He could see a great deal, but what it all meant, and exactly what he should do, he could not say.
IV
Koi swam in the pond. A steady stream of water emerged from the fawn's mouth and dripped into the pool. "Very nice," said Timaeus, strolling past and puffing contentedly.
"Come on," said von Kremnitz. "I hear dogs." Indeed, in the distance there was a howling.
"I've got a spell prepared," said Timaeus. "Never fear."
They rounded a privet-more of a tree than a bush, a huge old plant bursting with the exuberance of springand the mansion's main door came into sight. "Hullo!" said Timaeus. A score or more of soldiers stood there; swordsmen, mainly, though one or two held guisards, apparently a favorite weapon of von Grentz's followers. A man with a severe haircut, barefoot but wearing a breastplate, ordered them into some semblance of formation. And a petite woman in a red robe stood nearby, yawning into her hand.
"Well," said Timaeus, "can't have this." He released his prepared spell.
A fireball tumbled toward the soldiers. The red-robed woman looked up in alarm and started to shout something, but before she could complete her spell, flames exploded.
Thick smoke drifted across the garden, providing some cover for von Kremnitz and Timaeus. They sprinted away, toward the corner of the house. The woman in red was obviously a mage, and equally obviously it made no sense to remain where she had last seen them.
Their caution was rewarded; behind them, a bolt of flames ripped a nasty hole in the privet. "Fire mage," said Timaeus in some surprise, panting as he ran.
"Von Grentz had one at Weintroockle, remember," said von Kremnitz. "Where he ambushed the elves ... What the devil?"
Beasts were clustered around the weeping hemlock tree ahead of them, peering upward into its branches. The creatures wheeled to face the approachers. They were enormous, as high at the shoulder as von Kremnitz's chest; eyes glowed crimson in the night.
"Hellhounds," said Timaeus. "Delay them." Gesturing with pipe in one hand, he began to chant.
"Delay them?" said von Kremnitz incredulously, surveying the rippling muscles, the enormous fangs, the blue fire playing about their muzzles. One of the monsters peered upward into the hemlock tree, while three others paced toward them. "Personally, I'm more inclined toward headlong flight."
Rather irritably, Timaeus broke off his spell. "Hellhounds are fire-aligned," he said. "I have some power over them—at least I will, if you delay them long enough for me to complete my spell." He took up his chant again.
"Yes, very well," von Kremnitz said resignedly, drawing his épée. One of the monsters suddenly ran three paces and launched itself into a leap, at least a dozen stone of viciousness hurtling across space. Von Kremnitz ducked underneath the hound and stabbed upward with his épée, ripping a line of blood down its belly. The beast landed awkwardly, howled, spun on four legs, and charged again. Von Kremnitz turned to face it, realizing immediately that this might be a mistake; from behind, he heard the patter of paws as the other two hounds charged. He was surrounded.
He whirled again to face the two charging monsters, hoping the injured one would be sufficiently delayed by its wounds that he might deal with the other two first. Not, to be sure, that he thought he could defeat two of the beasts at once; but it seemed his best strategy.
To his surprise, the two charging beasts separated and began to circle him, rather than pressing home their charge. He danced about, trying to keep an eye on all three of the monsters simultaneously; soon they halted, and glanced at one another.
Von Kremnitz realized that he was now encircled by the three, the monsters spaced at equal distances about the circle, separated by 120 degrees each. One of them gave a whine.
All three went into a point. Three black noses pointed directly toward von Kremnitz, three blue-fired bodies straining.
He wondered what this portended. It didn't take long to find out: The hounds breathed fire.
Three long tongues of blue flame darted inward. One, von Kremnitz might dodge; two, he might duck; but three- He flung himself away. Behind, three blue flames met and splashed out in a fireball, smaller than Timaeus's, but quite as deadly.
He stumbled, fell to the sod in a somersault, and lost his épée in the lawn. That was disastrous, but at least he had not been incinerated. He sprang to his feet, somehow retaining his dagger, and spun—
By all the gods, he thought. They work better togetherthan we. The three beasts ran around him clockwise now; it was difficult to keep track of all three at once.
Behind, Timaeus continued his chant; von Kremnitz could almost feel power gathering about the mage.
The wounded beast broke from the circle and lunged toward him; von Kremnitz stabbed toward the head with his dagger and dealt it another, glancing wound-but the effort threw him to one side. Immediately, another hound landed on his back, driving him face down into the lawn.
He had his dagger still, but face down, hundredweights of beast on his back, it was no use to him. Heart in throat, he flailed desperately, trying to throw off the beast, expecting its massive fangs to crush his skull at any instant, or to lift him by the nape of his neck and rip open his jugular but instead, there were sudden snarls.
He turned his head far enough to see two hounds faced off above him. They seemed, he thought, to be contesting the right to administer the coup de grace. The one on his back evidently thought that capturing him gave it that honor; the other, injured, apparently felt its wounds entitled it to the kill.
Where was the third hound? he wondered. He turned his head to the other side and saw Timaeus, chanting, smoke from his pipe writhing about his head in arcane patterns. The third hound was charging directly toward the wizard—and von Kremnitz despaired. Timaeus's spell was their only forlorn hope. Von Kremnitz stared in horror as the hound leapt toward Timaeus, the monster's fangs dripping blue fire as it opened its mouth to rip out the unarmed wizard's throat—
Timaeus leapt directly toward the charging hellhound and smashed it on the nose with his pipe. "Bad dog!" he cried.
To von Kremnitz's astonishment, the beast cringed, put its head on the ground between its paws, thrust up its rump, and wagged its tail from side to side in the manner of a puppy chastised for fecal incontinence.
Timaeus had completed his spell.
He strode across the lawn toward von Kremnitz, shouting, "No! Bad doggie!" at the two monsters that kept the swordsman pinned.
They backed away from von Kremnitz. One of the hellhounds whined unhappily, tongue lolling between bluefired fangs.
Timaeus reached down to give von Kremnitz a hand up. "Look as if you were having a bit of a bad spell, there," he said. "You all right, old man?"
"Right as rain," said a white-faced von Kremnitz, trembling slightly.
Timaeus turned back to the hellhounds, and said firmly, "Go home! Go home! Go to kennel, d'ye hear me?"
The monsters whined and wagged their tails sluggishly, as if asking for reprieve, but Timaeus was firm, repeating his command and pointing across the lawn. At last they loped away, peering forlornly behind.
Only one hound remained: the one staring upward into the hemlock tree. Von Kremnitz and Timaeus moved toward it, to finish the job; surprised, they saw that it was not the last hound after all. Two more were well up the hemlock, climbing awkwardly higher, snarling at something still higher in the tree.
"Go home," Timaeus said firmly to the one on the ground and, reluctantly, it did. Timaeus turned his face upward, toward the beasts in the tree, and shouted, "Down! Down, boy!" To von Kremnitz's eye, the creatures' gender was not immediately apparent, but he was willing to defer to Timaeus's superior knowledge.
The beasts looked down at them. One tried to back down the tree but lost its grip, falling onto a branch with a crack, and then heavily to the ground. The other, seeing this, actually leapt, from at least a dozen cubits in the air,onto the lawn. The force of its leap rocked the upper branches of the tree, and Sidney fell out with a
yowl, managing to land on her feet not far from von Kremnitz.
"I say," said Timaeus cheerfully, "it's raining cats and dogs."
"It's Miss Stollitt," said von Kremnitz in relief. He sheathed his dagger and tucked her under one arm.
Chad, G could see, was getting more nervous by the minute. His employer had disappeared, they were in the midst of burglarizing the mansion of one of Hamsterburg's most powerful men, he was exposed against the wall, that alarm continued to ring, and from somewhere came the continued snarls and howls of the hounds. He had reason to be nervous, G supposed.
"It'll just be a minute," she said soothingly.
And then, from off across the mansion's grounds, there came an explosion: a flash of red light, a deep bass boom. It gave even G a start, but Chad leapt high in the air and came down running, directly away from the mansion. G recognized the cause of the disturbance almost immediately: Someone had cast a fireball—not a particularly unexpected eventuality, as Wolfe had reported that von Grentz employed a fire mage by the name of Rottwald. The fireball disturbed G less than the departure of Chad; they needed his muscle to get the damned statue out. Before he had taken three strides, G snatched a lead-weighted rod from her belt and spun it toward Chad's legs. The rod had its intended effect; Chad stumbled and fell.
"Come here, you idiot," said G. "We've an amulet against fireballs. If you're as yellow as this—" Somewhat shamefacedly, Chad got to his feet and returned to the wall. "Chad not yellow," he protested. "Chad green. With brown splotches. See?"
G sighed. Actually, she couldn't see, not by moonlight.
The cellar door swung open at last. Wolfe stood within it. "In here," she whispered.
"What took you so long?" G whispered, following Wolfe into pitch darkness.
"Sorry," Wolfe whispered, off to the left. "This way." Even after a few seconds to let her eyes adjust, G could see nothing. She headed "this way"—and walked into something, hard enough to bruise her forehead. There was a movement in the air as whatever she had struck toppled over, then a tremendous crash, the tinkle of glass, and a sudden strong smell of wine. Red wine, thought G; a fullbodied one, possibly an Alcalan.
"G, you oaf," said Wolfe, in a whisper that came as close to a shout as a whisper is capable of coming. "What the hell "
"It's pitch dark in here," protested G. "I can't see a thing."
"I see hokay," said Chad conversationally from behind her.
"Shhh!" hissed Wolfe.
"Of course he can see okay," whispered G. "He's a troll. And you're a shadow mage. But I've got no magic; it's black as the Dark Lord's heart in here."
"Here," whispered Wolfe, managing somehow to imbue the whisper with a wealth of irritation. After a moment, a wan point of light appeared in the air before her.
By its meager illumination, G saw that they were, as she had surmised, in a wine cellar. Wolfe wove through the wine racks toward the cellar's nether end, Chad following. G paused briefly to look at the label on a broken bottle; it was indeed an Alcalan, a Rive Palatine, from one of the better chateaux. She made a mental note to snag a bottle on the way out, if it was practical.
Gerlad, Graf von Grentz, marched down the steps of his house with martial dignity. He was naked—so he slept—butunashamed. He exercised an hour a day, he had the body of a man half his age, and he found nothing particularly erotic in mere nudity. He regarded the nudity taboo, like most of the moral strictures of his society, with contempt.
Black char marks marred the marble stairs. Wounded were sprawled across them, a cleric moving from form to form. There was no semblance of discipline. Von Grentz scowled.
"Magistra Rottwald," he said. "What is the meaning of this?"
The fire mage was stooped over the body of a badly burned guisardiere, casting a fire protection spell; it couldn't help the man avoid injury now, but it would at least render his burns less painful until a cleric could attend him. She straightened up and turned toward her employer. "I beg your pardon, your grace," she said. "It appears that among our assailants is another fire mage. I was unable to—"
"Never mind that. Where is Serjeant Kunz?"
"Dead," said Rottwald, pushing back her xanthine hair.
"Where are the invaders?"
Howls, yips, and snarls came from around the side of the house. "Over there, I presume," said the mage.
Von Grentz bit back a cutting remark. They were under attack, and these fools hadn't the sense to find out by whom. "Every able-bodied man, to the foot of the stairs," he bawled. Several soldiers hesitated. "Yes, you, dammit," he said, stabbing a forger at one. He reached down and took a sword from one of the bodies. "You too, Rottwald."
He took the steps two at a time and briefly surveyed the motley dozen who had responded. They looked a little dazed, as well they might; their company just suffered fifty percent casualties, half the group lying on the stairs above, dead or wounded. But he hadn't spent hours drilling the swine for nothing. "You, you idiot; drop that pole-arm. Draw your sword. Now listen to me, you lot. Line abreast, at a run. Keep an eye on the man to your right, keep up with him. Drop to the ground the moment you see someone casting a spell. Hold." He turned to Rottwald. "Magistra, prepare and hold a defensive spell; it is likely to be a small party. We probably outnumber them on the ground; your best use is to protect us so we may drive our attack home."
He turned back to the soldiers. "You will follow my orders with alacrity, or you will taste the lash. Now! Follow me!"
And he sprinted, barefoot and bare elsewhere as well, across the lawn, confident that they would indeed follow.
They had been well drilled; they did.
Somewhere out there, there had been an explosion. And more yaps and howls, and the gods knew what else. From closer at hand came moans, pants, and gasps of pleasure.
Kraki wondered what to do. It was foolish to wander about the mansion, blinded as he was; how could he possibly hope to find the statue? Even if he did, he couldn't see it, and might not even realize it was there. Still, it was equally pointless to stand here, dithering. What did Nickie think he was doing, anyway? Yah, kill the men and ravish the women, all very good barbarian practice, and Kraki had no particular objection, but still, the battle was still in progress. You were supposed to slay all your foes first, then ravish the women.
Kraki counted on his fingers, to make sure he had that right. One, kill the men. Two, drive their cattle before you. Three, listen to the lamentation of their women. Pillage by the numbers, it was called, and it was drilled into every barbarian from childhood. Kraki wasn't clear on how ravishment and lamentations went together, never actually having been part of a conquering horde, but the rules pretty clearly indicated that you dealt with the men and the cattle before the women, in complete accordance with therelative positions of men, cattle, and women in barbarian society. They had not, as yet, accomplished step one or two, and Nick was obviously breaking the rules by going straight to step three.
Hounds bayed outside the window. "Egad!" shouted a voice: the woman's husband, Kraki thought. "Down, boy!"
"Good heavens," said another voice-the young man? "I knew Cousin Gerlad was keen on dogs, but hellhounds seem a little-I do believe they're coming at us, Rutherford." "Come on, you young idiot!" Rutherford shouted, his
voice sounding almost parallel to the room now. "Up the tree, you—"
Leaves rustled desperately; a hound bayed victory from beneath the elm. "I say," said Egbert petulantly, "those were my best hose, you brute!"
"Of all the damnable luck," said the old man. "To lose my wand at a time like this."
Kraki was unaccustomed to indecision; he found it most uncomfortable. Yet he could not make up his mind. It was lunacy to stay here, that much was obvious; but should he charge into the mansion, leave by the window, or stay here to protect Nick?
Retreat was the obvious choice; but that was not acceptable. Retreat was for cowards. Men stood and died.
"Millicent?" said Rutherford from the window, in a
rather suspicious tone. "I say, Millicent, what are you doing in there?" The sounds of lovemaking were evidently audible to him, now that he had climbed the tree.
"Oh, crikey," said Egbert, sounding shaken. "They're ravishing her in truth, the blackguards! You must do something, Rutherford."
"I?" said Rutherford. "I? A wizened old man such as I? No, my boy, you're the young hero here. Up to you, I should think."
One Quest, Hold the Dragons Page 28
