Villains by Necessity (v1.1)

by Eve Forward

  “The dreams of the Labyrinth have caught them,”

  Kaylana said sternly, “as you yourselves were caught. myself only managed to escape by the power of my staff.”

  “How long have we been wandering about this place?” asked Arcie. Kaylana shook her head. Sam looked down.

  He, too, had no idea, his timesense having vanished with the fire. Kaylana, leading the two rogues by her staff managed to wake the others out of their dream-trances They were able to keep their concentration by holding hands, as long as the end of the chain was in contact with Kaylana’s magical staff. Robin was the hardest to waken even after he had been shaken into consciousness and made to understand the situation, he seemed vague, as though trying to remember some lost knowledge. Blackmail was difficult as well; it took some quick maneuvering by Kaylana to duck his wildly swinging sword so that she could make contact with him, and of course, being unable to see his eyes, she could not reach into his mine to pull him into waking life. But his strange will was strong in its own way, and even as she touched him he seemed to recover, shaking his helmet and then looking around.

  “We may have been out for days,” grumbled Valerie.

  “And we have no way of knowing how far the sublimation has progressed outside the Labyrinth. That at least is a small mercy-the magic of the Labyrinth protects us, at least until the final destruction of the world.”

  “Och, such a mercy,” grumbled Arcie. “I’m half wanting to give up and go back to my dreams here!”

  “But are we awake now?” Robin asked, looking worried.

  “What if this is just another dream?”

  “We cannot attempt to puzzle that further,” snapped Kaylana. “We have come this far and must press on. We must find our way through the Labyrinth.”

  “That will take until the end of the world!” exclaimed Valerie in annoyance. “Literally!”

  Blackmail rapped on one of the walls; it seemed solid, though its exact shape and dimensions seemed unclear due to the ghostly images surrounding it and the eerie light that shone from every surface. Passages twisted off in all directions, unpleasantly organic-looking, like the intestines of some huge beast.

  “If it’s all dreams,” put in Sam, “shouldn’t we just be able to walk through it?”

  “Some people can control their dreams,” Valerie said thoughtfully, gently scratching Nightshade as he sat on her wrist. “Perhaps by lucid thinking we can determine where we go in this mess of a maze.”

  “And how are we to do that?” demanded Arcie.

  “If all the Labyrinth is a dream, then all space and time are no thicker than a thought,” stated Kaylana. “And once the destination is known, the journey is no more than a single step.” She strode forward, dragging the others with her...

  And as it turned out, by her own backward, stubborn will, she was right.

  The floor trembled beneath their feet as the icy whiteness shivered and began to melt into faded half-images, the Labyrinth losing power now that they no longer believed its dreams to be reality; The world seemed to spin, and there was the sensation of movement, and that feeling again of great energies being expended into the fabric of existence itself. As strangely as it had appeared, the Labyrinth of Dreams was dissolving.

  The whiteness fell away, leaving them atop a flat plateau of rock of no kind natural to Ein; a red-brown, burnt-looking stone, a broad table left behind by the slowly vanishing Labyrinth like a fossil frozen in ice.

  Even now the white dome over the center was creaking open, and brilliant light burst in upon them.

  The sun and moon shone together in the sky, moving slowly in an impossible conjunction. The sight twisted Kaylana’s soul with fear, as these figures of vital importance to the Druids moved in terrible, unbalanced, unnatural ways.

  The light flowed in, burning white, and, as the Labyrinth’s protective magic slipped away, they were struck with the full force of a world on the brink of utter goodness.

  The air was strained and warped, even stronger than the Labyrinth’s magic; the twisting of the world’s existence could be felt in every motion, thrumming from every stone, like a glorious but demented music.

  Around them, the light burst into everything. The redbrown stones suddenly flashed into soft blue-gray, and everything, everything of colors of shadow and darkness faded. Valerie’s hair fugued into a soft shade of brown, and Nightshade turned a brilliant blue while the sorceress’s clothes melted into a cheerful yellow color. Sam’s tattered clothing lost ink and dye in a rush, leaving him wearing tattered creamy-colored silk and cotton decorated with bright patches of other colors put there by a Martogon tailor. Even the blackness of the silent knight began to shade into a mouse gray, the heavy shield dull with layers of fading paint.

  At the camp of Sir Fenwick, the more gradual buildup of light energy had been hailed as a glorious sign from the gods that all was well; the men and women of the Company had never been better. Towser and his mages had power they had never dreamed of, everyone was healthy and strong and never felt fatigue. The countryside of Ein was thick with flowers, and reports came in everywhere of similar wonders that had been occurring all over the world. For the triumph of energy, evil or good, is similar to any fall; the object may teeter on the brink of falling for a long time with little change, but once that final plummet begins, it accelerates.

  Fenwick and his companions knew nothing of this. All they knew was that the Labyrinth seemed to be disintegrating; barely visible at what once had been its highest point was a strange chunk of rock that could be seen jutting from the frothy white remains, with several indistinct figures atop it.

  “Towser! Summon your mages and begin the charge!” shouted Sir Fenwick in sheer joy, as he drew his sword Truelight and raised it above his head. It glowed like a stab of lightning as Tasmene and his men came to rally with him, and the mages appeared ...

  Everything was shifting; it was as though the world suddenly became a flat, artificial picture, with no more depth than a child’s drawing. It took them a minute in baffled shock before they realized that almost all the shadows had vanished. Everything was illuminated equally, even the insides of their mouths as they gaped in astonishment.

  The light picked out in vivid detail a crater of jagged stone. At the bottom was a circular area, perhaps fifteen feet across, covered by a mesh of glowing magical cords, forming a shield over whatever lay beneath. A double arch stretched over this area, the two spans meeting at right angles and dropping from their intersection a long needle of stone, with a hole straight through, about three feet from the spear-sharp tip. The hole shimmered with magical workings, and was just about the size of a large apple, or the size of the glowing composite gemstone Arcie now held in his hands.

  “The Key!” cried Valerie, looking at the gemstone, her eyes squinting as she fought the burning light. Yet her joy gave her strength to endure the all-pervading force of Good. “And the Lock on the Darkgate ... by all the dark dead gods, I never thought I should live to see this place...”

  “So all as we has to do is put it into yon hole?” asked Arcie, ignoring the metaphysics.

  “Not quite,” said Valerie with sudden deathly seriousness.

  “The Darkgate is evil... many lives were sacrificed to seal it. From what I was able to learn from my tomes, it will take at least one more life to open it.”

  “That’s why you dragged us all up here?” gasped Sam, shocked out of his self-pity. “For Gate fodder?”

  “Not all of you,” said the sorceress pleasantly. “Just one.”

  Things might have gotten very nasty at this point had it not been for a series of sudden soft explosions as air was displaced in teleportation. There in a flash stood Sir Fenwick, at the head of thirty of the Verdant Company.

  Another, and there appeared Lord Tasmene and his powerful adventuring companions. A swooping shadow overhead told them that Lumathix the dragon as well was on call.

  “Get to work, Sam!” Arcie hissed, as the party drew wea
pons. The Labyrinth was already closing behind them, sliding down away from the crater on the summit.

  Its magic fading, it sank slowly under its own weight into the solid dark stone. There was no retreat. Sam shook his tousled head.

  “I can’t,” he whispered. He willed his muscles to draw, to throw, to kill... but he couldn’t.

  “Then open the Gate,” urged Kaylana, snatching the Key from Arcie and pressing it into his hands. “You are the only one who can climb there anyway.”

  “She’s right,” Arcie muttered, hefting his morning star. “No way in hells are you getting me up them arches carrying yon rock.”

  “But I don’t want to die!” protested Sam. He felt so lost. His patched gaudy clothing hurt his eyes and made him feel like a jester in motley.

  “Don’t worry, old chum,” said Arcie, as he started forward. “We should be able to throw but one of these bastards in there.”

  Arrows suddenly hailed around them, Valerie fired a spell of flaming fire, and the battle for the Darkgate had begun.

  Sam tucked the Spectrum Key under his arm and ran forward, trying to keep out of sight but knowing himself hopelessly visible, and too slow. His companions spread out and met the attackers face on, Blackmail, Arcie, and Robin in front, hewing at those who came within range, and Kaylana and Valerie staying just behind, hurling spells into the oncoming ranks.

  Arcie wasn’t cut out for this kind of fighting. He contented himself with thwacking his morning star into the shins of any who looked like they were moving to intercept the ex-assassin as he ran. Blackmail charged into the thick of Fenwick’s warriors and the fighters of Tasmene’s company and did great damage with his huge sword.

  Robin fought with the panicked desperation of a wild horse, his sword swinging and his wicked hooves lashing out in all directions. Words of chanting rang out, and a number of longbowmen vanished in a puff of dry dust under Valerie’s power. Though her magic was puny compared to the incredible power of Light, she fought for her life, and the nearby presence of the Darkgate gave her courage, if not support. Kaylana gripped her staff and whispered words of magic, and from the hard rock grew wicked long spikes of stone that tripped and caught the troops of Light.

  But the forces of good were certainly in the majority.

  The mages of the Verdant Company threw spells that forced the renegades to dodge and fumble. Gouts of flame burst, arrows of light were fired, and wounds bled.

  Fenwick, shouting his men on, saw the running figure of the ex-assassin and swiftly nocked an arrow to his Troisian bow, drew and fired. He didn’t know what the villain was up to, but it was bound to be no good.

  A cloth-yard arrow buried itself in Sam’s side, and he stumbled. Pain! Pain that wracked his limbs in stabbing agony, tearing into his nerves no longer shielded by the fire of assassin determination. An assassin never screamed in pain, it would give his position away ... but Sam heard his voice cry out, a hoarse scream of agony.

  He saw Fenwick draw his glowing, magical sword and begin to approach him. Shaking with crippling agony, he drew a dagger from his boot, panic and fear giving him strength, and threw it in desperate self-defense.

  Fenwick dodged easily, and the dagger’s arc of flight completed with a clatter to the floor.

  Valerie drew back in agony as a blast of lightning from Tesubar crackled into her arm. Nightshade croaked in rage and flew in a flurry of feathers and hoarse cries at the blue-robed mage. Something flew from his beak and sparkled in the air as Tesubar cursed and flailed at the raven.

  Robin crashed his sword against the Dwarven blade of Lord Tasmene, and the-centaur’s weapon shattered. He spun and kicked the man as hard as he could in the chest.

  “Ooof!” exploded Tasmene, unbalanced, as he stumbled backward a step. Robin scooped up a sheaf of arrows from those fallen on the ground and pulled forth the bow he’d taken from the combat outside the Labyrinth.

  Fenwick, about to skewer the helpless, bleeding villain on the point of his sword, suddenly found himself in a swarm of stinging bees conjured up by the Druid. As he tried to shake free of them, a painful spiky object crashed into the back of his legs. He jumped away, and Arcie, bleeding heavily, threw an almost-empty wineskin at Sam, the stopper removed. The last of the cool liquid poured out, splashing over the ex-assassin’s bleeding side, dissolving the arrow away, healing his wounds.

  “Run, you daft idiot!” Arcie yelled, and plunged back into the fray, running from Fenwick’s slashing sword, as Sam scrambled to his feet and ran on.

  Sam reached the place where one of the arches joined the stone, and tried his best to scramble up it, to climb out to where the Key must fit. But his hands slipped help lessly on the stone; a surface that once would have held a thousand handholds was impassible to him now.

  Arcie saw something sparkle on the ground amongst the trampling feet and spattering blood. A red gem, not a ruby, but... he was a good enough thief to recognize a Heartstone when he saw it. And Sam had said ... Suddenly all was made clear.

  “Sam!” he yelled, scooping up the stone and throwing it as hard as he could toward the assassin. A flash of metal to his side made him leap away, barely avoiding the slashing blade of a snarling Verdant Company warrior.

  Something fell with a faint noise near Sam, and he scooped it up in amazement as he huddled behind the grounding of the arch. The Heartstone, glowing rubyorange from his stored powers within ... How, where, why it had returned, he couldn’t guess... but it was useless, unless a Hero could destroy it, and set free the fire to fly back to him. He gripped it, felt the trembling flame trapped within. The success of his Test had been worth it, but he knew now what he knew before-the nature of a person, good or bad, is central to existence. He could no longer even think of himself as Samalander ... even the inborn magical talents that Valerie and the Guildsmen had seen in him had been linked to the fire, and his weapons now flew according to the laws of nature, not of magic.

  “Well, well,” said Mizzamir to himself, in the Silver Tower, as the image in his newly repaired scrying font resolved with a flash into a scene of battle around a shining pit. Around him, the room blazed with shafts of color as the stained-glass windows threatened to melt under the powerful light of the sublimation conjunction. “So they made it? Quite amazing ... Well, best go to meet them before things get out of hand.” He took hold of his staff and teleported with a mere thought; his was a magical strength now rivaling the gods, and he no longer had any need for words for such trivial spells.

  Sam looked up in shock as there was a sudden shimmer in the air across the pit from him, and he gasped as Mizzamir appeared in all his radiant glory.

  The mage seemed to smile at him benevolently and shook his head in pity. He reached into his belt pockets for spell components. What Mizzamir had in mind would take a bit of finesse ... a job begun long ago that would now, finally, be completed. He would use his magic to turn all these villains to the path of Light, and all would be well forever.

  Robin fired shaft after shaft into the ranks, until a returned bolt punched right through his upper biceps, preventing him from drawing his bow. He scooped up a sword from one of the fallen and continued to battle, his legs and sides raked with cuts.

  Kaylana shouted words of power, gripping her staff tight. A wall of thorns sprung up from the rocky ground, writhing and twisting in sudden growth. The hedge wrapped up and around the emerging forces of the second group of the Verdant Company as they teleported in.

  Sam jerked in fear as Mizzamir raised his hands and began casting a spell. Sam thought frantically, I’ve got to break his concentration! He couldn’t let Mizzamir trap and whitewash him even further, even if he hadn’t the will or the skill or the strength to kill the Elven wizard Hero. He hurled the first thing that came to hand: the small but heavy magical Heartstone. The mage saw it coming and halted his spellcasting to catch it. The power of his spell hovered in the air as he inspected the red gem.

  “But this is used, silly lad,” he admonished g
ently. “It won’t work on me.” He pressed it tightly in his fingers, about to crush it in contempt. Sam caught his breath. But then the mage seemed to change his mind.

  “Perhaps ... no,” he said with a smile, and tossed it over his shoulder. Sam scrambled to his feet, ready to run, attack perhaps, anything, as Mizzamir raised his hands to complete the spell. The stone twinkled in the dust ... and, out of the fray, a grayish-armored foot reached out and stomped on it, crushing it to powder.

  Brilliant crimson and orange darkness leaped up, flashing in beautiful, terrible power. Sam caught his breath in wonder at the fire, unleashed, wild and glorious in its might, loosed from the confines of the crystal or his humble flesh. The fighting men cringed away from it, crying out in terror as its touch sent shooting agony through them. But it bathed a solitary, tall, armored figure in its flames an instant, burning away grey-faded paint with its power before it relented and spiraled free in the air.

  Sam raised his arm in joy, like a falconer calling to his hawk. The cloak of flaming power slashed through the air to him and plunged into the pale blue veins of his wrist, driving home like a bloody lightning bolt, vanishing into his body.

  Mizzamir was staring in shock at the figure that had crushed the Heartstone.

  Blackmail’s armor had been scoured clean and shone brilliant silver. The layers of faded-black paint over the large shield had been stripped away, and the object now bore a device, in blazing color, of a golden griffin rampant on a field of crimson. The knight gripped his helmet with one gauntleted hand, and tore it off, the welds snapping in the after-heat of the firebath. A human head, stern and mighty of face, with long mustaches only just silvering with age, piercing gray eyes and a handsome countenance that were unmistakable from murals and paintings and tapestries and legends. A chorus of astonishment rose from the ranks.