Night of Madness (14 page)

“Then it's not that you've suddenly learned witchcraft—I know from Cardel and Luralla that witches find fire-lighting exhausting.”

“Then it's not witchcraft,” Ulpen agreed. Aside from being frightening because it was strange, the fire-lighting experience had been more exhilarating than exhausting. “Isn't there some spell we can use to figure this out? Some divination?”

Abdaran snorted. “Ulpen, I may technically be a master wizard, but if I could do that sort of divination, do you really think I'd be out here in North Herris, selling love potions and treating cattle for mange and the like?”

The question startled Ulpen, who had never given the matter any thought at all. Abdaran had always been here, always been the town's one wizard, an unquestioned part of the community; it had never occurred to Ulpen that Abdaran might ever want to be somewhere else.

“No, this one is beyond me,” Abdaran said, not waiting for Ulpen to answer. “I think you'd better see someone who knows far more magic than
I
do.”

“But…” Ulpen began.

“I think this is a matter for the Wizards' Guild,” Abdaran said, ignoring Ulpen's attempt to speak. “Unknown magic is always a Guild matter.”

Ulpen's eyes widened. “It is?” he asked.

He had heard of the Wizards' Guild, of course, and he was technically a member—he had sworn half a dozen great and terrifying oaths to that effect when he first started his apprenticeship and began to learn the secrets of wizardry. Every wizard was required to join the Guild; the penalty for practicing wizardry without joining, vigorously enforced by the Guild itself, was death.

But Ulpen had never had any real contact with the Guild outside his apprenticeship with Abdaran. He had met perhaps three other wizards in his life, all very briefly, and each had been an ordinary hedgerow wizard like Abdaran, not anyone Ulpen thought of as representing the Guild. The Guild had seemed to him this mysterious, all-powerful organization lurking somewhere beyond the horizon.

He had always known that upon completing his apprenticeship he would be presented to representatives of the Guild who would approve or disapprove his elevation to journeyman; he had known that someday, barring disaster, he would be examined by the Guild for the rank of master and the right to take on apprentices of his own.

Those, however, had been far-off matters—he assumed he still had a good two years left before he would be rated a journeyman—and quite intimidating enough.

“You'll have to see the Guildmaster,” Abdaran said.

Ulpen's eyes widened farther. “You mean the head of the
entire Guild?
”

Abdaran started. “What? No, no, of course not. I mean Guildmaster Manrin, in Ethshar of the Sands. He's only responsible for this area, he's not the head of the entire Guild. There are dozens of Guildmasters in the World. I don't even
know
who's the head of the entire Guild—and I don't think I want to, and I think that if you're wise,
you
won't want to, either.”

“Oh,” Ulpen said. This was not helping his self-confidence at all.

“Come on, then,” Abdaran said, turning away. “Pack your things. It's a long walk to the city, and we'd better get started.”

“Wh…” Ulpen hesitated, tried to think of something intelligent to say, and finally could find no response more appropriate than “Yes, Master.”

The two wizards, master and apprentice, had been gone for perhaps half an hour when several terrified villagers and folk from nearby farms came to Abdaran's home, seeking counsel regarding the bizarre nightmares a few of them had experienced the night before, the mysterious abilities that two of them had manifested, and the unexplained overnight disappearance of three people.

Chapter Thirteen

Lord Hanner did not realize immediately that he was actually awake; the view before him was so unfamiliar that at first he thought he was still dreaming. Gradually, though, memories of the night before drifted back, and he began to recognize his surroundings.

This was Uncle Faran's bedchamber, in his mansion on High Street—the mansion Faran had never admitted to Hanner that he owned.

Hanner was looking at a fine mirror framed in polished brass; it stood on a small bedside table, just visible past the edge of the bed curtains, and reflected in it Hanner could see a small bronze statue of a nude couple entangled with one another, and beyond that a larger marble statue of a naked woman.

That was why he had thought he was dreaming; in his waking life up until last night he had only seen such statuary in gardens and grand halls, never in bedrooms.

The room was dim, but the fact that he could see at all meant it was after dawn, since he had put out the lamp before going to sleep. He sat up.

Sunlight was leaking in through the shutters and curtains that hid the two large windows. Hanner pushed aside the black silk coverlet, slipped out of bed, and padded over to the nearer one. He opened the drapes and unlatched the shutters; the wooden panels swung open.

Light blazed in, forcing Hanner to squint and blink; at first he thought he had accidentally looked directly into the sun. When he could see clearly again, though, he realized that the sun was nowhere to be seen—in fact, thinking about the house's location and where the bedchamber was, he realized the windows faced north. It was simply the contrast between the bright light of a summer day and the dimness of a shuttered room that had fooled him.

The windows opened out onto a balcony overlooking the mansion's garden; Hanner unlatched one and stepped outside into the day's heat. To the left he could see over the garden wall and across Coronet Street; ahead and to the left he could see down Coronet to the intersection with Merchant Street. Directly ahead, beyond the garden, he could see the back of what he took to be a tradesman's home, with rooms above a shop, while to the right beyond the garden wall was another garden and the rear of another mansion.

From the shadows of the trees in the garden and shadows on the surrounding walls, he judged it to be midmorning, halfway betwen dawn and noon. He had never intended to sleep so late—but then, he had never intended to stay up so late the night before!

Half the morning was gone—the entire mess caused by the mysterious new magic might well have been straightened out and dealt with by now.

He certainly
hoped
it had been. He saw no signs of trouble on the visible portions of Coronet or Merchant Street. Traffic seemed perhaps a little light—but he didn't really know what was normal for this neighborhood, since he had rarely had any business here.

He didn't have a clear view of anything more than a block away, so he couldn't very well look for smoke from still-burning buildings or warlocks flying about, but the few people he did see in the street were walking, not running. That was a good sign, but hardly definitive.

It could all be over, or it could just be a lull.

Well, he told himself, he couldn't really expect to find out anything staring out at his uncle's garden—except that Uncle Faran had been far less imaginative and extravagant in arranging his garden than in furnishing his house, as the paths were broad and straight, the flowerbeds and hedges simple, the statuary sparse.

If he wanted to know what was happening, he would have to go out and see. He turned back inside and looked for his boots, wishing he had a clean pair of stockings to wear.

A moment later he was in the hallway, fully dressed. Unsurprisingly, Bern was nowhere at hand; a bellpull hung by the side of Uncle Faran's bed, but Hanner had not wanted to use it. None of the others—neither Alris nor any of the score of warlocks—was in sight, either, but Hanner could hear voices drifting up the stairs from below. He started down.

He was perhaps halfway down when Rudhira's head appeared around a door frame at the foot of the stairs. Her long hair was a mess, disarrayed and tangled—if her room had contained a hair-brush she obviously hadn't used it. She had cleaned off her makeup, however, and that, added to the difference between the bright morning sunlight spilling through the windows and the firelight Hanner had seen her by the night before, made her look almost a different person—a younger and more appealing one, so far as Hanner was concerned.

Hanner noticed that she was wearing the same red tunic and skirt as the night before, somewhat the worse for having been slept in—but of course, what else would she have to wear? He was still in the same clothes himself.

The difference, he thought to himself, was that his clothes were far more appropriate to these surroundings, and to daylight, than Rudhira's.

“
There
you are!” she said. “We've been waiting!”

Hanner really didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't; instead he simply nodded and continued down the steps.

Rudhira met him at the foot of the staircase and took his arm to lead him into what he discovered to be the mansion's dining hall.

“My lord,” Bern said, appearing as Hanner stepped through the door. He bowed discreetly. “I have kept the head of the table for you—I assume your uncle will not be joining us?”

“So far as I know, he'll be staying in the Palace until further notice,” Hanner agreed.

“And will your party be staying on?”

“I don't know,” Hanner said. “We'll have to discuss that later.”

“If I may say so, so large a group is really more than I can care for single-handed at even a minimal level. If you do stay, I feel it would be advisable to call in more servants. Your uncle has a fine staff on call.”

“I'll let you know what we decide,” Hanner said, moving past and turning his attention to the others in the room—and to the room itself.

The dining hall was large—which was hardly surprising in a house this size. A splendid table of gleaming unfamiliar wood inlaid with ivory took up the center of the room, with a dozen oaken chairs spaced along its sides and one larger chair at the far end. Four ornate cabinets were arranged along the east and west walls, each with various drawers and compartments glittering with brass and ivory inlay; three of the four included glass-fronted upper sections, and Hanner could see something moving behind one of those panels, but the glass was so elaborately cut and beveled that he could not tell what it was. Since that was hardly an appropriate place to keep a pet, he supposed Uncle Faran had indulged in some variety of magically animated tableware.

Mirrors hung on all four walls; the south wall was pierced by three generous multipaned windows partially obscured by lace curtains, looking out on the dooryard and High Street. At the north end a large sliding door was closed tightly, while two small doors to the east stood open.

Seven people were seated around the table—three warlocks on either side, and his sister Lady Alris at the foot of the far side. Four more warlocks stood or leaned elsewhere around the room, not counting Rudhira, who was at his shoulder. They had obviously been talking earlier, when he had heard voices, but now they were all staring silently at him.

None of the four prisoners they had taken were present. “Where are the…” he began.

“We locked the prisoners in their rooms,” Rudhira said before he could finish the sentence. “The others are still asleep.”

“I'll wake them if you like, my lord,” Yorn said. He was standing to one side.

“It's not necessary,” Hanner said. Hesitantly, uneasy under the silent scrutiny of a dozen watchers, he crossed the room and took his seat at the head of the table.

He had never been at the head of a table before, and wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea; this was properly his uncle's place. As a nobleman Hanner had grown up giving orders to servants and soldiers and expecting a certain amount of deference, but he had also almost always been subordinate to someone else—his parents, his uncle, the overlord, the various other lords who ran the city. The only times he had been the highest-ranking person at a meal had been in the palace kitchens or in the city's inns—never in a formal dining room. It felt odd to sit in the big carved oak chair and look down the length of the table.

An empty plate lay ready for him, while half-empty platters of bread and ham and a pitcher of small beer stood close at hand. Hanner could see that the others had not waited for him to appear before eating; Bern had not yet cleared away the used plates and scattered crumbs.

Hanner speared a slice of ham with his belt knife and transferred it to his plate, then reached for the beer and a pewter mug Bern had provided.

“My lord,” Yorn said as Hanner poured, “I should return to my company.”

Hanner looked up, startled. “Has the warlockry gone away?” he asked, putting down the pitcher.

He should have asked that sooner, he realized. It should have been the first thing he said when he came down the stairs and found Rudhira waiting. It was obviously the most important question, the single thing that would most affect what he did that day.

“No,” Yorn said.

“No,” Zarek agreed. He was seated on Hanner's left. “Look!”

Zarek's plate lifted into the air, then hovered and began to spin—which flung bread crumbs in all directions. One landed in Hanner's beer.

“Sorry,” Zarek said as the plate dropped the foot or so to the table and landed with a ringing clatter.

“It's nothing,” Hanner said, picking up the mug and staring at the floating crumb. He glanced up and noticed Bern's silent but intense disapproval of Zarek's action.

Well, Bern was the servant and Zarek the guest, despite Zarek's ragged attire; Bern would just have to tolerate such behavior. With a grimace Hanner gulped beer, then set the mug down again.

“So the magic is still here,” he said. “Has
anything
changed since last night?”

The others looked at one another; no one spoke at first, then Zarek offered, “I've had the best night's sleep I've had in years, thanks to that lovely bed you let me use, but other than that, nothing.”