"But that was the name of the boss of the little old guy who came to rescue us!"
"Yes." Hantis' eyes were cold. "The same Lord Nalin. Who also claimed that we were assassins from Delaron. In whose apartments Pul smelled Nanite exudates. While Arvin was unconscious, Lord Nalin ordered us executed as spies and murderers because that would help to fan the fires he's trying to start. When objections were raised in the council, Nalin sent his servant to free us and send us fleeing to Delaron. The High Lord is actually the only one who can pass the death sentence, so Arvin sent his guards for us. Only we'd escaped, which made us look guilty and Lord Nalin seem to have been correct. That was why I put us in the position of honorable prisoners."
"So what's all this got to do with the Leewit's kidnapping?" asked Goth.
"We don't know," admitted the Sprite woman. "Come. Let us eat and contemplate our next move. Good Sprite food may help me to think properly, anyway. I've had to reassess my ideas about history."
"Apparently so," said the captain wryly. "I thought you said that this Arvin was the greatest villain in your history?"
"It appears that history blamed the wrong person. It appears that the greatest villain in the history of Nartheby may be . . . me. Come. I will explain while we eat. The High Lord needs to marshal his soldiers. Nalin has gathered many adherents, some of whom may be Nanite controlled."
Down inside the castle, sitting at a construction of glass and silver on velvety upholstered translucent chairs, Pausert realized that the holding chambers they'd been put in were probably the Sprite equivalent of the cell he'd been put into on Pidoon. The food wasn't the usual breakfast fare for humans. The ice-crystal layers of sweet and tart and definitely alcoholic stuff wasn't anything Pausert had encountered. Neither, really, were the thin nutty-tasting pancakes and deep purple jelly. But they were very welcome, nonetheless, and they were certainly easier to digest than Hantis' explanations.
"Don't you see? The Nanites are doing precisely what they are trying to do in the Empire in our time: decapitate. At this stage, their numbers are probably very few. They take control of key individuals. Ones like Lord Nalin, whose position makes them powerful but whom few people really know well. The Nanites can take over the body of the victim, but the behavior and mannerisms change. So: the Nanites must either take over a whole group, which is difficult for them at this stage, or someone like Nalin. He has been away from Castle Aloorn for some twenty years, as a governor of one of the outlying dominions."
"You think this is what we're facing in the Empire too, then," said the captain, spooning the fragrant purple jelly onto yet another pancake. "So why are we trying to reach the Empress Hailie? She's a well-known recluse. The Empire only sees her twice a year. I would have thought that she would be the perfect Nanite victim. She still wields a lot of power."
"That would be correct, except that Hailie disappears. Between official engagements, the Empress goes . . . somewhere. She tours her Regency anonymously. She's been the unofficial friend of Karres for some years now. The best premote-teams on Karres predicted that the only chance of defeating the Nanite plague was to reach Hailie first, and provide her with information and protection. If necessary I am empowered to call for certain drastic steps."
Hantis looked grim. "I've never explained the details, Captain, but the plague wars were the worst episode in our history. High Lord Arvin destroyed any ship incoming to Nartheby—even when they appeared to be full of refugees."
She took a deep breath. "He was renowned for his brutal efficiency in disposing of enemies here on Nartheby. They were always incinerated, as were their homes. It was a technique he put to use against the Nanite-possessed in the later phases of the war, when we Sprites set out to destroy the Nanites."
"Is there any other way?"
"Not a really effective one, no," admitted Hantis. "Grik-dog venom affects all those in the host. But the environment they are found in should still burn. A colony of several thousand could be hiding behind a grain of sugar on the floor. But we did not know . . . I suppose—it makes sense, now—that it was always kept secret that Nanites had reached Nartheby's surface. I am afraid that Arvin did what was necessary, and shouldered the blame. He is a braver and better Sprite than I could ever be, but I must have been the one who told him it was the right method to use, and that it had to be done. He's young and scared; and, in truth, quite gentle. He wants nothing more than peace with his neighbors. He has to act the part of the arrogant High Lord to hide the fact."
The captain struggled to absorb it all. "So, this all happened in your history. Arvin, the shrimpy little Sprite, turned into what you thought of as a monster and dealt with the problem. Is that why the vatch brought you here?"
"No. I think vatches understand humans and time imperfectly. The vatch brought me here because Arvin was the worst thing in my mind. He is also an ancestor of mine. The vatch, I think, thought it would be funny if I killed him. Because then I would not have existed either. In which case, how could I have killed him?"
"Great Patham!" exclaimed Goth. "A sort of impossible loop. Stinking critter! It just wanted to see what would happen."
Hantis smiled. "Yes. Unfortunately, I don't know exactly what I did in history because records from that time are very poor. But if you want loops . . . well, I think the vatch outsmarted itself. An impossible loop is, after all, impossible. So it will be replaced by loops which aren't. Just to name one: I believe Pul is off fraternizing with High Lord Arvin's lady grik-dogs. The origin of grik-dogs with anti-Nanite venom and the ability to smell out Nanites comes from Arvin's breeding program, you know."
"You mean Pul's his own great-grandfather?" demanded Goth, laughing. "That's not exactly 'fraternizing.' "
Hantis nodded and smiled. "It's quite a bit further removed than that. But, yes."
"And Pul is the end product of a long breeding program. It does beg the question of where the first Nanite-killing grik-dog came from," said Pausert. "But right now I am more interested in finding the Leewit, and somehow getting back to our own mission and own Nanite fight."
"If we can get her back at all," said Hantis, biting her lip. "The gnyarl caught one of those who kidnapped her. A Sprite called Luwis who owned the apartment. Unfortunately, he won't be talking to anyone. But the Leewit definitely wasn't with him. They think the other two may have dodged back into the castle."
Captain Pausert rubbed his temples thoughtfully. "So they're still on the loose, the Nanites are here and can only be destroyed, with difficulty, and the Leewit is still missing."
He rose abruptly to his feet. "At least we've had a good breakfast. And I can still rell a hint of that blasted big vatch. If it would get closer . . ."
Goth stood up from the elegant table. "Old Nasty-Vatch has been caught before, I reckon. He's not going to come close enough, Captain. He's watching us from a distance."
"Then we'll have to go vatch hunting," said the captain grimly. "In the meantime, we have a Leewit hunt to organize."
Goth grinned. "Catching a vatch might be easier."
Her confidence cheered Pausert up. His worst fear, now that it was clear the Leewit hadn't fallen to her death, was that her abductors might have murdered her and hidden the body somewhere. But that dark thought was difficult to maintain in the presence of Goth. The girl had a way of projecting serenity, somehow.
As his greatest worry faded, a smaller one finally had the chance to push its way forward.
"Oh," said the captain guiltily. "We'd better ask our hosts to release old Vezzarn."
"Oops. Hadn't thought of that either, Captain," admitted Goth.
Pausert yawned. "Well, at least he got some sleep last night, even if I'll bet his breakfast wasn't as good as ours."
* * *
The Leewit, however, was enjoying a far more varied and even bigger breakfast. Moreover, she had two new . . . well, friends was the wrong word. Young Sprites who had the delusion that a fascinating new pet had wandered into their chambers. It could even ta
lk! Far better than their dolls, although it was the oddest looking creature they'd ever seen. And it could play games and do all sorts of tricks!
They'd successfully hidden her from their nursebeast and their parents, so far. And then they'd raided the larder to see what their new pet would eat.
Now that the Leewit had a full stomach, she was beginning to think about how she could get out of here. And it was going to be less easy than just getting out of prison had been. It was not that the two little Sprites were cruel. Well, not on purpose. They were just a great deal stronger than humans of that size would be. Stronger than she was, for sure, and quite happy to tug at their new toy, now that they'd fed it. The worst part was when they insisted on dressing her in Sprite clothes.
They would be adamant that she wasn't going out of their sight, obviously.
"Look," said the Leewit in desperation, "Let's play cards."
"What's 'cards'?" demanded the two little Sprites, almost in unison.
So the Leewit had to fish out the Agandar's cards, have them peered at, and examined. Fortunately, she always carried them with her. The Leewit considered boredom the worst peril in the universe, but as long as you had cards you could always fend off the monster by playing solitaire.
"Hey! You can't eat them. You play with them. Here I'll show you. Do you know Snap? No of course you don't. Look, here, I'll deal them."
Their names turned out to be Lisol and Ta'himmin. Fortunately, they were quick to learn the rules of the game. Mostly, though, they just seemed to love the cards themselves. The Leewit had looked at the pictures on the cards, of course. But the Sprites noticed the tiniest details. They picked up the patterns around the edges, and Ta'himmin was scathing about the fact that each had an error.
"My father makes inlays," said the littler Sprite proudly. "His edge-patterns are always the same all the way around!"
"Play," said his sister. "The thing's cards are thing-made, little brother. 'Course they won't be as good as papa's."
The game was noisy, cheerful and did not manage to distract the Leewit from the fact that she had to somehow get out of here and rescue Goth and the captain. And old Vezzarn, Hantis and Pul, of course. At least, in the hooded Sprite cloak and tunic, she could pretend that she was a Sprite. Even if Lisol and Ta'himmin thought blond hair was hilarious, the Sprites couldn't see it under the hood.
* * *
The young High Lord Arvin had underestimated two things. First, the depth of support that Nalin had gathered around him. And secondly, just how effective Lord Nalin's spy network was.
There was no element of surprise on their side, when they marched up, with Pul in the lead, towards the wing that Lord Nalin had made his own. Actually, it was High Lord Arvin who walked into an ambush. The High Lord had been still-doubtful and had been beginning to question his own judgment. The small band of his guard that accompanied him were not really prepared to fight.
The firefight turned nasty almost immediately, as Nalin's team of ambushers had the advantage of a good solid barricade. Then Arvin stood up and traced a pattern on the air . . . and part of the barricade burst into flame and then fell into dust. Before the dust had settled Arvin's troops were sprinting forward, firing at their now unprotected and shocked foes.
"Push on hard and fast!" yelled the captain, without thinking that the High Lord's troops would not understand a word he said, or take orders from someone who had been a prisoner until the middle of the previous night. He ran forward and picked up one of the fallen Sprites' projectile weapons, trying to figure out just how it worked.
But Arvin, who had looked doubtful about the entire exercise a few moments before, was giving orders himself. He was only a shrimp-size Sprite, but he could do a giant-size job of bellowing, thought the captain.
Instead of chasing after Lord Nalin's fleeing loyalists, the guards began taking up defensive positions. One of them roughly hauled the captain down beside him. Pausert turned and was surprised to see the High Lord was striding back the way they'd come, accompanied by half a dozen of the guards.
"He has gone to raise the alarm," Hantis explained quietly. "To sound the Warcall of Aloorn. Only the High Lord himself can do that. History reached many inaccurate conclusions about Arvin: But one thing no one ever accused him of was personal cowardice. There will be more resistance ahead. Fierce fighting. We are too few for that. Arvin will be back soon, at the head of his soldiers. He had a reputation for remaining calm in battles, although he had a terrible temper. I see that much at least was true."
Things were relatively quiet for a time, with occasional probing shots coming from further up. Then they heard a horn blowing. A sort of wild tantivity which seemed to echo through the very material of the castle itself. The captain saw that Hantis' back straightened as it sounded. And then, within a moment, the attack came from the Nanites. There were several hundred of them firing on the handful of Arvin's guards that had been left to hold this place.
"What made them attack?" asked Goth.
"That was the Warcall of Aloorn," said Hantis. "The shutters have come down with it. Now, the enemy cannot flee the castle. Their only chance is to fight."
"Well, they're doing that all right." The captain looked speculatively at Goth. "I think I need to shield you again, child."
Goth looked speculatively back at him. "Sure, Captain. If you stand behind me."
Pausert suddenly had an idea. "Hantis. Are these men armed with some form of grenade?"
She nodded and pointed to things that looked like Indian clubs on the belt of the nearest guard.
"Could you 'port those, Goth? I'll shield you and you 'port those around the far corner up there."
Now Goth grinned. "Sure, Captain. You can even push me forward like a screen while I do it."
Pausert traced the klatha patterns with his mind. "I think we'll settle for just holding this place until Hantis' nasty ancestor gets back."
"He's not so bad, Captain. Pul likes hi . . ." Goth was in her shield. A grenade vanished from the guard's belt. Nothing happened.
"I think they have to be armed first," explained Hantis, speaking hastily to one of the guards. He took a Sprite-grenade off his belt and twisted the base, and held it up. It vanished from his grip. An explosion occurred further up the passage. The other Sprites began doing the same for Goth.
* * *
Deep in the castle, the Leewit was getting desperate to get out of her new quasi-captivity when a strange wild horn-call sounded, echoing through the walls. The Sprite children dropped the cards, and their green catlike eyes widened. "What's that?" asked the Leewit warily. There were distant clanging noises, now.
"The Warcall!" said Lisol, looking terrified. "It means the castle is being attacked."
"Great Patham!" said the Leewit, irritably collecting her precious cards and stowing them in a pocket. "Stupid clumping place—can't even play cards in peace. I think I'd better go, little 'uns."
"You can't," said Ta'himmin. "Shutters are down. We're all supposed to go to the Star-hall, now. With Mamma and Pappa if they are here or else with the nursebeast."
Sure enough, the nursebeast arrived. There was no time for the Leewit to hide, and besides there seemed little point. The creature looked about as dangerous as belly-button fluff. It was big, furry and distinctly cuddly. The two little Sprites flung themselves on it and clutched it.
"Come, Leewit," commanded Lisol. "We must go."
The huge fluffy beast didn't seem worried by an extra person in with its charges. It just fussed them towards the door, snuffling anxiously to itself.
Out in the passage, where she'd been trying to get for the last hour, the Leewit realized things were even more serious than she'd realized. The passage was occupied by several armed and nasty looking Sprites. "Get back! Get back into your chambers!" yelled one. Further down the passage something exploded.
But the nursebeast was determined to see her charges through to the right place, no matter what explosions happened or orders any
one gave. She hooted mournfully and ambled forward.
One of the Sprites shot her. The nursebeast squealed in surprise and pain.
The two little Sprites shrieked and clung to her.
"Get out of here!" yelled the shooter. "Go. Back to your chambers, before I shoot you too!"
A moment before the Leewit had been really frightened. Now she was just mad clear through. She didn't even think about which whistle to use. That one busted up machinery something awful.
And . . . that gun would never fire again. The Sprite who'd been holding it was hopping around, clutching his hand and hissing. "Quick," said the Leewit. "Hold my hands, you two. Let's get them under nursebeast and carry her back."
Scared, the two little ones did their best. But the big fluffy creature was heavy, and bleeding. And there were more Sprites coming. The Leewit whistled again.
* * *
Behind the remains of the barricade, Pausert heard a familiar high-pitched whistle. It was like having his ears pricked with a hot needle. And it was on the wrong side of the barricade! Then the second whistle . . .
The captain seemed to detect a terrible urgency in that whistle. He reached into himself, knowing there was desperate need and knowing that klatha power came not when you wanted it, but when you were ready for it. He pictured the Leewit in his mind: a little blond waif, her cold gray eyes staring at him, and began to weave the klatha pattern around her. She seemed larger than he'd envisaged, so he made space. He didn't want to accidentally cut pieces of the Leewit off, so he made the pattern include all that was alive. And then, pattern completed, he picked up his Sprite-rifle and began running forward. He was unaware that the rest of the little outpost had followed him, or that more Sprites were coming up behind that, led by a shrimp with attitude. All the captain knew was that he wasn't going to be stopped short of the Leewit. Goth's 'porting of grenades had kept heads down ahead of them.
Now, as Lord Nalin's cohorts put their heads up, they found themselves facing what seemed to be a wave of fury. Sprites are more klatha-sensitive than most humans. The creature running towards them, one of the survivors later said, seemed at least fifteen feet tall and as unstoppable as an avalanche. And they were already rattled by the exploding grenades that had appeared from nowhere.
The Wizard of Karres Page 29