Night of Madness loe-7

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “But...” Sheila threw Hanner a sharp, puzzled glance, her tears apparently forgotten.

  She knew, he realized. She knew he was a warlock.

  “I’ll explain later,” Hanner said quickly.

  “Explain what?” Alris demanded.

  “None of your business,” Hanner snapped.

  Alris looked at Hanner, then at Mavi, then said, “I’ll bet I know, though I don’t know why you toldher before you said anything to your own sister!”

  Mavi started. “No, Alris, it’s not-I mean, we haven’t...” Her voice trailed off in confusion.

  “Just shut up, Alris,” Hanner said wearily. He hadn’t expected to find these two in the parlor, and much as he ordinarily enjoyed Mavi’s presence, he wished they weren’t there. He turned to Sheila.

  “You were telling me what happened after you healed Thel-lesh,” he said.

  “Oh,” Sheila said. “Well, Master Kelder tried to undo what I’d done, but he couldn’t, and I couldn’t see how I could, either, when he told me to try, so finally he sent Thellesh home, and we talked for a while, and then he told me to get my things and get out, that I wasn’t a witch anymore and I was too dangerous to stay in his house. I think he thought it might be catching.”

  “So you left?” “I didn’t even get my stuff,” Sheila said. “I was too upset. I just ran out the door. And later I listened to people talking and asked some questions, and I heard about the Warlock House and came to see.”

  “The Warlock House?” Alris asked.

  “That’s what they call it,” Sheila said.

  “This house, you mean,” Hanner said.

  “That’s right.”

  “So much for keeping anything secret,” Alris said.

  Hanner hoped those words weren’t prophetic; he still had secrets he wanted to keep. The location of Uncle Faran’s house, the refuge for warlocks, wasn’t one of them, though. “We already knew the guards had found us,” he said. “And there were those people in the street.”

  “Areyou still a witch?” Mavi asked Sheila.

  “No,” Sheila said. “At least, I don’t think so. When I try to do witchcraft it all feels different, so I think I’m doing warlockry instead. I can’t do some things at all, like reading moods. And I don’t get tired-instead it makes me feel stronger.”

  That certainly fit what Hanner knew of warlockry.

  “When did it start?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sheila said. “I felt funny all day yesterday, but I wasn’t sure anything was wrong until today.”

  “Did you have any strange dreams last night?”

  She looked up at him, startled, and her eyes grew wide. “What kind of dreams?” she asked.

  “About falling and being buried alive,” Hanner said.

  “You know about that?” Sheila said breathlessly.

  “Tell us about it,” Mavi said.

  “It wasn’t last night, but the night before I did! I dreamed about falling through the air burning, and then falling down under the ground until I was buried and couldn’t breathe, and all the time I knew there was something I had to do, but I didn’t know what it was.” She shuddered. “I knew it was a magical dream, but I didn’t know what kind or where it came from.”

  “It’s the same dream,” Alris said. “I’ve heard everyone talking about it over and over. All the warlocks who were asleep when the Night of Madness started had it, and some of them have had it again since then.”

  Hanner glanced at her. “Have you had it?” “Me?” Alris clapped a hand to her chest. “I’m not a warlock!”

  “Of course I haven’t had any dreams like that.” She snorted. “Now I probably will, not because of any magic but just because you said that.”

  Hanner watched his sister’s face for a second, trying to decide whether perhaps she was being a littletoo emphatic, but then dismissed it. She was probably telling the truth, and any excess drama was just because she was thirteen.

  He still found her attitude toward warlockry puzzling, though. She had been so insistent for so long that she wanted to be a magician, and she didn’t seem to mind being in a house full of warlocks-she had friends she could stay with if she really wanted to-yet she seemed to be very determined to dislike the idea of warlockry.

  Hanner couldn’t figure it out and gave up trying. He turned his attention back to Sheila.

  “Well, I don’t think you need to worry too much, Sheila. You’re a warlock now, that’s all. All this-the dreams, the strange magic, trouble with your old magic-that’s all the same sort of thing that the other warlocks have been through. All of it except what you did to Thellesh; no one else did that.”

  “Were any of the others witches?”

  “No,” Hanner admitted, “but two of them are wizards.”

  Sheila drew in her breath, her eyes widening again. “Oh,” she said.“Wizards can be warlocks?”

  “Sort of. It interferes with their old magic, just as it did with your witchcraft. Or almost; they can still do a. few spells.”

  “That’s sostrange!”

  Hanner sighed. “I suppose so. Now, if you can stand the crowd, I think we should go back to the other room, where my uncle, Lord Faran, is getting things organized.”

  “All right,” she said.

  She and Hanner were just turning around when someone knocked on the front door.

  Alris hopped onto a chair by one of the front windows and pressed her cheek to the panes so that she could peer sideways for a look at their visitor.

  “It’s a guardsman,” she said. “Should I call Uncle Faran?”

  “Oneguardsman?” Hanner asked. “Just one?”

  “I just see one,” Alris confirmed.

  Hanner frowned and crossed to the door. He opened it a crack.

  The crowd in the street had fallen silent, presumably waiting to see what would happen-as Alris had said, a single guardsman stood just outside, inside the gate.

  At first, distracted by the yellow tunic of a soldier, Hanner failed to recognize the man’s face, but before the new arrival could speak the familiar features registered, and Hanner flung the door wide.

  “Yorn!” he said. “Come in, come in!”

  The soldier obeyed, closing the door gently behind himself. “Am I still welcome?” he asked.

  “Of course!” Hanner said, clapping Yorn on the shoulder. “As long as you’re not here to order us all into exile.”

  “Uh... actually, I was... those orders... that’s why I’m here,” Yorn said.

  Hanner frowned. “We already chased away Captain Naral and an entire squad,” he said. “Why would they send just you?”

  “Oh, that’s not what I meant!” Yorn said hastily. “I mean, they told us to find any warlocks we knew of and order them out of the city, and that was when I realized I couldn’t stay in the city guard anymore, not until the lords change their minds. And I didn’t have anywhere to go but here.” He looked around. “Is everyone else gone?” He noticed the others and said, “I mean, besides these three.”

  “No,” Hanner said, “they’re still here. But first, this is Sheila.” He told her, “This is Yorn of Ethshar. He’s a warlock, too.”

  “Not much of one, really,” Yorn said.

  “This is Mavi of Newmarket,” Hanner said. “She’snot a warlock, just a friend.”

  Yorn bowed. “And I know Lady Alris,” he said.

  “Sheila and I were just about to join the others,” Hanner said. He beckoned for Yorn and Sheila to follow, then opened the door to the dining hall.

  The murmur of voices and the scent of crowded bodies spilled out.

  “Gods, there are alot of them!” Yorn said as he followed Hanner into the crowded room.

  “Thirty-two,” Lord Faran announced. “And the apprentice witch is thirty-three, and you, sir-are you a warlock?” “I am,” Yorn admitted. “Thirty-four,” Faran said. “Against a city of thousands,” Rudhira said. “Most of them won’t trouble us,” Faran said. “Just the guar
d.” “How many is that?” Othisen asked.

  “Eight thousand,” Yorn replied, speaking up loud and clear. A horrified silence fell.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Eight thousand soldiers?” someone squeaked at last. “That’s what they tell us,” Yorn confirmed.

  “It’s supposed to beten thousand,” Lord Faran said, “but Lord Azrad has never bothered to put in the money to get the guard to full strength.”

  “There’s no reason he should,” Yorn said. “There are plenty of us as it is.”

  “I didn’t know there were ten thousand people in the World” Othisen said.

  “Oh, there arehundreds of thousands in Ethshar,” Yorn said. “Nobody knows the exact number.”

  “The wizards might,” Rudhira suggested.

  “My master says that if it weren’t for the wizards, there couldn’t be a city this big,” Sheila said. “It’s wizardry that keeps the water clean and keeps the food good through the winter and empties the privies where the sewers don’t go.”

  “The theurgists do some of it,” an elderly woman Hanner didn’t recognize protested mildly.

  “This is all very interesting,” Lord Faran said, “but if we could get back to business, there are thirty-four of us here, of varying abilities. All of us can move small objects by sheer force of will, but some of us can do more than that, and I think it would be wise to find out just who can do what, and how well. Now, who here can fly?”

  A dozen voices spoke up, and hands were raised; Lord Faran shouted over the babble, “If you can fly, please go tothat end of the room!” He pointed at the windows. “If youcannot fly, go tothat end!” He pointed at the ballroom. “If you don’t know, please stand near the table!”

  “I can lift myself off the ground,” said the woman who had mentioned theurgists, “but I can’t reallyfly so much asfloat.”

  Faran looked at her, then said, “What’s your name?”

  “Alladia of Shiphaven.”

  “Alladia. Thank you. For now, just stand near the table.”

  She obeyed.

  Sheila also went to stand by the table, and Hanner accompanied her. He found himself standing next to Alladia.

  “I’m Lord Hanner,” he said. “I’m pleased to meet you.” “I could wish it were under other circumstances,” Alladia said, looking around as the others sorted themselves out.

  “You’d rather not be a warlock?” Hanner asked.

  “That’s right,” Alladia said.

  This was interesting; Hanner wondered whether he could gain any insight into Alris or the others. “Is it just because of the overlord’s threats?” he asked. “Suppose no one knew-wouldn’t you like it then?”

  Alladia turned to look him in the eye. “No, I wouldn’t,” she said.

  “Why not? After all, you have magic now, without even serving an apprenticeship.”

  “I had magicbefore” Alladia replied angrily. “I was a priestess!”

  “A theurgist?” Understanding dawned. Warlockry interfered with witchcraft and wizardry; presumably it interfered with theurgy, as well.

  “That’s right. And a good one, if I do say so myself. But ever since thisthing got inside my head, the gods won’t listen to me. The simplest invocation goes unanswered. I tried to consult Unniel to find out what was wrong, and evenshe ignores my prayers!”

  “Unniel?” The name was vaguely familiar.

  “Unniel the Discerning. She’s one of the easiest of all the gods to contact; any halfway competent apprentice can speak to Unniel. But since the night before last,I can’t! In the past I’ve successfully summoned Asham and Govet, and now I can’t even call Unniel!”

  “And you think it’s because you’re a warlock?”

  “Of course. What else could it be? Something’s put this curse on us, and it’s cut me off from the gods. Before I could open gateways to another world, heal the sick, reveal any secret; now I can send plates flying about the room. Doyou consider that a good exchange?”

  “No,” Hanner admitted.

  Before he could say any more, Faran called for attention.

  “I count ten who can’t fly, thirteen who can, eleven who don’t know,” he announced. “Let’s see if we can sort out those eleven. Hanner, if you would step aside?”

  Hanner glanced at Sheila and Alladia, but then stepped away from the table.

  “In fact, Hanner,” Faran said, “if you don’t mind, would you wait in the parlor with Alris and Mavi? And if Manrin and Ulpen come back down, send them in.”

  “You only want warlocks in here,” Hanner said.

  “That’s right. No need to crowd things any more than necessary.” Hanner hesitated. This was a moment when he could admit that he was a warlock after all-and he really should admit it, shouldn’t he? Sooner or later the truth would come out.

  But if it did, he would be either exiled or put to death, or would find himself caught in Uncle Faran’s schemes permanently, and he would never get back to his own bed, his own rooms, in the Palace.

  He bowed, patted Sheila reassuringly on the shoulder, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  In the parlor, Alris asked, “What are they doing in there?”

  “Sorting warlocks,” Hanner replied. “Seeing who can do what.”

  Mavi shuddered. Hanner looked at her, startled.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I know they’re just people, that they didn’task for this spell or power or whatever it is, but they make me nervous. Even your uncle, and poor Pancha. It’s just so...” She turned up her palms, unable to find the right word.

  And here was another reason not to admit he was a warlock, Hanner thought. He did not want to make Mavi nervous, nor did he want her to find him repulsive.

  He hadn’t realized she felt this way.

  “The theurgist said Pancha wasn’t even human anymore,” Mavi said.

  “Alladia said that?”

  Mavi blinked at him. “No-who’s Alladia?”

  “The theurgist turned warlock in there,” Hanner said, pointing at the dining-hall door. “Who didyou. mean?”

  “The theurgist who tried to cure Pancha this morning,” Mavi explained. “He said the goddess he summoned didn’t even think Pancha was still human!”

  That, Hanner thought, would indeed be a reason to find warlocks unpleasant to be around. He wondered why the goddess had thought so, and whether that was why Alladia couldn’t summon Unniel. The pact made at the end of the Great War said only humans could invoke the gods.

  “And the dreams,” Mavi continued.“Why do they have those dreams? Do they mean something?”

  “They don’tall have the dreams,” Hanner said.

  “Butmost of them did. And they sound so terrible-fallingand burningand being buried alive. It’s just... I don’t know, excessive.”

  “I suppose it is,” Hanner agreed, glancing at the closed door.

  There was a sudden loud thump from the other room; Mavi started. Hanner glanced at the closed door of the dining hall, but otherwise didn’t move. What hewanted to do was reach out with his will and open the door, to see what was happening-but he refused to use his magic.

  If it was his at all. No one knew what had caused the Night of Madness; all this warlockry might just be something some mad wizard had done.

  “Do you think it’s permanent?” Mavi asked.

  Startled, Hanner turned back to her. “Do I think what’s permanent?”

  “This warlockry. Maybe it’s just temporary.”

  “That would certainly simplify matters,” Hanner said.

  “I stayed around today, hoping it would all juststop,” Mavi said, staring at the closed door. “I wanted to be here, to help when it ended-I thought some of them would be upset. And I thought I could take Pancha home. But it isn’t stopping.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Hanner agreed. “At least, not yet.”

  But it could, at any time. They couldn’t know. That was the thing about magic-it didn’t have to make se
nse. Sometimes itdid make sense, and it was predictable enough that magicians could use it, and the whole city could rely on it, but sometimes it was just bizarre. A wizard could make a living creature out of powdered bone and feathers, or put a man to sleep with a pinch of dust and a single word-where was the logic in that? More than a hundred years ago a simple fire-lighting spell went wrong in the Small Kingdoms, and the resulting tower of flame was reportedly still burning, without fuel-how could it be? Why would virgin’s tears work in certain spells, when the same woman’s tears shed after her wedding night would be as useless as well water?

  Wizardry was the strangest, but where was the logic in sorcery, where certain devices would perform their functions flawlessly for centuries, and then simply stop? And other devices that appeared perfectly identical didn’t work at all, or did something different.

  Or theurgy-why did the gods only grant certain requests? Why would they listen to some people and not others? Why did demons sometimes answer theurgical invocations?

  Magic was not far from madness-and in the case of warlockry, the distinction had initially been invisible. The warlocks who went rampaging through the city that first night had certainly appeared mad.

  So how could they know what warlockry would do? Uncle Faran was in there, trying to make sense of it-but what if there was no sense to be made? What if it were to simply vanish again, as abruptly as it had appeared? What if it changed form? What if there were another Night of Madness, but affecting an entirely different assortment of people?

  But then, all of life was like that, really. Even when Hanner had been sleeping in his own bed in the Palace, as safe as anyone could be, at any moment some mad magician’s spell could have turned him to stone, or transformed him into a cat, or simply killed him.

  Even without magic, his own heart could just stop, or he could catch a fever, as his mother had, and be dead in a sixnight. One just had to make the best of the situation, forge ahead as best one could, try to learn how things worked, and accept it when the rules changed and learn the new rules.