“No, I really don’t.”
“It hadn’t acquired a liking for Aldagmor?”
“Not at all.”
Sterren stepped closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “So there isn’t anything magical in Aldagmor anymore? The only warlocks who can still work magic are the ones who use the source in Lumeth, instead?”
Vond nodded.
“Did you teach these people to use it?” Sterren gestured at the observers.
“No,” Vond said. “Not yet. I might, in time.”
“Or they might hear the buzz for themselves, the way you did.”
Vond’s smile vanished, and he looked around, suddenly uncertain. He clearly hadn’t thought of that possibility.
“But what you actually mean,” Sterren said hastily, to distract the emperor before he could do anything regrettable, “is that you are now the only warlock in the World.”
The smile reappeared. “Exactly! I am almost as powerful as I was before, and now I have no need to worry about the Calling. There’s nothing to stop me from expanding my empire further. I could unite all the Small Kingdoms!”
That was more or less what Sterren had feared, but something else Vond had said caught his attention. “Almost as powerful?”
“Almost, yes. I was drawing on both sources before, even when I didn’t know it, and now there is only one. In Aldagmor I found out I wasn’t as strong as before — these people are all I could carry, where I used to be able to move the World itself. My power increased as I flew south, though. I expect I will soon be stronger than ever.”
“It was most likely because of the distance, your Majesty; Aldagmor is a long way from Lumeth.”
“Do you think that’s it?” Vond glanced around again. “You’re probably right. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You said these were all you could carry? Then there were more who survived the Calling?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course. Thousands of them; probably every warlock who was ever Called. We were all trapped in the thing’s protective spells — that’s why I haven’t aged. Has it really been fifteen years?”
“Yes, your Majesty, it has.”
“I see there are new buildings everywhere, and my palace is showing some wear.” He stared critically at the huge double doors; Sterren knew their finish was noticeably more weathered than it had been when Vond left. Giving them a fresh coat of varnish had never made it into the imperial budget.
That wasn’t important now, though. Sterren asked, “Your Majesty, what happened to the others?”
“What? The other Called warlocks? Oh, they’re probably still in Aldagmor.” He waved dismissively. “They aren’t my problem.”
“May I ask, then, why you brought these people?”
Vond turned back to face Sterren. “I told them they were my honor guard, and I would give them important positions in the empire,” he said, “but the truth is, I wanted some company — people who speak good Ethsharitic, and who can understand what it’s like being a warlock. Being an emperor was sort of lonely sometimes.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I suppose my harem is gone?”
“Long ago, your Majesty.”
“Well, I have plenty of time to find a new one. For now, though — well, I see you’re still here, and my palace is still here. What about the empire?”
“Still intact, your Majesty. Your overthrow of the old nobility was thorough enough that no one saw any point in restoring them. The Imperial Council has been administering the empire in your name ever since you left.”
“The Council?” Vond glanced around, as if looking for the other councillors, but found none. “What about you? Are you still chancellor?”
Sterren had been dreading this question. He was unsure just how Vond would react to the situation, but he was very, very glad that he had refused the title of emperor. “The Council named me regent, your Majesty, but I let the Council handle as much of the government as possible.”
“Regent?” Vond considered that. “That sounds sensible. So you were ruling in my place?”
Sterren suppressed a sigh of relief. “That’s right. Just until you came back.”
“And none of the eighteen kingdoms have gotten away?”
“None.”
“Have you conquered any more?”
“No, your Majesty. We thought this was plenty to handle.”
“Well, you’ll have more soon.” Vond gestured expansively. “I think Lumeth of the Towers will be next, since that’s where my power comes from.”
Sterren hesitated for an instant, debating the necessity of delivering bad news, then said, “Ah, your Majesty — there’s a problem with that.”
Vond frowned. “What sort of a problem?”
“We…we made a treaty with the Wizards’ Guild,” Sterren said.
“The Wizards’ Guild?” Vond looked puzzled. “What do they have to do with anything way out here?”
“It seems they have interests in Lumeth, your Majesty,” Sterren said. “Twelve years ago they banned all warlocks from Lumeth, and the empire, and Shassala, and Kalithon, and Gajamor, and Calimor, and Yaroia, and Zenda, and maybe a couple of others I’m forgetting. In fact, your return may be a violation of their ban all by itself.”
Vond’s frown deepened, and he glared at Sterren. “What, you agreed to this?”
“They guaranteed our borders, Vond,” Sterren explained. “We were on the verge of war with several of our neighbors. You weren’t here, and our other magicians are…well, not very impressive. The Guild was not in a mood to compromise on the ban on warlockry, and honestly, we didn’t really want any other warlocks here, and we didn’t think you would be back. They forced peace on the whole region. It seemed like a good deal.”
“Not to me.”
“You weren’t here!”
“I am now,” Vond growled. “I’m back, and I intend to stay, whether the Wizards’ Guild likes it or not. I will take Lumeth for my empire, and whatever else I like.” He raised a hand dramatically. “I may just take Ethshar itself! After all, I grew up there, and maybe I’d like to go home.”
As he finished his speech the warlock blinked, as if surprised by his own words, and Sterren began, “I don’t think —”
“You don’t have to think!” Vond waved a hand at Sterren, and the regent found himself flung roughly backward through the air. Fortunately for him, if not for the others involved, he hit the line of people surrounding the plaza, rather than anything particularly hard and unyielding.
“I am the only warlock in the World,” Vond announced, rising into the air and amplifying his voice again, “and the most powerful magician in history! I will do as I please, and the Wizards’ Guild can’t stop me!”
Sterren disentangled himself from the people he had struck, but was in no great hurry to get back on his feet, or to confront Vond further. He knew, though, that every part of that latest announcement was wrong. There was at least one other warlock who could draw on the Lumeth source, specifically Sterren himself. There had been several magicians over the centuries who could probably match Vond’s raw power, from Fendel the Great to the late, unlamented Empress Tabaea. And if it came down to open warfare, the Wizards’ Guild almost certainly could stop Vond.
The question was, how much of the World would be destroyed in the process?
Chapter Seven
Hanner stared at the approaching dragon, trying to think what he should do. He had never seen a full-grown, flying dragon before, only the hatchlings kept as pets by the more ostentatious among Ethshar’s ruling elite, and the half-grown juveniles displayed in the Arena. Those dragons were always killed before they reached adulthood. The only adult dragons he had ever heard of were out in the wilderness, far from all human habitation.
But then, they were in eastern Aldagmor, which had been uninhabitable by humans for the past thirty-odd years — this was out in the wilderness. Why wouldn’t there be dragons here?
This one was still coming, and Hanner began to
realize that this wasn’t just any dragon, it was a huge dragon, easily a hundred feet long. Its wings and flanks were a rich emerald green, and its throat and belly were golden yellow, and it was so big that its wings seemed to fill half the sky.
And as it drew closer, he could see that there was something on its back, at the base of its neck. Hanner blinked.
Meanwhile, all around him people were screaming and running. Some were bright enough to scatter into the surrounding forests and hills, but most were simply fleeing directly away from the dragon, running more or less due east.
Hanner was not going to do that. The dragon could overtake anyone it tried to, he was sure, so there was no point in running. If it intended to eat someone, it could pick whomever it wanted.
But if it wasn’t just looking for a snack and planning to grab the first person it could, then perhaps it could be reasoned with. Hanner had always heard that some of the larger dragons could talk; maybe he could talk to this one. If all it wanted was a meal — well, it wasn’t a pleasant idea, but Hanner knew there were dead bodies in the pit, people who had been crushed or smothered before they could climb out. He would have greatly preferred to give all those poor people a proper funeral and burn the bodies, but feeding them to a dragon was certainly better than letting it eat living people.
A dragon this size couldn’t be stupid, or it wouldn’t have lived long enough to get so large. It surely couldn’t make a habit of eating people, or it would have drawn the attention of dragon-hunters.
At least, that was what Hanner tried to tell himself.
And that thing at the base of its neck…Hanner realized that it was a person, a man seated in a sort of saddle. Hanner blinked again, and shouted, “Hai!” He waved his arms over his head.
The dragon wheeled and turned upward, craning its long neck to look down at Hanner; it looked around, and found clear ground nearby — all the other former warlocks in that area who were capable of it had fled, leaving a space large enough for the beast to land without stepping on anyone. It settled gracefully to the ground, and the wind of its arrival forced Hanner back two or three steps. It folded its wings, then swung its immense head around to look at Hanner with slit-pupiled golden eyes the size of cartwheels.
The man riding on its back leaned over to look at Hanner, as well, and Hanner looked back, seeing a handsome, black-haired young man dressed in fine leathers.
But it was the dragon, and not the rider, who spoke.
“Our compliments, sirrah, and are you, perchance, in a position to speak for all, and to explain your presence here?”
Its voice was deep and rumbling, as if a thunderstorm had spoken, and on top of that it spoke Ethsharitic with a curious accent, a little like one Hanner had occasionally heard from very old people when he was a boy in the overlord’s palace. It took a moment for Hanner to make sense of its words.
His comprehension was not aided by the constant awareness that he was standing a few feet away from a mouth that could swallow him in a single gulp. Hanner’s instinctive terror was tempered by the realization that the creature seemed more interested in talking to him than in eating him, but he was still terrified.
It did not help that he realized he could smell the dragon; he was that close to the great beast. Its odor was not quite like anything he had ever smelled before, but reminded him of dust, blood, and hot metal.
“As much as anyone is, yes,” he said at last.
“Pray you, then, speak, and expound to us how you come to be standing untroubled not a hundred yards from the Warlock Stone — if indeed, the Stone remains.”
The stone the dragon spoke of could only be the source of the Calling. “It doesn’t,” Hanner said. “It’s gone, back where it came from.”
“And was that then the great disturbance that we saw from afar a few hours gone, in the depths of night?”
Hanner had reached his limit in making sense of the creature’s questions. “I…what?”
“May I, Aldagon?” the man in the saddle called.
“And you would,” the dragon replied, turning to look at its passenger.
The black-haired young man smiled, and slid from his place on the monster’s back. He dropped a few yards to the ground, but managed to stay on his feet, and came walking up to Hanner, hand extended.
They shook, and the young man in leather said, “I’m Dumery of the Dragon, and this is Aldagon, She Who Is Great Among Dragons. Aldagmor is named for her.”
This seemed to Hanner to be an extravagant and unlikely claim, but he was hardly in a position to argue about it, and after all, these were unlikely circumstances. “I’m Hanner,” he said. “Formerly Hanner the Warlock, formerly Chairman of the Council of Warlocks.”
Dumery nodded thoughtfully, and looked around. “Formerly a warlock,” he said. “I didn’t know that was possible. Interesting. I saw hundreds of other people here before they all hid from Aldagon; were they all warlocks?”
“Yes,” Hanner said. “They used to be.”
“So the Warlock Stone is gone, and…what? It released you? You had all been Called?”
That was close enough to what had actually happened that Hanner just nodded. “Yes,” he said again.
“There were a lot of you.”
“Yes,” Hanner said, and this time he thought a little more explanation was called for. “It was everyone who was ever Called, ever since the Night of Madness. We were caught in the…the Warlock Stone’s protective spells.”
Dumery let out a low whistle. “All of you? But there must have been thousands!”
“Yes,” Hanner said again, hoping he didn’t sound stupid, saying the same thing over and over.
“What will you all eat?”
“That’s a very good question,” Hanner said. “We have some theurgists, and they were able to summon Piskor the Generous. She gave us those bundles — see?” He gestured toward the one at his feet, and then at the hundreds that had been dropped by people fleeing Aldagon’s approach.
“That doesn’t look like enough to last very long,” Dumery said.
Hanner turned up an empty palm. “Three days, the goddess said.”
“Then what?”
“We were hoping we could reach civilization by then.”
“’Twould be a vigorous walk, to reach a city so soon,” Aldagon rumbled.
Hanner started, and looked from Dumery to the dragon, then back. “How… You were riding it.”
“Her,” Dumery corrected him. “Yes, I was.”
Hanner gave the dragon a sidelong glance, not wanting to say anything that could possibly offend it — or rather, her. “Have you… Is she…”
“Is she tame?” Dumery grinned. “No. Far from it. But we’re business partners.”
“Partners?” He looked back and forth from the dragon to the man, but could read nothing from either’s expression. “Is that…is that sort of thing common? I was caught in that spell for seventeen years, so I don’t know what the World is like now, but — partners?”
Dumery smiled. “No, it’s not common. I think Aldagon and I are the only such partnership since the Great War. We’ve been working together for about ten years now.” He turned his smile toward Aldagon. “I think we’ve both been pleased with how it’s worked out,” he said.
“Aye, I am not displeased,” Aldagon said. “Though certes, I am kept from my repose more than e’er I was these four centuries past. Dumery would work me to skin and bone, did I allow.”
“Oh, you were bored silly until we met, and you know it,” Dumery said, reaching up to slap Aldagon’s jaw — the only part of the dragon he could reach from where he stood.
“Said I not, I am not displeased?”
Hanner closed his eyes for a moment to gather his wits.
As far as he was concerned, a day or two ago he had been trying to fight off the Calling while Arvagan finished up the Transporting Tapestry he had ordered. He had been home in Ethshar of the Spices, living with his wife and children in his late uncle
’s mansion on High Street, and everything had been fairly normal.
Now he was standing in the mud of Aldagmor, a hundred yards from the pit where the Calling had originated, talking to a dragon. He had seen and heard a goddess. He had seen and heard the Response that had carried the Warlock Stone back into the sky. He was seventeen years in the future.
That was all a little difficult to absorb.
“But see you, friend Hanner,” Aldagon said, interrupting his thoughts, “while I would do you no harm, you and your compatriots are in lands that have known no human habitation in many a year, and lands that I and mine had thought our own. I had thought these lands to be forbidden to your kind, and like to remain so. My home lies not far hence, chosen that none should trouble me there, and likewise I should trouble none with my presence, yet here you are, in your thousands. Do you, then, intend to dwell in this place henceforth?”
“What?” Hanner looked up, startled. “Oh, no, we aren’t staying — at least, most of us aren’t. I told you, we want to get back to civilization.” He looked around, and saw several people watching, but they were all keeping their distance; no one wanted to approach the dragon. “Some of these people did live here, before the Night of Madness, but I don’t know whether any of them want to rebuild.”
“I suspect they could be persuaded not to,” Dumery said. “No offense, Aldagon, but most humans are unlikely to want dragons as neighbors.”
Aldagon looked as if she was about to reply, but then stopped, cocked her head to one side, and said nothing.
Dumery laughed. “She’s too polite to say the feeling is mutual,” he said. “But it is, and I really think you people do need to get out of the area as soon as possible.”
“We were planning to,” Hanner said. He pointed. “We were going to follow that stream south.”
“You’re heading for Ethshar, rather than Sardiron?” Dumery asked.
“I am. Many of us are. I can’t speak for everyone.”
“It’s probably wise,” Dumery said with a nod. “Heading northwest, toward Sardiron, would take you directly through Aldagon’s territory, and there are other dragons there who are…well, they’re much younger, too young to talk, but still big enough to eat people.”
The Unwelcome Warlock Page 7