The War Of The Lance (9 page)

Abruptly, he stiffened. I grabbed his arm with my free one and held it steady for an
instant. I had seen it coming. A red stream, mixed with strands of oozing black, was

running down his arm. His huge, watery eyes focused on his hand with an expression of
complete terror such as I had never seen on a living face before. His eyes rolled up then,
and his body shuddered and went still.

Garith had just learned what the Nerakans had learned about black wax, with the same
results.

I released his body and fell to the floor. I tried to keep myself up on my hands and
knees, but my strength poured out of me now like water through a collapsed dam. In the
background, I could hear Roggis wailing and Orun coughing. The door to the study burst
open, and everyone in the manor surged in to shout and point. But they all kept away from
me. They knew.

“The boys warned me that he wasn't the same!” Roggis was saying, in tears. “I didn't
believe them. When they were killed, he acted as if he didn't care a whit. I thought he
was mad, but I didn't dare speak to him about it. I was afraid he'd become violent. He
hardly seemed himself!”

The racket was fading away, far away. I struggled to get up. It was no use. I'd done what
I'd come back to do. I was more tired than I'd ever been before in my life.

“Evredd,” wheezed a hoarse voice near my ear. “You still there?”

I managed to nod, but that was all. “Good work for a dead boy,” Orun said. "Right on

target." High praise. I wondered if I'd see Garayn and Klart

soon, and my uncle, and what they would say about it. Family business.

I fell forward into the darkness. Everything was right again, and there would be no coming
back.

There was a great blast of steam in the passage through the mountain. Gnomes came sliding
down the rock sides, a few dropping from above and caught, heart- stoppingly, by nets; two
popped out of compressed-air tubes in the ground and tumbled in the air before plummeting
toward a landing-pad near the steam source. One landed on the pad, the other in a bush.
The assembled gnomes pulled levers, rang bells, turned cranks, and shouted directions at
each other without listening to the directions shouted back.

Mara dashed from rock to rock like a child playing hide-and-seek, each sprint taking her
closer to her objective. In her whole life in Arnisson she had never heard this much
whistling, clanking, and general noise. She resisted putting both hands over her ears and
edged quietly and quickly through the assembled gnomes until she arrived at a narrow ledge
at the point where the passageway met the inner crater wall of the mountain. She slid onto
it, staring down in fascination at the array of gantries and cranes and at the almost
continual rain of equipment and gnomes. Far below, she could see a trap door.

A loose cable drifted toward her.

Mara leapt nimbly out of the shadows, catching a hanging cable with her cloth-wrapped
hand. She slid down, touching the mountainside lightly with her feet, then sailing back
into open air. She vanished into a pit in the ground.

She saw above her, in a brief flash, layer on layer of gnome houses and workshops, cranes,
nets, and the occasional flying (or falling) gnome. She congratulated herself on passing
unseen and unheard, but part of her

grudgingly admitted that any gnome who saw her would have assumed she was just testing a
new invention, unless the gnome was also close enough to notice that she was human. And no
one could have heard her over the clanking, whirring, grinding, and intermittent steam
whistles.

The cable swung against the edge of the pit, which was now a skylight, above her. She
climbed up with the rope, pumped with her legs to accelerate its swinging, tucked, sprang,
rolled over in midair and landed noiselessly on the stone floor next to a gnomeflinger.

“Perfect, of course,” she said with satisfaction. Mara unwrapped her hand from the rope,
took three swaggering steps forward, and accidentally knocked down a gnome who was looking
the other way. Mara sprawled backward, legs in the air and arms flailing.

The gnome scrambled up and offered her a hand. “Awfully sorry; it was my fault, after all
I was busy thinking, there must be a defect in the - ”

“It was my fault really,” she began. “I'm sorry - ” Then she realized that he hadn't
stopped talking.

“ - a little borrowed hydraulic gear would make it more efficient yet, if it didn't make
it top-heavy - and a spring with a trigger-catch might store the energy - ”

“Stop.” He did. “Now,” Mara said, “what are you talking about?” “I was just telling you,”
the gnome said impatiently,

“about the idea I had when I watched you trying to sneak down here - ”

“You saw me coming?” She sagged slightly.

“ - and I thought, if people are going to jump through the air, which I hadn't considered
- until I saw you; you were obvious - we need precautions because of the gnomeflingers.”
His eyes, a light violet, all but glowed. “We all need bumpers. Yes. Being-bumpers,
employing my sensors. Large, high-tension fenders suspended from our shoulders to absorb
the shock. They'd have metal frames, cloth padding on the outside - ”

“They sound awfully heavy,” Mara objected. She was quite young, and slightly built,
compared to the gnome.

“Then we'd add wheels to it,” he continued without pausing, "And a spring-loaded axle for
each wheel, and a

governor to keep the axles balanced - “ ”Who could move with all that on?“ ” - and a motor
to move the whole thing," the gnome

finished firmly. “How do you expect to walk anywhere, if you don't use a motor? Youngsters
these days.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled at her. “Excuse me.” Pulling a bulky pen from
a loop on his belt, he tucked his chin and began drawing frantic, jagged lines across his
shirt - a shirt that was already covered with sketches of wooden frames, toothed and worm
gears, and interlocking systems of pulleys. One design started on his belly and moved
through conduits and guy ropes all down his left sleeve.

The gnome looked up and saw Mara staring at him. “Well, I can't always find a sheet of
paper when a thought strikes,” he said with some asperity.

“Is each shirt a different project?”

“Of course not. In fact, some designs are on five or six different shirts. I keep hoping,”
he said wistfully, “that some day I'll be able to cross-index them, but every time I even
get close, I need to do laundry. And here you are.” He peered at her. “Speaking of you,
are you someone I should know?”

“Everyone should,” Mara said proudly, standing very straight.

“Everyone doesn't,” the gnome said thoughtfully, “because I don't. Who are you?”

“I am known,” she said with a bow and flourish, “as Mara the Wild.” She did a standing
flip. “Also Mara the Clever.” She tapped the gnome's pockets significantly. “Also,” she
said in a loud whisper, “Mara the Queen of Thieves.”

The gnome blinked. “Goodness,” he said disapprovingly, “have you stolen much?”

“Not - much,” the Queen of Thieves admitted. She scuffed her toe on the tunnel floor. “Not
anything, in fact.” This was why, after announcing her current planned heist to her
family, she was also known as Mara the Dangerously Stupid.

She looked defiantly at the gnome. “But I'm sure that I could steal something if it was
really important. I am also,” she said demurely, “a woman of dazzling beauty, whom all men
worship and crave.” She coyly brushed at her short-cropped dark hair.

The gnome only looked at her.

“Okay,” Mara said grudgingly, “so I won't be a woman of dazzling beauty for a couple of
years. It's going to happen, I promise.”

“I hope,” he said seriously, “that you can accept all that worship and craving without
becoming overly vain.”

Mara smiled and, in the absence of a mirror, admired her slender shadow against the rock
wall. “I'm sure I'll manage perfectly. Anyway, what's your name?”

The gnome immediately went on at some length, pausing for breath in what were clearly
accustomed places.

“I only asked your name,” Mara broke in finally.

The gnome looked disconcerted. “I'm not even halfway through it.”

“Maybe I asked the wrong question. What does your name mean to humans?”

He nodded. “It's very descriptive, even for my people, and surprisingly apropos. I'm known
among humans as He Who Will Not Stand Upon Accepted Science, But Will Research Back Into
Dangerous and Even Unworkable Ideas, Nor Will He Stand on Conventional Testing, But Will
Fall Back on Hazardous and Injurious Techniques, and Will Stand up for Belief in
Technology, Which, Back Before the Great Cataclysm - ”

“What,” Mara said desperately, “do humans call you for short?”

The gnome said simply, “Standback.” Mara leaped back. “No, no,” said the gnome. "That's my
name.

Standback.“ ”Are you an inventor? Where's your workshop? Do

you do all your work down here? You're not going to tell anyone you've seen me, are you?"

Poor Standback had no idea how to answer four questions thoroughly without taking a month
off. “Would it upset you terribly if I answered in brief?” he said diffidently.

Mara, realizing with a shudder how narrowly she had avoided dying of old age during a
participial phrase, put a hand on the gnome's arm. “Please, take as little of your
research time as possible.”

Standback was flattered and grateful. He

concentrated. “Yes, I'm an inventor. These tunnels are my work area; I know they don't
look like much, but they're roomy. I do all my work here. And no, I won't tell anyone I've
seen you,” he finished with slight melancholy, “because there's no one else to tell. I'm
the only one - down here. It's nice to talk to somebody. Where are you from?”

Mara assumed an heroic stance, arms folded across her thin chest. “I am from Arnisson, a
village under siege, desperate to keep itself free from the cruel talons of the draconian
army. We are under the command of a lone Knight of Solamnia, a former townsman named
Kalend. He's a friend of my older brother's,” she sighed and her voice softened. “Kalend's
nice, and he thinks I'M wonderful, but that's really not that surprising, because I'm
ravishingly beautiful.” She sighed again, this time in dejection. “Though I do wish he'd
stop calling me 'little girl' all the time. Anyway, when I met him on the rampart walls a
few nights ago, I asked him if we were likely to survive, and he said not really, but if
the draconians attacked too early or while they thought we were unprepared, we still might
win. And he said that if he had even one working gnome weapon, we'd stand a chance. And I
think he meant it,” she added sincerely.

She went on and on - some about the draconians, some about how dire the situation was, but
mostly about Kalend, who grew taller and better looking as her story progressed. Standback
nodded frequently.

“And so,” she said, resuming the heroic stance, “I left Arnisson that very night. I left
unseen,” she added, pausing and staring at Standback earnestly.

“Unseen,” he echoed dutifully.

“Exactly.” She stared into space. "Stealthily creeping out under the cover of darkness, I,
alone, crawling through the enemy camp . . .

She went on again for quite some time, not bothering much about the truth, which was
actually pretty boring and she was sure no one wanted to hear anyway.

Standback listened patiently, feeling only a little put out that she had been going on
like that after making him be brief. When she finished, he said, “But why did you come?”

“What?” Mara brought herself back to being Queen of

Thieves. “I came here,” she began boldly, then faltered as she realized how it would
sound, “to - borrow, or - get, or somehow - take - okay, STEAL some gnome weaponry for the
war with the draconians.” She was blushing.

Standback decided that he liked her, but he wasn't sure how sensible she was.

“Gnome technology is famous throughout Krynn,” Mara added wheedlingly, with some truth.
FAMOUS and INFAMOUS were fairly close. “There are legends of past great weapons. The
Knights of Solamnia still speak of your poison gas - ”

“Yes, well,” Standback said uncomfortably, "it was supposed to make us invisible, you
know. Still, not a total loss;

it does wonders for pest control down here. Mostly." He glanced from side to side.

“Mostly?” Mara jumped as a loud chittering sound flew by her ear. She whirled, but saw
nothing.

“We ran out of the original batch lately, so we made a new one. It doesn't seem to kill
them any more.” Standback ducked as a flapping sound passed near his head. “Lately it just
makes them invisible.”

Mara looked around nervously. The tunnel, at the bottom of the crater that formed Mount
Nevermind, was rough-hewn rock scored by some huge excavating blade and riddled with drill
holes and iron bolts. Ropes and cables hung every which way, with pulleys, blocks and
tackles, and crane tracks running the length of the ceiling.

Though there were no torches, the tunnel was quite bright. Mara gingerly felt the walls;
they were warm to the touch, but nowhere near hot enough to give off light. “How are these
tunnels lit?”

Standback pointed to the glowing fungi on the wall. “We cultivated them for food.
Fortunately, the ones we cultivated for light are quite tasty.” He mused, “You know, we'd
like to do more with biological engineering. It's the technology of the future.”

“Or the end of the world,” Mara muttered. She was beginning to worry, marginally, about
the wisdom of stealing gnome inventions. However, if the wise and wonderful Kalend. Knight
of Solamnia, believed in gnome technology... “Could you show me some of your weapons?”

“I would love to,” Standback said unhesitatingly and formally. “This way, please.”

They moved down the junk-strewn tunnel. “You seem awfully at ease with women, even
startlingly beautiful ones,” Mara told him.

Standback was silent - a rare condition for a gnome. Finally he said, “Perhaps that is
because I love someone.”

“Really?” Mara was fascinated. “What's she like?”

Standback Went on at length about the exquisite curve of her left little finger.

“Okay, we'll take it that she's pretty. What's her name? Her human name,” Mara added
hastily.

“It's very beautiful.” Standback stared upward dreamily. “She's called Watch As Her
Machines Move In and Out, Like a Night Watchman Blowing Out A Candle to Light a Lamp of
Such Incredible - ”

“The short form.” “Watchout.” He sighed. Mara nodded. "Standback and Watchout. You were

made for each other.“ ”I think so,“ he said sadly, ”and she thinks so. But

unless things change, it can never be.“ ”Why?" Mara asked sympathetically. Standback
glowered and said suddenly, gnome-to-

gnome, “Thatisabsolutelytheworstpart - ” “What?” He took a shuddering breath and said in
slower human

fashion, “That is absolutely the worst part of this whole business. I have not as yet
received approval for my Life Quest.”

“Your what?”

“My Life Quest. My one achievement, my one goal. It is to be the sensors that go into the
burglar alarms. I've already designed them and put them in place throughout Mount
Nevermind.”

Mara, remembering how she had slipped in without setting any off, murmured, “Still in the
development stage, I guess.”

“Oh, no; they're highly functional. By the way, how did you pass them?”

“I made an elaborate and clever plan to drop from the top of the crater by rope on a winch
. . .” Mara hesitated. Standback shook his head. "Impossible. I have every

passage, every window, every cranny and cut of the outer mountain covered by a sensor. How
did your plan work?" -