by Peter David
I pictured myself walking around in such a glorious environment, chipping the gems out of their stony encasement and placing them into a sack filled with others like them. Acquiring in no time at all enough fortune to last me forever. A very pretty picture indeed.
And in taking the time to indulge in such reverie, I screwed myself.
Because at that moment, there was suddenly an ear-shattering smashing from the direction of the hearth. I spun just in time to see Bicce, all teeth and claws and fur, crash down squarely into the midst of the fireplace.
Naturally she promptly ignited.
With a roar like something spat up from perdition—which was, for all I knew, where she was born and bred—Bicce thrust out madly with her feet, shoving all the burning wood out of her way, clearing it so that she could move out. “BICCE, NO!” bellowed Beliquose, but since she was barely sentient even under the best of circumstances, she was hardly going to attend to her master’s voice when she was on fire.
I was busy cursing myself out, even as I scrambled for liquid to try and extinguish the nearest log. (It had come to rest against a table leg, and the leg was starting to go up as well, flames licking at the underside of the table.) How, I wondered, could I have been so foolish as to forget to raise a sealer ward in the fireplace? I’d been concentrating purely on the common means of entrance, but it had never occurred to me that someone would be mad enough to scramble onto the roof of the hall and hurl themselves down a chimney into a burning hearth.
But Bicce was hardly a typical human, or a typical anything, really. At that moment she was rolling around furiously on the floor, trying to snuff out the flames that were devouring her fur. Her howls and yips were far more animalistic than anything else … although, to be fair, if even the more ordinary and articulate of humans was going up in flames, the chances were that they would probably sound not much different than the suffering Bicce.
My crossbow slung over my shoulder, I grabbed a bucket of water which had been drawn earlier for the purpose of washing down the floor, turned to wield it, and to my horror saw that the fire had spread. Not only was the table already a loss, but the fire had leaped to the curtains and carpet. The wind howling through the front door was stirring things up even more, and Beliquose was watching with frustration. He seemed, however, far more concerned about Bicce than he was about me.
I ran to the table and poured water all over, putting out part of it, but then flames leaped to the crossbeams in the ceiling, and my heart sank. If the ceiling was burning, then it was just a matter of time.
“BICCE! GET OUT OF THERE!” Beliquose shouted.
She would have been able to leave. The wards were designed to keep people out, not in. Bicce could have exited at any time. But she did not choose to do so. Instead she pounded at the flaming sections of her fur, and her head snapped around, her beady eyes focusing on me with pure hatred.
“Thanks for warning me about the bitch!” I snapped at the Visionary, suddenly seized with an urge to blame someone. The Visionary simply stared at me with glazed-over eyes. It was a race as to whether he would die from the bolt in his chest before the flames got to him.
“YOU’VE NO ONE TO BLAME FOR THIS BUT YOURSELF, LITTLE MAN!” called Beliquose. “STAY IN THERE AND DIE IF YOU WANT! WE CAN ALWAYS GET THE JEWEL OUT OF THE ASHES OF YOUR FORMER HALL!”
Well, thank the gods Beliquose knew just what to say to make me feel ever so much better. I started to make for the bar, and then had the barest of warnings before Bicce unleashed an earsplitting roar and leaped at me. In one motion I unslung the crossbow and fired both bolts. She was moving fast. One missed her, but the other struck her solidly in the shoulder and knocked her back. There wasn’t time to reload; I tossed the crossbow aside and brought my staff to a defensive posture. There was a roar and a soft splutch sound simultaneously. Bicce, undaunted, had just yanked the bolt out of her shoulder, and didn’t seem the least slowed by the wound. Indeed, I think I’d only succeeded in aggravating her.
I pivoted on my good left foot and faced her, bringing my staff up horizontally, and that was the only thing that saved me. Her jaws clamped onto the lower section of the staff and we went down in a tangle of arms and legs and claws … well, her claws. Would that I had some.
If she’d had more of a human drive to her mind than animal, it would have occurred to her to simply release the staff from her teeth and drive those deadly jaws forward toward my throat. But she didn’t. Instead, like any animal, she refused to let go of something once she had a good grip on it. She swung her head this way and that, endeavoring to tear the staff out of my grasp. It was the only thing that was keeping those vicious teeth at bay, even as the claws—or at the very least, hard and pointed toenails—on her bare and hairy feet tore at my legs.
“THE MOMENT YOU DIE, THE WARDS LOSE THEIR EFFECT!” Beliquose shouted at me, and I knew he was right. Mystic wards are designed to protect the safety of those who dwell within and set them. But if the warder is deceased, then obviously he can no longer be harmed, and the charms forfeit their potency. “THEN I WILL COME IN THERE, TAKE YOUR BODY OUT, AND HAVE IT DRAWN AND QUARTERED, AND THEN I’LL TAKE THE REMAINING BITS AND FEED IT TO PASSING WILD ANIMALS, BY CRUMM!”
This was enough to prompt me to make a mental note, even as I fought for my life, to speak to the makers of wards and tell them that plenty of harm could still be done to the deceased even after they’d passed (which made little difference to me, but it might matter to others who were more squeamish about such things), and they might want to try and develop a way to extend the lifetime of the spell. As it was, though, considering I had some sort of lupine monstrosity endeavoring to tear my throat out, I had greater concerns just then.
My walking staff was actually cleverly constructed to separate into two halves, transforming one potent staff into two equally nasty batons. I took that option now, yanking the upper section clear of the lower with a quick twist. Bicce saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, and she obviously tried to process the tactic in her brain even as she still, rather aptly, doggedly refused to let go of the lower half. That moment’s hesitation on her part was all I needed as I slammed the base of the baton’s upper section into the side of her head. The move startled her, and I pressed the slight advantage for all it was worth. Again and again I bashed the upper section of the staff against her, and then curled my left leg under her and shoved her clear of me. She tumbled backward, and now the entire place was filling with smoke.
From within the blackness, I heard thick coughing, and the aged voice of the Visionary called, “You are set now … upon your path … nothing can … alter it … you … poor devil … you know … I’m … I’m starting to feel … a little better … a bit … stronger …”
At which point, with a snapping of wood and crashing of timbers, a section of the ceiling collapsed in upon him, and the Visionary vanished in fire and debris.
And Bicce let out an infuriated howl and came at me again, throwing aside the lower half of the staff which she’d just been chewing on. She was almost upon me, and then I clenched the triggering device on the upper section of the staff. On the head of the staff was a carving of a lion locked in combat with a dragon, and out of the dragon’s open mouth snapped a vicious four-inch blade. It had saved my life on several previous occasions, and it did so now as well, as I swung the staff section in an arc and the blade caught Bicce squarely across the face. She let out a howl, clutching at her left eye and cheek, and I saw blood welling through her fingers. I couldn’t have been happier if I’d managed to hack through her throat.
Her scream of pain was matched by that of Beliquose as he watched helplessly from the threshold. There was now fire everywhere, on the furniture, on the walls. I couldn’t believe how quickly it had spread, and the smell of burning meat coming from the direction of the broiling Visionary did little to help matters.
Still, there was nothing so dangerous as a wounded animal, and I figured that Bicce would be no except
ion. For the moment I had the advantage, and I pressed it. Bicce swung blindly at me, distracted by pain and her impaired sight. I sidestepped her swipe, albeit just barely, and swung the staff blade forward and up. The intention had been to lay her open from belly to throat. In that I was unsuccessful, falling short by barely a quarter inch, but the blade still sliced up her front, and she screeched in agony. A heartbeat later her entire torso was soaked in blood.
I lunged forward, grabbing for the fallen lower section of my staff. I got my hands on it, slamming it into the upper half and making the staff whole again. At that moment my weak right leg twisted under me, and I went down to one knee.
Bicce seized the opportunity. Her legs coiled, she leaped straight at me, high and tight, her arms outstretched, and if she’d come into any sort of contact with me, she could have torn me to bits. My move was totally instinctive: I rocked back, thrusting upward with the staff, and the blade caught her in the chest, just below the heart, dammit. She cried out in agony, and for the first time actually sounded more human than animal, but I didn’t take the time to consider it. Allowing the momentum to carry her, I swung the staff backward and over my head, toward the door. Bicce tumbled backward and off, and skidded over the threshold.
I used the staff to shove myself to my feet just as Bicce scrabbled around and attempted to leap back through the door. No go. She slammed full tilt into the ward again and fell back, clutching at her stabbed torso and ruined face. I saw then that her left eye was gone, and the entire left side of her face was completely covered in blood. Yes, I was just making friends everywhere.
My eyes were thick with tears from the smoke, and my lungs were starting to burn. I heard Beliquose shouting something else, but couldn’t make any of it out, and I doubt it would have been of much use even had I understood every word. Miraculously the pack with provisions that I’d prepared was still leaning against the bar, unharmed. I grabbed the pack, slung it over my shoulder, and limped quickly to behind the bar. I grabbed the one other thing that I thought might be of use: my sword, which I also kept hidden behind the bar to deal with any rowdiness or emergencies. It was a hand-and-a-half sword, usable either as a one-or two-handed weapon. Also called a bastard sword, it had been given me under rather unusual circumstances, and although I detested the individual who’d presented me with it, nevertheless it was a fine weapon and not one I was about to abandon. Easing the pack to the floor, I strapped the sword hurriedly across my back, picked back up the pack, and yanked up the trapdoor. I started coughing violently from the smoke as I eased myself through the hole in the floor and pulled the trap overhead behind me. After all, I certainly didn’t want debris falling through after me, and the longer we could convince Beliquose that we were burned corpses instead of escapees, the better off we might be.
I dropped down the short ladder to the cellar, and Sharee was waiting for me. Having managed to set aside the brief look of fear I’d seen on her face, instead she now sported that expression of disapproval which I knew all too well. I wondered whether she was truly disapproving, or instead had simply “put on” this particular face like a handy mask to hide whatever inner turmoil she might be experiencing. She was on the floor of the cellar, her back against the wall, and there were kegs of wine, ale, and mead near her. She saw my disheveled and ashen look and immediately said, “What were you doing up there? Burning the place down?”
“However did you guess?” I said sarcastically.
She looked me up and down with something that almost approached concern. “Are you all right?”
“All right?! This is all your fault! If not for you—!”
“My fault?” She’d been sitting on the floor, but now she scrambled to her feet and put her hands on her hips defiantly. “Excuse me, but you were the one claiming that, if you gave me aid, all manner of disaster would befall you!”
“So?”
“So you gave me aid. Therefore you brought this on yourself. If you set events into motion, I can hardly be faulted for that.”
I couldn’t quite believe it. What she might have been lacking in magiks and sorcerous ability, she more than made up for in sheer gall. My hands trembled. Not since my enforced time with the psychotic Princess Entipy had I so wanted to drive my fist into the face of a woman. I did not do so, of course, for the most obvious and fundamental of reasons: I was concerned she’d hit me back. Instead I settled for shaking a finger in her face and snapping, “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Provided we have a later.”
It was a good point. The fire was raging out of control overhead, and the temperature was beginning to rise even down in the basement. Even though smoke had a tendency to rise, there was still enough seeping through to provide an immediate threat. Less immediate was the prospect of the entirety of the structure collapsing down upon us.
I studied the wall with a scrutiny that I’d never before employed. It certainly looked solid enough. Sharee, meantime, was beginning to notice that we were in a less-than-advantageous position. She had recaptured the aplomb I’d first encountered her displaying those many years ago. Obviously, despite the fact that Lord Beliquose had inspired some sort of concern within her, she continued to be utterly undaunted by the prospect of being burned alive. I could only conclude that either she was exceptionally brave or else she had her priorities totally out of whack.
“We can’t stay here,” she said.
“Brilliant observation.” I was pulling all the kegs and such away from the walls, shoving them toward the middle of the cramped space.
“Any thoughts as to a way out? And what in the name of Hecate are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for a way out, and don’t mention Hecate.” I started thumping my fist on the walls, not remotely sure what I was looking for. It was damned near impossible to see in any event. Usually when I was in the cellar, I had the trapdoor opened and my vision aided by light from overhead. But now the trapdoor was shut to buy us whatever extra time we could, and consequently I could see almost nothing.
“What do you have against Hecate?”
“She’s a witch goddess and Entipy worshipped her and I don’t need such creatures invoked when I’ve got a burning tavern getting ready to collapse on my head. Damn it all!” I pounded the wall in frustration. “If only I could see—!”
I forced myself to calm, which was not an easy thing since I could feel the temperature climbing. Sweat was beginning to bead on my skin, and breathing was becoming a bit more of a challenge than it had been as the air became more heated.
Suddenly light flared up behind me, and I whirled, almost falling as I did so had I not braced myself with my staff. I had thought that flame had worked its way down to the basement and was about to torch all around us, but then I saw that Sharee was down on one knee, engaging in some sort of process on the floor. She had in front of her half a globe, and she was using a pestle to grind up something within it. Whatever it was, it was giving off a very impressive luminescence. I peered over her shoulder and couldn’t quite believe it, for it seemed that whatever it was she was grinding up within … it was moving.
“What the hell … ?” I muttered.
“Glowworms,” she said without looking up. “Pound them into a fine paste, and the slow discharge of their life force radiates light for up to twenty-hour hours.”
“You’re armed with shining slugs. Charming, and yet repulsive.”
“Don’t complain.” She placed the upper portion of the globe atop the lower, and they interlocked with one another. The globe had dozens of holes in it, allowing light to seep through. “The time you spend bewailing this and that and the other thing could better be spent getting us out of here … provided you do indeed have a way.”
The light was meager, but at least it was something. I continued to study the walls, running my hand along them, and the air became warmer and warmer …
And then I felt it.
“Here,” I said abruptly.
Sharee came in be
hind me, holding the globe high in an endeavor to see better. “Here what?”
“The wall is much cooler here.” I pressed against the area, trying to determine exactly the length and width of the chilled area. “That would seem to indicate that there’s something on the other side that would be of benefit.”
“Such as … ?”
I fired her a look. “Whatever’s there, it has to be better than here.”
I felt around, probing, trying to keep my fear and desperation from mounting. I reached up toward the ceiling where it formed a juncture with the wall, pushing and pulling at the same time, not knowing what in the world I was endeavoring to find, but hoping I would know it when I found it.
“Apropos …” said Sharee warningly.
“I’m still looking.”
“Apropos!”
I looked up. Flames were penetrating the area overhead. The smoke was becoming thicker, and every breath of air was more forced than the one before. Embers were falling all around us like snowflakes blossoming from hell. I heard cracking of timbers from overhead and a loud groaning as the structure of Bugger Hall bent in upon itself.
At that moment my questing fingers felt a small indentation that seemed manmade rather than a result of natural wear and tear. I pushed in, then through, not certain what I was aiming for, and then I felt a section of the wall move. Sharee gasped in surprise as the wall suddenly slid inward like a large door. It did not do so easily, but desperation lent strength to my not-particularly impressive body, and I pulled with all the might I possessed. Perhaps some sort of hinges took over, because the wall swung inward smoothly then and blackness lay before us. Thick waves of stink and stagnation billowed out from within, and I could see nothing that lay before us save Stygian darkness. But anything was better than dying … or, at least, so I was wont to tell myself in those days.