The Unwelcome Warlock loe-11

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Ithinia still hadn’t decided whether to kill him directly, or turn the job over to the cult of Demerchan. Either approach could be slanted to make the Guild look good. Demerchan never explained how they decided who to kill, so the Guild could dodge the responsibility entirely, perhaps even blame the assassination on the family of one of the kings Vond had deposed in assembling his empire.

  If the Guild killed him directly, they could play the stern-but-fair role. It wasn’t as if Vond was particularly loved by his people; he’d been gone for fifteen years, and hadn’t yet had time to properly reestablish himself.

  She had also decided that if she had to kill him herself, or choose the spell for someone else, she would use a transformation of some sort. She knew that warlocks could be petrified, or turned into animals, and that for some reason it was much, much easier to get such a spell past a warlock’s defenses than any more direct sort of attack. Statues or beasts couldn’t use warlockry, so once Vond was transformed, he could be killed easily. Also, if a transformation spell failed, it would be less obvious than if Vond survived being struck by a meteor or blasted with supernatural flame.

  The trick was choosing exactly the right transformation to make the right impression on any witnesses. Some of the best transformations wouldn’t be possible, because so far as Ithinia had been able to determine, nobody knew Vond’s true name. It almost certainly wasn’t Vond. No one Ithinia had asked admitted to having ever heard of a warlock named Vond prior to his appearance in Semma.

  Of course, she might not have asked the right people.

  Ordinarily she would have used a divination of some sort to learn his true name, but divinations didn’t work on warlocks. That was profoundly annoying.

  Eliminating spells that required a true name left about half a dozen possibilities. Haldane’s Instantaneous Transformation wasn’t practical, though, as that required physically touching the target with the skin of whatever animal he was to become. Llarimuir’s Mass Transmogrification was intended for multiple targets, rather than a single individual, but it would work — if Ithinia could find anyone willing to attempt a twelfth-order spell. She didn’t care to attempt it herself.

  Fendel’s Greater Transformation would probably work, but since that normally left the victim with human abilities, such as being able to speak, in addition to the abilities natural to whatever animal or plant he became, Ithinia wasn’t completely convinced it would stop Vond from using warlockry.

  The Greater Spell of Transmutation would do, as would either Bazil’s Irreversible Petrifaction or Fendel’s Superior Petrifaction. One of those was probably the best choice. The big drawback with all of them was that they required the victim be within sight of the wizard casting the spell. It didn’t need to be a direct line of sight, though; a reflected image would do, or the image in a scrying glass or other visual divination. That would be easy to arrange with an ordinary man, but warlocks were naturally resistant to wizardry — it wasn’t just finding Vond’s true name that was difficult, but any sort of divination involving him. Getting a clear enough image in a scrying glass might be difficult.

  She hoped that all the Called warlocks he had taken with him to Semma could be removed before any of them managed to adapt to the energy of the towers the way Vond had. She knew many had already regretted their decision to accompany him and fled toward the coast, and she was optimistic about getting the rest out of the area once Vond had been dealt with.

  Well, now that the main body of the Called had been dissipated harmlessly, she could turn her full attention to the dear little Emperor. She turned away from the divinely-created gate and the steady stream of former warlocks.

  “Guildmaster Ithinia?”

  Startled, she looked around, and found Rothiel standing a few feet away, waving to be seen above the crowd. “Yes?” she said.

  “I have news I think you’ll want to hear.”

  Ithinia felt fairly certain that his news was actually something she needed to hear, but did not want to, but she did not bother to argue semantics. “This way,” she said, beckoning.

  She hadn’t bothered to bring any privacy spells, but she reached in the pouch on her belt to see if there was anything that might help. She had the pearl and candle necessary for Fendel’s Rune of Privacy, but that would hardly be practical out here in the street, where any casual passerby might disrupt the sphere of silence. No other quick and suitable spells came to mind, and she did not really want to invite Rothiel into her home, where protections were already in place. They would just need to speak cautiously.

  The two wizards made their way out of the plaza and up Merchant Street, then onto West Avenue; by the time they reached the corner of West Avenue and Lower Street they were clear of the throngs of warlocks and spectators, who were expanding in other directions than this.

  “What is it, Rothiel?” Ithinia demanded, once she thought they would probably not be overheard. She kept walking, in the direction of her own house.

  “It’s Vond,” he said, walking beside her.

  Ithinia had feared as much. “What’s he done? Has he attacked Lumeth?”

  Rothiel waved a hand in denial. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

  “He isn’t invading somewhere? He’s still in Semma?”

  “Well — no. He’s not.”

  Ithinia frowned. “Not Semma or Lumeth? Then where is he?”

  “Here. In Ethshar.”

  “What?” She turned to glare at the other wizard.

  “In Ethshar. On High Street. At Warlock House. He arrived early this morning.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  Rothiel turned up an empty palm. “Right now, I believe he’s out for a walk, accompanied by Zallin of the Mismatched Eyes.”

  “Oh, blood,” Ithinia growled. Of all the people who might be associating with Vond, Zallin would have been very nearly her last choice. She just hoped Zallin couldn’t nag Vond into tinkering with his brain so that he, too, could use the power of Lumeth’s towers.

  She wished she could be sure whether or not Vond wanted other warlocks around. She thought that he would prefer not to have any potential rivals, but she couldn’t know that with any certainty.

  “Well, at least we won’t need to travel to the edge of the World to kill him,” she muttered, as they neared her front door.

  “If I may, Guildmaster — we may not want to kill him.”

  “What?” She stopped walking and turned to face her fellow wizard.

  “You see, as I understand it,” Rothiel explained, “as soon as he was informed of the Guild’s edict forbidding warlocks in his empire, he left the empire and came here. He’s obeying our ruling; it wouldn’t look good to kill him.”

  “It wouldn’t look good to have a warlock running amok in the streets of Ethshar, either.”

  “He isn’t running amok, Guildmaster. He’s behaving himself, at least so far. And there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “The overlord’s rules. He doesn’t allow the killing foreign dignitaries within the city walls — not even by us.”

  “Foreign dignitaries?”

  “I think an emperor qualifies as a foreign dignitary, yes.”

  “Oh, blood and death!” Ithinia had been thinking of Vond purely as a dangerous magician, and had forgotten that he was also an emperor.

  At the sound of her outburst one of her gargoyles turned to look down at her; she could hear the grinding of stone on stone, but she ignored it as she considered the situation.

  The very fact that Vond was both a warlock and an emperor violated the Guild’s rule against allowing anyone to possess both personal magic and political power, and ordinarily that would have been enough to demand his abdication or death, but just how the Guild could enforce this in the present circumstances was unclear. He was a foreign official, and therefore under the overlord’s protection as long as he was inside the city walls.

  Wizards of Ithinia’s level certainly had the power to do whatev
er they pleased, regardless of the overlord’s laws or orders, but the Guild had insisted for centuries that its members must obey the local laws wherever practical. Throwing away that long history of cooperation with the triumvirate that ruled the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars was not something to be done lightly, not even to remove the last warlock from the World. Wizards were an accepted part of Ethsharitic society, and everyone liked it that way, but there were limits. Defying Lord Azrad on this might well be a catastrophically bad idea.

  Well, maybe Vond wouldn’t be staying. Maybe he was only visiting for a few days, and would then go back to the Small Kingdoms, where he could be assassinated with impunity.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best,” Rothiel said. “If he behaves himself, having one last warlock around might even be useful.”

  “One last warlock, maybe,” Ithinia grudgingly admitted. “The Great Vond, self-proclaimed emperor? I doubt that will end well. And that’s without mentioning his power source; we don’t know what his magic is doing to the towers.”

  “It probably isn’t doing anything, Guildmaster.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right. While we’re at it, let’s hope Vond doesn’t turn this city into a slaughterhouse.”

  “If he does, I’m sure the overlord will ask us to kill him.”

  “I’m sure that will be a great comfort to his victims’ families.”

  “Ithinia, he didn’t turn Semma into a slaughterhouse; why should he treat his home city any worse?”

  “Because we’re more crowded here, and less willing to be pushed around. He built his empire by replacing a bunch of kings; those people were used to taking orders.”

  “I don’t see how our three overlords are so very different, Guildmaster.”

  “That’s because you’ve never lived in the Small Kingdoms.”

  “If you will forgive me for saying so, neither have you. You’re from Tintallion, aren’t you? And you’ve been here in Ethshar for centuries.”

  “Yes, I’m from Tintallion,” Ithinia agreed, “and Tintallion has kings, so I know what they’re like. The overlords are different.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. I also say that I will sleep more easily when Vond is dead.”

  “I will sleep more easily if I am not involved in angering the overlord.”

  “Fine! Then you won’t be involved. I’m not going to kill Vond while he’s in the city unless the overlord gives permission, or unless I’m acting in self-defense.” She smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t encourage him to go elsewhere.”

  “I don’t think —” Rothiel began.

  Ithinia cut him off. “I want to talk to those theurgists again,” she said. “And I want to hire some witches.”

  “I don’t...”

  “Wizardry doesn’t work properly on warlocks, but witchcraft does.”

  “Guildmaster, I...”

  “You don’t want to be involved? I’m not going to kill him. But that’s fine; you don’t need to be involved. I’ll handle this myself.” She turned and strode to her front door, leaving Rothiel standing in the street looking baffled.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hanner was sitting alone in the dim parlor, trying to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, when someone knocked on the big front door.

  He had been sitting there for hours, unable to settle on a course of action. Not only had he not developed any long-range plans, he had not even managed to deal with immediate questions, such as whether or not to inform Ithinia of Vond’s arrival, or whether to go look up his sisters or his children. He wanted to see Faran, and Arris, and Hala, but did they want to see him? He had abandoned them when he flew off to Aldagmor, and he didn’t know whether they would understand that he had had no choice, or would blame him for giving in to the Call.

  He knew he probably wouldn’t even recognize them — they had been children when he left, and they were adults now, with children of their own. He might have already passed them on the street without knowing it. From his point of view he had seen them barely a sixnight before, but for them it had been seventeen years.

  At least he was reasonably certain he would recognize his sisters, Nerra and Alris, but they, too, were seventeen years older. Seeing Mavi had been a shock, even before she chose her new husband over him, and he was not quite ready to see how his siblings had changed, but he knew he could not put it off for long without offending them.

  And his children — did they know he was still alive?

  He had been letting his mind run in circles, getting nowhere, for much of the afternoon.

  He told himself that after his ordeal in Aldagmor, and the stress of the Calling before that, he deserved a little rest, that his family would understand, but he was not at all sure that what he was doing was really rest, rather than paralysis.

  The knock broke the spell, at least for a moment. With a sigh, Hanner got to his feet and ambled to the door — there was no one else in the house to answer it. Vond and Zallin were still off on their tour. Rudhira had returned and joined him for lunch, but was now making a second trip to the markets, intent on stocking the kitchens before the weather turned foul enough to make shopping difficult. Sterren had departed immediately after lunch, saying he was going out to look for someone named Emmis of Shiphaven.

  Whoever was out there was impatient, and knocked again before Hanner could get to the door. “I’m coming!” he shouted. He hastened his pace a little, and swung the door open, expecting to see Sterren or Rudhira.on the steps; he doubted Vond or Zallin would bother to knock. If it was Rudhira she might need help with her purchases.

  It wasn’t Rudhira, nor Sterren. There were half a dozen people standing there, all of them bedraggled and exhausted, several of them shivering, and all but one in nightclothes of one sort or another. It was a safe assumption that all of them were former warlocks; it would seem, Hanner thought, that the wizards had finally started delivering some of the Called back to Ethshar of the Spices.

  “Chairman Hanner?” one of them said.

  Hanner looked at the speaker; her face was slightly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. The rest he did not believe he had ever met. “Yes?” he said.

  “May we come in?”

  Hanner hesitated. He didn’t know these people. He was not particularly in a mood to welcome strangers into his home. Ithinia had told him to be a comforting friend to displaced former warlocks, to encourage them to go on without magic, so he should invite them in and hear them out, but she had also told him to keep former warlocks away from Vond, and Vond was not somewhere a hundred miles away in the Small Kingdoms; he was staying here.

  “We don’t have anywhere else to go,” a white-haired old man said, “and it’s cold.”.

  That decided it. “Come in,” Hanner said. “All of you, come in.” He flung the door wide and stepped back to let them past.

  A moment later the seven of them were seated in the parlor. “Now, tell me what’s happened,” Hanner said. “Who are you all?”

  The middle-aged woman who had called him by name said, “I’m Edara of Silk Street, Chairman; we met shortly before I was Called, in 5211.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember,” Hanner admitted.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any reason you should,” she said. “I was just one more frightened warlock hoping to avoid the inevitable.”

  “Which turned out not to be as dreadful as we thought, didn’t it?” Hanner pointed out. “What brings you here?”

  Edara blinked, as if fighting back tears. “We didn’t know where else to go!” she said. “We came through the gate, and it was wonderful to be back in Ethshar, but when I went to my parents’ house on Silk Street it was gone — there was a completely different shop there! No one knew what happened to my parents; hardly anyone even remembered them.”

  “It’s been twenty-five years,” Hanner said gently.

  “But they’re just gone, everything’s gone! The whole neighborhood is differ
ent.”

  “Wasn’t there anywhere else you could go?”

  She spread her hands. “I was an only child. I never married or had children — I didn’t want to leave any orphans when I got Called. Once I realized my home was gone, I came here to ask for your help.”

  Hanner nodded. “And the rest of you?”

  “The Night of Madness,” the old man said. “At least, that’s what they tell me. I went to bed one night, and had a nightmare, and the next thing I know I’m crawling out of a pit in Aldagmor, surrounded by strangers who tell me it’s more than thirty years later. I never heard of warlocks or the Night of Madness or any of this until I woke up out there!”

  Hanner nodded. “Your name is?..”

  “Bardec of Cut Street. I’m a cloth merchant — or I was. When I went home just now there were strangers living in my house, and my warehouse had been split into four different shops, and no one knew who I was. I’d met Edara while we were waiting to come through the gate, and we walked up Merchant Street together, and when we found out...what we found out, she said we should come here for help.”

  “I see. And the rest of you? Much the same?”

  The other four nodded. “I lived on the corner of Embroidery and Velvet,” one nightgown-clad woman began.

  She was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Excuse me,” Hanner said.

  This time there were only three unhappy strangers on the steps. Hanner ushered them in.

  They had just gotten through the introductions when the next knock sounded. This time Hanner sent one of the others to answer it while he asked, “Several of you mentioned a gate; what gate? Didn’t the wizards send you here with a tapestry?”

  “No,” several voices said.

  “It wasn’t the wizards who did it,” Bardec said. “It was a god.”

  “Asham the Gate-Keeper,” Edara said. “It took four theurgists to summon him.”

  “It was...it was...” began a woman who had introduced herself as Gita. She groped for words, unable to complete her thought.