Villains by Necessity (21 page)

"Of course, foolish short one. I am, after all, a dark sorceress." She smiled. "I wouldn't have waited for your blond friend either, but that he has my amulet in his possession."

"Lucky for me," muttered Sam, trying to get his breath. Damazcus snorted, and the smell of equine sweat was thick.

"We must move on," insisted Kaylana, as Robin rose unsteadily under the influence of sour-weed waved under his nose. "The Wilderkin will have every living thing up in arms for miles around before dawn."

Shaken and chilled from drying sweat and adrenaline, they moved on through the dark woods, until dawn lightened the sky and they judged themselves far enough away from the Wilderkin territory. They found shelter beneath a grove of oak trees Kaylana proclaimed safe and fell into exhausted slumber.

The sun shone on the golden feathers of the sun-eagle perched on Fenwick's wrist. The young hero stroked the bird's head gently, as he looked into its dark, intelligent eyes. He spoke to it, half with his mind, and half with his strong voice.

"Fly, my friend, hunt-brother. Ride the winds to the west, to seek and find the foe. Search for them, my friend, seek out the dark ones, and bring the news to me."

With a shrill cry the eagle leapt from his wrist and flew powerfully out the open window, into the clear sky. Its mighty, six-foot wingspan flashed like a golden star, then it was gone. The villains were still sound asleep under the trees when the golden bird soared high overhead. Seeking movement, as its instincts had always instructed it, it did not notice the still, dark-colored shadows, and the horses standing aimlessly about were just large animals to its hunter's brain, not matching the mental image Fenwick had given it of the ones it was meant to locate. It flew on, its shadow racing below across the treetops, as the sun dappled the forest, and the small band of renegades dreamed.

Kaylana stirred uneasily. The drifting of the leaves sounded in her head like rushing water. There was water, a torrent, it foamed before her. She gripped her staff and peered into the water. It flowed over white stones ... a chill wind swept through her as she saw the strangely shaped rocks were in fact bleached bones ...

Arcie dreamed of his old home, the snug crofter's cottage built low and thick like the men and women of the land itself, back in the cool, rainy, peaceful hills and dells of Bariga, so far away to the North now. As he had when he was just a lad, he sat in front of the fire, watching his father smoke a pipe, reading from an old book. A knock sounded at the front door. Arcie went and opened it, and a gigantic Sam reached into the hall and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him out like a rabbit...

Robin slept uneasily, not used to the change from diurnal to nocturnal. His dreams were fitful, involving terrifying sea-snakes that took their evil hissing noise from the sound of the wind in the leaves. A roaring growl came from a horrible demon-beast in his dream, frightening him awake; when he heard the sound again, in waking, he almost bolted, but turned to see it was just the Barigan thief, lying on his back and snoring loudly. The centaur calmed himself by taking time to brush out his long beautiful tail, a hundred strokes with a comb he kept for the purpose, and then did his mane as well. Then with a sigh he readjusted his position against a tree and slept again.

Valerie dreamed the confused tangle of the mind of the Nathauan, lost not in fantasy and illusion, but in remembering.

Her husband Talar, tall, dark-eyed, hair streaked in silver, the way he smiled, the warmth of his arms, the love in his voice when he spoke. Her daughter, quick as a deer, learning to play the intricate lacy dulcimer of the Underrealm, her childish seriousness as she sternly reprimanded her dolls for their imaginary disobedience. The joyous grin of her husband when she'd told him she carried his son. And then, and then, the shouts, the smoke, waking them in the middle of the night. Talar on his feet, eyes bright with anger and fear, grabbing his staff of power, opening the door and staggering back with a bolt in his chest. Nightshade cawing and flapping as he tried to get his mistress to safety. A ball of magical fire sweeping into the house that was formed from living rock, igniting the wooden furniture and transforming the building into an oven. Fighting through the flames to her daughter's room, hearing the strangled cries. An armored figure in green leaping into the room and cutting down the still struggling Talar, then lunging at her as she tried to raise her hands in defense, a blade flashing down, a blow that struck pain and fire all the way through her body, the wordless death-cry in her mind of her unborn son, and then darkness, left for dead in the ruined tunnels.

Sam dreamed of Mizzamir. He saw the mage at the end of a long room and drew both daggers, throwing himself to attack. But what was wrong with the floor? It threw him into the air, and he drifted through the air in slow motion. In midair the old Gypsy woman appeared beside him, smiling and shaking her head. "One searches for you, assassin ... one waits," she cautioned, and vanished.

As he drifted toward the mage, who stood still in confident power, he saw the mage had the same expression, smiling in amusement. "Silly boy," the wizard scolded him gently. "Always jumping into things." The wizard stepped back and revealed a pit of razor-edged spears aimed to receive Sam's helplessly drifting form, set in a pattern like an extended star...

Blackmail did not sleep. His horse slept while the knight sat watch, gauntleted fingers covered by soft gloves, gently massaging the horse's strained legs in the warm sunshine.

At last the cool of evening drifted through the woods.

Sam woke with a snurfle, early dew beading on his nose.

The moon and stars and setting sun still lit the area well, but in a different set of shades as the light of day—grays and whites and soft washed colors, pools of blue-purple shadows. Nearby was the knight, still fussing silently over his horse. The stallion was resting its head content edly on the tall armored shoulder. Sam had never ridden a horse for long periods and had always sort of regarded them as mere transport. But he admitted he was already rather fond of Damazcus, who would carry him without complaint and had a friendly way of whickering when he approached. Still, it seemed odd that the knight would fuss over his warhorse to such an extent.

Kaylana was awake, stirring up the ashes of the fire and adding some more wood to prepare breakfast. She glanced at Sam as he sat up.

"Evening," she greeted. "I think tonight you shall cook breakfast. And do not tell me it is women's work, either."

"I'm not arguing," grumbled Sam, rolling to his feet and walking over to tend the fire. "It's just not usual for someone to ask an assassin to do the cooking."

"I am asking. The others will have to take their turns as well. This evening, you are awake, and you do eat breakfast, unlike our silent friend. I will trust you with the chore." Kaylana moved over to see how the other horses were.

"Thanks," said Sam softly. "For trusting me." He went to work on the fire, and soon was heating up some of the food. "Kaylana?"

"What is it?" muttered the Druid, checking for burrs in her pony's ear.

"I... I want to apologize for that remark I made, back in the bar ... in Mertensia." Sam looked very interested in something in the bottom of one of the cookpots.

"Very well. Your apology is accepted. You were drunk, and not perhaps in full possession of yourself."

Kaylana patted Valerie's gelding on the flank and moved on to Arcie's pony, Puddock, who was standing near Damazcus.

"I forgot to thank you for healing me, before, too ...

Thanks."

"It is nothing. You are assisting me in the salvation of the world. But do make my efforts worthwhile."

"Sure," replied Sam. He stirred the pot on the fire.

"Urn..."

"Well!" Arcie sprang up onto his feet. "I'm starved!

Sammy, you're cooking? Oh, bugger."

"Don't eat it if you don't like it, Arcie," retorted the assassin.

Awakened by Arcie's outburst, Valerie and Robin soon came over. Robin self-consciously unpacked a bag of the strange wrinkled high-energy oats the centaurs raised, and ate these in addition to his share of the food.

He might have, as Arcie had feared, eaten more than any of them, but as the silent knight ate nothing, it seemed to balance out well enough. Sam wondered about that as he saddled his own horse afterwards. Did Blackmail ever eat? Not in their presence, certainly, but perhaps while they all slept? Perhaps by some magic he had no need for food? It was very puzzling ... but the knight seemed to mean them no harm, whatever his nature might be. I wouldn't like to come between him and that horse, though, thought Sam.

They traveled on through the moonlit forests and glades, making good time through the wilderness. Sometimes in the distance they could see the lights of cities and towns, but they strictly avoided these.

"Couldn't we stop at a town just once?" pleaded Robin, after several days of travel. "I'm getting really tired of pine-sap in my tail every morning."

"Aye, and I'm hungry," complained Arcie. "Gruel and wild roots may be all right for you, Druid, but us Barigans like a bit more substantial fare."

"We cannot risk being seen here," insisted Kaylana.

"For once, she's right," Valerie agreed. "I hate Fenwick more than anything, but I will admit he is a clever bastard. We can't afford to attract his attention."

"Time enough for that later," muttered Sam.

"What do you mean?" Kaylana asked.

"You've said we're going to the Glina forest?" Sam looked at her. She nodded.

"It is a legendary place of ancient magic and legend ... it is surely the 'eldest wood' of the Mad Godling's prophecy," the Druid explained.

The assassin sighed. "I don't know how much you know of geography..."

"Oh blast," swore Valerie suddenly. "The blond misfit is right. The Glina forest, of course... surrounds the city of Glinabar." Her raven, sitting on her shoulder, cawed derisively.

"Capital city of Trois, and home and hearth to the Fenwickster himself," finished Arcie. "Great."

The Fenwickster, or, as he certainly preferred to be called, Sir Fenwick, was finally getting to exercise his cramped commanding muscles. Though the sun-eagle had returned without having seen the villains, it reported the destruction of the Clawrip bridge and the mourning of the Wilderkin. The villains had to be responsible. And now he knew where they were headed.

"Straight toward us, it seems," said the clever woodsman to himself. "But why? Well, no sense puzzling over it when there's work to be done. I and my Feyhounds can track anything. Today the company and I will ride forth to intercept them."

He rolled his maps up, snatched his hunting hat from its peg, and went to gather his men. Tucked safe in his pack was his finest suit of rich green embellished with gold. When at last the villains were captured and dealt with, he would want to make a good impression upon the poor, misguided, but oh so lovely red-haired woman who traveled with them. Many women had fallen to Fenwick's charms in the past, and this one, he was sure, would be no exception.

In addition, he went to the royal armory and took down his enchanted sword from its jeweled rest. This was the magical sword Truelight, Slayer of Darkness, a silver longsword that burned with its own pure light and had a strange, semi-intelligence of its own. He had wielded this sword against trolls and dragons and Nathauan in the past ... it would serve him well once again. The diamonds and rubies set into its hilt glittered as he grasped it, and he smiled.

They were approaching the western boundaries of the kingdoms proper, still a wild land, of rocky crags and valleys, the everpresent forests, and swelling bills. The weather had grown hotter, sultry and heavy in daytime with sunlight and beesong, warm and still in the evenings.

They were pestered by mosquitoes.

All seemed well, however, until one day, as they slept, Nightshade the raven decided to explore. He took wing and soared above the crowding woods, above the mugginess of the ground. The cool air refreshed his feathers.

Far in the distance, he saw a sparkle of something other than water. His raven curiosity and interest in bright objects pulled him closer, sweeping across the miles to see what it was that could twinkle from so far away.

Valerie was awakened by a frantic croaking in her ear.

Startled to her feet, she comforted the raven on her wrist until he recovered his breath enough to be coherent to her. While the others could not understand his croaks, mutterings, and hissings. Valerie listened intently.

"He says the Verdant Company is approaching," she said after a moment, her voice tense. "He saw something shiny and went to look and found it was the polished swords and armor of Fenwick's men, in two. hunting parties.

They have many men, and hounds, and seem to be headed this way."

"Can your raven describe the terrain well enough to draw a map?" Kaylana asked. Valerie conversed with the raven a moment. 

"I think so," she answered.

The map, scratched in the dirt, was crude and out of scale, but showed clearly what Kaylana wanted to know.

Here was their position, and the city of Glinabar in the distance. Between the two were the forces of the Verdant Company, in two groups quickly advancing down either side of a narrow river that flowed from the city itself.

Kaylana studied the scratchings seriously.

"So what do we do?" inquired Sam, looking over her shoulder at the map.

"We are hunted, so we go as the hunted fox goes." She drew a line with a stick directly up the winding path of the river. "Leaving no scent, and in directions unexpected ... in this case, directly toward the enemy."

Branching out into two parties had been a good idea, Fenwick decided. They could scout through twice the area and still make good time to his estimated location of the villains. He fully expected to be noticed, of course; stealth and trickery were not a part of this hero, by Artelis! He judged that the dark sorceress and the lovely Druid would have mystical means of locating his party and took that into accord easily. He would drive the villains back from the golden heart of Glinabar, and chivvy them cross-country, using his superb knowledge of his territory to at last lead them back to the Clawrip Chasm.