The Unwelcome Warlock loe-11

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “He’s gone out to reacquaint himself with the city. After all, it’s been fifteen years since he saw it. I imagine there have been some changes.”

  Hanner remembered the walk from Eastgate Market. “I’d say so, yes. But it’s still Ethshar.”

  “I’m sure it is; I never flew off to Aldagmor to spend a decade and a half stuck in a protective spell, so if anything really drastic had happened I think I’d have heard about it. I did hear about Tabaea, for example.”

  “Who?”

  “Tabaea the Thief? The woman who got hold of a magic dagger and declared herself Empress of Ethshar?”

  “I never heard of her,” Hanner said. “When was that?”

  “Oh, almost ten years ago now. Harvest of 5227, I think.”

  “I was Called in 5219.”

  “Oh. Well, she did, and the Wizards’ Guild had a hard time getting rid of her; they wound up destroying part of the overlord’s palace in Ethshar of the Sands in the process.”

  Hanner shifted in his chair. “I hope they won’t need to do anything like that with Vond.”

  “So do I. He won’t say so, but I think one reason he came to Ethshar was because the Guild proclaimed that no warlocks would be permitted in the Vondish Empire, or several neighboring kingdoms.”

  Hanner frowned. That didn’t sound like Vond, from what he had seen and heard of the man. “He accepted that, and went into exile?”

  “Not exactly,” Sterren answered. “He says that now the Calling is gone, he’s free to come home to Ethshar, so here we are. He doesn’t admit it had anything to do with the Guild.”

  “Well, maybe it didn’t; maybe it was staying in the empire that was his exile, and now he can come home.”

  “That’s what he claims. It might be true.”

  Hanner considered that quietly for a moment, then asked, “So he’s gone out for a walk?”

  Sterren smiled wryly. “He doesn’t walk much, but yes, he’s gone out. And that friend of yours — Zallin, was it?”

  “Zallin isn’t exactly a friend,” Hanner said.

  “Well, he’s gone along as Vond’s guide. He was never Called, and he’s always lived in Ethshar, so he’s up to date on the city’s status.”

  Hanner felt uneasy at that. “He’s gone with Vond?”

  “That’s right. I think he’s hoping to learn the secret of Vond’s magic — why he’s still a warlock when no one else is.”

  A shiver ran down Hanner’s spine. “Is there a secret?”

  Sterren cocked his head. “What if there is? Would you want to know it?”

  “Me? Blood and death, no! I never asked to be a warlock; I got caught on the Night of Madness. I may be out of a job, but I have family and friends, so I’ll be all right. But Zallin would very much like to know Vond’s secret.”

  “He would?”

  “Oh, very much so.”

  “And you wouldn’t?”

  Hanner hesitated only very briefly before replying, “No.”

  “There’s no Calling to worry about any more, you know. It would be safe.”

  “Until I angered the Wizards’ Guild, or the overlord, or until someone decided that warlocks were too dangerous to allow.” There were other, more personal reasons, as well, but he was not about to explain those to this stranger.

  “You don’t think warlocks would still be accepted?”

  “I don’t know,” Hanner admitted. “But I don’t care to make the experiment. And you never answered my question — is there a secret? Can Vond teach other people how to be warlocks?”

  Sterren gazed thoughtfully at him. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  Hanner closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “If the answer is no, he can’t help anyone become a warlock, I want to know because it would make my life easier.”

  “It would? How?”

  “Do you know who Ithinia of the Isle is?”

  “The Guildmaster Ithinia, you mean?” Sterren asked. Hanner nodded. “Yes, I know her. She was the one who delivered the Guild’s ultimatum banning warlocks from the empire.”

  “She’s good at that sort of thing,” Hanner said with a sigh. “She’s asked me to do whatever I can to keep former warlocks from seeking out Emperor Vond in hopes of getting their magic back. It would be a great relief if I could tell her that Vond can’t give them back their magic.”

  “Ah,” Sterren said. “Ah. Yes. I see your situation. I wish I could help. Unfortunately, I can’t, and your friend Zallin —”

  “He’s not my friend!”

  “Fine. Your compatriot Zallin is out there right now trying to coax Vond into giving him back his magic. I don’t think Vond will agree — he likes being the only warlock, without any possible rivals. But I can’t say for certain he won’t change his mind, and as I’m sure you know, the change that makes someone a warlock is irreversible, and that appears to hold true for both kinds.”

  “He can do it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “How do you know?”

  Sterren seemed to hesitate, then said, “Before he was Called, he talked about inviting warlocks to Semma, and teaching them to use the second source, the way he does. He seemed absolutely certain he could do it.”

  That was not at all what Hanner wanted to hear.

  “But he hasn’t actually done it?”

  “He has,” Sterren admitted. “Once. Fifteen years ago.”

  “So there’s another warlock out there in the Small Kingdoms?”

  “No, not any more. But there was.”

  “And he could do it again.”

  “He could, but honestly, Hanner, I don’t think he will. Fifteen years ago he thought it was a way of saving his fellow warlocks from the Calling; now he knows that wouldn’t work, and the Calling is gone anyway. He brought a bunch of warlocks with him from Aldagmor, and he didn’t teach any of them when he had the chance. I think he’s decided he doesn’t need any competition.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Hanner said.

  Sterren looked around to make sure no one else was listening, then leaned forward and asked, “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you want Vond to make more warlocks? I mean, warlocks aren’t monsters. You were a warlock. What’s the problem?”

  Hanner frowned. “Well, in the short term, Ithinia doesn’t want any more warlocks, and she’s...requested me to do what I can to prevent them.”

  “Why is it any of her business?”

  “Because she’s the most powerful magician in the city. Or at least, she was until you and Vond showed up. I assume she doesn’t want the competition.”

  “But why does she get to decide?”

  Hanner sighed. “You weren’t around on the Night of Madness, were you?”

  “No. At least, I wasn’t paying attention; I was a suckling babe. Why?”

  “When warlocks first appeared, no one knew what was happening. A lot of people, including the old overlord, thought we were monsters, that warlocks were responsible for stealing everyone who had vanished. They thought we were possessed by demons, or part of some left-over Northern revenge magic. The general consensus was that we should all be killed, or at least exiled, just to be on the safe side. Several warlocks were killed — some of them by other warlocks; Rudhira took down a few other warlocks who were running wild, and killed at least one of them.”

  “Rudhira? That little redhead who was here earlier?”

  “Yes, that Rudhira. Immediately after the Night of Madness, she was the most powerful warlock in Ethshar of the Spices.”

  Sterren cocked his head thoughtfully. “Where is she, anyway?”

  “She borrowed some money from Zallin and went to the market; the pantry here is almost empty.”

  “She’s not a warlock now?”

  “Not unless Vond did something to her this morning.”

  “All right. Go on, then; you were explaining why you care what Ithinia wants.”

  “Well, back then I wa
s an assistant to Lord Faran, the overlord’s chief advisor, and my specialty was magic. I was in charge of keeping Lord Faran up to date on everything that was happening among the city’s magicians. On the Night of Madness I went out collecting warlocks, trying to find out what was going on. I didn’t know I was one myself right at first; I wasn’t very powerful at all. I was a lord, though, so I could invoke the overlord’s authority, and I wound up leading a band of warlocks that eventually became the Council of Warlocks, with me as the chairman. We tried to negotiate an agreement with the overlord, but old Azrad was in a panic and wanted nothing to do with us — until Ithinia and the Wizards’ Guild came to our aid.”

  “They came to your aid?”

  Hanner nodded. “They did. They had decided it would be better all around if we could negotiate a peace; they didn’t want a horde of angry warlocks fighting the overlord’s men and flattening half the city.” He pointed at the front window. “They showed up in High Street, right out there, between us and the city guard, and delivered an ultimatum acknowledging warlocks as magicians and the council as our governing body.”

  “I’ve seen the Guild delivering an ultimatum,” Sterren said. “They aren’t subtle about it.”

  “No, they aren’t. So the overlord backed down, and warlocks were recognized as respectable magicians, and everything was the way it was when you were growing up, with warlocks living peacefully and earning an honest living with their magic.”

  “And you believe Ithinia was responsible for that, so you think you owe her a debt?”

  “That’s part of it, yes. But I’d talked her into helping us, and part of my argument was that the Calling meant warlocks could never be that big a threat. That was right there at the heart of our understanding, right from the first — warlocks were acceptable because the Calling limited us.”

  “But now the Calling is gone.”

  “Exactly. Which means that the terms of our agreement have changed. Under our agreement, the Council would punish any warlock who got out of hand. The Guild accepted that, and agreed not to interfere, because Ithinia trusted me, personally. She accepted my word that I would keep order among warlocks. And now she’s still holding me to that, even though I don’t have any magic anymore. Which means the only way I can keep warlocks in line is by making sure there aren’t any.”

  “But there’s already Vond,” Sterren said, eyeing Hanner closely.

  “Yes, there’s Vond,” Hanner acknowledged, “and the Guild agrees that he’s not my problem, but making sure there aren’t any others — that is my problem.”

  “Because you gave your word thirty years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s very respectable of you.”

  “I gave my word,” Hanner said.

  “Thirty years ago, under fundamentally different circumstances.”

  “I gave my word,” Hanner repeated.

  “Right.” Sterren’s expression clearly said that he didn’t understand this, but wasn’t going to argue any further. “You said that was the short term reason?”

  “Well, yes. The long-term reason is that Ithinia is right — warlocks who don’t have to worry about being Called are really dangerous. I mean, look at your friend Vond — when he thought he was free of the Calling, he built an empire, practically overnight. Oh, most warlocks would be peaceful enough, but if just one warlock turns out to be a murderous lunatic, think how much damage he could do! And if there were two who got into a fight, it could be catastrophic.”

  “But if there are a hundred warlocks, and ninety-eight of them are ordinary peace-loving folks, can’t they keep the troublemakers in line?”

  “I don’t know,” Hanner replied. “Can they? Warlocks get more powerful every time they use their magic; it wouldn’t be hard for a troublemaker to become so strong no one else can match him.”

  “So you and Ithinia want to make sure that warlockry is gone forever?”

  “Except for Vond, yes.”

  “Except for Vond? Why except for him?”

  “Well, he’s already here, isn’t he? We can’t undo that.”

  Sterren glanced at the door, then leaned forward and said quietly, “We can’t undo it, but he can be killed. I had assumed the Guild intended to do exactly that.”

  Hanner hesitated.

  “They probably do,” he admitted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ithinia watched as the air shimmered and then tore open, replacing a section of the plaza in front of the overlord’s palace with a patch of mud. She looked through it at the bedraggled crowd beyond. There was an odd feeling of pressure, and a peculiar smell, reminiscent of the ocean before a storm. The wizard’s ears ached, though there had been no loud sounds to cause any such discomfort.

  You have until sunset tonight, the god’s soundless voice announced. When the light of day departs, the gate will close forever.

  “Thank you,” Ithinia said, though she was deliberately vague about whether she was addressing the god Asham the Gate-Keeper, or the four theurgists who had summoned him. She could not see the god, and as she spoke she was less able to feel his presence, as well; he had done what had been asked of him, and now seemed to be fading away, back to wherever the gods went when they weren’t in the World. As that sensation of pressure vanished, Ithinia raised a hand and waved.

  On the other side of the gate Molvarn waved back, and began calling orders. Oddly, sound did not seem to travel through the opening; Ithinia could not hear a word of what Molvarn said, nor anything else from beyond the aperture.

  On her own side, lines of guardsmen in red and yellow were holding back crowds who were watching, fascinated. It wasn’t often that magic this showy was performed openly in the streets, and not saved for the Arena or paying customers.

  Then the first of the refugee warlocks stepped through, and the air seemed to ripple as he emerged into Ethshar of the Spices. He was a man in late middle age, wearing a black silk tunic belted with black leather; his clothes were much the worse for wear, and his hair desperately needed to be washed and combed. He gave every impression of being exhausted, but when he looked around at the plaza, at the overlord’s palace and the familiar houses that lined the other three sides of the square, he broke into a broad grin. The crowd began cheering.

  The former warlock turned and gave a cheerful wave to the people beyond the gate, then stepped aside, clearing the way for the next.

  That next was an old woman, also dressed in black, as were most of the Called. She was closely followed by two more men, then another woman, and after that it was no longer individuals so much as a steady stream of humanity pouring through the divinely-provided portal. The crowd’s enthusiastic applause turned into more specific shouts as people began to recognize lost friends or family members. “Kelder! Over here!”

  “Aunt Irith! It’s me, Intirin!”

  “Oh, gods, it’s Shennar! Shen, I thought I’d never see you again!”

  “Master Kardig! Master! I’m here!”

  “Kelder! No, I mean the other Kelder, Kelder of Hawker Street!”

  Ithinia watched for a few minutes, but as the plaza began to fill up she called to one of the soldiers, “Keep them moving! We need to get everyone through before sundown!”

  The guardsman nodded, and conferred with his companions; half a dozen men in red kilts and yellow tunics stepped forward and began shouting. “Come on, move it along! Make room for the poor bastards, will you? Keep walking, there’s plenty of space up Central Avenue or along Merchant Street. Let them through!” They didn’t hesitate to grab shoulders and turn people in the right direction, then give them a shove to help them along.

  And that, Ithinia thought, was that. Asham had done what was asked, and then gone away. That before-the-storm smell still lingered, and probably would as long as the gate was open, but the god himself had definitely departed.

  With this final portal functioning, and the other spells and operations already in place, fifteen thousand former warlocks
were being efficiently distributed to the three Ethshars, to Sardiron of the Waters, and to vacant land suitable for farming in the northeastern corner of the Hegemony — and not to anywhere near Lumeth of the Towers. They wouldn’t all find places for themselves right away, but the ones who had homes to return to could do so, and the rest would be so scattered they would be no real threat to peace and order.

  That was all the Wizards’ Guild really cared about, of course — keeping peace and order. Helping out a bunch of people was a pleasant side-effect, and any gratitude they might feel toward wizards would be welcome, but the main thing was to not leave an army of desperate people sitting out there in the cold and mud, ready to cause trouble.

  Removing their potential leaders probably hadn’t been necessary, but Ithinia was just as glad to have people like Vond and Hanner and Rudhira away from the main group.

  Rudhira probably wasn’t any threat without her magic, in any case, but Ithinia still remembered the little redhead pulling an entire mountain of water up toward the sky to test her ability. Anyone who had ever tasted that sort of power wanted watching. Most warlocks didn’t reach that level before being Called.

  Hanner was the natural leader of the group, but even after seventeen years as chairman he didn’t seem to realize it. He had always taken his position to be a fluke, never acknowledging how much like his uncle Faran he was. Lord Faran had been the effective ruler of the city for much of the reign of Azrad the Sedentary, and while Hanner hadn’t inherited any of the ambition that had made that possible, and he certainly hadn’t had Faran’s looks or his way with women, he had the same knack for seeing what needed to be done and making sure it was done.

  Fortunately, what he thought needed to be done usually suited the Guild’s own needs nicely. Making him an ally, at least provisionally, was easy.

  Vond, though — Vond might be a problem. He was still a warlock because he had learned to use the magic of the Lumeth Towers, as well as the magic radiated by the Warlock Stone, and he did have ambition. Unchecked power, ambition — and not, from what Ithinia knew of him, any excess of intelligence. That made him very dangerous indeed. But he had violated the Guild’s ban on warlocks in the vicinity of Lumeth, so the Guild had a perfectly legitimate excuse for killing him, and it wouldn’t even count as meddling in politics.