Wistril Compleat (10 page)

"I shall," said Kern. "I just hope the Baron
doesn't decide to park his boots under your table for the winter,
once he learns you've fled in disgrace," he added.

"He will not. He is leaving at first light,
heading for Ollabat, where his wizard has located the Lady
Emmerbee," he said. "Kauph vanquished, the Lady in his grasp. Bah.
He will be gone, Apprentice, and after airing the Towers and
restocking the larder, we will be none the worse. Other Houses have
not fared so well, when faced with the good Baron's presence."

Kern nodded. "And your fiancée?" he asked.
"What if the Baron finds her at Ollabat?"

"Apprentice!" said Wistril, his voice nearly
at a bellow, until Kern made frantic shushing noises and the
wizard's tone grew calmer. "I am not such a craven fiend that I
would trade the safety of a woman for the departure of a rude
houseguest. I have managed to speak briefly with the Lady herself;
the Baron will arrive, to find her fled, and the tracks shall lead
him north toward Novin," said the wizard. "All the while, of
course, the lady shall turn south, and make for the Sea."

"You have been busy," said Kern. "And I
didn't mean..."

"Yes, yes, we are both perhaps both sorely
tried," said the wizard. Kern heard another voice whisper, and the
wizard spoke again.

"I must go," he said. "Do as I have
said."

Kern nodded. And then he was alone, except
for the four untapped ale-kegs and a rat he fervently hoped was
merely part of Wistril's remaining glamour.

"All empty," he said, aloud. "Alas. No
feasting tonight."

A shadow flew quickly past, and when it was
gone the bare-tailed, red-eyed rat looked Kern in the eye and
winked before scurrying off into the shadows.

Kern put out the wall-lamp and felt his way
quickly for the door.

Kern awoke. He heard men cursing and the
Baron bellowing and horses neighing. When he smelled smoke waft up
through his window, he leaped from his bed and raced for his door,
only to be met by Sir Knobby and Wistril.

"Master," said Kern, as softly as he could.
"They've set us afire!"

"Yes," said Wistril. "Specifically, they've
stacked beer-barrels at the foot of the South Tower and ignited
them. Oh, and they broke most of the furniture and tossed it on the
heap, as well," said Wistril.

Kern struggled to hitch up his pants. "And?"
He said. "Are we to stand here and let it burn?"

Wistril shrugged. "The South Tower was in
need of a thorough cleaning," he said. "I fear I have let it become
a haven for rubbish. If the Baron's men are inclined to haul it out
and burn it, well, so be it."

"And the rest of the keep?"

"Is quite safe, I assure you," said Wistril.
He glanced past Kern and toward his bedroom window. "See? They
depart!"

Kern hurried to the window, and peeked
through it.

The Baron and his mounted officers wheeled
and galloped through Wistril's courtyard. The Baron bellowed and
threw the two torches he bore, as did half a dozen of his men. Then
he rode toward the open, sagging gate, and with a final
contemptuous kick at one of Wistril's herb-filled window boxes, he
charged through the gate and bade his men follow.

Smoke billowed and rose behind them, and a
harsh, growing crackling filled the air.

Wistril waited a moment, until the last of
the hoof beats died away. Then he lifted his hands, and closed his
eyes, and a shadow, like that of a fast cloud on a sunny day,
passed over the keep and the courtyard and the billowing towers of
smoke.

And when the shadow passed, Kauph was whole
again. The walls were straight and strong, and the Towers, while
they neither soared nor brooded, were sturdy and whole and, Kern
noted with intense relief, notably lacking any engulfing sheets of
fire.

The billowing smoke, though it continued to
rise, did so silently and without heat or sound. The burning
barrels at the base of the South Tower were extinguished so
suddenly and completely they neither smoked nor sparked; indeed,
the only signs of any distress lay in Wistril's trampled
rose-garden, the wreck of a single gazebo, and the charred ruin of
the schooner, of which only the mast and part of the rudder
remained.

"Shut the gates," said Wistril, and two dozen
gargoyles sprang from hiding among the towers and walls and rushed
to close the gates. "Close them, and lock them, and let us all
gather in the Great Hall for refreshment," he said. He lifted his
voice, and more gargoyles appeared, seeming to Kern to step out of
the stones themselves. "You have borne hardship without complaint,
and peril without flinching," said the wizard. "I commend you, and
I honor you, and most of all I thank you," he said. He turned to
Kern, and motioned him toward the door. "To the Great Hall,
Apprentice," he said. "We have but four barrels of beer and a brace
of ducks, but all shall partake this night."

Kern bowed, and made for the stairs. As he
turned at his door, he realized that Sir Knobby had remained at the
window, his bat-ears fanned out, his eyes alert and narrowed.

"What is it?" asked Kern. "They're gone,
aren't they?"

Sir Knobby nodded affirmative, and shrugged,
and turned away from the window. But Kern saw worry in his eyes,
and when Wistril was out of sight he fell in step beside Sir Knobby
and whispered to him. "If you'd feel better about having half a
dozen of the lads at each end of the road tonight, I'm sure that
Master wouldn't mind," he said. "But let's not mention it and spoil
the evening. Agreed?"

Sir Knobby hooted softly, and scurried away
to fetch his fellows, and soon Wistril was bellowing for Kern to
hurry before the ale was gone.

Four barrels of beer hadn't lasted long, and
Kern was glad of it. Soon, he and Wistril made for the study, where
they sat at their desks in the dark and listened as the
goblin-clock ticked and a cool breeze blew in past the empty
window-frames.

"All right," said Kern, after a time. "You're
dying to gloat, Master. So tell me. What was the source of the
Baron's wizard's power?" he asked, careful not to pronounce the
name in Wistril's presence. "And how did you find the Lady to warn
her?"

Wistril settled back in his chair and smiled.
"He is hardly a wizard," he said. "There is no word for it in
Oomish, or Kingdom, save perhaps sorcerer," he said.

"Sorcerer?" asked Kern. "You mean he traffics
with beings of darkness?"

"Worse," said Wistril. He shook his head in
disgust. "He has no power of his own, Apprentice. None at all, save
a single name. The name of a being called a jinni," said the
wizard. "A being so malign and powerful only a fool would dare
summon it, much less bind it to him. But the Baron's wizard is a
fool, and doomed, for he has done just that."

"I've never heard of a jinni," said Kern.
"What is it?"

"It is old and cunning and malicious," said
Wistril. "And powerful. It could tear these walls to shreds, and
swallow all my magics, were it to be loosed upon us," he said. "It
is not of this world, Apprentice, because this world could never
hold it," he added. "And one day, it shall devour that fool, and
spit his bones through its teeth."

Kern nodded. "We had that sleeping in our
guest room?" he asked.

"We did," said Wistril. "You see why I
allowed the Baron's abuses to continue without challenge," he said.
"A word to his sorcerer, and Kauph would have been no more."

Kern recalled the man's black eyes, and
shuddered. "Fine," he said. "I'm glad the Baron's bed wasn't too
lumpy." He frowned. "If this jinni is so powerful, how does a
mumbler like what's-his-name control it?" he asked.

"At first, I could not say," said Wistril. "I
watched him, that first night we dined. Soon, I perceived the
winged monstrosity that flitted close about him. I divined
something of its nature -- but it was not until good Lord Essraven
became our spy that I knew the wizard's secret."

Kern sighed. "Which is?"

"The jinni hovers close about its master,"
said Wistril. "Seven times a day, it brings itself close, and
whispers in his ear. 'What is my name, by which I am bound?' it
says. 'What is my name?'"

"And he has to answer," said Kern. "Or
else."

"Or else indeed," said Wistril. "One does not
speak the name of a jinni lightly. Each utterance of each syllable
causes intense and lingering pain; each speaking of the word
wrenches another bit of life from the speaker. But speak it he
must. For if he stumbles, if he stutters, if he misses the most
subtle nuance, the least inflection -- if he does that, Apprentice,
he is lost. Lost, and doomed, for the jinni is no longer bound to
him. And an unbound jinni bent on vengeance?" Wistril shrugged.
"What would drive a man to enter into such a thing, knowing the
inevitable end to it?"

Kern shook his head. "I'm less interested in
his fate than ours, Master," said Kern. "Are you sure they won't be
back?"

"Back?" Said Wistril. "Why the devil should
they come back?" he asked. "They emptied my larder, drank my ale,
burned my Towers," he said. "I hardly think such a band of ruffians
will climb the mountain again just to kick down the ashes."

Kern yawned. Just beyond the glass-less
windows, an owl hooted, and deep in the pine forest beyond the Keep
the wumpus cat howled at the moon.

"You mentioned the other Houses," said Kern.
"Have you been in communication with them?"

"I have," he said. "It seems the Lady sought
refuge at five other Houses, before ours. Five times she pleaded;
five times the Baron arrived, and blood was shed, and she barely
escaped with her life and honor intact."

"Five times?" Kern whistled. "How big is her
army, Master?" he said.

"She has twenty in her band," said
Wistril.

Kern went wide-eyed.

"The Lady Emmerbee is something of an unusual
woman," said Wistril, and Kern heard the grudging admiration in
Wistril's voice. "Not once did she beg me for pity, nor did she
mention the wedding suit," he said. "In fact, she hardly mentioned
the Baron at all."

"You've spoken to her?" said Kern.
"Recently?"

"Three nights ago," said Wistril, airily.
"She has a glass, and demonstrated some small proficiency in its
use."

"Heaven and Hades, Master," said Kern. "You
used a glass with jinnis peeking through all the windows?"

"Lord Essraven assured me the jinni was away,
searching the Mist Marsh as it was ordered," said Wistril. "As the
Lady had taken refuge in the ruins of the Wayson house outside
Ollabat."

"The Wayson house? The Wayson house infested
with vampires?" said Kern.

"I used the same term myself," said Wistril.
"'Infested.' The Lady Emmerbee assured me she was getting along
famously with them, and was even interviewing the inhabitants for
an article she hopes to submit to the Review Thaumaturgica next
Spring."

Kern rubbed his eyes. "Wait a moment, wait a
moment," he said. "The Lady has led her band of twenty across the
width of the Kingdom, eluding the Baron at every turn," he said.
"And just the other night she called you on the glass to tell you
she was interviewing a family of vampires to publish an article in
Thaumturgica next year?" Kern rose from his desk. "Master, why
didn't we send for her to rescue us?"

"Bah," said Wistril. "You are
overwrought."

"I am indeed," said Kern. He pushed back his
chair, and crossed to the front of his desk. "I'm for bed," he
said. "Please let me know if any of your other lady-loves send
letters. I'd like to have time to pack before the Baron and his
jinnis come back to stay the winter."

Wistril closed his eyes, and vanished.

Kern stomped all the way to his bed-room.

"There," said Kern, rubbing his
pitch-blackened hands on a rag. "The house of Kauph shall go
thirsty no more."

Before him, twenty-eight head-high barrels of
Laughing Horse ale rested in the cool East Tower cellar. Above him
the larder was stocked with fat smoked hams and ranks of canned
vegetables. Two dozen Marchland turkeys, smoked and hanging from
hooks, hung in the back of the cellar; Kern was sure that Wistril
still shuffled among them, pinching this, glaring at that,
conferring with Cook in hoots and signs as he planned the month's
menus.

All is well, thought Kern -- and no sooner
had he thought it, than the sound of a badly-played trumpet rang
out.

Kern dropped his rag and raced for the
stairs. The trumpet sounded gain, and a dozen gargoyles answered,
and by then Kern was up the stair and blinking in the sun.

Wistril met him at the gate.

"What is it, Master?" said Kern.

Sir Knobby's flapping shadow darkened the
ground before them, and in a moment Sir Knobby himself settled
lightly on the ground and folded his wings. "Hoot," he said.

Wistril went pale.

"No," he said.

"Hoot!"

Kern snapped his fingers in Wistril's face.
"Master?" he said. "What is it?"

"The Lady Emmerbee," said Wistril. "She has
started up the mountain."

Kern frowned. "I thought she was supposed to
head south," he said. "Still, why all the fuss? You yourself said
she was a remarkable woman. Don't you think you can just explain to
her that Kauph is doomed to bachelorhood?"

"The Baron and his army are close on her
heels," said Wistril. "She cannot turn back now. She was trapped,
as soon as she set foot upon our road."

Kern fell silent. "I suppose what's-his-name
still has a pet jinni?"

"I fear he does," said Wistril.

Kern sighed. "Then there's nothing you can
do, is there?" he said.

Wistril glared. Kern knew he could not hear
the hoof-beats, or the strained, gurgling breathing of the horses,
or see the hopelessness on the faces of the Lady or her band, once
they knew the Baron was behind and Wistril's gate ahead, and
nothing but a sheer, killing fall to one side and rock to the
other. Kern knew neither he nor Wistril could see that -- but he
decided than that Wistril wasn't looking down the mountain road,
but back across the years, instead. Looking back in the eyes of a
little girl he'd met a but for a single time. A little girl he'd
vowed to marry one day, if she ever came calling.