The Vondish Ambassador loe-10

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Oh,” Emmis said.

  She smiled at him, then turned to Lar. “Now, you said your grandson was looking for an apprenticeship?”

  “Yes,” Lar said. “He says he wants to be a warlock. I don’t know where he got the idea, since there aren’t any warlocks in Semma, but he’s very sure.”

  “You’re from Semma?” She glanced at Emmis.

  “I am,” Lar said. “Emmis isn’t. He’s my wife’s cousin’s son; they live in Shiphaven. Emmis is my guide.”

  “Where is Semma?”

  “In the Small Kingdoms, far to the south, near the edge of the World,” Lar replied.

  “And your grandson is there?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he would come to Ethshar?”

  “For his apprenticeship, yes. But we thought he would come back when he’s a journeyman.”

  Ishta nodded. “I haven’t trained any apprentices,” she said, “but I’m ready to try.”

  “You’re a master warlock?”

  “We don’t...” Ishta hesitated. “We don’t have formal ranks like wizards or smiths, but I’m qualified to train an apprentice.”

  Lar looked uncertain — though Emmis recognized the expression as feigned, and hoped that the warlock didn’t. “Is there a Guild? We don’t — we have no warlocks in Semma, we don’t know how it is. I heard about a council...” His voice trailed off.

  “The Council of Warlocks isn’t really a guild. It doesn’t set standards for taking apprentices.”

  “Ah.”

  Emmis pretended to study the tree again as he listened.

  This was educational, he thought. He hadn’t known whether the Council set standards or not.

  “We do have several questions,” Lar said, after a moment of awkward silence.

  “Of course,” Ishta said. “Feel free to ask. There will be an initiation fee, but no other charges. If the boy proves completely unsuitable the fee will be refunded, but that’s quite rare; perhaps one applicant in a hundred, if that, is unable to become a warlock. If our personalities prove incompatible after initiation, I will arrange for another warlock to take him on in my stead — he can’t be sent home or put to another trade, as the process of becoming a warlock is irreversible.* You understand that?”

  “I do now,” Lar said.

  “You may have heard that among wizards, apprentices who are found unfit by the Wizards’ Guild are killed. I don’t know whether that’s true for wizards, or for any of the other magicians, but rest assured, warlocks don’t do that. Warlockry has its dangers, certainly, but we don’t intentionally kill even the most incompetent apprentice.”

  “How... how reasonable,” Lar said, clearly dismayed by the turn the conversation had taken. Emmis didn’t think he was faking this time.

  “You said you had questions?”

  “Yes! We live in Semma, as I said, and there are no warlocks there...”

  “You said that.”

  “Yes. Well, that’s my question — why are there no warlocks in Semma?”

  Ishta blinked at him.

  “I mean, is there a reason there are no warlocks there? Would Kelder not be able to come home?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Ishta said. “That is, I don’t know what your local laws are, but there’s no reason I know that a warlock couldn’t live there.”

  “But then why aren’t there any?”

  “I don’t know for certain,” Ishta admitted. “You must understand, I was only six on the Night of Madness, and only became a warlock when I was twelve, years afterward, but I’ve heard stories. I don’t know whether they’re true.”

  “What sort of stories?”

  “What I heard was that after the Night of Madness, before things settled down again, all the warlocks in the Small Kingdom were killed or exiled. The kings and lords thought they were too dangerous, too unpredictable, so they killed any they could catch and drove the rest away.”

  “Some places, yes,” Lar said. “I remember some of that. I don’t think it happened in Semma.”

  Ishta turned up an empty palm. “If Semma is far enough to the south, perhaps there were simply no warlocks there to begin with.”

  “But wouldn’t some have moved there?”

  Ishta frowned. “Why?”

  Lar was visibly discomfited. “The thing — the Calling. I have heard about that, and isn’t it worse farther north?”

  Ishta sighed. “You know about the Calling?”

  “Yes. I’ve heard that it draws warlocks to the north, and is weaker the farther south one goes.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not north or south,” she said. “It depends entirely on how far you are from a certain spot in Aldagmor. You’re right that it would be weaker in the southern Small Kingdoms, but the stories haven’t made us feel welcome there. When warlocks flee the Calling we usually go west to Ethshar of the Rocks, or Tintallion of the Isle, not south. And most of us don’t flee. There is no safe place anywhere in the World, and most of us prefer to stay in our homes and fight it there, with our friends around, not go running off into the wild somewhere to live among strangers.”

  “The Calling can be fought?”

  “To a point.” The warlock appeared uncomfortable saying this. “I’m told it can help to have other warlocks around, which is another reason not to flee to your Semma. You understand, though, this isn’t something we discuss freely with outsiders.”

  “Of course, but if my grandson is going to hear this Calling someday, I want to know about it.”

  “He may never hear it, if he’s careful. I have been a warlock for sixteen years, and haven’t heard it at all yet. I use my magic to do delicate, small-scale work precisely because it’s sheer magical power that attracts the Calling; the things I do require intense concentration, but very little raw energy. You won’t see me flying about the streets, flinging magic around.”

  Emmis remembered how she had glided across the room without touching the floor, but said nothing, and tried to let his face show nothing. She might not even know she had done it, and he had no idea how she would react if he mentioned it.

  She was not yet thirty, and she was using magic without realizing it. She might not have heard the Calling yet, but Emmis would not have wagered a copper bit on her chances of reaching sixty.

  “I see,” Lar said, with a quick glance at Emmis. “Let us suppose, though, that we were to apprentice him to a less cautious warlock; what would happen if his master was Called before he turned fifteen?”

  “Oh, another warlock would take him on to complete his training. It’s happened, I won’t deny it. But I’m safe enough.”

  “And if he made journeyman, and then came home to Semma, he would be less... I don’t know the Ethsharitic. The danger would be less?”

  “A little, yes. And his magic would be weaker, as well, though it would strengthen with use.”

  “Would it?”

  “Oh, yes. The more magic a warlock uses, the more power he has available. It’s very tempting — but yielding to temptation means the Calling, so we resist.”

  “Your magic — what does it do, exactly?”

  “Oh, at the most basic level, warlockry is just the ability to move things without touching them. But it can be used in thousands of ways, because we also have the additional senses to let us perceive what things really are. Everything around us is made up of smaller things, of tiny particles, and we warlocks can sense where they all are, and we can see how to move some of those particles and not others. We can create heat by moving anything, even the air, against itself; we can make light by... by pushing the air inward; we don’t really have the words to explain it. I can heal wounds by making the edges flow and grow back together; I can repair broken things by making the space between the pieces go away. I can cure some diseases by killing the tiny little creatures in the blood that cause them, or by drawing out poisons. But really, it’s all just seeing what’s there and moving it into the places and shapes I want it in.”
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br />   “You can teach my grandson how to do this?”

  “I can change something in his head so that he will be able to do it, yes. That only takes a moment, and then, once he can hear the power and draw upon it, I will train him to use it safely and effectively. That training will last the three years of his apprenticeship.”

  “And after that, he can come home to Semma?”

  “Or he can stay here in Ethshar, as he pleases, yes.”

  “There’s no reason he couldn’t come home? The Council of Warlocks wouldn’t object?”

  “They wouldn’t object. Why should they?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems odd that there are no warlocks in Semma.”

  Ishta turned up an empty palm. “It just happened that way.”

  “I see.” Lar pushed his chair back and rose; Emmis hastily followed suit. “Thank you,” Lar said, bowing.

  “You’re quite welcome. Will your grandson be coming to see me, then?”

  “We’ll need to discuss it amongst the family.”

  “Of course.” Ishta got to her feet as well.

  “Thank you again. We’ll be going.”

  “Of course,” she repeated.

  A moment later Lar and Emmis were out on the street, marching back toward Arena Street. Emmis looked around, but Hagai was nowhere to be seen.

  He probably got bored, Emmis thought. He had no way of knowing how long they might be in the warlock’s shop.

  “I think I’d like to talk to a wizard next,” Lar said.

  “I thought we’d be going home,” Emmis said.

  “Wizard first,” Lar said.

  Emmis looked back to see Ishta’s door close, and a moment later her window went dark.

  He sighed. “Wizard Street is that way,” he said, pointing.

  Chapter Eight

  “We’ve passed a dozen open shops,” Emmis said. “Was there something specific you’re looking for?”

  “Yes,” Lar said. “I want a wizard who answers questions.”

  “You mean a seer?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  Emmis looked up at the signboards above the doors ahead. “TARISSA the FAIR,” read the nearest, “Love Spells amp; Potions, Aphrodisiacs.” The next announced, “KARDIG of SOUTHGATE, Curses Cast amp; Removed.” He had to admit neither of those sounded very promising.

  They were walking east on Wizard Street. It was late enough now that most of the shops were dark, the signboards unlit. “Perhaps we should come back in the morning,” Emmis suggested.

  Lar shook his head. “Tonight,” he said.

  “Why? Why is it that important? You said you could take as long as you needed for whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “Yes, but tomorrow someone may be following us again.”

  Emmis blinked. “What?”

  “That Lumethan is gone — hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Well, yes,” Emmis admitted.

  “You told them I was interested in warlocks, and I wasn’t talking about anything very secret with Ishta in any case, so I didn’t mind him following us there. He’s welcome to anything he can learn from her. What I want to ask a wizard is a little different, and I don’t want the Lumethans to know about it, so when we left Ishta’s shop and I saw that he was gone, I knew I want to talk to a wizard tonight, before the Lumethans come back. They won’t expect me to visit two different magicians about two different things in the same night — that’s why he didn’t stay, I’m sure. He probably went to tell the others that they should talk to Ishta tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t he stay to talk to her tonight, then?” Emmis asked. “I know she put out the lamp, but he left before that. He didn’t wait around to talk to her after we left.”

  “Because he doesn’t speak Ethsharitic, remember?”

  “Unless he does.”

  “Even if he does, he probably wants to... I don’t know the Ethsharitic word. Shichak. He wants to talk to the others before he does anything.”

  “Confer?”

  “Probably. That sounds reasonable.”

  “So you want to talk to a wizard while we aren’t being followed. Are you sure you want me here?”

  Lar turned and looked Emmis in the eye, considering. Then he said, “I may ask you to leave. We will see. And you are not to tell the Ashthasan anything about this.”

  Emmis nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “But I don’t see many shops open here. Perhaps we should try a side-street. Or must it be a wizard? Witch Alley is just over that way.” He pointed to the north.

  Lar frowned. “I think a wizard would be better.”

  “As you please, then.” Emmis scanned the shops ahead. “Perhaps there?” He pointed.

  “What does it say?” Lar said, peering into the gloom.

  “I think the name is Kolar the Sage,” Emmis said. “The one with the big blue eye?”

  “Ah.” Lar nodded.

  A moment later Emmis tried the Sage’s door, only to find it locked. He hesitated, and looked up at the sign again, and then at the window.

  A lantern hung on the bracket beside the sign, illuminating it, and the candle within the lantern still had an inch or two of wax remaining. Black velvet curtains were drawn behind the window, but a crystal ball stood on an iron tripod between the curtains and the glass, and glowed faintly blue.

  “Maybe he just forgot to dowse the lantern,” Emmis said.

  “The ball is still glowing,” Lar said.

  “That may be permanent, not something he can turn on and off.”

  “Wouldn’t he be careful about leaving the lantern lit, then?”

  “Sir, while I understand you’re impatient and want to get on with your job, and that it would be better to do it while Hagai isn’t following us, it’s getting late, and if this Kolar were really a powerful seer he would have known we were coming and would be ready and waiting for us.”

  Lar turned to stare at Emmis. “Are there really wizards who do that?”

  “There are magicians who do it, certainly,” Emmis said. “My mother consulted a witch once, named Sella, who did that — the minute she stepped into the shop, before she could say a word, Sella was there with her answer ready.”

  “Knock again,” Lar said.

  With a sigh, Emmis obliged.

  This time, though, someone answered; they heard a voice call faintly, “I’m coming!”

  The two men waited, and a moment later the lock rattled, the latch lifted, and the door opened.

  “Come in, come in!” said the young man inside, swinging the door wide and standing aside.

  Cautiously, Lar and Emmis stepped in.

  “Have a seat, please!” their host said, gesturing toward a maroon-upholstered couch.

  “You’re Kolar the Sage?” Emmis asked.

  The wizard looked down at himself, then smiled at them. “Yes, I am,” he said. “I hope you’ll pardon my appearance; I was just helping my wife put the twins to bed.”

  Emmis supposed that did explain why he was wearing an ancient homespun tunic with an impressive collection of stains on it, rather than any sort of wizardly robe, as well as why his hair was a tangled mess, and why he had been slow to answer the door. It was perfectly reasonable, really. Still, Emmis would have had far more faith in the man’s ability if he had been waiting at the door, in a proper robe — or if he were a decade older; the man wasn’t much older than Emmis himself.

  “Twins?” Lar asked.

  “A boy and a girl,” Kolar said with obvious pride. “A year and a half old.”

  Lar nodded, and settled onto the couch.

  Emmis did not sit, but took up a position beside the couch, instead.

  Kolar pulled a chair up and sat down facing them across a small, dark wooden table. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I have a question I want answered,” Lar said. “Well, several, really, but we’ll start with one.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you answer it?”

  “Almos
t certainly,” Kolar said. “At a price, of course. The exact means used, and the exact price, will depend on the nature of the question.”

  Lar hesitated, then said, “This is the question: What made the hum that Vond the Warlock heard when he came to Semma, and exactly where is it?”

  Emmis glanced at Lar. He had no idea what that meant.

  Kolar stroked his close-trimmed beard. “That may be two questions,” he said. “And the answers to both of them may be ambiguous. Where and what is Semma?”

  Lar grimaced. “Semma was one of the southernmost of the Small Kingdoms, the one that Vond conquered and used as his base in creating the Empire of Vond. The empire’s capital is still there.”

  That answered some questions Emmis had had. He had wondered why Lar had told Ishta he was from Semma, rather than Vond; presumably he was simply being more precise.

  “Ah, I see,” Kolar said. “And that answers my next question, as well, about who Vond was. Now, about the hum...”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Lar said, cutting him off.

  “Nothing? Not even whether you know whether there was only one?”

  “There was a hum that Vond heard in Semma that no one else heard, and he heard it for almost his entire stay there. That’s the hum I mean.”

  “That only he heard? Interesting.”

  “You would do better not to ask much more,” Lar said. “Can you answer the question?”

  Kolar frowned. “Vond the Warlock, you said? Has he been Called?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we can’t use necromancy; Called warlocks don’t leave ghosts. And we can’t ask him as if he were alive, so all the dream spells and compulsions are out of the question. I can’t quite see how the Spell of Omniscient Vision would help, either. That just leaves Fendel’s Divination — well, of the spells I know; there may be others I’m not aware of. Hmm.”

  “Fendel’s Divination?” Emmis asked.

  Kolar nodded, still stroking his beard. “I have the ingredients, and the spell itself only takes a little over an hour, but the exact wording of the question is crucial. I’ll want to work on it overnight. Can you both read?”