The Wizard of Anharitte

The Wizard of Anharrite Colin Kapp

Director Magno Vestevaal was glad that the space shuttle was not equipped to enter the planet Roget’s atmosphere at the customary maximum velocity. The slower, powered descent gave him ample opportunity to study the terrain he was approaching. His powerful lenses and the facility offered by the shuttle’s navigation dome afforded him a unique view of the sector of the planet adjacent to the spaceport. His interest had been kindled by the space-gram he had received, hinting at great trouble. Vestevaal was a firm believer in making the maximum use of information when attempting to solve a problem.

Below him now lay Anharitte, not the largest but certainly the most influential city on Roget. He could see it all with crystal clarity. To the west spread the sea, one of the great oceans dividing the planetary continents. To the north and east the landmass was largely sandy, fertile plains comprising the provinces of T’Empte, Magda, provincial Anharitte and the broad lands of T’Ampere. Beneath the city proper, the beautiful bow of the Aprillo river cut a wide channel through the sandbanks to the sea.

The city of Anharitte was based on natural geological features. The three broad hills must have been islands in a time when the oceans had been even wider than the limits decided by their present disposition. The hills formed a rough triangle rising above the stubborn plains, forcing the waters of the tributary of Daizan and several small canals to pass between their green and granite flanks. The first hill was Anharitte itself, the main commercial and administrative center of the region. Even from a height the director could see the outlines of the three great castles Di Guaard, Di Rode and Di Irons. Farther east along the banks of the Aprillo rose the second hill, T’Ampere, no longer a citadel, yet holding the major wealth of a vast province under more than adequate control.

Situated roughly between the other hills, yet displaced north, was the third hill. It was smaller than its brethren and even from a height appeared more sinister with the predominating grays and browns of the underlying rocks. This was Magda, key to a minor province and possessing the most formidable fortress of all. It was with Magda, with its paucity of approach roads and its craggy, inhospitable outlines, that the director was most concerned. These lands were the realm of the man known as the
Imaiz
, who, if the reports were substantiated, posed a considerable threat not only to the composite city of Anharitte, but also to the spaceport and the rich trade therefrom.

At the spaceport there were no formalities. All the details such as the ship’s identity and charter, the manifest and the passenger list, had long since been transmitted to the terminal by the shipboard data links and the relevant cargo equipment was already standing at the edge of the landing bowl. As the shuttle completed touchdown procedure, Director Vestevaal strode straight to the small cushion-craft awaiting him. Within minute» he was dear of the limits of the spaceport.

The cushion-craft bore him along the wide sandy road of the Via Arena, the main trade road leading into Anharitte. In front of him, green and mellow in the sun, stood the broad bulk of Firsthill, bearing on its right-hand shoulder the dominating battlements of the Castle Di Guaard, frowning down on the reaches of the great Aprillo river. Slightly farther away and to the left, the darker shades of Thirdhill—the lands of Magda—rose in a dark and rather sinister contrast. It was not possible for Vestevaal to see the castle of Magda from his present location, but somewhere on those strange, broken heights was the fortress home of the
Imaiz
, the wizard of Anharitte, whose activities had fetched Magno Vestevaal unwillingly halfway across the universe.

Some three and a half kilometers along the Via Arena he came to the Black Rock. This marked the limit for the free use of cushion-craft. From this point on he had to—by city ordinance—engage some stave-bearers whose poles would guide the craft safely through the populated streets. Because the vehicle had no positive contact with the roadway it was subject to deflection by winds and gradients. Within the city limits the stave-bearers would run alongside, driving their staves occasionally into the soft undersand and forcing the fenders of the craft to run along the iron-tipped poles, thus defining and correcting the course of the floating vehicle. Progress was necessarily slow and laborious, but since power-driven wheeled vehicles were not allowed on the three hills, the visitor had no choice but to suffer it or to walk.

Just past the Arena a ragged runner, sent by the Company’s agent, Tito Ren, met them and trotted ahead to guide them up the slopes of the Trade Road and through the crowded ways to the food market of Firsthill where Ren had an office. The agent paid the men off quickly, ordered house servants to collect the luggage and ushered the director into the welcome coolness of the office chambers.

While he was waiting for Vestevaal to complete his ablutions, Tito Ren watched continually out’ of the window that overlooked the food market, as if he were waiting for someone to appear. A half-hour later the director was refreshed and ready. He laid the spacegram purposefully on the table.

‘Well, Tito, you’ve fetched me a long way at a most inopportune time. Whatever you have to say had better be good.’

Ren turned away from his vantage point at the window.

‘It will be,’ he said. ‘But the best way I can approach the intricacies of the situation is to start by showing you something. Unfortunately the time is yet a little early. Please take some wine.’

‘If this is a fool’s errand—’ Vestevaal said ominously. He did not bother to complete the sentence. He knew Ren as one of the most shrewd and efficient agents in the Company, and the long-standing association between the two men had bred a mutual trust and respect. Grumbling into his beard, Vestevaal accepted wine and came and stood by the window looking out at the busy, colorful market.

‘How long have we to wait for this great happening?’ he asked.

Ren shrugged. ‘She would normally be here by now. But I suspect the coming of your cushion-craft will have stirred things up a bit. The one thing you can rely on in Anharitte is that every third man is a spy.’

‘And every third woman?’ asked Vestevaal mischievously.

Ren shook his head. ‘The women count for almost nothing in Anharitte. Except one—and that’s the one we’re waiting for.’

Finally becoming bored with the scene, the director turned away and began to explore the chambers. Ren remained obstinately at the window. Then a cry from the agent brought Vestevaal hastily back to follow Ren’s indicating finger.

‘Here’s what I was waiting to show you, Director. Do you see that girl down there?’

‘The tall one in the orange dress?’

‘That’s Zinder—a bondslave of the Castle Magda on Thirdhill, She comes to the market daily, shopping for the
Imaiz
.’

‘For a bondslave she’s remarkably well dressed.’

‘For a bondslave she’s remarkable in too many ways.’ Ren turned back into the room to face Vestevaal. ‘Notice how the traders treat her. Almost with deference. She may be a slave, but there’s none who would dare molest her. There’s not a beggar or a bondsman on the three hills who wouldn’t come to her defense—even at the risk of his life.’

Magno Vestevaal scowled. ‘Remarkable. It shows a degree of social unity I’d not have expected in such a feudal setup.’

‘Great currents are at work here,’ said Ren. ‘But they run deep. A careful finger is needed to measure their pulse. It wouldn’t be naive to say that Zinder somehow represents what the
Ahhn
as a race hope to become.’

‘A bondslave?’ The director was perplexed.

‘Yes, but what a bondslave! Study her carefully. Look at every detail about her—polished to perfection. Notice the dignity in the way she walks. That poise comes from confidence, And the confidence comes from thorough training and education.’

‘I don’t see why you’re making so much of her,’ said Vestevaal with a trace of irritation. ‘Many people groom their pets. I assume a slave girl in Anharitte is a legitimate part of a man’s harem.’

‘A slavemaster’s control is absolute, including control of life and death,’ confirmed Ren. ‘But I don’t think you quite understood me. I said training and education.’

‘But you don’t educate slaves—not beyond what’s necessary for them to perform their duties,’ objected the director.

‘Then one needs to speculate on just what Zinder’s duties are. We haven’t yet found the full measure of her abilities. She’s proficient in all thirteen space languages, is apparently gifted in music and arts and has a scientific knowledge that would probably qualify her for two or three degrees at a Terran university.’

‘Fantastic,’ said Magno Vestevaal, when the implications had sunk home. He moved the curtain to gain a further look at the tall dark
Ahhn
girl who moved like a queen around the market. ‘How do you know so much about her, Tito?’

‘I paid good Company money to the Society of Pointed Tails to have her investigated. They devised many tests of her knowledge and aptitude by way of commerce and conversation. They were more than impressed by what they found.’

‘How much confidence do you have in the society’s report?’

‘Every confidence. In Anharitte, a society must keep perfect faith with its patron. A society can refuse to accept any assignment—and frequently does to avoid conflict of interests—but once an assignment is accepted its terms and conditions become binding on its members even to the point of death. That’s clan law, and its enforcement is savage.’

‘Accepting that for the moment, perhaps you’d explain why you felt it necessary to spend Company money investigating a slave girl?’

Ren cleared his throat. ‘Anharitte is a free port not only for Roget but for all ship trade spaceward into the Hub. As a space-commerce base it is priceless. The vast fortunes of the space combines and the merchant worlds have been possible very largely because of the facility offered by Anharitte as a Free Trade exchange. Make no mistake, Director, our own Company could not exist without commercial access to Anharitte.’

‘I’m more aware of the fact than you are,’ said Vestevaal, ‘or I would not be here now. What disturbs me is your implication that our access to Anharitte is at risk.’

‘I see it this way,’ said Ren. ‘Anharitte is unique in having maintained its long-term social stability in spite of having been exposed to space commerce. There have been a few other free ports, but all have succumbed to the disadvantage of their planetary governments, requiring a disproportionate share of the value of the merchandise being shuttled through their territory. Anharitte is different—the tolls and levies remain nominal because they’re shared only by the five aristocratic Houses: those of the Lords Di Irons, Di Rode, Di Guaard and by the Lady T’Ampere—and by the house of Magda. The influence of these few has maintained a rigid social structure—albeit one with a slave base—which has given the necessary stability to Anharitte.’

‘True,’ said Vestevaal. ‘And it pays the lords very handsomely to maintain things just as they are. So I don’t see what the problem is.’

‘The
Imaiz
of Magda is rocking the boat,’ said Ren,

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Director—have you any idea what happens to a slave-base culture when somebody starts educating slaves to Terran graduate standard?’

‘You’ve made your point,’ said Vestevaal heavily. ‘Your culture becomes unstable, contaminated with ideas like democracy, civil liberty and other corrosive notions. And finally it disintegrates.’

‘And from the ruins somebody builds a so-called brave new order—which is inherently more expensive for free traders.’

‘Which is inherently ruinous for free traders,’ corrected Magno Vestevaal. ‘You were perfectly right to call me in, Tito. This could be the biggest threat to trade since the dissolution of the Omanite empire. And you’re perfectly sure that the House of Magda is responsible?’

‘There’s no doubt of it. It’s entirely the work of the
Imaiz
.’

‘How is the
Imaiz
different from the other lords of Anharitte?’

‘I think the clue lies in the word
Imaiz
itself. This translates variously as wizard, wise man or madman, depending on which
Ahhn
dialect you speak. The suggestion is that the
Imaiz
is accorded the full rights of nobility because his magic is far too potent to be ignored. The House of Magda has a long history of congenital insanity among its occupants—a not surprising situation when you consider the close in-breeding that used to take place In aristocratic houses in order to keep the right of succession within a very narrow group.

‘The persistent mental aberrations of the rulers of Magda, usually a form of extreme megalomania, have given rise to many long-standing superstitions about the master of the fortress of Thirdhill. One of these is that the
Imaiz
has the ability to cast spells and control the future. History seems to show that few of Magda’s occupants were very proficient in the black arts, for all the cruel and ingenious black rites they devised. But the present
Imaiz
appears to be a different proposition altogether,’