The Unwelcome Warlock

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Of course, Chairman!” Edara said, relief plain in her voice. “Just until we find our footing.”

  “And there’s a…complication,” Hanner said. “An important one.”

  “What is it?” Bardec asked.

  “You remember that warlock who called himself Vond, who somehow still had magic? He asked for volunteers, then flew off with them?”

  “I remember,” Gita said. “How did he do that? Why does he still have magic?”

  “I don’t know how he does it,” Hanner said. “Apparently he has another source, instead of the one we all used when we were warlocks.” He remembered who he was speaking to, and added, “At least, those of us who were warlocks, and weren’t just snatched away on the Night of Madness.”

  “There’s another source?” Edara glanced around at the others. “Why can’t we all use it, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Hanner said. “Apparently this one isn’t calling for help, and it may be different in other ways, as well. Personally, I don’t want to use it. I don’t trust it.”

  “Then why did you bring it up?” Hinda asked.

  “I didn’t,” Hanner said. “I brought up Vond.”

  “All right, why did you bring up Vond?” Bardec asked.

  “Because he’s living here, in this house. He’s declared himself Chairman of the Council of Warlocks, on the grounds that he’s the only real warlock left.”

  The others exchanged looks.

  “Where is he?” Gita asked. “Upstairs?”

  “No, he’s gone out,” Hanner replied. “But he could be back at any time, and I don’t know how he’ll like finding out I’ve invited you all to stay here.”

  “If he’s chairman now, then how can you invite us at all?” Edara asked.

  “Because it’s my house,” Hanner explained. “My uncle built it. The Council used it with my permission, but never owned it.”

  “Well, then, what business is it of this Vond’s if you have other guests?” Bardec demanded.

  “Vond is the last warlock in the World,” Hanner said, “and one of the most powerful to ever live. He’s also Emperor Vond, absolute ruler of eighteen or nineteen of the Small Kingdoms. He’s accustomed to getting his way, regardless of details like law or justice. He has no legal say in whether or not I invite you to stay here, but he may not care about such niceties. If you anger him he may smash you against a wall, or stop your heart, or do something else equally unpleasant.”

  “So we won’t anger him” Bardec said.

  “We’ll try not to,” Edara said.

  “I understand he does have a temper,” Hanner said. “If you’re willing to risk it, then by all means, stay here. If you think you’d rather face slavers or the Field than a foul-tempered warlock — well, that’s a personal judgment.”

  “Do you think he could tell us how to use this second source?” Hinda asked.

  Three or four other voices chimed in, joining in Hinda’s inquiry.

  “I don’t know,” Hanner said, raising his hands for quiet. “I really don’t. And I’d think long and hard before asking him.”

  “That’s all right for you,” a man whose name Hanner hadn’t gotten yet said. “You have this house, and probably some of your friends and family are still around. Some of us don’t have anything; our whole world is gone. At least if we had magic again we could earn a living!”

  Hanner could not really counter that effectively, but he said, “I’m just asking you not to be too hasty. We don’t know how Vond’s magic works. Let’s give some other possibilities a try before we start harassing the emperor.”

  “What other possibilities?” Edara demanded. “My old life is gone!”

  “I don’t know what other possibilities,” Hanner said. “But you’ve hardly looked. It’s been what, less than a sixnight since we woke up in Aldagmor? Give it some time! Think about it! Some of you have skills from your old lives; maybe you’ve lost your homes and businesses, but you can start over. Maybe you do still have family, and just haven’t found them yet. I have three children, and they’re all still alive, but none of them live here anymore; they have their own places. Maybe your children, or nieces and nephews, or grandchildren, are still out there, and would be happy to see you if they knew how to find you.”

  Most of his guests did not look convinced, but some of them appeared to at least be considering his words.

  “And I think,” Hanner continued, “that other magicians might be willing to give some of you a hand. They’ve already gotten us all safely back to the city; they might be willing to do more.”

  “Why would they do that?” Gita asked. “Wizards don’t generally do anything for free.”

  “As a favor to their fellow magicians,” Hanner said. “The Wizards’ Guild and the Council of Warlocks always cooperated with each other. Besides, I wasn’t just thinking of wizards; theurgists might help out, as well. You all heard Piskor — the gods want us to help one another, and there might be dozens of theurgists who owe her, or some other god, a debt of service. Witches will often help out their neighbors without payment, too.”

  “Without payment in coin, maybe,” Bardec said. “They usually find some way to make it worth their while.”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that? Aren’t you willing to earn your keep?”

  “What can we do, though?” Hinda asked.

  “I don’t like counting on the generosity of witches,” Bardec said.

  “Or wizards,” someone added.

  “Or theurgists,” someone else chimed in.

  “But you want mine?” Hanner asked, a little annoyed.

  “That’s different,” Edara said. “You’re one of us.”

  “Maybe Vond will help us out. After all, he’s a warlock, too.”

  “Didn’t he take those others with him to the Small Kingdoms, and promise them things?”

  “Did he really give them important positions?”

  “Who knows?”

  “But if he’s here, he’s not in the Small Kingdoms.”

  “If he’s here, where are they?”

  “Maybe they’re all in the Small Kingdoms running his empire for him.”

  “Or maybe he killed them all.”

  “Or maybe he taught them all to use this second source.”

  “Where are they, Chairman? Did Vond bring them here with him?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Hanner said. “I don’t know what happened to them.”

  “So they might be warlocks again?”

  “Or they might be dead.”

  “We need to know!”

  “Well, we don’t know,” Hanner said loudly. “Vond hasn’t said anything about them.”

  Several people began to speak, but Hanner raised his hands for silence.

  “For now,” Hanner said, before anyone could argue further, “you can stay here, but I am not responsible for anything that happens if you bother Emperor Vond. That includes anything that happens if you do learn to use the Second Source the way he does — just because he hasn’t yet heard a new Calling doesn’t mean there isn’t one, or perhaps there’s something different, something worse. For all I know, his new source isn’t in the World at all, and could suck him into some other universe at any moment. I know I’m not in any hurry to test it out.”

  “He’s been using it for years, hasn’t he?” Gita asked.

  Hanner shook his head. “Months,” he said. “Only a few months. At least, if you don’t count the fifteen years he spent in Aldagmor.”

  Some of the others exchanged thoughtful glances.

  “There’s no need to rush,” someone said.

  Hanner held his peace for a moment while the others gradually fell in line; then he said, “Now, let me show you where you can sleep,” and beckoned them toward the stairs.

  He had assigned rooms to perhaps half the new arrivals when the next group knocked at the door.

  A rather bemused Rudhira was with them; she watched as Hanner welcomed them in and ran through more
or less the same conversation, listening to them explain how they had nowhere else to go, then telling them that they could stay, but should be careful not to bother Vond. She looked past him, up the stairs at the guests leaning over the rail and listening.

  Hanner noticed her gaze, and turned up an empty palm. He also saw that her arms were full of supplies she had brought from the markets. “Let me help Rudhira, then I’ll show you to your rooms,” he said to the others. Then he took the largest bundle from her arms and headed toward the kitchen.

  “How many are there?” Rudhira asked when they were out of earshot.

  “There were nine in the first two groups,” Hanner said, as he set the bundle on a table and reached for a cabinet door. “How many were there who arrived the same time you did?”

  “Five, I think.”

  “Fourteen in all, then.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t want to use the upper floors, not until I have a chance to see what’s up there, but we can fit fourteen on the second floor. They won’t all get individual rooms, but if the furniture is still what it used to be, they can all have their own beds.”

  “Are you counting Sterren and Zallin?” Rudhira pulled two heads of cabbage from a bag and studied the cabinets, trying to decide where to put them.

  “And the two of us, yes. Eighteen. Not counting Vond — I don’t think anyone’s going to share his room.”

  “Not unless she’s pretty.”

  Hanner grimaced.

  “It’s not so bad,” Rudhira said, pushing the cabbage into a tin-lined bin. “After all, you had thirty or forty people staying here when I was Called.”

  “Did we? I’d forgotten. That was seventeen years ago for me.”

  “It was only a few days ago for me.”

  Hanner had not really thought about that, and was not comfortable with the idea. “I think we can manage, then,” he said, sliding a wheel of cheese onto a shelf. “Especially once I make sure the third floor is safe.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Hanner didn’t have a good answer for that. Uncle Faran had kept the top two floors closed off for his own exclusive use, and had stored his magical devices up there, but Hanner had long ago disposed of most of the arcane paraphernalia and moved the remainder to the back rooms on the fourth floor. The third floor, and most of the fourth, should be perfectly suitable for guests.

  “No reason,” he acknowledged. “We should be able to fit everyone easily.”

  “For now,” Rudhira said. “But what if they keep coming? There were thousands who disappeared on the Night of Madness.”

  “I don’t know,” Hanner said. “We can’t fit that many. They’ll need to find refuge somewhere else.”

  “Where?”

  That was an excellent question, and for a moment Hanner’s mind was completely blank, but then a thought struck him. He blinked. “I…might have an idea,” he said. “I’ll need to see if I can find a wizard named Arvagan the Gray.”

  “Who?”

  “You wouldn’t know him,” Hanner said. “I don’t think he came to the city until after you were Called. I met him about ten years after you left.”

  Rudhira cocked her head to one side, sending a wave of red hair rippling across her shoulder. “So you think this Arvagan can do something other wizards can’t? If you need a wizard, couldn’t you just talk to Ithinia?”

  “Well, she might know where he is, but no, I don’t want a wizard, exactly. I want something I last saw in Arvagan’s shop. I’m assuming he’ll know where it is.”

  “If it still exists, whatever it is.”

  “If it still exists,” Hanner agreed, as he stuffed a final bag of turnips into a bin. “Now, let’s go get our guests settled in.”

  They were crossing back through the dining room when another knock sounded at the front door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sterren stepped into Warlock House and found half a dozen strangers sitting in the parlor in their nightclothes. They seemed to be deep in discussion, so he decided not to interrupt them, and instead turned right, into the grand dining room. It was empty, but he could hear noise from the kitchen, so he made his way there and found the little redhead — Rudhira, that was it — shelling peas.

  “Hello,” he said.

  She nodded a silent acknowledgment as she popped open the next pod.

  “Who are those people in the parlor?”

  She looked up. “Warlocks,” she said. “Or former warlocks, anyway.”

  “Why are they here?”

  She cocked her head. “You’re asking why warlocks would come to Warlock House?”

  Sterren felt momentarily foolish. “Well — yes,” he said.

  She set down the bowl of peas and turned to face him. “Because they have nowhere else to go. Most of them were Called on the Night of Madness, and have no homes or families left after thirty-four years. Some were Called later, but still have no homes. So they came here.”

  “You let them all in?”

  “Hanner did. It’s his house. He told them they could stay until they find places.”

  “Stay?”

  “He doesn’t want them to have to go to the Hundred-Foot Field.”

  Sterren pursed his lips, then asked, “What does the Great Vond think of this?”

  “He isn’t back yet.”

  “I doubt he’ll approve.”

  “You would know better than I.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  She turned up a palm. “I am here because I had nowhere else to go, and Hanner took me in. How can I object when he offers others the same?”

  “Well, you… Aren’t you a friend of his, while they’re strangers?”

  “We knew each other for a few days, more than thirty years ago. I have no special claim on his affections.”

  Sterren’s eyes narrowed. “I had thought there was rather more than that between you.”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  Sterren did not argue, but something about her attitude had him wondering whether perhaps she would have preferred there to be more.

  “Where is Hanner?” he asked.

  “He’s out looking for a wizard he knew seventeen years ago, to find something he left in the wizard’s shop.”

  “To find what, exactly?”

  “He did not see fit to tell me that.”

  “Did you ask?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  She glared at him. “I told you,” she said. “I am here on Lord Hanner’s sufferance. I am not in a position to make any demands, for information or anything else.”

  Sterren noticed the glare, and the title. “He brought you here, didn’t he? Did you beg him to save you, or did he volunteer?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “I am still a guest.”

  There was clearly something going on here between Rudhira and Hanner that Sterren didn’t entirely understand, but it wasn’t any of his business — at least, not unless it upset Vond. Sterren did not pry further.

  This did complicate his own plans, though. He had just spent an hour talking to Emmis of Shiphaven, the overlord’s customs inspector responsible for overseeing all traffic between the Vondish Empire and Ethshar of the Spices. It was Emmis’ specific charge to ensure that no forbidden magic was transported from Ethshar to the empire, and most particularly that no warlocks took passage for any of the empire’s eight ports. Sterren had informed Emmis, among other things, that several former warlocks were on their way, and that any who had no family or other accommodations should be sent to Warlock House. Convincing Vond to accept them should not be unreasonably difficult, Sterren had thought, since Vond was the one who had taken them to the empire in the first place.

  But that was before Sterren had discovered that Warlock House already had several guests he hadn’t known about. “How many of them are there?” he asked. “I saw five or six in the parlor just now.”

  “Oh, it’s more than that,” Rudhira told hi
m. “Twenty or thirty, I think, and I’d wager more are coming.”

  “Twenty or thirty? Is there room for so many?”

  “When I lived here before, we managed about forty,” she replied. “But that was crowded.”

  This was the first Sterren had heard that Rudhira had ever lived here before, but he ignored that for the moment. “There may be others on the way,” he said. “The Great Vond brought some with him to the empire when he came back from Aldagmor, and I believe several of them are on their way here, to rejoin the emperor.”

  “It will be crowded,” Rudhira said, reaching for the bowl of peas.

  “If it’s too crowded, Vond may decide to do something about it.”

  “I suppose he might.” She sighed. “The thing Hanner’s trying to retrieve from that wizard? I don’t know what it is, but it’s supposed to help accommodate some of these homeless warlocks somehow.”

  It was reassuring to hear that Hanner was aware of a potential problem and trying to address it, but Sterren would have been happier if he had some idea just what Hanner had in mind. “Those people in the parlor — they seemed pretty intent on something. Do you know what they’re talking about?”

  “Last I heard, they were making plans to find a tailor and get some clothes, if they could figure out a way to either pay him or arrange credit.”

  Sterren looked at Rudhira’s own attire; she was wearing an embroidered white tunic and a good green skirt, but both had clearly seen better days. “What about you? Do you have any other clothes?”

  “None of us do, Sterren,” she said, picking up a pea-pod. “We were Called, and I have never heard of a Called warlock taking the time to pack.” She snapped the pod open, and flicked the peas into the bowl. “I was living here when I was Called, and I’ve already looked — there’s nothing of mine in the closets. I doubt anyone remembers what happened to my clothes after more than thirty years, and I doubt they’d be fit to wear in any case, and really, I wouldn’t want to wear them.”