"My father . . ."
"Forget about your father for a minute, girl," declared La Cava a little sharply. "What is it you want? What is it you want?"
"What do you mean?" asked Kitiara, puzzled.
'You are not going to marry Patric," said La Cava a little scornfully. 'You're too smart and strong for that fellow. He could never tame you. I could tame you, but I'm too old to be interested and too smart to try. I would rather live in peace, have my little ship and my tobacco. I am not looking for anything more. My time of adventure is done.
"But what about you, Kitiara? What are you looking for?" Now it was Kitiara's turn to glance away. Down the deck she knew that Lurie must be listening and overhearing some of La Cava's words. She liked Lurie. Even so, she was flushed with embarrassment because La Cava's words had pierced her. After a long silence, she spoke softly. "I don't know." When La Cava said nothing, another long silence ensued. "I want to be . . . recognized. I want to be more than just an ordinary girl from Solace. I want to travel and do things and fight important battles. I want to be . . . someone. No, that is not right. I want to be myself, Kitiara Uth Matar, and become rich and powerful. Rich and powerful."
La Cava took a long draw from his pipe. "You well may," he said evenly.
"About my father," she persisted.
La Cava sighed deeply and turned to face her so that she could read his eyes. "Your father," he repeated. "Your father is famous in some parts of Krynn, unknown in others." Kit waited for him to continue, and it seemed that he did so with some effort. "I have never met him nor seen him, nor do I know anyone who has. But I have been everywhere that a ship may go, and I have heard of Gregor Uth Matar and his exploits, and—" here he paused "—of his fate."
Kitiara's breath caught in her throat. "What of him?"
"It is not a happy story, and I do not make a habit of recounting gossip or folklore. It very well may be untrue."
"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
