the dark monsters from the tunnels to serve as their guards.
They're also gourmands. They especially like eating the sapient races, like humans and Elves and such, and they eat each other, too. They were all wiped out years ago by the Verdant Company, under Sir Fenwick of Trois. I was about twelve at the time. Right after that we caught one skulking around Bistort, and the Guild brought him in.
He told us what I've just told you, adding that he was the last one of his community. The Company had moved on and were wiping out the rest of them that year. He was a nasty fellow, almost as bad as Sharkbreath over there.
No one would hire him for a normal job, so we tried to train him. He wasn't a very good character for the craft, too messy, no real talent... and not very stable." Sam's voice trailed off.
"What happened to him?" asked Arcie. "Did he get whitewashed?"
"No," said Sam, with a sudden coldness in his voice.
"Quite the contrary. He did something stupid and got himself killed. By the Guild."
Arcie was quiet a moment. "What are we to do about her?"
Sam glanced over at the dark figure of the sorceress.
"I'm already on an assignment, you cheap-donkey."
"We canna let her threaten us around like this, yet."
"True... all right." Sam switched to the silent rogue's language. "I will incapacitate her, leave tied up in ditch somewhere, how's that? No charge," he added magnanimously.
"Fine," replied Arcie, in the same code.
Sam rolled to his knees stealthily and slipped the sections of his eighteen-inch blowgun out of his sleeve. He fitted them together swiftly and silently. A brush of his collar yielded a two-inch thin steel needle, while his other hand felt in a pouch and ran a finger along the lids of several secured vials, feeling the code of raised dots that were the labels. The hand found and brought out a small ceramic tube of thrice-distilled bluewort leaf, blended with rasophar oil for consistency. His thumb popped the flip cork, his fingers dipped the point of the needle, the lid thumbed shut, vial set aside as blowgun raised, leveled, needle inserted, vision contracting, nothing but the target...
"Craaawwow!" Sam was knocked backwards by a furiously squawking heavy ball of black feathers. He lashed up with one arm and batted the angry raven to one side, but it kept yelling. Valeriana and Kaylana awoke, looking about in confusion. Through the nailing jet feathers Sam saw the pale sorceress slowly rising from the black fur like a poisonous snake in lethal anger, her long-fingered hand pulling her gown close about her ... but not before he'd had a glimpse of the strange pendant she wore. It was like an oval the size of a hen's egg, a flat cabochon made of some stone so black it reflected none of the bright starlight, set in a ring of gold. Her gown covered it, and she called to her raven as she sat up.
Nightshade flew back to her shoulder and glared, as did its mistress, at Sam, who was silent. Kaylana started to speak, but hesitated. Instead she held her staff across her knees and waited to see where the confrontation would lead.
For a moment they faced each other. Then Valeriana smiled. "I suspected as much. Yes, it is not surprising you have lasted ... you will be useful. But-" and her eyes turned a deadly purple in the light, the smile vanishing.
"Do not try this again, or I will turn your bones to ice and your blood to molten lead, and you will die."
With that she curled up again. Sam turned away with a shiver and looked around for Arcie.
"So much for your bright ideas, Arcie ... Arcie?"
A soft snoring emanated from the hollow log. Sam looked and saw the Barigan flat on his face, blissfully asleep, with Sam's blowgun needle hanging from his left earlobe like an odd bit of jewelry. Sam smiled, reached out and pulled the needle free. Arcie didn't even snort.
"One way to shut him up," muttered Sam. "I'll have to remember that."
Kaylana, secure in her circle, shook her head. "Hopeless," she muttered and
They're also gourmands. They especially like eating the sapient races, like humans and Elves and such, and they eat each other, too. They were all wiped out years ago by the Verdant Company, under Sir Fenwick of Trois. I was about twelve at the time. Right after that we caught one skulking around Bistort, and the Guild brought him in.
He told us what I've just told you, adding that he was the last one of his community. The Company had moved on and were wiping out the rest of them that year. He was a nasty fellow, almost as bad as Sharkbreath over there.
No one would hire him for a normal job, so we tried to train him. He wasn't a very good character for the craft, too messy, no real talent... and not very stable." Sam's voice trailed off.
"What happened to him?" asked Arcie. "Did he get whitewashed?"
"No," said Sam, with a sudden coldness in his voice.
"Quite the contrary. He did something stupid and got himself killed. By the Guild."
Arcie was quiet a moment. "What are we to do about her?"
Sam glanced over at the dark figure of the sorceress.
"I'm already on an assignment, you cheap-donkey."
"We canna let her threaten us around like this, yet."
"True... all right." Sam switched to the silent rogue's language. "I will incapacitate her, leave tied up in ditch somewhere, how's that? No charge," he added magnanimously.
"Fine," replied Arcie, in the same code.
Sam rolled to his knees stealthily and slipped the sections of his eighteen-inch blowgun out of his sleeve. He fitted them together swiftly and silently. A brush of his collar yielded a two-inch thin steel needle, while his other hand felt in a pouch and ran a finger along the lids of several secured vials, feeling the code of raised dots that were the labels. The hand found and brought out a small ceramic tube of thrice-distilled bluewort leaf, blended with rasophar oil for consistency. His thumb popped the flip cork, his fingers dipped the point of the needle, the lid thumbed shut, vial set aside as blowgun raised, leveled, needle inserted, vision contracting, nothing but the target...
"Craaawwow!" Sam was knocked backwards by a furiously squawking heavy ball of black feathers. He lashed up with one arm and batted the angry raven to one side, but it kept yelling. Valeriana and Kaylana awoke, looking about in confusion. Through the nailing jet feathers Sam saw the pale sorceress slowly rising from the black fur like a poisonous snake in lethal anger, her long-fingered hand pulling her gown close about her ... but not before he'd had a glimpse of the strange pendant she wore. It was like an oval the size of a hen's egg, a flat cabochon made of some stone so black it reflected none of the bright starlight, set in a ring of gold. Her gown covered it, and she called to her raven as she sat up.
Nightshade flew back to her shoulder and glared, as did its mistress, at Sam, who was silent. Kaylana started to speak, but hesitated. Instead she held her staff across her knees and waited to see where the confrontation would lead.
For a moment they faced each other. Then Valeriana smiled. "I suspected as much. Yes, it is not surprising you have lasted ... you will be useful. But-" and her eyes turned a deadly purple in the light, the smile vanishing.
"Do not try this again, or I will turn your bones to ice and your blood to molten lead, and you will die."
With that she curled up again. Sam turned away with a shiver and looked around for Arcie.
"So much for your bright ideas, Arcie ... Arcie?"
A soft snoring emanated from the hollow log. Sam looked and saw the Barigan flat on his face, blissfully asleep, with Sam's blowgun needle hanging from his left earlobe like an odd bit of jewelry. Sam smiled, reached out and pulled the needle free. Arcie didn't even snort.
"One way to shut him up," muttered Sam. "I'll have to remember that."
Kaylana, secure in her circle, shook her head. "Hopeless," she muttered and
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