Night of Madness (28 page)

“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 times. 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.”

“That could indeed be valuable,” Faran admitted. “I spoke to Ithinia yesterday and asked for an audience to discuss the warlocks' situation; when you came to the door I thought you were here as her representative, to deliver an ultimatum or escort me to a meeting or otherwise respond to my request. You obviously aren't her representative—do you know why she hasn't responded? Has she met with the overlord, as he requested?”

“No, she hasn't,” Manrin said. “I
do
know that much. She hasn't met with any of you because she's been busy meeting with other wizards—the Guild wants to present a consistent response to the warlock problem, throughout not just the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, but the entire World. So the—”

He stopped abruptly in midsentence, glanced at Ulpen, then continued.

“I am about to break an oath,” he said. “I think this is really a very minor point, compared to some, but I'm going to tell you a Guild secret, and I have sworn never to reveal any of the Guild's secrets. If this is unacceptable, tell me now—I do not want to be forsworn for nothing.”

“Go on,” Faran said. “If it's any comfort, I would guess you were about to say something about the Inner Circle.”

“Ah!” Manrin looked relieved. “Then you already know, and I'm not breaking my vow after all. Yes. The Inner Circle is meeting to discuss this matter, or at least part of it is. I don't know where, but it's not in Ethshar. Ithinia and Perinan and the others are gone, and won't return until there's a decision; I caught her just before she left and asked her where you could be found. She thinks I'm here to see what you're up to with all these warlocks, so that I can report back to her—but I have no intention of reporting back.”

“Then there really
is
an Inner Circle, and you're not a member?” Faran asked. “I'm afraid I'd only heard rumors.”

“There really is an Inner Circle, and I'm not a member,” Manrin confirmed. “I had hoped that I might someday be invited in—but obviously, that can't happen
now.
”

Hanner heard the bitterness in the wizard's voice. It was quite clear that whatever this Inner Circle might be, Manrin thought he
should
have been a member by now.

Hanner noticed that Ulpen looked more confused than ever, and in the apprentice's interest as much as his own he asked, “Just what
is
the Inner Circle?”

Manrin bit his lower lip, causing his beard to thrust out, and looked at Lord Faran.

“The rumors I've heard,” Faran said, “were that while ostensibly the Wizards' Guild is run by all the Guildmasters, in fact there is secretly a select group within the Guildmasters that is the true ruling council of the Guild. This council is called the Inner Circle.”

Manrin opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “That's essentially correct.”

“I never heard anything about that,” Ulpen said.

“You're just an apprentice,” Hanner said. “I'm sure you'd have heard about it eventually.”

Actually, he wasn't sure of anything of the kind, but there was no reason to say so. Ulpen did not look happy about any of this.

In fact, Hanner noticed that Manrin had done virtually all the talking, and it occurred to him that Ulpen might not even have wanted to come here. As an apprentice he had to do as he was told, and Manrin had told him to come here—but he might not
like
it.

That would be something to keep in mind; they might want to keep an eye on the boy.

“So the Inner Circle is meeting to discuss the situation?” Faran said. “Do you have any idea how long this might take?”

Manrin grimaced. “It could be
years,
” he said. “These are master wizards, the least of them my equal. I'm one hundred and eleven years old, and expect to live many years yet, and by the standards of the Inner Circle I'm scarcely more than a journeyman. They have the Spell of Sustenance, so they needn't worry about food or drink; they have youth spells, at the very least, and some of them have genuine eternal life. Time does not mean the same thing to them that it does to ordinary people like you.”

“But…” Hanner began.

Manrin held up a hand to silence him. “I don't think it
will
take years,” he said. “I think they'll recognize the urgency of the situation and act quickly. But how quickly, I have no idea.”

Hanner bit back a protest.

He didn't want this to drag on for years, or months, or even another sixnight. He wanted everyone to come to their senses and simply treat warlocks as
people.

All Hanner really wanted was to go back home to the Palace and sleep in his own bed—well, that, and to get to know Mavi better, and eventually to find himself a career other than palace parasite. He had walked Mavi home again the night before. She had turned up again today, bringing her friend Pancha, and he had been very pleased to see her, even though they hadn't had a chance to talk.

He would have been even more pleased if they were all back in the Palace, and none of them were warlocks.

He didn't say that, of course. He looked silently at his uncle.

“Then the question is—” Faran began.

Hanner never found out what the question was; just then a crash sounded from the hallway, like a door being smashed open, and Rudhira's voice called, “I think you better get down here right now!”

Chapter Twenty-five

The crowd of warlocks at the foot of the stairs parted as the four men hurried down.

The front door stood open, and in the gate beyond stood Captain Naral of the city guard, with some twenty fully armed guardsmen arrayed behind him. The street beyond this party was crowded with curious onlookers of every description. Lord Hanner, looking over his uncle's shoulder, spotted the persistent old man there, his expression annoyingly satisfied.

“Lord Faran?” Naral called when he saw the foursome appear.

“Yes, of course, Captain,” Faran said. “What can I do for you?”

Naral took a deep breath, puffing out his armored chest, then proclaimed loudly, “By order of Azrad the Sixth, Overlord of Ethshar of the Spices, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Navies and Defender of the Gods, you are hereby required to depart from this city of Ethshar immediately, by which is meant that you must be without the city walls within the hour. You are to take with you any and all persons of your acquaintance who are in any degree affected by the magic known as ‘warlockry.' You are furthermore forbidden to return within the city walls at any time or for any reason until written permission has been given in the overlord's own hand. Any property you leave within the city will be sold, and the net proceeds sent to you in your place of exile. I am here to escort you to one of the city gates or to a departing vessel. Failure to comply with this command will be punished with death, at such time and by such means as shall be expedient.”

He managed to deliver the entire speech at a fairly impressive volume without taking a breath, which Hanner found remarkable. He was also surprised that Naral had managed to deliver the formal wording perfectly, including the added sentence about warlocks, without stumbling or hesitating. The rest was the standard sentence of exile, which Hanner had heard pronounced once or twice before, but usually it went directly from “within the hour” to “you are furthermore forbidden.”

“You can't be serious,” Lord Faran said, leaning gracefully against the door frame.

“I'm completely serious, my lord,” Captain Naral said. “Lord Azrad wants you out of the city at once.”

“Lord Azrad can go juggle fish,” Faran replied.

Half those listening gasped at that; the other half was stunned into silence.

“Now, you see?” Naral said when he had regained his composure. “I'm sure that's exactly the sort of thing that's gotten Lord Azrad so annoyed.” He drew his sword. “I'm afraid, my lord, that I must escort you to the gate, either peacefully or by force. It's your choice. I assume that Westgate will suit you?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Faran said. He nodded once, and the sword in Naral's hand suddenly twisted out of the soldier's grip and fell to the hard-packed dirt of the street beyond the fence.

Naral quickly stooped and grabbed it up again.

“Captain,” Faran said, “I'm a warlock. This house is
full
of warlocks. I can easily handle you. I might not be able to handle all your men, but I'm sure some of the others here would be glad to help me out with that.”

“Don't kill anyone,” Hanner whispered over his uncle's shoulder.

“I wasn't planning to,” Faran said back without turning his head, speaking in a voice so low no one more than a yard away could hear it.

Hanner turned, looking over the other warlocks. He was at Faran's right shoulder; Manrin was at the left, and Ulpen stood just behind Manrin, looking very unhappy indeed. The others had all hung back slightly; Rudhira was closest, a step behind Hanner, while a dozen others were gathered in the adjoining rooms, watching through the windows or listening from the doorways.