The Unwilling Warlord loe-3

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Sterren nodded approvingly. His own attitude was very similar.

  “Suit yourself,” Hamder said. “I’m going home.”

  “Me, too,” said Shenna.

  Emner and Annara were obviously uncertain of their plans. They were eyeing each other doubtfully.

  “One of us should stay to keep an eye on things, I think,” Emner said at last. “And the other should go contact a Guildmaster.”

  Annara nodded. “You better go,” she said. “I don’t know any Guildmasters.”

  “I’m not sure I do, any more,” Emner said.

  “Well, you go, anyway,” Annara insisted.

  Emner nodded.

  “What’s this about Guildmasters?” Sterren asked. Annara and Emner exchanged quick glances.

  Emner cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ve heard of the Wizards’ Guild,” he said.

  Sterren nodded.

  “Well,” Emner explained, “Guildmasters are the officers of the Wizards’ Guild. This is all more or less secret, you understand, but it’s not one of the big secrets; we won’t be punished for telling you.”

  “You think your Guild will want to do something about this?” Sterren asked. He hoped for some facts to back up his earlier theorizing.

  Emner spread his palms. “Who knows? They might, though, and if we didn’t tell them about it, and they found out later, it wouldn’t do our standing any good, that’s certain.”

  “They probably won’t do anything,” Annara said. “They generally don’t like to interfere with nonwizards. But they like to know what’s going on. And sometimes they do intervene, eventually. Usually they wait a minimum of ten years, to see what’s going to happen. The Guild has been around a long, long time and it’s a pretty patient organization.”

  “How do you know all this?” Hamder asked.

  “We’re members of the Guild, of course,” Emner said. “You can’t be a wizard if you don’t join. They kill anyone who tries, usually in some spectacularly horrible way.”

  “How do you join?” Hamder persisted.

  “When you sign on as apprentice, you’re initiated into the Guild before you’re taught your first spell,” Annara explained. “All through your apprenticeship, you’ll get lessons about the Guild, as well as about wizardry itself. Not that they really tell you much. How the Guild actually works is all secret. There are Guildmasters, and there are rumors of an Inner Circle within the Guildmasters, but we don’t... well, at least I don’t know whether there’s really an Inner Circle, or who gets chosen to be a Guildmaster, or anything else about how the Guild operates. I just know that if you break a Guild rule, you die, and I know what the Guild rules are, and what I can and can’t tell outsiders.”

  Emner nodded. “It was the same for me,” he said. “Even though my master’s old master was a Guildmaster himself, until he died.”

  “So you intend to inform the Wizards’ Guild of Vond’s plans,” Sterren said. “Then what?”

  Emner and Annara exchanged glances. “Then I go home,” Emner said, “if the Guild will let me. And I’ll buy a dream-spell or a messenger-spell and let Annara know what the Guild wants her to do, if anything, if they haven’t sent a message already.”

  “And what will the Guild do?”

  “I have no idea,” Emner said.

  “Most likely,” Annara said, “they’ll argue for several months, maybe years, and give the problem time to either go away by itself or develop into something serious. My master always said that was how they worked.”

  Emner nodded. “My master never said, but it sounds right.”

  Sterren turned to Ederd. “Is there a Witches’ Guild?” The three witches exchanged glances. “Not really,” Shenna said. “There are two rather loose organizations, the Brotherhood and the Sisterhood, but they’re nothing like what Annara described. At least, the Sisterhood isn’t. I never joined either one, but I was invited by the Sisterhood once. I turned it down; I didn’t like the rules. They swap spells and recipes, and talk shop a lot, and they have an emergency fund for when a member’s in trouble; but they’ve got a lot of regulations about not competing with each other and not keeping secrets from the group and a whole bunch of other stuff that I didn’t want to put up with.”

  “The Brotherhood’s even looser,” Ederd said. “I was a member for a year, but I got tired of paying dues for nothing and I quit.”

  “I never even heard of it,” Hamder said.

  Ederd looked at him curiously. “Your master never mentioned it?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Hamder said, glaring back.

  “Is there a Warlocks’ Guild?” Shenna asked. “You seem to know a lot about them, Sterren.”

  “I failed an apprenticeship,” he said. “If there is a guild, I didn’t get far enough to find out about it. I don’t think there is, though; warlocks tend to be pretty antisocial. And they don’t have the history wizards and witches do; they haven’t even lasted twenty years yet.”

  “I wonder about the sorcerers?” Hamder said.

  “And the theurgists?” Annara added.

  “You could ask Agor about them,” Sterren said.

  “He’s a theurgist here in Semma, though he isn’t a very good one.”

  “I’ll do that,” Annara said. “Where do I find him? I think I’d like to talk to him about all this and see what he thinks we ought to do about Vond out there.”

  Ederd nodded agreement. “Good idea.”

  Sterren shrugged. “I can show you his room, but there’s no hurry.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Hamder retorted. “I intend to get out of here today, in case somebody gets Vond mad and he decides to squash this whole castle.”

  “Me, too,” Shenna said.

  “I don’t think he’ll do anything like that,” Sterren said.

  “All the same,” Emner said, getting to his feet, “the three of us who are going probably ought to go, without wasting any more time. If you don’t mind, Sterren, I’m going to go pack my things.” He turned to Annara. “I have that spell you wanted written out; I’ll trade it for the Explosive Seal any time it’s ready.”

  “I don’t know how to put all of it in writing; I’d better come show you,” Annara said. She rose, and together the two wizards departed.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Hamder said as he, too, stood up, “but I think the wizard’s right. I’ll go pack.”

  Shenna just nodded without saying anything, as she and Hamder left.

  That left just Sterren and Ederd.

  “Well,” Ederd said, “I suppose I’ll go look around the castle, see if I can find a window with a good view of the warlock’s palace, and let you eat in peace.” He rose.

  Sterren nodded. “If you like climbing stairs, my chamber in the tower has a great view. Tell the guards I said you could go in.”

  Ederd bowed and left.

  Sterren ate.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Ten leagues to the northwest, you say?” Sterren nodded. Queen Ashassa looked thoughtful. “That would be Lumeth of the Towers,” she said. “Perhaps near the Towers themselves.”

  “Maybe it is the Towers!” Princess Lura said. The queen nodded. “Maybe it is,” she agreed. “Certainly, nobody knows what they’re for, and generating this magic you describe seems as likely an explanation as any.”

  Sterren glanced at Nissitha and Shirrin, but as usual, they said nothing. Nissitha stared at him disdainfully, and Shirrin, whenever she saw him look in her direction, looked quickly away. The adoration he had seen so often in her face seemed to be gone, now, replaced by a ferocious disappointment.

  Prince Dereth, age eleven, watched carefully, but said little beyond occasional expressions of wonder.

  Nobody replied to the queen’s comment, and when the silence began to lengthen uncomfortably, Sterren asked, “Is there anything else, your Majesty?”

  “Just this, Lord Sterren. You know this man Vond and you know something of his magic. What would you advise us to do?”

&n
bsp; Sterren frowned slightly. He could only give one answer, but he knew it was not one that the queen would like.

  “Nothing,” he said. He would have liked to have said more, explaining his reasons, but the effort of making himself understood in Semmat was too much. He had been talking all morning, save when he was walking back and forth between the castle and Vond’s building site, and he was tired of it. He left his answer a single word.

  “You think he could defeat our entire army, if you marched against him?”

  “Yes, your Majesty, easily.” Sterren did not bother to point out that the warlock had already defeated the much larger armies of Ophkar and Ksinallion; the queen knew that.

  Ashassa eyed him for a moment, then nodded slightly.

  “All right, Lord Sterren,” she said, “you may go.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty.” He rose, bowed, and backed out of the room.

  Once in the corridor he paused, unsure where to go. The three departing magicians might well have already left, and he had no idea where to find Annara or Ederd, unless Annara had tracked down Agor, in which case she might not appreciate any interruptions. The climb back to his own room was too much to face immediately.

  Well, there were always his duties as warlord; he had not seen anything of his troops since returning from Ethshar save vague shapes moving on distant battlements, or guards at various doors. He headed for the barracks.

  As he walked, he reviewed his own thoughts about Vond and the unexpected turn of recent events. He had not had a chance to sit down and think about it, but in the course of the morning’s several discussions, he had reached several conclusions.

  The warlock’s plans had several good points to them, in truth. Uniting several of the Small Kingdoms and putting an end to their stupid little wars would hardly hurt anyone or anything except the egos of the conquered rulers. Most of the people affected would be peasants, who would acquire a new ruler and who would no longer have to worry about having their farms looted and burned and their wives and daughters assaulted by invading soldiers.

  That assumed, of course, that Vond actually could build and hold his empire as easily as he believed he could, but Sterren thought it was a very reasonable assumption. As Vond had pointed out, warlockry without the Calling was virtually limitless, and right now, at least, he was free of the Calling. Magic was scarce and feared in this region. Who could effectively oppose him?

  The local nobility would find themselves deprived of their traditional powers and perquisites, but Sterren found himself untroubled by that prospect. Life was inherently uncertain, always a gamble; why should kings and nobles be exempt from that uncertainty? The lot of them could go elsewhere and find ways to survive, he was sure, or could presumably find places for themselves under Vond’s rule; even a warlock could not do everything himself and would surely need experienced administrators to handle the details of governing.

  The question was, what else would Vond do, beyond uniting the kingdoms and dispossessing the nobility?

  That, of course, Sterren did not know. Vond had spoken of concubines, that might mean abduction and rape, or it might just mean accepting offers. He was setting himself up as an absolute ruler, but did that mean only that he would expect his orders to be obeyed, or that he would treat everyone else as mere slaves, to be beaten or killed at whim?

  Benevolent despot or brutal tyrant, the difference would lie in Vond’s personality, and Sterren simply did not know the man well enough to guess which he would become.

  If he became a tyrant, then what? If he turned out benevolent, then Sterren would leave well enough alone, but what if he became a tyrant?

  Walking out and heading back to Ethshar was a possibility, but somehow it did not seem like a very appealing one. After all, Sterren had to admit that he had brought Vond here.

  He had not had any way of knowing what would happen, of course. Nobody could have known about the new power source in Lumeth. Still, intention was not always as important as results. He had never intended to lose when he played dice, but that hadn’t put food in his mouth when he did lose. One had to live with the results of one’s actions, whether those results were planned or not.

  If Vond were a tyrant, what then?

  There was the Wizards’ Guild, of course, lurking somewhere in the background, but what Annara and Emner had told him of the Guild was hardly very inspiring. Slow, cautious, not eager to interfere, that did not describe an organization that would efficiently remove a tyrant.

  There was assassination. Sterren had discussed the possible assassination of the kings of Ophkar and Ksinallion with Lar Samber’s son, his inherited spy, and thought he had a good idea of what would be involved. Semma had no history of assassination, no one trained in assassination; he could send his soldiers or Lar’s spies, but they would probably fail and either die or be captured in the attempt. They might also be traced back to him, their warlord. Against a mere king, Lar judged the odds on a first attempt no better than one in five, getting steadily worse with each attempt as the target took even stronger countermeasures.

  Lar had hinted at knowledge of an organization of professional assassins, but Sterren had the clear impression that this group, if it actually existed, did not operate anywhere near Semma. Furthermore, if he had understood Lar’s hints, they were very expensive, very secretive, and generally not easy to deal with. They were not so much a gang or a guild as a cult; the name Demerchan had been mentioned once.

  That might be worth pursuing if all else failed, but it did not look promising.

  He could try to reason with Vond, of course; Vond considered him a friend and ally. Perhaps he could sway the warlock, keep him from becoming a tyrant in the first place.

  He would have to try that.

  There was one other possibility, one that he had seen almost immediately as the inevitable solution. He considered it as he opened the barracks door. It was a solution that would take care of itself, eventually, but which he could either hurry or hinder.

  Vond thought he was free of the Calling, but if Sterren understood the situation correctly, Vond was missing a vital point.

  He shoved the whole question to the back of his mind as someone shouted, “It’s the warlord! Three cheers for Sterren, Ninth Warlord!”

  A ragged cheer broke out, and Sterren froze in the doorway.

  He looked over his men, astonished by this display of enthusiasm. He had been so concerned with Vond that he had forgotten that it was only a day ago that the invading armies were sent fleeing. These soldiers didn’t care about any warlocks; they were happy to have the siege broken, the catapults and battering ram destroyed, their constant duties on the walls at an end, and the methods used did not worry them at all. They were spontaneously applauding him, Sterren of Ethshar, who had brought them this easy victory.

  He smiled and raised his hands in triumph for a moment. The cheering died down, and as men sank onto their bunks he spotted the three hunched backs in the corner.

  The gamblers had not let a mere warlord interrupt their dice game.

  “Thank you for your... your welcome,” Sterren stammered. “I’m happy to be back! You did well!” He hesitated, looking at the listening faces and unsure what more to say.

  He shrugged and said, “What’s the game back there? Can I play?”

  Startled laughter broke out, then applause; someone grabbed his arms, and a moment later he was in the corner, the dice in his hand.

  “It’s three-count, bet on the low roll,” someone said.

  Sterren nodded. He knew the game.

  “Your turn, my lord,” someone else said, as coins rattled onto the stone.

  He shook the dice and tossed them. To keep the dice and win the coins on a first roll, he needed to roll three ones. If anything else came up, he had to pass the dice and the coins stayed. Three-count, the primitive ancestor of Sterren’s favorite three-bone, was usually a long, slow game, with a good many small bets changing hands rather than a few large ones; it wa
s something played by bored people eager to waste time, rather than serious gamblers, and Sterren had never played much.

  He watched as the dice bounced from the wall and rolled across the floor. The first landed showing a single pip; the second bumped it, but did not tip it over, and it, too, showed just one pip when it came to rest.

  The third bumped the toe of a soldier’s boot and stopped, showing one pip.

  Laughter and applause sounded again, as Sterren picked up his winnings.

  Nobody was laughing half an hour later, when Sterren had won some sixty copper bits in one of the shortest games of three-count ever seen.

  The soldiers scattered, leaving him standing there with a full purse in one hand, the dice in the other. He stared at the bits of polished bone. His talent was back. Vond’s attuning had worked, and he was drawing luck from the Lumeth source. He wondered whether he should be pleased.

  CHAPTER 29

  The peasants were being evicted from the castle, and Sterren stood atop the wall and watched as they went unwillingly out the gate into the wreckage that had been their village.

  These were the people who had run for the shelter of the castle walls when the banners of the invaders first appeared on the horizon; the gates had been shut and barred well before the enemy armies came within bowshot, leaving the stragglers to flee in all directions. The people who had reached the castle were not the bravest, and were in no hurry to venture back out into the World.

  King Phenvel, however, had put up with enough of the crowding and inconvenience and at dinner the previous night had announced that all peasants were to be outside the gates before noon. He had ordered Sterren and Lord Algarven, the royal steward, to see to it.

  Although he did not really think that Phenvel’s authority still amounted to much, Sterren had shrugged and obeyed. Vond had only begun building his palace the previous morning, and despite Sterren’s warnings, the new situation had not yet sunk in. Phenvel still thought of himself as ruler of Semma, and the other Semmans still had the habit of obeying him. The castle was still his.