Villains by Necessity (16 page)

The cavernous pit belched forth fire, and the heat wave blasted into them as they turned and ran after Valeriana. From behind came the continuing echoing screams and the sounds of a cavern partially collapsing.

"An' what did you have to go an' piss him off for?" demanded Arcie, when they finally caught up with Valeriana halfway down the mountain. She was inspecting the sheet of notes, with Bhazo's words hastily copied down.

"She didn't want to lose her amulet, I'll wager," retorted Sam. Kaylana and Blackmail were looking up the mountainside, to where puffs of smoke could be seen in the dim evening light and screams still faintly heard.

"Of course not. What do you think I am, mad?" replied the sorceress, calmly rolling her priceless scrap of notes into a scrollcase.

They collected Robin, who was full of questions, but his eagerness made them suspicious, and they told him nothing, preferring to play mysterious for now. The group neared the end of the pass just as dawn was starting to coat the sky in shades of pink and lilac. Valeriana looked up and frowned, drawing her hood up over her face. "It gets worse," she said to them. "Already the very nature of the world shows signs of the influx of Light.

The problem is escalating ... we must open the Gate soon, or else it will be too late."

They proceeded in silence out of the pass, having seen nothing in their crossing other than a few animals and the long-dead remains of campfires of the notorious Ruddyleg bandits of the area, now long gone.

Far away and above, a smoking, screaming crack in the side of the mountain fell silent. No one was there to hear, but had someone been, he would have heard a soft dry sound, like a chuckle, and a voice, hoarse with shouting, say, "I knew that would happen..."

The Verdant Company was a group of past heroes and adventurers who had found kinship in their love of combating evil. The longest-standing members had been Fenwick's companions in his youth. Then those had persuaded their friends to join, and, as the Company grew it had attracted young hopefuls, who, if they proved worthy, would be admitted. Now the Company numbered some one hundred fifty-a minor army of elite archers, warriors, white wizards, and a few priests. They were arguably the best small fighting force still in existence in these peaceful times. Their numbers had been diminished, true, in the wars with the Nathauan and rock trolls, as well as one or two evil dragons, but there were plenty of eager replacements. The members lived civilian lives in the city of Glinabar, the capital city of Trois. But when the green flag flew above the signal tower at Clairlune Castle, they would pick up their weapons, don their armor, and gather at the fortified stone castle tucked into the shelter of the wooded hills. It was here that Fenwick himself addressed them now.

The Prince stood on the low balcony, dressed in shining chain-mail over his deep green tunic and leggings. His traditional woodsman's hat sported a new bright golden sun-pheasant feather. His brave eyes burned with destiny.

Despite a long adventuring career, he still showed himself to be a young man of perhaps barely thirty summers.

His great-grandfather, the Hero, the Forest-Lord Fen-Alaran, who had ruled the Land of Trois for many years, was rumored to have been of the stock of Elves.

Whether this was true or not, Fenwick would have made his grandfather proud this day, determination burning in his eyes as he surveyed the assembled Company.

After many days of travel, down from the mountains and through peaceful countryside, the renegades had reached the southern coast of Dous, and the fabled city of Tailerand. They had gradually become used to the silent presence of Blackmail; he seemed content to care for his horse and travel, standing his turn at guard but never seeming to need sleep or food. Robin too proved useful, picking the best path for the horses through the occasionally rough terrain. They wandered through the occasional sleepy hamlet for food, rest, and care for the mounts, but for the most part saw nothing more of interest than scenery and wildlife, all overflowing in profusion with wildflowers and birdsong, even in the twilight hours they traveled in.

"Y'know," Arcie commented to Sam at one point, "even if what Kaylana and Valeriana say aren't true, I'd still go on this quest. This whole world is too disgustingly cute."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. He agreed, actually. It was all too... nice. Dawn had broken while they were still on the road to Tailerand, and the land was at its most flamboyant in these early hours. A twinge of contempt from his evil nature made him steer Damazcus through a patch of purple clover, trampling several mating butterflies and crushing the blossoms. A whistle from up ahead brought his attention back, and he and Arcie spurred their mounts to catch up to the others on the broad road into the city.

Tailerand was a seaport city, about half the size of Sam's native city but more sprawling and open. The sea air mingled with the scents of human habitation, the faint roar of the surf with the rounded noise of the large trading river that emptied into the sea here. For several miles outside of the city were fields and orchards taking advantage of the last of this continent's mild climate. The sea winds helped protect against frost, and the produce of this area, both grown from the soil and harvested from the sea, was taken upriver or sent out on ships to the rich but wild Land of Trois, to trade for wood, pelts, precious ores, and horses.

Most of the renegades had visited here one time or another; Blackmail silently led them to a small livery stable, which looked poor and out of the way, but was spotless and well-kept within, all the horses stabled there well-fed and shining. Kaylana, having sent her stag to run free back to the woods it had come from, examined the horses for sale and finally picked out a young piebald gelding, purchased by a loan at ruinous interest from Arcie. They boarded their mounts there for a token fee, and prepared to set out on foot. Blackmail himself insisted on untacking and stabling his huge black stallion, who showed high spirits by stealing the feed bag and occasionally pushing his master playfully against the wall. As the ancient stableman watched, the horse used its lips to stealthily work open the buckles on one of the saddlebags, the one containing the sweet grain with which the knight fed the horse.

"That's a fine clever beast you've got there," said the fellow. "Looks like a Kwartan warhorse." Blackmail nodded absently, too busy currying to reply further, as the others waited impatiently.

At last they managed to drag the knight away from his companion, and they set off through the town, enjoying the tang of ocean in the air. Arcie was marching proudly down the main street, pointing out, landmarks; Robin had been here not too many months before, when he had first left his home and came by ship to this port, ready to start a new life in the fabled Six Lands. The very air here seemed to have a hint of that excitement, of beginnings and expectation, where anything was possible.

Kaylana said, "This is where it all started. Where it all starts," as though she had read Robin's thoughts. It made him a little uneasy.

"Where 'they' first met, then?" Arcie asked. "Och! I thought so. Where the warrior Hero Tamame caught Jasper Dunthwittle trying to steal from him, and the two became fast friends, and met with their other companions, and decided taste stomp out evilness, and so forth." He shook his head. "Supposedly were the first and last time Jasper tried to steal anything. Pah! Some thief. Typical Wilderkin though, aye. No sense of selfpreservation."

Sam was looking about. He'd been here once before on an assignment. Tailerand, last he'd seen it, had made him nervous. Of course there was no Assassin's Guild; the one he had come from was the only one in the Six Lands, though there were rumors that such institutions had existed in distant lands such as Shadrezar and Kono. Tailerand hadn't had a Thieves' Guild either; that population had lived in small, free-roaming, competitive gangs. Sam had run afoul, briefly, of such a gang back then. The conflict had resulted in several broken bones, a minor concussion, and several missing teeth for the thieves, who were very wary of anyone wearing black for many weeks after. It occurred to Sam, much later, that they likely would never have attacked him if they hadn't been desperate.

And desperate they must have been, for now there was no trace of their activity.

Arcie had noticed this too. Here, as in Mertensia, the town where they had sought out the Gypsies, the subtle graffiti of thiefsigns scratched on walls and posts were faded or missing. These had once marked the territories of the rival gangs, showed threat or warning, or marked neutral turf for the occasional rare truce. He stopped to trace one with his short fingers thoughtfully. "What is it, gnome?" asked the sorceress impatiently. She had been nervous since entering the city, its air of cheerful expectation making her skin itch.

Arcie glowered. "Tis a sort of 'help wanted' sign, Valerie."

"Valeriana," corrected the Nathauan with a glare. But Sam and the others knew that she was probably going to be stuck with the nickname, what with her amulet held captive so that she could not enforce her desires.

Kaylana, also not approving of the crowded city, was watching the citizens apprehensively. Their small group, three of whom were garbed mostly in black and containing such rare sights as a centaur and a huge man in full armor, was attracting a lot of stares. Two members of this crew wanted by the very nobility of the land of Dous, and a mage involved ... it was probably a good idea to get out of sight. She said as much to Arcie.

"I agrees," he said immediately. "And, I think I know of a place where we can find both a hidey-hole and an ally. Follow me." He set off down the road, occasionally pausing at thiefsigns to touch them lightly, frowning as he translated the faint rough markings.

They passed through the waterfront district. Sam noticed the familiar name of one of the most popular taverns.

The Frothing Otter, he thought, looking at it. In a bar of the same name back in Bistort this had all begun.

The sign at this establishment showed one of the thickpelted sea otters that were once quite prolific on this coast, lying on its back in the water with its whiskers full of foam and a half-full tankard of sea ale balanced on its chest. He pointed it out to Arcie, who nodded, saying nothing. It was a common name for a tavern in the Six Lands, no one knew why. Probably if they'd looked they could have found one in Mertensia.

At last, down a back alley, Arcie found a small door, half-covered in old rotting fishing nets hung with dead starfish. The air had a fishy smell and a strong hint of dust and drains, warm in the growing sunlight. Arcie rapped a soft, complicated tattoo on the rough wood, and sucked his knuckles silently because of the splinters.

A moment later, he tapped again, and the door burst open, and a whirl of multicolored cloth swirled them in.

As the door closed and a lamp was turned up, theif host was illuminated, a woman, younger than Kaylana, wearing the flouncy colorful skirts of a Gypsy, topped with a dark blue tunic, the standard item of dress in Dous, and fitted with a brown leather bodice. Her hair was blond, lighter than the assassin's, and hung in soft waves around her face, accenting blue eyes. She shook Arcie's hand in delight.

"Mr. Macrory!" she cried. "So good to see another friendly face after all these years!"

"Macrory?" Sam exclaimed in surprise. Arcie shot him a glare.

"Perfectly good family name, Sam. My father's quite a respected gentleman in the Old Country. Kimi, this bounder are called Sam, the ladies are Valerie ..." The sorceress rolled her amethyst eyes, but said nothing, "and Kaylana, the knight by the door we call Blackmail, and the centaur goes by the handle of Robin. Fellows, this is Kimi, who were quite a promising student at my Guild before she ran off here with some rapscallion from a street gang. Whatever happened to him, anyway?"

"Knifed by the Sharks five summers past," Kimi said with a sigh. "Things were crazy for the longest time there.

All the gangs sort of dissolved. Most of them lost their leaders to mysterious disappearances. Then, of course, discipline fell apart, there was murder and warfare for a few weeks, and when the smoke all cleared I was the only one left. At least it's easy pickings now, but I was hoping to get another gang under way ... that's why the thiefsign. You and these fellows interested in joining? Of course, you'd have seniority, sir, being a Guildmaster and all..."

"No, Kimi, that's not what we're about today." He glanced around, and his eyes lighted on the centaur.

Something would have to be done about that; he still didn't quite trust the minstrel. As Kimi bustled around the room, dumping books, plates, ropes, candles, pouches and other objects off various surfaces in order to clear a space for them to sit, he motioned to the centaur.

"Robin," he said, looking up at the tall being, "do us a great favor and stand watch outside, will you? There's a good fellow," he added, as he gently but forcibly shoved the centaur's back toward the hidden door. The centaur, despite his bulk, was not very large or strong; built more like the delicate, deer-like racing horses of the desert folk of Shadrezar than the large, familiar Troisian breed.

Robin had barely begun to stammer a protest when his haunches bumped open the door and he stumbled out into the daylight, the concealed door shutting in front of him.

"Was that necessary. Northerner?" Kaylana asked, as Arcie stepped back from locking the door. Arcie sighed and scratched his head.

"Call it a hunch, lady. Now then, Valerie, Kaylana, will you explain to Kimi what brings us all here? For 'truth I'm not able to keep straight all this business of portals and keys and suchlike."

As the two women explained to the young thief, Arcie lay back and lit up his pipe from a pouch of tobacco he'd found on a small table. Kimi didn't smoke, but loved all kinds of clever tricks and distractions-the harsh smoky herb could be used in numerous ways for this. Blackmail remained standing in a corner, looking like, well, like a suit of armor, oddly out-of-place in Kimi's mishmash den. The cluttered, shadowy room, smelling of candle wax, paprika, and mildew, was barely big enough for them, but passages twisted off into the darkness beyond.