Warlock

by Andre Norton

  "My apologies, gentle fem. Waystar is rich in many things—including odors, but not of the kind your people delight in. So let us return to business before you discover you can no longer get any reviving sniffs from your supply of lily petals. Your message was received. Perhaps I can serve you, perhaps not—there are difficulties, and arrangements." Again he smiled.

  Yasa's smile matched his, with some of the same merciless quality in it. "Of a truth, how could it be otherwise? I am prepared, Sreng, to discuss it at length."

  For a moment there was silence as their eyes met. Ziantha knew that any bargaining would be a fiercely fought action. But, since they needed each other, terms would eventually be met. The Salarika had not given her much information as to what they sought here at Waystar, save to say that the riddle of where the artifact might have come from would be best answered by those she could meet there.

  "We have used the computer to reckon the coordinates which you sent us," he said. Perhaps Yasa's recognition of the need for bargaining satisfied Sreng. "There is a possible mapping. What do you do now?"

  Yasa looked to Ziantha. "We shall search—"

  Ziantha's hands tightened on the box she held. She knew what Yasa meant, but she mistrusted her own powers for this; she was not trained to it. What if she could not deliver? Did this Sreng have some sensitive of his own who would then take over? But that would mean relinquishing the box's contents to another, and she believed that Yasa would consent to that only on direst necessity.

  The technique of such a search was age old, known to every sensitive. But not all had the talent to use it effectively. And, while she knew it had been applied to planet maps, could it be so used on a star map? She hoped that Yasa did not expect too much, and that they might lose advantage to this veep because she, Ziantha, could not search.

  "We need rest, a little," Yasa said now with a certain note of authority in her voice which argued that she considered herself, even in Waystar, to be also a veep whose well-being was to be reckoned on.

  "Your desire is my wish—" He made a mockery of that formal reply. "SSssfani will show you to quarters, which, though most rough compared to your own holding, gentle fem, are unfortunately the best we can offer. When you are ready, you have only to send word and we shall to work."

  The Wyvern led them farther along the same corridor to a chamber furnished with the same looted jumble. When he had departed Yasa turned briskly to the girl.

  "Rest you well, cubling. It now lies on you—" As she spoke her hands moved under the edge of her shoulder scarf in a complicated pattern. Ziantha read the signals.

  Snooper rays! Of course in such a place as this those were to be suspected. She probably dared not even try mind-touch—they would be surrounded by more than one type of detect.

  "I shall do my best, Lady." She settled on an eazi-rest, which adjusted to her comfort more smoothly than she expected from its battered appearance. Yasa had gone to the food server on the wall and was fingering the dial as she read its code. She sniffed.

  "Limited, but at least it will keep life in our bodies—all synthetics. Not much better than E-rations." She seemed only too willing to give her opinion, especially if their host was listening.

  Ziantha made do with the tube of concentrate which was Yasa's selection. It was highly nourishing, she knew, even if there was a flatness of taste. She lay back in the eazi-rest. One part of her dreaded the coming test; another wanted it to happen as soon as possible, to learn if it would be success or failure. But here she must follow Yasa's lead. She was supposed to be resting, though her anticipation would not allow that.

  There was something else. As she lay back and closed her eyes, clearing her mind, building up her psychic energy, she was aware of a—stirring. In no other way could she describe that odd, disquieting feeling that nibbled at the edge of her inner awareness.

  A little alarmed, Ziantha concentrated on that area of faint disturbance. The sensation came and went like the lightest of nudges. Now she was sure that it was not born from some layer of her own subconscious. She was being scanned! Though the touch was so faint she could not hope to trace it.

  But perhaps Sreng had a sensitive trying her. Only this—Ziantha could not push away the thought that that touch was not trying to gauge her strength of talent— It was—

  Confused, she raised her defenses. What had she sensed in that moment or two? Mind-touch. However not with the force she expected from a test. Rather as if some questing net had been thrown over Waystar, or this portion of it, merely to see if there was another sensitive within range.

  Ziantha tried to be logical. Sreng would have known in advance who and what she was. Yasa would have made no secret of it. This could be some rival of the veep, intent on gaining knowledge—it could be a Guild representative checking on Yasa. Whoever it was, she believed it the enemy.

  But she had so little to give Yasa in confirmation of what she had felt. Best keep quiet until she was entirely sure that she had been touched. Only, keep her own defenses up from now on.

  The girl was still on the alert when they returned to Sreng's crowded room, where there was now a difference. Some of the furniture had been ruthlessly cleared away to make room for a table on which was spread a star map. To Ziantha it had little meaning, since she was no astrogator. But that would argue in her behalf if she received any message from the artifact. Concentrating on the lump, even as she unboxed and held it between her hands, she moved it out to hold over the map, beginning a slow progress from left corner to right. So far there was nothing in return.

  She had covered nearly three quarters of the map when there was a change. It was as if the lump warmed to life. From it came a sharp mental picture, so very clear that she felt as if what she saw existed, that she could reach out and touch a rock, a wind-blown bush!

  "Rocks—" she spoke without knowing she did so until she heard her own voice. "There are trees, a road—yes, a road—it leads to— No!" She might have hurled the lump from her at that moment, but it was as if her own flesh were fastened to its surface and she could not free herself from that touch any more than she could free herself from the cloud of terror that entrapped her, until that was all the world and there was nothing else. She thought she screamed—cried for help!

  The cloak of fear fell away, leaving her sobbing, so shaken she was weak and would have fallen had Yasa not supported her.

  "Death—death! Death in the dark. In the tomb with Turan—death!"

  Who was Turan? Now she could not remember. She must not! Sreng leaned over the table to make quick marks on the map. The lump was free now in her hold. She thrust it away from her so that it slid along the map, would have fallen to the floor had not Sreng caught it, keeping his hand upon it as he looked at them.

  "A tomb as you guessed, gentle fem," he spoke to Yasa. "Dare we hope unlooted? At least this system is unknown according to our records. Which is a good sign. What else have you learned, girl? This piece has been in your keeping; surely you have picked up more."

  Dumbly Ziantha shook her head. She was still shaking from the aftermath of that panic.

  "It is death—death waiting—" she said dully.

  "Death waits in every tomb," commented Yasa. "But whatever was there to frighten has long since gone. This is true Forerunner."

  "Which in no way certifies that all danger has been eradicated by time," was Sreng's answer. "Though the rewards may be beyond price, the danger can be great. Sometimes there are traps. One may find a Scroll of Shlan or be crushed by an ingenious deadfall."

  Yasa smiled. "Does not one each day play a game of chance? I did not come here to listen to warn-offs, nor are you one to sit and give them, Sreng—unless time has softened you. You speak of Shlan—that emperor who was buried with the greatest art treasure of his time encasing his body as a shroud. And that is only one of the finds that has been made. What of Var, and Llanfer, and the Gardens of Arzor, the whole planet of Limbo? Do I need to list the others? This is a chance to hunt
in a section where no one else has yet searched."

  Sreng looked at the chart. "At least not yet," he said. "If Jucundus—"

  Yasa interrupted him. "He has made no move, we know that. But it may be a matter of time. He needs only to have a psychometric reading. However"—she smiled again—"if he has not, he cannot now."

  "You"—the veep turned to Ziantha—"this Turan you babbled of, who was he?"

  She did not hold that memory. "It is a name, no more."

  His stare did not change, but she believed he thought she was lying. What would happen now? Would he put her under a scanner? She was so afraid, she could not control the tremor in her hands, waiting for that fate to come. But he said nothing, instead looked again at the lump, rubbing one finger across its back.

  Ziantha stiffened. Had he detected the seam? Would he now open it? Instead, he gave the artifact a push in her direction.

  "Keep it with you, girl. I am told the power of these things increases if they continue in a sensitive's hold. We shall need your direction again. It is well"—he spoke now to Yasa—"this is worth the use of a ship. Iuban is in orbit. He had only an abortive raid on Fenris and is under obligation to me for supplies. A class D Free Trader convert. Rough travel, gentle fems—"

  "Deep sleep will answer that," Yasa returned. "We have no wish to be cabin passengers on such a ship. You will time-lock our sleep boxes."

  "How wise of you, gentle fem," his menace-smile showed two teeth almost as fanglike as Yasa's own. "Deep sleep and time locks—set so myself. Iuban is my man, however." Those last words were a warning which Yasa accepted with a surface good humor. To Ziantha the Salarika veep seemed uncommonly trusting. But perhaps here she could do no more than accept Sreng's arrangements.

  Where was Ogan? Since their transfer to the shuttle which had brought them to Waystar after their first awakening, they had seen nothing of him. But that he was to be ruled out of this venture, Ziantha did not believe.

  The rest of their stay on Waystar was short, and they kept to the chamber Sreng had assigned them. Twice more Ziantha was aware of that illusive scan. It had first alarmed her, but later she sought it, her curiosity aroused. It was not mechanically induced, of that she was certain. The touch was that of a living entity—Ogan? But the wave length seemed different. And she thought it was not seeking her so much as pursuing some purpose of its own.

  They joined Iuban's ship and were again boxed for the voyage. From what Ziantha had seen of the ship and its crew, to be so sealed from them was an excellent choice. Once more she prepared to sleep away time with the lump beside her. If she had dreamed any dreams induced by its proximity before, she had not remembered them, and this second time she did not fear the long sleep.

  When they were aroused, Iuban's ship was already in orbit around a planet, and he summoned Yasa and Ziantha to the control cabin to watch through the visa-screen the changing view of the world below.

  "Where do we set down, gentle fem?" he asked harshly.

  He was young, or young seeming, for his command, and not unhandsome—until one saw the dead chill of his eyes, which made him the semblance of a man without warmth or emotion. Perhaps he was of mutation or crossbreed, for his hands were six-fingered and his ears mere holes. By the way his space tunic fitted Ziantha guessed that he had other body peculiarities.

  It was plain that he had tight command of his motley crew. And it was also apparent that he united in his person the ruthlessness of a top-rated Jack captain with an intelligence that might differ in part from the Terran but in its own way was of a high level.

  Yasa put her hand on Ziantha's arm. "Where?" she asked the girl. "Have you any guide?"

  As Ziantha hesitated, unable to answer, Iuban uttered an impatient sound. Then he added:

  "We have neither time, manpower, nor supplies, gentle fem, to search the whole planet. Besides"—he touched a button and the scene on the visa-screen sharpened—"that's no territory to search. By the looks, it's been near to a burn-off down there."

  Ziantha had seen in the video-history tapes the records of planets burned off, not only in war, but in some ancient disaster. Some were cinder balls; on others, mutant and ofttimes radioactive vegetation straggled, attempting to keep a few forms of life in the pockets between churned and twisted swaths of soil and recooled molten rock.

  From the picture now flitting before her as the ship swung in orbit, she could see that some disaster, either manmade or a vast convulsion of nature, had struck this unknown world. There were great, deep-riven chasms, their rims knife-sharp; stretches of what could be only deserts, with, at great intervals, some touch of color suggesting vegetation. They were over a sea now, one manifestly shrunken to half its former size.

  But she had no guide—

  Fool! There was Singakok. It was as if a ripple had crossed the screen. She saw a city, rich land around it. Why, she could easily distinguish the Tower of Vut, long avenues, the—

  "There!"

  But even as she cried that aloud, Singakok was gone. There was only rock and more rock. Ziantha shook her head. Singakok—Vut—the avenues—from whence had come those names? How had she seen a city, known it as if she had walked its pavements all her life? They had asked her and she had seen it, as if it were real! Yet it could not have been.

  Iuban no longer gave her any attention. He spoke to the astro-navigator. "Got it?"

  "Within measurable error, yes."

  She must tell them, not let them land because of that weird double flash of sight. Then prudence argued that she leave well enough alone. It might be that the artifact had given her vision of something which had once existed on that site, and, since they had picked up nothing else of any promise that was as good a place as any to begin looking. Yet she was uneasy at Iuban's quick acceptance, and of what might happen should her suggestion prove to be wrong.

  They strapped down for a landing that had to be carefully plotted in that rough country. Nor did they stir from their places until the readings on atmosphere and the like came through. For all its destroyed surface, it registered Arth-type One, and they would be able to explore without helmets and breathing equipment.

  But they had landed close to evening and Yasa and Iuban agreed not to explore until morning. He turned his own cabin over to the women, staying in the control section above. When they were alone Ziantha dared to make plain her fear.

  "This may not be what you wish—" she said in a half-whisper, not knowing if some listening device could be now turned on them.

  "What made you select it then?" Yasa wanted to know.

  Ziantha tried to describe those moments when the picture of Singakok had flowed across the screen, a city which seemingly no longer existed.

  "Singakok, Vut," Yasa repeated the names.

  "That is the closest I can say them," the girl said. "They are from another language—not Basic."

  "Describe this city, try to fix it in your mind," Yasa ordered.

  Detail by detail Ziantha strove to remember that fleeting picture. And she found that the harder she tried to remember, the more points came clearer in her mind. As if even now she could "see" what she strove to describe.

  "I think you have had a true seeing," Yasa commented. "When Ogan arrives, we can—if we have not by then located any trace—entrance you for a far-seeking reading."

  "Then Ogan comes?"

  "Cubling, did you think that I throw away any advantage blindly? We needed Sreng's computer records. In their way they are more complete than even those of Survey, since they deal with sections of the starways even the Survey Scouts have not fully pioneered. But to then meekly make a pact with Waystar—no, that is not what any but a fool would do! Ogan will have traced us. He brings with him those sworn to me alone. Whatever treachery Sreng contemplates through Iuban and such trash will not avail. Now listen well—if we find traces of your city tomorrow, well and good. We must keep Iuban tail down here until Ogan arrives. But play your guiding well; delay all you can—try not to bring us to
this tomb of Turan until we do have reinforcements of our own."

  Tomb of Turan—the words rang in Ziantha's mind. There was a stir deep down—not of memory (how could it be memory?) but of intense fear. She was instantly aware.

  6

  "Ziantha!"

  Not a spoken call to bring her so out of sleep. No, this was a stir within her mind, though it awoke her so she lay in the cramped berth looking into the dark—listening—

  "Ziantha?"

  She had not been dreaming then. Ogan? She sent out a mind-seek before she thought of the danger that Iuban might be equipped with some Guild device to pick up and register such activity.

  "Harath!" Her recognition of the mental force meeting hers was instantaneous and left her bewildered. But Harath must be back on Korwar. Ogan surely had not brought the alien on this foray. And there was no possible method by which mind-touch could cross the stellar distance between this unknown planet and Korwar.

  "What—?" Questions crowded. But the beaming of the other overrode all her own thoughts with the intensity of the message he would deliver.

  "Think—think of me! We must have a reference point."

  Allies after all—this was what Yasa had warned of—her following must be guided in. Obediently Ziantha produced a mental picture of Harath, held that with all the strength she could summon, pushing aside her curiosity in the need for providing a beacon guide to those the Salarika expected.

  As suddenly as a clap of hands a new message came. "It is well."

  She was cut off by the rise of Harath's mind shield. Having what he needed, the alien had severed connections. And Ziantha knew of old that communication could not be renewed without his cooperation.

  The girl turned her head. Through the dim night light she could see Yasa curled up opposite her, hear the soft regularity of her breathing. The Salarika was asleep. Should she wake her, tell her Ogan was on the way?

  But Harath—how had he come into this? No, she would wait until she was sure. Twice before morning she mind-called. But if the alien was still within beam, he would not answer, and she had to accept that.