Villains by Necessity (55 page)

"Whew!" said Arcie cheerfully, pulling out a blue handkerchief and mopping his brow. "What a grand mix-em-up!"

"I don't approve," muttered Sam, rubbing his hands off on his tunic; the rotten dead things had the chill of the grave about them. "Live things becoming dead, that I'm used to, not the other way around." His fingers felt frostbitten.

"Oh dear," Robin said, inspecting his hooves to make sure they weren't damaged. "I hope we don't have to do that again."

"Don't count on it, centaur," said Valerie with a sigh.

"I think we're going to have to be extremely careful from now on."

"I don't suppose you'd leave that amulet behind?" asked Robin wistfully. Valerie clutched it firmly.

"You'd have to kill me first," she retorted coldly.

"Here, Arcie, I'm thirsty ... got anything to drink?" asked Sam. "Especially since you stole my waterskin to fill up at that temple."

Arcie replied, "Sure enough," and went for his waterskin. "This is the stuff from the temple..." Sam waved it away.

"No, don't waste that. I'm fine, we may need it later.

Anything else?"

"Aye, sure," replied the Barigan, handing him another waterskin offhandedly as he began poking about in the bones to see if there was anything worth stealing. Sam unplugged the skin and tilted his head back, pouring the liquid into his mouth and swallowing in great gulps. As he lowered the skin he smacked his lips thoughtfully.

Wait, that wasn't...

"How are it?" Arcie asked, watching him. The assassin, having just downed perhaps three cups of Barigan whiskey, solemnly handed the skin back, turned around, and took almost three steps before he fell over.

Sam woke some time later and wished he hadn't. As he whimpered slightly, there was a too-loud scuffing sound near him, and Arcie's voice said, "Here, laddie, drink o' this."

Sam squeezed his face shut and muttered through clenched teeth, "I'm not going to drink anything, you poisoner."

"Och, pot and kettle, laddie. Trust me, drink it."

"No."

Something abruptly jumped on his stomach with heavy booted feet. As he opened his mouth to gasp a splash of cool water landed in it, and he had barely time to notice his gut-wrenching head-splitting hangover dissipating as his reflexes threw the Barigan across the room. Arcie landed on his feet, having expected the move, and looked hurt as Sam slowly sat up, shaking his head.

"Just a tad of Mula's magic cure-all," he told Sam.

"There were no need to get so cross."

"My apologies then, Arcie." Sam looked around.

They were in another room they had passed earlier, one with enough space for them all to rest comfortably. The others were preparing to move on, nodding a greeting to him. "How long have I been out?" Sam asked.

"A wee few hours," answered Arcie. "You fell over in yon hall..."

"I remember that," agreed Sam.

"And then ye got up, and started walking about on yer hands," continued Arcie cheerfully. "Ye showed us as ye could balance a dagger on yer nose, and ye almost went putting yer eye out. Ye got amain cross, and then started singing "Pixie-Clover Wine" up and down the hall. Robin tried to settle ye, and ye went and tried to throw him over yer shoulder, and close almost gave yerself the musclewrench. Ye went at shouting about what ye were mean ing to do to Mizzamir, then ye puked up all over the skeletons and ye passed out, so we went and dragged you back here."

Sam stared at Arcie. "You're joking!"

Arcie grinned through the smoke of his lit pipe. "Aye, yer right, I am. Ye was out perhaps four, say five hours.

Ye snored, but 'tis all. We ourselfs ate and slept."

"That's more like it," said the assassin. "But I don't snore. Give me my birchwood throwing knife, Arcie."

The Barigan sighed and passed it over. Sam's diligent efforts had managed to get most of the Groink residue off, and it was once again a fine blade worth stealing.

"Were hoping you wouldn't notice," he murmured. Sam managed a smile at his incorrigible old friend.

"When we get out of this, I'll buy you one of your own.

Let's get started."

Sam munched a few dried rations for a breakfast and made a mental note to keep an eye out for a well or some thing else that might provide water for him to refill his empty waterskin.

The tunnels wound ever further into the depths of Putak-Azum. The band of villains walked on through the halls, wandering more or less aimlessly but ever seeking further upward passages that might take them to the dragon's lair. Here, further in, past where so many had gone before, the rooms and tunnels were in better condition, holding more of the glory of their former years.

In one room, a circular chamber, was a large round well or shaft. Arcie, curious, looked into it; it was empty, just a straight shaft extending into the depths. On a whim, he threw a pebble down it; the sound of the frag ment bouncing and clattering its way down echoed so loudly that it prompted Valerie to shush him severely.

One room, with its door ajar, prompted a look-in; rows and rows of sarcophagi lay therein, many with the lids broken open and strange corpses in rotting garments lying within. Arcie was all for a bit of grave-robbing, but when they moved to step closer, eerie black shrouds of vapor seemed to coalesce about the tombs, hungrily searching for the stone at Valerie's neck. Unnerved, the party quickly backed out and slammed the door, then hastened with all speed away down the hall.

They then came onto a large eight-sided room, which was worked with frescoes so elaborate they had to stop and inspect them. The carvings took the form of a rich mural going all around the room, including the ceiling, and weaving over the arch of the door.

"What do you suppose this is?" wondered Sam, looking at the mural. There were knights and dragons and men on horseback, mountains and ships and cities.

"It seems to be a story-mural of some sort," replied Valerie. "Robin? Does any of this look familiar?"

The centaur shook his head. "No ... This is all much older than anything I know of."

"Hmmph," sniffed Valerie. "A bard would know."

"What is a bard?" asked Robin, a little testily.

"It's hard to say ... you'll have to ask Kaylana," replied the sorceress.

Meanwhile, Arcie had been discovering mechanisms in the stonework. He almost alerted the party, but then he realized the devices weren't traps. They just seemed to be sections of the mural that would sink down when pressed. Here a helmet, here a sheaf of grain, here a sword, here a section of hill; tiny chunks of the carving so intricately worked into the rest of the design that the lines of their borders were almost invisible. He pressed down a few in curiosity.

They sank with a faint clicking noise, but no secret panel opened, no chest of jewels spilled out from any concealed vaults. He pressed quite a few of them, then, discouraged, gave the border around the base a kick. The section his foot hit sank with a definite snap, and suddenly the mountain began to tremble.

"Tharzak's blades! Arcie, what did you do?!" yelled Sam, trying to keep his balance on the trembling floor.

"I didn't!" Arcie shouted back, as a sudden tremor knocked him on his back.

"Get out before the whole room caves in!" cried Valerie, suiting action to word. They ran after her and into a large hallway beyond.

Valerie ran five steps and a pit opened underneath her.

She fell with a scream, her raven flapping and cawing.

Robin, close behind, leaped over the pit and turned down into another passage, just as it tilted up at a steep angle and slid him down its length to deeper parts of the mountain, his hooves skidding on the stone. Sam came next, as a section of floor snapped up and shot him through the air to a chute that conveniently opened in one wall, closing behind him. Blackmail and Arcie, hastening out the doorway and looking at the confusion of moving stonework all around them, had barely time to exchange shocked looks when a spring in the floor catapulted the Barigan through a just-opened hole in the ceiling and a section of hallway abruptly elongated itself and engulfed the knight like a giant worm.

In another part of Putak-Azum, the White Tigers, just beginning to be ready for the day's hunting, felt the shaking.

"What is that?!" roared Tasmene.

"Someone must have triggered the Dwarven mechanic defenses of Putak-Azum!" yelled Thurbin the Northerman in surprise.

"Haha! This is fun!" cheered Dusty, as the room suddenly split like a pie. The triangular sections tilted upward and sent the heroes rolling to opening chutes in the walls.

"Blast Dwarven mechanics!" cursed Danathala the archer, as she and her pack went tumbling. They heard the mage Tesubar beginning a spell as he fell into the depths.

"Pheythar-"

"Arrgh!" bellowed the noble paladin, Sir Reginald, as he fell with a great clatter of plate-mail. Muffled cries marked the passage of the barbarian priestess Waterwind and the barbarian named Icecliff as they fell down a chute together. "We shall die together, my beloved!"

"Yes, my darling of the snows!"

The moving stonework ground to a halt, finally, and all was silent in the rearranged vaults of Putak-Azum.

Sam fell for quite a long way. He hadn't lived to the age of thirty-some summers by not keeping a clear head, however. He dragged his heels on the chute, trying to slow his passage, grabbing with his hands at cracks that shot by too fast, and was just debating whether to risk ruining a dagger on stopping himself when he shot out of the chute, did a double back somersault in mid-air, and landed with a splash in an icy pool.

He surfaced, spluttering. It was pitch dark. His assassin's vision swiftly adapted; there was no light whatsoever to make distant shapes, but he could sense the air and the echoes ... In the distance was the reflective echo of a wall. Trying not to think about what things might lurk in the dark water around him, he struck out for shore, swimming strongly.

Arcie shot up out of the hallway and immediately fell down another as it tilted swiftly. Why didn't I see all these traps? he cursed himself as he fell. The whole damn place are a trap!

Abruptly the hallway began to level off, and the Barigan's descent went from a plummet to a bounce to a tumble to a roll, at last letting him crumple to a stop against a wall. Arcie lay very still for a long moment. The air was cold, and smelled stale. He seemed to be alive. It was very dark. He could tell he was up against a wall, and there seemed to be floor underneath him, but other than that even his pride had to admit he was lost. Well, no sense lying about feeling sorry for yourself, he thought firmly, and got to his feet. Other than a few scratches and bruises he seemed to be all right. The others might scoff at his chubbiness, but a bit of padding was really sometimes the best friend a fellow could have.

A good smoke would be most welcome now, he decided, while he figured out his next move. He fumbled his tobacco things out blindly. After filling his pipe and getting it going, he tried to find something else that would burn long enough to make a suitable light. There didn't seem to be anything. With a shrug and a quick readjustment of his battered hat, he set off down the passageway he'd been dumped into.

Robin, skittering as he fell, had only one panicked thought. He gripped the bracelet and activated it. With a flux of power he found himself in the Diamond Tower once more ...

Valerie muttered a quick spell as she saw she was approaching the bottom of the pit. A bubble of force caught and supported her and Nightshade, and they drifted down. The sorceress carefully avoided the two-foot long rusty spikes as she landed gently and looked around.

She seemed to be in the bottom of a ten-by-ten square pit. There were no exits to be seen by most, but Valerie was a Nathauan. Born in darkness, raised in darkness, in a world of underground passages and secret tunnels. As her large purple eyes widened, she noted the rough stonework, the barbs on the spikes, and a thin crack of a concealed doorway in one wall. At least the mountain seemed to have stopped shaking. She pushed on the door gently with a graceful hand, and smiled as it slid open with a faint grating noise.

Sir Reginald clattered to a halt on his armored rump, after a most unsporting tumble down a steep chute. He raised his visor, his long mustache twitching; it seemed to be dark. Well, that was easily remedied, certain. The paladin drew his great sword, the magical silver-worked blade Starstrike, and held it aloft with a word of command: "Forte!"

White light coruscated from the blade and filled the chamber with radiance. He lowered the blade and looked around. Abruptly there was the sound of a mailed footstep, and he turned to face it. A tall, dark figure, all armored in black plate-mail, stepped through a doorway at the far end of the chamber.

"What ho!" cried Sir Reginald. "The black knight of the villains! I challenge you to combat!" he roared, snapping his visor down. "Draw your sword!"

The dark knight drew a sword black as ebony, and raised a mailed fist in acceptance of the challenge. With a ringing clatter of metal, the two combatants charged each other.

Sam climbed out of the pool onto a slimy, pebbly beach.

He couldn't see the water clearly, but he had tasted it, and it seemed fresh enough ... he filled his waterskin.

Hanging it on his belt. he looked around. There was the echo of a passageway there, and if he was not mistaken, there was a twinkle of light at the far end. He took off his sodden tunic and squidged down the hallway.

He at last stepped out into an open room and found he was not alone. He tensed. A female figure, holding a glowing magical torch that was the source of the light, turned to face him, and gasped.

Danathala, Dana for short, saw where there had been nothing before, a very interesting looking person. A man, about her age, maybe a bit younger, with wet blond hair.

He was wearing black silk. Wet black silk, that clung in very interesting ways to a lean, strong body, with a broad muscular chest, nice legs and ... she noted, as he gave a quick half-turn to check behind him, cute buns.

"Hey, handsome," she said, in her most charming voice, as the vision whipped out a dagger and assumed a ready stance, "Calm down ... you're much too good looking to fight with. Let's chat for awhile instead, hmmm?" Sam didn't much care for either the look in her eyes or the tone of her voice, but forced himself to think clearly.