Villains by Necessity (37 page)

There was silence a long moment. Sam felt mildly conspicuous.

He decided to change the subject.

"That white boat's closer," he commented, looking over the rail at it. "But it's not moving. Is it anchored?"

"It is certainly still," agreed Kaylana, watching it.

"But this is very deep water here, in almost the center of the channel... They would need to have an extremely long chain to anchor here."

"Puzzling," said Valerie. "Perhaps one of the crew knows of it." The sorceress stood up and beckoned over the first mate, who had come up on deck for his shift. He walked over politely.

"Yes'm?" he inquired, Valerie resisted the urge to smile at him. Dinner had been nothing more appetizing than salted meats, bread, cheese, and fish. She found herself wondering if men of the sea would have that same tang of salt about their flesh, but quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind.

"Yonder white ship," she began, waving one graceful black-clawed hand in the craft's general direction. "Do you know of it?"

The first mate nodded respectfully. "Aye, m'm, 'tis the craft of a fine wizard. His peaceful retreat, I have heard it rumored."Tis by his magic that she stays in place despite the deep water and the pull of the tides."

"Wizard?" Sam's black-wrapped head snapped up. "It belongs to a wizard?"

"Aye, sir," confirmed the fellow. "A most ancient and noble mage, with hair of silver white, robes the same, and a staff of great power, set with a shining gemstone." He shuffled his feet a moment, then added, "Or so I have heard it said ... I myself have not laid eyes upon this mage. He is most secretive." » %%%Sam was very still for a moment. Then he nodded, and got up, stretched, and walked to the hold. The first mate noticed a rope flapping loose, and went to tie it as the companions looked at each other.

"Do ye think he's going to ..." began Arcie. Valerie shook her head.

"Of course not. It's hundreds of yards away through choppy, cold, shark-infested waters. Besides which, it probably isn't even Mizzamir, and Sam no doubt realizes this. It would be folly to try to swim to that craft, and if it is Mizzamir, Sam will be so worn out from the swim he'd likely be killed."

"Yes, I do not think he will do anything," agreed Kaylana. "The assassin is not stupid."

"I suppose ..." said Arcie doubtfully, looking the way Sam had gone. "But he are persistent." He got up and padded out the way Sam had gone, down into the hold, arriving just in time to see the assassin come out of his cabin, walk down the gangway a short step, and duck into another door, closing it behind him. Arcie followed, puzzled. Where was Sam going? Arcie had inspected the ship quite thoroughly earlier, and if memory served him right, that door wasn't anything more than ... He hurried forward and opened it.

Within was a small storage closet, with shelves stacked with sailcloth, ropes hung on hooks, buckets, brooms and belaying pins. The light from the corridor lanterns illuminated the closet clearly. It was very small, and tightly packed ... but otherwise, empty.

Arcie's mouth hung open in surprise a long moment, his bright blue eyes wide. Then he slammed the closet door and scampered back to the others as fast as his feet would carry him.

Sam had been quite curious to see what the lake looked like in Shadowrealm, as well as nearly desperate to get away from the glaring outlines and colors of Outside. He Shadowslipped through the darkness of the supply closet with a sigh of relief, the Darkportal amulet cool and tingling on the skin of his chest. As comforting grayness %%%surrounded him and soothed his aching eyes, he looked about. A collection of shadows around him marked the Roslilia, the large block of darkness he'd stepped out of was the closet. Below his feet were the shadows of the cargo hold, and, farther down, a great mass of blackness that was the darkness at the depths of the lake. Looking out, he could just make out a collection of dark scraps on an otherwise empty gray plain. That would be the mage's ship. He broke into a run, long legs covering the distance across the invisible, intangible water as easily as flying.

He noticed, as he left the "boundaries" of the Roslilia, that the collection of shadows moved away from him at a steady pace in another direction. But he could easily catch her up later. He would return and kill those who sought to betray him and steal his amulet, safe in the darkness.

At last he reached the shadow markings of the unseen white ship. With an effortless thrust of his will he jumped to deck level and investigated the available shadows.

Most were useless for passage-too faded or too small.

But at last he found a splotch of blackness large enough and deep enough to admit him, and he Shadowslipped through, the cool fire of the hunt flashing in his blood.

He emerged in the corner of a darkened room, apparently the mage's study. Books, candles, herbs, and much glassware covered the available space. He took a few interesting objects, out of curiosity, securing them in his pockets as he went to a door and listened. A rod set in a sconce in one wall glowed faintly, and, as there seemed to be no way to extinguish it, he pocketed it to blot out its light. The soft sounds of slumber drifted to his keen ears.

A silent oiling of the hinges, a trip of the latch, and he eased open the door.

Sam peered in and saw a richly furnished bedroom, dominated by a magnificent four-poster, with tapestries and paintings hung about the walls and magnificent carpets on the floor. In the center of the bed was a figure in eiderdown comforters and rich silken sheets. The figure breathed the deep sleep of the good, and Sam caught %%%sight of long, silver-white hair spread across the pillow, glinting in the moonlight that came through the round cabin window. Sam raised his blowgun, aimed, and fired. -Thap* The needle struck through the hair, sinking into the skin at the base of the skull. The sounds of breathing deepened, slowing abruptly as the sleep/paralysis toxin took effect. All that remained to collect the rest of the thousand gold was to carry out Arcie's orders ... and those orders were to bring him the mage's head. Then, of course, thought Sam, as he reached into his back scab bard for his largest blade, a small black-hilted shortsword, Then I'll kill that Barigan too, and take all his money. Sam drew the long, sharp blade, raising it above his head with single-minded determination, the cold fire guiding his hand for one powerful, deadly blow ...

Sam froze. Something was wrong.

He didn't know why he did it, but his other hand reached out and took hold of the coverlet, pulling it aside from the sleeping figure's face. A lined, aged face, with patchy human skin, a large blobby sort of nose, reddened by good drink and garnished with a long silver beard, stained here and there by tobacco and wine.

Sam stood for a long moment. Then he gently replaced the covers around the sleeping form, sheathing his sword.

The training he'd had in the Assassin's Guild, awakened by the fire of a hunt, had brought him for the moment out of the blackness that Valerie's amulet pulled him into. To kill the wrong person ... that was a shame greater than failure. The blowgun toxin would wear off in a few hours. Sam carefully pulled his needle free of the man's skin and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. His gut was in turmoil with his near-escape from a shameful accident, fear of Mizzamir still being at large, and sudden doubt about the feasibility of killing his companions. Lost in thought, he returned to the dark study, and Shadowslipped.

As he unknowingly drew upon the amulet's power to make the passage, the darkness flooded up again inside %%%him, filling him with new resolve. Best to get back to the Roslilia right away and kill the others before they could do anything. In the dim Shadowrealm things were simpler.

He would kill the others, in case they had learned of his ability, and then he would return to Shadow forever.

Mizzamir could never find him there, but if Sam ever found the Arch-Mage's shadow, victory would go to the assassin. It was a good plan. He jumped away from the shadows of the white ship and ran on silent feet toward the retreating collection of shadows that marked the place of the other ship, dark magic lending speed to his strides.

He leaped to be within the boundaries of the craft and was carried along as she sailed while his eyes scanned the shadows. The dark closet he had come through before was now too faded. Someone must have opened it. He looked around some more. At last a convenient patch was discovered, in what he reckoned to be one of the cabins.

Very convenient indeed. Dim, with a splotch in a corner dark enough to pass through... and even better, two shadow-figures he recognized as Kaylana and Valerie.

Very tidy, he'd be able to take those two out, then find the others and dispatch them at his leisure. He stepped into the darkest corner and leaped forward, Shadowslipping.

Valerie shouted a command as the shadows of the corner suddenly seemed to swirl and thicken, visible only to her Nathauan sight. Light flashed from the now-unshuttered lanterns held by the others, hurting her eyes, but it was not her choked-off gasp of agony that sounded in the room. A dagger shot into the room and made a metallic noise as it slid under one of the plates of Blackmail's armor. The knight, lying cramped in the bunk so that his shadow was confused with that of bed and bulkhead, took no notice. Another blade bounced off the far wall and hit Kaylana in the leg. The Druid winced, but the pain was minor compared to the shock of what she saw before her.

At the now brightly lit wall was a gruesome sight. Sam, %%%or rather half of him, protruded from it. His arms flailed and struggled as he pushed at the unyielding surface, eyes shut with the agony of light and the solid wall around his waist. He was silent-all assassins were trained to be absolutely silent even in the throes of agony-but his tortured face showed more pain than any scream. He thrashed like a grotesque puppet of a hunter's trophy, dying, dying, torn in two between two worlds...

"O caverns," swore Valerie, eyes wide in horror. "Too soon."

"Sam!" gurgled Arcie, from his concealed position on another bunk. His blue eyes stared in shock at the macabre sight.

Valerie lunged forward as a black and gold object flashed out of Sam's tunic. She caught the amulet in her hand, felt its power, the power that was the only thing keeping Sam alive right now. The chain was weak, she could easily snap it from his neck and let his lifeless torso fall bloody and twitching to the floor ... But instead she drew upon the Darkportal's power, and spoke words of magic as the others stood frozen in shock ... except for one. Blackmail got to his feet, sensing what the sorceress was doing, and came forward. As she shouted the final word of the spell-he grabbed the assassin's shoulders and yanked him through the wall with incredible strength.

Sam fell full length on the floor and lay there gasping.

His scarf had fallen off, revealing his ink-black hair and dark gray eyes that seemed to be whirling. He choked and grabbed at his neck, gripping the amulet. He looked around, panting, saw Arcie frozen in fear and shock, Valerie shivering from the effort of the spell, Blackmail standing silently, ready in case of another attack, and Kaylana, watching him with deep green eyes as blood ran down her leg, over her sandal, and pooled slowly on the floor.

Sam yanked. The chain snapped, and the amulet was free in his hand. He tossed it to Valerie without a word, and collapsed. * * * %%%"We figured you might come after us eventually," explained Arcie, "especially after Valerie guessed what you might be doing. She'd heard about the shadow-travel ... it was something some of her people used to be able to do."

"We were going to confront you in a lighted room so you couldn't escape and take the amulet from you, by force if need be," added Valerie with a sigh. The Darkportal amulet, secure once more on its gold chain, hung from her neck like a black hole against pale skin. "That's why we were all there ... except for the minstrel, who wouldn't have fit in the room and likely wouldn't have been any use anyway."

"That's for certain sure," laughed Arcie. Now that the scare was over, they had moved into that state of near hysterical relief that makes the smallest things seem humorous.

"One look at you and he would have fell over like a poleaxed hippogryph." Arcie grinned. "Especially with your hair like that."

Sam smiled. He was lying on a cot, eating some soup Kaylana had brought him. "Oh, I don't know ... is it really that bad?" he asked. He was feeling much better now. The lamplight felt warm and gentle on his face.

"Worse," Kaylana said sternly. "I shall make you a soapwort salve to get it off with, if you will do that as a favor to me."

"Of course," said Sam with a smile. His eyes were a soft hazel once more. "The least I can do after hurting you."

"Believe me, I think you hurt yourself more than you hurt me," she replied solemnly.

"True ... if Valerie hadn't saved me I'd have been cut in half ... and half of an assassin is just an ass." Sam smiled.

Robin, outside on deck, trying to think of a rhyme for "Orthamotch" was suddenly startled to hear an odd sound, like a group of friends laughing together. Robin looked up at the brilliant stars and wondered. 

They completed the crossing without further incident, and docked in Natodik with the morning tide. As they disembarked, yawning and blinking in the bright new sun, they were swept up into the brilliant dance of the land of magic.

Here at the main seaport, anything and everything could be traded. Stalls and shops everywhere overflowed out into the streets with rich merchandise: silks and spices, glassware and jewelry. In addition, Natodik, being a thaumocracy, did not simply tolerate magic, but actively encouraged it. Stores sold windservant bottles and wonderful magic potions promising everything from instant love to eternal youth; young magicians practiced their art, weaving beautiful illusions for the entertainment of passers-by. In secure stores, magic weapons could be found for the discriminating collector; no one would dream of being violent in the new Lightness of the world, and especially not here, in Natodik ... where the soft ocher of weathered walls was the same golden sandstone that built the high sweeping walls of Thaulara itself!