The creatures that were staring at them from the fernlike undergrowth were sinuous, reptilian and gray. Their eyes, however, flamed a particularly disquieting shade of orange.
"Hantis," said the captain quietly, warily watching the statue-still creatures. "What are they? What do we do about them?"
"We are on some High Sprite's lands. These beasts are his guard. We can do nothing, so far as I know. They have been extinct on Nartheby for many centuries, but I have been told gnyarl were nearly impossible to kill and equally difficult to shake off. We can split up. Maybe they won't get all of us."
"How do they do on direct blaster fire?" asked Pausert grimly. Of course it would help if he had a blaster snugged to his hip. Hulik always carried her slimline Mark 7 model. But the captain's weapons were safely locked up in the Venture. And the Venture was somewhere beyond the edge of nowhere.
Vezzarn proved that once a rogue . . . always a weapon-carrier. The little thief had a military RV special, out and at the ready. "I don't know, Captain. But I can try them on this."
One of the gray reptilian forms darted forward, snaking its long neck towards them. Vezzarn fired. The gnyarl's head was engulfed in flame. The creature blinked, shook its long beak-nose, and spat a gout of fire back at Vezzarn. Only being nimble on his pins saved the old spacer.
The other three gnyarl had taken advantage of the distraction to split up and begin flanking them.
The Leewit looked hard at the advancing creatures—and whistled. The sound was like a wet finger being skimmed around the edge of a delicate wine glass, but many times as loud.
Everybody, from Pausert to the grik-dog, cringed. The gnyarl backed off a bit, rubbing their ears with black-taloned paws, blinking those flame-orange eyes. They looked puzzled. Obviously, nothing much had ever given them pause, before.
"Right, let's head out," said Pausert. "Keep together. And the Leewit had better be ready to whistle again."
Watching the gnyarl, they began moving away up the hill. Silently, keeping to the cover, the creatures followed. Sometimes all they saw was a sinuous streak of gray through a gap in the undergrowth. The clearing they'd landed in, with its distant prospects, had narrowed into a path that wound upwards through a defile. The way grew ever steeper and narrower.
"I don't like this," said Goth, who was an accomplished huntress herself. "It's almost as if we're being herded."
"I guess we should just be grateful they're not eating us," said Vezzarn, who had tucked away his RV and was looking to be on the edge of panicky flight.
Very distantly, just on the edge of perception, Pausert could rell vatch. If he could get klatha hooks into the creature . . .
"Stinkin' vatch," said the Leewit.
Pausert agreed this time. But the big one was keeping out of range.
The feathery trees had thinned. Ahead stood a stalked building. That was the best way Pausert could describe it. It looked rather like a giant piece of broccoli, though it was plainly stone. There were high, round windows looking down on them. Flicking a glance at her, Pausert could see that Hantis was biting her lower lip with those slightly odd-shaped, very white teeth of hers. She looked to be almost in pain.
Behind them, one of the dragonish gnyarl hissed.
The Leewit must have been waiting for the slightest provocation from them. She turned around immediately and whistled again. The pitch was too high to hear. But not too high to feel! The captain felt his teeth ringing.
The gnyarl had a lot more teeth—and they were on the directional receiving end of that whistle. The Leewit could target things rather precisely.
The lead gnyarl yowled like a cat that had had its tail stood on. Then, scrambled back hastily, wrinkling its long nose-snout, and attempting to squint at its snaggled teeth. The other three also retreated.
Goth took Hantis' elbow. "Should we go somewhere else? It doesn't look like you like this place much."
Hantis gave a low, musical laugh. "It's no use going anywhere else, my dear. This is where we were meant to go. And it's not that I don't like this place. I love it, as does Pul. We know it well. But seeing it like this hurts."
"We'll make them fix whatever it is they've done wrong, then," said the Leewit, using her Mistress of the Universe tone.
"Nothing is wrong, children. This is my home. This is where I was born. But Castle Aloorn, in our time, has few inhabitants. And I am afraid it is not in the best repair. This is the golden age of Nartheby, when our star-empire was at its height and the Sprites' culture was in full flower."
A swinging platform was being lowered slowly down from the broccoli-head of the building. The platform looked as if it were glass, and made by some Old Yarthe baroque-style glass-smith. It was transparent yet ornate, full of gilt and green curlicues and spikes. On top of it, on an angular throne, was a statue. A haughty-looking perfectly realistic male Sprite, but only half Hantis' size.
Captain Pausert had assumed it was a statue, because it was all one color, even the hat—a pearly white. And then, it moved. He was no statue. He'd just been sitting as still as one.
The captain looked at Hantis to see her reaction. And suddenly realized that she was no longer next to them. She was using her klatha powers now, to levitate. And she was speaking, but not in Universum.
"What's she saying?" whispered Goth to the Leewit.
"She's just greeted the Lord of Castle Aloorn. Real flowery stuff. Huh! Never heard Hantis talk like that before!"
The half-pint Sprite spoke.
"He wants to know who she is that dares to trespass on the lands of house Aloorn."
Hantis replied.
"She said she has the hereditary right to visit her own lands and home. She said some words that I don't think mean anything."
The haughty looking Sprite looked as if he was about to fall off his throne. He raised his hands and began jabbering furiously.
"Oh. They must be like a password or something. He says . . . he wants to know who betrayed his house. Oh, that's nasty, what he just said! You oughta wash his mouth out with soap, Captain."
By the widening of the Leewit's eyes, Hantis' reply was even more educational. "Oh, boy. I think we are in trouble. The two of them are mad clear though. I've never heard anyone say anything like that. Not even the Agandar's pirates."
Somewhere in the distance was a hint of huge vatchy laughter. The captain didn't like this situation at all. Other glassy platforms were beginning to be lowered down from the bulbous castle above. Behind, the dragonish gnyarl still hemmed them in. The Leewit's whistle had put them off, true, but would it stop them in a truly determined rush? And this was definitely playing the game the way the vatch wanted. They had to break out of its pattern.
The small Sprite's earlier cool and haughty air was gone. His face-color no longer matched his attire. He'd have had to change into purple robes to do that. And Pausert did not need the Leewit to understand that the next words out of the half-pint's mouth were something along the order of: Guards! Seize them!
The furious Lord of Castle Aloorn wasn't prepared for one of the Leewit's shattering whistles, though. The small Sprite's glassy platform exploded in a very satisfying shower of bright-colored shards and spilled the Sprite onto the ground fifteen feet below.
But the Sprite Lord displayed that he too had klatha skills. He caught himself, just before an undignified landing, and levitated—straight for Hantis. It was plain that he thought that she had done it to him.
Pausert realized just how lucky he'd been that Hantis had simply been amused when, thinking it was Goth playing a light-shift trick, he'd lifted the Sprite's hat and veil. The red-maned Sprite's grass green eyes were narrowed with fury. A nimbuslike halo of energy hung around the two of them as they dueled. The issue, however was not decided by klatha powers. Hantis doubled her elegant six-fingered hand into a fist and punched the other Sprite in the gut. His hat flew off, revealing hair as flame-red as hers.