Wistril Compleat (12 page)

Indeed, thought Kern, as he refilled Genner's
mug. Who'd have thought it?

But it's true, he thought, that the Lady and
the Lord share many passions. Whereas Wistril's interests lay
within the more esoteric realms of magic, the Lady Emmerbee, Kern
learned, was one of Oom's leading naturalists, although she
published under an assumed name to conceal her gender. And when the
Lady easily captured and quickly tamed Wistril's errant wumpus cat
-- well, Wistril's praise knew no bounds; he even went so far as to
dictate a scorching letter to the Review Thaumaturgica, scolding
them for their "backward and sexist" editorial policies.

"Hoot," said Sir Knobby, pointing and
grinning. Kern followed the gargoyle's claw upward, to the
seldom-used chamber at the top of the North Tower. Kern knew the
chamber as a place of specialized magic, a place Wistril had
mentioned only a few times, and then only in a "you're hardly ready
for such things" context.

A fierce bright light flared in the chamber.
Kern saw two figures silhouetted against the windows; Wistril's
wide form, and the Lady Emmerbee's taller one. And then the windows
went black, opaque against the bright blue sky and its unnaturally
still lines of motionless treetops.

Kern counted days. Six had passed, he
realized. Six of the seventeen, and then the spell will fail. And
what use love, against the Carthrop's jinni?

Kern refilled his own mug, and looked
away.

Kern had little time to observe Wistril and
the Lady over the next five days. Instead, he toiled in Wistril's
East Tower workroom, fashioning strange spells at Wistril's
behest.

Kern cast spells, or wove together portions
of spells cast by Wistril and bound in wands or glowing Seen
bottles. Kern wondered as he cast each just what it was intended to
do. While he recognized portions of the most of the spellworks,
other parts made no sense.

Unlatching these will do what? Kern squinted
at runes written on a scrap of Wistril's parchment and tried to
make out their purpose. Why cast a spell that might, at best,
mutter and flash and cast shadows on the walls? Or one that
appeared to cause unworn boots to dash about?

And yet still Wistril's instructions came,
often scrawled on papers, sometimes relayed through source-less
voices that caught Kern bleary-eyed and nodding.

The days ticked by. On the fourteenth day,
grumbling and thunders sounded faint from all the Towers; on the
fifteenth, they continued, growing louder and longer.

Wistril and the Lady were seldom seen, and
when they were, they appeared haggard and worn.

As the clocks chimed the ninth hour of the
morning, on the seventeenth and final day, Wistril appeared at
breakfast and announced that the spell would fail at exactly eight
o'clock that evening.

Silence gripped the room. The Lady Emmerbee,
seated beside Wistril, kept up her smile, but even to Kern it
seemed uneasy.

After a time, forks clanked again, and
whispers and mutterings began. Kern heard someone whisper "White
Chair -- what can he do, against a demon?"

Genner shushed the speaker with a hiss and a
glare, but Kern saw fear spread across the faces arrayed before
him.

Soon, Wistril put down his fork and rose.

Genner rose hastily as well, rising and
bowing and trying to doff a hat he wasn't wearing all at the same
time. "Beggin' your pardon, Lordship," he said. "I'm sure nobody
meant no insult. They're just scared," he said. "But it's a mighty
poor way to repay your hospitality, and that's a fact, and I'm
sorry them words was spoken at your table."

Wistril bowed, and bade Genner sit with his
hand. "No apology is required," he said. "They spoke but truth. I
am of the White Chair mages, and I may not use offensive magics,
even in the cause of right."

Forks clanked as they were set down suddenly
in plates.

"But that hardly means we are defenseless,"
said Wistril. "Indeed, were we relying on the might of any man's
magic against such a creature, we would surely be lost, for no
spell will prevail against it, no matter the path of the
caster."

The Lady's folk looked none relieved, thought
Kern -- but then, neither am I.

"Spells may fail, and arms," continued
Wistril. "But stealth and guile may win where fury and might may
not."

"You tell 'em, Lord Kauph!" said Genner,
banging his mug on the table for emphasis, until the Lady Emmerbee
met his eye and shook her head. "We'll guile this Carthrop right
back to the Sea!"

A ragged cheer rose up, and swelled as Genner
repeated his oath. Kern even lifted his glass and joined in,
causing Wistril to direct toward him a small frown.

"Indeed," said Wistril, when the cheer died.
"This very night, both Kauph and Hohnserrat shall strike a blow
against Carthrop -- a blow that will once and for all see this vile
Baron struck down."

"Hear hear!" roared Genner. "You tell us what
to do, and we'll make it so. I'm tired of running from that
cabbage-eating tavern bully. Give me a sword, Lord Kauph, and I'll
stand at your side and fight!"

Wistril smiled. "I am honored, sir," he said.
Cook discreetly appeared at Genner's side, and replaced his
voluminous beer mug with a smaller one, half-full. "But our cause
would best be served if you stood with your folk. Here, in this
very Hall, when the clock strikes eight of the evening."

The Lady Emmerbee rose. "We must all do as
Lord Kauph asks," she said. "And when Lord Kauph says he will lay
this Carthrop low, I tell you all I believe he shall do just
that."

Wistril bowed. "I shall be occupied for the
remainder of the day," he said. "Let me take this time to tell our
guests from House Hohnserrat that I treasure your friendship, and
delight in your company."

The last, Kern saw, was spoken to the Lady
and the Lady alone.

Sir Knobby hooted softly, and Kern shook his
head at the gargoyle's out-fanning ears.

"Until we dine again, then," said Wistril,
and he raised his cup, and the Lady raised hers, and with shaking
hands Lady and wizard drank, bowed, and parted.

"Apprentice," said Wistril, not looking back
as he passed through the door. "Attend."

Kern wiped his mouth and followed after.

Inside the East Tower workroom, with the
doors shut tight behind them, Wistril sagged, sat, and sighed. He
rubbed his bleary eyes against the perpetual daylight and motioned
for Kern to close the window.

Kern did so. When he turned back to Wistril,
the wizard bore two long silver wands, held tight and wide
apart.

"Contained in each of these wands," said
Wistril, stifling a yawn, "Is half of a spell. Touching these wands
together will complete the spell, and discharge it."

Kern walked to stand before the wizard, and
Wistril handed the wands carefully, one at a time, to Kern.

"I see," said Kern. "And what does this spell
do?"

"It will take you, and the volume of space
about you, out of the march of time," said Wistril. "It is smaller
than the spell I used earlier, but it is in some ways more
powerful."

Kern inspected the wands, careful to keep
them apart, feeling the odd pull they had for one another as they
strained against his grasp. "How long will this spell give us?" he
asked.

Wistril shrugged. "A year, perhaps," he said.
"Ten months at the least. This spell differs from the current
stasis spell in that approximately twice that shall elapse beyond
the influence of the spell. The jinni, though, should find this one
no less difficult to breach."

Kern stood. "Ten months inside, twenty months
out?" he said. "That's a long time, either way."

Wistril nodded agreement. "Take care to be
near the larder, before you bring them together," he said. "There
is ten month's food there, if one is careful. Oh, and use fires
sparingly," he added. "The air might go bad, if you burn them too
much."

Kern looked upon Wistril with dawning horror.
"You speak as if you don't plan to be there, Master," he said. "Why
is that?"

Wistril set his jaw. "You have your
instructions, Apprentice," he said. "Stay near the Lady and her
folk. Stay near the larder. I shall have tasks elsewhere."

"Tasks such as defeating an angry jinni?"
said Kern. "I've tried to figure out what you're doing, with all
those spell fragments I assembled," he said. "I still have no idea
what harm any or all of them will do the jinni, or its master."

"A jinni, even bound to the will of one's
mortal enemy, is well nigh invulnerable," said Wistril. "As is the
master who bound it. We shall seek to land no blows upon either,
Apprentice, for all such effort would surely be wasted."

Kern frowned. "What, then?"

"The jinni is most dangerous when it is
bound," said Wistril. "Only a fool would attack it. The jinni's
binding, though -- that is what I seek to destroy."

Kern tilted his head. "How?" he said. "We'll
only have an instant. Just long enough for Herthmore to say 'Get
them,' correct?"

Wistril leaned back on his stool, and for the
first time Kern saw the beginnings of a smug half-smile begin to
shape the wizard's lips.

"I leave this as an exercise for you,
Apprentice," he said. "Harken back, to the nature of the jinni's
binding, cleverly found out by Lord Essraven. This wretch Herthmore
must answer the jinni's query seven times each day, or see the
jinni unbound, and be doomed. Correct?"

Kern nodded, comprehension dawning.

"And if someone, or something, other than the
jinni were to ask Herthmore its name, he'd have no choice but to
answer," said Wistril. "How is this Herthmore to know which is the
jinni, and which is our haunt?" asked Wistril. "And while Herthmore
replies, he cannot command. And if he slips, if he falters, is he
mis-speaks even once, though he does so in reply to our own Lord
Essraven -- then sad Herthmore has broken the binding, and he is
undone."

Kern paced and spoke. "The spooks. You've set
them at the edge of the spell, ready to fly out the instant it
falls. You've told them to find Herthmore. Told them to whisper in
his ear and speak the jinni's challenge." Kern halted, spread his
hands. "Am I correct?"

Wistril nodded, once. "I commend you,
Apprentice," he said. "That is the bulk of my plan."

Kern rolled his eyes. "What I haven't
surmised is what the all-powerful jinni will be doing, while this
is going on," said Kern. "Do you really believe it will just hover
quietly by and let Essraven and the lads whisper things in its
master's ears?"

"I do not doubt the jinni has instructions to
safeguard its master from attack," said Wistril. "But the jinni is,
by nature, a treacherous and cunning beast. Unless Herthmore's
instructions specifically refer to haunts and whispered queries
concerning the jinni's name, I believe the jinni will do nothing,
save watch and bide its time."

Kern sighed.

"And the rest of your clever plot?" he said.
"Does it involve banishing the jinni, once it is freed?"

"It is true my plan has other elements," said
Wistril. "But it is also true that I am relying on the malice of
the jinni to be to our advantage. Of course it will see my
intention, Apprentice. I hope it will also see a way to set itself
free. I believe we can rely on the jinni's inherent treachery, in
that regard."

"And these?" said Kern, lifting the wands.
"Why these, if you're so sure of victory?"

"We shall loose the haunts," said Wistril.
"Loose the haunts, and then you shall bring the wands together, and
even if the jinni desires vengeance on the whole of Kauph, it shall
wait two years to do it," said the wizard. "If freed, I do not
believe it will wait, here in this hated realm. Nor do I believe it
will stay and bother to search out every second of every minute of
every day touched by the wand-spell."

Wistril mopped his bald forehead with a
handkerchief. "It is the best that I can do, Apprentice. Confound
it. It shall have to suffice."

"And the Baron?" said Kern.

Wistril scowled. "Oh, I have not forgotten
the Baron," he said. "Rest assured, Apprentice. Either way, he
shall pay for his insult to the Lady, to this House, to you. Rest
assured, he shall pay."

Kern bowed. "As you say, Master," he said.
"Is there anything else?"

"No," said Wistril. "Go. Find the Lady. Stay
by her side." He looked at a clock, whirling on a table, and
grimaced.

"Ten hours."

"Ten hours, then." He turned, stopped at the
door, cleared his throat. "Um, Master," he said. "For what it's
worth, she's a remarkable lady. I take back everything I said, and
how I said it. You've done the right thing, and we're proud, every
one from Sir Knobby on down."

Wistril turned, and vanished, and Kern opened
the door.

"Ten hours," said Kern. The wands pulled
against his grasp, drawn together by the force of the halved
spell.

"Not yet," said Kern, drawing them apart.
"This isn't over yet." He hurried down the Hall, hearing clocks
whirl and tick all the way.

Two hours, three hours, five hours, eight.
Kern marked them off, fighting off yawns with strong black coffee
and meeting the frightened eyes of those about him with smiles and
swaggering banter.

By the ninth hour, everyone was gathered in
the Great Hall. Kern waited until the doors were shut, and then he
counted heads; twenty-two people, counting himself, and eighty-six
gargoyles, including Sir Knobby. That meant nearly three hundred of
Wistril's staff was hiding in the woods beyond the castle; Kern
wondered just what they were up to while he hoped they were doing
it quietly.

Wistril, though, was not in the Hall. Nor was
Lady Emmerbee, Genner, or Sir Knobby. Kern assured all those who
asked that his master and theirs were merely preparing for the
confrontation to come, but he could tell they were less than
completely reassured.