by Eve Forward
Kaylana was suddenly drowning in icy-blue water ... she thrashed, choking, and ... sprawled out on the edge of the pool. In her hand was
clasped a chunk of crystal, blue as the waters of the pool.
She stood up slowly, her head throbbing from the contact with the deity ... already the details were swimming, vanishing. Time had been distorted. There was much she could not remember. They had talked for hours, but here, the animals she had called had not even ...
She froze, her head jerking up, listening. Then, staff in one hand, crystal in the other, she ran.
Grasscut Sundowner, master of the Tantelope herds, was inspecting the cut walls of the pen with ill-concealed rage.
His son and apprentice, Dustwind Sundowner, stood beside him with the patching kit.
“Will we have to go and track down the Tantelopes, father?” Dustwind asked; his father sighed.
“With luck, my son, they will return ... they know that here is good water and plenty of food ... and they are used to calling our camp their home. Soon, I pray to Mula’s mercy, we shall hear their hoofbeats as they return ...”
“Father! I think I hear the hoofbeats even now!” cried the son. Grasscut stopped, listened, and then with a word that Dustwind had never heard his father use before, scooped up his son and ran.
The villains heard the low rumbling noise about the same time that the barbarians began racing past them, carrying children and valuables, heading west. Some ran into the temple and sheltered in the stone walls, while others tried to get as far away from the camp as possible.
Arcie came thumping past Blackmail at one point, following the flow, and the knight grabbed him and hoisted him into the air, his short legs still pumping. Arcie recovered himself and shouted at the knight, “Och, you great armored clod! Lemme down! It’s a stampede!”
Sam recognized that accent from two tents away, even though he couldn’t make out the words. He ran over and almost bumped into Kaylana as she emerged from a tangle of barbarians trying to push their way into the stone temple sanctuary. “Kaylana! Where-” began the assassin, very glad to see the Druid. She ignored him, interrupting, “Get the others! We must get to Valerie and Robin at once!”
They ran, collecting Blackmail, who tucked Arcie under his arm, and ran to the southern edge of the encampment.
Dawn was breaking, and the rumbling noise was filling the air like the anger of gods.
They reached it just as Valerie and Robin came running down into the gully. Robin cried out to warn them.
“It’s a stampede! Hundred of animals, all kinds, heading this way!” he shouted.
“Do something, Druid!” Valerie snapped. “Animals are your specialty, are they not?” Her raven circled above, calling hoarse warnings. Valerie halted at the group, but Robin ran on, galloping into the encampment, shouting back at them to save themselves. In a few seconds he was lost to view.
“Indeed, I called the animals,” Kaylana said, preoccupied for a moment. “We must form a circle, facing inward ...”
“What good will that do?” demanded Sam, who nevertheless allowed himself to be shoved into position beside Blackmail.
“Trampled flat we’ll be,” cried Arcie, as the rumbling shook the earth. The bellowing of animals was clear now, mingling with the renewed shouts of the barbarians.
“What difference is it what pattern our corpses form in the sand?”
“Silence!” demanded Kaylana, as she took her place in the circle, and, gripping her staff, closed her eyes. The ground trembled so hard they could barely keep their feet.
Sam turned and saw, by the sudden clear light of dawn, a wave of dust and motion and force cresting the hill, sweeping down upon them: hooves and horns, breath steaming, ground rocking, voices honking and bellowing and trumpeting.
Here came familiar Tantelopes, their nostrils flaring
with the effort, necks swaying like masts; the small, lithe prongbucks, running in great, leaping bounds, and the heavy Plains bison, thundering like shaggy stormclouds.
There were the ornyx, taller than the prongbucks, with huge, backswept curling horns, and, the huge yellowgray forms of wheeumps, massive creatures large as a house with white, outswept tusks and a long, curling nose through which they trumpeted their distinctive call. Sam noticed all this, and then they were on him. Dust choked his nostrils as sudden vertigo swept up his body. ... legs and hide and horns and the dust and stink in his nostrils, and his hooves pounded the ground flat under them, there were tents, afraid! but no turning, no swerving. he did not stop and the walls fell under his horns and tusks, and he trampled it under his feet, and there a stone wall, people-smell, he leaped over it and the wind of his kind around him as they jumped with him... his hooves skidded on leather while his other hooves found purchase, and he fell and could not stop himself from trampling himself flat ... the smell of his blood made him even more afraid, and his heart wanted to burst as it struggled to keep up, running on and leaping back up the hillside and out into the open plains, crowding himself on all sides and there were fleeing things before him but he could not stop, could not stop, the air was full of fear and blood and he could only run and run and run...
As soon as he was out of sight, Robin activated his magic bracelet without bothering to slow down. Thus it was that he appeared suddenly in one of the rooms of the Castle of Diamond Magic, and only the sudden clatter of his hooves on stone made him snap himself to a clumsy halt. He stopped, every muscle quivering, his ears trying to pin themselves back, and looked. Mizzamir stood at one end of the room, regarding him with mild surprise.
“Well, well ... I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you,” said the Arch-Mage. Mizzamir had been in the middle of breakfast, and on the table before him were spread a few small loaves of bread and some
fruit, and a clear glass of starwine. “Those villains aren’t starting to corrupt you, are they?”
“Me? No! No sir!” stammered Robin. “It was just difficult to get away ... things happening ...”
“I understand,” interrupted Mizzamir reassuringly.
“The whole business while they were here in Natodik ... most unpleasant.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Robin, nodding violently.
“Well, can’t be helped ... what have they done now?”
“We ... they, were captured by the Plainsmen of Sei’cks,” Robin reported, “And they escaped their cell ... but when I left, a stampede was rushing down upon the camp. I don’t know how they will survive that.”
“These villains seem extraordinarily adept at surviv ing, Robin,” sighed Mizzamir, taking a sip of wine. They were in a different room than Mizzamir’s usual Tower study; Robin wondered if the stained-glass window had been replaced. “Which is well enough, for I still hope that they may be saved ... And the Key?”
“They weren’t sure where to search for the one on Sei’cks,” answered the centaur. “And were captured before they could begin to look.”
“The Key is important, Robin ... Do you know where they are keeping the Segments?”
“No, sir, though I think thus far each one has kept the Segment they have discovered ... except myself, of course.”
“Would it be possible, do you think, to ... acquire these Segments?” asked Mizzamir casually. Robin shook his head.
“Even when they assign me to watch, the knight never seems to sleep. He would see if I tried to search for the Segments.”
“Ah yes ... this knight...” Mizzamir seemed lost in thought a moment, then asked, “What does he call him self?”
“He doesn’t speak, sir ... we ... the others call him Blackmail, sir, I think because of his black armor.”
“Hmm ... a play on words ...” Mizzamir thought a moment. “Well, keep your eyes open, Robin. If these villains have survived this stampede, you must continue to follow them... and if you have the opportunity, capture one of the Segments and return it to me. One Segment will be enough to assure that the world is safe and that will give us time
to capture the others, and the villains as well.”
“Yes, sir,” said Robin. He bowed low.
But he was still jittery, seeing disturbing images of brilliant, blinding light, and rocks and plants vaporizing into pure energy...
There was sunlight on his eyelids. His back prickled. He was warm. His mouth had a faint taste of mud. There was the faint sound of wind and rustling, and a ringing in his ears. What was he forgetting? Oh, yes.
He gasped, pulling clean, warm air deep into his lungs.
He wheezed, as he gasped again. His chest ached. How long had he forgotten to breathe for, he wondered. Who was he?
He was hooves and horn and speed, the race of the grass below, and...
He had two legs, two arms. They ached ...
He was running and falling and...
He had only one heart, beating in his chest ... he was...
He was...
He was Sam. The assassin, named Samalander, raised in Bistort ... kill Mizzamir ... off on a quest ...
Kaylana, Tests, fate of the world ... barbarians ... capture ... escape ... stampede ...
He sat up instantly, eyes flying open. Around him was the infinite expanse of the Plains, chewed up here into a mass of torn grass and earth. He could hear a faint metallic scraping noise. The sky was blue overhead, with a few circling hungry vultures. It was almost noon.
He felt battered all over, but he seemed to be fine. The grass, where it still stood, was about three feet tall. He rose and looked around, his legs shaking. There was no sign of the barbarian camp, the temple, or the gully.
A few yards away he saw Blackmail, who was also sitting up and rubbing his helmet. That was the metallic noise. To one side, a sprawled dark form with a raven sitting atop it-Valerie. She seemed to be breathing, and her raven appeared calm. A groan to his left indicated that somewhere among the grasses, Arcie had regained consciousness. That left two unaccounted for. He staggered about, looking.
At last he found Kaylana, lying on her face in the dirt.
Her robes and armor were in disarray, and her breathing very shallow. She did not awaken when Sam shook her shoulders gently.
Arcie and Blackmail came up to them as Sam carefully turned the Druid’s still form over. Her head lolled on its pillow of red hair and her arm flopped limply. A shining chunk of blue crystal tumbled out of her nerveless fingers.
Sir Fenwick and Company had ridden since dawn with the guide who had promised to deliver the villains into their hands. As the sun crested the sky, they came upon the gully of the High Temple of Mula, and their guide suddenly cursed and galloped his Tantelope down into the wreckage. Fenwick and his men followed.
The encampment was a shredded, trampled heath of torn leather and animal carcasses. The priestesses and shamans of Mula were walking among the mess, helping the Plainsmen to salvage what they could. Those who had fled from the stampede were slowly returning.
Their guide returned, grim faced. “Was anyone hurt?” asked Fenwick. The barbarian shook his head.
“Several have been hurt, but by the mercy of Mula only a few have gone Beyond ... and those were killed not by animals, but by the villains when they escaped.”
“So the carnage continues,” muttered Fenwick, drumming his hands on his saddle. Suddenly, his head snapped up. “Towser! Zanithir! I have messages you must send ... this violence must end!” With a dragon to scout for me, and two armies to fence them in... there can be no escape, he thought grimly. The smoldering ruins of the Plainsmen’s camp steamed under the noonday sun.
IX
“Blackmail? Something wrong?” Sam asked.
They had recovered from the strange occurrences of the stampede and had continued on westward, both to avoid the Plainsfolk to the east and to press on to the land called Ein, the last one of the Six. They still saw a few signs of the Plains barbarians; campfires seen in the distance when they traveled at night. Kaylana, recovered though still weak from the ordeal of the magic needed to allow them to survive and use the stampede, helped hide their presence from the barbarian trackers. She was aided at times by Valerie’s spells of darkness and misdirection, and they made good progress under the night sky.
Kaylana would tell nothing of her Test, nor of how she had controlled the stampede. She had hidden the blue crystal in the folds of her robes; Robin’s attempts to get it in his hands for just a moment, the split second that would be all he would need to take it to Mizzamir, proved futile. Such an action, he knew, would ruin his place among them, but, he felt, it would at least remove him from their dangerous presence.
Sam found himself thinking about the Tests. Since there were six Segments, and the other five members of his party had each recovered one, it seemed logical that the last one would be his to attempt. He wondered what sort of task he would face ... The only Hero whose Test had not yet been encountered was that of Lord Tamarne, warrior and king of Light, whose family had ruled Ein for generations, even before the War. Tamarne, it was rumored, had been part godling; the circumstances were uncertain, having to do with his mother being visited by the Thunder God in the guise of a tiger, and indeed, the royal crest bore a white tiger. Ein was a land of rocks and snow and storms and legends of huge serpents, fire giants, dwarves, and similar things. Not a very hospitable place, thought Sam, for a city-bred assassin to try to win the most important contest of all time. He had borrowed a stub of inkwood from Arcie and copied down the pertinent verse from Bhazo’s prophecy, under Valerie’s supervision.
“How do you spell T’krung-Tabak’?” he asked, squinting as he tried to decipher the thin, coiled, Nathauan handwriting.
“It’s an Ancient Einian word, I think ... it has roots in Dwarvish. It means something like ‘Sacrifice of Self’,” Valerie explained. “Though the translation of ‘self’ is a bit hazy. It has connotations with both the soul and the essence of one’s being; in a Dwarfs case, family honor and tradition, the background that shapes the individual.”
Sam thought about this later as he read and re-read the verse, copied onto a scrap of parchment in his own square letters. Sacrifice himself? In an eagle’s claws? He shook his head. T’krung-Tabak, in eagle’s claws, where warm blood outlines stony flaws. Blood, stone ... sounded like a sacrifice, indeed. But that would be a rather pointless thing to do, and his whole reason for being here was for his survival. If dare to face the inner eye ... what was that supposed to mean? he wondered again. The group had all gone over this verse before, as they travelled, but no firm ideas were forthcoming. Sam muttered the line to himself, then, on an impulse, crossed out “eye” and wrote a capital letter
“I” over it. Then, shaking his head, he changed it back again. And last...
To thy knees, ‘neath moonlit sky. More sacrifice nonsense.
He wondered if Kaylana’s people had ever practiced human sacrifice, as post-Victory rumors would have it.
He doubted it; she seemed to want little or nothing to do with humankind, especially him. That still ached. He’d tried kind words, flowers... was she just not interested, or did she even know? Maybe he would have to be more obvious. If this Test was as gloomy as it sounded, it would be nice to have at least a smile from her to think on before his blood went into some stony flaws somewhere. He resolved to tell her, charmingly but openly, that he thought she was the most courageous and beautiful woman he had ever known, that her strength and spirit had won him even more than her grace and gentle wisdom, and that no one had ever understood him as did she, that no one had ever brought him such fascination and hope and fear and confusion, that he would suffer a thousand painful agonies to see her happy again, and that maybe, when this was all over and assuming they survived, would she like to go out for a drink or a walk or something. But what if she hit him with the staff again? What if he stammered and blushed, and what if Arcie appeared and spoiled it all with some lewd comment?
The very thought made him nervous enough, and when he sensed a similar, but distinctly different feeling radiating from the
imperturbable dark figure of Black mail, he became even more concerned, but about more immediate things than the tangled paths of emotion.
The knight was not sitting down to relax as were the rest of them. He was standing against the dawn sky, fac ing out toward the west. Sam followed his gaze, but saw nothing save endless prairie and a faint smudge on the horizon that might have been the sea that was the border between Sei’cks and Ein.
“The ocean, silent knight?” asked Sam, looking up at Blackmail’s still figure. “Is that what you’re looking at?”
The knight made no comment for a long moment, then shook his head in dismissal and sat down with a barrage of creaks and metallic noises. Sam admired the way the knight, strange though he was, was able to move about in that armor. He required no assistance rising or lowering himself to a seated position, and walked as quickly as any of them and with great stamina.
“We’ll try to avoid the area to the northwest,” Valerie was saying. “From what I have heard, the Plains barbarians have another main camp there at this time of year. They may have heard of what happened at the other camp and would not be pleased to see us.”
“Nary a soul ever is,” said Arcie with a sigh.
“Sir Fenwick!” Jason, one of the younger scouts in the Verdant Company, ran into the high-raftered room. Fenwick had taken charge of an abandoned warehouse in Pila’mab as his temporary headquarters, and was even now discussing spell choices with his mages. He looked up as Jason stumbled into the room and saluted.
“Yes, Jason?” he asked.
“Sir Fenwick, Lord Tasmene to see you,” announced Jason importantly. Fenwick grinned in delight.
