The Unwelcome Warlock loe-11

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The man looked up to be sure the lamps on either side of the door had sufficient fuel and were burning well, then stepped inside and closed the door. Kirris let out her breath; she had not realized until that instant that she had been holding it.

  There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. The Calling was gone. Linking her mind to Vond’s would not let that thing that had been trapped in Aldagmor back into her thoughts. All these warlocks were free of its influence, and of them all, only Vond still had any magic.

  Of course, she was there to meddle in Vond’s head, and he might not be pleased about that if he realized it was happening, but he was just a man, not a monster. Ithinia had given her some protective charms to try, just in case — but wizardry was notoriously ineffective against warlocks. Her own witchcraft might be better.

  She heard footsteps, and turned to see a girl in a filthy nightgown walking uncertainly up High Street. Behind her was a young man in black, almost invisible in the darkness save for his pale oval face.

  Kirris stepped out of the shadowed arch and waited for them.

  “Hai,” the man called. “I...we heard there was a place here where warlocks could go.”

  “That’s it,” Kirris said, pointing. “With the lanterns.”

  “You’re sure?” the girl asked. Something about the way she pronounced the words reminded Kirris of her own grandmother.

  “I’m sure,” Kirris said.

  “Thank you,” the girl said. She and the man trudged on.

  “Wait,” Kirris said. “I’ll come with you.”

  Together, the three of them made their way through the gate and up to the door, and stood on the stoop. Kirris waited for a moment, but when neither of the others took action she reached up and knocked. A moment later the door opened, and a petite redhead peered out at them, rather than the pudgy fellow Kirris had seen before. “May I help you?” she asked.

  Kirris turned to her companions.

  “We heard...we were told that...” the girl began.

  “We were Called,” the man said.

  “I was asleep,” the girl said. “And then I was in that pit full of people, and now my master is gone, and my family is gone, and...and someone said...”

  The redhead sighed. “Come in,” she said. “Welcome to Warlock House. Find a place to sit. Hanner is just starting.” She swung the door wide.

  “Starting what?” the girl asked.

  “Hanner?” the man asked. “Chairman Hanner? He’s here?”

  “In there,” the redhead said, pointing.

  Kirris followed her finger to a crowded parlor, where the pudgy man was standing in the far corner while the two dozen or so people she had watched enter the house before her were seated, sprawled, or crouched facing him.

  “Are there more?” the pudgy man called.

  “Just three,” the redhead told him.

  “Well, send them in. As I was saying, my name is Hanner, once Lord Hanner, once Chairman Hanner, but for the moment, simply Hanner. I own this house, but long ago dedicated it to the use of the Council of Warlocks.”

  Kirris slipped into the parlor and into a dim corner, while her two companions made their way into the room and found places of their own.

  “I know you’re probably all tired and confused,” Hanner continued. “You woke up out in the freezing wilderness in Aldagmor with no idea what had happened, but then the magicians showed up and brought us to Ethshar. You probably thought that once you got back to the city everything would be fine, and you could go back to your old lives, but instead you found that the World’s changed, that you’ve been gone for twenty, twenty-five, thirty years or more, and you can’t find your friends, or your family, or your old homes — or you found them, but your wives have remarried, your homes are occupied by strangers, your friends have forgotten you. You’re lost and alone and don’t know what to do, or where to go, and you heard that you could come here, and you thought at least it would keep you away from the slavers and out of the Hundred-Foot Field. So here you are.” He spread his hands to take in the entire room.

  Kirris settled to the floor, her back against the wall.

  “You are indeed welcome here, until you can build a new life,” Hanner said, “but we don’t have any magical solutions. We can’t send you back to your old homes; the past is past and gone. Even the most powerful wizards can’t travel backward through time. All we can do is give you a place to stay until you can find something better. Some of you will probably find that you do still have family, or that you do have friends who haven’t forgotten you. If you were snatched away on the Night of Madness, unless you’re a child, then presumably you know a trade. Yes, you’ve lost whatever tools or inventory you had, but you can start anew. If you’re a child, even if your parents are gone, you can find an apprenticeship — the World isn’t that different. I know you’ve lost a lot; we all have, myself included. Still, you’re alive, you’re safe, and you can make new lives for yourselves. We’ll give you a bed until you’re back on your feet, maybe offer some advice — but that’s all we can do.”

  He paused to let that sink in. Kirris looked around at the listeners. Most of them seemed to be accepting Hanner’s explanation calmly.

  “Now, there are some complications,” Hanner said. “First, as I’m sure most of you remember, back in Aldagmor that there was a warlock who called himself Vond who somehow still had his magic, even with the Source gone. How that happened is a mystery, but apparently he found another source that he can use, one that the rest of us are deaf to, and he’s as powerful a warlock as ever. Fifteen years ago he fled to the Small Kingdoms to escape the Calling, and when he found his new magic he built himself an empire there. Well, now that the Calling is gone, he decided he’d rather come home to Ethshar than stay out there lording over the barbarians, and he came here, to this house. He’s declared himself the new Chairman of the Council of Warlocks, and since he’s the only warlock left, no one can very well argue with him about that. He’s claimed the master’s apartment on the second floor. While I own this house, and you are all my guests, you need to realize that the Great Vond is a supremely powerful and very short-tempered magician; do not get in his way, or argue with him. He doesn’t care that I own the house; he treats it as his, and does whatever he pleases. No one can protect you if he decides he doesn’t like you. He throws people around if they annoy him, and at least once, he’s killed someone without really meaning to — smashed his head against a wall. He regretted that, I think, but it hasn’t made him any more careful, which means you need to be careful around him. Does everyone understand that?”

  Several of the listeners exchanged worried glances. A woman asked, “How will we know him? What does he look like?”

  “He’s tall, thin, and pale,” Hanner said, “but you’ll know him because his feet don’t touch the ground.”

  That elicited murmurs, and Kirris thought there might have been more questions had Hanner not forestalled them by launching into another speech.

  “I’m sure you’ve all noticed that this is a big house,” he said. “My Uncle Faran, who built it, wanted a mansion the equal of any in Ethshar. All the same, we have had dozens of you turn up here looking for shelter — hundreds, actually, with more arriving all the time. We can’t find space for all of you here unless we pack you in so tightly you’d be better off in the Hundred-Foot Field. Fortunately, we have a solution. Seventeen years ago, just before I was Called, I bought a magical tapestry from a wizard, the same kind of tapestry you saw the wizards using to send our fellow Called warlocks home to Ethshar of the Sands and Ethshar of the Rocks and Sardiron of the Waters. This one, though, doesn’t go anywhere in the World; instead it goes to a sunny little village in another world. I thought we might be safe from the Calling there, but it wasn’t ready in time, and I was Called before I could use it. It works now, though, and I have it hanging upstairs, ready to take you to that village.”

  “Can we get back?” someone called. Kirris did not s
ee who had spoken.

  “Yes, you can,” Hanner replied. “There’s another tapestry in the village that will bring you safely back to the attic of this house.”

  “Who lives in the village?” someone else asked.

  “Nobody,” Hanner answered. “Or rather, it was deserted until today. Now dozens of your compatriots are settling in there.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Hanner hesitated slightly; Kirris wasn’t sure everyone noticed. “I think so,” he said. “But we don’t really know. It’s magic. More specifically, it’s wizardry, and I’m sure most of you know that wizardry draws its power from chaos. We can’t be sure there aren’t various hazards in there. I can say, though, that I’ve visited the village and come back safely, and the other people who tried it all came back safely. It seems to be safe.” He straightened up. “Now, I’m sure most of you are tired and hungry. We’ve sent some supplies through the tapestry to the magical village, and there are still empty houses there, waiting for you. If you would follow me upstairs, I’ll show you the tapestry, and you can see what you think.”

  Kirris was not eager to draw attention to herself, but stepping through a Transporting Tapestry into some miniature universe was not part of her plans. She joined the crowd, but as they climbed the stairs she maneuvered herself close to Hanner and murmured in his ear, “I don’t know about this tapestry thing. I don’t trust wizardry. Could I stay here in the house?”

  Hanner glanced at her. “I can’t promise you a bed,” he said. “I won’t throw you out on the street, but Vond might.”

  “I’ll risk it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Please yourself, then, but do come take a look at the tapestry first. You might change your mind.”

  Kirris didn’t argue, but let herself gradually fall behind the others as they made their way up three flights to the dusty bedroom where the magical tapestry hung. By the time they reached the room she was at the rear of the group, and stood in the doorway, not entering the chamber, as Hanner presented the tapestry.

  Kirris had to admit the scene it depicted was beautiful — blue sky, green grass, bright sun. She was not tempted, though; she preferred the real world to some wizard’s fantasy. She listened as Hanner explained how each person had to step aside to make way for the next, because the spell probably wouldn’t work if the reality no longer matched the image, and watched as the first former warlock timidly reached out, touched the fabric, and vanished.

  Then she slipped back out into the hallway, and hurried down the stairs, back to the second floor and to the carved door at the top of the grand staircase.

  The door was closed, but she was a witch; ordinary physical barriers did not stop her. This room was supposed to be where Vond slept; she reached out, trying to sense him, to feel his thoughts.

  It wasn’t hard. He was there, all right, and he was definitely not sleeping. His thoughts were clear, and focused on what he was doing.

  Kirris had never really given much thought to the erotic possibilities in warlockry, but Vond obviously had. Magic that provided unlimited stamina, and allowed its wielder to move anything, exert pressure anywhere, heat or cool surfaces — Kirris wondered why she had never before heard stories about the amorous prowess of warlocks. Now that she observed it in action, it seemed obvious. She knew that some witches used sexual magic, she had dabbled in it herself a few times, but she had never heard of it in connection with warlocks.

  Maybe the Calling had distracted normal warlocks, or concerns about being Called had kept them from experimenting freely. Vond, however, had no such concerns. The woman with him was happily exhausted, barely able to stay awake; they had clearly been at it for quite some time.

  Kirris looked around. She could hear voices from downstairs — more homeless warlocks, perhaps? She could not just stay here at the door; sooner or later someone would see her and want to know what she was doing there. She would be too busy using her witchcraft elsewhere to maintain the spell that kept people from noticing her.

  Ideally, she would slip into Vond’s bedchamber and hide in a wardrobe or closet, but she could not see how to manage that with the couple awake in there — they weren’t that intent on their activity, and if the door opened, they would notice. Or at least Vond would; that girl might not stay conscious much longer.

  She might be able to hide her entrance with magic, but she was unsure how effective witchcraft would be against Vond. She preferred not to risk it. But the bed was against the west wall, and one of the guest bedrooms adjoined it. She crossed to that room’s door and tested the latch. The door swung open.

  There were signs of recent occupancy, including several bundles of clothing and a stack of books on the floor by the bed, but no one was in the room. Kirris slipped in, and closed the door behind her. Kirris looked at the wall that separated this chamber from Vond’s, and was pleased to see a closet door. She quickly crossed the room.

  The closet was empty, which was a little surprising at first, especially given the bundles by the bed, but then she remembered that most of the house was inhabited by refugees who had no clothing except what they had been wearing when they were Called. This room’s occupant had apparently acquired some garments somewhere, but probably hadn’t had time yet to put them in the closet.

  She stepped into the closet and pulled the door shut behind her, then settled to the floor in the darkness, her back against the wall. She could have made a light, but it might show; instead she left the closet dark, and closed her eyes, using her magic to sense what lay beyond the wall behind her.

  Vond was finally done, not because he was tired, but because his companion was unable to stay awake any longer. He slid off her, and started to get out of bed.

  That was not what Kirris wanted. She reached out, and cast a whisper into the warlock’s mind. “A little sleep might be nice,” she thought. “Not needed, of course, but nice. Enjoy this lovely bed, and wake up next to this girl.”

  She could feel him hesitate. She felt him turn and look at the sleeping woman.

  “There’s no hurry,” she thought at him. “There’s all the time in the World. Everyone else is going to bed now; why shouldn’t you?”

  She knew that her messages were reaching him, but she was not certain they were coming across as his own thoughts. She did not sense any real barrier from his own magic, but he was always wary — she could see that, could see that it was part of his nature.

  She knew he had stopped, and was looking at his sleeping companion. Then he glanced around the room, at the burning lamps, at the marble statue of a woman and the little bronze on the bedside table, and at the white-and-gold bed-curtains.

  Kirris waited, holding her breath. Then Vond lay back, let out a sigh, and closed his eyes. A moment later he was sound asleep.

  Kirris still waited, crouching in the closet with her eyes closed, watching as the warlock — the last warlock — settled into a sound slumber. When she was certain that he was not going to awaken for at least a few minutes, she felt his mind, felt the shape of it. She could sense the structure in the brain that resonated with the magic that permeated the World.

  She had studied that structure before, and she could tell immediately that Vond’s was slightly different. It was...bigger here, smaller there, shaped a little differently. It was sensitive not just to the magic that had formerly poured out of Aldagmor, but to the very different power that came from somewhere to the southeast — from the towers in Lumeth, presumably.

  Kirris knew that normal warlocks could not be turned back into ordinary humans; once the brain had become attuned to it, it could not close out the Aldagmor source and continue to function. This other power, though, might be different. She might be able to shut down Vond’s magic, reducing him to just one more former warlock. She reached out...

  And hit a barrier. She could magically see the inside of Vond’s head, but she could not touch it. It wasn’t that the structural changes couldn’t be reversed and the power shut out without destroy
ing his mind, as was the case with an ordinary warlock, but that he had erected a protective barrier that somehow stayed in place even while he slept. She could not tell whether it was a permanent structure of some sort, or whether he had trained himself to maintain it even when unconscious, but it blocked her witchcraft quite effectively.

  That was not really a surprise. She had not known such a thing was possible, but given that it was possible, Vond was exactly the sort of person who would have made such an arrangement. He had probably done it long ago, before he was Called, when he thought the kings he had deposed in creating his empire were plotting against him.

  She couldn’t take his magic away. Her own private plan was not going to work.

  She had feared that might be the case. It would have been too easy if she could simply turn off his power supply, or block it somehow. She had not even bothered to tell Ithinia and the others she intended to try.

  That protective spell meant she would have to try the plan that she had discussed with Ithinia. She let out a soundless sigh, gathered her reserves of energy, and dug down into her own memory of those long-ago experiments she and Teneria had conducted.

  The images were still there, burned indelibly into her mind when she had shared the experience of the Call. She gathered and shaped them.

  This was taking a lot of energy, she knew. To all appearances she was sitting quietly in a closet, but in fact she was using more witchcraft in this hour or so than she would normally use in a sixnight. She was going to be tired, hungry, and shaky when this was done — but it had to be done, and the sooner the better.

  She could feel herself trembling, and she forced herself to stop, to focus on the magic, the memories, the images, the sensations, and the feel of Vond’s sleeping mind on the far side of the bedroom wall. She reached out, and began to filter the remembered images into his thoughts as a dream — a dream of falling, and burning, of ferocious inhuman need, of a demand and a direction, of being buried deep in ash and mud, smothered and trapped.