"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.
"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?"