Villains by Necessity (v1.1)

by Eve Forward

  What luck or gods could ever have guided the group of five villains and their uneasy spy? What allies might darkness have, in the world so overflowing with light that the stars themselves could fill the sky with a light that rivalled the moon? None, surely ... the ragtag band wandered under the infinite sky, their path heading between the shining avenue of stars and the course of the constellation the Water-Giver, representative of and sacred to the worship of Mula. The people of Sei’cks had landmarks ... they were just placed higher and farther than most.

  When dawn finally broke, the company were all footsore and exhausted, and it was all they could do to scramble to the top of a small bluff. The raised ground would make a good vantage point. The horizon was now obscured in a shimmering mist, the last traces of dew-bearing fog settling down onto the plains for the morning. Birds were already caroling in the silver light. Kaylana watched the

  lightening sky with unease; surely night should have gone on for a few hours longer?

  “Why, why, why did we nay buy horses in Thaulara?” groaned Arcie, as he flopped over onto his back in the short grass.

  “We were going to,” sighed Sam, sinking down beside him, “but you said not to.”

  “This, you see,” said Kaylana, who did not seem to be affected at all by the long march and was observing Arcie’s panting with thin scorn, “this is what comes of the continual consumption of red meat.”

  “Food!” whimpered Arcie. “Don’t be speakin’ of food less you intend to serve some straight quick. I’m not half perished and famined!”

  The fog had climbed taller as it warmed, obscuring visibility past fifty yards. “Much as I hate to admit it,” said Valerie, sitting down on the soft turf, “The short one has a point. Why don’t you cook this time, Barigan?”

  “Och, if only so can I be fed ... I’ll be at finishing me dying first, tho,” wheezed the cutpurse.

  “Also, that filthy pipe of yours,” added Kaylana sternly. “You are a liability to us all if you insist upon weakening yourself with these bad habits.”

  “Och, lassie, I’m just a Barigan, not a babbit,” chuffed Arcie, unable to resist the old joke.

  “I don’t like the looks of all this mist,” Sam said, looking about. Beside him, Blackmail nodded solemnly, his gauntleted hand on the pommel of his sword. “Is this sort of thing normal, Kaylana?”

  “Perhaps not a daily occurrence, but well within the range of climactic variations for this ecosystem, I believe,” came the calm reply.

  “That means yes, fool,” snapped Valerie, noticing Arcie’s puzzled expression. He shook his head and held up a hand.

  “Na, curb tha tongue, vixen. ‘Tis something other I’m hearing... Robin? Can ye hear it, laddie?”

  Robin’s ears flicked and turned as his eyes widened.

  “Hoofbeats? But... wrong ... and ...” Sam suddenly jumped forward, pushing Arcie out of the way and knocking Kaylana to the ground, as a spattering of arrows flew out of the fog and rattled around them. Simultaneously, a disembodied voice, accented as rich and dark as cake, seemed to come from somewhere high in the air, spoke stern words.

  “Stay where you are. You are surrounded, and our arrows have missed only by our choice.”

  The villains froze, staring, as out of the fog great looming shapes appeared. Dark angular shapes, moving with a strange stepping grace, shapes that seemed born of the fog and the green-gold grasses. As they approached, they resolved themselves into beasts; three times as tall as a man at their shoulders, with long, thin necks stretching yet again as high into the fog. Their legs were strong yet graceful, their bodies not much larger than a warhorse’s and sloped to balance the weight. Their heads were like those of the Shadrezarian creature called “camels.”

  There were six of these Tantelopes, in soft shades of greeny-gold and shadow-brown, rippled and striped with pale white and cream like sunlight on water, and they had riders. To each sloping back was fastened a leather saddle bedecked with tassels and fringe and strings of beads, matching the elaborate pulley system that formed bridle and reins. Reins that lay loose on the knees of six fierce warrior scouts of the plains, strong, noble savages suntanned and muscled by the wild life, bundled in leather and furs and each prominently displaying a string of beads woven round and through hair-braids. The last bead of each string was a round stone of pure turquoise, symbolizing that they were of the truest Clan of the Healing Blue Water, the clan from which, so long ago, the Healer Ki’kartha had ventured out into the world to fight the War in the service to her goddess, Mula.

  The apparent leader, a dark-haired man with eaglesharp eyes and a series of red, orange, and blue beads, nudged his Tantelope forward as his companions stood back, powerful longbows drawn and ready. Sam sized up as he approached; he might make an attack, and even succeed, but he knew that before the dead barbarian toppled off his high mount that he and his companions would be shot through. The barbarian stopped and inspected the villains scornfully from the top of his high vantage point.

  “You wander into the sacred lands without permission of my Clan,” he intoned. “You are fortunate. In years past you would have been put to death instantly. Now, we are a kinder and gentler nation. You shall be taken captive and remain thus until your people make claim for your release.”

  “Wha ... what people?” Robin asked nervously. The bowmen, never having seen a centaur before, were keeping an especially cautious eye on him. His voice seemed to surprise them; possibly they had thought him to be some unusual beast of burden.

  “The folk of Pila’mab will be notified; they shall know who to contact. Only fools or criminals would dare to wander into our sacred lands uninvited. We shall soon learn which you are.” The barbarian made some gesture behind him, and one of the other riders gave some complicated signal to his mount.

  The great Tantelope began to sink down, its legs slowly folding up in a complex arrangement of joints, until it was kneeling on the grass. The leader’s did likewise, and the two men dismounted and approached the silent renegades. The villains did not dare to move; perhaps if they all scattered in opposite directions, one or two of them might escape into the fog; but none wanted to be one of the unlucky four or five. And how long could they hope to elude the pursuit of these skilled plainsmen and their stealthy mounts, who had crept up on them so unseen and unheard? Though they had fought and fled before rather than face capture, here they had no choice-surprised, tired, surrounded, and outnumbered, any villain could see the time for violence was later, and now was the time for plotting.

  They remained still and allowed themselves to be briefly checked for weapons; Blackmail’s and Robin’s swords were taken, as were the more obvious of Sam’s daggers and Arcie’s morning star. A few attempts to remove Blackmail’s helmet were quickly abandoned as futile, despite the knight’s lack of resistance. Valerie attempted a last flash of rebellion; a quick spell sent a black explosive bolt towards one of the men, but he knocked the energy away scornfully with a flick of a strange wand he carried, and ordered the sorceress to be gagged as well.

  He then approached her, his wand held aloft, and murmured strange chants under his breath. His eyes suddenly widened, and his hand jerked out to grab Valerie’s Darkportal pendant. There was an explosive flash, and the two flew apart, landing heavily on the grass. Snarling and flexing his scorched fingers, the shaman looked up to the leader for guidance, who made a dismissive gesture. Apparently, as long as Valerie stayed gagged and bound, he felt she was no threat. The shaman’s powerful goodness, channeled through a divine force, made even the touch of the Darkportal anathema to him. Nightshade fluttered about, too concerned for the safety of his mistress to attack those who had her in their power.

  Kaylana leaned heavily on her staff and backed away with a limp when the men approached; they thus assumed the staff to be a support, rather than a weapon.

  Finally, they bound the villains together, hands tied, with a long rope, leaving their feet free to walk. Kaylana they left unbound, and unh
indered; obviously she must be a captive of these criminals, and barely able to march as it was.

  And march they did. It was exhausting, after having traveled all night, and now in the growing light and heat of the day. The Tantelopes kept up a quick pace, fast as a man might walk briskly, and the villains stumbled from time to time. Requests for rest and food were ignored; the villains were prisoners, trespassers, and criminals-and criminals were to be punished.

  When Valerie and Arcie began to stagger, Blackmail made a hand signal to Robin, in the lead, and the centaur, uncertain, stopped in his tracks at the same time the knight set his feet in and halted. The rope jerked, but held, and reluctantly the barbarians granted them time to sit and rest, and eat a miserable meal of dry rations and stale water. Arcie fell into a deep sleep, and when they awoke him about a half hour later to move on he awoke coughing and complaining bitterly. Yet no rest was further forthcoming, so he squared his small shoulders and trudged on, like a pit-pony so long away from the sun of freedom that it is past caring. When he finally collapsed they stopped long enough to drape him over Robin’s withers and secure him, then moved on.

  How long or far they traveled was uncertain, but the sun had not dipped far past its zenith, when they stopped at a section of plain not obviously different from any other. Here one of the riders dismounted, the one who had earlier defied Valerie’s magic so easily. Among his leathers and beads was a necklace of turquoise and his wand, a twisted, Y-shaped stick decorated with feathers and shells and more turquoise. He held this by the forks and wandered about, chanting to himself, while the other riders watched, occasionally echoing a particularly emphasized phrase in the barbarian language.

  Finally the shaman rapped the ground sharply with the stick, and a fountain of clear water burst up from the ground, swiftly flowing and pooling in a small hollow.

  The barbarians intoned a last set of phrases and swiftly dismounted, leading their Tantelopes to drink. The animals bent their long necks down, legs spread wide, and lapped at the water, while the exhausted and thirsty villains watched. The pool continued to flow. When the Tantelopes were finished, the barbarians moved in to drink their fill as the flow slowed to a trickle and stopped.

  Finally, the villains were shoved forward to drink of the shallow, muddy remains, well-mixed with Tantelope slobber.

  Valerie watched the procedure of the water-summoning with interest, despite her exhaustion. “A High Priest of Mula,” she grumbled, her gag unbound just long enough to let her drink. “I should have known. Powerful healing magic could easily beat my harming magic in this world ... curse the imbalance!”

  “Hush!” chided Kaylana.

  They were moved on again, across the unchanging plains, Arcie, somewhat recovered, now able to stumble along with them.

  As dusk fell they looked down into a wide bowl in the plains, marked around with carved stone pillars set here and there with chips of turquoise. Nestled in the bottom of the bowl was a jumble of leather tents surrounding an open stone structure, formed of slate walls and more of the carved pillars. The tents seemed to be the typical barbarian encampment, but the stone structure was obviously permanent and even majestic in a certain rugged way. Arranged in concentric circles, the stone structure had at its center an open plaza, with a large, perfectly round pool of bright blue water. At the east side of this pool was an altar dedicated to Mula, with a stone statue „ of the goddess carved of what looked from this distance like solid turquoise. The outer rings of the structure seemed to hold various roofed and unroofed rooms, and wandering through could be seen the various forms of turquoise-garbed figures. The barbarian rider who had „ captured them gave a jerk on the rope, and the party and their captors staggered down into the settlement. Folk came to assist them, or just watched, looking up from - their chores at the pen where the Tantelopes were tethered, from cooking fires, from repairing hunting arrows and tanning leathers of prongbuck, ornyx, wheeumps, and bison. ‘- Kaylana saw all this only dimly. Her mind was filled with the image of the pool, of the deep turquoise colors ... Of Druids cut down by townspeople they once had helped; the heathen worship of indistinct forces, of nature and balance, the sun and the moon, life and death, came to be seen as evil under the teachings of a powerful religion that worshiped one goddess, had one creed, that

  promised only healing and water and sought to rid the world of night and death. The pool’s image glowed in her mind, like blue crystal.

  Their captors forced them, still bound, into a small, circular hut made of animal skins, near the edge of the encampment. Another barbarian, this one even taller and broader than the Tantelope riders, came to stand in the doorway and glared at them. In addition to his leathers and furs, he wore a rough tunic of heat-hardened leather armor, and carried a

  “Plainsman’s Sword”—sharpened chips of obsidian set at right angles into a stout wooden club. Sam noted this, as well as the numerous chinks in the armor where a well-flung dagger would do the most good.

  Arcie had landed in their new situation rather heavily; the barbarian community had always been fond of being able to pick up and bodily throw smaller people, and Arcie had sailed so well he’d rebounded off the back wall.

  He’d hit the ground with a thump and a curse, and rolled a short way. His snores had started almost before he came to a stop. Sam inched his way over to make sure the Barigan was all right, then looked at the others. Valerie had her back against the wall, the gag still in her mouth.

  Were her eyes closed in exhaustion ... or narrowed in cunning? It was hard to tell. Kaylana sat serene and thoughtful, her staff across her lap; the barbarians had not bothered to tie her once they had reached the village.

  Robin, sweat-streaked and exhausted, gave the tent the slight pong of hot horse. Blackmail had walked into the tent under his own power, calm and strong and silent as ever, and now stood in front of their guard. The guard scowled and flexed his grip on his sword. Sam saw a con frontation coming, and said, “Blackmail, please, sit down ... when he finds out he can’t do any damage to you he’ll just take it out on one of us, the cowardly bastard.”

  Blackmail turned to look at him, then nodded, and backed away. The jailer had listened to Sam’s speech with blank incomprehension. Sam’s deliberate insult had been useful; it seemed their guard could not speak the common language of the Six Lands. It was not unusual; the Plainsmen felt such strong pride for their own culture that other influences were often seen as corrupting.

  With a helpless, strangled sigh, Valerie slumped down to lie prone on the floor, her hair and cloak falling over her face as she turned her back on the guard. Nightshade sat on her arm, glaring up at the barbarian. She seemed to fall asleep, but a moment later Sam heard the faintest of sounds, like a set of sharp shark-teeth chewing their way through a simple leather gag.

  Kaylana looked at the assembled company. “Apparently the fates would have us rest here,” she said calmly.

  “Thus we shall rest. There will be time for discussing... our circumstances when we all waken once again.”

  They lay down on the floor of trampled grass and earth, and fell into various slumbers. But just before the dream-shadows claimed him, Sam heard a faint snap; the soft sounds of chewing stopped.

  A trio of the Plainsmen had been sent to ride to the town of Pila’mab, to notify the authorities of the capture of the suspected criminals. The Tantelopes, loosed to their full loping gait, covered the miles swiftly. Upon their arrival, they spoke with the mayor and the town guard captain about the capture, but the captives had no criminal records in that city.

  A handsome man garbed in green and gold, newly arrived by ship that day, overheard the conversation. When the barbarian emissary’s audience was over, Sir Fenwick approached them, smiling.

  “Forgive me, but I overheard you that you have captured some criminals,” he said. “And criminals they are, though the officials of this town do not know it. They are wanted across half the Lands for various evil crimes too numerous to mention.”<
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  “We thought as much,” grunted one of the barbarians, the speaker for the group, who had spent much time learning the common language. “We of the Plains know such things, and these we have caught are like the black spider-viper under the cold rocks of Pit’zkah, that do creep and sting like ice.”

  “Er, right, yes,” affirmed the young prince. “I wish to claim them, that they may be taken back and tried for their crimes in the places where they have committed them.”

  “Hhhrg,” replied the speaker. “In your civilized, weakened laws I suppose that is what you must do, and we in our pact with your wizard Mizzamir have said we shall allow your justice to your criminals. But be warned! These are fearsome serpents, waiting to poison and kill ... do not let them fly free lightly. We ourselves caught them only at the point of many arrows.”

  “I will not, o noble son of the Plains,” replied Fenwick, with a courteous bow. His spirit rankled, however, at the thought that these grunting primitives had succeeded where he had failed.

  He also had no intention of taking the villains back to Mizzamir. He and the choice members of his Company had brought with them many arrows as well. All he had to do was to collect the villains, take them along out of sight, and shoot them dead. It was a just punishment for their crimes, he was just taking the shortcut. He was a prince, after all, he did have some authority. The villains were too slippery to handle any other way ... He could not risk any more noble lives trying to bring them back for Mizzamir. It might have surprised him to know that, given the choice between death at the points of his arrows and enlightenment at the magic of Mizzamir, every villain in the group would have gladly chosen the arrows.