Night of Madness (23 page)

The buzzing continued.

“Stop it!”
Ithinia shouted, her hand falling to the hilt of her athame.

The buzzing stopped abruptly. “Guildmaster?” a voice said from the black device.

“Yes,” Ithinia said angrily. The voice sounded familiar—it was definitely that of a native of the city, with the lilting quality affected by the wealthy and powerful. She couldn't quite place it, and was in no mood to be subtle or even polite. “Who are you?”

“Your pardon, Guildmaster,” the voice said. “I am Lord Faran, formerly the overlord's chief advisor.”

Ithinia closed her eyes and muttered, “Oh, blood and death.”

She had already received word that Lord Azrad wished to consult the Wizards' Guild on an urgent matter, which of course meant that the overlord wanted the Guild to do something about the warlocks. She had put that meeting off until at least tomorrow—it was always best, when dealing with Azrad the Sedentary, to delay the meeting for a time to give the man's natural lethargy time to assert itself. Azrad was always less demanding when he had had time to cool down from whatever event had provoked him. An early morning meeting accentuated this, so Ithinia had been planning to arrive at the Palace perhaps an hour after dawn, either tomorrow or the day after.

Besides, that would give her a little more time to learn about the situation and think about what should be done.

This communication from Lord Faran, though, complicated the situation. “
Formerly
the overlord's chief advisor” meant that there had been a serious falling out within the inner circles of the city's government, and Ithinia suspected the Wizards' Guild was about to be dragged into a factional squabble, whether they wanted to be or not.

One of the secondary reasons for the Guild's rule against magicians meddling in government, or rulers fooling around with magic, was precisely so that the Guild would
not
be dragged into factional squabbles, but it appeared that the participants in this one wanted the Guild involved.

Presumably it had something to do with the warlocks.

And then there was the fact that Lord Faran was using sorcery to speak to her. He knew perfectly well that the Guild wouldn't approve of a nobleman in the overlord's government using magic like this; he was obviously doing it on purpose, to make a point.

What
point, she didn't know. She had dealt with Lord Faran before; he had a twisty mind that she did not understand and didn't particularly want to. He seemed constitutionally unable to accept a direct statement of the Guild's intent at face value, no matter what the circumstances, which annoyed her, since she always made an effort to deal openly with the government of the Hegemony. She would have preferred to never speak with him again.

But she was obviously going to have to deal with him. Even if he was no longer the overlord's right hand, he was still likely to remain a powerful man—and he clearly had sorcery at his disposal.

And he had decided to rub the Guild's nose in his sorcery. Ithinia would have considered that utter folly for most people, but for Lord Faran she couldn't be sure.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, addressing the little black device in as even a voice as she could manage. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm sure you're aware of last night's events, and the outbreak of what appears to be an entirely new form of magic.”

“Yes.” She bit off the “of course” that would naturally have followed.

“I believe that Lord Azrad has requested a consultation with representatives of the Wizards' Guild to consider what should be done about this development—in fact, I know he has, and that this consultation, if it has not already taken place, will be held within the next day or so.”

“Most likely, yes. We have not agreed upon a time.”

“Of course,” the talisman said. “Whenever it happens, though, I thought that you might be interested in knowing just what the overlord plans, in terms far blunter than he'll express it to you himself, in advance of the meeting. I would also like to confer with the Guild's representatives myself, as the spokesman for another group.”

“And what group would that be?”

“The warlocks.”

Ithinia stared at the talisman for a moment, then closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, where she massaged her temple with three fingers.

That was all she needed. Now the warlocks were getting organized and had found themselves a leader—perhaps the best, most experienced politician in the city.

“Guildmaster?” the voice from the talisman asked.

“I'm here,” she said, opening her eyes but keeping her hand where it was. “I was just thinking.” She sighed. “Very well, my lord—did you wish to meet with me or shall we simply converse as we are, over this forbidden apparatus you have intruded into my garden?”

“Guildmaster, I am no longer a part of Lord Azrad's government. I do not believe that sorcery is still forbidden to me.”

“Fine,” Ithinia said. “We can argue about it later, if necessary. Shall we meet?”

“It's not necessary, but whatever pleases you. It might be more convenient.”

“It might. For now, though, let's just talk as we are.”

“As you wish.”

“So tell me what the overlord intends.”

“He intends, Guildmaster, to outlaw warlockry and order the extermination of all warlocks within the walls, guilty or innocent, lest they disturb the city's peace. He further intends to place all responsibility for this decision and these actions on the Wizards' Guild, the self-appointed authority in all matters magical. Need I say what this will do to the Guild's standing in the public's estimation when the initial panic has subsided, and the knowledge that hundreds of innocents have been slaughtered registers?”

Ithinia closed her eyes again.

“No,” she said. “I can imagine.”

“Last night, Guildmaster, as you may have heard, some of the new-made warlocks did not join in the night's madness, the looting and mayhem, but instead acted to limit the damage and tried to put themselves at the overlord's disposal. In his confusion, Lord Azrad forbade them entry to the Palace. I have now taken this group in hand, at a location known only to a few, and am speaking to you on their behalf. We see no reason we should be penalized for last night's misbehavior—we did not participate in it and did what we could to restrain it, even turning four of our fellow warlocks over to the Lord Magistrate of the Old Merchants' Quarter. While we won't defend the lawlessness some warlocks displayed,
we
are innocent of any wrongdoing—yet Lord Azrad has made clear to me that he intends to seek
our
deaths, along with those of the criminals. I am speaking to you now, Guildmaster, to ask the Wizards' Guild to refuse any part in this appalling injustice. I am asking all of you to come to the aid of your fellow magicians…”

“You aren't magicians,” Ithinia interrupted angrily. “You aren't trained, you never apprenticed, you aren't any recognized school. You're people with some strange new spell on you; that doesn't make you magicians.”

“Not magicians, then, but people involved with magic, through no fault of their own.”

“Yes, quite,” Ithinia said. “I see your point.”

Unfortunately, she could also see the overlord's view, if Faran had presented it accurately. She had seen the corpses of a dozen people killed by rampaging warlocks. She had seen one poor boy who had had dozens of shards of glass embedded in his flesh by a warlock; a priestess had been trying to invoke Blukros to heal the child, and a witch had been suppressing the pain, but even if the god answered and restored the boy to perfect health nothing would ever make up for the terror and suffering he had been through.

She didn't want to talk to Faran anymore—his voice, as relayed by the talisman, was smooth and calm, but suddenly she found it intensely irritating.

“I will need to talk to others,” she said. “If you're no longer at the Palace, how can we contact you? I assume you'd prefer something other than the Spell of Invaded Dreams, and would rather we did not track down your location known only to a few.”

“I could hardly expect to keep my location secret from the Guild,” Faran said, “but rather than put you to any trouble, let me suggest that you take this talisman and place it somewhere safe. When you wish to speak to me, pick it up, and the warmth of your hand will activate it and alert me.”

“Clever,” Ithinia said. Ordinarily she didn't think much of sorcery, which had a tendency to have peculiar limitations and to fail spectacularly at inopportune times, but this particular device—assuming it worked as advertised—could be rather convenient.

“It may be a few moments before I can respond, of course,” Faran said.

“Of course,” Ithinia said. It occurred to her that she wouldn't really
want
a device that could demand her attention at any moment, and once again she was glad she had taken up wizardry, rather than one of the other magicks. “I'll speak to you later, then.”

“Thank you,” Faran's voice replied.

Ithinia picked up the talisman and tucked it into the purse on her belt, then turned and headed back toward her house.

Chapter Twenty-one

On the morning of the sixth of Summerheat Mavi ambled out into the courtyard behind her family home, nominally to dump her chamber pot and the kitchen slop bucket in the public sewer but really to hear the morning gossip—and to tell the story of her own adventures the previous day.

She had hoped, when she went to bed on the fourth, that being walked home by Lord Hanner and giving him a good-night kiss would be the juiciest item in the morning chatter on the fifth. Instead there had been so much excitement about the night's madness that she had never even gotten around to mentioning it.

Today, though, she had the tale of her adventures with Hanner and his collection of warlocks to tell, and
that
was certainly going to be worth mentioning no matter
what
Thetta and Aniara and Oria had to report. She had
flown through the air,
and met all those warlocks, and spent
hours
with Lord Faran and Lord Hanner, and heard Lord Faran say all those terrible traitorous things about the overlord …

She grinned at the thought.

And Hanner had walked her home again, and this time they had kissed
each other
good night, and not just a quick little peck, either.

Lord Hanner wasn't quite the impressive catch he had been before the Night of Madness, now that his uncle was an outcast warlock rather than the Lord Counselor, but Mavi didn't really care; he was still a sweet young man, always ready to help, so sincere and eager to please that she couldn't help but enjoy his company. He was a little soft and plump, a little unsure of himself, but in general she found him very satisfactory. He had lovely dark eyes and curly black hair and a funny smile.

If he had a good position, rather than just being his uncle's assistant, he would be a fine candidate for her husband.

She opened the sewer lid and dumped in the waste, then closed the lid again. When she straightened up and turned around she saw Oria approaching.

The two waved to each other, and after Oria had disposed of her own burden the two young women settled on the bench by old Skig's chicken coop, in the shade of an ancient gum tree, to talk.

The conversation stayed very light at first—the usual exchange of rumors about who might be pregnant, whose marriage might be in trouble, and the like. Anything more interesting would be saved until the others had arrived.

But then Thetta arrived—almost running.

“What's wrong?” Oria asked her as Thetta hurried up to the bench.

“Did you hear about Pancha?” Thetta asked as she squeezed onto the end of the bench beside Oria.

“What about her?” Mavi asked. Pancha was Aniara's slightly older half sister.

“She's a warlock!”

“You're joking!” Oria said, shocked.

Mavi, who had spent the previous day practically surrounded by warlocks, was less surprised—especially since Aniara had mentioned the day before that Pancha had been one of the people who woke up screaming about a nightmare.

Pancha hadn't run out into the street smashing windows, though.

“Is she all right?” Mavi asked.

“Aniara? Oh, she's upset, but…”

“I meant Pancha.”

“Oh.” Thetta looked confused for a moment, then said, “I guess so. They've locked her in her room and sent for a priest.”

“A priest? A theurgist? Why?”

“To try to cure her, of course!” Thetta said, leaning forward to look past Oria at Mavi.

“Is Aniara all right?” Oria asked. “
She
isn't a warlock, is she?”

“She says she isn't,” Thetta said, “and she seems to be holding up, but she's not leaving the house until the theurgist is done.”

“She won't be here this morning, then?” Mavi asked.

“No,” Thetta said. “I thought we might go by there later to comfort her, though.”

“Oh, we should,” Oria agreed. She shuddered. “Her own sister a warlock! How dreadful.”

“Oh, warlocks aren't really so terrible,” Mavi said.

“How would you know?” Thetta asked.

Mavi smiled and began explaining how she had spent the previous day. The others were suitably impressed.

“Maybe you should tell Pancha about that house full of warlocks,” Oria said thoughtfully when Mavi had finished.

“They're going to cure her!” Thetta protested.

“If they can,” Mavi said. “I don't know whether you
can
cure warlocks.”

“Why don't we go see?” Oria asked, getting to her feet. “Just let me put a few things away…”