Night of Madness

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The shouting was suddenly louder, and for the first time Hanner made out words.

  "Where's my husband? What did you warlocks do with him?" a woman was shrieking.

  She was not at the door, though, nor anywhere near it. The shouters were all outside the fence, on the street. The only person inside the fence was a black-haired girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen, wearing a drab grey dress. She stood in the dooryard just outside, her knuckles raised to knock again.

  Rudhira made a derisive little snort and turned away.

  Hanner was annoyed by this rudeness and determined to make up for it. "Good afternoon to you," he said. "I'm Lord Hanner; may I help you?"

  "I'm Sheila the Apprentice," the girl said. "Are you ... are warlocks welcome here?"

  "Yes, indeed," Hanner said, swinging the door wide. "Come in!"

  "Thank you," Sheila said. She stepped inside, then stopped dead, staring at the lush furnishings and the motley collection of people marching through the hallway into the dining hall.

  "Apprenticed to what trade?" Hanner asked politely as he closed the door, to distract her and put her at ease.

  "Witch," she said.

  Uncle Faran, who had been ignoring the girl as he ushered his other guests into the dining room, suddenly turned to stare at her.

  Hanner smiled.

  "Come right this way," he said as he led her past Uncle Faran to the head of the table.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I was standing out there for hours, trying to get up my nerve," Sheila explained quietly to Manner as Lord Faran tried to get everyone lined up neatly. Faran had decided to leave her to his nephew for the moment; she spoke so softly that it took an effort to carry on a conversation, especially over the background noise the crowd of warlocks made, and he had other matters to attend to. "When I saw you send the soldiers away, I decided maybe you can protect me."

  "Protect you from what?"

  "Everything," the girl said, waving a hand vaguely. "I mean, I'm sure it's bad enough for anyone, being a warlock, but being a witch and a warlock ... well, that's against the Wizards' Guild law, isn't it? My master thought so. He thought it might be against Sisterhood rules, as well."

  "I don't think the Sisterhood could possibly have rules about warlocks yet," Hanner said. He knew little about the loose organization of female witches, but from what little he did know, he couldn't believe they were sufficiently organized to have made such a rule in just two days. "Besides, you don't need to join the Sisterhood if you don't want to."

  "But... well, don't their rules apply to everyone, the way Wizards' Guild rules do?"

  "No, no," Hanner said. "In order to be a wizard you have to join the Guild, and they kill anyone who breaks their rules about wizardry, but the Sisterhood isn't like that at all. I'm not even sure they have rules, and if they do-well, they don't apply to anyone but members. Besides, the Sisterhood doesn't kill anyone, so far as I've ever heard. It's more a social group than a guild."

  "The Brotherhood has rules," Sheila said doubtfully. "My master told me some of them. He used to be a member."

  "But he's not a member now?"

  "No, he left. They didn't like him taking a female apprentice."

  "And they didn't kill him, did they?"

  It was like watching a cloud blow away from the sun to see her face as this sank in.

  "No," she said.

  Then the cloud returned. "But the Wizards' Guild still doesn't allow mixing magic."

  "And the overlord doesn't want warlocks in the city at all," Hanner agreed. "But we're here to fight that."

  Sheila nodded, but her expression remained worried and uncertain.

  "So," Hanner said, hoping to cheer her-and himself-up, "who's your master? Does he know you're here?"

  "Kelder of Crookwall," she said. "I don't think he knows where I am-and I don't think he cares." She blinked rapidly, her mouth working, and Hanner realized she was on the verge of tears. "He threw me out."

  "But he can't do that!" Hanner said. "A master is responsible for his apprentice!"

  Sheila snuffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve, then dabbed at one eye. "He did, though," she said. "He said I wasn't a witch anymore, and never could be."

  "Because you're a warlock?"

  She nodded silently.

  A thought struck Hanner.

  Warlocks could move things without touching them; most warlocks, himself included, discovered what they were by finding themselves able to do this.

  But witches could move things without touching them, too.

  After all, the name "warlock" came from the resemblance to war-locked witches in the first place. Witches only levitated fairly small things, but still, what could this girl have moved that a witch couldn't?

  "How does he know you're a warlock?" he asked.

  "Because of what I did," Sheila said, so softly Hanner could barely hear her.

  "Hanner, my boy," Faran called, "could you and your young friend pay attention? We're ready to begin."

  Hanner looked up. "In a moment, Uncle," he said. Then he turned back to Sheila. "What did you do?"

  "I turned Thellesh the Butcher into a warlock."

  Hanner blinked.

  "Hanner," Faran said warningly.

  Hanner held up a hand. "You did what}" he said.

  "I was trying to heal him!" Sheila said loudly. Then her voice dropped back to its usual near inaudibility and the words spilled out in a rush, so fast Hanner had trouble keeping up. "He'd cut himself, and then slipped on the blood and hit his head on the wall, and Master Kelder said it was time I started to learn healing, so we fixed up Thellesh's hand together, and then Master told me to study his head and see whether we could do anything there, so I tried to, but my witch sight wasn't... I couldn't see properly, and then I did something, I don't know what, and I could see, but it was all different, and I could see inside Thellesh's head, and I looked at how it was different from mine, because I thought mine would be working right, and I... I did something, I don't know how to explain it, but it was like opening a tap, sort of, except I couldn't close it again. And then Thellesh sat up, and he was better, but he felt funny, and he said he heard voices, and then he reached for his purse, and it jumped into his hand, and Master Kelder looked at us both and ..."

  At that point she finally lost control and began crying, quick soft little sobs and gasps.

  "Hanner!" Faran barked.

  Hanner looked up. "I'm sorry, Uncle," he said. "I'll take her to the parlor to calm down. We'll be back."

  Faran glared at him. "Go on, then," he said.

  Hanner put an arm around Sheila's shoulders and led her out of the dining room, across the hallway to the front parlor. He closed the dining-hall door on his way out.

  If Sheila was telling the truth, then this might have huge significance. Up until now Hanner-and probably everyone else- had assumed that the people who had become warlocks on the Night of Madness were all the warlocks there would ever be, at least unless that same mysterious phenomenon happened again and created a whole new batch.

  But if warlocks could make new warlocks, the way witches could train apprentice witches and wizards could help their apprentices make the ritual daggers they needed to become wizards, then ... well, exterminating warlocks might not be as easy as Lord Azrad thought, and perhaps warlocks really were true magicians.

  Hanner saw that Mavi had come downstairs, but still not gone home again-he wondered whether she might be waiting for him to accompany her. She and Alris were sitting in the front parlor, talking; they fell silent as Hanner and Sheila entered.

  "Did Uncle throw you out with the rest of us nonwarlocks, then?" Alris asked.

  Mavi got to her feet and stepped toward Sheila, apparently seeing the signs that she had been crying and seeking to comfort her, but the girl shied away, and Mavi stopped.

  "I brought Sheila in here to calm down," Hanner explained. "She's had a very hard day. Her master threw her out."

  "She's
a warlock?" Alris asked Hanner.

  "Are you all right?" Mavi asked Sheila.

  "She's a warlock," Hanner said as Mavi took Sheila's hand.

  "Then shouldn't she be in there with the others?" Alris demanded.

  "Maybe when she's feeling better," Hanner said. He had had some thought that maybe Alris would like having Sheila around, since they were roughly the same age, but it didn't appear that was going to work.

  "I'm Mavi," Mavi said.

  Sheila swallowed and managed to stop crying long enough to reply, "I'm Sheila."

  "This is Lady Alris," Mavi said. "She's Lord Hanner's sister."

  Sheila glanced at Alris, then stared intently at Mavi for a moment.

  Hanner felt suddenly uneasy; something was happening, he could sense it, but he didn't know what.

  "You're not a warlock," Sheila said. It wasn't a question.

  "No, I'm not," Mavi said. "Neither is Lady Alris nor Lord Hanner, but they live in the Palace, and the overlord won't let them back in because he's scared of the warlocks, so they're staying here with their uncle. I'm just visiting, to keep them company; I live in Newmarket."

  "But..." Sheila threw Hanner a sharp, puzzled glance, her tears apparently forgotten.

  She knew, he realized. She knew he was a warlock.

  "I'll explain later," Hanner said quickly.

  "Explain what?" Alris demanded.

  "None of your business," Hanner snapped.

  Alris looked at Hanner, then at Mavi, then said, "I'll bet I know, though I don't know why you told her before you said anything to your own sister!"

  Mavi started. "No, Alris, it's not-I mean, we haven't..." Her voice trailed off in confusion.

  "Just shut up, Alris," Hanner said wearily. He hadn't expected to find these two in the parlor, and much as he ordinarily enjoyed Mavi's presence, he wished they weren't there. He turned to Sheila.

  "You were telling me what happened after you healed Thel-lesh," he said.

  "Oh," Sheila said. "Well, Master Kelder tried to undo what I'd done, but he couldn't, and I couldn't see how I could, either, when he told me to try, so finally he sent Thellesh home, and we talked for a while, and then he told me to get my things and get out, that I wasn't a witch anymore and I was too dangerous to stay in his house. I think he thought it might be catching."

  "So you left?"

  "I didn't even get my stuff," Sheila said. "I was too upset. I just ran out the door. And later I listened to people talking and asked some questions, and I heard about the Warlock House and came to see."

  "The Warlock House?" Alris asked.

  "That's what they call it," Sheila said.

  "This house, you mean," Hanner said.

  "That's right."

  "So much for keeping anything secret," Alris said.

  Hanner hoped those words weren't prophetic; he still had secrets he wanted to keep. The location of Uncle Faran's house, the refuge for warlocks, wasn't one of them, though. "We already knew the guards had found us," he said. "And there were those people in the street."

  "Are you still a witch?" Mavi asked Sheila.

  "No," Sheila said. "At least, I don't think so. When I try to do witchcraft it all feels different, so I think I'm doing warlockry instead. I can't do some things at all, like reading moods. And I don't get tired-instead it makes me feel stronger."

  That certainly fit what Hanner knew of warlockry.

  "When did it start?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Sheila said. "I felt funny all day yesterday, but I wasn't sure anything was wrong until today."

  "Did you have any strange dreams last night?"

  She looked up at him, startled, and her eyes grew wide. "What kind of dreams?" she asked.

  "About falling and being buried alive," Hanner said.

  "You know about that?" Sheila said breathlessly.

  "Tell us about it," Mavi said.

  "It wasn't last night, but the night before I did! I dreamed about falling through the air burning, and then falling down under the ground until I was buried and couldn't breathe, and all the time I knew there was something I had to do, but I didn't know what it was." She shuddered. "I knew it was a magical dream, but I didn't know what kind or where it came from."

  "It's the same dream," Alris said. "I've heard everyone talking about it over and over. All the warlocks who were asleep when the Night of Madness started had it, and some of them have had it again since then."

  Hanner glanced at her. "Have you had it?"

  "Me?" Alris clapped a hand to her chest. "I'm not a warlock!

  Of course I haven't had any dreams like that." She snorted. "Now I probably will, not because of any magic but just because you said that."

  Hanner watched his sister's face for a second, trying to decide whether perhaps she was being a little too emphatic, but then dismissed it. She was probably telling the truth, and any excess drama was just because she was thirteen.

  He still found her attitude toward warlockry puzzling, though. She had been so insistent for so long that she wanted to be a magician, and she didn't seem to mind being in a house full of warlocks-she had friends she could stay with if she really wanted to-yet she seemed to be very determined to dislike the idea of warlockry.

  Hanner couldn't figure it out and gave up trying. He turned his attention back to Sheila.

  "Well, I don't think you need to worry too much, Sheila. You're a warlock now, that's all. All this-the dreams, the strange magic, trouble with your old magic-that's all the same sort of thing that the other warlocks have been through. All of it except what you did to Thellesh; no one else did that."

  "Were any of the others witches?"

  "No," Hanner admitted, "but two of them are wizards."

  Sheila drew in her breath, her eyes widening again. "Oh," she said. "Wizards can be warlocks?"

  "Sort of. It interferes with their old magic, just as it did with your witchcraft. Or almost; they can still do a. few spells."

  "That's so strange!"

  Hanner sighed. "I suppose so. Now, if you can stand the crowd, I think we should go back to the other room, where my uncle, Lord Faran, is getting things organized."

  "All right," she said.

  She and Hanner were just turning around when someone knocked on the front door.

  Alris hopped onto a chair by one of the front windows and pressed her cheek to the panes so that she could peer sideways for a look at their visitor.

  "It's a guardsman," she said. "Should I call Uncle Faran?"

  "One guardsman?" Hanner asked. "Just one?"

  "I just see one," Alris confirmed.

  Hanner frowned and crossed to the door. He opened it a crack.

  The crowd in the street had fallen silent, presumably waiting to see what would happen-as Alris had said, a single guardsman stood just outside, inside the gate.

  At first, distracted by the yellow tunic of a soldier, Hanner failed to recognize the man's face, but before the new arrival could speak the familiar features registered, and Hanner flung the door wide.

  "Yorn!" he said. "Come in, come in!"

  The soldier obeyed, closing the door gently behind himself. "Am I still welcome?" he asked.

  "Of course!" Hanner said, clapping Yorn on the shoulder. "As long as you're not here to order us all into exile."

  "Uh ... actually, I was .. . those orders . .. that's why I'm here," Yorn said.

  Hanner frowned. "We already chased away Captain Naral and an entire squad," he said. "Why would they send just you?"

  "Oh, that's not what I meant!" Yorn said hastily. "I mean, they told us to find any warlocks we knew of and order them out of the city, and that was when I realized I couldn't stay in the city guard anymore, not until the lords change their minds. And I didn't have anywhere to go but here." He looked around. "Is everyone else gone?" He noticed the others and said, "I mean, besides these three."

  "No," Hanner said, "they're still here. But first, this is Sheila." He told her, "This is Yorn of Et
hshar. He's a warlock, too."

  "Not much of one, really," Yorn said.

  "This is Mavi of Newmarket," Hanner said. "She's not a warlock, just a friend."

  Yorn bowed. "And I know Lady Alris," he said.

  "Sheila and I were just about to join the others," Hanner said. He beckoned for Yorn and Sheila to follow, then opened the door to the dining hall.

  The murmur of voices and the scent of crowded bodies spilled out.

  "Gods, there are a lot of them!" Yorn said as he followed Hanner into the crowded room.

  "Thirty-two," Lord Faran announced. "And the apprentice witch is thirty-three, and you, sir-are you a warlock?" "I am," Yorn admitted. "Thirty-four," Faran said. "Against a city of thousands," Rudhira said. "Most of them won't trouble us," Faran said. "Just the guard." "How many is that?" Othisen asked.

  "Eight thousand," Yorn replied, speaking up loud and clear. A horrified silence fell.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Eight thousand soldiers?" someone squeaked at last. "That's what they tell us," Yorn confirmed.

  "It's supposed to be ten thousand," Lord Faran said, "but Lord Azrad has never bothered to put in the money to get the guard to full strength."

  "There's no reason he should," Yorn said. "There are plenty of us as it is."

  "I didn't know there were ten thousand people in the World" Othisen said.

  "Oh, there are hundreds of thousands in Ethshar," Yorn said. "Nobody knows the exact number."

  "The wizards might," Rudhira suggested.

  "My master says that if it weren't for the wizards, there couldn't be a city this big," Sheila said. "It's wizardry that keeps the water clean and keeps the food good through the winter and empties the privies where the sewers don't go."

  "The theurgists do some of it," an elderly woman Hanner didn't recognize protested mildly.

  "This is all very interesting," Lord Faran said, "but if we could get back to business, there are thirty-four of us here, of varying abilities. All of us can move small objects by sheer force of will, but some of us can do more than that, and I think it would be wise to find out just who can do what, and how well. Now, who here can fly?"

  A dozen voices spoke up, and hands were raised; Lord Faran shouted over the babble, "If you can fly, please go to that end of the room!" He pointed at the windows. "If you cannot fly, go to that end!" He pointed at the ballroom. "If you don't know, please stand near the table!"