“Uncle Faran!” Hanner called.
Faran turned without stopping his steady march. “What are you doing here, boy?” he asked. “It’s not safe.”
“I can see that,” Hanner said angrily. “But you might need another voice when you talk to the overlord.”
Another miniature lightning bolt flared, but this time Faran did not bother pointing it out to anyone; again, it burst harmlessly against the barrier.
“I suppose we might,” Faran agreed. “Azrad may want someone untainted-from what he said when last we spoke, and what Captain Naral has told me, he’s quite convinced warlockry is inherently evil.” He nodded. “Come along, then.”
Hanner stepped up to join the line. Faran was in the center, Varrin on his right, Rudhira on his left, Kirsha beyond Rudhira, and Yorn beyond Varrin; Hanner squeezed in between Rudhira and his uncle. He was worried about Rudhira.
Behind them a score or more of other warlocks trailed along, looking like the undisciplined rabble they were, but this front line presented at least some semblance of order.
At least, it did until Faran suddenly stumbled, his hands falling to clutch at his belly.
Rudhira whirled and saw a wizard chanting. Her hand waved, and the wizard tumbled backward.
Faran straightened, coughed, and said, “Thank you. I do believe that was the Spell of Intestinal Turmoil.” He swallowed, looking slightly pale, then adjusted his cloak and marched on.
A few seconds later the barrier had reached the corner of West Second Street and pressed on across the intersection. The party paused for a moment. Varrin asked, “Do we turn here? It’s the shortest route.”
“I think it would be more effective, more dramatic, to march down Center Avenue,” Faran replied, pointing east. He started to continue-but then realized Rudhira had turned, ignoring his words.
“Rudhira!” he called.“This way!”
Rudhira shook her head, her red hair flying up wildly, as if a great wind were blowing around her-but the air inside the barrier was still unnaturally calm. “It’s calling,” she said. Hanner realized that her feet were no longer on the ground. “I can hear it. I can feel it. I can almostsee it!” She was drifting northward along West Second Street, rising slowly, leaving the others behind. The barrier was splitting in two-one section, centered on Lord Faran and the others, remained motionless, while the other was pressing clear a swath down the center of West Second Street. Beyond it a disorganized crowd of soldiers and civilians watched in confusion; some turned to run, while others stood their ground. “Rudhira, wait!” Kirsha called.“What is calling?”
“I hear it, too,” Varrin said.
“But whatis it?” Kirsha demanded. “We don’tknow! It might be something evil, something luring us in!”
The others were standing indecisively, and Hanner could take no more; he ran after Rudhira, calling her name.
She was well above the ground now; he jumped, and his hand brushed her foot, knocking off one green shoe. She didn’t even look down; instead she began flying faster and higher, calling, “I’m coming!”
Hanner stopped, out of breath, and watched Rudhira’s flying form dwindle with distance as she soared upward and northward, faster and faster, until she vanished above the rooftops of Spice-town.
The barrier that had cleared much of West Second Street vanished as well, and when Hanner lowered his gaze from the northern sky he saw half a dozen guardsmen advancing toward him, spears at ready.
“Oh, no,” he said, backing up.
He didn’t want to run; it was undignified to run away from one’s enemies. He backed away, and the soldiers advanced. One of them kicked aside Rudhira’s dropped shoe.
Then they stopped, as if they had just smacked into an invisible wall.
“This way, Lord Hanner,” Kirsha called.
Hanner turned.
The four remaining warlocks were still standing in the intersection, waiting for him. He tried to pretend nothing disturbing had happened as he walked back to join them.
“She’s gone,” Yorn said, staring northward.
“I know,” Hanner said. “Why didn’t the rest of you try to stop her?”
“Idid” Kirsha said. “Didn’t you feel it? But she was always far stronger than me.”
Hanner looked at Varrin.
“I didn’t,” he said quietly.
Faran turned, startled. “Why not? Maybe with the two of you...”
“I was maintaining the barrier, my lord-forgive me, but you aren’t strong enough to have done it yourself.” He hesitated, then added, “And besides, I couldn’t have stopped her. If I had tried, I’d have gonewith her. And I’m not ready yet.”
“Not ready? Gone with her?” Hanner could see that Uncle Faran was trying to restrain his fury. “What are youtalking about?” “You haven’t felt it yet, my lord?” Varrin asked. “The Calling?”
Hanner had heard Rudhira talking about a calling, but listening to Varrin he knew the warlock meantthe Calling, something new and special.
“Felt what?” Faran said.
“Uncle,” Hanner said, looking around, “maybe we should go back to the house.”
“No!” Faran said angrily. “Yes, Rudhira has deserted us, but look!” He swept an arm around. “We still have the power to hold off the entire city guard!”
“But if Varrin hears this Calling...”
Faran and Hanner both turned to look at Varrin.
“I hear it,” Varrin said. “I can still resist. But, my lord, the more I use my magic, the stronger the Calling becomes. If I do too much...”
“I hear it, too,” Kirsha said. “But it’s still weak for me.”
“Uncle, it’s the strongest warlocks who feel it the most,” Hanner said. “The ones you need the most if you try to take the Palace.”
“I didn’t say I was going totake the Palace,” Faran said quickly. “I intend to negotiate with Lord Azrad, not depose him.” Magical energy crackled somewhere nearby; Faran turned and said, “Kirsha, you concentrate on the wizards, please. The rest of you, hold the soldiers back.”
“Why do weneed to negotiate?” Hanner asked. “Why not just wait him out? You’ve shown he can’t hurt you.”
“No, we haven’t,” Faran said, his voice dropping. “We’ve shown he can’t just march in with his soldiers and take us, but what’s to stop him from hiring wizards to kill us in our beds? We need to make an agreementnow, in public, so he can’t change his mind.”
“What if the Wizards’ Guild took our side?Then he couldn’t hire wizards...”
“Demonologists, then. They have no Guild telling them what to do. I don’t care to wake up one night to find a slimy horror from the Nethervoid sitting on my chest about to eat my face. No, we need to settle thisnow. Azrad’s apparently called out the entire guard, and when that doesn’t work, magichas to be next.”
“If the Wizards’ Guild-” Hanner began.
Faran cut him off. “Hanner, the Guild isn’t going to help us in time, if they help us at all. If they were going to, Ithinia would have spoken to me by now. I have the talking talisman in my purse, and it’s been silent. We’re on our own, and we need to force an agreement from Azradnow.”
“I agree, my lord,” Yorn said, startling Hanner; he hadn’t realized that several of the other warlocks had gathered around Faran and himself and were listening intently. “Timing is the key to control, Lieutenant Kensher always said-the best time to stop a fight is before it begins.”
“I think this one’s already started,” Faran said, “but there’s still time to keep it from getting worse.”
“But we lost Rudhira,” Kirsha said, glancing north.
“Another reason to hurry,” Faran said, throwing Varrin a quick look. “Before we lose anyone else to this Calling, whatever it is.”
“I still think it’s foolish, Uncle,” Hanner said. “Twenty or thirty warlocks against an entire city?”
“We work with what we have,” Faran replied. “Now, come on!” He
turned east, and gestured dramatically. “Onward to the Palace!”
Chapter Thirty-five
The march to the Palace seemed so strange to Hanner as to be almost unreal-an unruly gang of warlocks, of all ages, all sizes, and both sexes, dressed in everything from Lord Faran’s best silk tunic and green velvet cloak to Zarek’s ragged homespun, walking down High Street and Center Avenue as if no one else was present, while a few yards away yellow-tunicked soldiers and assorted civilians stood screaming and struggling, trying to hold their ground against the steady advance of the wall of warlockry. They were all forced back, some staying upright, others tumbling to the ground.
A few soldiers tried to get under the invisible barrier, without success.
A few wizards tried to levitateover the barrier, which might have been more successful, but rising out of the crowd made them immediately visible, and Kirsha or Varrin slapped each one down.
Desset had abandoned her post on the corner of Coronet Street not long after Rudhira’s disappearance; trying to keep the entire route clear was obviously impractical. She and a few others were still acting as a rear guard, but were now only about a hundred feet behind Faran and the others. A few guardsmen and civilians had come around behind and were following the warlocks, just beyond Desset’s retreating barrier.
Hanner walked along in the midst of this bizarre scene, wondering how he had ever come to this. He could have stayed at Warlock House. He could have fled to Mavi’s house. Why had he come?
It had seemed like the right thing to do-but it certainly wasn’t the safest. When the party reached the mouth of Central Avenue and marched out into the square before the Palace, Hanner stopped so suddenly that Zarek, just behind him, bumped into him. The two mumbled apologies to each other, then walked on.
Both of them were staring at the crowd that had been waiting for them in the square.
The overlord apparently had, indeed, called out the entire guard-and more. A path from Central Avenue to the bridge across the moat had been cleared, and on either side of it stood a dozen rows of soldiers, all with pikes at the ready. Behind them stood hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ordinary citizens, watching it all.
Faran marched out to the middle of the plaza, then stopped and looked around; the other warlocks gathered around him. Hanner, struck by an unhappy premonition, hurried to his uncle’s side.
“What now?” someone called.
“Why are we stopping?”
“I thought we were going to the Palace.”
Faran did not answer; he stood, waiting silently, until all the warlocks, even Desset, had collected into a fairly compact group at the center of the square.
“Uncle,” Hanner muttered, “what are you doing?”
“A thought struck me, Hanner,” Faran muttered back. Then he raised his voice and called out, “People of Ethshar! Men of the city guard! Listen to me!”
“Louder,” Hanner whispered. “Use warlockry.”
“I know,” Faran said testily. “Shut up.” He raised his arms and spoke again, and this time his words rang out supernaturally loud and clear.
“People of Ethshar! I am Faran the Warlock, who was once chief advisor to Lord Azrad the Sedentary! Around me you see other warlocks, your friends and neighbors, your sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, driven from their homes by mistrust!”
“Notmy son!” an old man called from the crowd behind the soldiers to the west-an old man Hanner recognized as the one who had so often stood at the fence, staring at the house, during the past two days. “You took him!”
Faran turned to glance at the old man, then announced, “Some of you think we, the warlocks of Ethshar, were responsible for the disappearances on the Night of Madness. I give you my word, we are not! We know no more than you do of what happened to them!”
“Liar!” the old man called.
This time Faran ignored him and continued, “We have come here today to ask Lord Azrad, and to ask you, to forgive those of us who may have committed crimes on the Night of Madness, when this gift of magic was bestowed upon us by forces unknown. We have come to say that most of us took no part in that madness, we didnot steal your children or neighbors, and despite our magic we are still just people like yourselves, no more inhuman or evil than wizards or sorcerers. Lord Azrad has ordered us into exile; we have refused to go, because we believe that sentence is unjust. We have done nothing to merit exile. We go now to ask Lord Azrad to reconsider his decision to cast us out, and we sincerely hope that he will.”
Faran’s words rolled out across the square and echoed from the surrounding buildings; no other sound could be heard while he spoke.
“However,” Faran said, “I know Lord Azrad. I worked with him for many years. He can be a stubborn man. He may refuse to hear us. I want you all to know, here and now, that if Lord Azraddoes refuse to rescind our exile, we are nonetheless staying in Ethshar. This is our home. We will fight to stay here. We will try not to harm anyone, but we will do whatever it takes to stay here. I want to make that absolutely clear. I hope this can be settled without bloodshed, but we stand ready to fight, and if necessary, to kill.”
“Uncle!” Hanner said.
“If we fight,” Faran continued, “I want you to know that we will welcome anyone who chooses to fight on our side, whether he be warlock, or magician, or soldier, or ordinary citizen. Furthermore, we have learned how to train apprentices in warlockry, to pass on the gift of magic that we received on that night. Anyone who chooses to join us, and who wishes it, can become one of us!”
“Uncle!” Hanner looked around, horrified. He had thought that the knowledge that they could make more warlocks was a useful secret, to be held in reserve and perhaps brought out during negotiations.
The idea that they could make hundredsmore warlocks would probably drive Lord Azrad into an even greater panic.
Of course, that might be exactly what Uncle Faran wanted, Hanner thought bitterly. Despite what he had said a few minutes ago, he might actually intend to go ahead and depose the overlord, maybe kill him outright. That statement that they would kill if necessary... the power of life and death theoretically belonged to the overlord and the Wizards’ Guild, no one else. Faran was usurping it. He might intend to usurp more. Hanner knew his uncle had always been ambitious, always thought the city deserved better than fat old Azrad as its master-and Faran had clearly been disappointed that no position higher than Lord Counselor was open to him, short of a revolution.
Here, quite possibly, was his attempt at creating such a revolution.
“Now, we go to speak to the overlord!” Faran’s arms dropped, and he began walking toward the Palace again.
“Now!” someone cried, and hundreds of spears were flung at the warlocks-only to bounce harmlessly from the invisible shield their magic still maintained. Soldiers marched forward, closing the path, only to be swept aside as Varrin and Kirsha advanced on either side of Lord Faran.
Hanner ignored all that; he was sure the warlocks could handle anything the guards might do. He ran forward, following his uncle, and called, “Uncle Faran!”
Lord Faran turned to listen to him, but did not stop walking.
“Uncle,” Hanner said, speaking in low tones, “are you planning to take over the city?” Faran glanced quickly around, then replied, “I might be considering the possibility.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Hanner said. “I think you could do it well enough, but could youhold the city, once you took it?”
“Why not?” Faran said. He gestured at the soldiers.“They can’t stop us.”
“There are other powers to be considered,” Hanner said. “The Wizards’ Guild might accept you peacefully as another sort of magicians, like sorcerers or witches, but as the city’s rulers? You know they won’t allow that.”
“Wizards have not been very effective against us so far,” Faran said as they reached the bridge across the moat. The guards who ordinarily stood there were absent; presumably they had either been sent ou
t with the others or had decided that being swept aside on a bridge was not as acceptable as being swept aside in the plaza and so had fled rather than risk being pinned against the stone railings or flung into the moat.
“Those?” Hanner snorted. “Those are nothing, and you know it. Those were the ordinary wizards the overlord could hire on short notice. I didn’t see Ithinia or any of the other elder wizards out there on the streets.”
“I think we can manage the Guild, all the same,” Faran said. “We might work out some power-sharing arrangement with them.”
“I doubt it,” Hanner said. “I don’t think it’s power they want, and it never was. But quite aside from that, Uncle, I think you’re missing something important. All these plans of yours involve using a great deal of warlockry, don’t they?”
“Yes, of course,” Faran said. “It’s all we have.”
“And the more you use it, the more powerful you become.”
“Yes.”
“And the more powerful you become, the more prone to the nightmares.”
Faran hesitated. He looked at Hanner, instead of staring ahead at the closed doors of the Palace.
“And the more powerful you become,” Hanner continued, “the more you hear the Calling. And if you keep on using warlockry, flinging entire companies of guards about like so many rag dolls, sooner or later you’ll reach Rudhira’s level.”
Faran stopped-but they were in the shelter of the palace entryway, close enough to the doors that Hanner wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the physical barriers that were responsible. He frowned at Hanner.
“Uncle, that could happen toyou, if you go through with this. You saw her today and yesterday-distracted, confused, and finally unable to stop herself. She flew off. We couldn’t stop her. And I don’t think she’s coming back.” Faran waved to Varrin. “Open the door,” he said. “Try not to smash it.”
“Uncle, I think that’s what happened to all those people who disappeared on the Night of Madness,” Hanner said desperately. “I think they were the reallypowerful warlocks, the people who were more naturally attuned to it than you were.” He gestured at the little crowd that had followed Faran onto the bridge. “You people are just the leftovers, the ones who only got a little bit of whatever it was. Whatever it was that did this, it was trying to summon people north, and some of you only got part of the message. But the more you listen, the more you’ll hear, and sooner or later it will get through, and you’ll fly off to the north.”
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