Mercedes Lackey - The Wizard of Karres

"The bullet will have to come out."

Goth took a deep breath. "I can do that, I think." She closed her eyes, briefly. "Here, Captain." She held out a bloody metal fragment.

"I think I can still the pain and stop the bleeding," said a voice from the Leewit's mouth. It didn't sound like the Leewit, but more like her older sister Maleen. Captain Pausert realized that the Leewit was calling up her sister's pattern to guide her through some piece of unfamiliar klatha. "But I'll need to borrow from you two."

"Sure," said Goth, gruffly. "So long as you fix it. I ought to give you a good thumping later, you idiot. The captain and I have been worried stiff about you. And you nearly got him killed."

"You and what clumping army?" the Leewit jibed. "Just 'cause you're sweet on him! Take more than a few silly Sprites to hurt the captain, anyway. Now help me with the nursebeast. We can fight later."

Goth smiled mistily at her sister. "Just you wait. Now, draw away. This is what they premoted you'd be good at one day."

"What must I do?" asked the captain.

"Just hold her shoulders. And when she needs your strength, let her have it."

"I'll do my best," he said, a bit uncertainly. He knew it wasn't physical strength she wanted.

The Leewit began to glow. Her hands, wrapped in the nursebeast's fur, looked like little torches of warm redness that seemed to be sinking into the animal. The captain felt himself being drawn on . . . and gave. The nursebeast gave an odd sort of hooting whinny and stuck a long pink wet tongue out and licked the little Sprites and the Leewit. Then the fluffy head sank down. The little Sprites gave unmistakably heartbroken cries.

The Leewit said something, tiredly. Even if they weren't human, there was no mistaking the incredulity on the faces of the Sprite parents. And hope on the faces of the little ones.

"I told them she's going to be all right now, with some rest. I think we did the trick, Captain. I could use some rest myself. Can you give us a hand to carry her into their home?"

And then the littlest witch hugged him fiercely, and so did Goth, and Captain Pausert, once of the Republic of Nikkeldepain, suddenly felt very good about the universe and his place in it.

Pausert took one side, Vezzarn and the male Sprite the other; joining hands, they lifted the fluffy thing and carried it down the passage, while the little Sprites, the Leewit and the mother rushed ahead and opened a door into what the captain presumed was the Sprites' apartment. They three carried the nursebeast into a small entirely soft-upholstered room and put it down.

"I guess I'll skip whopping her," said Goth. Her little sister had flopped onto a chair, with the small Sprites on either side. The Leewit looked tired and pale. "This time, anyway."

The Leewit beckoned. "Hey. I've asked them for some food."

"Better make it something we can eat on the run," said Goth. "We've got to catch up with Hantis before she does something silly. She's very taken up with this High Lord Arvin. And we've still got a job to do for Karres, getting her and Pul to the Imperial court before the Winter Carnival."

The Leewit sighed. "I guess. I'll just ask for a few of the meat-roll things, then. They're pretty good and we can eat those while we go."

There followed a high speed exchange in the Sprite language. The two little Sprites were still clinging onto the Leewit, from whom they had to be pried away by their parents.

"I said we'd see them and explain later. And thanks for the food," said the Leewit. "Phew. I hadn't realized what hard work it is not to be the youngest."

Once they got back into the corridor, it was easy to work out where to go. There was a steady stream of armed Sprites heading in one direction. Word must have gotten around, too, because no one tried to stop the human party. They ate as they walked. The captain found he was both ravenous and tired and was grateful to his professional beggar "niece." She must have done a fair job of cleaning out the Sprite family's pantry, as well as expropriating some of their children's clothes.

Nalin had apparently retreated into the upper reaches of the castle. As they got higher, it became apparent that they were catching up on the fighting, and that it had been fierce. Burned areas showed that the High Lord had been forced to make his own path forward. The air stank of smoke, fear, and the coppery smell of Sprite blood.

Captain Pausert began to wonder if he should perhaps have left Goth and the Leewit with the grateful Sprite family. But the Leewit reassured him. "They say it's all over. A small party cut their way out through the shutters and the rest are dead or captive. And the High Lord and the foreign Lady are still alive. Oh. And Pul bit someone."

Pul had indeed bitten someone. Lord Nalin had not been one of those who got away. The Sprites moved aside to allow the captain through to Hantis and the High Lord Arvin.

"They say you're a hero, Captain," said Hantis. Her brown face had sooty smudges and a shallow scratch on it. "That you charged the barricades alone."

"You know the captain thinks he has to look after us . . ." Goth's voice trailed off, and it was hardly surprising. Lord Nalin was on the ground in a circle of nervous Sprite-soldiers. He was jerking and twitching, and something that looked like gray dust was spilling out of him.

"Poisoned Nanites," said Hantis grimly.

"And the others? Was he the only one infected?" asked the captain, both fascinated and revolted.

"No. At least seven of them got away. They fled in the direction of Delaron." There was no expression in Hantis' voice. "We also have the infected but not yet controlled ones."

She patted High Lord Arvin on the shoulder. "High Lord, this one is safe. But we must deal with the others. We must sterilize their nest." She turned back to Pausert, Goth, the Leewit and Vezzarn. "Come. See what we're up against."

They went through into an adjoining room. This did not look like it was a home—even a war-smashed home—of the detail and decor-conscious Sprites. Instead the glass and bric-a-brac with which the Sprites filled every spare corner had been carelessly swept together. Glass, gold, silver, gems and crystal lay broken and jumbled in a trash pile.

On the floor lay some twenty-seven Sprites. Males. Females. Even a child. Their bodies convulsed every now and again. Their eyes were open . . . and empty.

* * *

Hantis saw how the High Lord started when he saw the infected ones.

Then he gave a cry of horror and would have run into the room, if Hantis had not restrained him. "You don't understand," he said frantically, trying to pull away from her hands. "Hantis, that is Neirion there! We must help her! We are betrothed."

"No, my Lord Arvin," said Hantis. "It is you who do not understand. That was your betrothed. Now she is just a crawling mass of Nanites."

"But we must get them out of her! We must ."

"We can't. We have found no way of doing so. Not without killing the victim. Anyway, it is already too late." She spoke as gently as she could, knowing full well that it was this moment that had transformed the gentle young Arvin into Arvin Warmaker, who had half-destroyed Nartheby to save it. And been cursed by generations unborn for his goodness and greatness.

"You must destroy this with your klatha power. Destroy all of Lord Nalin's chambers. Sterilize everything with cleansing fire. It is the greatest—the only—mercy you can give to those infected."

Hantis saw the anguish in the young High Lord's face. "I can't!"

"High Lord Arvin. Unless you would see all Aloorn, and indeed all Nartheby like that, you must. Our dominions are already lost. Without you, we are, too." She paused. "And you do have the strength. Three thousand years later we still remember that you did."