THE WIZARD HUNTERS

by Martha Wells

  Taking a wavering step to the next block, her mind still on the coincidental resemblance to her play’s setting, Tremaine said, “I wonder what kind of people lived here.” Above the waterline small pale lizards flashed away from their light.

  “Humans, you mean?” Florian asked, taking Gerard’s outstretched hand to help her to the next block. “This place looks like it was built by giants.”

  “There is evidence of a race of giants that inhabited part of Ile-Rien and the Low Countries hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago,” Gerard admitted. “They’ve found similar remains on the Tiakar Plateau in Parscia. Not underwater, of course.”

  “That’s comforting.” Tremaine nodded, not comforted at all. She was having a hard time not imagining large clawed hands reaching up out of that water and grabbing them. The still surface seemed made for something horrible to burst up out of it. The fact that this had actually occurred in her play didn’t help.

  Florian gave her a skeptical glance. “If they were still here, there’d be brackets for lamps, or pipes, or electric wires, or something. They couldn’t live in the dark.”

  “Albino giants that can see in the dark, like bats,” Tremaine countered.

  “With fangs?”

  Gerard paused to indicate a doorway between two of the huge pillars, leading into a small room empty except for seawater. “That doorway and the tunnel passage would not accommodate giants.”

  “Oh.”

  Gerard had to douse the spell light again to let them get their bearings, but the daylight was even brighter this time. There was another bridge, this one with a roof, blocking their view, but once they passed under it they could see the gray light was coming through an archway at the top of a low ramp. The breeze carried the dead fish smell Tremaine associated with every seaport she had ever visited.

  They reached the ramp without anyone falling in, but the slick muck covering the stone made it a far more difficult proposition than anything else so far and Tremaine was glad for her rubber-soled half boots. Florian drew a little ahead as she and Gerard scuffed and scraped their way to the top, so that when they reached her the girl was standing transfixed by the sight ahead.

  Tremaine took a startled breath. It was an enclosed cove, a lagoon sheltered by a high rocky vault arching overhead. A jagged opening at the far end allowed in daylight and fog drifting in from the open sea. The shore of the cove had once been a harbor; she could still see the stone platforms and breakwaters built out into it, the square pillars sunk into the water as pilings where the ships had once tied up. Now those platforms and the narrow slips between were jammed with wrecked hulls, wooden skeletons of craft of all different sizes. The wrecks formed a forest of broken masts, decaying sailcloth hanging like shrouds, rotted ropes like spiders’ webs. Some were capsized and submerged, some were smashed in heaps up on the stone bank, as if dropped there by a terrible gale. At least no one could doubt now that she had seen a ship, Tremaine decided ruefully, looking over the destruction.

  “Good God,” Gerard murmured.

  The smell of rot tinged the breeze that came from the sea entrance. This was old carnage, Tremaine realized with a little relief. Still, the destruction was disturbing on a whole other level, like the crater the Gardier’s attacks had caused in Riverside. “Must have been some storm,” she commented uneasily.

  “More than one storm, surely.” Florian squinted at the cave’s entrance.

  “Not a storm,” Gerard said. He studied the devastation, brows knit. “A trap. Powerful spells drew these ships here. If I could find the etheric signatures . . .” He fished in his coat pocket and drew out a pair of aether-glasses. Pulling off his spectacles, he held the glasses up to his eyes, turning to view all of the large cave.

  “The Gardier?” Tremaine wondered. “But it’s not recent.” Everything looked old and settled and rotted. But surely not as old as the barren submerged stonework in the chambers behind them. Mist drifted off the dark water like smoke.

  “There are inimical forces other than the Gardier, but yes, this looks like something they would have been a party to.” Gerard’s voice was grim. Still holding the glasses up to his eyes, he started down the curving ramp into the cavern.

  Tremaine followed, stepping over splintered boards and rusted piles of metal, wishing for a pistol. Or maybe a shotgun. The water lapped against the wood and stone, giving the impression of constant shadowy movement among the wrecks. They all looked like fairly simple craft. No sign of paddlewheels or engines, and most seemed to have only one or two masts, though it was hard to tell. Simple fishing boats, maybe. Many had faded designs painted on the hulls in gold, green, blue. Red sails, she thought, looking at the faded tatters festooning the spars of a broken mast. I wonder if that means something different from purple.

  Preoccupied, Gerard said, “Yes, the latest activity was some time ago. Perhaps more than a year. There’s a few etheric signatures remaining that are just starting to fade.”

  Tremaine felt pinpricks of unease climb up her back. “Oh, good. So whoever did this could still be around.” As if the Gardier weren’t trouble enough.

  Gerard nodded abstractly, tucking the glasses away and putting his own spectacles back on. “There are layers over layers of activity. Whoever did this preyed on the shipping for some time.”

  “But why? What’s the point of it?” Florian asked suddenly. She had crouched down near a broken hull jammed up onto the stone dock. Its lower half was still submerged and Florian was looking through a gaping hole in the side.

  Surprised at her incomprehension, Tremaine waved an arm at the destruction. “To steal the cargoes, like the coast scavengers who wave lanterns on stormy nights and make the ships think it’s a safe landing when—”

  “Yes, I know, but look.” The girl pointed and Tremaine went to her side to peer over her shoulder. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the wreck, she saw what Florian meant.

  The exposed section of the hold was full of broken crates, barrels, smashed pottery. Rotted bolts of fabric lay tumbled in piles near rusted metal heaps that still glinted with buried jewels. Florian leaned forward and picked up a small grime-encrusted object. She rubbed it with her thumb and it gleamed a dull red. “This is a ruby, I think.” She glanced up at Tremaine, her eyes worried.

  Tremaine stood slowly, looking around. “So whoever did this wasn’t interested in loot.” She rethought several of her assumptions and she didn’t like the new conclusions. “I don’t see any bodies, or bones.” Even if most of the corpses had been washed out to sea, there should still be some remains, tangled in the ropes or smashed under the fallen masts, trapped inside the splintered overturned hulls. Florian tossed the gem back into the hold and rubbed her hand vigorously on her jacket flap as she got to her feet.

  Maybe somebody buried them, Tremaine thought as they moved on. Hopefully after they were dead. They proceeded along the dock, stepping over the broken masts and shattered decking. Tremaine kept an eye out for bodies but though the smell of rot and decay seemed to worsen, she saw nothing that resembled human remains. After a short time the wan daylight and their spell light revealed another opening in the cave wall. It was smaller than the one that had led them here, not a square-cut doorway but a rough opening that looked as if it had been knocked through the solid rock.

  It was dark and dank and somehow even more unpleasant than the passage through the remains of the underground city. The spell light seemed to penetrate the blackness only reluctantly and Tremaine could see pools of green stagnant water collecting on the rough rock further up the passage. “Well?” She glanced back at Gerard. “Do we try it?”

  Florian wrinkled her nose. “It smells worse than the other one.”

  Tremaine had to agree. “And it looks like it goes down.”

  “Not very encouraging, is it?” Gerard too eyed it without enthusiasm. “It doesn’t seem to be part of the constructed area. Let’s keep moving. We’ll try this one only if we have to.”

  They
continued on. It was darker toward this end of the cove, as a heavy fold in the rock ceiling overhead blocked the gray daylight from the entrance. The wall of the cave curved backward and there were more boulders and rock-falls to obscure the view. Tremaine squinted and made out another square doorway in the shadow, about ten feet up the wall. What looked like a rockfall below it was actually another ramp, covered by debris.

  “This one looks more promising,” Gerard said, pausing at the top. The passage looked dry and it seemed to curve upward. It was smaller than the others but there was still room for them to walk abreast.

  As they started along it, Florian asked, “You think the Institute will send someone after us?” She sounded carefully casual. “Once Niles gets his sphere to work?”

  Tremaine looked at Gerard, walking between them. The flicker of the spell light made it hard to read his expression, but she could tell his frown was grim. “I’m sure they’ll try,” he said.

  “And that would be a bad idea?” Tremaine asked bluntly. She didn’t think Florian wanted it sugarcoated either.

  “The Gardier were waiting for us,” Gerard admitted reluctantly. “Our multiple trips to test the spell and the sphere before pressing an attack may have been a mistake.”

  Tremaine heard Florian take a sharp breath of dismay. She felt a sinking sensation herself. “We had to make the tests, Gerard. They couldn’t send a troop in blind. You and Niles didn’t do this.”

  “She’s right, Gerard,” Florian seconded firmly. “There was no other way.”

  He smiled a little ruefully. “Thank you, both.” He sighed. “I think—” He paused. “Do you feel that breeze?”

  “Yes.” Florian lifted her hand, feeling the flow of air. “It’s damp.” She wrinkled her nose. “And it smells awful.”

  Tremaine sniffed and winced. The stink had an unfortunate resemblance to rotten eggs.

  After a few more steps the light revealed a square opening in the corridor wall and another passage winding off through the rock. “Should we try that?” Florian wondered.

  “No, let’s keep to this one for a while,” Gerard decided. “The breeze is still coming from this direction.”

  They had only gone some ten paces or so further when he pointed ahead, saying, “There. More doorways.”

  Just visible at the edge of the light the passage opened up to a wider chamber, with three more dark square openings in the wall. The damp breeze was coming from the one directly ahead. Tremaine began, “So should we—”

  A low animal howl echoed through the passage.

  Tremaine froze, Gerard and Florian jerking to a halt beside her. The sound came from somewhere in the darkness up one of the new tunnels, well past the reach of their light. Ack, Tremaine thought, her throat too paralyzed to make the sound aloud. Gerard reached out, taking her sleeve and then Florian’s, indicating they should both draw back. As they started to move back step by step, he slipped the sling off his shoulder, starting to unbutton the sphere’s case.

  God yes, hurry, Tremaine thought, seeing what he meant to do. She could hear stealthy movement now, soft scrapes and rattles against stone. As he freed the sphere from its cover, she reached out to put her free hand on it. The metal was warm and tingling with power.

  They made it almost to the first doorway they had passed. Suddenly dark figures burst out of the tunnels ahead, howling in high keening voices. Light exploded from the sphere, starkly outlining the tunnel. Captured in it as if in a frame of film were half a dozen human-shaped creatures. Their skins were a slick green-gray, their heads long and narrow, their open jaws bristling with fangs.

  Before Tremaine could yell in alarm a concussion of sound and physical force followed the light. She felt the sphere spin out of her grip as the creatures confronting them were blasted backward and she was shoved the other way, slamming into Florian. She tumbled down the tunnel, landing hard on her shoulder, the breath knocked out of her.

  Florian had landed beside her but there was no sign of Gerard. Tremaine sat up, gasping for breath. The spell light still hung abandoned further up the tunnel, flickering as if tossed by a hard wind. In the dimming light she could see that despite the backlash the spell had worked; several of the creatures sprawled in bloody heaps on the ground. Others out of the direct line of fire lay stunned, some further down the tunnel dizzily climbing to their feet. She still didn’t see Gerard. “Where is he?” she demanded.

  Florian, struggling to stand, pointed down the other tunnel entrance. Tremaine looked and in the dim light saw Gerard about twenty feet up the tunnel where the blast had thrown him, just pushing himself to his feet. In the sandy dirt near him the sphere spun like a top, throwing off blue sparks. Tremaine stumbled up just as Florian gasped in alarm.

  Further up their passage past the fallen creatures, human figures moved toward them. There was just enough light from the spell wisp to see they wore dark brown uniforms. After an instant of blank shock, Tremaine’s mind formed the word: Gardier.

  She fell back a step, looked toward Gerard. He started toward her then stopped, reading her expression. She looked back at the Gardier. They hadn’t seen Gerard. Beside her Florian, leaping to the same conclusion, breathed, “Distract them.”

  Tremaine raised her voice to a shout: “Oh no, it’s the Gardier, run!”

  Tremaine didn’t know she could move that fast. She was gripping Florian’s sleeve, hearing the other girl’s harsh gasps for breath, pelting down the tunnel. They spilled out into the cove, tumbling down the rock-strewn ramp, somehow managing to stay on their feet. Tremaine pulled Florian to a stop at the end, knowing they couldn’t run blindly. Florian hovered at her side, looking around wildly for someplace to go. Hiding in one of the wrecked ships was putting themselves in a trap, going into the water was pointless, they couldn’t reach the opposite end of the cove and the tunnel that led to the surface fast enough. . .. Tremaine tugged Florian into motion as the creatures howled behind them and they raced for the tunnel they had passed earlier.

  They reached it and ran through the dark, puddles of slimy water splashing underfoot, the uneven rocky floor threatening their balance. Gray light fell sporadically from cracks and fissures above, but the shadows were heavy. Tremaine caught her boot on something and pitched headlong, landing heavily on the rough rock. Florian kept hold of her jacket, dragging at her until she got her feet under her, and they ran.

  They burst out into a wider cave, much of it, lost in the dark. A shallow stream crossed the muddy floor and the ceiling was festooned with moss. Straight ahead a rockfall led up to another tunnel opening nearly twenty feet up the wall. We can’t make that, Tremaine thought desperately. They were going to have to try.

  They splashed across the stream, the mud catching at their feet and taking away any margin they might have had for scrambling up the rocks. Tremaine’s boot caught on something and she staggered, falling to her knees, pebbles sliding away under her scraped hands. Florian rammed into Tremaine, grabbing her arm to pull her up.

  Something gray burst out of the shadows and struck the nearest creature, slamming it into the ground and rolling with it into the stream. The creature squealed and the water turned dark with blood. The others spun, crouching and snarling. The gray thing leapt up, resolving into a human shape, not quite as large as their pursuers.

  My God, that’s a person, Tremaine thought in shock, knowing it from the way it moved. It was a man with a wild mane of tangled hair, covered with patches of the gray-green mud and slime from the cave walls. It—he tossed his hair out of his eyes, backing rapidly away from the thing still shrieking and writhing in the stream. He circled around the others and they hesitated, growling, shifting back and forth, torn between the ambulatory prey and the fresh blood flowing into the muddy water. Tremaine gasped, sense returning, and pushed at Florian. “Go, go,” she whispered.

  Florian made an incoherent noise of agreement and turned, scrabbling for a handhold among the rocks. Tremaine gave her a push from behind, her own muddy boots
slipping on the stone. Most of the creatures made their choice, leaping on their dying comrade, but one turned back toward them with a snarl, attracted by the movement. The man shouted and waved his arms and the creature rounded on him. It swung a clawed hand at him and missed as he ducked away.

  Help, Tremaine thought vaguely, climbing after Florian, rocks sliding away under her scraped hands. She couldn’t believe they weren’t dead yet. She scrambled up the last few feet as Florian pulled her arm. They tumbled through into the new tunnel together and Tremaine looked back to see the creature close with the man, saw him dodge under its wild grab to slash at its abdomen. It staggered back and went down, dark blood spilling. Two of the others abandoned the carnage in the stream to leap on this new diversion.

  Bright light flared behind them and Tremaine whipped around, blinking. She found herself staring at a group of men, several holding heavy handlamps.

  More Gardier. They wore brown uniforms with heavy boots, close-fitting caps covering their heads, belts with pouches and containers and bits of what looked like mountaineering equipment hanging off. They looked just like the few bad grainy photos she had seen in the papers.

  Tremaine turned, waving wildly and yelling to the man in the cave below, “Run! Get out of here!”

  He hesitated for a heartbeat, staring up at her, then bolted across the stream. The creatures feeding on their fallen comrades hissed as he dodged around them.

  A Gardier shoved past Tremaine, knocking her into the cave wall. Others charged by, hurtling down the slope. She looked back. Florian was flattened against the opposite wall of the cave and there were three Gardier still looming over them expectantly. One of them barked an order in a language she didn’t understand. She and Florian both must have looked blank rather than rebellious, because he repeated in awkward, badly accented Rienish, “Hand... up.”

  “What?” Tremaine managed. She had time to notice two of the men had pistols pointed at her.

  “Hands up,” Florian clarified in a whisper. She straightened slowly, lifting her hands above her head.