Villains by Necessity (v1.1)

by Eve Forward

  A sudden phrase of power emanated from the pit, and it smote the sorceress through her ears, making her mind reel. She fell, shaking. The Nathauan lay, limp and unmoving, unable to think or act, while the creature dragged its bruised body out of the pit and came looking for her, its tiny round nostrils whiffing as it poked about in the rubble.

  She had not known that Mizzamir’s mimic creation could so precisely follow its original that it would even know the ancient words of Dark Power, and have the strength to use them ... The magic of the Test was too great, too unfathomable. She was done for. She heard the sucking sounds, the Thur-Uisgie’s teeth dripping digestive venom as it slowly approached.

  Naturally it was far beyond Mizzamir’s dignity to go running around the halls like some errant apprentice.

  And dangerous as well. He would no sooner chase after an assassin than follow a cobra into its hole. His scrying font was ruined; no help there, but he’d lived in this Castle for over a century, and he knew his way around quite well. He stopped a moment to grab a magical ice-wand from its case on one shelf, and then teleported himself with a sweep of magic.

  Sam, running lightly down the second set of steps, dodged more by instinct than by skill as he felt the sudden sharpness in the air that heralded Mizzamir’s sudden appearance on the steps below him. A bolt of energy flashed from a wand and struck a small wall lamp where the assassin had been. Instantly the lamp was encased in a rough block of blue-green ice, with its magical flame still glowing within. Sam had time for one thought: Still trying to catch me without hurting me. No wonder I’ve survived this long. He threw a dagger. The mage ducked, too late; but his protective spells held, and the blade rebounded off an invisible force field and went clattering back up the stairs, rebounding from the walls. Sam dived straight at the tall mage, and smashed into him. They went tumbling down the stairs, Sam trying to find some weapon that would break the wizard’s magical field, and Mizzamir desperately trying to get a clear shot at the assassin with his ice-wand.

  They broke apart as they crashed into the hall at the foot of the stairs, accompanied by exclamations of shock from the numerous passing mages. Sam used the impact to his advantage, kicking away from the mage by a good foothold on the wizard’s chest. Mizzamir staggered back, robes in disarray, and Sam leaped down the hall. A pair of mages moved to intercept him, but he yanked a tapestry down over them, and ducked as an ice-bolt shot over his head and froze the tangled mages. As he turned a corner he heard a scream-an apprentice pierced by a mysterious flying dagger that had worked its way back down the stairwell.

  Kaylana and Arcie, heading back to the kitchens, heard the commotion and ran toward it. Sam rounded a corner, shoving mages out of the way, just as they emerged. He saw them and skidded to a stop.

  “Arciegohelpvalerie, Kaylanagetoutofherefindblackmail,” he panted, then jumped away again, running. The Druid and rogue flung themselves to either side of the hall as a shouting group of mages pursued the assassin.

  Down the hall, there was a sudden rush of air, and Mizzamir’s unmistakable form appeared, firing rapid blasts from a wand at Sam. Sam ducked, dodged, and finally rolled as the blasts flashed around him, then he came up running and vanished again. Kaylana and Arcie exchanged glances, then ran in opposite directions, Kaylana toward the scullery exit, and Arcie back the way Sam had come.

  Sam was running on pure fire now. His sensible means

  of thought-reaction couldn’t act fast enough, couldn’t work accurately enough to dodge the sudden blasts from Mizzamir’s weapon. The mage seemed to know where he was going before he did; and Sam was becoming rapidly lost in this twisting castle of corridors and rooms, all crowded with decorations and lesser mages. In addition to Mizzamir’s efforts he now had to parry the other mages’ offensive or restraining spells, familiars in the shapes of cats, owls, tiny dragons and stranger things all snarling and snapping at him as he pushed past their owners. His own nature, too, struggled against his consciousness, which knew he had to run, to decoy, when the fire was shouting in his blood: Don’t run away! That’s the target’ You aren’t supposed to run away from the target!

  Arcie hurried along, and emerged into one of the large convention halls. This was all in disarray; several mages stood in surprise, encased in blocks of blue-green ice, and a number of others who had not gotten out of Sam’s way quickly enough were lying on the floor, groaning and holding stab wounds or bruises from fists and feet. Near the ceiling, on a huge ornamental chandelier lit by magical lights, was a mob scene. A solitary black raven perched there, and was being mobbed by small owls and falcons, a few exotic singing birds, two tiny jewel-dragons, and the High Vizier of Shadrezar’s own six-foot long winged serpent. Nightshade croaked and ducked as the creatures swarmed and swooped at him, and lashed out with his thick, razor-sharp beak as one came too close. Arcie, having been at the wrong end of that beak before, winced as a delicate star-finch shrieked and plummeted earthward. Its cry was echoed by an elegant lady wizard in one corner, who screamed and sank unconscious, perhaps lifeless, to the floor.

  Arcie nodded to himself. So the stories about wizards and their life-bonds to their familiar were true ... it was a pity that Mizzamir had never decided to obtain one.

  Nightshade spotted Arcie in the doorway. With a relieved caw he swept down, trailing the familiars, and hovered in front of the Barigan a moment. Then, with a cock of his head, he flew off down the passageway. Arcie ran after him, the other familiars finally retreating to their masters’ shoulders as the evil intruder departed.

  Though he might be short of leg and stature, Arcie could move quite fast ... a useful trait for a thief. He came to the door he had opened for Sam and hurried up the stairs. He reached the room at the top and stopped to marvel a moment at all the open wealth. Valerie was nowhere to be seen. Nightshade flew in circles in front of a huge stained-glass window of Mizzamir, croaking mournfully. Arcie shrugged. Well, he hadn’t found Valerie, but this was the last place the raven had led him to.

  Maybe she could find her own way back here. In the meantime, many wonderful fiscal opportunities presented themselves. He extracted a strong sharp pick and went to work on the dim font, carefully chipping the rich gemstones out of their sockets. The panels of the stainedglass window glowed eerily behind him ...

  The Thur-Uisgie didn’t seem to see well and the stilldiffusing clouds of gas confused its senses. Valerie slowly felt her head begin to clear as the Thur turned over chunks of pillars, looking for her, hissing to itself. She began a spell, as quietly as she could. This one was tricky, a lot of mages didn’t bother to learn it; but her teacher, might the shadows lie gentle on his blasted bones that she’d left strewn in the Underrealm, had insisted that she study it ... She was struggling through the final words when she saw the Thur looking in at her. She forced herself to finish the spell even as with a swipe of a paw it pried away a protective chunk of rubble and reached for her. Its fangs were snapping in expectation of biting into her pale flesh.

  Valerie completed the spell with a gasp, and with a sudden hiss of surprise the creature flew upward to the ceiling, along with all of the rubble and pillars in that area of the room. Valerie remained safely on the floor as the Thur crashed into the ceiling and was half-buried under a pile of rock and rubble. The gravity-reversal spell didn’t last long, and Valerie ran to safety. Suddenly the magic gave out and dumped Thur and rocks back on top of each other to the floor once more, sending up a cloud of dust and quills. Groaning in pain, the Thur struggled to free itself from the rocks, and Valerie took a chance and cast one of the more powerful spells she knew. The Thur hissed as it felt its skin began to peel away from its flesh and snarled a chant of dispelling.

  The Thur burst free of the stones, its skin reforming, and with a hiss of magic words suddenly began shifting form. Huge taloned claws scraped into the stone, striking sparks. Three great dragon’s heads swelled from its bulging body, breathing gouts of fire, and a powerful tentacle lashed out and wrapped tightly around
Valerie’s body, crushing her with terrible force as the hideous creature continued to grow.

  Bones creaking, breath failing, Valerie had barely enough strength to utter a single spell, a single word... a Word of Disjunction, that might be enough if she could cast it properly while the creature was still in-between forms...

  “Portalanthankalcuzux,” she gasped, the power cracking through her body, burning her flesh from inside ...

  There was a shrieking, tormented howl, and suddenly she was falling...

  Kaylana emerged into the cool air with a sigh of relief.

  Within the building she could still hear commotion. She hoped the assassin would manage to escape ... brave or foolhardy, she wasn’t certain, but if he could keep things in a state of confusion long enough ... a sudden clattering interrupted her reverie. She hastened to the side gates and saw Blackmail on a horse and Robin leading a small two-horse carriage. She waved and they turned toward her. She quickly recounted what had occurred, and together they headed for the base of the Tower.

  Arcie’s diligent efforts were cut short by a brilliant burst of golden light erupting behind him; he leaped into the

  air, sending tools and gemstones scattering. He turned to see Valerie stumble out of a glowing nimbus in the center of the stained-glass window. Nightshade, clucking softly, flew to her shoulder and began fanning her with his wings. Arcie quickly stuffed the gemstones into his pockets, and said, “Valerie, lass! Tis surprised I am to see you ... have you gone and won the Test, then?”

  The sorceress nodded, holding up a segment of yellowgold crystal that glowed from within. “Mizzamir ... is ... a ... bastard,” she panted. “Where did he go?”

  “Go?” echoed the thief, stealthily appropriating a few items from shelves and tabletops as he recovered his scattered tools. “When I come to find ye, yon place were empty as ye see it. Last I seen Mizzy, he were chasing Sam through the Castle.”

  “Well, he was here, and that means he’ll be back,” said Valerie firmly. “Cease your thieving gutter habits, Barigan, and let’s get out of here.”

  Valerie led the way-back to the room that she and Sam had entered through, and Arcie chuckled as he saw the black silk rope tied there. “Oho! Is that how ye got in ... More fool ye, Sam, to leave yer rope behind ...”

  They descended quickly. Once they stood safe on the ground below, Arcie gave the rope a complicated flip and twist. The knot slipped, and the rope fell down at their feet.

  “What did you do that for?” hissed Valerie. Arcie quickly began coiling the rope.

  “Old thief’s skills, lass. Never be leaving yer tools behind, especially ropes as shows what way ye left...”

  “But how is Sam supposed to get out?” she demanded.

  He shrugged.

  “Och, he’ll find a way, ye mark my words... he always does...”

  The sound of approaching hoofbeats made them turn, Arcie gripping the hilt of his morning star and Valerie trying to call to mind a spell, any spell... next to impossible in her magic-exhausted state. They relaxed when they saw the approaching figures were Kaylana, driving a small carriage, and Robin, accompanied by Blackmail on a horse.

  “Well, we have found the two of you, then,” said Kaylana as they came up. “Now all that remains is to find Sam.”

  From the Castle above came the sound of a distant crash and a few screams. Arcie wrinkled his forehead in consternation.

  “Mightn’t it be wiser to get out now, and hope the long-legged bounder will catch us up later?” he asked anxiously.

  Sam had no real idea where he was headed, but now he was beginning to get the distinct feeling of being herded.

  He’d managed to grab his lost dagger, stained in blood, from the carpet at the base of the lower stairs, and now, as he raced up a familiar flight of stairs and emerged into a hallway, he suddenly knew where he was. At the end of that hall should be the door with stairs leading up to the Tower. As he stopped for a moment, Mizzamir appeared behind him and took careful aim. Sam overturned a bookcase into the path of the ice-bolts and then ran down the hall. What the mage didn’t know was the other room that he and Valerie had entered through was just a few doors down, with a rope leading down to escape and freedom...

  Bursting into that room, he jumped to the window- no rope. How-not important. He could hear the footsteps of the Arch-Mage hurrying closer.

  Well, Mizzamir, he thought, time to see how strong your protective spells really are. With that, he grabbed up a heavy oak chair, the blood fire lending adrenal strength to his muscles, and when the wizard turned through the doorway Sam let him have it full in the chest.

  Mizzamir tumbled backwards in a shower of splinters and blue sparks. Sharp shards of wood showered Sam like arrows, sinking into flesh through thick clothing. Ignoring the pain, he jumped over the struggling figure and ran out, down to the Tower door, and up the stairs. Got to see if Valerie and Arcie made it out, he thought frantically. Last stand... he knows! He knows!

  He burst into the Silver Tower, droplets of blood spattering behind him. The room was dark and empty. The font looked chewed on; most of its larger gems were gone. He squinted hard at the big stained-glass window ... was it just his imagination, or were its colors slowly fading, its outlines melting? A sound in the doorway made him turn. Mizzamir was entering and closing and locking the door behind him.

  “Well, here we are again,” said the Arch-Mage, turning the wand around in his hands. He was smiling slightly. Sam cursed mentally. The Elf didn’t have a mark on him, wasn’t even winded. “Such a pity that you misguided souls of darkness tend to make such trouble for yourselves ...”

  “I was doing just fine until you decided you had to interfere with my life,” Sam retorted. His hands were slowly reaching for a pair of his cheaper throwing daggers ... the mage’s protective spell had been overloaded by the impact of the chair ... he had to be vulnerable now.

  “Not interfere, dear boy ... Help. Assist. Benefit. That’s what I do. If you will surrender, and tell your friends that I will not hurt them, I promise you, you will come to no harm and will be given a, far better life than that which you now lead ...”

  Sam was watching the Arch-Mage’s hands. Were they moving also, the fingers stealthily knitting a spell?

  “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your magic. I don’t want your interference ...” Sam hissed softly, his hands closing around his pair of matched throwing daggers.

  “All I want from you ... is your head.”

  In a lightning-strike motion he hurled the two daggers simultaneously. Mizzamir reacted instantly, his hands leaping up and making a sudden, breaking motion. Fire exploded, a sheet of solid flame that sent out a blast of heat and force away from the wizard. The daggers glowed for an instant, then exploded like twin stars. The blast caught Sam like a wave, sending him hurtling backward.

  He crashed through the window, the sound of shattering glass echoing and echoing. Melting rainbow shards burst around him, and he was falling ... As he tried to spread himself out, he heard a distant cry, it sounded like Kaylana’s voice, and the sound of hoofbeats ...

  He landed with a clatter as though he had fallen into a pile of cookware, cookware that caught him and broke his fall. He looked up into the expressionless helmet of Blackmail, who then tossed him unceremoniously into a carriage. As Valerie and Arcie hauled him inside, the knight swung back up into the saddle of a large palfrey and gave a signal. Kaylana’s voice barked a harsh imperative, and the coach lurched forward.

  Robin ran alongside the carriage as it thundered through the yards of the Castle and then out the northern road. Blackmail trotted beside them, looking back over his shoulder. Suddenly he wheeled his horse around and stopped.

  Robin, cantering beside the carriage, looked back. On a balcony of the Castle, his hand raised as if about to cast a spell, stood Mizzamir. The evening wind whipped his robes and hair about. The beginnings of a spell were already crackling around his fingertips ... Blackmail placed himself
in the road between the wizard and the retreating carriage, standing firm with shield raised.

  Mizzamir froze, staring down at the dark knight, whose black plumes fluttered in the breeze. The flickering sparks on Mizzamir’s fingers died away, and the mage slowly dropped his hand. Blackmail stood his ground for a moment more, until the carriage was out of range. Then he turned the champing horse around and rode after the others. Robin did not see Mizzamir vanish, but when he looked back again, the silver-white figure was gone.

  The story and rumors of how the villains had managed to infiltrate the very seat of magic authority spread like wildfire, even to the slowly following Verdant Company.

  This news upset Fenwick and he shook his head sadly.

  He had tried to warn the wizard...

  Fenwick desperately needed to know where the villains might strike next. He did have a few ideas.

  “It seems to me,” mused Fenwick, “that they are going to have to cross the Plains sooner or later.” He was in the safe haven of the Frothing Otter, in the seaport town Panzin on the western shores of Natodik. “The dockmaster tells me that they boarded a ship heading west yesterday at dawn. And nothing is west of here but the barbarian land of Sei’cks. What they can hope to find there in those-peaceful wild lands is beyond me. Perhaps they have overstepped themselves with this last attack and are seeking a bolt-hole.” The broken, dying ramblings of the legendary Orthamotch had been full of strange hints but no coherent information. Fenwick brushed the feather in his hat thoughtfully. “But I don’t think I’ll tell the Arch-Mage. No sense in his risking himself ... besides, I think now these miscreants have become my responsibility. I will take the risk and gain the glory.”

  The Verdant Company had moved into Panzin that afternoon.

  The news of the attack in the Castle of Diamond Magic gave Fenwick new resolve. It was vital now that the villains be captured and put to death without delay.