his life.'
After Karin finished, silence reigned for a spell. At last, Mika managed to ask the question whose answer she feared to learn. 'What… what became of this bell?' 'The bell's history is long and tangled,' Varith replied in a voice like a crow's. 'Eventually it came to lie in a cathedral, a cathedral whose ruins yet stand in the forest east of here.' Riandra placed a motherly hand on Mika's shoulder. 'Tell us, child. You have seen something in the bell tower, something that stirs fear in your heart even now. What was it?' Mika could barely speak for her trembling. 'I saw him. I saw Wort in the belfry. He had rung one of his bells, and he… he was talking to… them.' 'Who, child? You must tell us!' Mika drew in a ragged breath. 'Three dark spirits…' As one, the three Vistani nodded grimly.
Sixteen
Baron Caidin paced the length of the Grand Hall, his thumb stroking the darkly mottled Soulstone. The stone was now filled with the life-forces of over a hundred villagers. It was ready-and in two days the tower would be ready as well. Then at last it would be time to set his plans in motion.
He paused to pour himself a glass of wine, setting the stone down on an ornately carved table. Suddenly a faint spark of emerald light sizzled around the stone and plunged into the wooden surface of the table. The table shook, scuttling a few inches across the marble floor before becoming still. Caidin snatched up the stone.
'I had better be more careful,' he whispered in fascination. 'The stone is so full it is nearly overflowing.'
He slipped the stone into a pocket. Abruptly the gilded doors of the Grand Hall flew open. Caidin spun on a heel. Surprise played across his regal visage, followed by smug awareness.
'My lady,' he said with a white-toothed smile.
Even in her woolen dress of drab gray, the golden- haired doctor looked radiant. 'Your Grace,' Mika said breathlessly, rushing toward him. 'I must talk to you.'
Interest flickered in Caidin's green eyes. 'My lady, it is dangerous for you to have come here.'
She shook her head fiercely. 'I know it wasn't you who committed the murders, Your Grace. That's why I came.' She took a deep breath. 'I… I think I know a way for you to prove your innocence.'
Caidin raised a dark eyebrow. This was a curious turn of events. He reached out and took her hands. 'Tell me, my lady.'
Abruptly she pulled away, showing her back to him. 'First… first you must promise me something, Your Grace.' Her shoulders were trembling.
The baron stroked his oiled beard. Was the naive doctor actually attempting to weave some little web of intrigue? Very well, he would play along with her little charade. 'You have only to ask it, my lady,' he said gravely.
Slowly she turned around, her gaze intent. 'Then swear to this, Your Grace. Mo matter what I tell you, you will do nothing to harm Wort.'
Caidin clenched his teeth to keep from cursing aloud the bastard's name. Evidently the doctor still pitied the wretched hunchback. Her expression was resolute. It was clear she would say nothing more without his promise.
'On my honor as a baron, I swear it, my lady,' he lied with perfect conviction.
She nodded. 'This morning, three Vistani came to visit me…'
With growing interest, Caidin listened as Mika explained what the gypsies had revealed to her. At last she fell silent, her face pale.
'What… what are you going to do, Your Grace?' she asked finally.
'This,' he replied. He drew her in close to his lean body and pressed his lips burningly against hers. Only for a fraction of a second did she resist, and then he knew that his corruption of the good doctor was almost complete. He swept her into his strong arms. She clung to him desperately, trembling like a small animal, as he bore her from the Grand Hall to his private chamber.
Later, as twilight gathered its purple mantle around the keep, Caidin sprawled among the tangled silk sheets of his bed. He held a crystal wine goblet upon his chest, its base cool against his bare skin. After hours in his embrace, Mika had left at last to return to the village before sundown. He pondered again what the doctor had told him. A bell that killed whenever it was rung-a fascinating relic, and Wort had been putting it to devious use. Now Caidin would use it against Wort. All these years he had not dared to kill his brother for fear that the Old Baron's secret would be revealed. Now, however, he could expose Wort as the fiend behind all the recent gruesome murders, and the folk of Nartok would kill the hunchback themselves. The Old Baron's secret would die with him.
'At last I'll be rid of you, Wort,' Caidin crooned. He hurled the empty glass at the far wall, it struck a tapestry, then fell, shattering with a brilliant sound.
'Ouch!' came a muffled voice from behind the tapestry. 'That hurt, Your Grace!'
Behind the weaving a strange lump slid to the floor, landing with a thump! A small purple form crawled from beneath the bottom edge of the tapestry on all spindly fours.
'Pock!' Caidin growled in annoyance.
'Your Grace!' Pock scrambled to his feet to offer a sweeping bow.
'Have you been spying on me again, you little maggot?'
'Of course not, Your Grace!' The gnome's pale eyes grew as big as saucers in a less-than-convinc- ing display of innocence. 'I didn't see a thing, I swear. I only just arrived through the secret passage. The Lady Jadis is on her way to your chamber. I thought you might like to know.'
Caidin swallowed his annoyance. 'Strange as it may seem, you are correct, Pock. You may go now.'
'You're welcome, Your Grace!' Pock slipped nimbly behind the tapestry. 'By the way,' the gnome's muffled voice came from behind the thick cloth. 'Did you know that you look like a cross-eyed werefish when you pucker up for a kiss?'
This time a heavy bronze urn struck the far wall, but the shape behind the tapestry had already disappeared into the secret passage. Caidin did his best to forget the impudent little gnome. He needed to have a cool head when he faced Jadis.
Rolling out of the tousled bed, he pulled on a pair of tight-fitting buckskin breeches. Caidin knew well enough that Jadis had learned about his troop of zombies building the tower on the moor. Even Pock was not dim-witted enough to drink the cask of wine Jadis had left outside his door. Given the gnome's considerable experience with the sodden condition, it had been simple for him to feign drunkenness. Then Pock had followed Jadis to the cemetery and the tower.
'She is crafty, Your Grace, this pretty little kitten,' Pock had reported afterward with a lascivious grin.
'That 'pretty little kitten' is a werepanther, Pock,' Caidin had replied flatly. 'She could gut you with once swipe of her paw.'
'I know!' the gnome had said excitedly. 'Isn't she marvelous, Your Grace?'
Caidin reached for a shirt to pull over his bare torso, then paused. Why not let his appearance disarm her? The baron knew well that there were few- if any-men in the realm of Darkon handsomer than himself. He dropped the shirt.)
A soft rap came at the chamber's door. Caidin moved toward the portal. As he did, he glimpsed a reflection of himself in one of the chamber's windows. The glass was ancient and warped, its surface flawed with imperfections, and the reflection gazing back at him seemed hideously distorted. One side of his torso was squat and compressed, the other stretched out to bizarre proportions. Worst of all was his face, a twisted mockery that looked more like one of the grotesque masks the villagers wore for the Festival of the Dead than any human visage.
The knock came again, moire insistent this time. Shuddering, Caidin managed to break himself away from the strange image of himself in the glass. It was only a reflection. There was no threat in it. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.
The Lady Jadis gazed speculatively at his naked chest. 'Have I come at an inconvenient time, Your Grace?'
He smiled broadly. 'Not at all, my lady. Won't you come in?'
With a murmur of acceptance and a whisper of golden silk, she stepped into the chamber. Caidin poured
