Night of Madness (35 page)

“I've gotten better!” she said happily. “When I started I could only lift a couple of spoons!”

Hanner smiled insincerely at her, and did not mention that she might have been better off
not
growing stronger. He watched as the others made their attempts.

Thirty-eight warlocks were tested on the weights—Hanner was uncomfortably aware that he should have been the thirty-ninth. He surreptitiously tried a few experiments with equipment that wasn't in use at the moment, and found he had no problem with a five-pound weight; he didn't get a chance to try anything heavier.

That meant he wasn't at the bottom, or even in the bottom five—he ranked at least sixth from last, ahead of Ilvin and four others.

Twenty-nine of the warlocks found their limits with the weights, though it took some doing—Othisen, the twenty-ninth, managed to lift the entire set of weights, a total of half a ton, to shoulder height before losing control and noisily dropping several.

Manrin placed slightly below the middle of the group, with a maximum of a hundred forty pounds. Lord Faran himself topped out around six hundred pounds.

Nine of the warlocks, however, hoisted the entire load. Ulpen, to everyone's surprise including his own, was one of them, as was Kirsha—and of course, Rudhira, Varrin, and Desset topped the list.

Now those nine were lined up in the garden while Lord Faran explained how he intended to test them further. Hanner had come along to watch.

“All of you can fly,” Faran said. “Better than I can, in fact.”

That, Hanner thought, given Faran's own conclusions about warlockry being simple, hardly needed saying. All these nine were far more powerful than Faran.

“What I propose,” Faran said, “is that we fly out over the harbor and see how much water we can lift. That should tell us what our limits are—I think the entire Gulf of the East is too much for
any
of us.” He smiled significantly at Rudhira.

The warlocks smiled back and nodded—or rather eight of them did; the ninth, Rudhira, was looking uneasily toward the back of the garden as if expecting someone to appear there, apparently unaware that Lord Faran was addressing her.

She had been nervous all morning; Hanner wasn't sure whether it was just the nightmares or whether something else was affecting her. He talked to her briefly while the others were being tested, and she said that she felt as if there were always someone talking somewhere behind her, just far enough away that she couldn't make out any words. She told Hanner that she had the feeling that there was something she should be doing—specifically that there was some
magic
she should be doing.

And she kept turning north.

It worried Hanner.

“So, follow me!” Faran said, lifting off the ground.

Desset and Kirsha and Varrin and the others rose as well, but Rudhira did not. As the other nine ascended Hanner hurried over to her and tapped her on the shoulder.

She blinked and turned to look at him.

“I have to go,” she said.

“With the others,” Hanner said. “You have to go with Uncle Faran and the others, to test your magic.”

Her head was already starting to turn northward again, but she stopped herself. “Lord Faran?” she said. Then she looked up and gasped. “Oh!” She stared up at the others for a second, then shot upward herself.

“Be careful!” Hanner called after her.

She stopped dead and hovered, perhaps twenty feet off the ground. “Aren't you coming?” she called down to him.

“I can't fly,” he called back.

“Oh!”

Before Hanner could say anything more he was snatched off his feet, as he had been the other day in the palace square, and swept upward. A moment later he found himself flying upward and northward at Rudhira's side.

They caught up with the others before they had gone more than a block. Rudhira whisked up to fly alongside Lord Faran, dragging Hanner in her wake.

Hanner noticed that his uncle, while able to fly under his own power, was none too steady about it, and clearly couldn't zip along at Rudhira's usual speed. Instead he was leading them all at a fairly casual pace, slow enough that people in the streets below noticed the shadows passing overhead and looked up.

To Hanner's dismay, several of them shook fists or shouted curses.

They crossed Merchant Avenue into the corner of the Old Merchants' Quarter nearest the Palace, sailing gently over the rooftops of the shops, then passed on into Spicetown, where Hanner looked down at the warehouses and alleys. Off to the right he could see the warm golden glow of the palace walls and sunlight blazing silver from the water of the Grand Canal.

Then they were beyond the Palace, and even here, seventy feet up and rising, Hanner could smell the perpetual tang of spices in the air—the warehouses below had been used to store all the spices brought across the Gulf of the East from the Small Kingdoms or down the Great River from the Baronies of Sardiron for the past two centuries, and even if they were abandoned tomorrow, Hanner suspected it would take another century before the odor faded completely.

The smell of salt mingled with the other scents; they were nearing the waterfront. Hanner could see the watery horizon ahead, beyond the buildings, spreading out before them. Sails dotted the waters of the Gulf.

The streets fell behind, the sea expanded, and then they passed over the wharves, Lord Faran's feet barely seeming to clear the highest masts of the ships tied up there. Hanner remembered his mother teaching him the names of the major docks—Thyme Wharf, Dill Wharf, Oregano, Balsam, Parsley, Mustard, then a stretch of open beach—he could see it now, just to his left—then the three diagonal wharves, Ginger, Nutmeg, and Cinnamon. Then there was the complex tangle of the Pepper Wharves, and the decaying row of the Tea Wharves, and just beyond that was the entrance to the New Canal that marked the western boundary of Spicetown. He wondered whether the names had ever really corresponded to what cargoes landed there; they certainly didn't now.

They were past the docks, past the line of half a dozen freighters standing off the coast awaiting a berth, and out over open water, and it suddenly occurred to Hanner to wonder whether he would be able to swim safely back to land if Rudhira were to drop him.

If warlockry were to cease to exist right now, as abruptly as it had begun, how many of the eleven of them would make it back to shore alive? The fall alone might kill them. They were at least eighty feet up.

Hanner took a breath, preparing to shout something, but just then Lord Faran slowed to almost a hover and called, “This should do.”

The other warlocks slowed to a standstill in a cluster around Faran, but Rudhira contined on northward, Hanner in tow.

“Hai!”
Hanner bellowed at her, startled. “Stop! Rudhira, stop!”

“Hm?” She turned, puzzled. “I have to go north,” she said. “Lord Faran said so.”

“No, he said to stop!” Hanner called. “See? He's back there!”

Rudhira blinked at him, but didn't stop.

Then Faran's voice came, unnaturally loud.

“Rudhira! Come back here!”

Hanner's eyes and mouth opened wide in shock; he had
never
heard his uncle shout so loudly. He had never heard
anyone
shout so loudly. He hadn't known it was possible.

Then he realized that it wasn't, ordinarily—Faran had somehow used warlockry to make his voice louder. He had heard Rudhira do the same thing to a much lesser degree more than once, though at the time he had been unsure whether it was magic or just an illusion.

It was definitely magic this time. And it had worked; Rudhira stopped and turned, as if waking from a dream.

“I'm sorry,” she said to Hanner as she headed back to join the others. “I don't know what I was thinking—it just seemed as if I should keep going.”

Hanner waved away her concern. “That's all right,” he said.

But he was not sure it really
was
all right; Rudhira's recent behavior worried him. She seemed to be more and more distracted.

“Now we're all here,” Lord Faran said as Rudhira and Hanner joined the hovering group, “I'd like to see just how powerful you are. Water is heavy, and should provide all the weight we need—I want each of you to try to pull up a column of water, as big around as your arms can reach, and see if you can raise it all the way up to this height.” He looked over the group, then pointed. “Kirsha, you go first.”

Kirsha hesitated, then looked down. “While flying?” she asked. “Can we do that?”

“Try,” Faran said.

Kirsha stared down at the water below them—and so did Hanner and the others.

And as they watched, a wave curled itself into a spiral and rose upward, straightening itself into a vertical column of water as it climbed. Hanner held his breath at the sight.

It sparkled in the sun like a gigantic pillar of green liquid glass, rising up out of the sea.

When it was about thirty feet tall it began to wobble, and the rate of ascent slowed. At forty feet it stopped, swayed, and then shattered, falling back into the sea with an immense splash. Waves rippled out in expanding rings, swamping the shallow lines of waves that naturally rolled southward across the Gulf. The ships riding at anchor rocked gently as the waves passed beneath.

“Good!” Faran said. “Varrin, now you try.”

Varrin looked down, took a deep breath, and spread his arms, and the waves seemed to reverse direction, drawing back in, reforming the column that Kirsha had dropped. It rose upward, past the point where Kirsha had lost her hold, but began narrowing at the top.

Hanner could see the strain on Varrin's face, and could
feel
the magical power flowing through the air.

The column became a spire, the top narrowing to a point, but it continued to rise until at last Varrin reached out a hand and the water splashed upward against it, as if he held his hand over an impossible colossal fountain.

The column thickened, the top widening out into a rounded peak perhaps a foot across—and then it was too much, more than Varrin could handle, and water began spilling down the sides, splashing and spraying outward. The column swayed, split, and disintegrated, falling back not in a single great splash as Kirsha's had, but in a scattering shower of separate streams.

And Varrin had sunk partway himself; he was a good fifteen feet below the others and still losing altitude.

“Rudhira,” Hanner called.

Rudhira had been looking off to the north, but she heard him, and Varrin's descent stopped abruptly.

“I'm sorry,” he said as he rose gently to rejoin the others. “I misjudged. It felt as if I could still draw more power.”

Faran held up a palm. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “You did a fine job.” He looked the others over, then pointed. “Luriaz,” he said, “your turn.”

Hanner watched with interest as the others each made the attempt. All but Ulpen bettered Kirsha's performance, but only Desset could match Varrin's—and she couldn't better it.

Rudhira watched with interest and caught anyone who started to fall. Her own turn, however, was left until last.

Finally, though, Faran turned to her and said, “Rudhira! Show us what you can do!”

Rudhira smiled. “Finally!” she said. She looked down.

Hanner could feel the wave of magical energy as if it were physical pressure; the hairs on his arms and face and body were all flattened against his skin.

And the water below them rose up.

This was not just a column; this was a mountain that soared upward. As it neared their feet it opened out into a ring but still continued, rising around them, surrounding them all in a roaring wall of water.

Rudhira laughed. No one else looked amused; Hanner forced himself to look away from Rudhira and look around at their faces, and saw only terror.

The water rose higher and higher, the circle of sky still visible above them receding and shrinking, until finally Lord Faran called, “That's enough!”

Rudhira smiled broadly and flung her arms wide, and the wall of water exploded outward. Water roared deafeningly as the entire structure disintegrated and fell back to earth—but all of it
outward;
the eleven warlocks remained untouched and dry at the center.

Hanner looked out and down, and saw the freighters below, the wall of water sweeping down toward them.

“Rudhira,” he called, pointing, “the ships!”

Rudhira looked, and to Hanner's astonishment the four closest ships rose up out of the water and hung dripping in the air while the torrent rushed beneath them. Hanner could see their crews, astonished and terrified, clinging to masts and ropes and railings as they watched.

And when the watery onslaught had passed, the ships settled neatly back to the surface.

Hanner watched the wave diminish with distance until at last it smashed into the city's docks, splashing up into the streets beyond—that was impressive, but no worse than a storm might do, and he doubted anyone was hurt or anything significantly damaged. Several people probably got soaked, but the sun would dry them quickly enough.

He felt himself suddenly drop several feet, but then he was caught again. He looked up at Rudhira.

“Sorry,” she said. “That was … well, I think that was about my limit.”

“It was
amazing,
” Desset said admiringly.

“Indeed it was,” Faran agreed. “Quite a spectacular performance! You should be proud.”

Rudhira smiled wearily.

“I think we should go back,” Hanner said. “Before everyone's too tired to hold me.”

“Here,” Desset said, dropping down. “Give me your hand! I'll take you, and let Rudhira get her breath back.”

Hanner reached out gratefully and took Desset's hand. It was warm and soft.