Villains by Necessity (v1.1)

by Eve Forward

“But...”

  “Don’t look at it!” snapped Valerie, stepping in front of him. She looked up at the others. “Don’t any of you look at them. I’m not certain how, but there are darker things than we afoot tonight. If you see those lights, ignore them, do not look at them, and above all do not follow them!”

  Sam was glancing about, trying to keep an eye on the lights without looking at them. Valerie’s fog boiled around him. “They look like lanterns.”

  “What are they?” asked Robin, on his feet now and moving, but shaky.

  “In the Underrealms, we called themfihilin... here I think they are called Willowisp. Very, very dangerous.”

  Valerie moved on, holding her robes up so as not to get them too muddy. The raven on her shoulder closed its eyes and ruffled its feathers against the chill of the fog.

  The rest followed. The lights did not approach to be inspected, and the party did not seek them out.

  “It will be dawn soon. Sir Fenwick.” Towser sat on his horse and looked about the glooming fog. He pulled his green robes tight and arranged the hood over his closecropped brown hair.

  Sir Fenwick halted his horse a moment. The warrior scout Jeffries, Towser, and a healer named Mella who rode with them all stopped as well. They had ceased to sound the horns, finding them useless in the fog. They stood on a lumpy hill, looked down into the plain of the Fens, and saw something that gave their hearts the cour age of battle.

  Straggling across the open space was a line of figures on foot, with one horse? No, a centaur. And coming up to them from behind in a haphazard sort of way, was an other party of three, with lanterns lit. With silent exalta tion Fenwick raised his horn and sounded the charge. His party raced down the hill as the other group of mounted men galloped forward, and they met in the middle of the dark figures.

  The renegades had of course heard the horns and the hoofbeats, and thus were not totally unprepared for the attack. The horses of Fenwick’s party skidded and col lided as they reached the bottom of the hill, a powerful blast of the Druid’s power almost knocking them over as they tried to obey her and retreat. They splashed into a ditch at the foot of the hill, on top of the three flounder ing hounds. Two of the men, Fenwick not being one of them, were unhorsed. Upon the group approaching be hind them, Valerie, drawing on her magic powers, threw a spell of slumber. The three horses fell unconscious in mid-stride; They awoke again almost instantly, but not before spilling their riders and crashing down upon the suddenly somnolent hounds. Fenwick spurred his horse and met a well-aimed morning star with his kneecap. He slashed down in fury, the sword Truelight gleaming like frozen lightning, and something yelped.

  Towser, meanwhile, had quickly gotten to his feet and cast a spell. A plume of light shot into the air and burst with a flare, illuminating the scene in garish gold light.

  Valerie cringed away, blinded. Two of the hounds lunged at her, teeth snapping, and she shouted another spell that sent them yipping as black darts buzzed about them. The Feyhounds snapped and growled, trying to bite her in between the attacks. Nightshade croaked loudly at them, slashing at tender muzzles with his beak while he shielded his mistress from the light as best he could with his wings.

  Sudden searing pain shot through Towser’s chest, and he fell, eyes glazing. Sam wheeled from the fallen mage with his dagger still dripping and saw Fenwick’s horse rearing, about to come down on a small huddled figure on the moss. He threw the dagger without thinking. It spun through the air and clipped the horse’s tail, making the animal lunge forward and over the prone Barigan. At that moment, the other woodsman sprang behind him, and Sam dodged away, still getting a slash on the leg from the fellow’s drawn sword. He cursed and kicked the man into a deep puddle, then ran to Arcie.

  There was a crash behind him, and a nasty meaty sound. Something flew through the air and landed near Robin’s feet; the head of a startled looking warrior, eyes still blinking in reflex, severed by a powerful blow from a black sword. The centaur turned away, retching helplessly, closing his eyes as the huge silent knight sent the healer from the second party face-first into the mud, skewered on the great sword. Sam snapped him out of it by throwing a heavy Barigan over onto his withers.

  “Come on, Robin! We’ve got to make a run for it!”

  Kaylana and Fenwick suddenly found themselves squared off, she clutching her staff, not as a weapon, but in anger, and he on horseback, glowing sword raised. He lowered his sword and smiled his most charming smile, as the clash of blade against blade marked Blackmail’s progress in the background.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” asked Fenwick. “Why don’t you come with me, instead? Such a beauty belongs to light, not to darkness.”

  Kaylana glared at him. “You are far too much like your grandfather, royal fool.”

  “Forsake this silly Druidism, lovely flower.”

  “Death first, you simpering toad!” She swung her staff with such sudden speed it took the hero unawares, and across the temples. >Crack!<

  Fenwick rocked unsteadily, then fell off his horse.

  “I like a girl with spirit,” he said indistinctly through the mud. Kaylana grabbed Valerie and called for Blackmail.

  “Come! We must retreat!”

  They ran, pursued by the survivors and their limping, yelping hounds, while one of the healers stayed to aid their fallen leader and the others. The renegades ran out of the circle of light and stumbled in the sudden darkness.

  They were sent rolling down a moss-covered hill that suddenly opened up a dark mouth and swallowed them, from the sandal-footed Druid to the centaur carrying the Barigan. The remaining men of the Verdant Company halted, milling around, confused.

  “Where did they go?” asked one.

  Jeffries shuddered.

  “Maybe the Orthamotch got them,” he whispered.

  The other man looked about doubtfully, but something of his childhood fears sent a shiver down his spine.

  “They’ve gone. It’ll be dawn soon. Let’s go back to the others.”

  They hastened back to their comrades as the last of the fog blew away and the sun of a new day began to pink the sky.

  “So, oo is dis den?” asked a voice.

  Sam opened bleary eyes. The voice belonged to some large hunched bipedal creature, dimly seen as a faint outline of shadows. He shut his eyes in despair.

  I’m dead, he thought, and I’ve gone straight to Hades, just as everyone always said I would.

  “Eh? Eh? You wake up, you.” A clawed finger rapped on Sam’s chest. He opened his eyes again.

  The party was lying in a tangle on a large mat of something that felt like dried grass. They seemed to be in an underground burrow of sorts, with damp walls of earth, by the echoes. It was very dark. But Sam, trained to prowl the night, could extrapolate shapes from the faintest shadows and feel presences by warmth and sound. The fire, the assassin’s hunting flame, flickered in his blood and wakened the ancient senses, ancient instincts that told the hunter all he could know about his surroundings.

  His danger sense was humming softly, but not with immediacy. He was warned to be cautious.

  The walls were cool and muffling, and his companions were patches of warm breathing. The figure before him was cold as the walls and reeked of mud and blood and a reptilian musk. As his vision adjusted further, he could make out more. Robin was groaning and trying to stand, all four legs quivering. Sam shivered faintly when he noticed that Blackmail emitted no sense of warmth, but reasoned that this was probably normal, because of the armor. The knight was standing up and rubbing his helmet.

  Kaylana got to her feet and spoke. “Hello?”

  “Alloo!” said the strange voice, padding over to her.

  She can’t see it, Sam thought suddenly. She’s normal, she doesn’t have the fire, the fire in the blood that gives the night-sight... what if the creature is dangerous? He tensed himself to spring, watching it. It was speaking.

  “Hurt people, yes ... blood in Fens ag
ain! Woke up old Orthamotch, and little pets too,” gurgled the voice gleefully.

  Sam gulped silently. Orthamotch! The life-stealing demon of the Fens! Orthamotch was the bogeyman of the entire Six Lands, said to be able to pop up out of the ground wherever he chose, particularly where little children were bad ...

  “Day now,” went on Orthamotch in disgust. Then, more cheerfully, “Little pets come home. See?”

  Suddenly there was a twinkle in the darkness, and then another, and another. Through a tunnel in the wall came a stream of the strange golden lights Valerie had warned them not to look at. Sam tried not to look at them now, but had no choice.

  The Willowisps poured into the room like living marshlights, spinning about with a green-gold radiance and filling the room with a cold light. Sam saw his companions clearly now, slowly getting to their feet, except for Arcie, who lay where he had fallen from the centaur’s back. And Sam saw Orthamotch.

  The figure was an apparition out of nightmares, a strange conglomeration of reptile and human, scaly skin dripping from human flesh, with powerful clawed hands, a tall but hunched figure, and a thick, muscular tail like an alligator’s. The face was a half-crocodile’s snout, with large, mis-set eyes, one blood red, the other a deep yellow.

  The pupils were like a cat’s, but doubled and crossed over each other, forming an X. The figure wore a tattered, patchwork tunic made of some sort of fur ... if the legends were to be believed, the scalps of naughty boys and girls, as well as careless travelers. The apparition winked at Sam from its red eye. “Old Orthamotch ugly, yes? Bite your head off in a minute, he would.”

  Sam believed it. The figure’s muscles rippled like a snake’s under the wrinkled skin that looked like scale armor. Hunched almost double, Orthamotch’s eyes stared into his from the same height. He tensed. Orthamotch gave a kind of sputtering hiss. Sam was startled to hear it was a laugh.

  “We shall fight you, if you give us cause,” came bravely from Kaylana. Valerie and Blackmail stared in silence, and Robin was shivering with pain from his chest and fear. He had glanced over his shoulder, and his back was stained with blood. He wondered how he’d gotten himself hurt this time.

  “No, not going to bite today. Little pets had good hunting, yes?” Orthamotch asked, looking up at the lights. There was a thrill of sound, so high it was barely on the edge of hearing.

  “Ah yes. Clutter up swamp pools, make plenty work for poor old Orthamotch.” Shaking its head, it turned to the party and addressed them. “Hunters running around upstairs today. Lookie for you. Rest here?” Its voice chuckled muddily.

  “For what payment?” asked Valerie coldly. “The head of one of our party for each hour?”

  “No, no,” answered Orthamotch with a gurgle.

  “Plenty heads upstairs. Got some already.” It padded over to where Arcie lay unmoving and looked down at the Barigan.

  Arcie’s still form was abruptly flanked by an assassin, a Druid, a knight, and a sorceress.

  “He’s with us,” explained Sam quietly. “Some woodsman tried to stomp him.”

  “That was Sir Fenwick,” said Kaylana coldly. She knelt by the Barigan and turned his body over gently, biting her lip. A gaping wound had spilled gouts of blood from the broad chest, and the thief’s face was deathly pale. Blood continued to ooze thickly through the once cheerfully yellow jerkin. Barigans are small people, without a whole lot of blood to spare, and Arcie looked like he’d lost a lot of his.

  “Melibrech,” cursed Kaylana under her breath. “This is beyond my skill... he is dying.”

  Orthamotch peered at the Barigan and gave a chirping whistle. One of the Willowisps detached itself from the ceiling and hovered over the Barigan. Sam snarled and drew his dagger to stab at it.

  “Don’t you dare feed him to your pets, Orthamotch,” he hissed. He had to admit that Arcie got on his nerves at times, but this was no way for a man to die ... Orthamotch grinned toothily at him. “’Course not. Giving, not taking.”

  The light of the Willowisp hovered over Arcie and seemed to expand its radiance to shine about him in a faint cloud that swirled into his skin. His form began to shine, and slowly the gaping wound closed, the color returned to his face, and his breathing strengthened. The light-cloud withdrew into the ‘wisp, and Arcie snored loudly, then startled and opened his bright blue eyes.

  The Willowisp, slightly dimmer now, returned to the ceiling with its fellows as Arcie sat up and looked around.

  “Wha?” he said. “Where am I?”

  “That is amazing,” said Kaylana, looking at Orthamotch.

  The monstrous creature shrugged. “Why did you do that? You are ...”

  “Evil?” Orthamotch cackled slurpily, his tail lashing on the muddy floor with a terrifying sound. “Yes, yes!”

  He seemed to sober. “Hard times for poor Orthamotch. Bright days, old darkness fading ... he sleeps in Fens, dying, dying ... ‘til suddenly blood! Blood in Fenwater! He wakes, sees, sees people, dark people hiding, running, from light people...”

  “Not running,” coughed Sam, a little embarrassed, “more a sort of strategic retreat ...” Orthamotch ignored him.

  “And so decided to take advantage of situation ... then thought, and decided to help, even! Orthamotch very old,” he added, looking around at them. “Remembers when Druids everywhere, Nathauan lived in caverns where pets hunted sometimes. Remembers War! Good hunting then, in Fens,” he said wistfully. “But now all gone. Pets used to fly everywhere, told Orthamotch of many things. Told of darkness fading, of Gate closed...”

  “You know of the Gate?” interrupted Valerie, her large eyes burning. Nightshade, on her shoulder, croaked. Orthamotch waggled a taloned finger at her.

  “Yes, long since, but know. Since you know, too, Old Orthamotch guessed right! You going to fix!”

  “Um ...” began Kaylana, uncertain as to how much they should tell this creature. It shook its misshapen head.

  “No need explain! You rest here, get well, then go out by tunnel to Jogrel Forest. Avoid hunters, sneak ahead!”

  It clapped its taloned hands and peered up at the Willowisps about the ceiling. “Pets take care of you.” It whistled again. Six of the glowing creatures came down from the ceiling.

  Each one hovered over the head of a member of the group, and though they were decidedly uneasy, nothing more happened than a warm radiance showering down upon them, easing aches and bruises, soothing wearing muscles. Robin felt his nausea and weakness easing, Kaylana her head clearing, all felt warmth as wounds, fatigue, and contusions healed. The radiance shone on Blackmail’s armor like distilled sunlight. Sam was amazed.

  “Valerie, I thought you said these things were dangerous! How do they do this?”

  Valerie was about to speak when Orthamotch answered with a cheerful gurgle.

  “Pets take life energy from people dying in Fens! Pets greedy, not need all... give some to you.”

  “You mean ... ,” Sam stammered, staring at his Willowisp in horror, “that this is ...”

  “Oh do hush, assassin,” said Valerie cheerfully, smiling in the glow of the healing, her raven basking like a cormorant. “Don’t be such a prude.”

  “But the people,” protested Sam, trying to edge out from under the ‘wisp. It followed him...

  “They not need it anymore!” Orthamotch insisted, obviously proud of his pets.

  “That is true enough, Sam,” agreed Kaylana. “We might as well take the opportunity.”

  “I don’t know ... What do you think about it, Robin? Robin?”

  The centaur had listened in horror and had collapsed in a faint. The Willowisp attending him finished its work and returned to the ceiling; the other ‘wisps soon joined it.

  Orthamotch, meanwhile, was beckoning the party to follow. They did so, minds still full of surprise and confusion over what they had just seen. Kaylana shook Robin awake, and he followed on shaky legs.

  Orthamotch led them through a tangle of tunnels until at last he found one that c
urved away into darkness. He indicated it.

  “You follow this, you soon end up in Jogrel Forest. Go now! Hunters looking for you in Fens, not catch up soon. Go!”

  The group exchanged looks, but decided that they might as well follow the nightmare’s advice. Ahead, the tunnel was dimly lit with faintly glowing mosses, enough to see dimly by. They hastened down the passage. Sam was the last to go. He ducked into the passage, then back out again to face the hideous creature. “Thanks,” he said. Orthamotch cracked a toothy smile, and waved a shooing hand at the tunnel.

  “Silly! Go. Do not think Orthamotch will be so nice a second time ... especially if you are naughty,” gurgled the creature, fearsome eyes twinkling. Sam ducked back down the tunnel after the others, and they marched along the soggy floor, rested and healthy, with a gurgling laugh ringing distantly in their ears as Orthamotch contemplated the novelty of a polite assassin.

  It was dusk in the Jogrel Forest. The day had passed with the sighing of the roundtip pines and faint rustling of beech, the plash-splashing of the sparkling brook, the business of birds and animals. An emaciated tawny owl sat on a branch, drawn up into itself; unable to kill, yet unable to die. The evening sun slipped away behind gold and red clouds, bathing the woods in lavender light.

  An old, dead tree stump in the middle of a small clearing shook slightly. It wiggled, and then fell over, its roots - pulling up a plug of earth and weeds from the face of the clearing, revealing a dark hole and a small, red-polled head that inspected the landscape with bright interest.

  The head then peered down the hole in which it stood, and called softly.

  “All clear, fellows,” said Arcie.

  “Good. Get up there, then,” grunted Robin. With a light spring the Barigan jumped off the centaur’s shoulders and scrambled out into the grass.

  The passage they had come through had stretched for miles of twisting, dim-dark tunnels. Following the main pathway, they had occasionally availed themselves of the spy-holes to the surface to track their progress. When beneath the forest-they could tell from the thick tree roots that extended into the tunnel-they had found the main exit here beneath this stump. The passage continued on into darkness, past the shaft that extended straight up from it. Within the hole, Kaylana peered up at the five foot tall shaft. It was barely four feet in diameter. She drummed her fingers on her staff thoughtfully. She edged aside to let Sam pass, and the assassin scrambled up the narrow chimney like a Father Yule in reverse. She and Valerie could make the climb, she felt sure, especially with the others to help, and probably even the armored knight could reach the top ... but the centaur ...