Night of Madness loe-7

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Rudhira said, “That’s less than half a mile from here.” “I know,” Manner said. “Much less. That’s why I offered to take a message.”

  “Uncle Faran would rather do it himself,” Alris said. “He likes showing off.”

  “It sounds dangerous to me,” Mavi said. “If he has magical things up there and he uses them to send a message to Ithinia, isn’t he admitting he’s broken their rules?”

  “Yes,” Hanner said. He glanced uncomfortably up the stairs; Faran was long since out of sight. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

  Hanner thought it all too likely that his uncle didnot know— that after being cast out by the overlord he had lost his temper so thoroughly that he wasn’t thinking clearly, and was more concerned with demonstrating that he still had power than with the best long-term strategy.

  Or maybe he had simply gotten fed up with keeping so many secrets.

  Or maybe he did know what he was doing, after all. He had far more experience than Hanner in these matters.

  “Ireally hope so,” Hanner said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ithinia of the Isle was not happy. She was short on sleep, having been rousted out earlier than her wont by panicky messages from various lords, magistrates, and magicians, and she had spent the entire day dealing with people who expected her to know far more than she did, which she always found wearing.

  Furthermore, she didn’t approve of changes in the normal routine of Ethsharitic life. Whatever had happened the night before had disrupted any number of things, and Ithinia resented that.

  And finally, she had spent the whole day talking to people instead of doing magic. She hadn’t cast a single decent spell. Oh, she had used a few simple tricks and applied some existing artifacts, but she hadn’t worked anything more difficult than a third-order incantation, and shehated that. She had become a wizard because she loved magic, and she wasgood at it, which was how she’d become a Guildmaster, and she considered it completely unfair that her duties as senior Guildmaster for the World’s largest city so often meant she had no time to spend in her workshop, animating bric-a-brac or talking to ghosts she had trapped, or otherwise enjoying the miraculous abilities she had spent her life acquiring. She thought now that she should have used some sort of time-distortion spell to find a few extra hours she could use to catch up on her sleep, but she hadn’t done it — at least, not yet, and she still wasn’t sure when she would have a chance.

  So her mood was already quite sour enough when she arrived home, transported magically into her downstairs solarium, to hear a loud, unnatural buzzing in the garden behind her house.

  It was not a pleasant buzz. It was a harsh, insistent noise that Ithinia found intensely grating. She thrust a hand into the pouch on her belt, fumbled with a vial, and opened the garden door of the solarium with a pinch of brimstone in her ringers, ready to fling Thrindle’s Combustion at this annoyance, whatever it was, and burn it into silence.

  She stepped out, looking for the source of the buzz, and spotted it almost immediately-a shiny black thing lying atop the garden wall, gleaming darkly in the bright warm light of the setting sun. It was roughly the size of a woman’s sandal, but with odd little wings on either side. Two of her magical guardians, stone carvings she had animated years ago, crouched at the foot of the wall, watching it.

  The mysterious buzzing device was not anything she recognized, but she knew the general category of objects that had that peculiar slick finish. It was a sorcerous talisman of some kind.

  She was tempted to go ahead and fry it-but Thrindle’s Combustion didn’t always work on talismans, and might well backfire. She dropped the bit of brimstone and wiped her hands on the skirt of her formal robe as she cautiously approached the still-buzzing object.

  Poking it with her athame, the ritual dagger she wore on her belt, would probably silence it-sorcery and wizardry did notlike each other much, and an athame was virtually pure wizardry, able to ruin most sorcerous devices with a touch without taking any noticeable harm itself.

  If she did that, though, she wouldn’t know who sent it, or why, and it might be important. Some sorcerer somewhere might know something about what had caused last night’s ferocious and mysterious magical outburst. She couldn’t afford to throw away that knowledge.

  And she really doubted it was dangerous. No sorcerer would be stupid enough to try to harm her-attacking a Guildmaster was a good way to die. Even if an attack succeeded, which was unlikely given the protective spells she always wore, the rest of the Wizards’ Guild would retaliate, quickly and lethally.

  She stopped several yards away. The two stone guardians turned to glance up at her, but then returned to watching the talisman.

  “How long has that thing been here, making that noise?” she asked the nearest of the gargoyles that crouched on the various corners and protrusions of her house.

  The gargoyle turned its head with a creak, looking at her. “About an hour, Mistress,” it said in its grating voice. It was difficult to distinguish the words over the constant noise, but Ithinia was accustomed to her creations’ peculiar speech.

  The neighbors must have loved that, Ithinia thought. Most of them wouldn’t dare complain-one expected occasional annoyances when one lived near a wizard-but it would hardly have generated any goodwill.

  “It’s been sitting there buzzing the whole time?” “No, Mistress. It descended from the sky and approached the house, and Old Rocky warned it away, as you instructed us to do when intruders enter the garden. It ignored the warning, so Rocky and Glitter climbed down to frighten it away. It retreated to where it is now, and began calling your name. When you did not answer, after a few minutes it stopped speaking and began buzzing.”

  Old Rocky and Glitter were the two creatures still guarding it. Ithinia glanced at Old Rocky’s niche, on the southwest corner of the house.

  “Did you see where it came from?”

  “No, mistress. It came down out of the sun while we were meditating.”

  “You were sleeping, not meditating,” Ithinia said. “I’ve told you not to try to fool me. Stoneshould sleep-it’s nothing to hide.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the gargoyle said, abashed.

  “It called my name? Did it say anything else?”

  “It said it needed to speak with you.”

  Ithinia sighed. Another one.

  “I might as well get it over with,” she said. She lifted her skirt slightly to keep it from getting dusty on the little-used bricks, then marched down the garden path to the wall.

  Glitter and Old Rocky stepped aside at her approach, and she took a moment to pat Rocky on the smooth patch of granite behind its carved curving horns. “Good job,” she said. “You, too, Glitter. Go on back to your places now.”

  Glitter’s mouth was so full of fangs and tongue that it couldn’t speak, but Rocky growled, “Thank you, Mistress,” before retreating up the walkway.

  When they had left Ithinia said sharply, “All right, I’m here. Stop that infernal buzzing and tell me what you want.”

  The buzzing continued.

  “Stop it!” Ithinia shouted, her hand falling to the hilt of her athame.

  The buzzing stopped abruptly. “Guildmaster?” a voice said from the black device.

  “Yes,” Ithinia said angrily. The voice sounded familiar-it was definitely that of a native of the city, with the lilting quality affected by the wealthy and powerful. She couldn’t quite place it, and was in no mood to be subtle or even polite. “Who are you?”

  “Your pardon, Guildmaster,” the voice said. “I am Lord Faran, formerly the overlord’s chief advisor.”

  Ithinia closed her eyes and muttered, “Oh, blood and death.” She had already received word that Lord Azrad wished to consult the Wizards’ Guild on an urgent matter, which of course meant that the overlord wanted the Guild to do something about the warlocks. She had put that meeting off until at least tomorrow-it was always best, when dealing with Azrad the Sedentary, to delay
the meeting for a time to give the man’s natural lethargy time to assert itself. Azrad was always less demanding when he had had time to cool down from whatever event had provoked him. An early morning meeting accentuated this, so Ithinia had been planning to arrive at the Palace perhaps an hour after dawn, either tomorrow or the day after.

  Besides, that would give her a little more time to learn about the situation and think about what should be done.

  This communication from Lord Faran, though, complicated the situation.“Formerly the overlord’s chief advisor” meant that there had been a serious falling out within the inner circles of the city’s government, and Ithinia suspected the Wizards’ Guild was about to be dragged into a factional squabble, whether they wanted to be or not.

  One of the secondary reasons for the Guild’s rule against magicians meddling in government, or rulers fooling around with magic, was precisely so that the Guild wouldnot be dragged into factional squabbles, but it appeared that the participants in this one wanted the Guild involved.

  Presumably it had something to do with the warlocks.

  And then there was the fact that Lord Faran was using sorcery to speak to her. He knew perfectly well that the Guild wouldn’t approve of a nobleman in the overlord’s government using magic like this; he was obviously doing it on purpose, to make a point.

  Whatpoint, she didn’t know. She had dealt with Lord Faran before; he had a twisty mind that she did not understand and didn’t particularly want to. He seemed constitutionally unable to accept a direct statement of the Guild’s intent at face value, no matter what the circumstances, which annoyed her, since she always made an effort to deal openly with the government of the Hegemony. She would have preferred to never speak with him again.

  But she was obviously going to have to deal with him. Even if he was no longer the overlord’s right hand, he was still likely to remain a powerful man-and he clearly had sorcery at his disposal.

  And he had decided to rub the Guild’s nose in his sorcery. Ithinia would have considered that utter folly for most people, but for Lord Faran she couldn’t be sure.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, addressing the little black device in as even a voice as she could manage. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware of last night’s events, and the outbreak of what appears to be an entirely new form of magic.”

  “Yes.” She bit off the “of course” that would naturally have followed.

  “I believe that Lord Azrad has requested a consultation with representatives of the Wizards’ Guild to consider what should be done about this development-in fact, I know he has, and that this consultation, if it has not already taken place, will be held within the next day or so.”

  “Most likely, yes. We have not agreed upon a time.” “Of course,” the talisman said. “Whenever it happens, though, I thought that you might be interested in knowing just what the overlord plans, in terms far blunter than he’ll express it to you himself, in advance of the meeting. I would also like to confer with the Guild’s representatives myself, as the spokesman for another group.”

  “And what group would that be?”

  “The warlocks.”

  Ithinia stared at the talisman for a moment, then closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, where she massaged her temple with three fingers.

  That was all she needed. Now the warlocks were getting organized and had found themselves a leader-perhaps the best, most experienced politician in the city.

  “Guildmaster?” the voice from the talisman asked.

  “I’m here,” she said, opening her eyes but keeping her hand where it was. “I was just thinking.” She sighed. “Very well, my lord-did you wish to meet with me or shall we simply converse as we are, over this forbidden apparatus you have intruded into my garden?”

  “Guildmaster, I am no longer a part of Lord Azrad’s government. I do not believe that sorcery is still forbidden to me.”

  “Fine,” Ithinia said. “We can argue about it later, if necessary. Shall we meet?”

  “It’s not necessary, but whatever pleases you. It might be more convenient.”

  “It might. For now, though, let’s just talk as we are.”

  “As you wish.”

  “So tell me what the overlord intends.”

  “He intends, Guildmaster, to outlaw warlockry and order the extermination of all warlocks within the walls, guilty or innocent, lest they disturb the city’s peace. He further intends to place all responsibility for this decision and these actions on the Wizards’ Guild, the self-appointed authority in all matters magical. Need I say what this will do to the Guild’s standing in the public’s estimation when the initial panic has subsided, and the knowledge that hundreds of innocents have been slaughtered registers?”

  Ithinia closed her eyes again.

  “No,” she said. “I can imagine.”

  “Last night, Guildmaster, as you may have heard, some of the new-made warlocks did not join in the night’s madness, the looting and mayhem, but instead acted to limit the damage and tried to put themselves at the overlord’s disposal. In his confusion, Lord Azrad forbade them entry to the Palace. I have now taken this group in hand, at a location known only to a few, and am speaking to you on their behalf. We see no reason we should be penalized for last night’s misbehavior-we did not participate in it and did what we could to restrain it, even turning four of our fellow warlocks over to the Lord Magistrate of the Old Merchants’ Quarter. While we won’t defend the lawlessness some warlocks displayed,we are innocent of any wrongdoing-yet Lord Azrad has made clear to me that he intends to seekour deaths, along with those of the criminals. I am speaking to you now, Guildmaster, to ask the Wizards’ Guild to refuse any part in this appalling injustice. I am asking all of you to come to the aid of your fellow magicians...”

  “You aren’t magicians,” Ithinia interrupted angrily. “You aren’t trained, you never apprenticed, you aren’t any recognized school. You’re people with some strange new spell on you; that doesn’t make you magicians.”

  “Not magicians, then, but people involved with magic, through no fault of their own.”

  “Yes, quite,” Ithinia said. “I see your point.”

  Unfortunately, she could also see the overlord’s view, if Faran had presented it accurately. She had seen the corpses of a dozen people killed by rampaging warlocks. She had seen one poor boy who had had dozens of shards of glass embedded in his flesh by a warlock; a priestess had been trying to invoke Blukros to heal the child, and a witch had been suppressing the pain, but even if the god answered and restored the boy to perfect health nothing would ever make up for the terror and suffering he had been through.

  She didn’t want to talk to Faran anymore-his voice, as relayed by the talisman, was smooth and calm, but suddenly she found it intensely irritating.

  “I will need to talk to others,” she said. “If you’re no longer at the Palace, how can we contact you? I assume you’d prefer something other than the Spell of Invaded Dreams, and would rather we did not track down your location known only to a few.”

  “I could hardly expect to keep my location secret from the Guild,” Faran said, “but rather than put you to any trouble, let me suggest that you take this talisman and place it somewhere safe. When you wish to speak to me, pick it up, and the warmth of your hand will activate it and alert me.”

  “Clever,” Ithinia said. Ordinarily she didn’t think much of sorcery, which had a tendency to have peculiar limitations and to fail spectacularly at inopportune times, but this particular device-assuming it worked as advertised-could be rather convenient.

  “It may be a few moments before I can respond, of course,” Faran said.

  “Of course,” Ithinia said. It occurred to her that she wouldn’t reallywant a device that could demand her attention at any moment, and once again she was glad she had taken up wizardry, rather than one of the other magicks. “I’ll speak to you later, then.”

  “Thank
you,” Faran’s voice replied.

  Ithinia picked up the talisman and tucked it into the purse on her belt, then turned and headed back toward her house.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  On the morning of the sixth of Summerheat Mavi ambled out into the courtyard behind her family home, nominally to dump her chamber pot and the kitchen slop bucket in the public sewer but really to hear the morning gossip-and to tell the story of her own adventures the previous day.

  She had hoped, when she went to bed on the fourth, that being walked home by Lord Manner and giving him a good-night kiss would be the juiciest item in the morning chatter on the fifth. Instead there had been so much excitement about the night’s madness that she had never even gotten around to mentioning it.

  Today, though, she had the tale of her adventures with Hanner and his collection of warlocks to tell, and that was certainly going to be worth mentioning no matterwhat Thetta and Aniara and Oria had to report. She hadflown through the air, and met all those warlocks, and spenthours with Lord Faran and Lord Hanner, and heard Lord Faran say all those terrible traitorous things about the overlord...

  She grinned at the thought.

  And Hanner had walked her home again, and this time they had kissedeach other good night, and not just a quick little peck, either.