The Unwelcome Warlock

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The floor between the two beds had been smashed upward, leaving a hole about six feet across directly below the hovering warlock. Bits of wood and plaster were scattered on all sides.

  Vond had stopped screaming, and as Hanner stepped in, his gaze focused on Hanner’s face.

  “You,” he said. “Did you do that?” Vond did not look frightened, even though he had been screaming in terror a moment before. He looked angry.

  “Do what, your Majesty?” Hanner asked. “What happened?”

  Vond did not answer. Instead he looked first to one side, then the other, then demanded, “Who are you?”

  “Anra the Warl…Anra of Southwark, your Majesty,” one of the terrified women replied.

  “My…my name is…is Pirra,” the other stammered.

  “They’re my guests,” Hanner said. “They were Called warlocks with nowhere else to go.”

  The warlock looked down, past his own feet, and called, “Leth! Are you there?”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” a woman’s voice called from below.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I think so. I’m…sore, though.”

  “Hanner,” Vond said, looking up again. “Where’s Zallin? And Sterren?”

  “Zallin was downstairs with a bottle of oushka last I saw,” Hanner replied. “Sterren’s gone; no one’s seen him since early this afternoon, and most of his luggage is gone.”

  “Gone? Still? Gone where?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He should have…his luggage is gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “That sneaky little traitor — he must be behind this. Wants my empire for himself, probably.”

  “Behind what, your Majesty?”

  “I had…I dreamed…” He looked baffled and furious. “Someone put a spell on me, Hanner.”

  “What kind of a spell?”

  “A dream. A Calling nightmare.”

  Hanner blinked. “Why do you think that’s a spell?”

  Vond had been looking around the room; now he turned to glare at Hanner. “Because the Calling is gone, idiot.”

  “How do you —”

  “You think it’s another Calling? That my power has its own Call?” He shook his head. “I went and took a good close look at the source of my magic, Hanner. I flew right up to it, and all around it. There’s a powerful protective spell, so I didn’t actually touch it — maybe I could have gotten through that spell if I wanted to, but why should I? I might damage something. I might have destroyed my own magic. So I didn’t force it, and I didn’t need to — I was right there, less than fifty feet from the source. I could feel it all through me. I could see its power all around me. I saw and heard everything there was to see and hear, and I know that there wasn’t any Calling. It wasn’t alive. It didn’t have any more consciousness than a rock — and I don’t mean some wizard’s gargoyles, I mean an ordinary rock. There was no Calling. None. And if I couldn’t hear any right there, fifty feet away, I don’t believe for an instant that I could be hearing it now, on the far side of the Gulf of the East.”

  This was interesting. Hanner hadn’t realized that Vond knew exactly where his power came from, let alone that he had visited the source. “Maybe it was asleep when you were there, and now it’s woken up?”

  “It wasn’t asleep. It was dead. It was never alive, any more than the Tower of Flame is alive. It’s a construction, a device, a big magical device, and it isn’t Calling anyone.”

  “Then maybe your dream was just an ordinary nightmare, dredging up your memories of the Calling.”

  That stopped the warlock for a moment; he cocked his head in thought. His lips thinned.

  Then he shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think it was a wizard trying to trick me. Isn’t there some spell they use to send dreams?”

  “The Spell of Invaded Dreams,” Anra volunteered. Hanner glanced at her, startled; her face looked strange in the orange light.

  “There, you see?” Vond said triumphantly.

  “That a wizard could have sent the dream doesn’t mean one did,” Hanner replied.

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t mean one didn’t.”

  “Why would a wizard send you a Calling dream?”

  “To frighten me, of course! To make me afraid of using my power.”

  Hanner had to admit to himself that Vond’s theory was not completely absurd, but he was not about to say it aloud. “How realistic was it? The dream, I mean. Was it like a real Calling nightmare?”

  “It was exactly like a real one! That’s another reason I know it wasn’t from my new source — it was too much like the messages from Aldagmor, and the one in Lumeth is completely different.”

  “Maybe you’re somehow still hearing the thing from Aldagmor, then.”

  Vond sneered. “You know better than that.”

  “I know I can’t hear it anymore, and none of the other Called warlocks, but we don’t have any magic anymore. Maybe your new power makes you more sensitive.”

  “You know it stopped,” Vond said. “You were there. You felt it stop. We all did. It Called, and it was answered, and it stopped calling.”

  “It could have started again,” Hanner said, knowing even as the words left his lips how weak that sounded.

  “Why would it? It was rescued. Its…its friend came and got it, and they flew away together. It doesn’t need to call for help anymore.”

  “Maybe it’s another one of those things, trapped somewhere else — out beyond the Great Eastern Desert, perhaps. Maybe it’s been there all along, but no one’s ever been sensitive enough to hear it until now. You are the most powerful warlock in history.”

  “Yes, I am, but still, that doesn’t fit. I don’t hear any whispering, I don’t feel the slightest tug when I’m awake, but the minute I’m soundly asleep I have a full-sized Calling dream? You know it doesn’t work like that; we don’t reach the nightmare threshold until long after we’ve heard the whispers and felt the urges, and the early dreams aren’t anywhere near as detailed and powerful as this one was.”

  “Your mind is accustomed to the nightmares, Vond — you were already Called once.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t hear any whispers, Hanner. I don’t hear anything but pure, clean power from the source in Lumeth.”

  Hanner wondered what that felt like. He had been a warlock for seventeen years, but his magic had always had a certain mysteriousness to it, a dark edge, a slightly unclean feeling, even before he began to consciously feel any urge to head toward Aldagmor. What would it be like to have a warlock’s power without that taint?

  For a moment he was tempted to see if Vond would teach him to draw on the Lumeth source, but the urge passed. He didn’t need to be a warlock. His previous experience of that magic had cost him his uncle, his title, and in the end, his marriage and seventeen years. This other source might be different, but it might have its own hazards, and it very definitely worried the Wizards’ Guild. Hanner had no desire to annoy the Guild, especially when he had already agreed to accept their money to talk others out of precisely the temptation he was now facing.

  “It could still be your own memory playing tricks on you,” he said.

  “Maybe,” Vond admitted. “But I think a wizard’s spell is more likely.”

  “Can you be sure it was a wizard?” Anra suggested from her bed. “Other magicians can use dreams, too.”

  “Can they?” Vond asked, turning to her.

  “Demons can send dreams,” Hanner said, thinking back to the years he had spent researching magic for his uncle. “I’m not sure, but I think some gods might, as well.”

  “And witches,” Anra offered. “They use dreams to soothe sick children.”

  “And…and…” Pirra murmured.

  Hanner had almost forgotten she was there. Startled, the other three all turned to look at her.

  Intimidated by their gaze, she pulled her blanket up to her chin. “Dancers,” she said ove
r the satin-wrapped hem. “Ritual dancers say they can make happy dreams. My mother told me that.”

  “I don’t think that’s real,” Hanner said. “Dancers make a lot of claims they can’t prove.”

  “Why would any of them want to?” Vond demanded. “Either Sterren hired someone, and he’d probably go to a wizard, or the wizards are angry with me for creating my empire — they banned warlocks from the whole area, you know. This could be part of their campaign.”

  “What campaign?” Hanner asked.

  “To keep anyone from using the source in Lumeth! Sterren knew about that — they warned him a dozen years ago, he said. Maybe he didn’t have to hire anyone, maybe it wasn’t his idea at all, but they could have warned him again, and that’s why he left, so he wouldn’t be involved. That must be it — it’s the Wizards’ Guild that’s behind it. If Sterren had wanted the empire he wouldn’t have come here with me in the first place.”

  Hanner found it interesting to hear Vond thinking this through out loud. The nightmare, or spell, or whatever it was had clearly shaken him — he had reacted instinctively at first, smashing his way up through the ceiling, and then had realized that, just as he had explained, the dream couldn’t be a genuine Call. The mere fact that he had gone straight up, and not headed for either Aldagmor or Lumeth, demonstrated that there was some deception involved. He was still getting his thoughts straight, working out what had happened.

  He might even be right. Ithinia had said that the Guild didn’t expect Hanner to deal with Vond all by himself, which rather implied they had other plans for dealing with him. This mysterious dream might be part of those plans.

  “It must have been a convincing dream, to scare…to startle you out of your sleep so violently,” Hanner said.

  “Oh, it was perfect,” Vond said. “It was exactly like the real thing — didn’t I say that was one way I knew it was a fraud?”

  “Maybe you did. My experience of the Spell of Invaded Dreams hasn’t been so impressive — perhaps it wasn’t the Guild, but some other magicians.”

  Vond waved a hand dismissively. “I haven’t done anything to antagonize anyone else,” he said. “It must be the Guild.”

  Hanner remembered Zallin’s description of Vond’s behavior during their tour of the city, which could easily have antagonized any number of people, but decided not to mention it. “What do you intend to do about it?” he asked.

  Vond’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a good question,” he said. “I’m not sure yet.” He looked down. “Right now, I think I should put on some clothes, and I have some repairs to make.”

  “I’d appreciate the repairs,” Hanner said.

  “I suppose you would, since you claim to own this house.”

  “I do own this house,” Hanner replied angrily.

  “Hanner, you were Called. Called warlocks are considered dead. You may have owned this house before you were Called, but it’s not so clear as all that whether you still own it.”

  “I…I don’t…” Hanner let his voice trail off. He had not really given the matter much thought. Like every warlock, he had written a will when he began to feel the Call, and he had left the house to his children, to be held for them by the Council of Warlocks until such time as they claimed it; had they ever claimed it? They weren’t living here, which implied that they had not, and Hanner had returned, and the Council had been disbanded…

  This was complicated. It might require a magistrate to sort it out.

  “You invited these two to stay here?” Vond said, interrupting Hanner’s thoughts. He gestured toward the two beds.

  “Yes,” Hanner said. “They didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “You have other guests, as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “All former warlocks?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “I’m not…why do you ask?”

  Hanner felt himself rise off the floor. “Answer the question!” Vond demanded.

  “I don’t know!” Hanner said, as he hung helplessly in mid-air. “I haven’t kept count.”

  “You haven’t… Really? Give me an estimate, then. Twenty? Thirty?”

  There was no particular reason to hide the truth, and there were others who would tell him if Hanner refused. “Dozens,” Hanner said. “A hundred or more.”

  “A…a hundred? Seriously?”

  Hanner noticed that the warlock’s clothing was rising up from the room below, slipping through the hole in the floor. “Yes, your Majesty,” he said.

  “I don’t see that many.”

  “They…they aren’t all in the house itself,” Hanner said.

  Vond raised his arms to allow his robe to slide on. “Where are they, then?”

  “That’s a little difficult to explain. There’s magic involved.”

  The robe fell into place, and Vond’s belt wrapped itself around his waist. “I’m not in a great hurry,” he said.

  Hanner did not want to explain. He was afraid that Vond would see the tapestry as a threat, since after all, it was a gateway to a place where his magic wouldn’t work. He feared that the emperor might destroy it. But he couldn’t really see any way to avoid an explanation.

  “I bought a spell,” he said. “Before I was Called. I wanted a refuge where warlocks could go to escape the Call, and I hired a wizard to create one for me. It’s a magical tapestry that will transport anyone who touches it into another world, one where the Source couldn’t be heard.”

  Vond’s clothing stopped arranging itself. “You had this before you were Called?” he demanded.

  “Yes, but only by an hour or so,” Hanner said. “I was Called immediately after testing it, before I could tell anyone it worked, so my family thought it must have made the Calling worse.”

  “So there’s a way back out of this other world?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  “You’ve been sending your guests into the other world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh. Interesting. And warlockry doesn’t work there?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That sounds as if it might be very useful, under the right circumstances.”

  “Well, it’s certainly kept this house from getting impossibly crowded.”

  Vond nodded. He glanced down, then looked back at Hanner. “I’m going back downstairs,” he said. “I want to fix the damage, and talk to Leth, and take care of a few other things, but then I want you to show me this magical tapestry of yours. Meet me on the second-floor landing in half an hour, and bring Zallin. And Sterren, if you can find him.”

  “Your Majesty, I don’t —”

  “Half an hour,” Vond said, as he sank slowly and gracefully down through the hole in the floor. A cloud of debris swirled up from around the edges and began to arrange itself over the opening as the warlock vanished from sight.

  Hanner watched him go, then looked at the two women. “I’m very sorry for the disturbance,” he said. “If you would prefer to find somewhere else to sleep tonight, something can probably be arranged.”

  “Please,” Pirra said. “Let me get dressed, and then please find me somewhere else.”

  Anra looked at the floorboards reassembling themselves, then at Hanner. “He could reach me anywhere,” she said. “I’ll stay here, thank you.”

  “As you please,” Hanner said. “Pirra, I’ll be waiting out here.” Then he stepped back, closed the door, and turned to find Rudhira standing there. He started.

  “How long have you been there?” he asked.

  “I heard you tell him Sterren’s luggage was gone,” she said. “Hanner, it’s not really my business, but are you sure it was wise to tell him about the tapestries?”

  “No,” Hanner replied. “I’m not sure at all. I didn’t see a good way to avoid it, though — I didn’t have a set of lies ready, and I’ve never been good at making them up on the spot.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s not in your nature to lie. But tonight I
almost wish it was.”

  Hanner did not know what to say to that, and instead said, “Can you find another place for Pirra? I need to go find Zallin, and drag him to Vond’s door.”

  “He’s probably passed out drunk.”

  “That would make the dragging a little more difficult, yes.”

  Rudhira grimaced. “Go ahead, then. I’ll take care of this Pirra. Maybe she can demonstrate the tapestry for the emperor.”

  “That might be useful,” Hanner said. “If she’s willing.”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  “Thank you, Rudhira,” Hanner said, as he hurried past her and headed for the stairs. “I don’t know what I would do without you!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kirris crouched in the closet, alone in the dark, trying to stop trembling. She was terrified. This was not what was supposed to happen.

  Vond had been fooled by her remembered dream, but only for a moment. He had figured out the truth with frightening speed. That did not fit Kirris’ expectations; she had been given the impression that the emperor was a rather stupid man. He did not seem stupid now.

  At least he had not guessed all the details. He had accepted the idea that he had been the target of the Spell of Invaded Dreams. That meant he had not assumed the magician responsible for his nightmare was nearby, since wizardry could work at great distances, and he had not gone looking for the perpetrator. If he had realized the dream came from a witch, he could have easily found Kirris — found her, and killed her.

  Her first reaction had been to think that she had to get out, and get away, but then she had caught herself. If she was seen fleeing, that would be highly suspicious. Vond had no reason to suspect her presence, and if she stayed here, in the mansion, she could spy on him, and perhaps do some good.

  Staying in the closet would be suspicious, too, of course. She had to slip out and find somewhere else — an empty bed, perhaps. Unfortunately, she could not get out as easily as she had gotten in; other people had been awakened by the racket when Vond awoke and smashed his way through the ceiling, and were standing outside the bedroom door, talking quietly. Getting past them unnoticed would be difficult; they would be alert, and her usual distraction spell would not be reliable.