The Wizard of Anharitte (13 page)

The toxin had come from a stockpile of horrifying weapons on Rance. Its rate of diffusion under all conditions of still and moving air were known with great precision. The metering and dispersion could be controlled to a nicety to permit an almost exact spread of effect before destructive oxidation by the atmosphere rendered it not only harmless but virtually undetectable. In a situation such as its release inside an isolated citadel like Magda, the great walls themselves would serve somewhat to contain the dispersion, so that little, if any, chance existed of its affecting anyone outside the castle walls. Inside the walls its potential was conservatively estimated at seven thousand per cent overkill. By morning the best bacteriologists in the universe, while they might have their suspicions, would find it impossible to produce proof of the deliberate nature of the hit-and-run plague whose one and only symptom was immediate death. The dispersion warhead was self-destroying and would leave no incriminating remains.

Ren himself had no stomach at all for the project. Fortunately he had retained his resolve and refused to take any part in the venture. To protect the company’s name—in the event of any future investigation of the pending atrocity—he had felt it necessary that he should establish an indestructible alibi by being seen in Anharitte at the time the act was committed. He therefore left the spaceport in advance of the murder party and traveled the Via Arena to pick up a crew of stave-bearers for his cushion-craft slightly before dusk.

The garish ligroin flares of the trading stalls around the arena were well in evidence as he passed. Ren stopped and made a few purchases in order to establish his location at the time. The streets, as usual at that hour, were crowded with an aimless, nonchalant throng, none of whom seemed to appreciate any need for a dear and unobstructed highway. Mule carts, loaded to ridiculous heights with straw baskets, seemed eternally to be in his way and it took Ren nearly an hour to negotiate the cushion-craft the two kilometers from the Black Rock to the foot of the Trade Road. Ren bore this ordeal with fortitude, not daring to express his anxiety or his crying need to be in a location where more people would recognize him and be able to vouch for his presence on that particular evening. Fortunately the Trade Road was dearer and the craft was poled easily up the slopes and out to the broad brow of Firsthill.

It was here that he first heard the explosions. In reactive shock he at first thought that the rocket must have misfired on its launcher. A second burst of noise, however, caused him to notice that the origin of the sounds was too far to the left to be coming from the provincial plains and was more probably coming from the guns of Di Guaard. Remembering the formidable chain-throwing cannon that Di Guaard maintained to cover the Aprillo Delta against the mythical Tyrene, Ren was able to make a guess that Hardun was in trouble. The vicious cannon atop the castle keep were being rapidly deployed against something to the west—a fact he was able to confirm when his position enabled him to see the flashes of the guns themselves. It did not take much further conjecture to appreciate that the only target to be found on the plains at this hour was Hardun and his rocket projector and the deadly rocket with which he intended to wipe out the human—not to mention humane—population of Castle Magda.

Ren reached his office chambers in a state of agonized indecision and suffering from an embarrassing lack of information. He was tempted to try to contact Alek Hardun via the microwave link, but there were dangers that some record of the conversation could implicate both himself and the Company. On the face of it, the chances of the mad Delph Di Guaard’s guns being able to seek out a target on the dark plain appeared negligible. However, the hand of the
Imaiz
in Castle Di Guaard—and the awful coincidence of the rocket launcher on the plains under the speaking guns—threw up possibilities too haunting to be ignored.

Having parked the cushion-craft, Ren made his way to the Lodge of the Pointed Tails, where discreet information was usually available. The lodge was deserted save for a solitary guardian, who appeared to think the clan was already out on Ren’s own business and was surprised that the agent had no knowledge of the fact. He, too, had no certain idea of why Di Guaard’s guns were firing, but promised to send a runner to contact the clan and to carry news hack to Ren as fast as possible. Ren returned to his office and sat waiting for the information.

It was fully an hour before Catuul Gras came to the door.

‘We were looking for you earlier, Tito. Sonel Taw sent a messenger for you. When he couldn’t find you, he had sense enough to come looking for me.’

‘I was delayed at the spaceport,’ said Ren. ‘What was the message?’

‘That the
Imaiz
was expected in Castle Di Guaard tonight.’

‘He is?’ This put a new aspect on Hardun’s venture with the rocket and Ren could not conceal his surprise. This was one point on which even Alek Hardun had miscalculated.

‘I laid plans for an immediate ambush,’ said Catuul Gras, ‘but the
Imaiz
slipped through.’

‘Dion’s already there, then?’

‘Yes. He must have come around by the Provincial Route or the Old Coast Road. He came up Sidepath and was already in Castle Di Guaard before we got the news.’

‘Was anyone with him?’

‘Only Zinder and Barii, I think.’

‘Have you any idea what Di Guaard’s firing at?’

Catuul smiled. ‘I suspect the
Imaiz
put him up to it. It’s said Dion carries strange tales about the Tyrene to Di Guaard. I’d wager the mad Delph is on top of his tower right now, firing at imaginary pirates and believing himself to be the saviour of Anharitte. Still, it’s better that he fires across the plains. There’s no one out there to hurt. Safer than firing at the shipping on the river.’

Ren felt cold and rather sick. Because of the atrocious nature of the weapon Hardun had taken out into the plain not even the Pointed Tails had been made party to the secret. The presence on Roget of such a potent outworld mass-murder instrument was not something that Ren cared to advertise—nor would the knowledge have helped his liaison with the loyal but native clan whose services he so frequently employed. His one consolation was that without radar and ranging instruments, the mad Di Guaard was unlikely actually to hit the rocket launcher. More probably, Hardun would abandon the venture and retire to the security of the spaceport. However, if Hardun continued his plan and launched the bio-missile into Magda, then he would certainly fail to kill the one man on Roget who could unearth the truth behind the death of the garrison at Magda. The damage the
Imaiz
could do with that truth both on Roget and with the Galactic Federal Council could not only put an end to the free port, but could work against Free Trade right across the galaxy.

The agent became aware that the scribe was watching him curiously.

‘What’s on your mind, Tito?’

‘Nothing,’ Ren lied. ‘But so far our feud against the
Imaiz
has been a continuing series of failures. I can’t afford more. We know the
Imaiz
is in Castle Di Guaard and that some time he’s going to have to come out. I don’t care what it costs, Catuul, or how many other societies you need to reinforce your own men, but I want the
Imaiz
ambushed—and I want him killed. I want you to make it a point of honour that he never returns to Magda.’

Catuul’s intelligent eyes were probing gently, but he made no comment on his conclusions.

‘As you wish, Tito. I’ll make all the necessary arrangements. We’ll seal Castle Di Guaard like a trap. No matter when Dion-daizan emerges there’ll be good shafts and good steel waiting for him. If he ever sees Magda again, it’ll be solely due to his wizardry.’

Because there was nothing else he could usefully do Ren went to bed and tried to sleep. In this he was for many hours unsuccessful because he had no idea at all what pattern of news would greet him the next day. The possibilities ranged from brilliant success to tragic failure, with a range of complex permutations in between, many of which could involve him in being asked some acutely embarrassing questions. Even the certainty of failure would have allowed him to rest more easily, but he was currently immersed in a vacuum containing no answers, from which he dared not emerge to ask questions lest he betray his own foreknowledge. His surest method of defense was to profess complete ignorance of the events that took place that night.

Finally, however, he must have slept for a while. He woke again to the first gray of dawn, feeling wretched and compelled by curiosity to contact the spaceport by the microwave radio link. As he dressed and dragged himself downstairs the call alarm of his transreceiver gave a clatter that made him stop in startled shock. It was many seconds before he could bring himself to lift the handset.

‘Tito?’

‘Alek—what happened?’

‘Happened?’ Hardun’s tone alone foreshadowed the tale of disaster. ‘Di Guaard’s cannon hit the launcher. The toxin dispersion canister went off prematurely and all six of the crew were dead of the plague inside five minutes. There was nothing I could do to help them.’

‘What about yourself?’

‘I was lucky. I was following up in the radio unit truck. Di Guaard wrapped one of his chain-shots around the turret and I stopped to estimate the damage. By the time I was going again the launcher was on its side and the crew was trying to run. I reversed out fast and called out the medical team from the spaceport. They got there in twenty minutes, but when they knew what toxin we had in the canister they refused to go in. It wouldn’t have been much use anyway. Once that toxin’s out there’s no protection against it and only time and exposure can counter it.’

‘So we’ve a broken rocket launcher and six bodies out on the plain in full view of Di Guaard’s watchtowers when the light gets better. Damn! Di Irons will flay us for this.’

‘It’s still pretty misty out here. I think we’re covered until the sun comes over the hill. That gives us an hour yet to remove the mess. I’ve emergency tenders standing by, but we’re trying to delay for as long as possible so that the toxin is fully broken down. We daren’t risk losing any more men. What in the name of Jupiter possessed Di Guaard to open fire like that?’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Ren. ‘Even if you’d succeeded you’d still have been in trouble. The
Imaiz
wasn’t at Magda. He was with Di Guaard. I suspect he was directing operations, having first explored the situation for himself. At a guess, he had all your preparations under observation—and you drove straight into a trap.’

‘That would figure,’ said Hardun sourly. ‘We were the victims of good espionage, perfect timing and diabolical ranging accuracy. I had the feeling that if the chain shots hadn’t stopped us they would have been followed up by high explosives. As it was, the bombardment stopped shortly after the launcher got into trouble, as though they knew they had hit something vital. What are the chances of their having an infrared ranging camera at Castle Di Guaard?’

‘Every chance—with the
Imaiz
behind them.’

‘Tito, we’ve got to destroy this man—and fast—or we haven’t a hope of retaining Anharitte as a free port.’

‘I’ve got him bottled inside Castle Di Guaard,’ said Ren. ‘Catuul’s mustering a whole army and we’ll keep them in position for as long as may be required. I don’t myself think Dion will attempt to come out. I think he’ll sit there and wait for us to go away.’

‘Then this strikes me as an opportune time to try a reconnaissance raid on Magda. I have the commandos assembled, but I’ll be too busy on the plain to take the lead. Could you handle it for me, Tito?’

‘I’ve no great objection to a reconnaissance. And it might produce some useful information.’

‘Good. I’ll have the men meet you at Magda Crossing in an hour’s time.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Ren and went thoughtfully in search of breakfast.

There was no doubt from close quarters that Castle Magda was the most formidable of all the fortresses on the three hills.

It was larger than the installation of Di Guaard, yet planned with the same paranoiac approach—the supposition that all .men’s hands were against it. The outer walls of massive granite blocks were probably solid for twenty meters at the base and rose sheer out of the waters of an unwelcoming moat. Even the dark streaks in the granite conspired to give the place an air of unassailable endurance.

Whoever had planned and built Magda had been a genius in his own right. There was not an inch of the wall that was not overlooked by some flanking tower, and all possible angles of approach lay under a dozen points from which a hidden defender might safely fire. It was not even possible to tell if one were being observed, so dark and numerous were the potential defense positions.

Although they were armed, the group of thirty-five Rance commandos with Ren had strict instructions to do no more than test the defenses. They could indulge in a little provocation in order to test the viability of any attack hypothesis, but were to take no main offensive action unless instructed to do so by Ren. The agent had a secondary purpose in leading an open move against Magda—he hoped that news of it would tempt the
Imaiz
to try and break out of Castle Di Guaard. He had sufficient faith in the Pointed Tails to think that Dion-daizan was unlikely to make his homeward journey alive.

Castle Magda was situated on the highest point of Thirdhill, in a situation remote from the attendant township. It stood on a rocky plateau, three parts of the extremities of which gave way to nothing but the slopes of a broken and inhospitable hill. Working beneath the cover of the slopes, the small wiry commandos were split into three groups, each with a local officer.

Ren alone, a known figure in the territory, felt free to show himself openly. His presence on Thirdhill could not be concealed during daylight and he took advantage of this fact to make the survey he needed to complete the assessments of the high-level photographic data on Magda.

The intention had been that, having completed his open evaluation of Magda’s defense potential, he would rejoin the commandos for a mock attack to see what sort of response would be forthcoming from the garrison in the absence of the
Imaiz
. However, as he approached the main gatehouse he was more than a little disturbed to find the drawbridge down and the great gates open and apparently unguarded. Intrigued by this phenomenon, he ventured closer, the thought crossing his mind that in the absence of the master the attitude of the remaining garrison seemed to be remarkably naive.