"No," cooed Lady Mantilla, reading her thoughts, "not a lie. Too terrible a truth to be a lie, don't you think? Ursa's men surrounded your father, bound him in leather straps, and delivered him to the other side. Ursa took twice the purse your father had agreed to, apportioned it among the conspirators, and then they split up. Your father was led in chains to the dungeon to await his beheading. What a coincidence that his daughter would turn out to be partnered with his traitor!"

Again Lady Mantilla tilted her head back and let go with screeching laughter. The cackling went on for several minutes before, strangely, it disintegrated into choked sobs.

Kit's head reeled. She clenched her fists and buried her face in them. As she turned away from the lady, a tremor went through her body. She dropped Beck's sword.

A rustling made her look up. Lady Mantilla, her face changed, her composure almost placid, had stood. She was pointing toward the door behind the tapestry where Colo had entered.

There was a moment of silence.

Kitiara made a quick movement and kicked Beck's sword, which lay at her feet, over to her captor. Lady Mantilla stooped to clutch it fervently. As she did. Kit heard a sibilance-the release of the force field. She dashed toward the tapestry door.

Behind her, Lady Mantilla, a strangely serene smile on her face, sat down again, fondling the sword of her beloved.

Kit bounded down the steps, only to come face to face with Ursa, who was squatting at the far end of his cell. The mercenary leaped up excitedly and grabbed the first row of bars.

"Kit! Where's Colo? Can you get me out of here?"

For a minute, she couldn't say anything, just stared at Ursa, remembering when she had first met him, entirely by chance, and how, in unexpected ways, he had marked her life. He looked more dead then alive now; so did she, probably. Yet his eyes gleamed at her. Through it all, he'd kept that likeable, roguish aspect.

In other circumstances she would have been drawn to him, far more than to El-Navar. Yet she knew what Lady Mantilla told her was true, and at this moment she hated Ursa with all her heart.

"What's the matter?" he asked when she did not respond immediately. "Did something go wrong?"

Kit leaned her back against one wall, and slid to the ground, exhausted. "Colo is dead," she said simply.

"Dead!" He seemed genuinely shaken. "First Radisson, then El-Navar, Cleverdon, too, I suppose. Now Colo…"

"El-Navar isn't dead," she said in a flat tone.

"No?"

"I've seen him. He's in another of these tunnels, changed into a panther. He didn't recognize me. Lady Mantilla said she tried to kill him but couldn't."

"You've seen her then! You've bested her." That old grin of his.

"No," Kit said dully. "She bested me."

"But," said Ursa, bewildered. "You're still alive. How-?"

She stood up. "I gave her Beck's sword. That's all she really wanted-the sword that you took from Sir Gwathmey's son… and gave to me."

He thought about that for a second. Then Ursa cocked his head and gave a laugh that, in spite of his ragged appearance, bespoke strength. "Good. Now, can you get me out of here?"

She looked at the cell without much enthusiasm. "I can't," she said, "and even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Why not?" he asked, confused again.

"In return for the sword she told me the truth-about you."

"What truth?" he scoffed.

"That you betrayed my father."

His eyes widened. Ursa opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He turned, walked back to the wall, scuffed at something, and returned to the bars. His face had hardened, become wary.

"You believe that, I suppose," he tried.

"Shouldn't I?"

He shook the bars desperately, to no avail, and a craven note crept into his voice. "You've got to get me out of here, Kit," he pleaded. "You've got to help me. You can find a way."

"I want to know this. Why did you do it? Why?"

His eyes rolled. "Don't be naive, Kit," he said dismissively. "It was business. Business! It was money. It had nothing to do with your father. I happen to have liked your father."

"You were his friend!"

He shrugged and put on a smile. "Not much of one."

She glared at him. "You led him to his death."

"But he didn't die!" Ursa protested. "He was condemned to die, yes, a month and a day after he was seized, but I put aside some money for the jailer. I'm certain he got away."

"Another one of your lies."

"I didn't wait around to find out," he said stubbornly. "I can tell you that, not only had I turned on him, but some of his men had to be put to the sword. But Gregor didn't die, I'm sure of that. Not Gregor. He always had the luck of a kender."

"You expect me to believe that, after you admit you betrayed him?"

"I didn't betray you," he argued. "I didn't betray you. I was beaten, starved, but I didn't tell her your name. I didn't tell her that you were in on it."

"Pah!" she spat. "You didn't tell her because you wanted to save your own skin. If she knew who I was, she wouldn't have had any further use for you. She would have killed you instantly. You would betray anyone."

"Not you," he said, his voice cracking.

In the circular room of the high tower, Luz Mantilla sat in her chair and gazed upon the painting of herself in a faraway place and time. She held the sword of Beck Gwathmey, whom she had loved, and lifted its blade high in the air, turning it and examining it in the cone of pale light. She had forgotten all about Kitiara and El-Navar and Ursa and all the rest-about everybody and everything. She only thought about Beck, dead, gone these many years, waiting for her. Somewhere.

She clasped the hilt and turned the blade around until it was slanted down. Then, with a joy that she had not felt for a long time, Luz Mantilla drove the point into her heart.

Kit was staring at Ursa with hate-filled eyes when a low rumble shook the stone corridor. The first row of bars to his cell vanished before her eyes, and the innermost door clicked open.

Kit blinked. Ursa, too, was slow to react.

Kit's eyes went to the sword that Colo had left for him, but Ursa was closer than she and had already bent to grab it. Now he stepped through the door and over the line where the bars had been.

Kit took a step back.

"Get in," he said, waving the sword toward the cell.

She didn't move. "How will you lock it?" Kitiara asked scornfully.

That gave Ursa pause. He scratched his head. "I guess I'll have to kill you," he said matter-of-factly.

He rushed her, but Kit was a better fighter than when they had first met, when she was but a girl. She grabbed his wrist and kicked upward, cracking his arm. As weak as he was, he slammed her backward, each of them struggling for control of the sword. His face was up against hers, but it was the face of Gregor Uth Matar that swam before Kit's eyes. She felt a surge of adrenalin.

"Just like before!" Ursa tried to joke as Kit jerked the sword away from him and slammed him across the face with her elbow. He fell on his back, off-balance, and looked up at her in amazement-just in time to see Kit lodge the sword in his chest.

He tried to stand, but collapsed onto his side. With his free arm, Ursa reached up to Kit, fell back, and died.

For long seconds, Kitiara looked at him, feeling revulsion yet also some pity. She could not bring herself to yank out the sword. Weaponless, she ran back down the tunnel.