Villains by Necessity (70 page)

Arrows suddenly hailed around them, Valerie fired a spell of flaming fire, and the battle for the Darkgate had begun.

Sam tucked the Spectrum Key under his arm and ran forward, trying to keep out of sight but knowing himself hopelessly visible, and too slow. His companions spread out and met the attackers face on, Blackmail, Arcie, and Robin in front, hewing at those who came within range, and Kaylana and Valerie staying just behind, hurling spells into the oncoming ranks.

Arcie wasn't cut out for this kind of fighting. He contented himself with thwacking his morning star into the shins of any who looked like they were moving to intercept the ex-assassin as he ran. Blackmail charged into the thick of Fenwick's warriors and the fighters of Tasmene's company and did great damage with his huge sword.

Robin fought with the panicked desperation of a wild horse, his sword swinging and his wicked hooves lashing out in all directions. Words of chanting rang out, and a number of longbowmen vanished in a puff of dry dust under Valerie's power. Though her magic was puny compared to the incredible power of Light, she fought for her life, and the nearby presence of the Darkgate gave her courage, if not support. Kaylana gripped her staff and whispered words of magic, and from the hard rock grew wicked long spikes of stone that tripped and caught the troops of Light.

But the forces of good were certainly in the majority.

The mages of the Verdant Company threw spells that forced the renegades to dodge and fumble. Gouts of flame burst, arrows of light were fired, and wounds bled.

Fenwick, shouting his men on, saw the running figure of the ex-assassin and swiftly nocked an arrow to his Troisian bow, drew and fired. He didn't know what the villain was up to, but it was bound to be no good.

A cloth-yard arrow buried itself in Sam's side, and he stumbled. Pain! Pain that wracked his limbs in stabbing agony, tearing into his nerves no longer shielded by the fire of assassin determination. An assassin never screamed in pain, it would give his position away ... but Sam heard his voice cry out, a hoarse scream of agony.

He saw Fenwick draw his glowing, magical sword and begin to approach him. Shaking with crippling agony, he drew a dagger from his boot, panic and fear giving him strength, and threw it in desperate self-defense.

Fenwick dodged easily, and the dagger's arc of flight completed with a clatter to the floor.

Valerie drew back in agony as a blast of lightning from Tesubar crackled into her arm. Nightshade croaked in rage and flew in a flurry of feathers and hoarse cries at the blue-robed mage. Something flew from his beak and sparkled in the air as Tesubar cursed and flailed at the raven.

Robin crashed his sword against the Dwarven blade of Lord Tasmene, and the-centaur's weapon shattered. He spun and kicked the man as hard as he could in the chest.

"Ooof!" exploded Tasmene, unbalanced, as he stumbled backward a step. Robin scooped up a sheaf of arrows from those fallen on the ground and pulled forth the bow he'd taken from the combat outside the Labyrinth.

Fenwick, about to skewer the helpless, bleeding villain on the point of his sword, suddenly found himself in a swarm of stinging bees conjured up by the Druid. As he tried to shake free of them, a painful spiky object crashed into the back of his legs. He jumped away, and Arcie, bleeding heavily, threw an almost-empty wineskin at Sam, the stopper removed. The last of the cool liquid poured out, splashing over the ex-assassin's bleeding side, dissolving the arrow away, healing his wounds.

"Run, you daft idiot!" Arcie yelled, and plunged back into the fray, running from Fenwick's slashing sword, as Sam scrambled to his feet and ran on.

Sam reached the place where one of the arches joined the stone, and tried his best to scramble up it, to climb out to where the Key must fit. But his hands slipped help lessly on the stone; a surface that once would have held a thousand handholds was impassible to him now.

Arcie saw something sparkle on the ground amongst the trampling feet and spattering blood. A red gem, not a ruby, but... he was a good enough thief to recognize a Heartstone when he saw it. And Sam had said ... Suddenly all was made clear.

"Sam!" he yelled, scooping up the stone and throwing it as hard as he could toward the assassin. A flash of metal to his side made him leap away, barely avoiding the slashing blade of a snarling Verdant Company warrior.

Something fell with a faint noise near Sam, and he scooped it up in amazement as he huddled behind the grounding of the arch. The Heartstone, glowing rubyorange from his stored powers within ... How, where, why it had returned, he couldn't guess... but it was useless, unless a Hero could destroy it, and set free the fire to fly back to him. He gripped it, felt the trembling flame trapped within. The success of his Test had been worth it, but he knew now what he knew before-the nature of a person, good or bad, is central to existence. He could no longer even think of himself as Samalander ... even the inborn magical talents that Valerie and the Guildsmen had seen in him had been linked to the fire, and his weapons now flew according to the laws of nature, not of magic.

"Well, well," said Mizzamir to himself, in the Silver Tower, as the image in his newly repaired scrying font resolved with a flash into a scene of battle around a shining pit. Around him, the room blazed with shafts of color as the stained-glass windows threatened to melt under the powerful light of the sublimation conjunction. "So they made it? Quite amazing ... Well, best go to meet them before things get out of hand." He took hold of his staff and teleported with a mere thought; his was a magical strength now rivaling the gods, and he no longer had any need for words for such trivial spells.

Sam looked up in shock as there was a sudden shimmer in the air across the pit from him, and he gasped as Mizzamir appeared in all his radiant glory.

The mage seemed to smile at him benevolently and shook his head in pity. He reached into his belt pockets for spell components. What Mizzamir had in mind would take a bit of finesse ... a job begun long ago that would now, finally, be completed. He would use his magic to turn all these villains to the path of Light, and all would be well forever.

Robin fired shaft after shaft into the ranks, until a returned bolt punched right through his upper biceps, preventing him from drawing his bow. He scooped up a sword from one of the fallen and continued to battle, his legs and sides raked with cuts.

Kaylana shouted words of power, gripping her staff tight. A wall of thorns sprung up from the rocky ground, writhing and twisting in sudden growth. The hedge wrapped up and around the emerging forces of the second group of the Verdant Company as they teleported in.

Sam jerked in fear as Mizzamir raised his hands and began casting a spell. Sam thought frantically, I've got to break his concentration! He couldn't let Mizzamir trap and whitewash him even further, even if he hadn't the will or the skill or the strength to kill the Elven wizard Hero. He hurled the first thing that came to hand: the small but heavy magical Heartstone. The mage saw it coming and halted his spellcasting to catch it. The power of his spell hovered in the air as he inspected the red gem.

"But this is used, silly lad," he admonished gently. "It won't work on me." He pressed it tightly in his fingers, about to crush it in contempt. Sam caught his breath. But then the mage seemed to change his mind.

"Perhaps ... no," he said with a smile, and tossed it over his shoulder. Sam scrambled to his feet, ready to run, attack perhaps, anything, as Mizzamir raised his hands to complete the spell. The stone twinkled in the dust ... and, out of the fray, a grayish-armored foot reached out and stomped on it, crushing it to powder.

Brilliant crimson and orange darkness leaped up, flashing in beautiful, terrible power. Sam caught his breath in wonder at the fire, unleashed, wild and glorious in its might, loosed from the confines of the crystal or his humble flesh. The fighting men cringed away from it, crying out in terror as its touch sent shooting agony through them. But it bathed a solitary, tall, armored figure in its flames an instant, burning away grey-faded paint with its power before it relented and spiraled free in the air.

Sam raised his arm in joy, like a falconer calling to his hawk. The cloak of flaming power slashed through the air to him and plunged into the pale blue veins of his wrist, driving home like a bloody lightning bolt, vanishing into his body.

Mizzamir was staring in shock at the figure that had crushed the Heartstone.

Blackmail's armor had been scoured clean and shone brilliant silver. The layers of faded-black paint over the large shield had been stripped away, and the object now bore a device, in blazing color, of a golden griffin rampant on a field of crimson. The knight gripped his helmet with one gauntleted hand, and tore it off, the welds snapping in the after-heat of the firebath. A human head, stern and mighty of face, with long mustaches only just silvering with age, piercing gray eyes and a handsome countenance that were unmistakable from murals and paintings and tapestries and legends. A chorus of astonishment rose from the ranks.

"Sir Pryse!"

"Correct!" shouted the Hero-turned-villain. His voice was deep and powerful, his eyes flashed around the battered multitude, and suddenly glittered in fury as he noticed the stunned Arch-Mage. "I watched what you led the land into, Mizzamir! The land I nearly died for! Light is a choice, you old fool, not something that you must force on all those you do not approve of! Everywhere, hundreds of thousands of men and women have been brought by your magic into near-mindless slavery, and creatures who did none any harm were slain without mercy. When my own brother turned to darkness, and you went after him, I begged you spare his life and soul.

In your mercy, you turned him into a warhorse! Perhaps you thought that funny, Mizzamir. But even I, once a paladin, would never stoop to such self-righteous tyranny." He paused a moment. "These villains you pursue are the world's last hope of salvation, and I am with them!" He roared an ancient battle-cry and swung his great black sword back into the fray as the combatants suddenly remembered where they were.

Sam, meanwhile, had undergone a resurrection, scarcely noticing the unmasking of the knight. Sheer glory and power lifted him off his feet, drove the pain away, snapped the world back into perfect perspective.

Mizzamir. The Key.

A single motion drew and flung a dagger with lightning speed and perfect precision, without the burden of thought, only the being-ness of weapon and target.

The blade flew, spinning, and struck Mizzamir in the chest. The mage gasped and gripped at the dagger, blood staining white robes. Sam, having now bought some time, gripped the Key in his free hand and scrambled up the archway.

Fenwick's archers cursed and swore as their light armor was invaded by swarms of stinging, clinging ants that rushed up their boots and into their breeches. Valerie fired spell after spell, her amulet burning cold against her skin as she strove to draw enough of its power to survive.

The burning light of an over-illuminated world singed her skin and blinded her.

Arcie crashed into her, knocking her aside to safety as one of Towser's fireballs smashed into the place where she had stood. Arcie jumped up, flailing about in pain as his clothing burned yet again.

Robin, almost purple from blood on his gray hide, panted and gasped in exhaustion. His ears were pinned back in fighting fury, and a bleeding stub of a tail lashed; the long gray plume, severed by a blow from Tasmene's sword, lay trampled in the bloody dirt and stone.

Sam slid down the needle and held fast as he tried to maneuver the Key into its slot without falling into the shimmering pit of the Darkgate and its silvery Lock field. Someone would have to get thrown in there for the Lock to open, but Sam didn't feel like volunteering.

Just then that Sir Fenwick looked up, saw what Sam was doing, saw the staggering form of Mizzamir trying to wrest the dagger free. With a howl of pure rage Sir Fenwick threw at Sam the first thing he had to hand; the magical sword Truelight Slayer of Darkness.

A longsword was certainly not meant to be hurled, but Fenwick was driven by anger and power, and the magical sword knew to speed to its target like a bolt of vengeance.

Sam saw the spinning weapon, ducked his head behind the pillar, but misjudged, and there was a stab of pain and his grip fumbled. He wrapped his arms and legs as tight as he could around the end of the pillar. His left biceps seemed to have been chopped clean through, and blood was starting to fountain. The sword was stuck into a crack in the stone, humming in anger because it had not killed him.

He clutched the Key against his chest, and he clamped his gory arm into a fold of his tunic to keep the blood from spoiling his grip. He looked up to see Arch-Mage Mizzamir set down a bottle of magical healing potion and face him.

"Get down from there," said the mage gently but firmly.

"Go to the Abyss," hissed Sam, trying to work his way downward to where he could install the Key. The magical sword spat a shower of sparks down at the assassin.

"You are a brave man," Mizzamir said. "Come down from there. Come join the Light. Goodness is the only path to happiness."

Sam could hear Blackmail-or Sir Pryse the Hero- roaring in the background. The stalactite was already getting slippery, and the arteries and veins in his arm were spurting blood.

"Please, come over to the Light side," urged the wizard, stealthily drawing forth spell components. "I don't want you to get hurt ... Join the side of good and live in happiness.."

"Give it up, Mizzamir!" shouted Sir Pryse, hurling a Verdant warrior away with a slap of his magical shield. 

"He's stubborn, just like his father. Yes, just like you."

"What did you say?" gasped the Arch-Mage in shock.

Even Sam looked up, wide-eyed, from his bloodstained perch.

"I should have thought it would be obvious," growled the knight, never pausing in his relentless battle. He knew he had only a short while before the powerful enchantments woven into his armor gave out. "Look at him.