them-the villagers, the servants in the keep, the nobles of the baron's court. They deserved a monster, and he would give them one.
'But how?'
He stalked toward the slit of the chamber's lone window. Leaning heavily on the cracked window ledge, he glared at the folk that scurried like rats in the courtyard below.
'If only I could make them know what it is like to be an object of fear, Oratio,' he whispered to a pigeon perched on the ledge. He picked up the bird, stroking the purple feathers of its throat. 'Then I would know justice.'
Perhaps the idea that came to him then was a phantasm of his fevered brain, brought on by the acrid smoke and heat of the fire. Whatever the genesis, Wort suddenly knew what to do.
'The darkling!' he realized. 'Yes, I must go to the dungeon. The darkling will show me the way.' He bared his jagged yellow teeth. 'I will have justice!'
A sharp popping sound echoed off the walls. Startled, Wort looked down at the gory remnants of the pigeon in his hands. Blood matted the iridescent feathers of its limp neck, and its once-bright eyes stared now like dull stones.
'Oratio…' Wort gasped, blinking back burning tears. 'What have I done?'
Peculiar thoughts crept into the turmoil of his brain. Leave the thing, Wort It is far too late now. He dropped the pigeon to the floor. Wort gathered his black cloak around his tortured body. He did not bother to wipe the blood from his hands. Let it mark him. 'Farewell, Oratio,' he whispered grimly.
Wort moved through the dank passageway deep in the bowels of Nartok Keep. The air was oppressive here, as if all the ponderous weight of the fortress pressed down ruthlessly frorrt above. Rancid- smelling torches burned in crude iron sconces at, irregular intervals, giving off more smoke than light. Dark slime dripped down cracked walls to pool on; the stone floor, like ooze from some festering dis- i ease. Screams of agony and moans of suffering echoed in the distance. Wort's bulbous eyes gleamed in the torchlight, flicking nervously left and right. He clutched a small rusted knife, scrounged from beneath the rotting straw that covered the floor of his chamber in the bell tower.
Crude laughter drifted from ahead. Cautiously, Wort edged his way along the wall until he came to an archway that opened into a side chamber. Holding his breath, he peered through. In the small room beyond, three forms clad in shabby blue uniforms crouched on the floor, gathered around a circle drawn in chalk*. Dungeon guards. Shaped like men, their flesh was a sickly green hue. Their bloated heads seemed too large for their bodies, and their eyes glowed like hot coals. Wort had read of such creatures. They were goblyns-pathetic humans who had been transformed by dark magic.
'Darkness grant me luck,' one of the goblyns growled. He shook a wooden cup, and a dozen yellowed knucklebones tumbled into the circle.
'Blast you, Gordek!' another goblyn swore.
'You sold your soul to the cursed darkling, didn't you?' the third hissed accusingly.
'Fools,' Qordek gloated. 'You will never best me at Seven Bones.' He reached to scoop up a pile of coins next to the circle, then froze. One of the knucklebones slithered away. Another followed suit. Suddenly all of the knucklebones started to twitch and scuttle across the floor like living things.
'So that's your secret, is it, Gordek?' one goblyn snarled.
'You're using golem bones to cheat us!' cried the other.
Gordek bared his needle teeth in a grin, then lunged for the coins. With bestial howls, the other two goblyns fell upon him. Green blood flowed as the three tore at each other with fang and claw. Wort took advantage of the distraction. Averting his eyes from the struggle, he scurried past the opening and continued down the corridor. Soon the walls gave way to corroded bars of steel. Chains clinked as shadows stirred in the cells. Scabrous arms reached out, clutching in vain at Wort's cloak as he moved past.
'Help me.' The gasping whispers came from all directions. 'Please, help me.'
'No,' he choked. 'No, I cannot. I… I am sorry.'
Wort hurried on. He glimpsed an iron door at the far end of the passageway, set apart from the other cells. He hobbled to the door. The portal was locked, but in the stone wall beside it was a small opening through which a bowl-or a spear point-might be slid. Awkwardly, Wort knelt on the slimy floor and peered into the opening. Beyond was absolute blackness.
'Vistana,' Wort whispered. 'Vistana, are you in there?'
For a long moment there was no reply. Then a voice like a rusting hinge spoke from beyond.
'Give… me… light.'
Wort backed away from the opening and stood up. A torch guttered in a nearby iron bracket. With a painful effort, he managed to reach the torch. He bent down and slipped it into the hole. Something beyond grabbed the torch and dragged it through.
'Ah, light.. the cracked voice beyond the wall whispered. 'Beautiful, yes. But oh, it hurts so to look upon.'
Wort squinted one bulging eye and peered through the narrow opening. In the wavering light of the torch he could see a cramped, filthy chamber. Black water pooled on the floor, and eyeless insects hung on the walls. Huddled in the room's center, clutching the torch, were the wretched remains of a man. Rags clung wetly to his spiderlike limbs, and his skin was withered and mottled like rotten fruit. His sunken face was twisted into an expression that was part anguish and part weird mirth, while his colorless eyes glowed like moons in the darkness, staring with blind intensity. They were the eyes of one who had gazed too long upon things no man should see. While the goblyns had been frightening, the darkling was a thing of genuine horror. Wort could smell rank corruption radiating from him like the overwhelming stench of a decomposing corpse.
Swallowing hard, Wort dared to speak. 'I have come… I have come to-'
'I know why you have come,' the shriveled man spat, turning his disconcerting gaze toward the opening. 'I am still Vistana. They cast me out for what I have seen, but they cannot change what I am!'
Wort knew it was perilous even to speak to a darkling. It was said their words alone were enough to cast a listener under a spell. All darklings were Vistani-or at least, all had been so at one time. Each had committed some nefarious crime for which the gypsies had branded him an outcast. Cut off from his people, the darkling descended deeper into evil, until he was utterly consumed by it. Though corrupted, darklings retained their Vistana power of gazing into the future. This darkling had been captured by the baron some months ago. Wort had watched from his bell tower as two of Caidin's knights had hauled the wretched Vistana to the iron gate that led to the dungeons.
'If you know why I have come, darkling, then you already know what you're going to tell me.'
'Oh, no, not yet.' The darkling jammed the end of the torch into a crack and scurried on all fours toward the opening. 'For that, I must have your hand.'
Reluctantly, Wort slipped his left hand through the slit. He shuddered as stick-thin fingers brushed his palm.
'Stained with blood, you are,' the darkling hissed. Wort resisted the impulse to pull his hand away. 'Your soul is twisted, as is your body. Only one thing can heal it.'
'Vengeance,' Wort snarled.
The darkling did not reply. It did not matter. That was the one thing Wort already knew.
'Tell me, Vistana,' he demanded. 'How am I to gain my revenge against Caidin and all the others who have despised me?'
The darkling spoke again in a wheedling voice. 'Two leagues east of the village, a path leads northward from the main road. It is overgrown and difficult to see, but you will know it by the old stone watcher that stands nearby. Follow the path until you reach the ruins of an ancient cathedral. Within, you will find the means to gain your vengeance.'
'How will I know what to look for in the cathedral?'
Shrill laughter raised the hair on the back of Wort's thick neck. Quickly he snatched his hand back.
'Oh, you will know.'
The darkling fell silent. Peering again through the crack, Wort saw that the man had crawled to the far wall. He sat now, clasping his gaunt arms about his bony knees.
