Night of Madness

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The existence of the Council of Warlocks, and its assurance that its member warlocks were bound by the same laws as everyone else, also helped. That the Council had sent warlocks to help in rebuilding homes and shops wrecked on the Night of Madness helped even more.

  This activity made the Council visible, and new warlocks appeared steadily in response, eager to sign up, transforming Manner's creation from theory to reality. Three rooms on the ground floor of Warlock House had been converted into a school and office where these newly arrived warlocks were taught the Council's rules and questioned about any crimes they might have committed. Those who were deemed acceptable then swore the Council's oath and were given a black tunic and a document recording their admission to the Council.

  Those who were not found acceptable were turned over to the city magistrates or ordered into exile-and in some cases forcibly flown over the city wall.

  As yet, the Council had not had to kill anyone. Hanner suspected that couldn't last forever, especially since the triumvirate had agreed that the single Council of Warlocks would, when it was able, have authority over the entire Hegemony of the Three Eth-shars, and not merely Ethshar of the Spices. He had already approved subchairmen to organize the Council's offices in Ethshar of the Rocks and Ethshar of the Sands.

  He found it odd to realize that he, useless Hanner, the lordling who had never found a proper place for himself in the overlord's service, was on his way to becoming master of perhaps the third most powerful organization in the World, after the Wizards' Guild and the Hegemony itself.

  All in all, by the end of the month of Summerheat matters seemed to have settled down and turned out about as well as he could have expected.

  Hanner's confidence had not yet grown to the point, however, that the summons to the Palace failed to worry him.

  He looked at the message thoughtfully. It was politely written, but very definite-the presence of Hanner, Chairman of the Council of Warlocks, was requested in the Great Hall of Audience in the Palace of the Overlord of Ethshar of the Spices at four hours after noon on the first day of Summersend, in the Five Thousand Two Hundred and Second Year of Human Speech.

  Hanner knew well that the overlord would never have sent Ithinia such a message, naming an exact time and date; he would have requested her to arrange for an audience at her earliest convenience. To accept this directive without quibble would mean acknowledging that he was not Ithinia's equal in rank, and she was merely the senior wizard in the city, while he was theoretically the senior warlock anywhere.

  But realistically, arguing with it would be stupid and arrogant.

  "Tell the messenger to tell Lord Azrad I will be there," he said, dropping the message on his writing table.

  "Yes, sir," Ilvin said, raising a spread-fingered hand to his chest in the odd salute some of the warlocks seemed to have picked up as a mark of respect. He turned and hurried out of the room.

  Hanner stared after him. Ilvin was still not at all a powerful warlock, but he had proven to have a talent for getting things done around the Council's headquarters; Bern was still in charge of the kitchens, but Ilvin had taken over most of the other household administration. He was very useful indeed.

  Desset, meanwhile, who remained the most powerful warlock in the city, was virtually useless-she struggled constantly to not use her magic, and even so frequently had various small objects floating around her. Her nightmares grew steadily worse, and she had begun to spend long stretches of the day sitting in the garden staring northward.

  Hanner had hoped that inaction might cause warlockry to atrophy and the danger of the Calling to recede, but apparently it didn't work that way. He repeatedly advised Desset to pack up a few things and move south, out of the city and farther from Al-dagmor, but she was unable to bring herself to do so. He even spoke to Ithinia about the possibility of providing some sort of magical refuge, like that meeting hall, but while Ithinia promised to mention it to the Inner Circle, she also told him he would have a better chance of convincing them to spend the next hundred years standing on their heads. The Guild did not do favors for anyone, not even wizards, without an ulterior motive.

  "Could we buy a refuge, then?" Hanner asked her.

  "That might be possible," she admitted. "You wouldn't need to trouble the Guild about that; just find a wizard who knows appropriate spells and hire him to do the job. You can expect to pay an obscene amount for it, though."

  "I see," Hanner said, and he pushed it to the back of his head, to be attended to when other matters were under better control. The Council had money, but not an obscene amount of it as yet.

  He might mention to Lord Azrad the idea that it would be worthwhile for the city to finance such a purchase, so as to have a reserve of powerful warlocks in the triumvirate's debt who could be called upon in an emergency.

  That assumed, of course, that Lord Azrad had any interest in Manner's desires, and didn't intend to order the Council out of the city. For the past three sixnights Hanner and his representatives had been dealing peacefully with the city government, but always through intermediaries-usually Azrad's brothers, Clurim, Karan-nin, and Ildirin-and never directly with the overlord. This audience-if it was really an audience with Lord Azrad, as Hanner noticed that the message did not actually say Azrad would be in the audience chamber-might indicate that the overlord had changed his mind again.

  Hanner certainly hoped not, and did not intend to do anything to antagonize Lord Azrad.

  Accordingly he arrived in the entrance hall of the Palace exactly at the appointed hour and was greeted and escorted through the great velvet curtains that were serving as a temporary replacement for the not-yet-repaired golden doors.

  The room was more populated than it had been on that dreadful occasion when Faran had led in a horde of angry warlocks, but still far from crowded; perhaps a hundred guards, servants, and courtiers were arranged here and there, standing, seated, or going about various errands. Hanner noticed his sisters standing in a knot of nobles near the east wall.

  He had not heard from them in a twelvenight, and he had been too busy with Council business to worry about that silence; he hoped they were well.

  He hadn't heard from Mavi, either, but he firmly pushed that thought out of his mind and concentrated on his surroundings.

  As expected, Azrad was indeed present, sprawled heavily on the throne, sitting motionless as Hanner was led in and presented.

  "Hanner the Warlock, Chairman of the Council of Warlocks!" the herald announced, and Hanner bowed deeply.

  "It's good to see you again, Hanner," Azrad said when Hanner straightened up.

  "And of course, it is always a pleasure to see you, my lord," Hanner replied.

  That said, the two men stared silently at each other for a moment. Then Azrad said, "You're here because I wanted to see you in person, rather than doing everything through my brothers. I wanted to see how you'd changed."

  Hanner bowed again, this time with arms spread. "I am as you see me, my lord," he said.

  "You're wearing black."

  "I'm a warlock, my lord."

  "You look well. Have you lost a little weight?"

  "I might have, my lord; I'm not sure. I've kept very busy of late."

  "You've been eating well?"

  "Oh, yes. My housekeeper sees to that."

  Azrad nodded. "That's good. We should have met somewhere less formal, perhaps-the private audience chamber or my apartments-but I wasn't sure of the protocol, given your new status."

  Hanner smiled. "I'm still me, Lord Azrad. I would be pleased to meet with you wherever you might choose. As Chairman of the Council, I am still subject to the laws of Ethshar-treat me as you would any other magician."

  "Yes, well-you shouldn't be a magician." Azrad frowned. "You never served an apprenticeship. I don't approve of this mysterious thing that happened, not at all-but I do accept that it happened, now, and I'll live with it. I can't fight you and the wizards."

  "We have no desire to
fight anyone, my lord. We just want to live in peace. The madness of the Night of Madness ended long ago."

  "Yes, I accept that," Azrad said irritably. "I said so. And that's why you're here. If you warlocks are going to be magicians like all the others, then you're responsible for any damage you do with your magic." He gestured at the far end of the room. "Are you going to pay for those doors? And the chairs? The artisans are asking three hundred rounds of gold to repair just the doors!"

  Hanner blinked, then turned to look thoughtfully at the velvet curtains.

  "We can't afford that much at present, my lord," he said, turning back, "but I believe we can repair the doors ourselves. War-lockry can repair as well as destroy. Surely you've heard that we have been aiding in repairs elsewhere."

  It was Azrad's turn to be surprised. "Yes, but.. . those doors are huge!"

  "I believe we can handle them." In fact, he knew his warlocks could handle the job; this was exactly the sort of thing warlockry did well.

  "Can you really? Excellent!"

  Hanner could not resist a small jab. "We have not done so previously, my lord, because you have maintained strong restrictions on admitting warlocks to the Palace."

  "Well... yes. Fine. The restrictions won't be applied to anyone who comes to make repairs."

  "Then I'll send some warlocks as soon as I get home," Hanner said.

  "Good!" Azrad smiled. "I hate those curtains. It's drafty in here, even with the window repaired."

  "We could have done that as well, had you asked," Hanner said.

  "Don't worry about it," Azrad said, waving away the subject- which Hanner assumed meant it had been done by the palace staff, or by workmen who charged far less than goldsmiths. "But the chairs ..."

  "I'm not sure about those," Hanner said. "My warlocks will look at them and let you know."

  "Good, good." The smile faded. "That brings us to personal matters, the other reasons I insisted that you come, rather than one of your underlings."

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "We still have your uncle's remains," Azrad explained. "I'm really not sure what to do with them-an intact statue would join the others, and an ordinary corpse would be properly burned or otherwise dealt with, but a shattered statue ..." He turned up a palm. "Perhaps you could reassemble the pieces somehow, maybe even bring him back to life."

  Hanner considered that for a moment. He was fairly certain that warlockry could indeed reassemble the pieces and fuse them back together, but restore Faran to life? Warlockry couldn't do that; only wizardry could, if it was possible at all.

  And since Faran had been killed by the Wizards' Guild, Hanner doubted any wizard would dare attempt a revival.

  But it would be a proper and respectful thing to reassemble the pieces and set the statue somewhere.

  "Thank you, my lord," he said. "I would be pleased to take Lord Faran's remains."

  "Good," Azrad said, clearly relieved. He looked up and beckoned. "Clurim, it's your turn!"

  Startled, Hanner turned to see Lord Clurim emerge from the little cluster of nobles to the east.

  "We understand that you're now the head of your family," Azrad said. "As such, Lord Clurim has a request to make."

  Anything that called for the head of his family must involve his sisters, Hanner realized. Nerra was of marriageable age, but Clurim already had a wife . ..

  It was Alris who was following Clurim out of the crowd.

  "It's about your sister," Lord Clurim said. "Alris has asked to become my apprentice. Ordinarily ... well, she's a month past thirteen, which is a year older than she should be, and you've foresworn your title, and ..."

  Hanner held up a hand. "My lord," he said, "I have no objection if my sister wants to be your apprentice; in fact, it would remove one of my worries." He smiled at Alris.

  "Well, that's good," Clurim said. He turned to Alris. "Come on, then." He marched toward one of the side doors.

  Alris waved quickly to Hanner, then hurried after her master. Hanner watched them go.

  That really was a relief-he had wondered what would become of his sisters. Neither was interested in becoming a warlock; Nerra had been repulsed by the very idea. Alris, who a few months before had been desperate to learn some sort of magic, had given it some serious consideration before rejecting the offer.

  "I've seen quite enough of warlocks already," she said. "You aren't what I want to be."

  He would have thought she had seen enough of the Palace, as well, but apparently not. As apprentice to the Lord of the Household she would see every bit of it, and could expect to someday become Lady of the Household, responsible for running the place.

  "That's all, then," Lord Azrad said, startling Hanner anew. He quickly turned back to face the overlord, but Azrad was waving a dismissal.

  "It was good to see you, Hanner," he said. "I'll have my people bring out your uncle's remains, and don't forget to send those warlocks to fix the doors."

  Hanner bowed an acknowledgement and stepped backward, away from the throne. He found a servant ready to lead him out of the audience chamber through one of the small side doors; a delegation of merchants was waiting at the drapes for their turn to speak to the overlord.

  Hanner let himself be led and found Nerra following him. A moment later the two of them were in a stone corridor, walking side by side in silence.

  Hanner broke that silence by remarking, "So Alris found herself an apprenticeship after all."

  "And about time she did," Nerra said. "She spent most of the last year sitting around complaining how bored she is."

  "I wonder why Uncle Faran didn't make it a point to look for an apprenticeship for her, then. I mean, I know she wanted to be a magician, and of course he wouldn't allow that, but surely he could have asked the other lords or found her a respectable trade somewhere."

  Nerra looked up at him, startled. "You really don't know why she wouldn't take an apprenticeship in the Palace?"

  Hanner's puzzlement was obvious. "Should I?"

  "Yes, you should. Sometimes, Hanner, you can be blind. She didn't want to stay that close to Uncle Faran for the rest of her life, where he would try to run everything she did."

  "Oh," Hanner said. "But then, couldn't he have found her a respectable apprenticeship somewhere else?"

  "Uncle Faran didn't want the distraction," Nerra said. "And he wanted to keep her around so he could marry her off to Lord Ederd's son, so she'd wind up the mother of an overlord."

  "I heard him suggest that," Hanner admitted. "In fact, I knew he wanted to arrange good marriages for both of you, but I didn't realize he was that determined-or that you didn't like the idea." He frowned. "Ederd the Younger is only a year younger than I am." He glanced at Nerra. "Why didn't he try to marry you off to him?"

  "He did," Nerra said. "Remember when we sailed to Ethshar of the Sands last year? But so far we weren't cooperating, Ederd and I, so he wanted Alris as his last resort."

  "Then what did he plan for you, if Alris married Ederd?"

  "I was to marry a high-ranking wizard, so I could be his spy in the Guild." She grimaced. "I hate wizards."

  That sounded very like Uncle Faran.

  "So what do you plan to do now?" Hanner asked. "Alris found an apprenticeship, but you're already eighteen-you can't do that."

  "Oh, I expect I'll marry someone," she replied. "I don't have anyone in mind yet, but I have someone playing matchmaker." They had reached the end of the corridor; Nerra opened the door at the end, and they stepped through it, out into the central hallway.

  "Who's your matchmaker?" Hanner asked. "Perhaps I could help "She is," Nerra said, pointing.

  Hanner turned and saw Mavi standing near the entryway, silhouetted in the light.

  She was more beautiful than he remembered. He instantly forgot about Nerra and hurried toward her, leaving his sister laughing at his back.

  Mavi heard his approaching footsteps and turned; she recognized Hanner, and her face lit in a shy smile.

  Hanner
was overwhelmed by the sight of that smile; he had feared she would frown or turn away.

  "Hello," she said.

  "Hello," Hanner replied, stopping a respectful distance away, unsure of his reception. She seemed happy to see him, but he still remembered the look on her face when he admitted that he was a warlock.

  Mavi's next words dispelled some of his remaining concern. "I missed you," she said.

  Hanner made a happy, wordless noise of agreement.

  Mavi stepped toward him. "You know, Hanner, I think I'm getting over my aversion to warlocks," she said. "You and your Council have really done an amazing job of making them respectable."

  Hanner smiled broadly and took her hand; she did not pull away.

  "We could make you a warlock," he said. She laughed. "I'm not that fond of warlocks!" Then she stepped into his arms and added, "Yet."

  Epilogue

  It was later established, by a commission of scholars appointed jointly by the overlords of the Hegemony of the Three Eth-shars, that the creation of the warlocks began four hours and eighteen minutes after sunset on the fourth day of Summerheat in the Year of Human Speech 5202. This seemed to hold true throughout the inhabited World; the nightmares did not arrive any sooner in Aldagmor than in the farthest corners of the Small Kingdoms, nor did those who later became powerful warlocks receive them a moment earlier or later than those who never again showed any sensitivity to this new sort of magic. Everywhere, and for everyone, the dreams and the magic came at the same instant.

  In Ethshar of the Spices the final count of persons reported missing on or immediately after the Night of Madness was 1,108. Forty-one people died in the confusion; how many of the 41 were warlocks or other magicians was never reliably determined.