Night of Madness (17 page)

Alris nodded.

“People disappeared,” she said. “
Hundreds
of them!”

Hanner frowned. “Disappeared how?” he asked. “Just vanished? Was there a flash or a bang or smoke or anything? I didn't see or hear anything like that.”

“Not
vanished
vanished,” Alris said. “Or at least, not necessarily. Maybe some of them disappeared that way, but most of them are just gone. They weren't there in the morning when their families or neighbors went to find them. And there are stories about seeing dozens of them flying away, and the guards who were on duty at Westgate supposedly reported dozens of people marching out the gate in the middle of the night without saying anything, without any baggage—some of them weren't even dressed!”

Hanner felt a cold knot forming in his stomach. He remembered seeing the flying figures overhead the night before, and wondered how many of them had never returned.

“Magic,” he said. “A compulsion, maybe.”

Alris nodded. “Probably,” she said. “That's what most of the people think, anyway. There's a big crowd of their friends and relatives in the square, waiting for the overlord to do something, and they just about all think it was magic—after all, what
else
could make people just leave in the middle of the night and not come back?”

Hanner made a wordless noise of agreement.

“What nobody agrees on is what
kind
of magic,” Alris said. “Most of them think it was the warlocks who did it.”

“That's silly,” Hanner said. “There weren't any warlocks until last night; the warlocks didn't have time to
plan
anything like that!”

Alris turned up a palm. “Well, just about everyone thinks there's
some
connection. Some people think it was the Wizards' Guild behind it all, for some secret reason of their own, and some think it was a coven of demonologists paying for some huge spell, and I heard someone saying it was Northern sorcerers left over from the Great War, out for revenge.”

“I don't think sorcery could do that,” Hanner said.

“But
Northern
sorcery…”

“… is a lost art, yes. Partly. It's not as lost as some people would like to think, though—most of our sorcerers are using Northern relics. Anyway, where would these Northerners have hidden all this time? It's been two hundred years since the war ended!”

“Somewhere in the northern wilderness, I suppose,” Alris said. “Tazmor or Srigmor, maybe.”

“It seems pretty unlikely.”

“I thought so, too—but a lot of the people who disappeared were last seen going north.”

“That doesn't mean there are any Northerners involved,” Hanner pointed out. “It could just as easily be some wizard somewhere in Sardiron. Maybe someone's spell went wrong—I know that happens sometimes.”

“I guess you're right,” Alris said. “So maybe it was the Wizards' Guild or the demonologists. But whatever it is,
something
big happened!”

“Obviously,” Hanner agreed dryly.

“Anyway, Uncle Faran and old Azrad have been conferring all morning, listening to reports and everything, trying to figure it out. And anyone in the Palace who can do this warlock stuff is ordered out—they threw little Hinda from the kitchens out on the street, and you
know
she doesn't have any family. She's just sitting in the square, crying. One of the guards gave her some bread, so at least she won't starve right away, but if something doesn't happen she might have to go to the Hundred-Foot Field tonight, and who knows what will happen to her there?”

Hanner felt his shoulders tense, and his skin suddenly felt cold despite the summer warmth.

He had seen the cruet slow to a stop in midair because he wanted it to, and knew that he, too, was a warlock. Did that mean he could never go home to the Palace?

But surely the overlord would rescind his decree eventually and let Hanner and Hinda back in. When Uncle Faran learned that his only nephew was a warlock …

Well, how
would
Faran react? Hanner had to admit he didn't know. Despite years of living in his uncle's apartments, Hanner still couldn't always predict Faran's actions—especially where magic was concerned. Warlockry was unquestionably a kind of magic, and Faran's attitude toward magic was a complicated stew of jealousy, desire, and distrust.

“If you see Hinda again, tell her she can come here,” Hanner said. “Were there any other warlocks in the Palace?”

“Not that I've heard of,” Alris said.

“There might be some who had the sense not to tell anyone,” Hanner said.

Alris shivered. “I suppose so,” she said, glancing across toward the dining hall. The significance was unmistakable—she was remembering all the warlocks who had been here earlier, and who were now scattered across the city.

“They're just people,” Hanner said. “Some of them got a little carried away at first, that's all.”

“I don't know,” Alris said. “All those missing people—what if it
was
the warlocks who took them all, or killed them?”

“Why would they do that? How could they plan it? Besides, if a lot of the people who disappeared
flew
away, weren't they warlocks themselves? I'd guess that some of them just flew off somewhere and got lost, and they'll be back as soon as they find their way home.”

“You think so?”

Hanner nodded. “And you know, I'd wager there are people out there who are warlocks and don't even know it yet. After all, they don't
have
to use the magic.”

Alris shuddered more visibly. “That's creepy,” she said. “I know
I'm
not a warlock!”

“
How
do you know?” Hanner asked.

Startled, she looked him in the eye, then turned away. “Shut up, Hanner,” she said. “You're scaring me.”

“Well, have you
tried
moving things without touching them?” Hanner asked. “That seems to be the basic thing that warlocks can do.”

“Of course not!” Alris snapped. “Have
you?
”

“No,” Hanner said—he hadn't, after all. He had made something
stop
without touching it. “But I'm not the one saying I know I'm not a warlock.”

Because he knew he
was
a warlock—but he wasn't ready to tell Alris that.

He was a warlock—but he was also a noble in the city's government, and if warlocks were magicians then he was violating the Wizards' Guild's rules simply by existing. Hereditary nobles could not be magicians.

“Well, I'm
not
a warlock,” Alris said. She turned and glowered at the doily on a nearby table. “See? It doesn't move.”

“I'll take your word that you were trying,” Hanner said. That was another item to add to the information he was accumulating—presumably some people really
weren't
warlocks. He wondered what percentage of the population had been affected.

And how long would the effect last?

And what had caused it?

A thought struck Hanner. Alris seemed not only certain that she wasn't a warlock, but that she didn't want to be one. “I thought you
wanted
to be a magician,” he said. “Didn't you beg Uncle Faran to apprentice you to a magician, any sort of magician?”

“That was months ago,” Alris said, “and I meant a
real
magician, not a warlock!”

“Being a warlock is so terrible?”

“Yes! After what I heard at the Palace … well, I guess the ones here are all right, but warlocks sound horrible!”

“Oh? So what else did you hear at the Palace?” Hanner asked.

“Oh, lots of stories—warlocks hurt and killed people last night, and smashed and stole things. There were a dozen fires, at least, and bodies and wreckage in the streets, and that's not counting all those hundreds of people who just disappeared. Everyone's scared and upset—a lot of people were calling for the overlord to have all the warlocks hunted down and killed.”

Hanner frowned. That did not sound good at
all.
“But most of them didn't do anything wrong,” he said. “The ones I brought here didn't.”

Except, he remembered, the four prisoners still locked in a room upstairs.

Alris turned up a palm. “I don't think anyone cares,” she said. “Warlocks did a lot of damage last night, and the people I heard talking weren't interested in sorting out the good ones from the bad ones. Or the ones who haven't done anything
yet
from the ones who already went wild. What if tonight they all start screaming again and go berserk?”

Hanner had not thought of that, and did not like the suggestion. “But how would anyone hunt them down?”

“Magic, of course,” Alris said. “Don't be stupid. The wizards and demonologists could do it.”

“Maybe,” Hanner admitted. He sighed. “Did you ask what we should do with the prisoners?”

“They aren't getting into the Palace,” Alris said. “Even if they start letting other people in, I don't think the overlord's
ever
going to let any warlocks in. The guard suggested we take them to one of the local magistrates.”

“I suppose that would be easiest,” Hanner said. The possibility had occurred to him earlier, but he had wanted to be sure first that no one at the Palace wanted them. And besides, he had captured them while acting in the overlord's name, which meant that they were supposed to be the overlord's responsibility.

Obviously, though, Azrad didn't
want
that particular responsibility.

Hanner sighed again, and got to his feet. “I think the closest magistrate would be in the Old Merchants' Quarter; I don't want to try to figure out whose district we caught them in. I'll need to find the others to help me…”

“I'm right here,” Rudhira said from the doorway.

Hanner turned, startled, then smiled at her.

She was wearing a different outfit—a white silk tunic embroidered with green and a long green skirt—and had removed the remains of her makeup and brushed her hair. The clothes fit her well, and nothing marked her as anything but a respectable woman. Hanner had not looked forward to confronting a magistrate with the sorry crew he had on hand, and this transformation on Rudhira's part was a welcome improvement.

It wasn't really a surprise that Uncle Faran kept extra women's clothes on hand, given his probable use for this second home of his. Hanner supposed he ought to protest what amounted to theft, but he was too pleased by the results.

“Good,” he said, meaning both her presence and her appearance. “Let's find the others and get those four out of here.”

The sooner the prisoners were gone, Hanner told himself, the sooner he could concentrate on other matters …

Such as his own unwanted magic.

Chapter Sixteen

The Lord Magistrate of the Old Merchants' Quarter leaned on his desk and looked unhappily at Hanner.

“Vandalism, theft, assault, and unruly behavior,” he said. “Disobeying the orders of a representative of the overlord.”

“That's right,” Hanner answered.

“You aren't mentioning the use of forbidden magic.”

Hanner frowned and glanced at Rudhira. She was keeping both feet firmly on the plank floor. Beside her, Zarek and Othisen were standing silently, listening and watching carefully. The four prisoners were arrayed on the bench, their wrists and ankles chained. Hanner had not asked Bern why Uncle Faran had had chains and cuffs in his house; he didn't want to know.

“I'm not aware that the magic they used is forbidden by any statute or edict,” Hanner said.

“But they do have this new magic that was running wild last night.”

“Yes,” Hanner conceded.

“Then if they're magicians, why haven't they resisted imprisonment? How did you bring them here?”

“By hiring other magic, of course,” Hanner said. “These other three assisted me in capturing and holding the prisoners.” He gestured at his remaining aides.

“They're magicians, too?”

Hanner nodded.

The magistrate sighed. “To the best of my knowledge the overlord has not yet issued instructions as to whether this new magic is criminal in nature.”

“Then it isn't,” Hanner said. “And you need only rule on the actual crimes involved—theft, vandalism, assault, unruly behavior, and the refusal of orders from the overlord's representative.”

“That would be you?”

“Yes.”

“Lord Hanner, to the best of my knowledge you hold no official position in the overlord's service, as yet.”

“That's true.”

“Then I can't rule on that—only the overlord can say whether you were correct in acting in his name.” He brightened up suddenly. “Which means that I must, regrettably, refer this case to a higher authority…”

“But you can't!” Hanner said. “The overlord won't allow anyone into the Palace, and I don't think Lord Karannin is going to come out and rule on this case.”

“To be blunt, my lord, that's not my problem.”

Hanner glowered at the magistrate. “Fine, then! I hereby drop that charge. Deal with the others.”

“I do not see the aggrieved parties—the owners of the stolen and vandalized property—here…”

That was the pebble that sank the barge.

“By all the gods and demons!”
Hanner roared, startling everyone, including himself. He stepped forward to the desk and only at the last instant refrained from leaning across and grabbing the magistrate by the throat. “You're one of Lord Azrad's magistrates! Will you stop making excuses and do your accursed
job,
sir? I have brought you three men and a young woman caught in the act of wantonly stealing anything they pleased and smashing anything in their way, I have brought you three eyewitnesses in addition to myself, and I
demand
that you deal with the matter!”