The Companions tms-6

by Tina Daniell

Nellthis knew his timing was off when he pivoted to shoot an arrow up into the huge, shadowy form that was crashing over him. He aimed upward, rolled under and forward, surprisingly quick for such a chunky man, and felt the shock of the leucrotta's claw as it smote him heavily on the back. Momentarily confused, Nellthis struggled to his knees, lurched against the canyon wall, and nocked another arrow.

  Scrambling to his feet, he saw the leucrotta lying on its side several feet away, twitching and spasming, slime and odorous blood gushing from its thrashing head. An arrow — his arrow-stuck in the creature's belly, while another, Kit's, protruded from the leucrotta's neck. Kit slumped against the opposite wall, obviously dazed but unhurt. With some effort, she gave him a nod of assurance.

  Nellthis walked over to the beast. Pain seared his back, yet with it came the exhilaration of the kill. He stood for a moment, lording it over his fallen prey, then shot an arrow into its brain. Almost instantly the leucrotta expelled its final breath and lay still.

  Kit came over to stare down at the monstrous creature, every bit as formidable and ugly in death as in life. The surviving retainer hastened to their side. He raised his peaked cap, a signal to those above to raise a raucous cheer.

  "I suppose I should thank you for saving my life," said Nellthis almost wistfully.

  "Are you disappointed, Uncle?" asked Kit. "I don't think my arrow killed him. I think it was both at once… yours and mine."

  He looked at his young niece, with her dark eyes and solemn expression, and knew that she wouldn't be saying so if she didn't believe it to be true. "Yes, both," he said, with a glow of satisfaction.

  Elferturm scrambled down the side of the gorge, the first of the hunting band to join them. His chest puffed out importantly. "A good kill," he offered.

  Nellthis's glow disappeared. He turned on his chief tracker with a snarl. "No thanks to you. The next time you think you've come up with a useful bit of strategy, make certain I know about it first, or it will be the last hunting you ever do in Lemish."

  Elferturm flushed an angry red, as Kit and her uncle turned their backs on him and walked away.

  Hours later, after hauling the heavy creature out of the gorge, tying it on a travois behind the horses, and burying the luckless man who had lost his life to the leucrotta, Nellthis, Kit, and the band of hunters rode triumphantly into the castle courtyard.

  All of Nellthis's servants and workers gathered 'round to congratulate their master, who ordered a celebration feast for that evening. He stood there, comically squat and bristling with pride, shrugging off concerns for the bruises on his back. To all who listened, he gave his niece equal credit for the trophy.

  On the sidelines, Kit observed him with a mixture of affection and amusement. She was about to return to her room when she saw Nellthis take notice of a shadowy figure behind a curtain in one of the windows above signal down to him. Kit couldn't make out who it was, but Nellthis briskly gave orders for the preservation of the trophy and excused himself from Kit and the others. Quickly he walked toward the nearby kitchen entrance of the castle and disappeared behind the oaken door.

  This wasn't the first time Kit had noticed such behavior on the part of her uncle. Nellthis seemed to be full of mysterious doings these days. Kitiara tried to figure out what he did with most of his time, where he disappeared to, sometimes for days on end. She had attempted to wheedle the information out of him, but to no avail. That was one of the things she liked about her uncle, his perpetual air of conspiracy. And if he chose to be secretive, that was his business, even if Kit thought that at some point she might try in earnest to make it hers.

  'It was your arrow that done it, Kitiara Uth Matar," said Ladin Elferturm, coming up behind her and touching her arm awkwardly. The hunter searched Kit's eyes for some encouragement.

  "It was both arrows," Kit said tersely, shaking his arm off. "And even if Nell this weren't my uncle, I would vow that it is disloyal of you to say that behind his back when you know the trophy is so important to him." She started to stride away.

  Elferturm grabbed her strongly by the wrist, holding her back. "What's come over you, Kitiara?" he tried to whisper, knowing his voice was clumsily loud and his words all wrong for this high-spirited woman. "I thought… I thought there was, uh"-his tongue was all in knots-"something between us."

  Kitiara was about to reply witheringly when someone grabbed Elferturm from behind, whirling him around. Kurth, the castle smithy, stood there glowering at the hunter. The tall, broadly muscled smithy clenched his fists nervously at his side as he spoke. Having come directly from the forge, he still wore his apron.

  "I warned you to stop pestering Kitiara, Ladin," said Kurth forcefully. "She's mine and couldn't care a whit about the likes of you."

  "I'm sick of your interfering," said Elferturm, thrusting his chest up against Kurth's, their gazes locked murderously.

  Elferturm had abandoned his grip on Kitiara. She inched backward. They had all but forgotten her, pushing and shoving and threatening each other.

  Let them have it out, she thought. She was tired of both of them. They were as dumb as cheese, shouting her name and proclaiming their love. Kitiara glided away and was just vanishing behind kitchen doors when Kurth took his first swing, missing, and Elferturm reacted, landing a roundhouse to the smithy's outthrust chin.

  Deep in the bowels of Nellthis's castle, in a small basement room where the most expensive wines were stored, a room bolted from the inside although it was off limits to the castle help, Nellthis of Lemish was holding a parley. Nellthis sat at a wooden table in the room, illuminated by a single candle that burned with a blue flame. The room was dank, and the candle sputtered as if gasping for air. Spiders crawled over the racks of bottles.

  Nellthis was joined at the parley by three companions, or it might be more accurate to say three murky figures. Their humanity remained in question, since they were swaddled in clothing and kept to the shadows even in the dim illumination cast by the candle.

  One, tall and lean, wore a cowl that drooped over his forehead and around his face so that little but his eyes, mere slivers of green, could be discerned. It was this one, a male by the sound of his sonorous voice, who took the lead in discussions with Nellthis and who seemed to have authority over the other two.

  One of these, a stooped, almost hunchbacked figure, stood next to the cowled one but said nothing other than an occasional sharp word in a northern dialect that Nellthis himself could not interpret.

  The third was the most peculiar, and the one that, judging by the watchful movements of the others, was the object of both curiosity and fear. This one stuck to a corner of the small room, a corner that was darkened and cob-webbed. Nellthis knew he ought not to stare, so instead he stole unobtrusive glances at this third member of the trio, who wore long dark robes, a hood, and a mask.

  The back of his robes fluttered with evidence of some appendage whenever he moved or shifted position. Oddly, when the robes shifted to reveal glimpses of his body underneath, he seemed to give off fissures of light, like mottled scales reflecting the candlelight. Despite the darkness, this one's eyes shone blood red. Nellthis couldn't make out the face, but he couldn't help flinching every time he heard the telltale sizzle, followed by the sulfurous smell, occasioned by the acidic drool from the evil being.

  Nellthis took his time studying the messages and reports spread out on the table in front of him. Carefully he read each of the directives, and then reread them to be certain of the contents. The others had to be patient with his fussy caution, although after almost half an hour of waiting, the figure in the corner stirred and rumbled ominously. More of the spittle pitted the floor, sending acrid fumes into the moldy basement air.

  Nellthis finally seemed satisfied and, with a theatrical flourish, put his signature to each of the documents in turn. When he was finished, he picked them up, rolled them together, and handed them over to the tall, cowled figure.

  "Our mistress will be pleased," the cowled figure said
without emotion, "and you will be rewarded."

  "My reward," said Nellthis grandly, "is to serve."

  The three, even the sinister one in the corner, bowed respectfully. Nellthis went over to one of the wine racks, and tugged at two bottles on an upper shelf. The rack slid forward soundlessly. Behind it, the wall opened, revealing a narrow passageway that led under the castle courtyard and came up several miles away in an isolated patch of forest. The three ducked under the archway and headed down the dark stairway. The one from the corner was the last to leave. As he passed, Nellthis, noting the creature's fangs and spiny tail, couldn't stifle a shudder.

  But the moment passed. Minutes later, Nellthis had closed the wine room and was rubbing his hands together cheerily while trotting up flights of stone steps to his quarters.

  Kitiara lay on her back on a huge bed in the plush room Nellthis had set aside for her at the top of the north tower. Idly she surveyed the finely etched grillwork of the ceiling.

  For the nearly three months she had been visiting Uncle Nellthis, Kit had been uncharacteristically inactive, though she had fought one duel and taken three or four lovers. She had also taken the time to hone her skills at archery and with the bullwhip. But Kit hadn't ventured outside of Nellthis's domain and had put off her customary mercenary activity.

  She was discontented. At moments like this, despite herself, she wondered what Tanis was doing. Damn the self-righteous half-elf! Yet somehow he often managed to worm his way into her thoughts.

  Kit wondered about Uncle Nellthis, too, and this concern was more immediate. Although Nellthis had neither seen nor heard from Gregor in years, he still benefited from that connection, to Kit's way of thinking. The two men hadn't known each other especially well, but Nellthis liked to hint that they had been involved together in at least one extralegal escapade. At one time, the two families had lived side by side. Decades ago, Uncle Nellthis, brash and independent, had broken the family bonds and settled his own estate on the outskirts of Lemish.

  There was something about Nellthis, something slippery and intriguing. He had rich furnishings and many servants, yet he did little work, and his fields produced only a modest harvest of corn and seed. Kit couldn't discern how he supported his luxurious lifestyle.

  Lately, she knew, Nellthis had been traveling a good deal, making many short trips to nearby villages and towns. When he returned, Kit noticed, inevitably he brought back a sturdy peasant or two whom he added to his growing household staff. By now there were dozens of them-Kitiara had lost count-and they seemed to have very little to do in the way of actual work during the daylight hours.

  Sometimes Nellthis would all but vanish inside his own castle. It was a rambling old structure, with several small buildings attached, including a bam and a stable. Yet there were times when Kitiara would roam the place by the hour in a futile search for Nellthis, until suddenly, turning a corner, she would burst upon him, standing there as if he had been waiting for her and grinning mockingly.

  Kit knew better than to pry. She bided her time, watching and waiting. Nellthis had always been good to her. He had always extended generous hospitality whenever, without warning, she dropped in for a visit. Kit had found his home a comfortable refuge when it suited her.

  A knock sounded at the door, startling Kitiara out of her reverie. She jumped up and opened it, her attitude brusque. She half-expected to be pestered by one of her rival suitors, the victor of the shoving match, his face smudged and clothing heroically torn.

  Instead, a kender stood there, and in the background, watching the kender nervously, hovered one of Nellthis's servants, the beetle-browed Odilon. The kender's topknot was worn on the side of his head and dangled down to his knees; he was fair-haired, shorter and older than Tasslehoff Burrfoot. She didn't recognize him.

  Beaming, the kender held out a small, rolled parchment, sealed with wax. The seal was unbroken, Kitiara was surprised to see, given the notorious curiosity of kender. So he must be one of the breed of kender message bearers, whose reliability was as unpredictable as their curiosity was famous.

  Kit reached for the letter, but the kender, switching to a serious mien, withdrew his hand so that she grabbed air.

  "Kitiara Uth Matar?" asked the kender importantly. "Because if you are Kitiara Uth Matar, born of Solace but late of anywhere-at the present moment, Lemish-then I bear a message of the utmost urgency."

  Kitiara nodded impatiently, holding out her hand.

  The kender resumed beaming and held out the scroll a second time. This time Kit was quicker and had the message in hand and pulled close before the kender could withdraw it. Undaunted, the smiling kender started to edge inside the room, but Kit stepped forward, standing in the doorway and adroitly blocking his path.

  "Duty done," chirped the kender cheerfully. "My name's Aspendew, and I've traveled a couple of hundred miles just to deliver that particular message, although of course I have plenty of other things to do in this neck of the world. I've got a sister who lives just a day's hike to the east. At least I think of her as a sister, I do love her as a sister, but actually she's a cousin. And there's this notorious haunted cavern I've always wanted to visit; it's marked on one of my maps. If s a big secret place; I never tell anybody about it, but I think I might tell you, especially if you happened to let me read that letter, which has me kind of curious after bearing it all this way…"

  Aspendew shuffled back and forth, looking for some opening past Kitiara. Nellthis's servant, Odilon, moved forward and grabbed the kender by the collar, hauling him backward. As he disappeared down the winding stairs, firmly in Odilon's clutches, Aspendew held up a gem on a chain, chattering.

  "Oh, don't worry. You don't have to pay me anything! The young mage-at least he said he was a mage, but he was pretty young for it-paid me handsomely in coin and then threw in this rare and dazzling necklace to boot. I hope it’s magical, but with mages, you never can tell. I happened to meet a mage once who had this very peculiar sense of humor, and… Oops, gotta go! I'll be in the kitchen for a while, having a bite to eat, if you have any message you want to send back to Solace. Although I won't be going back in that direction right away-not until next year actually, but…"

  Kitiara shut the door, half grinning at the necklace, which she recognized as a common and inexpensive one of her mother's that Raistlin had kept stored among his possessions as a keepsake. Raistlin possessed an odd fondness for kender, and he was one of the few people she knew who would trust one to deliver any message, much less an important one. In this instance, at least, his trust had been rewarded.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Kit opened the letter and began to read. Her half-smile quickly turned to a look of dismay. Kit reread the short message, then sat there for a long time thinking without coming to any definite plan of action.

  Moonlight was silvering into the room when Kit finally rose, determined to seek out Uncle Nellthis and ask his advice.

  This time she found him easily enough in his living quarters, sitting at a large desk surrounded by a pile of letters and reports. An oil lamp cast a golden glow. Though the hour was late, Nellthis seemed hard at work in one of the confounding ways he had of busying himself. Yet he looked up as if he had been expecting her and put aside his quill pen. Childless himself, Nellthis liked to look upon Kit as a daughter and never failed to greet her warmly.

  Kitiara told him about receiving a letter from Raistlin delivered by the kender Aspendew. Nellthis had already heard about Aspendew, who had invited himself to stay for supper. Proving himself a good salesman, Aspendew had convinced the castle cook to write letters to his kin for delivery to various parts of Southern Ergoth. In spite of the late hour, the cook was still down in the kitchen, diligently composing his letters, which took some time and a good deal of assistance from Aspendew, since the cook was unschooled and practically illiterate.

  "I suspect our kender guest will still be around for breakfast tomorrow morning," chuckled Nellthis.

  He aske
d to see Raistlin's letter. Kit handed it over and waited as Nellthis read the communication, wrinkling his brow.

  Nellthis had never met Raistlin, though Raistlin interested him indeed. He always asked Kit about him and Caramon, her half-brothers, when she visited. Nellthis didn't know any of the other companions mentioned in the letter, although he had heard bits and pieces about them, too, especially the half-elf named Tanis. His expression, in the glow of the oil lamp, showed that he was as concerned by the letter as his niece.

  "Can this be so?" Nellthis asked finally, setting the letter down. 'Is it possible your brother is wrong?"

  "Quite possible," Kit said grimly, "but he has an annoying habit of being right. And what he says adds up. Don't you agree?"

  Nellthis nodded.

  "What can I do? I was contemplating leaving here to attend to my own business. Now I suppose I will have to deal with this," Kit said with a show of annoyance that didn't entirely mask the concern she felt. A lifetime of caring for her younger brothers couldn't be shrugged off so easily. "Caramon would lay down his life for me; I know that. I must do something, but how can I go to them? If Raistlin is right, the answer lies thousands of miles from here, a protracted journey by horse, and not much faster and ten times as treacherous by water. By the time I arrived, even assuming Raistlin is right and I can hook up with them…"

  She paced back and forth in front of Nellthis, boiling with frustration. Nellthis drummed his fingers on his desk. His mouth compressed into a thin line. Slowly an enlightened expression dawned on his face.

  "If only there was a way," Kit repeated, pounding a fist into the palm of her hand.

  "There might be a way," said Nellthis in such a cunning tone that Kit stopped and stared at him. His eyes were narrowed, his fingers had stopped drumming, and his hands were templed together.

  She leaned across the desk. "How? What do you mean, Uncle?"

  'There might be a way," repeated Nellthis, "but it will be difficult to arrange."