If Kit recognized the Karnuthian in his panther form, El-Navar showed no recollection of her. As soon as the velvet drapery was lifted, the animal leaped against the bars, baring sharp teeth as big and white as candlesticks. Its eyes were blazing. Its coat had a wild sheen. Foam lined its mouth.

Actually, there were two sets of bars, one inside the other, which gave Kit the advantage of trying the outer bars without getting her arm chewed off. Made of some thick cane, the bars did not budge and only yielded chips to her sharp-edged blade.

Again the panther, screaming its rage, hurled itself against the interior bars. Even at the distance of several feet, Kit could feel the hotness of its breath. She was so startled by the attack that she fell back. The powerful animal paced back and forth in frustration, eyeing her, swishing its long, elegant tail.

Could this really be the alluring Karnuthian with whom she had first made love? For long minutes she stared at the cat, reflecting on that seemingly long-ago time.

If only Raistlin were here, he would have an idea what to do, Kitiara thought to herself.

Even as she thought of Raistlin, her eyes drifted to the left, where the steep winding steps led upward. With a sympathetic backward glance at El-Navar-who was still pacing furiously in the wooden cage-she began the climb.

"Come in," a voice said. "I've been expecting you."

Kitiara pushed the door open wider and stepped boldly into the room.

She was in a large circular hall at the top of the only tower of Castle Mantilla that had remained intact through the years of madness. Kit could not see much around the perimeter-the room was dark with only a small number of windows, which were curtained. In any case, it must have been night outside.

In the center of the room, in a straight-backed chair under a cone of pale light, whose source Kit could not discern, sat Lady Mantilla. Although Kit could see the woman plainly, she wondered if her foe could mark her, in the shadows, as easily.

Formally arrayed behind Lady Mantilla were the vaunted Iron Guard-four of them, to be precise. They were garbed from head to toe in heavy armor, with mere slits for eyes, nose, and mouth. Each held a jeweled sword. They stood almost ceremonially, as still as statues. Indeed, Kit wondered if they could move at all.

Sitting to one side, on a faded throne, was a stout mage whose vermilion cloak concealed his features. He also did not move, but seemed to stare at Kitiara reproachfully. As she moved into the room, Kit tried to keep him in her line of vision, wary of his magic.

The room was preternaturally cold and dry. When Kitiara took a step, the sound crackled across the space.

"Come in, I say," cackled the voice. "Time is short. Your time is certainly short, at any rate. You'll be dead soon enough."

Her hair was long and white, the tendrils knotted and ratted, cascading over her shoulders and almost down to the ground. She had pink eyes and deathly pale, bluish skin, except for bright, rosy cheeks. Luz Mantilla couldn't have been much older than Kitiara, but she gave the impression of an ancient sea hag.

The Lady-for that was the name by which her servants knew her-was dressed in a white lace gown that was ripped and torn, with one sleeve missing entirely. It was, or would have been, Kit realized, her matrimonial gown. She gripped the armrests of her chair tightly as she leaned forward, staring hard at Kitiara.

Kit had remained along the perimeter, beginning to circle the room and take stock of its defenses. The room may have been splendid once. Now it was disgusting, layered with dirt and grime and excrement.

Black velvet covered the walls and furniture, adding to the dark atmosphere. In one corner stood a four-poster, neatly made up, albeit dusty and cobwebbed and perhaps never slept in. A glance above her told Kit that the ceiling of slate and timber was in an advanced stage of rot.

The walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings and once-grand tapestries in faded oranges and purples. Glancing at one of these works, that of a moon-faced maiden sitting at the foot of a regal gentleman, Kitiara found herself looking at Lady Mantilla as a young innocent, before she had been ravaged by time and tragedy, and probably by dark magic.

"Yes," said the voice that fluttered out of the decrepit woman's mouth, "that is I. Then." With a wave of her hand she indicated the painting that Kit had been staring at. "My father, too-" her voice suddenly dripped contempt "-before I killed him, of course. He was my first victim. He was behind the whole nasty business, you know. He thought he knew what was best for me. I had revenge on him for the sake of my beloved."

She leaned on the chair and peered at Kit.

Kit stopped circling and took a step toward the woman, trying to get a closer look, while at the same time angling nearer to the stout mage, who seemed to regard her with stony, hate-filled eyes.

"Before he died," Lady Mantilla continued in a bored voice, "my father was good enough to tell me that Radisson's brother had set up the, uh, episode that resulted in the death of my-" here her voice faltered "-my beloved. That one died rather abruptly. I would have preferred to let him suffer a little more. Of course I was a novice in these matters at that time."

She tilted her head back and gave a long, trilling laugh that would not have been out of place at a royal costume ball, save that it was tinged with madness.

Kit wondered what she ought to do. She didn't think she could defeat four of the Iron Guard, plus the mage and the crazy woman, yet it was too late to go back and get Colo. And strangely, no one had made a move toward her. She was edging imperceptibly-or so she hoped-toward the mage, who sat there, cloaked and hooded, inscrutable.

"It was easy to connect Radisson to his brother, but it took a little longer than I hoped to track Radisson himself down. I got lucky. He was with the panther-man. El-Navar, I believe is his name?"

Kit controlled her voice. "Why didn't you kill El-Navar, as you did Radisson?"

The lady's brows furrowed. "I'm very upset about that. That the strange man could turn himself into a panther was something I didn't anticipate. In that form he is evidently protected by some ward, and I cannot communicate with him. Or kill him. Believe me, I tried. I tried! I've got the obnoxious beast caged underground. I'm still deciding what to do about the nuisance."

Kit had maneuvered close enough to the mage so that she was able to act, bringing her sword up in a swift arc and, in a flash, down again. She severed the man's right hand, which fell to the floor. Yet no blood flowed from the limb and, incredibly enough, the mage did not even move a muscle, did not so much as wince.

Lady Mantilla shrieked with laughter. "Oh, my dear," she cackled, "you have been worrying about that idiot mage. He is number seventy-three, the latest of those who have been employed to assist me. I killed this one days ago, as I have killed them all for their failures and artifice. After a while I pick up their tricks, and they bore me with their airs."

Kit held herself in a guarded stance, wondering if she looked as silly and confused as she felt.

The Lady's voice shifted into a lower, baritone register. Despite the ominous tone, there was a hint of anguish. "You don't know what it's like," Luz Mantilla said to Kit, "to lose someone you love. To dream your life with someone else, and to lose that dream. To be left alone. All alone. Alone!" She gave up any pretense, and sobbed with her head in her hands.

Kit studied the quartet of armored guards who stood behind the lady. She could not make out their eyes or any other indication of their humanity. Through their narrow slits they seemed to regard her coldly. Were they also dead, like the mage, or simply empty shells of metal?