Villains by Necessity (23 page)

"Hey!" piped another voice from the house angrily.

"That's not a very nifty thing to do!"

In a matter of instants the clearing swarmed with tiny figures that came boiling out of the little houses and ran around in panic. There were yells, cries of

"Humans!"

"Humans in the Village!"

"Horses!"

"Get Daddy Nifty!" and

"My house!" The figures all seemed to be identical, Sam noticed; they were perhaps six or seven inches tall, built rather like tiny dwarves, but unbearded. They looked like any of the pictures he had seen of the semimythical "wee folk" of magical forests, more on the order of gnomes or leprechauns than fairies. Some of them were wearing tiny nightshirts, but many wore simple clothing of breeches and shirt for the males, skirt and bodice for the females, and each head was covered by either a loose white cap, or a tall conical hat in some bright color. The horses, upset at suddenly finding all available footing covered with a swirling sea of unpleasant soft squashy objects, refused to move.

The squeaking of the creatures was getting on Kaylana's nerves. She gripped her staff, and yelled, "shut up, by Rowan!"

There was a universal squeak of terror from the tiny creatures, then the swirling aimless running stopped as a slightly deeper squeaky voice piped up from the crowd.

The creatures turned to face one of their number, a member with a white beard. The little fellow climbed up on a table and cheerfully addressed the crowd.

"Yes indeedy, let's not have all this running around, shall we? That's not very nifty, you know. Let's talk to the nifty humans! Talking is a very nifty thing. It is by talking that we make friends!"

"Hey yeah! Nifty! What a nifty idea!" chorused the little gnomes, and immediately began talking to each other and the group animatedly and incomprehensibly.

"Gnomes," muttered Valerie in disgust. "Gnifty Gnomes."

Blackmail was looking down. A cluster of tiny Gnomes was piping up at him and trying to sit on his horse's hooves, but kept sliding off.

"One at a time, my Gnifty Gnomes!" clarified their bearded leader in a loud voice. The inane chatter stopped, and they all looked expectantly at him. He cleared his throat, and addressed the renegades in a cheerful voice.

"My goodness! Humans and a centaur! It certainly is nifty of you to come and visit us! We don't get many nifty visitors these days! But now you're here, and we'll have a big nifty party!"

"Yeaayyyy!" chorused the Gnomes.

"We'll have nifty music, we'll do the Nifty Dance, we can eat Niftyberry pie and Niftymuffins and drink Niftyapple juice..."

"Yay! Niftyparty with the humans!" cried the gnomes.

They fetched firefly lanterns and festive paper and began stringing them from house to house. From somewhere a bouncy cheerful tune piped up. The decorating Gnomes began to sing merrily.

Valerie and Kaylana exchanged pained glances and kicked their mounts again. Nightshade gurgled in throaty nausea. Arcie was petrified by a female Gnome, who had managed to scramble up his pony's loose reins and was sitting on the animal's neck and batting her impossibly long eyelashes at him.

"Gee, you're pretty nifty for a human," she squeaked.

"Nifty hat! Wanna dance?"

"Uhg, no thanks," stammered Arcie, and after a quick check to see who was watching, swatted her off her perch.

She sailed through the air with a squeal but landed safely in a tiny pond.

"You look like you've seen some un-nifty times, humans," piped up the bearded Gnome again. "But that's all right! We'll get you new clothes, all nifty and bright and happy, and we'll be your nifty friends, and pretty soon you'll be nifty just like us!" He beamed at the stricken party, which abruptly clapped panicked heels to its mounts' flanks. Except for Blackmail, of course, who rode out of the clearing with greatest dignity, even in his disgust, his warhorse's huge hooves completely annihilating several mushroom houses. The renegades raced out of the clearing, little cries echoing behind them of, "Hey!

Come back, nifty humans! We haven't even had the nifty party games yet! There's pin the tail on the Nifty and bobbing for Niftyfruits ..." The terrible, sickly music followed, ringing in their ears.

Sam halted a few feet away from the clearing, staring at a huge half-rotted dead tree. Blackmail, on his horse, stomped up to him and stopped. They looked at each other. They looked at the tree. Then, with a gesture, Blackmail dismounted, pushed Sam on his horse aside, and unslung the massive black sword. He hefted it, then swung with mighty force at the trunk, cleaving it off its base.

It creaked and fell, slow and unstoppable, crashing down with a thunderous noise upon the village. The disgusting piping of music stopped. With a satisfied nod, the two men headed off on their horses into the night forest.

In the nighttime camp of Sir Fenwick and the Verdant Company, Fenwick's friend and officer, the journeyman wizard named Towser, was running.

He ran across the camp, his green coat-robes flapping, leaped over a couple of dozing Verdants, and charged up to Fenwick, who was sitting and taking the burrs out of a Feyhound's fur. They had traveled all day, but no sign of the villains' trail yet. Fenwick looked up as Towser stopped.

"Slow down, old friend! What is it?" he asked, standing.

"Sir!" exclaimed Towser. "Young Arnold, sir, the warrior. He was gathering firewood with the others and banged his head on a limb!"

"Why is that so worrisome?" interrupted Fenwick.

"Have one of the healers see to him; surely a bump on the head can't be so serious?"

"It's not that, sir!" Towser explained frantically. "The bump knocked out some kind of mind lock he'd had on him. He saw them, sir! They're going the opposite way!" The next evening they skirted around the lights of Glinabar, stopping only a moment on a high hill to admire the city. The city, built with Elven influence and that of humans who could not bear to harm the rich ancient trees of the forest, was fascinating. Straddling the Silverwend River, it was a metropolis that sprawled both up and out, weaving around the great trees, as well as ascending up their immense trunks so buildings and streets continued up among the branches, over swaying bridges and great arches of wood and stone. All was elegantly crafted and, in the dim night, lit up like a Yuletide tree with shining lights strung along the bridges and streets to keep travelers from falling. The houses, shops, and inns twinkled like tiny suns, and the faint smells of food and soft drifts of music and revelry could be heard.

"It's beautiful," sighed Robin.

"Roast venison," whimpered Arcie, sniffing the air.

"Can't we..."

"No," sighed Sam. "This isn't Dous, Arcie, where people like you and I were the first to settle and the last to leave. This is real Good territory, heroes aplenty. We walk in there, me and Blackmail and Valerie all looking like the villains from a historical play, and we'll be like mice in a den of cats."

"It would be nice to just slip in there and set a few things ablaze," said Valerie wistfully. "I bet all that dry wood would go up like a-"

"Save the world first, my fellows, and you can come back to enjoy it later," interrupted Kaylana. "We must not waste so much time. Valerie, can you send Nightshade up to scout? The Fa'halee must stand out among the other trees, and we must know which way to go from here."

With bad grace Valerie sent the raven winging into the air. A few minutes later it returned, and the two conversed.

Valerie looked up, then, and pointed northeast.

"That way. Half a night's ride, as the crow flies."

"We're not flying like a crow, though," grumbled Arcie, as they set off again, the lights of Glinabar becoming lost in the trees behind them.

It was a lot farther than half a night's ride by horseback and through unknown terrain. They did not reach their destination that night. When they camped at dawn, they did not know that miles away, a very put-out Sir Fenwick was urging men and horses and hounds to ride like the wind. No one, especially no villains, could be allowed to pull a stunt like that on him and survive. This was more than just heroism... this was a matter of pride.

Fenwick fumed as he led the way, bent low over his blood-bay stallion's neck, the thunder and belling of riders and hounds behind him.

Cool dusk fell, and the villains moved on hurriedly through the thick woods. The ground was uneven here, and the horses stumbled often. Robin volunteered once again to lead, after the crack of hoof on stone had made him wince too often, and with his combined sapience and knowledge of horse-travel managed to pick out the best path over the jutting rocks and twisting roots.

"He's pretty good at getting about in a forest," Sam commented quietly to Arcie. The stout thief, who had been noticing the same thing, nodded thoughtfully to himself.

"Sam," he muttered softly, "You know, about these Test things..."

Valerie sent Nightshade wheeling up into the sky every so often to help guide their progress. The deeper shadows of near midnight had just turned when they burst out of the thick woods into a small clearing, and the object of their search lay before them.

In the center of a circular clearing, perhaps thirty paces wide, stood a monolith that could only be the Fa'halee. A vast trunk, wider than the span of the arms of ten men, loomed up from a knotwork of ponderous roots. The bark, shaggy and dusty, glowered like old dried blood in the moonlight. The tree went up and up and up, branches and limbs garbed in brushlike clusters of flat needles unlike any leaves they had ever seen ... they tilted their heads back almost in unison to follow the height, Arcie unable to see the top until his head smacked into the cantie of his saddle. It seemed as though the tiny distant summit must stab the moon itself. Kaylana was the first to recover.

"Well, this is it, obviously. Now we must locate the Test."

Valerie extended her hand, concentrating, spreading her fingers before her face. Sparks of green and blue crackled around her fingers and discharged with faint popping noises off the tips of her black pointed nails.

"Powerful," she reported, "Just as before ... except this time I'm also getting a lot of interference from the tree itself."

"Robin!" cried a cheery voice. The centaur minstrel turned, and saw Arcie, grinning broadly, motioning him over. He trotted up, ears pricked forward curiously, as the Barigan dismounted and tethered his pony.

"The girls'll be messing about with yon old tree for some fair time," confided the thief. "No telling what they want with it, really. Let's us just get comfy whilst we waits ... Sam! Blackmail!" he called, motioning them over. "Tis been a long ride. Let's rest and refresh ourselves, and give our minstrel friend here a chance to show off his talents!"

Confused but compliant, Sam dismounted and secured his horse, as Blackmail did the same and Arcie queried Robin about his repertoire of music.

"Arcie, are you sure it's a good idea to be making a lot of noise here?" Sam asked, looking around. "After all, this is Fenwick's woods ..."

"Bah! Fenwick!" scoffed Arcie, making a dismissive gesture with the wineskin he was holding, and subtly winking at Sam, the old code for I'm-doingsomethingherejustplayalongandhelpme-out.

"Fenwick could not find his own rump with both hands."

It was unusual for the Verdant Company to travel by night, but they had done so in the past, and would do so again. Fenwick had long ago learned the limits of his army and knew just how far to push; several hours of forced march, a period of rest, and then on again. Slowly the Company ate up the distance, and even had the energy for a cheer when they saw the valley of Glina spread out below them ...

"A tune, minstrel, a tune," insisted Arcie. "Give us ... oh, I dinna ... do ye know"Jack and the Dryad,' perhaps?"

He pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it, as the four of them relaxed at the edge of the clearing. The centaur flushed nervously and took out his harp.

Valerie and Kaylana, at the base of the Fa'halee, looked over at them as the first strains of music began.

Valerie frowned.

"What are those sunlight-crawlers up to now?" she muttered. Kaylana shook her head.

"We have not the time to deal with it. We must find the entrance to the Test, if it is indeed hidden by this tree. Touch tip to root where Hero stood.' But where is that?"

"I would suppose there." Valerie pointed to a small slab of marble stone set into the deep moss near the base of the tree. They walked over to it and read the inscription, as the sounds of centaur and human voices raised in loud bawdy song belted across the grove.

"Here in the First Year of Light, Triumph of the Victory, The Elven Lord Tiratillais Pallindarthinar Fallinnamir-"

Kaylana sputtered with difficulty over the ringing Elven name, "did pass his Lands and Kingship into the Hands of the great Hero Fen-Alaran, witnessed for all eternity by the Blood Guardsman, Ancient Spirit Tree, the Fa'halee. May all the Children of Man in Trois keep this Grove sacred."

"Sacred groves, isn't that one of your Druidical things?" Valerie looked at the Druid, who frowned.

"Yes and no. All Druidic practice was lost with the Victory. Elves worshiped trees as symbols without understanding them, or knowing what the trees themselves worshiped. Elves knew the dance of life, but they followed Light, rather than walking the balance. But, both they and my people are gone now, and there remains this puzzle to solve. To touch the tip to the root..."

"Looks like a job for you, Druid. Bend this tree and let's get this under way."

Off to the side, she could hear the Barigan complimenting the centaur on his playing, and plying him with

"A drink to soothe yer golden throat, my lad." An explosion of equine coughing followed, and the voice saying merrily, "Good stuff, aye! Finest Barigan whiskey, that are!

Have some more, 'tis better after yer throat go numb."

Kaylana looked up again, at the immense span towering over her. The marble marker was directly at the base of the tree. She admittedly had quite a bit of power over plants, but to coax such a giant to fold itself double, wood and fibers snapping and straining ... She set her brow, and sunk the end of her staff into the soft soil at the base of the tree, until she felt the shivering roots of the tree's life beneath it. Her green eyes closed, and she concentrated.