The Unwelcome Warlock loe-11

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “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.”

  “Oh,” Hanner said.

  “It’s a long walk to Ethshar, though.”

  “Then we should get started,” Hanner said. “We were getting ready when you, ah...interrupted —”

  “You mean, when Aldagon scared everyone into running off in a hundred different directions?”

  Hanner smiled wryly. “Yes.”

  “Well, then,” Dumery suggested, “perhaps we can guide you, or carry a message somewhere, to make up for our little intrusion.”

  Hanner blinked. “Could you?” he said. “That would be appreciated. That would be very appreciated.”

  “We’ll also make sure the other dragons don’t bother you,” Dumery added.

  “Aye,” Aldagon said. “I’ve no desire for bad blood betwixt our peoples.”

  “That’s...that’s very kind of you,” Hanner said. He was still having some difficulty in accepting the fact that he was holding a civil conversation with a hundred-foot dragon.

  “‘Tis naught but sense,” Aldagon replied. “Come, then, and call your folk together. Gather yourselves up, make ready, and be off with you, and Dumery and I shall do what we can to ease your path.”

  Slightly stunned, Hanner said, “Thank you.” But then he remembered some details of the former warlocks’ situation. “We have injured people,” he said quickly. “I was expecting to arrange for them to be carried, but is there anything you could do to help? And some of us died — I don’t know how many.”

  Dumery and the dragon looked at one another.

  “Hmm,” Dumery said. “I don’t see how we can help with the injured, and you’d need a necromancer to help with the dead.”

  “Oh, I know there’s nothing we —”

  “A thought strikes me, but I know not if your folk might reckon it unseemly,” Aldagon said, interrupting him. “Is’t not your custom to burn the dead, that their souls may be freed of flesh and might travel unhindered to heaven?”

  “Yes,” Hanner said, “but we don’t have time to gather the firewood for a proper pyre for so many. We need to go, get moving while we still have some food left.”

  “You have no need of wood when you have a dragon to hand,” Aldagon said.

  Hanner blinked again. “Oh,” he said. He considered that for a moment. Being eaten by a dragon would be undignified, to say the least, but to have dragonfire for one’s funeral pyre seemed almost ennobling.

  But it wasn’t necessarily his decision to make. “I think that might be a good idea,” he said, “but I’ll want to discuss it with the others.”

  “Certes,” Aldagon said.

  “About the injured,” Dumery said. “I know several wizards in the three Ethshars — would you like me to talk to them, and see if they can send help?”

  “But how?..”

  “Aldagon will fly me to Ethshar of the Spices,” Dumery explained. “It won’t take more than a day or so.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Hanner said, immensely relieved. If someone in Ethshar knew they were out here, someone might send aid.

  “They’ll probably want to know what’s happening here anyway,” Dumery said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re being watched by a hundred scrying spells right now.”

  Hanner started to ask why, then stopped. The answer was obvious. Warlockry had vanished a few hours ago, and that would have been noticed throughout the Hegemony by now — not all the warlocks were among the Called. “You’re right,” he said. “But I’d feel better if you carried that message anyway.”

  “Then we’ll do it,” Dumery said. “We’ll leave at once. Those of you who feel up to it should ready the dead; Aldagon will burn the bodies as soon as we return, if that’s what you want. Even in this cold, you shouldn’t leave them for long.”

  “Agreed,” Hanner said. He glanced at Aldagon.

  “If I may,” she said. “I will carry Dumery to the gates of Azrad’s Ethshar, that he may speak to the wizards of the city, that they may send what aid they can. Then I shall return, and incinerate the bodies prepared for me in this place. In exchange for my services in these matters, you — all of you — will hie hence forthwith, and return no more. You will depart to the south and east, as you choose, but none will go to the north or west, for those lands are home to my kin. Is this our complete understanding, friend Hanner?”

  “It is,” Hanner said.

  “You accept these terms, and speak for all present?”

  “I accept these terms, but I can’t speak for everyone. I’ll do everything I can to persuade everyone to accept them, but there may be some uncooperative idiots.”

  “And such there be, you will bear no malice for any actions I take upon them, to secure my home?”

  “I think you’ve been more than fair,” Hanner said.

  “Then let us away, Dumery, to Azrad’s Ethshar.”

  “Right,” Dumery said, with a look around. Hanner’s gaze followed the dragon-rider’s, and he saw that scores, or hundreds, of human eyes were watching — apparently when Hanner was not immediately roasted or devoured, some of the others found the nerve to stop running and observe.

  Then Aldagon bent her head low, and Dumery clambered up her flank, pulling himself up the saddle-band and onto her neck. A moment later he was back in the saddle, and Aldagon crouched.

  “Get back!” Dumery shouted, and Hanner stepped back — but not far enough; when Aldagon leapt upward, wings flapping, the wind of her rise knocked Hanner entirely off his feet and sent him sprawling on the cold ground.

  Embarrassed, he got slowly back to his feet, and turned to watch the gigantic dragon flying south. She was already half a mile away, the morning sun gleaming from her scales as she dwindled into the distance.

  Chapter Eight

  Five members of the Imperial Council sat around the table, listening to Lord Sterren explain the situation as best he could. Not all of them found the regent’s explanations entirely convincing.

  “I thought warlocks never came back from the Calling,” Lady Kalira said. “In fact, I thought you told me that.”

  “They never have before,” Sterren said. “But apparently everything changed last night, just as it did on the Night of Madness, but in reverse.”

  “That’s really the Great Vond?” Lord Goluz asked. He was the youngest member of the Council, and had never met Vond before. He had been a mere merchant’s apprentice when the Empire was created.

  “It’s really Vond,” Sterren replied.

  “Can he hear us in here?” Lady Arris asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Sterren said. “Warlocks do have enhanced senses, but I don’t think hearing is one of them.”

  “What does it matter if he can hear us?” Prince Ferral asked. “We aren’t saying anything terrible. Even if we were, it’s not as if we could do anything to stop him from doing whatever he pleases.”

  “I wasn’t planning to say anything treasonous,” Arris replied nervously. “I just wanted to know.”

  “Where is he now, do you think?” Goluz asked.

  �
��He was talking to some of those people he brought with him,” Lady Kalira said.

  “Out in the plaza,” Sterren confirmed.

  “I wish Algarven was here,” Goluz muttered.

  Sterren sympathized; Algarven was one of the steadiest, most sensible voices on the Council. Unfortunately, he was off inspecting the ports, to help the Council decide whether to expand the facilities in Quonshar, or put more resources into the harbor in Akalla of the Diamond, or whether there was a third option worth considering. Quonshar was closest to the empire’s border, and to Ethshar, while Akalla was closest to the imperial capital of Semma. The best natural port, though, was probably Kalshar, which lay between the others.

  “But he isn’t here,” Sterren said. “Neither is Lady Tanna. There are just the six of us gathered here.”

  The councillors exchanged glances.

  “Why are we meeting, really?” Ferral asked. “The Emperor is back, he’s reclaimed his position, and we can’t do anything but accept it and go on administering the empire.”

  “That’s probably true,” Sterren admitted. “I thought it might be a good idea to make sure we all understood the situation, that’s all. You seem to have a solid grasp of the realities, your Highness, but perhaps not everyone here was as quick to realize our position.”

  “I wasn’t,” Goluz proclaimed.

  “Vond is probably going to want to talk to us at some point, to hear what we’ve been doing since he left,” Sterren continued. “I didn’t want anyone to be caught off-guard. We need to answer his questions honestly; don’t try to lie about anything.” He hesitated, then added, “Except, of course, your loyalty to him. Whether you really are loyal or not is irrelevant; never give him any reason to doubt you. Let him think you’re an incompetent and he’ll probably just accept it, but say even a word of defiance and he might squash you.”

  Lady Kalira glanced in the direction of where poor Ildirin had been smashed against a wall fifteen years before, and shuddered. Ildirin had not been defiant. He had not even been seriously incompetent; merely unlucky.

  “If any of you do come up with any schemes to overthrow the emperor, I would strongly suggest you don’t tell the rest of us,” Sterren said. “If you succeed, then I’m sure we’ll accept it, but I do not want to see this entire council destroyed if a plot goes wrong and we’re all implicated. That would be very bad for the empire, as well as for us.”

  This time it was not just Kalira who shuddered.

  “Please notice, though, that I’m not telling you that you shouldn’t try to remove Vond,” Sterren said.

  “You think seven plots are more likely to result in one that succeeds than a single big conspiracy is,” Ferral said.

  “I am not going to comment on that,” Sterren said, nodding.

  “You don’t think multiple conspiracies might get in each other’s way?” Kalira asked.

  Sterren turned up an empty palm. “Who knows?”

  “The Wizards’ Guild banned warlocks from the empire,” Lady Arris said.

  “They did,” Sterren agreed. “I expect they will attempt to enforce that eventually, but it may take some time, and I don’t know how effective they’ll be.”

  “Or how much damage they’ll do in the process,” Ferral said. “The stories about that lunatic magician calling herself Empress Tabaea in Ethshar of the Sands aren’t encouraging.”

  “The Cult of Demerchan might be interested to know Vond is back,” Kalira suggested.

  “They might be,” Sterren agreed.

  “Fellow councillors,” Goluz said, glancing around, “I am concerned by what I am hearing here. Don’t any of you think Vond’s return might be a good thing? After all, he built this palace in a matter of days, and built roads, and used his magic in a dozen beneficial ways.”

  Kalira and Sterren exchanged glances. “He may do more useful things,” Sterren acknowledged. “I don’t think he actually wants to hurt anyone. His rule may do more good than harm. But he isn’t strong on self-control, and he has the power to do a huge amount of damage very quickly. I don’t think any of us are about to assassinate him tonight, by any means; I think most of us will want to wait and see how matters develop. But if they develop badly, it would not hurt to have a few ideas of how to improve the situation.”

  “As Lady Arris said,” Kalira added, “the Wizards’ Guild banned warlocks from the empire. I do not like the idea of being caught in a battle between Vond and the Guild.”

  “But if that battle happens, shouldn’t we side with Vond, rather than the Guild?” Goluz asked. “He’s our emperor!”

  Sterren grimaced. “You’re free to decide for yourself,” he said, “but I don’t ever want to be on the side fighting the Wizards’ Guild.”

  “If I do decide to assassinate the emperor,” Lord Vorash said, speaking for the first time, “I will be careful not to mention it to you, Lord Goluz.”

  That provoked nervous laughter for a few of the councillors — though not, Sterren noticed, from Lord Goluz.

  “I think we’ve said quite enough,” Prince Ferral announced, pushing back his chair. “I’m going to go attend to my own business now. If the emperor wishes to speak to me, I will be at his disposal.”

  Lady Arris rose as well, and then the others, and a moment later Sterren was alone in the room.

  He sat for a moment, thinking.

  Maybe Lord Goluz was right. Maybe having the only warlock in the World as their ruler would be a good thing. Maybe he would build roads and dredge harbors and heal the sick. Certainly, he would enforce the peace within the empire.

  But almost the first thing he had said upon returning was that he intended to conquer a neighboring kingdom. He had asked after his harem. He had admitted abandoning thousands of former warlocks in the wilderness of Aldagmor, and made no mention of doing anything to help them.

  Those weren’t the words of a thoughtful and effective ruler.

  Sterren sighed, and got to his feet.

  He found Lar Samber’s son waiting for him outside the council chamber door. The man was showing his age; his hair was white, and he moved stiffly as he rose to greet his employer. His weight had varied over the years, and at the moment he was stout, verging on fat. His weight seemed to be slowing him down, where it never had before. Sterren felt a twinge of guilt at summoning him; Lar had been more or less retired for the past few years.

  “Regent,” Lar said in Ethsharitic. “You sent for me.”

  “I’m not a regent anymore,” Sterren said in Semmat. Ethsharitic was the official language of the empire, while Semmat was the local tongue; Sterren knew both well. Vond did not; he was only fluent in Ethsharitic. The council meeting had been conducted entirely in Ethsharitic, since not all the councillors spoke Semmat, but now Sterren switched to the language the emperor did not understand. “Vond has reclaimed his throne. I suppose I might be chancellor again, though.”

  “I stand corrected,” Lar said in Semmat. “You did send for me, though.”

  Sterren sighed again, and nodded. “I did,” he said. “As I’m sure you know, Vond is back. He says the Calling has stopped, and he’s the only warlock left.”

  “Is that what happened? There were rumors.”

  Sterren smiled wryly. He hadn’t heard any rumors yet, but of course Lar had. Retired or not, he had spent most of his adult life as a spy, and he still seemed to know everything that went on anywhere in Semma. “Yes,” he said. “That does appear to be the case.”

  “That’s an interesting situation,” Lar remarked.

  “Indeed. I’d like to know what Guildmaster Ithinia thinks of it,” Sterren replied.

  “Ithinia? If I may, my lord, why her, in particular?”

  “Because I don’t know of a wizard who stands higher in the Guild than she does — I’m sure there are some, but the Guild does not choose to identify them to outsiders. Besides, Ithinia did seem to take quite an interest in imperial affairs when she visited us twelve years ago.”

  “Ah,�
�� Lar said.

  “I think she should also be informed that apparently there are thousands of former warlocks who have been turned loose in Aldagmor, and may be stranded there.”

  “Are there?” Lar asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “So I’m told.”

  “I’ll see that the news reaches her,” Lar said. “Though by the time I can get word to her, she may well already know all about it.”

  “I know, but I think we should make the gesture.”

  Lar nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’m also curious about whether the Sisterhood has an opinion on Vond’s return.”

  Lar nodded. “Anyone else?”

  “The Brotherhood, while we’re at it. The Council of Warlocks, if it still exists. The three overlords of the Hegemony. The Cult of Demerchan. Anyone you can think of.”

  “Oh — is that how it stands?”

  “I’m afraid so. But Ithinia first, I think.”

  Lar bowed stiffly. “As you say.”

  “Leave as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He turned, and walked away, toward the nearest door out of the palace. He didn’t run, as if he were in a hurry, or march, like a man obeying orders, or creep, as if he didn’t want to be seen; he simply walked, like someone who was headed somewhere but wasn’t in a great rush. No one would give him a second glance.

  Sterren watched in admiration for a second or two, then hurried down the corridor to the entry hall. Dozens of people were there, milling about or talking in small groups; about half of them were strangers, mostly dressed in black, from the group Vond had brought back with him from Aldagmor. The others were mostly palace staff and imperial officials of one sort or another, with a few confused-looking guards mixed in.

  Sterren spotted one of the Council’s messengers and beckoned her aside. She glanced about, then joined him by the wall.

  “Yes, my lord?” she asked in Ethsharitic.

  “Where’s the emperor?” he asked in Semmat.