Villains by Necessity (65 page)

"You sly bastard," said the other, with his voice. "Do it."

To thine own self be true, Sam thought, recalling the words of an ancient play... but which is my own self? He hesitated, the fire burning but held as though frozen at the instant of the kill...

There was a sudden peripheral flash and a meaty noise.

The familiar face he stared into suddenly took on a strange, puzzled expression, the eyes unfocusing ... and the body fell down on top of him, knocking them both to the ground. Sam recovered his hand from its gory grip and wriggled free and looked down. Sunk into the back of his darker selfs skull was the camelian-pommeled dagger that had flown through the air for so long.

He recovered the dagger, wiping it clean, then turned the body over, and stared at his own face, pale and twisted in the rictus of death. He stared at it a long time, the fire slowly calming.

Then pillars and walls and pool and corpse became hazy, and blew away on a white mist. He looked up, but there was nothing there. Just white, on all sides. And hanging in midair, a ruby crystal segment.

He reached for it, but an invisible force blocked his way. A voice boomed out of nowhere.

"If you would pass the Test of Tamarne, you must make %%%a sacrifice, as he did. You must give up that which makes you special, that which is your greatest power."

"I just killed myself, dammit," Sam snapped, aching from his wounds. "What more do you want?"

"You must give up that which makes you what you are, that which is your source of pride and identity, as Tamarne did. This must be your sacrifice, for the Segment of the Spectrum Key."

"I'm no demigod!" cried Sam, feeling like an idiot for talking to empty space.

"You have the means. Have you the will? Only for this price will you gain the last Segment." The voice fell silent.

"The means ... ?" asked Sam, thinking.

Legend ... he took out a tiny black pouch he'd had tucked in his pants lining, and shook the glittering Heartstone, which Blackmail had given him for Robin's life, into his hand. Legend had it that those with strong enough will could use the power of a Heartstone to drain the very essence of their enemies. That was why they were so valuable, said to be tears of the gods, gems of rarity, magic and beauty so strong they could only be destroyed by the deliberate actions of a true and mighty Hero. Perhaps he could ...

No. He couldn't. He knew what the Test wanted him to give up. Not his soul, maybe, but almost... There was only one thing he had close to the vitality and power of a demigod's immortality. But give it up... never. Without it, he'd die. He'd be worse than whitewashed. He'd be useless.

But without the Segment, they couldn't open the Darkgate ... and then where would they be?

Sam stared into the Heartstone, lost in desperate thought. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could make it. After all, he did have training, thirty-some years of experience, plenty of weapons ... it was only a bit of an unusual mindset he was being asked to give up, just a sort of magic "gone awry." He pictured his companions; the incorrigible Barigan, the beautiful aloof Druid, the sly Nathauan, the mysterious knight, the young centaur, saw them waiting helplessly as the Light poured through %%%the world and the trees and rocks blew away on a brilliant wind and all was sublimated into a featureless, blinding emptiness of pure positive energy ... and, for those allied with evil, an agonizing, torturous death ... he saw the flesh charring away from the bones in the shining light, heard the dying cries of pain and despair ... he saw Kaylana's tears.

He gripped the stone in his hand and closed his eyes, his brow wrinkling with concentration, summoning the fire for what he knew was the last time.

Sam sent the fire rushing up in his blood, swirling higher and higher, his breath getting shallow, his heart pounding. What the strange power might be, whether insanity, talent, or inherent magic gone strange and dark, had never been explored. Sam recalled all the times he'd felt that instinctive, rushing, endless strength, from the faintest glow to the steady raging flame that drove him from within beyond the bounds of his flesh and bone. He called the fire and it filled him with tension and glory and power... ... and then forced it out with a supreme effort of will that brought tears to his eyes from more than exhaustion and pain. It was like breathing a last breath, like feeling his soul ripped raw. The feeling was worse than any wound, any hurt, as the flames swirling in his body were slowly sucked out, drained into the sparkling depths of the Heartstone and leaving aching weakness in their place.

The fire rushed out and away, leaving a strange, empty ache in every vein. Sam felt himself being sucked dry, helpless, the warm pride he'd always had around his heart torn away in bloody shreds.

The last glowing flickers ripped themselves free of the assassin's soul and spiraled away into sparkling crystal.

Sam opened his eyes and hand ...

Mizzamir began to near the completion of his spell and readied himself for the final burst of energy aimed at the Test, his power cresting. * * *

The Heartstone sparkled in his palm with new unearthly beauty, crimson and jacinth and soft blackness, like a drop of blood, shadow, and flame. He only saw it for a moment before it vanished, snatched away by the magic of the Test, and Sam crumpled slowly to the floor ... ... And Mizzamir released the spell.

As his magical force wrenched open a gate that was being exploded outward anyway, the effect was rather like a geyser of magic. The candles blew out and the glowing stones skittered away. The ledge exploded like a fountain of fireworks, red and white and silver. Mizzamir stumbled backward as the explosion crashed into him and fell off the ledge. There was a spurt like a volcano that decapitated the eagle-rock and sent an indistinct figure sailing high away over the mountains. The area lit up like noontime, and the people of Fenwick's Company and the Einian army exclaimed at the fiery burning farther down the mountain range.

Mizzamir caught himself by magic long before hitting the ground. As the explosion died away, he hovered back up the pinnacle and examined the ledge hopefully. Nothing was there but a charred patch of stone. He thought of the indistinct figure he had seen go sailing away.

"Bother," he said to himself. "The Segment and that assassin must have been blown into who-knows-where."

He sighed. "I'll have to go looking." So saying, he teleported back to his Tower to his magic scrying mirror.

The Segment sailed into the air. It described a graceful arc, then tumbled down. It smacked into a rock outcropping, striking sparks, and then bounced its way down along the jagged outjuttings and ledges. It glittered dancing in the raindrops, then hit a rock midstream and clattered down a steep hill, finally coming to rest, an impossible treasure, on a pile of rough stones in the bottom of a dry gully.

Sam was mercifully unconscious for his airborne journey. He flew through the rain and air and wind, tumbling limply, spattering the ground below with drops of blood.

Some tiny last bit of his luck held out, and he splashed down in a deep, fast-flowing river.

The Heartstone glittered in the night, a fire-sparkle among the raindrops. It was so light that the winds scooped it up and played with it, tossing it from side to side and across the distances like a hailstone. Finally they tired of the bauble and let it drop, It fell, and landed lightly in a tiny crevice high up a mountainside, hidden away forever from the sight of mankind.

The shock of the water woke Sam, sort of; he barely had the strength to cling on to a passing log, like a drowning kitten. Working his failing hands around the trunk, he locked his fingers together and concentrated on keeping his head above water. At least the cold numbed his wounds. A short while later, a change made him open his eyes; the rain was stopping, and the river slowing. The '' sky was different-lighter. It was dawn. He drifted down the current, uncaring as to where it might take him.

The rain stopped, the sun came out, and soon the unpleasantness of the night was dissolved away as swiftly as the mist. The rivers slowed and drained down, falling back into their normal courses as they emptied themselves into the Western Sea. Fenwick and Tasmene and their men prepared themselves for the hunt, and began making their cautious way into the mountain passes, hounds and guides leading the way.

As soon as the flood had ebbed enough, Blackmail woke his sleeping companions and they all edged cautiously out of the cave and made their way along the steep banks of the river. As soon as they could, they moved away from the water and continued to make their way through the mountains, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and their pursuers. They had suffered a crushing capture and defeat, and lost one of their number, and were still in great danger. All agreed that a strategic retreat was in order. The day was bright and cheerful, Kaylana noticed; and in the light she could see tiny flowers sprouting from cracks in the bare rock, where no flowers should grow. The Light was getting stronger... she judged they had less than a week before the world finally tipped from balance far enough, and began its rapid slide into burning light. %%%"Trust that fool Sam to go and get himself losted," snapped Arcie. "There'll be no finding him in all this rock."

"We shall find him ... or he will find us," Kaylana said, with more certainty than she felt. They were passing by another fast-flowing river; the slippery rocks made the going treacherous. Nightshade had abandoned his mistress's shoulder and had gone off scouting along the river's edge, poking at twigs and debris.

"I hardly expect him to just turn up under a rock or something," scoffed Valerie.

Robin was walking more slowly, closer to the edge of the river where the rocks were flatter and the going a bit smoother. Nightshade had landed ahead of him, and was busy pecking at something dead that had been washed into a crack of the rock. Robin averted his eyes in disgust at the carrion-eater's habits, but suddenly something odd in the scene made him look again. What the raven was tearing and stabbing at was a human hand, still attached to an arm, still attached to ...

Robin gasped and stumbled, almost falling into the current. He ran up to the object, startling Nightshade into flight, and looked, going pale.

"I found him!" he cried, motioning the company to the water's edge.

Wedged in a crack between two rocks, the detritus of the ebbing river, was Sam. His hand, pecked and gouged by Nightshade, scarcely bled. Kaylana checked his pulse, and then, between worried muttered spells, ordered Robin and Blackmail to extricate him from the rocks.

Arcie sat on a nearby rock and lit up his pipe, glad of the rest, while Valerie soothed the grumbling Nightshade, and fed him with scraps from her few remaining provisions.

It took them upwards of a quarter hour to work Sam free. Blood loss and exposure had left him in a deep coma, and something had charred his clothing badly.

Kaylana, going about the meticulous job of healing the many wounds and abrasions, was shocked to see the %%% network of scars covering the assassin's skin. Scarcely a handspan anywhere was lacking the pale tracks of old battles, or the darker red scars and scabs of more recent ones gained on their journey. On his torso and arms there were so many scars they often overlapped. Only his face was unmarred; for that was the only wound an assassin would bother to have magically healed-a facial scar would be far too easily recognized.

At length, Kaylana sat back and shook her head. "The exposure has taken too great a toll," she said grimly. "He will not wake to see another dawn."

"Oh, bugger," sighed Arcie. "Well, I'd guess you'd better be giving him some of this, then," he added, and passed over a wineskin.

"What's that? More Barigan whiskey?" sneered Valerie.

Arcie looked affronted.

"Nay, 'tis some o' Mula's magic water ... I were saving it for an emergency."

"This is one," Kaylana snapped, taking the waterskin.

She quickly poured a few shimmering drops over the pale, dead-looking fresh wounds in Sam's flesh, and then forced some down his throat.

The color slowly began to return to Sam's face, and his breathing steadied. He heaved a deep sigh and opened his eyes.

"Cold," he muttered. Then he tensed.

"Test! I was in the Test... fought... me. Got the rock ... red rock. Segment. Where is it?" He sat up and then woozily sank back down. Kaylana and the others exchanged glances.

"You went through the last Test?" snapped Valerie.

"And won? Where is the Segment?"

"Explosion," gasped Sam. "Blew up into the air, fell in the river."

"It could be anywhere!" whinnied Robin in exasperation.

Blackmail nodded assent.

"I'll get Nightshade to look for it... Will you do that, my pet?" she crooned to her raven. "Find mommy the big pretty red rock, won't you please? I'm sorry if the nasty man woke up and wouldn't let you eat him," she added, glaring at Sam. Nightshade clucked happily, and then took off.

"What happened to you in there, Sam?" asked Arcie, as Blackmail helped Sam to his feet. Sam shook his head and pulled his sodden cloak close.

"More than I like to say, Arcie ... maybe too much."

Sam was so tired ... despite the healing water, his whole body ached. He looked around and was stunned at what he was seeing.

The shadows were dark and frightening. Superstition warned him away from them. The people around him seemed strangely different; he realized, suddenly, that their movements ceased to catch his eye, that he no longer noted their vital spots. He tried to think of Mizzamir, but the image of the wizard just made him frightened and tired, and the thought of sticking a knife into flesh turned his stomach. He felt slow, weak, and tired.

As he stood, he put out a hand for support, and leaned heavily on a sharp rock. He reacted, and twisted an ankle as he tried to move.

"Ouch!" he yelped loudly, jerking back. He froze in horror, and his gaze caught and echoed Arcie's look of shock.

"Laddie ... you cried out!" gasped the thief. "In all of our years of knowing you I've never heard you do that.