Night of Madness

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Looking north.

  "I'll meet you down there," Hanner said, turning.

  He didn't even take the time to close the casement before running for the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  At the foot of the stairs Hanner pushed his way through the little crowd of warlocks. At the door he looked out and saw that Lord Faran and at least a dozen others were marching eastward on High Street, away from the house, pushing the soldiers before them.

  "Where are they going?" he asked.

  "The Palace," someone said. Hanner turned to see little Hinda standing beside him. "Lord Faran said that he was tired of inter ... interm..."

  "Intermediaries," Hanner suggested.

  "Yes, thank you, my lord. He said he was going to go talk to Lord Azrad face-to-face, to settle this once and for all."

  Hanner looked out the door.

  Desset was standing in the street directly in front of the house, facing west, and Hanner realized that she was single-handedly blocking the street so that none of the soldiers on that side could approach.

  Off to the left the rest, with Faran, Rudhira, Varrin, Kirsha, and Yorn forming a line at the front, were marching slowly but steadily to the east, toward the Palace.

  Hanner estimated that about half the warlocks who had gathered at the house were in that party; the other half were gathered in the hallway and at the parlor windows, watching eagerly.

  This was, Hanner thought, monumentally stupid, or at the very least seriously overconfident. Faran and the others had no way of knowing what might be waiting for them there. There could be a trap. The wizards out here had apparently been nothing to worry about, but there might be far better wizards guarding the overlord. There could be witches, with their subtle spells, or sorcerers, with their mysterious talismans, or theurgists who could call the gods to their aid, or demonologists who could, of course, summon demons.

  Warlockry might be powerful magic, but it was hardly the only magic.

  "I had better go with them," Hanner said. "They may need someone else, someone who's not..."

  He didn't finish the sentence, because he could not honestly say he wasn't on either side. He was his uncle's nephew-and he was a warlock, even if no one knew it.

  If they were walking into a trap-well, he would try not to walk into it with them.

  The sensible, safe thing to do would be to stay where he was, of course-or better still, slip out the back and head to Mavi's house, where he could wait out the coming confrontation. No one but Sheila knew he was a warlock, so far as he knew; certainly the overlord didn't. He could just wait it out, and when everything was settled he could move back into the Palace, back where he belonged.. .

  But Uncle Faran wouldn't be moving back into the family apartment with him. No matter what happened, he couldn't imagine that. Faran would be dead, or exiled-or if this march turned out the way Hanner thought Faran expected, Faran would be the city's new ruler, and would presumably be living in the overlord's apartments.

  But, Hanner thought, he and Nerra and Alris could stay on at the Palace, surely. They hadn't done anything.

  He wondered what was happening to Nerra, back in the Palace. Did she know what was happening out here? Was she frightened left alone there, her brother, sister, and uncle all locked out?

  She was probably fine, he told himself. Alris was fine. They were safely out of the way.

  But Uncle Faran was on his way to confront Lord Azrad the Sedentary, and Hanner couldn't just stand by and watch. He pushed past the other warlocks and out the door.

  The air in the vacant stretch of street felt oddly still and lifeless-clearly, the warlocks were not just pushing the soldiers back, but had created barriers blocking anything from approaching Warlock House. Hanner began to sweat as he hurried through the dooryard and out the gate, then turned left and followed his uncle.

  Desset glanced at him as he passed, but said nothing and stayed at her post, holding back the soldiers in Coronet Street. Hanner noticed that some of those soldiers were slipping away to the north, presumably planning to return to the Palace by another route.

  He was also vaguely aware that a handful of the other warlocks were following him, belatedly joining their comrades, but he didn't concern himself with them.

  Faran's party of warlocks was marching relentlessly forward, side by side-not fast, but advancing steadily, pushing the soldiers back along High Street, regardless of whether those soldiers were standing or fallen. Most of the guards were retreating in disorder; some were standing their ground until actively dislodged by the advancing wall of magic, or were trying to help fallen comrades to their feet.

  Some soldiers were no longer resisting at all, but just lying in the dirt, allowing themselves to be shoved or rolled along.

  "Give me room!" someone shouted. The cry was strangely muffled, and Hanner realized it was coming from beyond the magical barrier the warlocks were pushing forward. He tried to see who had spoken.

  It was one of the wizards, a man about Hanner's own age in a gold and white robe; soldiers were pushing and shoving to get out of his way, even more desperately then they were trying to avoid being knocked down by the warlock wall.

  And Hanner could see why. The wizard was holding aloft a dagger, and miniature lightning was playing around the blade in crackling blue-white arcs. Hanner ran forward, calling a warning.

  His cry was not necessary-Faran was already pointing the wizard out to his companions.

  The wizard pointed the dagger at the warlocks, launching a bolt, at the same instant that Rudhira raised a hand in a warding gesture. A blaze of blue-white fire leaped from the knife blade- and spattered harmlessly into a shower of sparks against the invisible barrier.

  The knife trembled in the wizard's hand, but did not fall. Lord Faran looked questioningly at Rudhira.

  "It's enchanted," she said. "It's so full of wizardry that I can't affect it."

  "Leave it, then. On to the Palace!"

  "The Palace!" Varrin and Kirsha cried-but Hanner, pushing through the group and panting up behind the five leaders, noticed that Yorn did not join in, but merely looked unhappy, while Ru-dhira's cry trailed off in midword.

  She was looking northward-not toward the Palace, but beyond.

  "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 t
hen 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 almost see 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 what is it?" Kirsha demanded. "We don't know! 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?"

  "I did" 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 gone with 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 you talking 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 meant the 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 to take 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 we need 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 agreement now, 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 this now. Azrad's apparently called out the entire guard, and when that doesn't work, magic has 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 Azrad now."

  "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 levitate over 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!"

  "Not my 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 did not 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."