Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

Suddenly the darkling paused. With a gasp he turned around. His pale eyes shone as round as moons in the dimness. "No," he croaked. "No, you cannot be here. I would have seen your coming long ago."

"That is not so, Accursed One." Three figures stepped from the cold gloom. "Your powers have diminished since you were banished from the clan. We blinded your Sight, so that you would not sense our coming."

The darkling shuddered violently. This could not be happening. He thought he was finally free! "Varith, Karin, Riandra-please, do not harm me. I will leave this domain, yes? I will go far away. You will never see me again!"

The Vistana women cast back the hoods of their cloaks, revealing three faces-one fresh and young, one full in bloom, one wrinkled by time. Sorrow and pity shone in their wise eyes.

"We cannot allow that, Accursed One. We cannot let you bring your darkness to another land, as you did to our clan. It must end here."

The darkling spun around, desperately searching for an escape, but the gypsies had surrounded him. He fell to his bony knees. "I beg you!" he pleaded piteously. "Let me be! I will try… I will try to live in the Light once more."

The eldest of the three gypsies clutched her walking staff tightly. "It is our wish, Accursed One, that you dwell in the Light as well. But it is too late for you to do so in this existence. It is far too late."

The jeweled rings each gypsy wore began to pulsate-one with leaf-green brilliance, one with dusky- blue radiance, one with midnight-purple darkness. Holding the glowing rings before them, the Vistani closed in.

The darkling's cry of primal agony rent the night. Abruptly it ended, its echo drifting through the rising mist. The three gypsies stepped back, sorrow and pity written across their disparate faces. The three jeweled rings were quiescent once more.

On the ground in their midst lay the darkling. A silver, rune-covered dagger protruded from his sunken chest. His frozen hand still clutched the knife, and his pale eyes stared upward, gazing no longer on nightmares, but simply on emptiness.

"Has he found an end?" Riandra asked in a chantlike voice.

"He has found an end," young Karin replied firmly.

Ancient Varith knelt and covered the darkling's pale eyes with two dark leaves. Slowly, leaning upon her staff, she rose. "He is Accursed no longer, but dwells now in the Light." Tears streamed freely down her wrinkled cheeks. "Fare thee well, Brinn. Fare thee well, child of Vistani."

Drifting tatters of mist coiled about the dead body of the darkling, concealing it in a damp gray shroud. A sharp wind blew the fog away. The corpse was gone. Karin bent to pick up the silver dagger. The knife glimmered dully in the half-light as she slipped it carefully into the leather sheath at her hip. Then the three women turned away, vanishing into the deepening night.

Mika stood before the mirror in her chamber in the Black Boar, clad once more in the baron's gift-a gown of lavender silk. By this she knew she was defeated. Shame, sorrow, guilt-all these things seemed to evaporate like mist in the heat of her desire for Caidin. He owned her now, utterly. Mika loathed herself for this. Yet even worse, she still wanted Caidin-more than ever. Leaving the inn, she picked her way through the muck toward the gilded carriage that waited to deliver her into sweet imprisonment.

"Milady!" a voice called behind her. "Milady, please wait!"

Mika turned in surprise. A young woman dashed down the muddy street, coming to a breathless halt before her.

"Begging your pardon, milady, but it's my grand- mama." Worry was written clearly across the peasant woman's flushed face. "She's terribly ill."

Slowly, Mika shook her head. "I'm… I'm sorry. I was-"

"Please, milady." The young woman rung her hands desperately. "Please, won't you come?"

Mika opened her mouth wordlessly, casting a look of longing at the waiting carriage. Finally, realizing that she could not turn the disconsolate young woman away, she nodded. Moments later, she followed the peasant woman-whose name was Lillen-through the main room of a neatly scrubbed cottage.

"She is in the back chamber, milady. This way. She barricaded the door, but Elgar-that's my husband, milady-Elgar removed the hinges. She was very adamant in her wish not to see a healer."

From the back room came the crash of something breaking, followed by a shrill cry. "Leave me be, Elgar! And put my door back on, do you hear?" A peasant man, so young his beard was little more than fuzz, dashed out of the room, ducking to avoid a small clay vase that flew through the open door, way. It hit the far wall and shattered.

The young man gave his wife a chagrined look. "It appears your grandmama is feeling better, Lillen."

"She certainly seems to have a strong arm," Mika noted dryly. Carefully, she peered into the back room.

"I see as usual my granddaughter has ignored my wishes."

Startled, Mika realized that what she had at first thought only to be a small heap of rumpled blankets on the bed by the window was in fact a tiny, shriveled woman. She blended well with the threadbare bedclothes. Only her eyes stood out. They were bright as polished stones, shining with sharp intelligence.

Mika cleared her throat. "You granddaughter has told me that you require a doctor."

The old woman snorted. "My granddaughter says all sorts of foolish things. I am sorry you made the trip here, milady, but I have no use for a doctor. I am dying, that's all."

"Grandmama!" Lillen gasped in protest, but a flick of the old woman's piercing eyes made her shut up.

Mika nodded gravely. "Do you mind if I come in for a moment all the same?"

The old woman threw up her arms in defeat. "Oh, very well." She glared at the young couple, who clutched each other in concern. "But you two stay out!"

As Elgar led a sobbing Lillen back to the main room, Mika sat on the edge of the bed and opened her black satchel. The ol‹} woman grudgingly revealed her name-lrsyla. After several minutes of silent examination Mika leaned back, her expression solemn.

"You are dying, lrsyla. But it is not from an illness. You're just very old, and your body is worn out."

"A fact of which I am well aware. But try telling that to those two young ninnies out there."

Mika laughed gently. "They only love you, you know."

Irsyla's expression softened. "I know, milady. I love them dearly as well. But I am tired. I have lived a long, good life. Now it is time for me to sleep."

Mika smiled warmly at her patient. "I'll leave some herbs for a tea your granddaughter can brew. It has no medicinal purposes that I know of, but it tastes nice, and it might make Lillen feel that she's doing something to help." lrsyla reached out to grip her arm in thanks. It was then that Mika noticed that the old woman's hand was missing two of its fingers.

"How did this happen?" Mika asked with a doctor's curiosity, feeling the old woman's hand. lrsyla snatched her arm back. "I do not think you wish to know that, milady." There was an ominous tone to the old woman's voice.

Mika looked up in surprise. "Why do you say that?"

Irsyla's eyes glittered sharply. "Why? Because you wear a gown that belongs to him even now, milady. And I have seen you through my window, riding in the gilded carriage to his keep."

"Baron Caidin?" Mika's heart skipped a beat. "You mean the baron did this to you?"

The old woman slowly shook her head. "Not this baron, milady. The Old Baron."

"Tell me."

At last the old woman sighed. "I had thought to take the tale to my grave. I have never told it to anyone. Not even Lillen. But perhaps it is right that you hear it." Irsyla went on in a low voice. "In my younger days, I was the village's midwife. I helped the young come into this world, and to draw their first breaths. But all that ended more than thirty years ago."