'I don't know how I can repay you for your help,' Wort said finally.
The darkling did not answer for a long time. 'Gain your vengeance. That will be payment enough.'
Trembling, Wort backed away from the hole. He gripped his heavy cloak more tightly about himself and hobbled down the passageway-quickly, lest the dungeon's guards discover him.
In the foul cell, the darkling rocked back and forth in the flickering light of the dying torch.
'First the stone, now the bell.' Queer laughter racked his withered body. 'Oh, what dark mayhem I have wrought!'
A memory flitted into the darkling's crazed mind- a memory of all the smooth, lovely necks he had broken with his bare hands. How sweet it was to squeeze and squeeze until finally he felt bones snap… until the others had discovered who it was that was murdering their sons and daughters. They had cast him out, thinking that by doing so he could cause them no more harm. What fools they were!
'Now the stone is free,' he chortled. 'Soon the bell will be, too. Then they will be sorry. Then all the Vistani will be sorry!'
A bloated beetled scuttled across his bare foot. With uncanny swiftness, the darkling snaked out a hand and grabbed the insect. Dark splotches marked its pale carapace, forming the shape of a grinning skull. The insect wriggled violently, then shot a stream of dark liquid from between gnashing mandibles. The fluid struck the floor. It sizzled and smoked, carving a pock mark into the hard stone. The darkling took care not to let any of the fluid touch him. One drop of a skull beetle's venom caused one's flesh to start decomposing, and there was no antidote. In minutes, the victim was reduced to a pile of putrid ooze. Despite their poison, the darkling found skull beetles to be quite… delicious. One by one, he picked off the insect's legs and popped them, still wriggling, into his mouth.
The cold autumn wind whistled mournfully through the tangle of dry witchgrass that grew to either side of the road east of the village. Wort bounced on the bench of a rickety wagon harnessed to a dun-colored donkey. It had been curiously easy to steal the cart and donkey from the keep's livery. The stable- master was called away at just the right moment, and the stableboy was asleep in the hayloft. It was almost as if some unseen hand were guiding Wort. However, now that he had stolen it, convincing the slow-moving donkey to keep up a good pace was not such a simple task.
'Come along, beast,' Wort pleaded, giving the reins a shake. The donkey planted its hooves firmly in the mud, laying back its ears and rolling its eyes. 'Please, beast. We haven't all day.' Wort glanced up at the sky. The sun was invisible behind leaden clouds, but he knew it was past midday. Sighing, he clumsily climbed down from the wagon's bench and picked his way through the mud to stand before the donkey. 'Now, beast,' he said wearily. 'Your legs are stronger than mine. Won't you bear me to the cathedral out of kindness?'
The donkey gave him a flat, sullen stare.
'I didn't think so,' Wort grumbled. He pulled something out of a pocket. 'Then will you do it for an apple?'
The animal's ears perked up as Wort held out a wrinkled fruit. It snuffled the apple briefly, then crunched it to pulp with big, yellow teeth.
'Now, there's more where that came from, beast.' The donkey let out an excited snort. Wort hobbled back to the wagon and clambered onto the bench. 'But first, the cathedral!'
The beast launched into a merry trot. Wort couldn't help but grin. It was a good thing he had stolen the stableboy's lunch as well as the cart.
After a time, the sound of thunder rumbled on the air. Wort glanced up nervously, wondering if it was going to rain. The rumbling drew nearer. Abruptly he realized it was not thunder at all, but the staccato hoofbeats of a horse. Over a low rise, horse and rider came into view. A massive white charger galloped swiftly toward him, mud spraying from its hooves. On the stallion's back rode a man with long golden hair, clad in the blue livery of one of the baron's knights.
'Out of my way, peasant!' the knight ordered in a booming voice. 'I ride with a message for the baron!'
Wort pulled on the reins, trying to veer the donkey to the side of the road. The beast's hooves slipped in the mud, and the wagon slid sideways, blocking the road. Wort cringed as the charger reared onto its hind legs, skidding to a violent halt. The knight glared at Wort.
'I said out of my way, you wretched piece of filth.' Rage contorted the knight's handsome, square- jawed face.
'I… I'm sorry, my lord,' Wort gasped, cowering inside his concealing cloak.
'I did not give you leave to speak!' the knight said imperiously. He drew the saber at his hip and/with casual strength, struck Wort with the flat of the blade. Crying out in pain, Wort tumbled into the mud.
'Let that teach you to heed your betters.'
The knight let out a harsh laugh, then spurred his charger past the wagon. Horse and rider galloped down the road toward Nartok Keep. Struggling to free himself from the tangles of his muddy cloak, Wort hauled himself slowly to his feet. He gripped his throbbing shoulder, staring hatefully after the golden-haired knight.
'Why must those who have everything be so cruel to those who have nothing?' Wort whispered bitterly. The only answer was the low moaning of the wind. He climbed into the wagon, and the craft lurched into motion once more.
Soon the road plunged into a copse of beech and ash trees, their branches already bare with the advent of autumn. A coarse cry from above pierced the still air, and a dark blur flew scant inches over Wort's head. The thing sped by and alighted on a stump. A crow. Wort had the disturbing sensation that it was staring at him. He reined the donkey to a halt. It was not a stump that the bird perched upon, but a statue. Long years of wind and rain had worn it almost beyond recognition, yet something about the statue made Wort think of ancient and neglected majesty.
Wort gasped as moisture trickled like tears from the dark pits of its eyes. The statue's stone arm was moving, beckoning to him. The crow spread its wings, flapping away through the trees. Trembling, Wort tried to calm himself.
'Don't be a fool, Wort,' he muttered. 'Statues can't move. It was a trick of the shadows. That's alh' He forced himself to look again at the statue. This time it did not stir. Then he noticed a faint track leading into the trees.
'Of course, beast,' Wort whispered to the donkey. 'This must be the stone watcher the darkling spoke of.' The animal pricked its long ears. Its nostrils flared, as if it caught some disturbing scent.
'Come along, beast. We have a bargain.'
Reluctantly, the donkey plodded down the overgrown track. Creaking in protest, the wagon rattled behind. The path was deeply rutted, and the trees closed in threateningly from either side. It looked as if no one had come this way in years. Wort tried not to wonder why.
The air was growing thick and purple as the barren trees gave way and the cathedral at last hove into view. The structure looked as if it had been abandoned centuries earlier. One wall had collapsed into dark rubble, and much of the roof had fallen in, leaving spindly stone buttresses to curve overhead, like the exposed ribs of some gigantic rotting beast. Grotesque stone gargoyles leered down from high ledges, water dribbling like dark saliva from their rain-spout mouths. Wort guided the wagon through the dim archway that led into the cathedral, its doors long ago reduced to splinters. The donkey pranced skittishly as the wagon ground to a halt. Wort climbed down.
Outside, the westering sun had broken through the dark clouds on the horizon. Now its light streamed through intricate stained-glass windows that were oddly intact. The radiance fell upon the floor like a scattering of fiery jewels. Here and there, nettles pushed up through piles of rubble, and more beast- faced gargoyles grinned down at Wort from high ledges. Their dull stone eyes seemed to follow him disconcertingly wherever he moved. He shivered, trying his best to ignore them as he cautiously began exploring the ruin.
'How am I to search for something when I don't even know what it is?' he muttered in exasperation.
The gloomy atmosphere seemed to stifle his words. He came to a pile of rocks near one crumbling wall. Atop the heap, leaning at a precarious angle, was a horned gargoyle hewn of dark stone. With no better idea of what to do, Wort picked through the jumble of rocks. He pulled a stone from the pile, then heaved it down in disgust. This was futile.
Motion above caught his eye. He jerked his head up, his eyes bulging in fear. The stone gargoyle atop the pile
