Villains by Necessity (50 page)

"How do you spell T'krung-Tabak'?" he asked, squinting as he tried to decipher the thin, coiled, Nathauan handwriting.

"It's an Ancient Einian word, I think ... it has roots in Dwarvish. It means something like"Sacrifice of Self,"

Valerie explained. "Though the translation of 'self is a bit hazy. It has connotations with both the soul and the essence of one's being; in a Dwarfs case, family honor and tradition, the background that shapes the individual."

Sam thought about this later as he read and re-read the verse, copied onto a scrap of parchment in his own square letters. Sacrifice himself? In an eagle's claws? He shook his head. T'krung-Tabak, in eagle's claws, where warm blood outlines stony flaws. Blood, stone ... sounded like a sacrifice, indeed. But that would be a rather pointless thing to do, and his whole reason for being here was for his survival. If dare to face the inner eye ... what was that supposed to mean? he wondered again. The group had all gone over this verse before, as they travelled, but no firm ideas were forthcoming. Sam muttered the line to himself, then, on an impulse, crossed out "eye" and wrote a capital letter

"I" over it. Then, shaking his head, he changed it back again. And last...

To thy knees, 'neath moonlit sky. More sacrifice nonsense.

He wondered if Kaylana's people had ever practiced human sacrifice, as post-Victory rumors would have it.

He doubted it; she seemed to want little or nothing to do with humankind, especially him. That still ached. He'd tried kind words, flowers... was she just not interested, or did she even know? Maybe he would have to be more obvious. If this Test was as gloomy as it sounded, it would be nice to have at least a smile from her to think on before his blood went into some stony flaws somewhere. He resolved to tell her, charmingly but openly, that he thought she was the most courageous and beautiful woman he had ever known, that her strength and spirit had won him even more than her grace and gentle wisdom, and that no one had ever understood him as did she, that no one had ever brought him such fascination and hope and fear and confusion, that he would suffer a thousand painful agonies to see her happy again, and that maybe, when this was all over and assuming they survived, would she like to go out for a drink or a walk or something. But what if she hit him with the staff again? What if he stammered and blushed, and what if Arcie appeared and spoiled it all with some lewd comment?

The very thought made him nervous enough, and when he sensed a similar, but distinctly different feeling radiating from the imperturbable dark figure of Black mail, he became even more concerned, but about more immediate things than the tangled paths of emotion.

The knight was not sitting down to relax as were the rest of them. He was standing against the dawn sky, fac ing out toward the west. Sam followed his gaze, but saw nothing save endless prairie and a faint smudge on the horizon that might have been the sea that was the border between Sei'cks and Ein.

"The ocean, silent knight?" asked Sam, looking up at Blackmail's still figure. "Is that what you're looking at?"

The knight made no comment for a long moment, then shook his head in dismissal and sat down with a barrage of creaks and metallic noises. Sam admired the way the knight, strange though he was, was able to move about in that armor. He required no assistance rising or lowering himself to a seated position, and walked as quickly as any of them and with great stamina.

"We'll try to avoid the area to the northwest," Valerie was saying. "From what I have heard, the Plains barbarians have another main camp there at this time of year.

They may have heard of what happened at the other camp and would not be pleased to see us."

"Nary a soul ever is," said Arcie with a sigh.

"Sir Fenwick!" Jason, one of the younger scouts in the Verdant Company, ran into the high-raftered room. Fenwick had taken charge of an abandoned warehouse in Pila'mab as his temporary headquarters, and was even now discussing spell choices with his mages. He looked up as Jason stumbled into the room and saluted.

"Yes, Jason?" he asked.

"Sir Fenwick, Lord Tasmene to see you," announced Jason importantly. Fenwick grinned in delight.

"Really! Show the clumsy ox in, then," he directed.

The mages watched curiously as their leader pressed himself against the side of the doorway, eyes sparkling, and motioned to them to be silent.

A moment later, a ringing of mail sounded, and into the doorway stepped an impressive figure. A handsome man, over six feet tall, with shaggy brown hair and a thick curly beard. He was garbed all in silver chain mail, over which he wore a crimson tunic with a device of a white tiger rampant. Over his shoulders was thrown a red cloak trimmed in white fur, and he carried a helmet inlaid with silver under his arm. This was Lord Tasmene, descendant of the Hero Tamarne. Tasmene was an exadventurer, and the King of Ein. His eagle-sharp blue eyes glinted as he looked around the room, stepping through the doorway.

Fenwick reached out from his hiding place and abruptly pounded the man on the shoulder. The two men jerked around and faced each other, then began roaring like bears and cuffing each other around the head and shoulders. Finally Lord Tasmene fetched the smaller, slighter prince a hefty whap across the shoulder blades, that knocked him sprawling, and the two burst into laughter. "Blast it, Fenwick, you're too delicate! Don't they feed you over there?" roared Tasmene cheerfully.

"And you, old friend, like a great wheeump!" said Fenwick, laughing and leaping to his feet unharmed. His eyes widened, and he reached out and tugged on the man's beard. "And what's this, then? Have you become so clumsy that you feared for your life each day you took up a razor?"

The big man gently picked the ranger up by his collar.

"You are but jealous, my old friend, ever since I joshed your little smudge mustache on the Fields of Kalom."

Fenwick laughed, and Tasmene set him down. "Enough of this, Fenwick. What is this missive you have sent me?"

"I really did not expect you to show up in person, Tasmene.

I merely asked for your assistance ..."

"And you have it, of course! Even now my companions ... you recall them, o great Prince?" asked Tasmene with a smile.

"How could I not? Your little scruffy band of adventurers has both helped and hindered me and mine time and time again. The sturdy Northerman Thurbin, the noble knight Sir Reginald, your scout Dusty, the fair lady warrior Danathala. Your brother; the sly and mysterious mage Tesubar, the mountain barbarian Icecliff Cragland, and the healer, his lady, Waterwind, of these same plains we now look over. And of course your Lady Tilla, a swordswoman in her own right," finished Fenwick with a smile. Tasmene chuckled.

"All correct save the last. Fenny." he began, as Fenwick heard the stifled snickers from the mages behind him at the sound of his nickname. "Lady Tilla waits safely at home in Castle Praust-Palar, expecting our first child." The big warrior's face beamed with smug pride and Fenwick grabbed his hand and shook it.

"My arrows! Congratulations, old friend! This is fine news indeed." Tasmene bowed his head in proud acknowledgment, then continued in a serious tone.

"And in other business, however, my men-at-arms even now move Plainswards to your stated position. Tell me, friend, what is the cause that such a force as you and I together must have to be called out? I was in such curiosity I had Tesubar teleport me to your location at once."

Fenwick too became serious. "A small force of evil, my friend, small, but slippery as quicksilver. My men and I have so far had to use caution in our attempts to capture them and this has hindered our efforts. But soon the causes of that caution will be removed, and we shall sweep down upon the remainders like hawks."

"Causes of caution?" asked Lord Tasmene, scratching his beard. Fenwick nodded.

"A centaur, who is in the employ of the Arch-Mage Mizzamir, and a young lady with flame-red hair."

"Oho!" exclaimed Tasmene. "A lady? Is it perhaps that my friend tires of heartbreaking and seeks a more permanent companion, as I have done?"

"Perhaps," chuckled Fenwick. "Although a permanence may not work out... if it is the case, there is nothing wrong in a bit of heartbreaking." Fenwick winked.

"Well, then," replied Lord Tasmene, "what is your plan?"

Fenwick smiled. "It involves a dragon ..."

Blackmail remained uneasy, staring with dark visor-slit at the sky and the distant sea while the others ate a leisurely supper and relaxed aching muscles. Their attitude disturbed Robin; surely people on a quest so serious, facing the odds they did, would be more concerned, more dismal? But perhaps that had something to do with their evilness; heroes were concerned for the fate of all, while these people obviously felt that the rest of the world could go hang so long as they themselves were set up comfortably.

They relaxed on the hillside in the heat of the day. The fields were flat and empty, the sky a bright blue, patched here and there with thick white clouds. And yet Blackmail kept raising his dark visor to the sky, and Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck prickling. His starshaped birthmark seemed to itch, and he rumpled his tunic scratching at it.

They had just drifted off to sleep when suddenly there was a great clatter of metal as Blackmail lurched to his feet and drew his sword. The others awoke with a start to see a huge shape burst out of the clouds, great batwings beating the air as it swooped down on them. Jacinth flames burst from its gullet as they scrambled in terror.

Lumathix had found them, and the attack was too sudden to think.

The grass of the campsite exploded in flames. Sam, wakened from a sound sleep but still quick as ever, rolled out of the way and was missed entirely. Robin shied and ran out of the way, but the dragon ignored him. Blackmail raised his shield as the blast hammered down and not a lick of flame touched him. Arcie and Valerie were not so fortunate, caught in the fringes of the blast; smoke billowed up from the grass around them, drowning cries of pain. Kaylana jumped back as the rose-gold dragon landed with a jarring crash on the campsite.

Then all was chaos. Three daggers bounced in quick succession off the dragon's shoulder scales, then Sam was knocked flat by a lash of the great tail. Robin, unsure of what to do, drew his sword, and Arcie staggered coughing from the flames with his morning star; the dragon spoke words in the language of magic, and the centaur abruptly collapsed, dropped by a spell of magical slumber.

The tail lashed again, sending Arcie flying.

Blackmail charged forward, his sword swinging, and dealt the great beast a nasty blow to the side. The dragon roared and lunged at him, claws raking on platemail, jaws snapping. But the knight defended himself with sword and shield, and blood flew. Sam appeared again to the side; the dragon lunged with terrifying swiftness and its great teeth clashed together with a spurt of flame an inch from where the assassin had been.

Lumathix roared again and lashed out with his tail; the great muscular tail struck Kaylana before she could move. She flew backward through the air and landed with a jarring thud some yards away, her staff knocked from her hand. She raised her head, shaking it to clear it, and began groping frantically around for the staff. The dragon smacked Blackmail a final time with a huge fore-claw, slapped Sam crushingly across the chest with its huge tail once more, and bounded forward. It seized the oak staff in its huge mouth, then grabbed the Druid in its huge paws.

With a mighty leap it sprang into the air, Kaylana gripped so tightly in the scaly paws she couldn't move, and flew upward and away, heading toward the dim shadow of the distant sea and leaving a battered and bloody group of villains on a broad patch of black and smoking turf.

"Oh, hells," groaned Sam after a moment. Blackmail, his armor scratched and dented by the dragon's claws, wiped his sword on the grass and sheathed it. Sam got unsteadily to his feet. "That was the same one as before, I think," he added. He limped over to where three of his companions lay scattered on the turf. Arcie was blackened and burned, his clothes a mess of charred edges and soot, but he blinked and opened- his eyes when Sam shook him, and then began moaning and complaining loudly of the pain from his burns. Robin seemed to be unharmed, and Sam was just about to wake him when a hoarse cawing sound startled them. They looked over to see Nightshade the raven jumping up and down near Valerie's still form. They hurried over, and Arcie winced.

"Baris and Bella," he whispered. "Yon great beast must have trodden upon her."

It did indeed look so ... the frail Nathauan's body was twisted into the ground, her fair skin charred and crimson-blistered from the dragon's breath. The long black hair was little more than crumpled soot.

"Are she ...?" asked Arcie. The sorceress was unmoving.

Sam shook his head.

"Her familiar's still alive, so she must be also ... I don't know for how long though."

Indeed the raven seemed quite frantic, jumping up and down, flapping its wings. And the broken form on the ground made a faint sound of pain. The men exchanged glances. Robin, woken from the magical sleep by the noise, raised his head and pricked his ears to listen to Sam and Arcie as the knight stood silently by.

"Tis best we end it," suggested Arcie. "Nought we might do ... Kaylana might have done, but ..." He shrugged and winced, cursing, in pain as he was reminded of his injuries.

Sam shook his head again. "We've got to try to save her. There was that tribe of barbarians around, I remember noticing their campfires not too far away. They may have a healer..."

"Sam, 'tis a waste of time and dangerous. Best we leave her and press on. I'm in fardlin' agony."

Ah, thought Robin. So darkness does abandon its own.

"Arcie, normally I'd say, yes, let's abandon her. She's evil, she's powerful, thus she's dangerous. But also ..." he began ticking off his fingers. "One, she's saved my life twice at least. Of course, that doesn't really make much difference, and if that was all, I'd just leave her now. But two, she's the only one who knows where we're going, three, she's the only one who knows what we may have to do when we get there, and four, she's the only thing close to a wizard we have in our little band. Without her, we may as well go home and wait to be whitewashed, or for the world to sublimate, or whatever." He began bandaging what he could see of the Nathauan's wounds with scraps torn from her cloak.