Tina Daniell - Dark Heart

"Tell me anyway," she insisted.

Another deep sigh, and the ship's captain turned his face back to the sea. "Up north there is a region called Whitsett that has been in a perpetual state of war, dating back almost a century. Some call it a civil war, others a blood feud between two rival families, both of them wealthy and privileged and able to sustain great losses. Your father, Gregor Uth Matar, has a certain reputation for master tactics, and some time ago he gathered under his command a mercenary band of one thousand raiders who were utterly ruthless."

"Go on."

"It is said that your father brought his army to Whitsett and offered their services to either of the two rival families. Indeed, his raiders were auctioned off to the highest bidder. I do not know anything of the two sides of the conflict, but the story is told that one of the lords deliberately underbid, so that Gregor and his men were pledged to his family's longtime archenemy. Then this lord made a secret pact with a small faction of Gregor's men, offering them twice that amount to doublecross their leader."

"Treachery!" exclaimed Kitiara.

"Aye, treachery from men whom he had treated fairly," said La Cava. "But his was a business built on money, not loyalty. Of course, I repeat, this is only what I heard. I myself cannot vouch for what is true. You hear a lot of things on your travels, and stories like this get made up as well as embroidered-"

"What happened?" demanded Kitiara. "What happened to my father?"

"From what I hear," said La Cava, more softly, "Gregor kept his part of the bargain, encircled the army he had been paid to defeat, and vanquished them easily. His client's army marched in to sign the surrender, and he was lulled into complacency. At a certain signal, the traitors in Gregor's raiders rose up, slew the chief rival and his generals, as well as…"

"Yes?" demanded Kitiara.

"As well as Gregor and those few of his devoted retinue."

Kitiara could hardly breathe. Her throat constricted and tears welled up in her eyes, but she would not permit those tears to flow. She had to grab the ship's railing for support. She could see nothing, feel nothing, think of nothing but Gregor. Her father. Dead. Betrayed.

"Traitors," she spat. "Traitors."

"Aye," said La Cava sadly. "If true."

"Then that is where I will go!" she cried. "I will go to Whitsett."

"If you must," said La Cava. "But according to the story that I heard, the traitors divvied up their riches and disbanded, dispersed to the far points of Krynn. No two of them together. No one of them heard of, since-"

"I'll find them," insisted Kitiara, her voice strangled. "I'll hunt every last dog of them down, if it takes me a lifetime."

"If you must," said La Cava resignedly. He turned to go, touching Kitiara warmly on the shoulder. "If you must." She was oblivious to him now.

When, a moment later, she looked up, La Cava was gone and Lurie was standing there, his neck bent characteristically, a sympathetic look on his birdlike face. Kitiara could say nothing for a long time, just stood next to him as minutes passed. Her emotions boiled. Despite her furious bravado, she now was more confused than ever as to where she should go, what she should do. Her father, dead. Betrayed.

Finally Lurie broke the silence. "Tell you something," he said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

The captain's mate leaned back against the railing and watched her reaction. "About Patric."

"What about him?" Her tone was almost sullen.

"Others," he said. "Other ladies he was going to marry. He brung them on board too."

"What others?" Lurie had her attention now.

"Oh, two or three others, before you I mean," said Lurie. "About one a year. We sail around. He gets off, goes wandering. Strathcoe goes with. Not me. I wait with the captain. Time goes by. He comes back. Always with a new lady he's going to marry. Only he never don't."

"He doesn't? Why not? What happens to them?"

"Nothing happens to them. We send them back, afterward."

"Afterward?" Kitiara had to clench her teeth to avoid screaming in frustration. What was he trying to say? Lurie meant well, but his speech was maddening.

"Patric starts out," continued Lurie, "plenty happy. New girl. Everything good. But… as we getting closer, he getting nervous. Confused. Tense. Changes his mind. Bride not so especially perfect. Maybe he don't want to get married after all. Not so hasty."

"He loses his nerve," murmured Kitiara, beginning to understand. "He doesn't really want to get married."

"Not exactly," replied Lurie. "He worries about his mother, father. Especially mother. Big important lady. Very fancy. Looks down on everybody. Nobody good enough for Patric. Everybody got too many faults. Patric afraid to go against Lady Maryn."

Kitiara was silent, infuriated, absorbing this latest intelligence. If Lurie had a mind to help Kit forget the fate of her father, he had succeeded. At least for the moment, Gregor Uth Matar had been banished from her thoughts, replaced by Patric. Maybe she never had any real idea of marrying the idiot, but he had a lot of nerve, stringing her along.

"The closer he gets to home," added Lurie consolingly, "the more he makes up different mind. Not get married this time. Wait till next trip. Find new lady. Better lady. Please mother."

Furious, Kitiara thrust her chin out. "He won't get the satisfaction of turning me down," she declared hotly, brushing past the astonished ship's mate and heading for her cabin.

Lurie opened his mouth to say something, but Kit had already vanished below. Suddenly Lurie was alone on deck, overwhelmed by the dark sky and glittering stars and the vast, roiling ocean.

The captain's mate was left with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that the conversation had ended rather abruptly and that he had said something to offend Kitiara. What could that be? He had only done her the favor of telling her the truth.

Tossing and turning past midnight, Kitiara couldn't sleep. All she could think of was what Lurie had told her. Her mind seethed with scenarios that would permit her to teach Patric a lesson.

The storm that had been threatening for days broke out in the darkest hour of that night. Great booms of thunder and furious lightning ushered in a slashing downpour. The lightning lit up the sky in streaky flashes and threw horrible shadows across her cabin. The wind built to a pitch and waves crashed over the bow.

The ship erupted in shouts as sailors rushed to take down the sails and do what they could to keep the ship on course. In her state of mind she had no impulse to get up and help. Lying in her small bed, Kitiara listened to the ship creak and groan under the punishing wind and waves.

She sat bolt upright. There was a sound at her door, a scratching and muffled knocking that was not part of the symphony of the storm.

Getting up, she bundled her blanket around her and crept to the door, opening it a crack. Strathcoe's face pressed heavily into the opening. He was trying to say something, but Kit could barely see him much less interpret his garbled sounds. When she opened the door wider, he fell into her cabin as if he were drunk. She turned to give him a piece of her mind, this bloated dunce who, all along, had been in on Patric's charade.

Strangely, Strathcoe had slumped over her bed, as if bending to look for something. She grabbed him by the shoulder and savagely twisted him around.

"What in blazes," she began, then stopped in midsentence. He collapsed to the floor, and the look on her face turned from one of anger to shock. Quickly she bent down and cradled his neck with her arm.

Poor Strathcoe looked up at her for a moment, and his lips tried to move. Out of his mouth came not words but a bubble of dark red blood. Kit looked and realized his throat had been neatly and mortally slit. As she watched, his eyes fluttered shut.