Kit said nothing.
"I don't understand you," said Lady Mantilla. "Now that I know your name, I am even more mystified by your behavior. By your allegiances."
Kit stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"Your name—Matar. Your father was Gregor Uth Matar?
"What do you know about my father?" asked Kit, her confident tone wavering.
"I told you I gathered a long file on Ursa," said Lady Mantilla, almost petulantly. "I told you I found out all about him—where he had been, what he had done, how he operated."
"What are you saying?"
"What am I saying?" repeated Lady Mantilla. "I mean to say, how can you be in league with the turncoat who betrayed your own father?"
"What!"
Lady Mantilla's eyes revealed complete astonishment. "You don't know," she murmured.
"You really don't know. . . ."
"What trick is this?" Kit took an angry step toward the lady. Futile. The invisible barrier stopped her.
Lady Mantilla tilted her head back and gave a long, high-pitched shriek of laughter. "It was in Whitsett, far to the north, four years ago. Ursa was part of a force of mercenaries that fought a climactic battle under the leadership of your father. Gregor's men were successful, and when the contest was over it was Gregor who set the terms of surrender. Surrounded by his loyal entourage, he waited in an open field as the other army rode in to relinquish its arms.
"What your father didn't know was that among his own men there was a faction that thought he did not fairly divide the spoils of his victories, who thought that he was growing rich at their expense. Among them was a man, a first lieutenant who until then had ridden faithfully at Gregor's side. He organized the faction in a secret conclave. They pledged to betray Gregor. This group, under the leadership of Ursa Il Kinth, helped to fake the victory and conspired to arrest Gregor at the peace council."
"Liar!" Kit shouted, but the accusation was half-hearted. The tale Luz told was very similar to the one that Captain La Cava had told Kit aboard the Silver Gar. Perhaps the Lady had heard the same story and is embellishing it now to set me against Ursa, Kitiara wondered hopefully.
"No," cooed Lady Mantilla, reading her thoughts, "not a lie. Too terrible a truth to be a lie, don't you think? Ursa's men surrounded your father, bound him in leather straps, and delivered him to the other side. Ursa took twice the purse your father had agreed to, apportioned it among the conspirators, and then they split up. Your father was led in chains to the dungeon to await his beheading. What a coincidence that his daughter would turn out to be partnered with his traitor!"
Again Lady Mantilla tilted her head back and let go with screeching laughter. The cackling went on for several minutes before, strangely, it disintegrated into choked sobs. Kit's head reeled. She clenched her fists and buried her face in them. As she turned away from the lady, a tremor went through her body. She dropped Beck's sword. A rustling made her look up. Lady Mantilla, her face changed, her composure almost placid, had stood. She was pointing toward the door behind the tapestry where Colo had entered.
There was a moment of silence.
Kitiara made a quick movement and kicked Beck's sword, which lay at her feet, over to her captor. Lady Mantilla stooped to clutch it fervently. As she did. Kit heard a sibilance
—the release of the force field. She dashed toward the tapestry door. Behind her, Lady Mantilla, a strangely serene smile on her face, sat down again, fondling the sword of her beloved.
* * * * *
Kit bounded down the steps, only to come face to face with Ursa, who was squatting at the far end of his cell. The mercenary leaped up excitedly and grabbed the first row of bars.
"Kit! Where's Colo? Can you get me out of here?"
For a minute, she couldn't say anything, just stared at Ursa, remembering when she had first met him, entirely by chance, and how, in unexpected ways, he had marked her life. He looked more dead then alive now; so did she, probably. Yet his eyes gleamed at her. Through it all, he'd kept that likeable, roguish aspect.
In other circumstances she would have been drawn to him, far more than to El-Navar. Yet she knew what Lady Mantilla told her was true, and at this moment she hated Ursa with all her heart.
"What's the matter?" he asked when she did not respond immediately. "Did something go wrong?"
Kit leaned her back against one wall, and slid to the ground, exhausted. "Colo is dead," she said simply.
"Dead!" He seemed genuinely shaken. "First Radisson, then El-Navar, Cleverdon, too, I suppose. Now Colo . . ."
"El-Navar isn't dead," she said in a flat tone.
"No?"
"I've seen him. He's in another of these tunnels, changed into a panther. He didn't recognize me. Lady Mantilla said she tried to kill him but couldn't."
"You've seen her then! You've bested her." That old grin of his.
"No," Kit said dully. "She bested me."
"But," said Ursa, bewildered. "You're still alive. How—?" She stood up. "I gave her Beck's sword. That's all she really wanted—the sword that you took from Sir Gwathmey's son . . . and gave to me."
He thought about that for a second. Then Ursa cocked his head and gave a laugh that, in spite of his ragged appearance, bespoke strength. "Good. Now, can you get me out of here?"
She looked at the cell without much enthusiasm. "I can't," she said, "and even if I could, I wouldn't."
"Why not?" he asked, confused again.
"In return for the sword she told me the truth—about you."
"What truth?" he scoffed.
"That you betrayed my father."
His eyes widened. Ursa opened his mouth to say
