"You really have a house in the New City?"
"I really do. I've had it since you were a baby."
"That's where you go when you aren't here and don't take us with you?"
"Usually, yes."
"So Hanner and Alris will live there from now on?"
Faran put down the reports. "I certainly hope not," he said. "I expect Lord Azrad will come to his senses once he's had some sleep and daylight has brightened the World, and then Hanner and Alris will come back here where they belong, and my house will be private again."
"But now they'll know where it is."
Faran sighed. "Nerra, there are scores of people in this city who know where it is. Anyone who really wants to know could find out easily enough. I don't think anyone really cares, though."
"Then why didn't you ever tell us about it?"
"Because it wasn't any of your concern."
"But. .."
Faran had had enough of her questions-and he had not had enough sleep. His temper gave out, and he glared at her as he cut her off.
"Go to sleep, Nerra," he said. "If you really must ask me impertinent questions, do it in the morning." He got to his feet and marched into his bedroom.
Nerra watched him go, then looked around, realizing that she was alone in the room.
And she would be alone in her bedroom, with Alris out of the Palace. She would be alone, and these mad magicians, or demons in human guise or whatever they were, were roaming the streets and skies. The city guard was out in force, keeping the plaza clear-but what could they do against a demon? What good would they be if a mad magician flew across the canal to Nerra's bedroom window?
She shuddered at the thought-but she didn't have much choice. Reluctantly, she wandered back to her own bed, climbed in, closed the curtains, and buried herself under the coverlet, certain she would get no more sleep that night.
Ten minutes later she was snoring quietly.
Chapter Eleven
Hanner stood in the shadows of Coronet Street and looked up at the looming black facade beyond the garden wall.
"It's the entire house?" he asked.
"That's what he said," Alris replied.
Hanner grimaced. He should have known, he told himself. Fitting his entire party-himself, his sister, his fifteen recruits, and his four prisoners-would not be a problem. It was entirely possible there would even be enough beds for each to sleep alone. Lord Faran's unofficial residence stood four stories high, and the garden wall extended along Coronet Street from High Street almost to the corner of Merchant Street.
"Where's the gate?" one of the warlocks asked.
"Who needs a gate?" Rudhira asked, flying over the wall.
"Some of us do," Yorn replied grumpily.
"It's on High Street," Alris said, pointing.
They trudged on up Coronet Street, and around the corner onto High Street. The garden wall that had hidden the ground floor from them ended a few feet from the corner, to be replaced by an iron fence topped with spikes. Peering between the bars of the fence Hanner could see broad, many-paned windows in a brick and black stone wall just the other side of a dooryard perhaps five or six feet wide. Rudhira was in the dooryard, moving quickly toward the front door, but Manner took a moment to look the place over.
All the windows were dark, and no torches or lanterns hung at the entrance, but that was hardly a surprise.
An elegant iron gate guarded the entrance, a dozen yards from the end of the garden wall. To Manner's surprise it wasn't locked; it swung open at his touch, silently, without the slightest creak or rattle. Hanner stepped through into the dooryard to find Rudhira standing by the door, tapping her foot impatiently.
"I could have opened this myself," she said.
"Without breaking it?" Hanner asked, curious about just what warlockry could and couldn't do.
"I think so-but I'm not sure, and you've got the key, so I waited."
"Thank you," Hanner said. Then it registered that no one was opening the door, and he turned. Alris was standing just behind him, the key in her hand, watching Rudhira warily and not approaching the door.
"I'll do it, Alris," he said, taking the key from her. He found the lock, and a moment later the door swung open.
The hallway beyond was dark, of course. Hanner stepped in and beckoned to the others, then stood still for a moment to let his eyes adjust.
A red glow appeared to one side, dimly illuminating the hall. Hanner turned, startled, and found Rudhira standing beside him, one hand raised-and that hand was glowing.
By that dull red light Hanner could see a look of intense concentration on Rudhira's face. Her lips parted to reveal tightly clenched teeth as she grimaced and sucked in air.
The glow brightened from red to orange-and then brightened further, but stayed orange. Rudhira let out her breath in a long, ragged sigh and relaxed; the glow steadied.
Hanner quickly turned his attention to their surroundings and spotted a candle on a table by the door. "Does anyone have tinder?" he asked, pointing. "We don't want to wear Rudhira out."
Rudhira followed his finger and saw the candle. "I might be able to light it," she said, starting to lower her glowing hand.
"No, don't strain yourself," Hanner said. Alris was already pulling a tinderbox from her purse, and a moment later the candle flared to life.
"You can relax now," Hanner told Rudhira, nodding at her still-glowing hand as he picked up the candle.
"It's no trouble," she said, but the glow blinked out.
"It looked like an effort," Hanner said.
"Only at first, when I tried to see how to do it," Rudhira said. "Once I started, it got easier. That's how this magic always seems to work-the more you use it, the easier it is. The hard part is in understanding how to do something new."
"You seem to be doing well at that," Hanner said. "I haven't seen anyone else make anything glow. Mostly they just seem to throw things around." As he spoke he was looking around at the broad hallway.
As he would have expected from Uncle Faran, it was magnificent, but tasteful. It was perhaps fifteen feet across, with a twelve-foot ceiling, and he couldn't see the far end by the single candle's light. The walls were papered in gold and white above polished dark wood wainscoting, broken by ornately modeled plaster and gilt pilasters. Gleaming brass sconces were spaced evenly between the columns, except where arched doorways opened into other rooms. A splendid staircase, dark wood carpeted in red, rose ahead of Hanner and his party. To the left an archway opened into a darkened parlor; to the right was a closed door, painted white and trimmed with gilt.
"May a hundred gods bless me," Zarek muttered as he looked at this opulence.
"Well, it's a roof over our heads," Hanner said wryly. He turned and beckoned everyone inside-some were still hesitating on the front walk. "Come in, all of you!" he said.
He counted off the party. Rudhira and Alris had come in with him; Zarek and Yorn were close behind. He still hadn't learned the names of all the others, but he counted the four prisoners and the other twelve warlocks, and once they were all inside he stepped past them all to take a final look outside-he didn't think he had missed anyone, but he wanted to be sure.
An elderly man was walking slowly past and glanced at him, but said nothing. Other than that the street was empty; satisfied, Hanner closed and locked the door.
As he did, he finally noticed the bell pull hanging just inside the door, a few inches from where the candle had been waiting.
"Oh, for..." he began. Then he bit the oath off short and tugged at the cord.
Somewhere he heard a distant tinkle.
It was possible that there were no servants in residence at present, but it seemed unlikely-the place was obviously clean and well maintained, and Uncle Faran would probably want to be able to drop in at any time, without notice, with his latest conquest on his arm, and be properly attended.
That done, Hanner turned to face the crowd gathered in the hallway. Some of them were bare
ly visible by the lone candle's light, but Hanner was sure they were all there. He cleared his throat, and every face turned toward him.
"All right," Hanner said, "I don't know whether anyone will answer that bell, but if someone does, he or she will know better than I what sleeping accommodations are available here. I, on the other hand, feel qualified to explain a few things that you ought to know before you agree to stay here.
"This is my uncle's house-my uncle Faran's. Yes, that's the same Lord Faran who is chief advisor to the overlord. Knowing my uncle as I do, I'm sure he knows the exact location and value of every item in this house. Now, most of you are honest citizens who were caught up in tonight's madness through no fault of your own, but a few of you are... well, perhaps not entirely honest, and you've suddenly had magical abilities thrust upon you. Furthermore, I'm sure most of you have never before been in such luxurious surroundings and may find yourself tempted to borrow a trinket or two, or to tamper with some unfamiliar device.
"Don't.
"I know my uncle. If you interfere with any of his possessions, if you damage or break or steal anything, you're risking your very life. We're trusting you all to be on your very best behavior for your stay here.
"Thank you."
"But we're warlocks," a young man-a boy, really-said. "Don't we ... won't that mean anything?"
"I don't know," Hanner said honestly. "I don't know much of anything about it. But I do know not to fool around with my uncle's belongings."
Because he was standing by the door and facing down the hallway, and the others were all turned to face him, Hanner was the first to see the light that sprang up beneath the stairs. "Ah!" he said, stepping forward.
A man in fine white linen and black breeches appeared from beneath the stairs, holding a copper lamp; the hallway brightened considerably. He stopped dead and stared at the crowd in the hallway in ill-concealed astonishment.
"Hai!" Hanner said, striding through the gathered warlocks. "I'm Lord Hanner, Lord Faran's nephew." He held up the key to the front door. "An emergency has come up, and my uncle agreed to let me and my companions stay the night here."
"My lord," the man mumbled, still looking about in confusion at the unexpected throng.
"This is my sister, Lady Alris," Hanner said as he came even with his sibling. "And your name is ... ?"
"Bern, my lord."
"Bern," Hanner said as he came up to the man and clapped him on the shoulder. "Excellent. There are twenty-one of us in all, but if there aren't sufficient beds for so many we'll be glad to share, or to make do with couches or carpets."
"There are ... there are ten guest rooms, my lord, and Lord Faran's own bed." Bern was clearly hesitant, unsure how he should deal with this horde of unanticipated guests.
They did have a key, though, Hanner thought, and a gang of thieves would hardly have so many ill-assorted members. Hanner was fairly sure Bern would accept him at his word, and was trying hard to convey an attitude of absolute certainty.
"Excellent!" Hanner smiled broadly. "Lead the way, then, and we'll settle in. It's late, and we don't wish to impose on my uncle's hospitality any more than necessary."
"Of course, my lord," Bern said, finally recovering his aplomb. "This way."
It took another half hour to get the entire party properly distributed, at two to a room. All the bedchambers were on the second floor-Manner was briefly puzzled and asked Bern, "Why aren't there any beds on the third and fourth floor?"
"There may be beds there, my lord," Bern replied, "but I am not permitted on the top two floors. Those are Lord Faran's private rooms, and no one but he is allowed up there."
"Oh," Hanner said. He was too tired to pursue the matter further and returned his attention to sleeping arrangements. In the end Alris and Rudhira took the chief guest room and Hanner took Faran's own bed for himself, while the others were paired off more or less randomly in the other nine chambers.
Each room was tastefully lush and equipped with enough bedding for two-sometimes one large bed, sometimes more than one. No one complained about the accommodations; in fact, some rooms were greeted with awed silence. What delays did occur were the result of getting lamps or candles lit, locating chamber pots, and arguing over who would share which room.
Hanner was unspeakably weary, almost staggering, when Bern finally swung open the door of the master bedroom and led Hanner in.
Hanner stopped dead in his tracks and simply stared while Bern crossed to a bedside table to light the lamp there.
He had known that his uncle had a sybaritic streak, and had often heard Faran complain about the size, arrangement, and condition of their apartments in the Palace, but he had always assumed those complaints to be largely empty rhetoric. Hanner had seen the interiors of several other mansions in the New City and knew they were more luxurious than the rooms in the Palace, but he had always found Faran's official quarters comfortable enough. Despite the grumbles, he had thought his uncle did, too.
Now he changed his mind.
It was not a matter of size; the grand bedchamber was large, but not outrageously so. It was, rather, the furnishings that impressed him.
The bed was thick and soft, mattresses piled waist-high within the carved ebony frame, and was wide enough that Hanner could have lain across the black silken coverlet with neither head nor feet hanging over the side. Lengthwise, he could not stretch far enough to reach both footboard and headboard simultaneously. Wine-red velvet curtains trimmed in black and gold hung from a silk and velvet canopy, tied back on either side with elaborate gold-braid rosettes.
At each corner of the bed stood a table. The two at the head held the usual appurtenances-lamps, basin, pitcher, mirrors, and so on. The two at the foot held bronze statues, each of a nude couple engaged in amorous play. Chests of drawers, trimmed with intricate carvings, stood against one wall, and two enormous wardrobes, their doors elaborately painted, occupied another. A marble statue of a woman stood in the center of the room. A small, extraordinarily fine shrine was built into the wall near the head of the bed. Two broad windows, shuttered and curtained, pierced the north side of the room. A large marble and gilt mantel topped a carved marble fireplace above an elegant tile hearth; a gold and ivory screen blocked the opening, since no one would want a fire for months. Half a dozen fine small carpets hid much of the polished parquet floor, and a dozen painted panels adorned the walls; the paintings mostly seemed to involve beautiful people in states of undress. Everywhere were detailed carvings, fine woods, rich textures and colors.
Hanner had seen the overlord's own bedchamber once; it was not so lush and ornate as this.
"Gods," he murmured.
Then he realized that Bern had been talking and had stopped. He had asked Hanner a question.
"What?" Hanner asked.
"Breakfast arrangements, my lord," Bern said. "What shall I do?"
"Do you..." Hanner began, then he remembered some of what Bern had already said. He hadn't really been listening, but some of it had registered anyway.
Bern was merely the chief caretaker; other servants came in sometimes during the day to clean and maintain the place, and when Faran was in residence a full staff was on call.
Hanner had been about to ask about Bern's cooking skills, but now he thought better of it.
"Just something simple," he said. "Cold salt ham and small beer, perhaps. Or fruit and bread, if any is on hand, but you needn't light the oven."
"Thank you, my lord," Bern said. He bowed and departed- Hanner stepped into the room, out of Bern's way, when the servant reached the doorway.
Bern closed the door softly behind him, leaving Hanner staring at his uncle's private bedchamber.
Hanner had never realized that Faran would want a place like this. He had known his uncle pursued women whenever he had the time free from his work, and affected expensive tastes, but somehow Hanner had still thought of Faran as a frugal and com-mon-sensical man, not the sort of sybarite who would maintain so elaborate
a hideaway.
He wondered how, after a dozen years living with his uncle, he could have understood him so little. It was somehow the biggest surprise of the entire long, strange night.
And a very long, very strange night it had been. Walking Mavi home had been only very slightly out of the ordinary, a natural progression in a normal relationship, but from then on the night had grown ever more bizarre. Strange new magic erupting all over the city, people running amok with it, the magicians of the Wizards' Quarter confounded, Hanner making himself the leader of a posse set upon restoring order, being refused admission to his home in the overlord's palace, being sent here instead-and rinding that his uncle was not the man Hanner had thought him, all these years.
Hanner let out a long, shuddering sigh, then headed for the bed, pulling off his tunic.
Perhaps in the morning everything would be back to normal. Perhaps this strange new magic would pass with the dawn, perhaps the overlord's orders would have changed, perhaps everyone could go back to their own proper homes .. .
But, Hanner realized, as he pulled off his boots, Uncle Faran would still be capable of having maintained this amazing secret retreat. That wasn't going to go away.
But it might not seem to matter by daylight. Hanner crawled under the coverlet, straightened the pillow under his head, blew out the lamp, and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Ulpen of North Herris arose early from a night of troubled dreams, while the sun was still red in the east. Half-asleep, he stumbled to the kitchen to stir up the fire and get his master's breakfast.
He felt strange and awkward as he moved through the familiar rooms of the wizard's house in the slanting orange light, and the walls seemed almost to close in on him, suffocating him-an image he knew came from one particular nightmare that still haunted him.
He used the poker to spread out the banked coals in the bottom of the stove, then returned it to its hook and fetched wood and tinder from the bin. He threw a handful of tinder onto the coals, but when it flared up suddenly he started back involuntarily; the fire was too much like one of his dreams. He backed unthinkingly away from the stove, blinking mazily, rather than adding the sticks he held to the fire.
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