Villains by Necessity (41 page)

The hallway was brightly lit by the now-familiar magical lamps, here shining in a soft rosy sunset color. Long carpets, richly woven, muffled their footsteps as they paced down the hall. A sudden tattoo of footsteps sounded from a corner, accompanied by talking voices; Sam swirled and seemed to vanish instantly behind an ornamental display case, but Valerie was not so quick; she had barely taken a step back when two red-robed apprentices, male and female, turned the corner and almost ran into her. They startled, then seeing only her blue %%%robes and shocked expression, immediately dropped their eyes and began making obsequious apologies.

"Oh dear, so sorry mistress, a thousand pardons, please forgive us..." They backed away hurriedly, bowing respectfully, then turned down a side passage and fled. Valerie had half-raised her hand with the intent of following old instincts to leave no witnesses, but a hand from behind the case grabbed hers and pulled it back.

"No magic, remember?" hissed Sam, coming out of his hiding place. "And if I'm seen and anyone asks, I'm your personal bodyguard ... I think Shadrezarian mercenaries still wear black."

"You're far too pale to ever pass yourself off as a Shadrezarian," scoffed Valerie softly as they continued swiftly down the hall. "But we'll hope that any more young apprentices will be just as foolish as you."

"And if we meet any high mages?" Sam led the way, counting doors, then listened intently at one. Valerie kept watch down the hallway. From all sides came constant random pulses of all sorts of Light magic as various mages demonstrated their skills or just used magic as they were accustomed to.

"We'll have to be sure we don't."

Sam tried the door and jumped back. A fat blue spark had popped silently off the handle, shocking him. Valerie brushed past him, eyes narrowed.

"A magical ward of sorts," she muttered, "designed to scare off inquisitive students and the like. But it shouldn't have discharged like that... not on a non-magical person.

Any history of wizardry in your family?"

"No," Sam snapped softly. "None. It's probably residual from your blasted Darkportal."

"Perhaps. I'd better see if I can unweave it." She began to close her eyes, but the assassin again caught her arm.

"Wait," he insisted. "Is it on the lock, the door, or the whole portal?"

"The latching mechanism," Valerie reported, after a moment's concentration, using not her magic, but instead the innate Nathauan spell-sight. %%%"All right ... keep watch." He drew out a set of seldom-used lockpicks, and, with the occasional angry indigo spark popping out around his knuckles, set to work.

Kaylana and Arcie wandered through the convention halls with that wonderful invisibility that the servant class enjoys in the company of those it serves. Kaylana's plate of doves had been apprehended by a group of yellow-robed young journeymen from one of the southeastern provinces who were playing some magical game in one of the large open activities halls. Arcie kibitzed for a moment, as Kaylana, growing claustrophobic from the stuffy warmth of the halls and the chattering crowds of mages, pinned herself against a wall near a large water cask. The game played by the journeymen seemed at first to be some complex variant of chess; an intricate board was set up, and scattered with pieces that represented various long extinct monsters and some human types.

Dice seemed to determine how the figures would move, and whether a dark dragon could take out a violet mage and three knights. After a moment of watching, Arcie shook his head and walked away; it was far too confusing for his liking. One of the players had a very elaborate set of pieces, and dice made from semi-precious stones- gifts, he had proudly stated, from his master. His figures were so finely carved and painted they seemed almost to move. Arcie, unable to help himself, helped himself; to one that caught his fancy, a beautiful rendering of a hellbeast, with its blue-black scales and flowing fur, all wings and fangs and spiky talons. He slipped the miniature out of the wizard's pouch and into his own pocket, then went to peel Kaylana off the wall.

"Tis dangerous wandering through all these mages," he confided to her as they ducked out of the room. "We'd best try to find the other two."

"How are we to do that?" replied the Druid. "We don't even know where we are, much less where they might be."

"Och, lass, trust of' Arcie. We rogues have many and %%%secret talents what few ever ken." He laid a finger alongside his nose and grinned, and scooped a tray of filled glasses off of a passing buffet table. Then he turned to a butler who was walking past. "'Ere, guv, t'mages give me an order for drink to go to the high tower," he chirped, grinning winsomely. "But blasted iffen I ken where yon be. Give us a point, please, sahr."

The butler sighed. "I suppose that means someone will have to be dispatched to clean up those rooms as well, after the festivities," he said. "We hoped they would all stay in the lower rooms, but each must have his own private conferences... follow this hall, take the first left and then the staircase at the end, turn left and go down the hall at the top. It'll be the last door on your right."

"Thankee kindly, guv," replied Arcie, tugging his forelock respectfully. As the butler moved on among the crowds of mages (who were eagerly heading to a presentation on Realistic Illusions presented by the famous High Wizard Lorem), he grabbed Kaylana by the arm and steered her down the hall, his tray of clinking wineglasses held high.

Sam wrestled with the lock for what seemed like ages.

Not only was it well-made and stiff with disuse, but the sparks would cause his fingers to involuntarily flinch when crucial delicacy was vital. He'd never been that good at locks anyway; that was partly why he'd always had Arcie along on his missions that required such tasks.

He sat back, shaking his tingling fingertips as Valerie radiated impatience.

"It's no use," he whispered. "If only we had Arcie here..." "'Allo 'allo, did I hear someone asking after me?" piped a familiar voice. Sam and Valerie turned to see Arcie, followed by Kaylana, turn the corner and approach.

"Great vanished Hruul, Arcie, I'm almost glad to see you," Sam exclaimed in a soft whisper. "Got a lock that needs your attention." %%%"Oho, does it now?" chortled the Barigan softly.

"Let's have at it." He shook out a couple of picks from his sleeves and went to work. For whatever reason, the blue sparks seemed to leave him alone.

Valerie turned to Kaylana. "How did you find us?" she asked. The Druid shrugged, her composure returning now that she was away from the crowded lower halls.

"We asked someone."

Robin and Blackmail had drifted to the far gates closest to the Castle. Here a circle of musicians and dancers sang and danced around a roaring bonfire, while smaller fires around the perimeter roasted chickens and suckling pigs.

Apples peeled coated in brown sugar and cinnamon, and baked in the coals, were handed out freely to children, and Robin managed to obtain one from a cheerful gentleman who was impressed by the novelty of a centaur in the city. He bit gingerly at the hot confection and carefully watched Blackmail. The preoccupied knight was staring up at the Castle, his hand on his sword. Robin looked around. Crowds, noise, smoke from the fires ... perfect. Slowly he stepped back into the crowds, letting a marching parade of drunken singers stagger between him and the knight. Then he bolted. When Blackmail looked around, searching, there was no sign of the centaur.

Robin ducked behind a stall selling festive scarves and wasted no time in pressing the two gems on his bracelet.

The magic of the talisman would transport him immediately to within a few yards of Mizzamir's presence. He could only hope that immediately would be soon enough.

As the sickening feeling of strange transport faded, it was replaced by a rush of warm, stuffy air, and the droning of voices. Robin found himself in a darkened room with many other people, at the edge of many rows of seats. His hindquarters brushed tapestries on a wall. Mizzamir was seated at the center of a table of mages in front of the audience. One of the other mages was explaining something. A few of the mages seated near where Robin had materialized turned to look in surprise. Attracted by the change, Mizzamir looked up suddenly, and saw

Robin standing in the shadows, twisting his hat nervously.

The Arch-Mage excused himself and came down from the panel, taking Robin aside.

"I trust this is important?" he inquired gently, as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. Robin nodded so violently that his mane flopped.

"Sir, the villains are here! In your castle, sir! They plan to enter the Silver Tower!"

"The Silver Tower?" exclaimed Mizzamir. "Whatever for?" But before the centaur could reply, he continued, "No matter. Assuming they have found the way there, I can make it extremely difficult for them to leave. Much as their escapades have proved interesting, this is too good an opportunity to end the matter without bloodshed."

Meanwhile, Arcie pushed the door open and stepped back with a flourish. "There ya be, all in a night's work for Arcie Macrory, Guildmaster of Bistort and too likely the rest of yon world as well. Best burglar in existence."

"And the most modest," came from Sam. He noticed Kaylana was looking nervous; it was strange to see her composure shaken. He wondered, as he so often had, if there was anything he could do to help her, to comfort her...

"We had better get back down to the lower levels,"

Kaylana said, looking around. "We are too conspicuous in this large group."

"The bunny-hugger is right," Valerie said coldly. "The assassin and I will continue from here ... you two had better return."

"Right enough," agreed Arcie with a sigh. "Well and it seems we always be missing the exciting parts ... Come along, lassie." He and Kaylana started for the hall, while Sam and Valerie slipped into the opened stairwell and up the well-worn spiral steps beyond.

"You must return to whence you came, minstrel," cautioned Mizzamir, "Lest the dark knight suspect. I shall deal with these."

Before Robin could utter a word of protest, the Arch Mage cast the spell that sent him snapping back like a rubber band to his point of departure. The whuff of the smoky night air and music swelled around him, and he stepped out just in time to catch Blackmail's arm as the knight went marching rapidly past, looking for him. The knight gripped his shoulders, as if glad to see him, and then glanced up at the Silver Tower. Robin followed his gaze.

Valerie and Sam went through the elaborately carved door at the top of the stairs without difficulty. The room they stepped out into seemed to Valerie to pulse softly with waves of magical goodness that nauseated her.

Nightshade gurgled in sympathy. Sam, unaffected but still uneasy, scanned the room.

It was like a typical mage's study, only far richer.

Somewhat oblong in shape, and made of silver-white marble, it held everything a mage would need, without being cluttered; a fine goldenwood desk at one end, racks of scrolls and shelves of books, as well as some tables with magical accoutrements arranged on them. But the focal point of the room was near the center, where the floor fanned out in a dais set with chips of semiprecious stones. Glittering and blinking softly in the center of this was a font, made of marble and decorated with cabochons of gemstones. The gemstones were lit up as if from the inside and sparkled like agitated stars.

"Test, Test, where's the blasted Test!?" exclaimed Valerie, looking frantically around the room. "Lead, light, and sand the Test define... Assassin! Search through the drawers in that desk for lead, sand, anything..."

Sam wasn't listening. Though the room was fairly dim, lit only by a diffuse glow without any visible source, he had noticed the windows. Stained-glass images, made eerie by their colors muted and darkened by the outside night, looked down at him. One in particular caught his attention and froze it; an image of Mizzamir, in all his silver robed glory, looking down at him, his expression mutated by the night into something old, slow, cold ... %%%not darkness, but beyond it; a strange, uncaring expression that knew nothing of right or wrong, but only of good or evil...

Valerie stopped her frantic scrambling among the tables to see what had stopped him. She followed his gaze, and then halted herself.

A silent moment passed, then she whispered; "Of course. How could I have been so stupid? Lead and sand ... glass. Stained glass held in a lead matrix ..."

Her voice tore Sam out of his reverie. "But it also required light, didn't it? There's no lamps in here... and it won't be dawn for hours yet," he whispered back.

"And we can't wait here until it is," Valerie replied with determination. "We'll just have to hope that isn't important."

"You're right... that has to be the Test... But how do you activate it?" Sam moved back toward the door, not from fear, but from caution; his danger sense was beginning to prickle, and the fire was starting to rush and burn in his blood. He could actually smell Mizzamir in the air of this room, a faint sickly smell like lavender and cedar.

"Should be fairly obvious," retorted Valerie. "Ancient magic's brine. That font has to be at least as old as this tower, and the best liquid for scrying is a saline solution ... we used to collect the tears of tortured slaves, back in the Underrealm."

So saying, she grabbed a glass beaker off a handy table and plunged it into the font. The gemstones flashed painfully bright, and a crackle of familiar blue sparks exploded around her. Nightshade flew straight up, cawing.

The sorceress, taken off guard, was unable to keep herself from flinging the brimming beaker up and away, sending it crashing, contents and all, over the suspected Test window.

The noise was like the shattering of the ice-gates of doom. The lights on the font vanished, leaving the room full of dim shadows and ringing afterimages. Nightshade perched on a bookcase, wings trembling.

It took a few seconds for them to recover. Then Valerie %%%said, "Of course, many mages chose to guard their fonts with various spells. I admit to a lack of caution on my part."