Night of Madness

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "It might be-but you aren't involved. You'll be fine. And it might all come to nothing. We'll see." With that, he hefted his two bags up on his shoulders and marched out the door.

  Ulpen hurried after him.

  He glanced back when they were half a block down Gate Street and saw Derneth still standing in the open doorway, staring after them.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Shouldn't we have heard something by now?" Hanner asked, looking at the odd black talisman that Uncle Faran said was his link to Guildmaster Ithinia.

  They were sitting in the front parlor of the house on High Street, in a pair of chairs by the mantel that Hanner supposed would be cozy in the winter, with the black talisman on a small table between them. Right now, in the heat of summer, with no fire on the hearth, the main virtue of this location was that it was out of the way of the various warlocks moving hither and yon through the house.

  Lord Faran turned up an empty palm. "They're wizards," he replied. "What did you expect?"

  Hanner could hardly argue with that; he knew well that most wizards kept their own schedules, ignoring the convenience of lesser beings-though he had never been able to decide whether this was arrogance or sloppiness. "If they don't reach a decision soon Lord Azrad may get tired of waiting," he said. "He's never struck me as a patient man."

  "He's not," Faran agreed. "He gets bored easily and hates waiting for anything. That's why he let me and his three brothers and his other advisors run everything. But he hates doing his own work even more, usually." He tapped the talisman, but it remained inert.

  He frowned. "Maybe I should see if I have some other way to determine whether she's trying to contact me."

  "Can't you just use that?" Hanner said, gesturing at the talisman. It occurred to him for the first time that his uncle might not actually know everything about how the sorcerous device worked; perhaps Faran wasn't confident that the thing would do what it was supposed to.

  "It might interrupt something," Faran said. "If she's meeting with other Guildmasters I don't want to suddenly start talking to her from the talisman. That would be rude." He grimaced. "I can't think what I might use, but I can't remember everything I've got up there." He rose from his chair and picked up the talisman. "You know something about magic-or at least you ought to, after all the time you've spent in the Wizards' Quarter on my behalf. Why don't you come upstairs with me and see if you have any suggestions?"

  "I'd be glad to," Hanner said, getting to his feet.

  That was the simple truth, for several reasons.

  First off, he was eager to help out. He doubted he really knew enough about magic to be helpful, but he would be happy to try.

  Second, he was desperately curious about just what Uncle Faran had stashed away up there. The sorcerous device that let two people speak to one another despite any intervening distance was completely unlike anything Hanner had seen before-most of the sorcerers he knew specialized in healing, or in consulting oracles, or in working with odd little things like fire-starters and lost-object locators. A few offered the use of magical weapons. None had ever mentioned anything like Faran's talisman. Hanner wanted very much to see what else Faran might have acquired in his years of research.

  Third, the mansion's ground floor was getting almost crowded. Warlocks had been drifting in, one or two at a time, all day; word was circulating through the city that this was a refuge for them, a place they could come when their former homes cast them out or their neighbors made them unwelcome. As news of disappearances and destruction spread, more and more warlocks were being cast out or made unwelcome.

  Faran and Hanner-and Bern when he was there; at the moment he had gone out to market to replenish the pantries-had made them all welcome.

  Most of Manner's party from the Night of Madness had returned, along with assorted friends and neighbors and various other warlocks who had somehow heard about the refuge at the corner of High Street and Coronet. Mavi, though not a warlock herself, had brought an afflicted friend, a young woman named Pancha; after seeing Pancha introduced and settled in, Mavi had stayed on to visit with Alris. They were upstairs, in the room Alris shared with Rudhira.

  Hanner had hoped that Mavi would also visit with him, but Uncle Faran had had him running errands at the time, assigning new arrivals to various guest rooms, which had kept him too busy to socialize.

  Hinda, the little kitchen girl from the Palace, was now busily cleaning out the kitchens here, eager to earn her keep; Rudhira and half a dozen others were out in the garden, holding some sort of competition in the use of warlockry.

  That left a score of others wandering about the parlors, salons, and halls of the ground floor. While Hanner had grown up amid the bustle of the overlord's palace, he still felt a little strained by this population of strangers.

  Fourth, he wanted to get farther away from the front windows and their view of High Street.

  The influx of warlocks had not gone unnoticed; Hanner supposed that people had followed Faran from the square when he first arrived. Certainly, ever since shortly after that there had been a varying number of observers, standing in the street and watching the house intently. Individuals came and went, but whenever Hanner looked out someone was there-usually about half a dozen at a time. One old man seemed particularly determined, and was there at the dooryard fence, glowering at the house, every time Hanner looked.

  Hanner was not at all sure what these people thought they were accomplishing by this unrelenting scrutiny, but apparently they had something in mind-and he was fairly sure, from the looks they gave anyone entering or leaving the house, that their intentions were hostile. Warlocks who were capable of flight had mostly been arriving by way of the garden, rather than passing this group; earthbound warlocks had been approaching cautiously, then making a dash through the gate to the front door.

  Nobody in the house liked the presence of these stubborn sentinels, but there really wasn't much that could be done about it. A person had the right to stand in the public street, after all. So long as they stayed outside the iron fence, Faran could not order them to leave.

  And there they stood, making Hanner uncomfortable. Going up to the third or fourth floor would get him away from the watchers, and away from the crowd of warlocks.

  "Come on, then," Faran said as he started toward the stairs.

  But just then the hum of street noise suddenly rose in volume, and Faran and Hanner both paused. They looked at each other as the conversation among the warlocks around them faded away.

  Everyone had heard the change. The people out front of the house were yelling now, though no one inside could make out words. The motley collection of warlocks looked about nervously. Several went to the front windows and peered around the drapes.

  "Blood and death," Faran said. "What are they doing now?" He redirected his steps to the front door.

  Hanner followed.

  Faran swung the door wide and stood in the doorway, looking out-and leaving Hanner no good way to see past his uncle.

  "What is it?" Hanner asked.

  "It would appear we have company coming," Faran replied. "Company in wizards' robes."

  "Ithinia?"

  "No," Faran said. "It's someone I never saw before, an old man with an apprentice."

  "How would they know where we are?" someone Hanner didn't know asked from the parlor.

  Hanner could see Faran struggling to stay polite.

  "They're wizards," he said. "You're no wizard, and you found it. And those people out front certainly aren't making much of an effort to keep it secret."

  "... teach those warlocks about magic!" someone shouted from the street.

  "One wizard and an apprentice coming here can't be much of a threat," Othisen said, coming up beside Hanner.

  Hanner snorted. "If the Guild had decided to kill us they wouldn't need to come here in person at all," he said. "I'd guess they're bringing a message." He glanced at Faran. "Maybe that talisman isn't working properly."

&n
bsp; "I'd think Ithinia would have come herself or sent..." Faran stopped in midsentence as the strangers turned and stepped through the open gate into the little dooryard under the intense scrutiny of various observers. "Greetings," he said. "I am Lord Faran, formerly chief advisor to Lord Azrad."

  "I am Manrin the Mage," replied one of the strangers-a stocky old man of medium height wearing a white and gold wizard's robe. "This young man is Ulpen of North Herris. I understand you've been gathering warlocks here."

  Faran cocked his head. "If you'll excuse me for asking, Master Wizard, if I have, how does this concern you? Are you here to speak on behalf of the Wizards' Guild?"

  "I am here on my own behalf, not the Guild's," Manrin said. "If we could enter and perhaps speak privately, I will be glad to explain myself." He glanced over his shoulder at the old man staring through the fence at them.

  Faran followed Manrin's gaze, then bowed and stepped aside. "Enter, then, and be welcome."

  The wizards were plainly startled by what they found inside, though Hanner was not sure whether they were most surprised by the opulent furnishings, the number of warlocks milling about, or the bizarre assortment of attire on display, ranging from Faran's fine court silk to Zarek's rags. Manrin quickly hid his reaction, but Ulpen stared about openly.

  "You wanted to speak privately?" Faran said.

  "If we could," Manrin said.

  "If you'll come upstairs to my study, then?" Faran gestured toward the stairs and took a step in that direction.

  "Of course." Manrin beckoned to Ulpen to accompany him as he followed Faran.

  Faran, seeing this, beckoned to Hanner. "Lord Hanner will accompany us," he said.

  Othisen threw Hanner an envious glance, then stepped aside and let the foursome ascend.

  Hanner was not sure at first just what study his uncle was referring to-there was a study on the ground floor, he knew, but not one on the second so far as he had observed. That question was answered, however, when Faran unlocked the door to the second staircase, the one leading to the third story.

  "I hope you'll forgive the dust," Faran said. "I don't allow the servants to clean up here."

  Manrin made a polite wordless noise in reply. Hanner ran his hand along the left-hand banister, then sneezed-the dust was indeed plentiful. Ulpen didn't say or touch anything; he looked frightened. Hanner wondered whether Ulpen's discomfort came merely from being among warlocks or from something else entirely.

  At the top of the stairs Faran led the way down a broad passageway. The walls were painted white and a worn red and gold carpet ran the length of the corridor; the luxurious furnishings of the two lower floors were notably absent, and a long scorch mark on one wall had been left unrepaired. Hanner noticed that the burn was obviously not recent, as dust and cobwebs were just as thick there as elsewhere.

  Faran opened a door and ushered the party into a good-sized but dim room. As the others stood around uncertainly Faran opened the heavy drapes on two big west-facing windows, letting in the late-afternoon sunlight; it cut through the room in bright shafts alive with dancing dust and illuminated several chairs and walls lined with chests of drawers.

  It didn't look much like a study to Hanner, as there was no desk and the only books were a set of ledgers atop one of the chests. It didn't look particularly magical, either, and there was no obvious reason to have kept it so carefully locked, though Hanner supposed the drawers might contain almost anything.

  But it was somewhere private to talk.

  Faran gestured to the chairs and pulled one forward for himself. "Now, Master," he said as he seated himself, "why have you come here?"

  "I understand that you are gathering warlocks here, and that you have undertaken to defend them against overreaction regarding the disturbances on the Night of Madness," Manrin said as he settled carefully onto a chair.

  "That's more or less the situation," Faran agreed. "What of it?"

  Manrin and Ulpen glanced nervously at each other.

  "In that case," Manrin said, "we would like to join your group."

  Faran cocked his head to one side. Hanner said, "But you're wizards, aren't you?"

  "We are," Manrin agreed. "However, we are also warlocks." He looked around for a convenient demonstration, and one of the ledgers lifted itself from the chest of drawers. It hovered for a moment, then settled back into place.

  Faran and Hanner watched this silently; then Faran turned back to the wizards and asked, "Your apprentice, too?"

  "He's not my apprentice," Manrin said. "He's Abdaran's apprentice-Abdaran the White, a village wizard of no particular significance. But the boy's a warlock, as I am, so I brought him along."

  "Is that so?" Faran asked Ulpen.

  "Yes, mas . . . yes, my lord," Ulpen replied. "Master Abdaran took me to the Guildmaster for a consultation, and Guildmaster Manrin took me to Guildmaster Perinan, and Guildmaster Perinan sent us to Guildmaster Ithinia, and then we came here."

  "So all these people know you're warlocks?" Faran frowned. "Then why did you want to see me in private?"

  "They don't know," Manrin said quickly. "Abdaran knows about Ulpen, but I don't believe any of the others know it's possible for a wizard to have been contaminated in this fashion. I claimed to be acting from disinterested motives in consulting the others, and had Perinan send us to Ithinia-or rather to Ethshar of the Spices. That was the fastest way to get here."

  "A Transporting Tapestry?" Faran asked.

  "You know of them?" Manrin asked, startled.

  "I've heard of them," Faran said. "I've never seen one in operation."

  "They're very handy; we stepped forty leagues in a heartbeat."

  "It was amazing!" Ulpen said, showing the first sign of enthusiasm-very nearly the first sign of life-Hanner had seen from him. "We just touched it!"

  "Yes, yes," Manrin said. He turned his attention back to Faran. "At any rate, we arrived in the city, stopped by Ithinia's home to maintain the fiction that we came to consult her, and then came here." He hesitated. "You understand why we came?"

  "I'd prefer you to make it explicit," Faran said.

  Manrin sighed. "It's simple enough. We want to live. And right now, it's not clear that we'll be permitted to. Ithinia says your overlord here, Lord Azrad, is determined to kill all the warlocks; our Lord Ederd isn't so certain, but was talking about exile."

  "Then haven't you just made your situation worse by coming here?" Hanner asked.

  "We came to seek shelter, young man," Manrin said.

  "But if you stayed out of Ethshar of the Spices, you wouldn't necessarily need shelter..."

  "I think we would, no matter what Ederd decides," Manrin replied. "The triumvirate isn't the only power in Ethshar. Don't forget-we are wizards. And wizards are forbidden by Guild rules to learn any other magic. And violations of Guild rules are punishable by death."

  "But you didn't ask to be warlocks!" Hanner exclaimed.

  "I'm afraid that the Guild often does not worry about intentions, but only results."

  "Then they're no better than Lord Azrad!"

  Manrin blinked at him in surprise. "Did anyone ever claim they were?"

  "My nephew has something of an idealistic streak," Faran said dryly. "I've been telling him for years that the Wizards' Guild is not as benign as it would like to appear, but he was not inclined to believe me."

  "So I see," Manrin said. "Well, in any case, it seems to me that if we, as both warlocks and wizards, want to survive, we had best find some support. We can't keep our situation a secret forever-"

  "Why not?" Hanner interrupted, startling everyone, including himself. He had just been thinking that in Manrin's position he would simply never have admitted to being a warlock.

  After all, he hadn't told anyone he was a warlock, and didn't intend to.

  Manrin looked at him in surprise. "Because warlockry wants to be used! Hasn't anyone told you that, out of all these warlocks? It's easy to use it quite unintentionally-we've both done it several t
imes. One can even use it inadvertently in one's sleep. Sooner or later we would slip somewhere we could be seen-and that's quite aside from the fact that Ulpen's master Abdaran already knows that Ulpen is a warlock."

  Lord Faran was nodding, and Hanner remembered that his uncle had, in fact, given away his own warlock nature by accident. The possibility that Hanner would give away his own secret the way Manrin described worried him, but just now he didn't see much he could do about it.

  Manrin frowned. "And there's another factor, as well. It would seem that warlockry and wizardry do interfere with each other to some extent. Most of my spells have been going wrong for the past two days, and it may well get worse. I'm a Guildmaster-people expect me to use my magic every day. If I begin to refuse, or if my spells begin to fail regularly, questions will arise."

  "Oh," Hanner said. He glanced at his uncle.

  Faran was looking thoughtfully at the wizards.

  "Your spells don't work?" he said. "Then are you really still a wizard?"

  Manrin sighed. "I'm afraid so," he said. "I can still work some spells, and besides, one can't stop being a wizard, not really. I know a good many Guild secrets, including some that it's death for a nonwizard to know. So if I'm still a wizard, then I must die for being a warlock; if I am no longer a wizard, then I must die for knowing Guild secrets. Unless, that is, I can find some way to convince the Guild to relent."

  "The Guild never relents, does it?" Ulpen asked. "Abdaran told me it didn't."

  "Not unless it's forced to," Manrin agreed. "And that's why we've come here. I'm not sure just what you intend with this group you're gathering, my lord, but whatever it is, we'd like to offer our services in exchange for whatever protection you can give us."

  "Your services," Faran said. "But you just said that your magic is damaged."

  "My mind isn't," Manrin snapped. "And it's wizardry that's damaged; I'm still as much a warlock as any of those others downstairs. And I'm also still a Guildmaster, until they find out what's happened to me-I really do know secrets, and for now I am able to speak with Ithinia and Perinan about matters that an outsider would never dare broach."