Wizards Conclave

Chapter 11
Lord of the Wicked

I suppose one of you louts thinks you can do a better job of leading this outfit-is that it?"

Captain Samuval sneered at the band gathered around him, his expression daring any one of them to take up the gauntlet. He knew that he cut a dashing figure with his gloved hands planted firmly on his hips, his cloak swirling as he stalked back and forth in front of the blazing bonfire. The longsword in its plain scabbard was mostly concealed by the cloak, but his bandits knew it was there, lurking.

The men among them looked down or shook their heads or otherwise signaled their acceptance of their leader's disdain. Samuval looked beyond the men to the group of hobgoblins and draconians gathered a little farther from the fire. From this bunch came hissing and chortling, a few muttered growls, but in the face of his unwavering glare no outright rebellion.

It was those on the fringe of the group that Samuval knew presented the greatest threats. He glared out at Bloodtusk, the one-eyed ogre, and was rewarded by a bored shrug of utter indifference. His gaze swept around the circle, to Lubbar, the other ogre, and finally to Rust-Knock, the gigantic half-giant, half-ogre. Sooner or later, Samuval knew, Rust-Knock was bound to make trouble.

"Rust, do you think you would make a better leader?" Samuval asked the half-giant, his tone expressing mild amusement mingled with disbelief. "You could hold this rabble together? Keep the Dark Knights, the dragons, off our backs? By all means, come forward and take charge-that is, if you can figure out which is your front, and which your back." The bandit lord bowed, smiling broadly, extending his hand in a gesture of invitation. He relished the appreciative chuckles rising from most of the throng.

Rust-Knock, however, only chuckled ominously, "I can figure more than front and back. I know who is my master, and who is my slave. I think I do not see a master anywhere around here!"

That bold statement produced a rumble from others of the gathering, especially the draconians and ogres who typically were impressed by such bombast. Samuval knew that here was his invitation to action, and he welcomed the excuse. Like his men, he had become bored with sitting around in the wilds, waiting for the all-too-infrequent caravan to traipse down any of the roads within the vast territory that the bandit lord had claimed for his own. Sure, they made occasional forays into the regions around their vast forest, but all knew that the pickings, in this chaotic postwar era, were very slim. In truth, there was not a lot for Samuval's bandits to do, very little to keep this restless lot busy, or amused.

It was time for a little entertainment.

"Come forward, then," Sam snapped. "I'll teach you a lesson about masters and those who serve them."

"It is you who will learn, human," grunted the massive creature, swaggering forward on two tree trunk-sized legs. "For too long we hide in the woods and attack only women and children. We are warriors, and we deserve more warlike fodder for our spirit!"

"Then eat this steel, you lumbering fool!" snapped Samuval. His longsword gleamed in his hand, red and orange flickers reflecting the glow of the surging bonfire. He meant this to be a fight with real stakes, for his men to see his utter lack of fear. He wanted them to be afraid of him, and this was the chance to remind them. He didn't want to kill the half-giant, but he was more than willing to if absolutely necessary.

Rust-Knock had his own weapon up. The half-giant bore a branch hewn from the trunk of a tall oak. The beam was as thick as Sam's bicep. At the head was lashed a massive block of stone, shaped very crudely like the blade of an axe. Even at its sharpest, of course, it was a weapon for crushing, not cutting, and many were the men who had known the weight of that bone-breaking force.

The huge cudgel swept through the air, the blow too low for Samuval to duck. He skipped backward, however, deftly sliding his blade out of the way. Balanced on the balls of his feet, he lunged as soon as the huge weapon had swooshed past. But Rust-Knock anticipated the move-already he was coming around, with the butt of his big pole flying up and out. Again the human backpedaled, evading the attack and holding his own weapon away.

In the periphery of his view the bandit lord saw his men sidle back, giving the two fighters more room. Many gathered around the simple plank bar established by an enterprising innkeeper named Fat Wally, who had brought a wagonload of kegs out to the camp. As the fight escalated, Wally worked hard to keep up with the demand, filling mug after mug.

Closer by, murmurs of appreciation and apprehension arose from Samuval's men, and more than one bet was laid, the flash of gold and silvery steel bright in the surging flames. Two draconians heaved more logs onto the fire, which blazed high and sent sparks even higher, glowing cinders that drifted away like fireflies through the summer evening.

Samuval beamed as he maneuvered. He wanted this to be just such a spectacle, a display that this rabble of men would not soon forget. He cried out and faked a frantic charge, his blade like liquid silver as it slashed through the air. Rust-Knock reacted immediately, smashing the stone club downward. The man danced to the side and again that steel blade flashed, drawing a howl from the half-giant, leaving a cut in the thick leather of his trouser leg.

More murmurs from the men, another shifting of coins as blood began to seep from the half-giant's cut. The brutish fighter's face tightened into a snarl and he raised his cudgel high, taking a menacing step closer to Samuval. The man slipped backward again, one, two, three steps as an increasingly wild series of blows swept back and forth, missing him. On the last of these, Rust-Knock's cudgel passed right through the fire, knocking a sparking, blazing log across the ground.

Both fighters sidestepped, moving away from the embers, the crowd moving out of their path. Samuval grinned as his opponent became increasingly reckless, advancing in a rush that carried him past the human fighter, who rolled to the ground, bounced to his feet, and stabbed a light but embarrassing thrust through the seat of the half-giant's pants.

Roaring, Rust-Knock whirled around. Flecks of spittle flew from his jowls, and his blunt, tusklike teeth gleamed red. His eyes were wild, shot through with blood, and it almost seemed as though he were having trouble focusing on his enemy. Instead his gaze swept across and beyond the throng of bandits, as though he sought succor in the vastness of the plains.

With a touch of impatience, Samuval darted forward and pricked the brute in his bulging gut. He needed an active, engaged opponent to make this duel the memorable contest he could tout. His goad served its purpose, and again Rust-Knock charged, flailing wildly, slamming the cudgel to the ground as the man darted right and left, evading each potentially deadly attack.

The bandit lord inched closer to his foe. Again that massive club came down, and this time Samuval crouched low as he dodged, looking up at the sweaty, bulging chest. The giant's vest was open, held only by a crisscross of leather strands, almost as if it marked the creature's heart for Samuval's next blow.

But that was too easy, and too quick; so instead of a killing thrust, the bandit lord contented himself with a slashing lunge, a painful gash that curved like a bloody, leering grin across the giant's huge belly.

Spinning on one heel, Samuval sprinted away, hearing his monstrous foe-now nearly sobbing grotesquely in frustrated rage-race predictably behind. Once again the crowd of ruffians scattered, making way for the combatants. Abruptly the man skidded to a stop and spun about, balancing himself carefully. Crouching, he raised his gleaming silver longsword.

Behind him men scattered, abandoning the plank stretched across two barrels, the resting place for numerous empty mugs and puddles of sticky beer. There stood Fat Wally, the keg-man with mouth agape, who nervously stood his ground before his still-loaded cart, a heavy pewter mug in each hand.

The half-giant had no eyes for the crowd, for the bar, for anything except the infuriating human. He roared in triumph at Samuval, seemingly cornered, and bore down on his puny opponent. The half-giant's club started its downward sweep, a blow that would have cracked the flagstones on a granite floor, as Rust-Knock's howling became tinged with mad glee. Both biceps bulging, he brought the huge timber through a tremendous swipe.

At the last instant, Samuval ducked away, rolling to the side and bouncing to his feet in time to see the club hit the ground and bounce upward from the force of the blow. The half-giant's charge carried him inexorably forward, through the plank bar and into the keg-laden wagon beyond. Rust-Knock lost his balance as he tried to swing himself around. The cudgel bounced into a keg, shattering the plank sides and releasing a foaming cascade-and a howl of indignation from Fat Wally.

The rest of the men, draconians, and half-breeds, pressed in now, sensing that the fight was coming to a end-and feeling protective of the remaining kegs. Having made his point, Samuval was content to accept the accolades of his band, waving cheerfully as the half-giant was assisted out of the wreckage of the cart. Soaked by blood and beer, he hobbled away, too humiliated and defeated even to glare at the victor.

"Who's going to pay for this?" squeaked Fat Wally, pushing through the crowd toward Samuval. "These are costly damages!"

"Put it down to the cost of doing business-or your business here is over," said the leader of the bandits breezily.

"Don't tempt me!" snapped Wally. "I have a good mind to do just that, to pack up the rest of my barrels and leave!"

Samuval blinked in surprise. "My dear beerman, you misunderstand me. Your business here might come to an end, but that doesn't mean there's any chance you'll leave here with the rest of these kegs." His tone was genial, but he wiped his bloody blade on a flap of the merchant's vest as he spoke.

"I–I guess I will make do with the losses," Fat Wally stammered, his face pale. "I still have two more, ready to be tapped."

"Well, what are you standing here for, then?" demanded Sam. "Tap one of them! And you men, put another plank across those barrels. The bar is open again!"

Even before the bandits could gather around the watering hole, there was a shout from the edge of the camp.

"One-Eye returns!" called a sentry. "And he has a prisoner!"

Coryn was starting to wonder if it had really been that smart to let herself get captured. Not that she was worried for her life, not much, anyway, but she had to acknowledge that things weren't turning out exactly as she had planned.

What had she been thinking? Well, she had been irritated with Jenna, angry that the Red Robe was being so secretive about their purposes. And then Dalamar had appeared-he was, quite simply, the most intriguing and handsome person she had ever encountered. Yet Jenna seemed determined to keep her in the dark, right down to that ridiculous cone of silence!

When the bandits had attacked, Jenna and Dalamar had plunged into the woods after the wayward mule, Coryn had first considered simply running away. That had been a short-lived impulse: She was pragmatic enough to realize that she had no real place to go. And besides, Umma had sent her to Jenna and directed her to follow the older woman's orders.

Then had come a rustling in the bushes on the opposite side of the camp, away from the direction from which the bandits had attacked. Crouching behind Dolly the mule, Cory had seen four shadowy figures skulk through the darkness while their compatriots and the two wizards were blundering around in the dark forest. She could have sneaked away or even sprinted into the woods and counted on good luck to catch up to Dalamar and Jenna before the bandits caught up with her, if they even pursued at all.

But she had discarded that idea, and instead ventured boldly into the light of the fire, ordering the four bandits to leave before she turned them into knobby toads. They had merely laughed and one of them, his face grotesque behind a crusty, ragged eye patch, had grabbed her by the arms so roughly that he had left them bruised. She had been tempted right then to use one of the spells she had seen Jenna employ with such dramatic effects, but the bandits had immediately bound her wrists behind her, cruel lashes cutting into her skin. A filthy gag, tightly wrapped around Cory's head, had quashed any possibilities of magic words, and even prevented her from yelling for help. Apparently satisfied with their prize, the quartet of men had slipped into the woods, taking care to head directly away from Dalamar and Jenna.

Then they had made her walk for a very long time, and now they were approaching this well-lit, crowded compound in the middle of the nearly trackless woods. Already her little hand had attracted the attention of the outer pickets, and soon her captors had prodded her into the reflected glow of a huge bonfire. The girl was footsore, staggering with weariness, and increasingly frightened as her one-eyed captor roughly shoved her toward the center of the circle of men who were gathered around the fire.

But these were not just men, she saw with a numbing chill. Several scaly creatures, reptilian snouts extended, snorted and snuffled as they beheld her. These were draconians, she guessed-but much larger and uglier and, well, fiercer-looking than she had expected. Others among the band had expressions so bestial and snarling she guessed they must be ogres.

Thus it was almost a relief when a man stepped forward to look down, with undisguised amusement, into her upturned face. He pulled her gag away and Cory drew a grateful breath. But the idea of a little crackling magic missile spell suddenly seemed inadequate for this unruly gang.

"What have you found for us, One-Eye?" asked the man.

" 'Ere's a little lady, maid-serve to the lady traveler, we thought ye might enjoy, Cap'n Samuval," offered the bandit cheerfully.

"Why, thank you!" said Samuval, waving expansively. "You are most correct." Effortlessly he spun Cory around. She struggled, and his grip only tightened. "Don't make me cut you, lass-hold still."

Her heart pounded as she felt the side of a cold blade against her wrist. The bandit captain thrust and twisted and the throng of ruffians laughed as Coryn flinched. Only then did she realize that he had cut away the bonds holding her wrists together. With relief, she brought her hands before her and started rubbing her chafed skin.

"Now, tell us about your mistress? We have been spying on her for several days. Why does she venture through such wilderness alone? Kind of rash, don't you think?"

"She has nothing to fear from the likes of you!" Coryn declared haughtily, a remark, judging by the chorus of hearty laughter, that the bandits found hilarious.

"Now, lassie. Don't go jumping to conclusions." Captain Samuval looked toward One-Eye questioningly. "Why didn't you bring the lady in, as well? And where are the rest of your men?"

"Well, Cap'n…" One-Eye looked considerably less cocksure than before. "Seems there was two others, and both of 'em wizards! Why, one turned poor Snooty into a knobby toad, sure as I'm standing here. The rest-they might be kil't, so far as I could see. I judged meself lucky to snatch the lass here and get away. Brought her straight 'ere, I did."

"Wizards, eh?" Samuval's eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, and then he spoke loudly, obviously confident as he issued orders to his men. "Have the pickets doubled! Every other man on guard takes a sip of potion-can't have these sneaky bastards coming in here invisible! And string out the faerie bells, so we'll get a little advance warning."

"Aye, Captain!" Coryn was surprised as a dozen men ran to obey-such discipline was not what she had expected from such shabby brigands.

She watched with unabashed interest as several bandits unlocked a large chest near the makeshift bar, and carefully removed four large bottles. Each was carried, gingerly wrapped in a cloth, toward one of the points of the compass, the bearers quickly vanishing into the darkness.

"Be sparing with the potion!" Samuval called after them. "But make sure one man at each post has a sip! And that man had better keep his eyes open!"

Meanwhile, other men were removing what look like long spools of dark thread from another box. They carried these into the darkness, as well. Cory could only imagine that the slender string had something to do with the faerie bells. For the first time she considered the notion that her rash act would bring Dalamar and Jenna after her, and straight into the hands of these ruffians.

"Expecting a rescue, are you?" Samuval asked, studying her thoughtfully and, apparently, reading her mind. "I've dealt with wizards before. Don't like 'em much, but I've learned a trick or two over the years."

Coryn merely shrugged. "I didn't say they're wizards, your man did, and I don't think they'll come after me anyway. Why worry about a simple servant girl?" She felt a rising sense of fear, however.

Just then, over Samuval's shoulder, she spotted a blur of brightness in the evening sky. Shifting slightly, she realized that the white moon was rising. It was only about half full, but the cosmic brightness was somehow vaguely comforting-the same moon that she had seen in the Icereach, and the north, and everywhere else over Krynn. She didn't feel quite so alone all of a sudden.

"Now, what are we going to do with you?" He addressed her, but spoke loudly enough so that his men could hear his every word.

"You don't know? I got some ideas, Cap'n!" one of them shouted, to raucous laughter.

"Are you a girl, or a woman?" he asked, walking around her, looking down as if inspecting some commodity. He turned to his men with a flourish. "Perhaps a girl, tonight- and a woman in the morning?"

This remark drew howls of approbation, and Samuval, his face illuminated clearly in the moonlight, smiled with cruel pleasure. Cory felt her knees grow weak. This was crazy! How had she gotten herself into this? In a flash, she clutched at that one word-crazy-for a flash of inspiration.

"Papa!" she cried, forcing herself to sound flushed with pleasure. She threw her arms around the startled bandit's chest, shouting in delight. "It has been so long, Papa! I have so many stories to tell you!"

"What-stop that!" demanded the bandit captain, trying to pry her arms off him. "I'm not your pop, crazy girl!"

"Oh, Papa!" She held as tightly as she could, surprising herself with the strength of her grip. "There was a dance in the moonlight! And I made a doll, for you-but I don't know where it is. Oh, I have so much to tell!"

Finally he broke her hands apart and pushed her away, his face twisting in alarm. "This is a crazy wench! Get her away from me!"

"But… Papa!" she allowed herself to pout, reaching out, causing Samuval to recoil.

"Tie her up," he snapped to One-Eye. "Make it tight! She's not right in the head! Why did you bring me this lunatic?"

"I din't know, Cap'n," said One-Eye, looking askance.

"She din't talk crazy like this afore, at least not when she had the gag in her mouth!"

"Just get her away from me!"

She wept and wailed, grasping for the horrified Samuval as two or three bandits hauled her away and tied her securely to one wheel of the beer wagon. They didn't bother with the gag this time, just checked the bonds at her wrists and ankles. Then they made superstitious marks in the air between themselves and this lunatic, and hurried back to join their comrades at the fire.

"We could kill half of them with fireballs before they even know we've found them," Dalamar whispered to Jenna. They crouched at the edge of the forest, with the brightness of a large fire visible in the clearing.

"You used to prefer a little more subtlety," Jenna remarked.

"Bah," he waved her words away. "My subtlety is like my patience-thin. Come on, it has already been a long night."

"Consider this, then," she argued. "We kill half of them and, even if the fireballs miss the girl, someone cuts her throat before we can get to her."

The dark elf looked at Jenna, his expression one of calculated boredom. "So then you have to get another servant girl. That shouldn't be hard."

She glared back at him. "I told you, she is the granddaughter of an old friend. I will not let her die here. Now you tell me: What did you mean when you talked about her making a pebble glow?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Nothing. It was just my imagination, a trick of the moon as I approached your camp."

Jenna snorted skeptically but turned back to their objective. Dalamar stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully. Perhaps she didn't know as much about the girl as he had been led to believe. Interesting…

"All right," he said. "We'll do this your way. With subtlety." He murmured a word of magic and vanished from sight, utterly invisible; a moment later, she did the same. "I'll go to the left, and you take the right. Whoever finds the girl, send up a green flare. If you get into trouble send up a red one."

"Very well," she replied.

He saw the waving of underbrush as the Red Robe moved away from him, and moments later he, too, embarked in the opposite direction. Comfortable within his spell of invisibility, he used his natural elven stealth to slip silently through the woods, slowing making his way around the periphery of the camp.

Jenna, apparently, lacked some of his stealthy skills. At least that was his conclusion when he heard a loud jangling of bells, and shouts of alarm from the bandit camp. He ducked instinctively as several guards-posted in the woods-rushed past him. Then he shook his head at his own skittishness. He was invisible, by the black moon! Why was he hiding from a couple of bumbling thugs?

Pushing his way to the edge of the clearing, he saw sparks and flares across the way. Jenna was drawing a lot of attention to herself, this time on purpose, so he deduced she hadn't yet found the girl. As the dark elf scanned the compound, he spotted Coryn, lashed to the wheel of a small wagon, peering around the cart as much as her bonds would let her, anxiously watching Jenna's pyrotechnics.

Dalamar strode into the clearing, passed several bandits who were hastily buckling on their sword belts, and ducking out of the path of several more who were running toward the noise. None of them saw him, of course.

Nor did Coryn, as he drew close. He leaned toward her cheek, mindful of her reaction, and whispered: "Don't be frightened-it's me, Dalamar."

Naturally she was startled, but she impressed him by her restrained reaction. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered. "Is that Jenna over there? Is she in trouble?"

"She can take care of herself. Now, hold still." He reached out, felt for the knots, and in seconds her hands were free. A group of four bandits was rushing past as he knelt at her feet, ready to work on those bonds. Still confident in his invisibility, he merely held still so that his actions would not draw attention from the passing outlaws.

To his surprise, one of the men turned right toward him and lunged, sword pointing right at the elf's unprotected back. Dalamar couldn't imagine how the man had noticed him, but as he dodged, he was desperately aware that he was reacting too late.

"Braacius!" shouted Coryn, pointing at the lunging bandit.

A magic missile sparked from her finger and hissed into the attacker's face, drawing a scream of pain and sending him tumbling back. She repeated the command three more times, sending identical bolts at the fellow's trio of companions. Two of them were down, moaning, while the other two limped away, howling in pain.

"Nice," Dalamar admitted, standing up with a tight smile. "I don't know how he saw me."

"Their captain gave some of them a type of potion," Coryn admitted, breaking free from the last bonds. "So they could see my rescuers, if you came invisibly."

"Hum. And the magic missiles?"

"Oh, I learned how to do that by watching Jenna, a few hours ago," she admitted, looking around in growing alarm. "Now, shouldn't we be getting out of here?"

"Indeed we should," the dark elf agreed. "Allow me to teach you a haste spell."