“I am alone, as you see,” said the woman.
Both men turned to face her. Both were at a loss for words, for they had never seen a woman quite like her. First and foremost, she was dressed like a man in black leather pants, a black leather vest over a long-sleeved red shirt, and black boots. She wore a sword and looked as though she was accustomed to wearing a sword and was probably skilled in its use. Her black curly hair was cut short. She faced them boldly, like a man, not demurely, like a woman. She stood staring at them, hands on her hips. No curtseying or shy lowering of the eyes.
“We are here to meet Sir Uth Matar, Madame,” Derek said, frowning.
“He would have come tonight,” said the woman, “but he couldn’t make it.”
“He has been detained?” asked Derek.
“Permanently,” the woman said, her crooked smile broadening. “He’s dead.”
She pulled off her gloves and threw them on the table, then sat down languidly in a chair and gestured. “Please, gentlemen, be seated. I’ll send for wine—”
“We are not here to carouse, Madame,” said Derek stiffly. “We have been brought here under false pretenses, it seems. I bid you good-night.”
He made a cold bow and turned on his heel. Brian was already at the door. He had been opposed to this from the beginning, and he did not trust this strange woman.
“Lord Gunthar’s man is due to meet me here at the hour of moonrise,” said the woman. Lifting a soft and supple glove, she smoothed the leather with her hand. “He is interested in hearing about what I have to offer.”
“Derek, let’s go,” said Brian.
Derek made a gesture, turned back.
“What do you have to offer, Madame?”
“Sit down, Sir Derek, and drink with me,” said the woman. “We have time. The moon will not rise for an hour yet.”
She hooked a chair with her foot and kicked it toward him.
Derek’s lips tightened. He was accustomed to being treated with deference, not addressed in such a free and easy manner. Gripping his sword’s hilt, he remained standing and regarded the woman with a grim countenance.
“I will listen to what you have to say, but I drink only with friends. Brian, watch the door. Who are you, Madame?”
The woman smiled. “My name is Kitiara Uth Matar. My father was a Solamnic Knight—”
“Gregor Uth Matar,” exclaimed Brian, recollecting where he’d heard the name. “He was a knight—a valorous one, as I recall.”
“He was cast out of the knighthood in disgrace,” said Derek, frowning. “I do not recall the circumstances, yet I seem to remember it had something to do with a woman.”
“Probably,” replied Kitiara. “My father could never leave the ladies alone. Yet for all that, he loved the knighthood and he loved Solamnia. He died not long ago, fighting the dragonarmies in the battle of Solanthus. It is because of him—because of his memory—that I am here.”
“Go on,” said Derek.
“My line of work takes me to the very best houses in Palanthas.” Lifting her booted feet, Kitiara placed them on the chair in front of her and leaned back, quite at her ease. “To be honest with you gentlemen, I am not exactly invited into these houses, nor do I enter them to search for information which might help your cause in the war against the dragonarmies. However, sometimes, while looking for such items that are of value to me, I stumble across information which I think may be of value to others.”
“In other words,” said Derek coldly, “you are a thief.”
Kitiara grinned and shrugged, then reached into a bag on the table and brought forth a nondescript wooden scroll case. Removing the lid, she drew out a piece of rolled paper and held it in her hand.
“This is such an item,” she said. “I believe it will be quite helpful to the war effort. I may be a bad person,” she added modestly, “but, like my father, I’m a good Solamnic.”
Derek rose to his feet. “You waste your time, Madame. I do not traffic in stolen goods—”
Kitiara smiled wryly. “Of course, you don’t, Sir Derek, so let’s assume, as the kender say, that I ‘found’ it. I discovered it lying in the street in front of the house of a well known Black Robe. The Palanthian authorities have long been watching him, since they suspect he is in league with our enemies. They were going to force him to leave the city, but he forestalled them. Hearing rumors that he was to be run out of town, he left on his own. After I heard of his hasty departure, I decided to enter his house to see if he had left behind anything of value.
“He did. He left this.” The woman placed the scroll on the table. “You can see the end is charred. He burned a large number of papers prior to his departure. Unfortunately he didn’t have time to insure that they were consumed.”
She unfurled the scroll and held it to the light. “Since I assume you gentlemen are not the sort to buy a pig in a poke, I will read you a portion of it. The missive is a letter addressed to a person who resides in Neraka. I assume, from the tone of the letter, this person is a fellow Black Robe. The interesting part reads, ‘Due to Verminaard’s ineptness, I feared for a time that our enemies had discovered our greatest secret, one that would encompass our downfall. You know that dread object of which I speak. If the forces of Light were ever to find out that the blank were not destroyed in the Cataclysm, but that the blank still exist, and furthermore, that one is in the possession of blank, the knights would move heaven and the Abyss to lay their hands on the prize.’”
Kitiara rolled up the parchment and smiled charmingly at Derek. “What do you think of that, Sir Knight?”
“I think it is useless,” said Derek, “since he does not name the object, nor does he say where it may be found.”
“Oh, but he does,” said the woman. “I was the one who did not.” She tapped the piece of parchment on her pointed chin. “The name of the object is written here and also the name of the person who has it in his possession. One hundred steel buys this letter.”
Derek regarded her grimly. “You ask payment for it. I thought you said you were a good Solamnic.”
“Not that good,” Kitiara replied with a grin and a twitch of her eyebrow. “A girl has to eat.”
“I am not interested,” said Derek shortly. He rose to his feet and started walking toward the door. Brian was already there. He had his hand on the handle and was about to open it.
“Now that surprises me,” said the woman. She shifted her feet on the chair to a more comfortable position. “You are locked in a bitter struggle with Lord Gunthar for the position of Grand Master. If you were to recover this prize and bring it back, I guarantee that every knight in the Council would back you. If, on the other hand, Lord Gunthar’s man is the one to find this…”
Derek halted in midstep. His fingers clenched and unclenched on his sword’s hilt. His face was set in grim lines. Brian saw his friend seriously considering this, and he was appalled.
“Derek,” Brian said in a low voice, “we have no idea whether or not this letter is genuine. She could be making all this up. We should at least do some investigating, go to the authorities, find out if this tale of hers is true—”
“And, in the meantime, Gunthar will buy the letter.”
“So what if he does?” Brian demanded. “If there is truth in this letter, the Knighthood will benefit—”
“Gunthar will benefit,” Derek countered.
He reached for his purse.
Brian sighed and shook his head.
“Here is your one hundred steel, Madame,” said Derek. “I warn you. My reach is long. If you have cheated me, I will not rest until I have hunted you down.”
“I understand, Sir Derek,” said the woman quietly. She took the bag of steel coins and thrust it in her belt. “You see? I don’t even bother to count it. I trust you, Sir Knight, and you are right to trust me.”
She placed the paper in his hand. “You will not be disappointed, I assure you. I bid you gentlemen a good evening.”
She gave them her crooked smile and raised her hand in farewell. Pausing in the doorway, she said, “Oh, when Lord Gunthar’s man arrives, tell him he’s too late.”