Your Grace. I imagine they must despise you as well.'
Nimbly, the gnome scrambled away before Caidin could wring his purple neck.
Wort peered through the iron grating high in the belfry. In the courtyard below, a cold, drizzling rain fell on a crowd gathered in front of the scaffold. Kneeling before the bloodstained block was a man with long golden hair.
'You must believe me!' the knight cried out. A slash of crimson paint marked his blue uniform-the sign of a condemned murderer. 'I am innocent!' The half-moon blade rose slowly into the air above him.
A chorus of jeers and hisses came from the throng. All knew the charge. The bloody glove of the murdered castellan had been found in the knight's saddlebag. It was more than enough to prove his guilt. 'Murderer!' they shouted as they hurled handfuls of mud at the knight. 'Beast!' Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the rain and dirt.
In the bell tower above, Wort whispered in satisfaction, 'Now you know what it is like to be reviled, my good, handsome knight. Just like me.' He turned and hurried to the ropes dangling from the rafters above.
A moment later he heard the sound of a blade cleaving bone and gristle before biting deep into wood. Wort pulled on the ropes. The bells rang out in their glorious voices, tolling a dirge for the newly dead man. Except for the one bell-which remained silent.
'Don't you worry, my friends,' Wort whispered to the pigeons that fluttered all about. 'I will ring it again soon enough.'
Dark mirth bubbled out of him as the bells tolled their dire music.
РART II
Eight
Rain.
It lashed against the pockmarked walls of Nartok Keep, beating down in its gradual, ceaseless, and inexorable drive to wear away the ancient stones. Again and again, livid green forks of lightning pierced the jet- black night sky. Thunder rumbled mournfully in the wake of the violent flashes, shaking the very bones of the fortress. It was as if the elements sought to tear down this vast construction men had raised in their arrogance. High on a wall, Wort edged his way along a narrow ledge fifty feet above the dark abyss of the courtyard. He pressed his body close to the wall, his fingers scrabbling against rain-slick stone in a vain effort to find handholds. His cloak clung to his skin, drenched and heavy with rain. Howling gusts of wind buffeted him as he inched along the precarious ledge. More than once the crumbling stone gave way beneath him, nearly sending him plummeting before he caught himself.
'Almost there, my friends,' he whispered through clenched teeth. 'Almost there.'
At last Wort reached the glowing square of a window. An overhanging stone arch afforded some protection from the wrath of the storm. He huddled on the sill and peered through the window's diamond- shaped panes of beveled glass. Inside was a chamber bathed in warm candlelight, decorated in rose-pink silk and peacock-blue velvet. A lady's room. She sat at a gilded dressing table, gazing into a glass mirror. Even from behind, Wort could see that she was very beautiful. The lady wore only a gauzy night robe that left bare the creamy skin of her shoulders. With smooth strokes she drew an ivory- handled brush through thick, cinnamon-colored hair. After a moment the woman set down the brush and stood. As she did, he caught a glimpse of her fine- featured face in the mirror.
Wort rubbed his gnarled hands together gleefully. He had come to the right window. He knew the lady.' Often of late, when gazing down from his belfry, he had seen her draped over the arm of Baron Caidin as the two strolled through the courtyard below. Her name was Sabrinda. The Contessa Sabrinda. All in the keep knew her to be Caidin's favorite lover, at least for the time being.
As it had with growing frequency, a dry voice whispered in his mind. Excellent, Wort. This is just the one you need… one who is close to your loathsome brother. A brief shudder of pleasure coursed through his body, then receded.
The contessa approached a mahogany wardrobe. She opened the wardrobe's doors and ran her hands sensually over the silken gowns within. She selected,one of crimson and draped it over the back of a chair to be ready for the morning. Stretching her arms languorously, she gave a delicate yawn.
'That's it, my sweet,' Wort hummed like a lullaby. 'Go to sleep now. It is late.'
The contessa climbed into a bed draped with sheer curtains, then snuffed out the candles on the night- stand. Darkness stole into the room on padded feet. Wort crouched on the cold windowsill as the storm raged on, waiting for the contessa to fall asleep. It was midnight when he pushed gently against the window. It swung silently open. Wort crept inside accompanied by a gust of rain. Quickly he shut the window, then paused. After a moment he heard it- the soft sound of deep, even breathing. Navigating by chaotic flashes of lightning, he lumbered across the chamber toward the contessa's dressing table.
What to take? he wondered. He supposed it did not matter, as long as it belonged to her. Picking up the ivory brush, he pulled off several long strands of red-brown hair. He wound them into a small lock and tucked it carefully in a pocket. He turned to hobble back toward the open window.
Something stirred softly behind him.
'Caidin?' a voice asked dreamily.
Panic jabbed at Wort's brain. In dread, he turned around. Behind the gauzy curtains that covered the bed the contessa stretched sleepily.
'Caidin, my love-is that you?'
Almost without thinking, he spoke in a low, husky voice. 'Yes, love.' He winced, waiting for her to cry out in alarm. She did not.
'Come to me, Caidin,' she whispered, eyes closed. 'Touch me.'
Slowly he reached out a hand. Through the sheer silk he stroked her shoulder gently with a gnarled finger.
'Mmm…' she murmured drowsily.
After a moment her breathing slowed as she descended into sleep once more. Wort shuddered in relief. A giddy thought crossed his mind. In the dark- i ness we are no different, my brother! He turned to j make his escape before she woke again. i
He froze at the rattling of a doorknob. The cham- ber door was opening! There was no time to think. Wort saw that the mahogany wardrobe was ajar. Hastily he plunged inside, concealing himself behind perfumed gowns. He watched through a hazy curtain of lace and brocade as a broad-shouldered man holding a single candle slipped into the chamber. Wort's lip curled back from his yellow teeth. Baron Caidin blew out the candle and pushed past the sheer curtains into the contessa's bed. Soon soft sounds of pleasure drifted across the room. Wort did not dare attempt to creep to the window. Caidin would surely hear his footsteps. He could only hope the baron would eventually leave after the contessa fell asleep once more. Wort leaned against the back of the wardrobe to wait.
The wooden panel behind him gave way. Wort barely stifled a cry as he rolled backward through the opening. Struggling to right himself, he felt rough stone all around him. He was in some sort of tunnel. Realization dawned on him. This must be one of the secret passages that, from his explorations, he knew riddled Nartok Keep, many long forgotten. He wondered if the contessa even knew of its existence. Probably not, he decided. Thick cobwebs hung across the entrance, suggesting no one had come this way in years. There was no telling where the secret passage led, but Wort decided he had to find out.
