The Unwelcome Warlock

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Ithinia grimaced as she completed the elaborate pattern of gestures, and lowered her hands. “I’ll need to continue the spell when the lesser moon rises, but for now I can rest.” She looked up at Alris. “I love magic. Yes, it can do strange and unexpected things, but I love it. It gives the World flavor. I think I would love it even if I couldn’t work a single spell.”

  “You can have it,” Alris said. “Magic killed my uncle, and snatched my brother away, and now it’s dumped my home out here, where I need the longest ladder we have just to get down from the front door, and I’d need to wade fifty yards to reach the Newmarket beaches. It makes everything dangerous and unpredictable — sooner or later it might kill us all just because some wizard mispronounced a word, or a demonologist said the wrong thing. Yes, it’s wonderful when it works, but it’s not worth it.” She turned away. “I’ll tell Lord Azrad what you said.” She headed toward the door.

  “Please make it clear that I do apologize,” Ithinia called after her.

  Alris didn’t reply.

  Then Ithinia was alone in the room, the makings of her spell spread out before her.

  Poor Alris, she thought. Poor Azrad. Poor Hanner. They were all caught up in this mess through no fault of their own. But that was the way of the World; as Alris had said, magic was dangerous. It had consequences and complications, and not just for its practitioners.

  Ithinia certainly hoped it would have serious consequences for Vond. That damned fool was endangering everyone by meddling with those towers. Maybe she should have just told him that in the first place, and asked him to be careful, but she had feared he might not believe her, or worse, that he might consider it an opportunity for massive blackmail — let him do whatever he pleased, or he might smash the towers. But she hadn’t told him, and it was obviously too late now. He was in no mood to trust her ever again. She had sworn not to harm him, and she hoped that would be enough to prevent any further open conflict, but she knew better than to think she could talk him into anything.

  Of course, she had sworn that she would not harm him — but she was not about to stop anyone else who tried to harm him, and she thought that his spectacular display of petulance, pulling the palace out of the ground, would probably attract others who would do it for her.

  Just as she thought that, someone cleared his throat. She looked up, and there was the man in the brown robe who had been in her parlor. “Demerchan,” she said.

  “Just Kelder,” he replied. “I am hardly the entirety of the cult.”

  “Is Kelder your true name, then?”

  “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to give a wizard my true name.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I suppose not. What brings you here, then?”

  “A courtesy,” he said. “Nothing more.”

  “Oh? And what courtesy would that be?”

  “I thought you would want to know. The cult has decided not to remove His Imperial Majesty, the Great Vond. We would prefer to see the Wizards’ Guild make peace with him, as well.”

  Ithinia had lived for centuries, and was not easily surprised by the foolishness of others, but this startled her. “Why?” she demanded. “He’s a threat to us all!”

  “We do not believe he poses as great a threat as you assume.”

  “But he’s interfering with the towers in Lumeth!”

  Kelder shook his head. “We think you misjudge his situation.”

  “He could make a thousand new unCallable warlocks!”

  Kelder smiled wryly. “Do you think he will?”

  “No,” Ithinia admitted. “But why risk it?”

  “The cult has its own reasons.”

  “As does the Guild.”

  “Of course. Let me remind you, Guildmaster, that you swore not to harm him.”

  “I am not likely to forget it.”

  “Let me remind you also that wizards who break oaths die. If the Guild does not see to it, the Cult of Demerchan will.”

  “You’re threatening me?”

  “I am reminding you of the stakes.”

  “I don’t need your reminder.”

  “Nonetheless, I have given it. Here’s another reminder — the lesser moon will be rising in less than an hour. You should get something to eat.”

  “I know that!” Ithinia snapped. “If you weren’t here with your nonsensical reminders, I would be on my way to the kitchens.”

  “I won’t keep you, then.” He bowed, wrapping his brown cloak around himself, and vanished.

  “We wizards aren’t the only ones he’s annoyed, you know!” Ithinia called at the empty air. “Sooner or later, someone’s going to cut his throat.”

  There was no reply, and after a moment she turned and hurried toward the door. She really did want something to eat before beginning the next part of the spell.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hanner wondered idly where Rudhira was hiding, and whether she had a specific plan in mind, or just didn’t want to cooperate with Vond. He had not seen her in hours. While it was possible she had slipped away into the woods, or somewhere else well away from the village, Hanner thought it was more likely she was still close at hand, watching and listening. She had been in the refuge for some time before Hanner himself arrived, and probably knew her way around better than anyone else; if there were safe hiding places to be found, she might well have found them.

  He glanced at the sleeping figures lying all around, soldiers and refugees alike, taking up almost all the floor space in the three rooms of the house where the tapestry hung. There were enough of them that Hanner thought he could feel their accumulated body heat, and he knew he could smell them. None of them seemed to have noticed that the redhead was missing; probably most of them had either never realized she was there at all, or thought she had already gone back through the tapestry to the attic of Warlock House.

  Hanner had hoped that some of the refugees who had been sent back to Ethshar would return to the refuge, but none had. A guard named Balrad, the second of the pair who had accompanied Vond himself, had explained, before he went to sleep, that the emperor had assigned some of his hirelings to stand guard, making sure that no one else used that tapestry until Vond returned. Hanner had feared that might be the case, and would have liked more details, but Balrad had not been willing to provide them. Like most of the others, he had been tired and eager to rest.

  Hanner almost wished he could sleep, but after staying up the entire night before, and then sleeping away most of the day here in the village, he was wide awake. The unmoving sun here did not provide any of the visual cues that might have helped him to get back on a normal schedule; quite the contrary, in fact. Combine that with the stress of his situation, and sleep was not a possibility, and after awhile he gave up any attempt to doze. He asked the waking guards a few questions every so often, but for the most part he sat quietly, watching, listening, and thinking.

  Ever since he woke up in Aldagmor he had been reacting to events, doing what seemed to need doing, and never really stopping to think. He had led the Called warlocks as best he could, trying to guide them to safety, but then he had been snatched back to Ethshar by the wizards. Ithinia had hired him, more or less, to keep the former warlocks in line — he had not done very much in that regard, really, but why had he agreed to do it at all? It had been expedient, but was it really the right thing to do? The wizards had helped him, so he had been inclined to help them in return, but why should he side with the Wizards’ Guild against other warlocks? Ithinia said they were dangerous, and they probably were potentially dangerous — certainly Vond was a real threat. But would Vond have been so very dangerous if Ithinia and her coterie hadn’t attacked him? Sending a false Calling nightmare had only made Vond more dangerous, by making him angry.

  Perhaps reasons no longer mattered; however it had happened, Vond was now extremely dangerous — at least, when he was in Ethshar. Pulling the overlord’s palace out of the ground and holding it over the city — that was insan
e.

  At least if that man Kolar was to be believed, Vond had put the palace down safely before stepping through the tapestry, rather than letting it fall; Hanner had eventually gotten up the nerve to ask about that. True, the emperor had put it down on a sandbar, and not back where it belonged, but it was better than dropping it on the New City.

  Vond had only intended to be gone for a few minutes, not an entire night, and he planned to pick the palace up again as soon as he had his magic back. Hanner knew Vond intended to continue his feud with Ithinia. Whether he hoped to kill her eventually, or to force some other sort of capitulation, Hanner was unsure; he did not think Vond himself had any clear idea how the conflict might be resolved. Killing Ithinia would put him at war with the entire Wizards’ Guild, and he couldn’t hope to defeat all of them, but how could he trust any lesser sort of surrender Ithinia might offer?

  For that matter, would Ithinia and the rest of the Guild accept anything less than Vond’s death? Any assassination would need to catch the emperor off-guard; if Vond had even a second to retaliate, he might be unable to save himself, but he could kill everyone nearby — or perhaps worse, from the Guild’s point of view, he might be able to turn anyone in sight into a warlock. Depending on who that might be, the result could be even worse than the present situation. Vond was a short-tempered egotist, but he was not actively malicious, nor was he subtle. A more vicious warlock could do far more damage in the short term, and a smarter warlock could do more given time.

  Hanner did not think Vond would ever give anyone else access to his new Source while he lived; he was not the sort who would want to share power, nor would he trust an ally for very long. If he was about to die, though, he would almost certainly want to carry out a final act of revenge.

  Right now, while Vond was in this magical refuge and cut off from his own power, there was a sort of unintentional enforced truce. Vond had no magic, and Ithinia could not easily reach him here, if she even knew where he was. This should be an opportunity to end the whole stupid conflict peacefully, Hanner thought. If he could find a way to keep Vond here, and powerless, that should be enough to satisfy Ithinia. If he only had some way to communicate with her, perhaps he could arrange something.

  His time was limited, though. He glanced at the tapestry. When the sun rose in Ethshar it would start working again, Vond would leave, and this chance would be lost forever. Hanner doubted Vond would ever again risk coming here, and giving up his magic; it was astonishing that he had done it even this once.

  Before falling asleep Vond had said he had been driven largely by curiosity in coming here, and now his curiosity was satisfied. He had also wanted to demonstrate that he was not afraid to come here, and he had done that. With those motives gone, he would not be back. He and his swordsmen would drive everyone out. Then he might destroy the tapestry and seal this place off from Ethshar forever — or he might carry through on the idea of bringing in several more tapestries and using it as a sort of mystic junction to reach various spots around the World more quickly than he could fly. Either way, he wouldn’t allow anyone but himself and his loyal followers to visit this place.

  If only someone in Ethshar knew what was happening, and could block the attic tapestry somehow to keep Vond isolated until matters could be worked out — but the only chance for communication Hanner could think of was if someone was attempting to reach him with the Spell of Invaded Dreams, and that would only work if he could sleep.

  He couldn’t. Even if he could, there was no guarantee that anyone was trying to reach him; after all, it was the middle of the night in Ethshar, and Hanner had no reason to think anyone there was aware of the situation. Sleeping might merely mean giving away any chance at a resolution that he had.

  He could not rely on outside help for a solution. He needed to take action himself if he wanted to end this. If someone were to kill Vond here and now, that would be an end of all this trouble, but Hanner could not do that. He was not a killer by nature — and more importantly, Vond was guarded by a dozen men, and not all of them were asleep. At the moment the two on duty were Kolar and Marl; they were awake and ready to defend their employer, as well as the attic tapestry that they hoped would take them home.

  A thought struck Hanner, and he looked at the tapestry. Would the two soldiers defend it? If the tapestry was ruined, Vond would be stuck here, and powerless. This stupid war between wizards and warlock would be over.

  Of course, the rest of them would be stuck here, as well. That was a fairly major drawback. He and Rudhira, wherever she was, and the other refugees would be stranded here with a furious Vond and his soldiers. They might well be killed.

  Or perhaps not — as Hanner had said, if he died, Vond might never get back to Ethshar. Zallin could not be trusted, and even if he tried to obey, the wizards and their allied witches and other magicians might stop him. If Hanner lived, though, there was always a chance someone would eventually come for him. His sisters would miss him, or Ithinia might contact him on her own to find out what had become of Vond. He, Hanner, would be the one in a position of power, able to dictate terms, because he was the one more likely to eventually provide a way home. He could bargain for the lives of the refugees, and for his own — assuming he lived long enough.

  It was a risk, certainly, but wouldn’t it be worth it to ensure that Vond and Ithinia stopped trying to destroy each other, and that no one else would be caught in the middle and killed, as that poor witch had been? Even if Hanner died, wouldn’t it be worth it? He had already lost his old life, and had not yet had time to build a new one. His death would mean that Mavi would be free of any lingering guilt or second thoughts. His sisters and children could get on with their lives — they had thought he was dead for years, and a second death would surely not be so very painful. He didn’t want that to happen, but it would not be so very terrible. Hanner got to his feet.

  Kolar saw that movement, and turned to watch. He said nothing, but stared directly at Hanner.

  “Mind if I test the tapestry?” Hanner asked quietly.

  Kolar glanced over at his sleeping employer, and all the other unconscious forms on the floor, the woman who had previously tested the magic curled up among them. He turned up a palm. “Why not?” he said.

  Hanner smiled, and walked across the room, trying to look completely calm and casual. He let his hand fall to the hilt of his belt-knife, and pretended not to notice when Kolar responded by dropping his own hand to the hilt of his sword.

  Marl, who had been dozing on his feet, started and straightened up. “Test?” he said.

  “This fellow’s going to try the tapestry,” Kolar said.

  “Oh,” Marl said. He glanced at Vond, then looked back at Hanner. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  “Thank you,” Hanner said, bobbing his head in acknowledgment. His right hand closed on his knife, while his left reached out toward the tapestry. Kolar stepped back to give him room.

  This would mean he would be trapped here, Hanner reminded himself. He might not see his children for months, if he ever saw them again at all. He might be killed. He might be tortured. But it would put an end to Vond’s reckless displays of power, his murders and thefts and arrogance. Lives would almost certainly be saved, even if Hanner’s wasn’t among them. He grabbed the fabric of the tapestry in his left hand, then drew his knife and slashed.

  “Hai!” Kolar shouted. “Hai, what are you doing? Are you crazy?” His sword flashed as he snatched it up.

  Marl’s blade was out, as well; the tip was at Hanner’s throat as he said, “Drop the knife!”

  Hanner dropped the knife and raised his empty hands.

  The commotion had awakened several of the others; now a babble of voices arose as they saw what was happening.

  Then silence fell as Vond got awkwardly to his feet and advanced toward Hanner. He stopped and stared at the tapestry, at the long diagonal gash in the cloth that cut a jagged slice out of the attic’s sloping ceiling and rough tie-beams.
Then he turned to face Hanner.

  “You’ve ruined it!” he said.

  “Yes, I have,” Hanner said.

  “The magic won’t work any more, will it?”

  “No, it won’t,” Hanner said. “It will take a wizard months of work to repair it, if it can be done at all.”

  “So we’re all stranded here? Is that what you wanted?”

  “Someone will contact us eventually, I’m sure,” Hanner said, trying to keep his voice steady as Marl’s sword-point pressed against a point an inch below the corner of his jaw. Hanner was not sure, but he thought that was roughly the location of his jugular vein.

  Vond strode forward and snatched the sword from Marl’s hand, but kept it pressed against Hanner’s neck. He pushed a little harder, drawing a drop of blood. “You did this to keep me from getting my magic back, didn’t you?” he said. “You think you’re in charge now, as the one who someone in Ethshar will contact. You don’t believe Zallin will do anything; you think you’re the one someone will rescue. You think you can leave me here, powerless, or maybe that I’ll agree to whatever terms the wizards set to get them to help me.”

  Hanner tried to raise his jaw higher, to pull away from the sword’s point. He did not answer.

  “You think I won’t kill you?” Vond shouted, his voice rising in pitch.

  Hanner tried to move to one side, to get away from the blade pressing into his throat, but Vond turned to follow. Kolar stepped back to make room.

  The pressure on Hanner’s throat increased, and he could feel blood running down his neck and under the collar of his tunic. He would have swallowed, but that would only make the sword cut deeper.

  Hanner realized he was going to die. Vond had already demonstrated that he didn’t mind killing people who annoyed him, and Hanner had just done far worse to him than anyone else ever had — well, anyone except perhaps that poor witch who had sent him the Calling nightmare.

  A motion above and behind Vond’s head caught Hanner’s eye, and he looked upward for an instant. A panel had opened in the ceiling, and he could see a dark space there. He caught a glimpse of red hair. No one else seemed to notice; they were all facing the other way, staring at Hanner and the ruined tapestry.