The Wizard of Karres

CHAPTER 30

The Leewit had been a good three parts asleep when she saw the blade coming through the wall. It was a blur of blue-white energy, and was steadily cutting a circle out of the back wall of the room where she was confined. She'd had a long, tiring day—more exhausting than she'd been willing to admit. She'd been very glad of the piggy-back on the captain's back.

She wished that he were here now. Was this a dream? Was this a rescue or was it more trouble? She wanted Goth, or she wanted the captain or, preferably, both. Her older sister could be annoying, although Goth didn't fuss the way Maleen did. And the captain made her wash her neck and behind her ears. But she liked having them around, especially when things were unfamiliar, although she'd never have admitted that to anyone.

The shimmering light-blade finished cutting its circle out of the wall. Long slim fingers pulled the piece of wall backwards into the darkness and three furtive-looking Sprites came through the hole. Before the sleepy Leewit had a chance to even whistle, one of them clapped his hand over her mouth. She was carried to the hole and out, into the darkness beyond. A hand was kept firmly clamped over her mouth, as they carried her away. The Leewit was unsure if she was being rescued or kidnapped. If it was a rescue, she wished they'd tell her so.

They wrapped her in a heavy, smelly cloth. Now, the Leewit was sure she was being kidnapped. So she bit the fingers, hard.

"Yeeow!"

"Be still. Keep her mouth shut."

"She bit me!"

Another hand clamped over her mouth. "Bite me and I will stick a knife into you." This person sounded like he meant it. After a moment, she was picked up and carried off.

* * *

When they removed the heavy cloth, the Leewit found herself in a small chamber with a large balcony. Like all the Sprite places she'd seen, it was full of translucent glass.

The hand was pulled away from her mouth. She finally got to that scream she'd been saving up.

"Scream all you like," said the Sprite that had had his hand clapped over her mouth. "No one can hear you here, alien thing. Although Luwis may decide to punish you for biting his fingers."

"Who are you?" demanded the Leewit, looking around the room. It had a very high ceiling and was full of beautiful and delicate ornaments.

The Sprite's slanted eyebrows went up. "I would have thought it was quite obvious, small alien. We are spies from Delaron. We want to know what you're doing here, and just where you're from."

The Leewit rolled her eyes. "Clumping stupid!" She gave the Sprite an accusing glare. He seemed a bit befuddled.

That mollified the Leewit. A bit.

Of course, it didn't mollify her enough to be cooperative. She was the Leewit, after all.

So she did what she normally did when she was in trouble. Went straight up. She still weighed a lot less than the Sprites, and she'd spotted a high shelf full of obviously very precious bric-a-bracs. Before her three captors knew quite what was going on, she was on the shelf. Of course, most Sprites could levitate also. But there wasn't going to be any of that fragile glass and crystal stuff left by the time they caught her.

"Hey! Come down! Come down or you'll be sorry!" said the one with the bitten fingers. "Here, Wellpo. Make her come down before she bumps anything off there."

The Leewit shaped her lips into a whistle. One of her best and favorite.

It worked even better on the Sprites than on the people she'd tried it on before. Bones in the ears weren't . . . what was the word—flexible. They wouldn't shatter in there, but they did hurt.

The three doubled up, holding their ears. Just to keep in practice, she blew a beautiful shatterer at a display of rose and amethyst crystals on the table. It exploded very nicely.

But when the Leewit saw the look of fury on the face of the one who had threatened to stick a knife into her, she realized she wasn't high enough. There was a narrow chimneylike opening in one corner of the ceiling. It was made up of mirrors and had a skylight, and there was a small sill at the top that she could perch on. Best of all, even if they could levitate, none of the Sprites were going to fit into the mirror-chimney.

The Leewit scooted up. It was a tight fit even for her and it wasn't very comfortable. But then, from the angry sounds the Sprites were making, it would be a lot less comfortable down there.

A questing arm came feeling upwards. When it found the ledge, the Leewit stepped on the fingers as hard as she could.

"Oww!" The fingers vanished.

"Leave her, Luwis," said one of the other kidnappers. "She'll have to come down sooner or later."

"That's well enough for you, Wellpo. Why did we not take her to your chambers? You don't have skylighting."

"For two reasons, as I already explained to you. First, it's too far away. Secondly, it is near that stiff-necked old Laar's chambers. Given what that ass Nalin accused Laar of, that area of Aloorn is almost bound to be searched."

"But she has smashed my precious crystal sculpture-work. Smashed it!"

"She'll come down in time."

"I'll murder her!"

The Leewit giggled and whistled again. It was hard to be directional from here, but by the howl of anguish . . . she'd gotten lucky. And once the howl died away, she could hear the tinkling sounds of a glass ornament raining little pieces of its former self onto the floor.

Still, they were quite right. She couldn't stay up here forever. She was pretty tired, and starting to get hungry. She looked at the tiny chimneylike space she was wedged in. It was nothing more than a long tube with a window at the top. She peered out the window, but there wasn't much that she could see. It was dark out there.

But she knew they must be high up. Going out, this high off the ground, was scary. But . . . not as scary as going down, or trying to stay here until she fell.

So she whistled at the window.

All that did was make her ears ring. Angrily, the Leewit struck the window with her little fist.

The skylight opened right up, as neatly as you please. She must have hit a release of some kind that she hadn't even noticed.

Sticking her head out, she could see much better. It was less dark outside than she'd thought. The window must have been filtered. Best of all, this wasn't an opening over a sheer drop to the ground below—the window opened onto the roof. In an scrambling instant, the Leewit was out of the hole and onto the rooftops.

Someone else would have started their escape immediately. Not the Leewit. She turned, stuck her face back though the skylight window, and sent a real crystal-shattering whistle down into the chamber. Then, her shrill and powerful voice overrode the howls and splintering sounds below. The Leewit bestowed upon the Sprites any number of descriptions of themselves, using terms she'd picked up since their voyage began. Most of them were in the Sprites' own language, selected from the terms Hantis had bestowed on the little Sprite muck-a-muck. But the term beelzit was scattered freely throughout.

Then she closed the skylight and started crawling away across the steep rooftops.

"Boy, I hope the captain doesn't find out," she muttered. "I'll be eating soap for a clumping year."

She stopped crawling after a while, since the rooftops were very steep and scary and there seemed no end to them. No rhyme or reason, either, that she could see, to the Sprite notion of architecture.

When she came across a little cluster of skylights that formed something like a nest, she decided to stop. She was very tired and felt very alone, and the rooftops were very high and very steep and she was very scared—and, now, night was falling.

"It's not clumping fair!" the Leewit protested to the universe.

The universe gave no reply. Grumbling with indignation, the Leewit crept into the cluster of skylights and curled up among them. It wasn't the warmest or most comfortable place to sleep; but, in a tucked away corner, the littlest witch slept all the same.

* * *

Sleep was far from Hantis. She knew what danger they were in, and she was terribly worried about the Leewit. The worry steadily built into anger. By the time Arvin Warmaker finally walked into her room of confinement, she was quite ready to start her brawl with him all over again.

But . . . the High Lord looked even smaller than he had when she first met him—and a lot younger. All the Sprites she'd seen seemed much smaller than her people, which was something of the opposite to the way history had painted the matter.

He also looked very worried. "I had planned to leave this until the gathering tomorrow. But now the littlest of your band has escaped or been seized. Why are you trying to push us into this war with Delaron? I have tried very hard to avoid it. We've had generations of war. Surely that is enough?" His tone was plaintive.

The wind was taken out of Hantis' sails. "Avoid . . ."

"Despite what Nalin and his cohorts say, I am not convinced that it would be wise," said Arvin. "Or that we would win anyway, even if it were."

Hantis took a deep breath. She could tell that he spoke the truth.

So, it was history that had lied. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"High Lord Arvin, do you have a truth-speaker among your councilors?"

He shook his head. "Such klatha powers are rare. It is a pity, because they are useful to a ruler."

"Very," she said dryly. "You see, I am one. And despite everything I was raised to believe, I know you to be speaking the truth of your heart."

He looked at her, extremely suspiciously. "You say 'despite everything you were raised to believe.' So, you are one of our ancient foes, after all. I had wondered. Will you make peace with us, then? Is this an overture that has been terribly misunderstood?"

Hantis wished that, like humans, she could weep for this boy-man. "I am not one of those you term 'our ancient foes,' but, yes, this has been a terrible misunderstanding." She sighed. "But I fear I have not come make a peace with Delaron. I fear, I fear terribly, that I may have come to make you go to war with them."

It was his turn to gape at her. "What? If you are not from Delaron, then where have you come from? And how did you know the kin-words of Clan Aloorn?"

"I was taught them," said Hantis calmly. "They were among the first things I was ever taught. Even in my cradle they were sung to me. I know how the flame walls are triggered. I know where the tooth-traps lie. I know the portal songs for each and every of the inner chambers."

He looked fearfully around. "You must indeed be a spy!"

"Why would a spy come here if they already knew all of our defenses?" asked Hantis.

He drew back between his two guards. "You are an assassin!"

She issued a small, wry laugh. "Why would I admit to knowing all of our ancient secrets, High Lord, if I were an assassin? No, I am one who would know these things by right. The only one who could know all of the secrets of Aloorn, besides yourself. Think, High Lord Arvin. Who has the right to know as much as you do . . . except one born to the inner Clan? I am of Aloorn, but I am from your distant future."

"That is not possible."

She shrugged. "Nonetheless, it is true. I am a distant descendant of yours. You are one of the most . . . well-known Sprites from the era of the Nanite plague wars. The most ill-famed and notorious, to be precise."

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Leave," he said to both of his guards.

"But, High-Lord . . ."

"Go! You may remain in the passage."

Reluctantly, the bodyguards obeyed.

The High Lord of Aloorn waited until they were out of earshot. "You know something that is secret from all but the High Lords. This is either a very cunning trap . . . or the truth. Prove to me that it not a trap."

"I can show you the secret exit to your chamber, which is activated by placing your palm on the points of the tsaritsa flower in the middle of the window-wall. And I can tell you that the early secret quarantine will fail. It has already failed."

He blinked, his double lids covering his violet eyes. "Who are you? I mean who are you where you come from?"

"I told you. I am your direct descendant. I am named High Lady Hantis des Shaharissa of Clan Aloorn."

"Why have you come here? How have you come here?"

"A vatch." As Hantis recalled, there had always been vatches. They had just become more numerous around humanity. Klatha wielded by humans seemed attractive to them and, to creatures to whom time and space were equally insubstantive, they could congregate where they willed.

He bit his thin lips. "It is possible, I suppose. We know the vatches sometimes use their power to play Sprites as pieces in great dramas. But what test have you and your companions come to Nartheby to perform? Aloorn is no place for such deeds."

"I think," said Hantis carefully, "that I was brought here as part of a vatch joke. I was supposed to kill you, and thereby—having destroyed my own progenitor—destroy myself. This vatch seems more malicious than most. But you are wrong about the role of Aloorn. Aloorn played a great and central part in the plague wars. And there is need. The Nanites are here already."

Arvin, he who would be called the Warmaker, the destroyer of Delaron whose infamy for the burning alive of those in the towers lived on through centuries . . . looked horrified.

"But—we'll contain them! A cure will be found. There'll be no need for violence. The problem can never spread as far as Nartheby."

Hantis shook her head, sadly. "This is an intelligent plague. I should have realized before that the historical accounts made no sense. They came here to Nartheby first. We always believed the plague started in the outer realms and was fought, planet by planet, inward to Nartheby. But why would they act in such a mindless manner? Of course the Nanites would have struck for Nartheby first! If they could decapitate the Sprite dominium, the rest would be theirs for the taking."

She did not say, but did realize, that the strategy she sketched was exactly what the reemergent Nanites had set out to do in the Empire, centuries in the future.

"But . . . do you not know how the plague was fought?" demanded Arvin.

"The records from the plague years are very confused. What I do know—what I was taught, rather—is that High Lord Arvin, he who was called the Warmaker, brutally took control of all Nartheby and isolated her."

The young High Lord gaped at her. "I did what?"

"Took control of all Nartheby and isolated her. You went to the council of High Lords and in the Hall of Truce, killed three of the High Lords and their advisors and kinsmen. The three who, besides yourself, were the most powerful. Then made the rest bow to your will."

"That is mad!"

"I wish it were," said Hantis sadly. "I conclude that you must have taken Pul with you, and sniffed out those of the High Lords and those who were Nanite infected, and killed them."

"Pul?"

"My grik-dog. I believe you breed them." She raised her eyebrows at him. "It is one thing history gives you great credit for: breeding grik-dogs that could sniff out Nanite infection. That was how the plague was eventually dealt with, other than in open warfare."

For the first time there was a slight smile on the face of High Lord Arvin. "My grik-dogs are bred to smell out truffle-fungus. Their noses are fantastically keen. I've been trying to reduce the toxicity of their bite to make them easier to handle. They're far more intelligent than most people realize." It was obviously a subject dear to his heart and one he'd rather talk about than the Nanite plague or the domination of all Nartheby.

She smiled at him, too. It appeared that being besotted with the yellow-furred creatures was a hereditary trait. "Intelligent and loyal, High Lord. My grik-dog is with one of my human companions. Why don't you go and ask Pul to confirm my story?"

He was plainly quite taken with this idea. "Their speech is a bit limited. It's one of the things I've been working on."

"I think you will be pleasantly surprised at how well Pul speaks," said Hantis graciously.

* * *

When High Lord Arvin returned a few minutes later, he had Goth and Pul with him. He bowed. "High Lady Hantis. First, I must give you my apologies for having treated you like this in your own home."

"Will you tell him to stop talking?" said Goth, crossly. "Let's get the captain and go and look for the Leewit."

"What did the little alien say?" asked Arvin.

"She is very worried about her younger sister. The humans are good klatha operatives, but this is a young one to be off on her own. She wants you to free the other human, who is something of a guardian to both of them, and to start looking. If I may suggest, we could use Pul to track her down. Pul knows her scent, don't you, my clever one?"

Pul growled. "Can't miss it. It's the soapy teeth."

"He is a magnificent male," said Arvin enviously, petting Pul. The grik-dog gave the High Lord a none-too-friendly glance, but, to Hantis' relief, didn't even bare his fangs.

"Yes," Arvin said decisively. "Let us do it." He snapped orders. Hantis could see that, once he grew up a little more, this would indeed be the ruthless and effective Arvin of legend. It was also plain that, although he might doubt Hantis, Pul had the High Lord under his paw.

Together, they went to Pausert's holding chamber. The captain was very pleased to see them. And, Hantis realized at the same time, in a very dangerous state because of his worry about the Leewit. Toll and Threbus had not put their children's welfare lightly in the care of just anyone. He took his responsibilities very, very seriously. The captain was probably unaware of the klatha energies surging around him. Hantis wasn't.

But all he said was: "Let's get onto the trail, quick."

Pul sniffed around the storage chamber and found the trail of three, mixed in with the smell of the Leewit. He set off at a run along the curving corridors of Castle Aloorn. They had to race to keep up with him.

They caught up with the grik-dog at a beautifully inlaid door, covered in an intricate knotted pattern in strings of opaque glass. Hantis had no chance to ask Pul, privately, if he smelled the odor of Nanites. All she had time for was fear.

"Luwis. Luwis crystal-crafter!" said the High Lord incredulously. Captain Pausert shoulder-charged the door. It didn't break.

"Open the door," said Arvin to his guards.

They added their slighter weight to the captain's, but to no avail.

"Stand aside," commanded Arvin. Pausert might not have understood the words, but he understood the tone of voice and the behavior of the guards. He stepped aside, and the door imploded into dust and a wash of heat that frizzed the hairs on the captain's hands.

From the moment the captain had shoulder-charged the door to its disintegration had taken at least a minute. By the time they got into the chambers, the last of the room's three occupants were leaving into the predawn, via the balcony and the stairs leading downward.

They rushed after them, out onto the balcony. Hantis caught sight of the fugitives far below. She could see no sign of the Leewit, either accompanying them or bundled in any way. But the light was poor, and the shreds of morning mist soon obscured them completely.

"Shall we pursue, my lord?" asked one of the guards.

The High Lord shook his head. "No. Give the order to release the gnyarl. Let them hunt. The flight of Luwis proclaims his guilt."

"So does this." Hantis pointed to the mauve powdery remains on the table, and the little piles of fine dust on the carefully placed and lit shelves. "She was here."

"If they've so much as hurt a hair on her head . . ." The captain balled his fists.

A worried Hantis wondered why the Leewit had not been taken by those who fled. Had she been infected? Nanite infection patterns were well known. The invaders immobilized the victim within minutes; then, over a period of several days, reproduced and gradually took control. It took roughly a week before full control was established. They wouldn't have had to take her along, if they could hide her well enough.

"Any sign of Nanites, Pul?" Hantis tried to keep her voice casual. She sensed Pausert's gathering fury, and the immense klatha energies that fury could unleash. If the captain realized what Hantis would have to do if the littlest witch had been infected . . .

"No," growled Pul. "Not a trace."

Relief washed her. Pul sniffed the floor, and rose onto his hind legs, sniffing upwards.

"She went up," the grik-dog said, pointing with his nose to the mirrored-chimney skylight that was catching the first rays of dawn.

Goth might not have understood the words but she understood the gesture. She levitated towards the chimney, with a scant regard for what remained of Luwis crystal-crafter's prized creations. The upper end of the chimney-skylight was nearly too narrow for her, but she managed to force herself in. She got to the top and called down. "This window does open, huh?"