a flat terra-cotta color and that the pupils no longer reacted to variations in light and shadow.