The Unwelcome Warlock

“You said it’s been twenty years,” Leth pointed out. “Would he still have a place there?”

“He had a daughter.”

Leth nodded. “If she’s still there it’s worth asking her, anyway.”

“If Feregris is there — he was good to me. I want to be sure he’s all right.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Zallin blinked. No one had called him “kind” for as long as he could remember. No one had been kind to him, either, that he could recall.

But then, he hadn’t done much to deserve kindness. Ever since he lost his magic he had been so focused on getting it back that he had not given much thought to anything else. He had followed Vond around, begging for his magic like a puppy hoping for a treat. He had ignored or argued with Hanner, who had merely tried to talk sense to him. He had treated all the other Called warlocks as a nuisance, something to be pushed aside as much as possible.

He remembered Feregris smiling patiently at him, surprising him with candies every so often, showing him clever little things a warlock could do, ways to accomplish his goals with a minimum of power, so as not to hasten the Calling. Those tricks hadn’t been enough to save his master, though. By the time Zallin completed his apprenticeship, Feregris was having nightmares almost every night, and had a tendency to turn his face northward whenever he wasn’t paying attention. Two months later he was gone.

That had hurt, losing his master. Feregris’ daughter Virris had wanted no reminders of her father’s magic, and had asked Zallin to stop visiting, and he had complied. He did not particularly want to be reminded of his loss, either; he had stopped visiting anywhere in Westwark or Crookwall.

Then he had set out to be the best warlock he could be, to prove himself worthy of his master’s memory, and he had worked his way up until he became Chairman of the Council of Warlocks. He had used Feregris’ old tricks to avoid using too much magic, so he had never been Called.

But then he had lost his magic, and he had tried to find a new master, in the form of the Great Vond.

Zallin mentally compared Feregris with Vond, and then his own behavior with both. He did not think he fared well against Feregris at all, but at least he wasn’t as bad as Vond.

Not quite as bad as Vond, anyway.

His magic was gone; he had finally accepted that. Now he had to think about what he was going to do without it — not just how he might earn a living, but who he was going to be.

Being more like Feregris would be a good start, and finding Feregris, offering to help him, was the first step of that start. He looked at Leth, and held out a hand. “It was a pleasure talking to you,” he said, “but I’m going the other direction.”

“Oh, I don’t have any business in Eastgate if you aren’t going there,” Leth said. “I’ll come along, if you don’t mind.”

Zallin was startled. “You don’t want to get home to Camptown?”

“Not particularly. Meeting this Feregris and your family sounds much more interesting.”

“I wasn’t...I mean, I didn’t say anything about my family.”

“If you’re going to Crookwall, Westwark’s just a few blocks farther.”

Zallin hesitated, looking down at the bright red skirt showing beneath her coat that indicated Leth’s occupation. Then he smiled.

Being more like his old master didn’t mean he had to be the obedient little boy his mother and brother had tried to make him be. “You’ll like my mother,” he said.

“I will?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone does. But she’ll hate you.”

Leth grinned. “Sounds like fun,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They turned and walked west.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Hanner had been expecting the dream, so when he found himself in Ithinia’s parlor, facing Rothiel of Wizard Street, rather than on his makeshift mattress in the village beyond the tapestry, he was not surprised.

“What’s going on, Hanner?” Rothiel demanded. “Where are you?”

“Hello, Rothiel,” Hanner said. “I’m in the refuge beyond the tapestry.”

“You are? Is Vond... We had reports that he followed you through the tapestry, but since he’d be powerless there, we don’t...Is he there? Where is Vond? Do you know?”

“I do,” Hanner said. “He did come here after me.”

“He’s there? But he doesn’t have his magic there, does he?”

“He doesn’t have anything,” Hanner replied. “Vond is dead. The return tapestry was ruined, and we were all stranded here, and someone cut his throat.”

“Dead?” Rothiel looked shocked. “You’re sure he’s really dead?”

“Oh, yes,” Hanner said. “His body has been burned. He’s unquestionably dead.”

“Then it’s over?” Rothiel asked. “It’s really over? There are no more warlocks?”

“Well, I don’t know of any more,” Hanner replied, nettled at the wizard’s attitude. Rothiel seemed to have forgotten that he was speaking to a former warlock.

“Ithinia will be pleased.”

“Ithinia?” Hanner’s temper got the better of him. “This... This...Ithinia caused this! If she had left Vond alone, he might never have caused any real trouble! If she didn’t want him using his magic, she could have talked to him, made a deal of some kind!”

The wizard stepped back, startled by Hanner’s outburst, then shook his head. “He couldn’t be trusted, Hanner,” Rothiel said soothingly. “How many times did you see him break promises? How many people did you see him hurt, simply because they were in his way? Yes, we tried to trick him into giving up his magic, but did he try to talk to us when he found out? No, he killed our agent, and made threats and demands, putting hundreds of innocent lives in danger — lives that included your own sister and her family, I believe! Sooner or later, he would have done something catastrophic. He had to be stopped.”

Hanner did not really want to defend Vond, but he could not resist saying, “So he couldn’t be trusted with such powerful magic, but Ithinia can?”

“Ithinia has had her magic for centuries, and I don’t see any disasters she’s caused,” Rothiel replied. “Besides, the Guild disciplines its own members, while no one could discipline Vond.”

“The Guild disciplines its own?” Hanner said sarcastically, his hands on his hips. “Really? Who has the power to keep Ithinia from doing whatever she pleases?”

Rothiel’s expression changed. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.

“Don’t ask that, Hanner,” he said. “You really don’t want to know.”

Startled out of his anger, Hanner blinked and did not answer for a moment. Then he said, “Can you get me back to Ethshar, even though the tapestry is ruined?”

“I’m fairly certain we can arrange something,” Rothiel said. He hesitated, then asked, “Are you alone? No, you said you all were stranded. Who else is there, besides yourself?”

“About a dozen former warlocks, and a dozen or so mercenary swordsmen Vond hired.”

“Mercenaries? Do you mean professionals from the Small Kingdoms?”

“No, I mean recruits from Shiphaven Market.”

“Was it one of them who killed Vond, then? Lost his temper over the ruined tapestry, perhaps?”

“No. It was...someone else.”

Rothiel considered that for a moment, obviously considering possible reasons Hanner had not named the killer, then turned up a hand. “Well, we’ll see about getting you all out, and I don’t think anyone is going to bring any charges about any of this — after all, I would think that place is outside the overlord’s jurisdiction. I trust you can hold out for a few more days?”