The Unwelcome Warlock

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. I hope to see you in the waking world soon.”

And with that, the dream was over.

When he awoke, Hanner told the others about the dream. He had the very definite impression that not everyone believed him, but there was nothing to be gained by arguing about it. It didn’t really matter what anyone thought; they had all come to terms with their situation, and accepted the reality that there was nothing they could do to aid their rescue or hurry their return to Ethshar. All they could do was wait, and make the best of their situation while they waited. They gathered nuts, caught fish, and made do, Vond’s mercenaries and the former warlocks working side by side.

The unchanging sun gave the refuge a timeless feel and made it impossible to judge just how long it really was before a wizard’s apprentice appeared at the top of the slope, a heavy tapestry across his shoulders. Hanner and the others had slept twice more, so two or three days seemed like a reasonable guess.

Rudhira had not been seen during that time; in fact, no one had seen her since she fled after cutting Vond’s throat. Hanner hoped she was safe. There had been vague suggestions that she should be hunted down and imprisoned, to be brought before a magistrate if and when they were able to return to Ethshar, but no one seemed eager to pursue the matter. Certainly, no one had done anything about her by the time the apprentice was spotted.

The new arrival was greeted with shouts of joy, but Hanner noticed that not everyone joined in — and it wasn’t just the Called who appeared unenthusiastic. A couple of Vond’s hirelings did not cheer. Marl, for one, looked more pensive than excited.

“Do you think it’s a trick?” Hanner asked him.

Startled, Marl turned to look at him. “No,” he said. “I just don’t have much to go back to.”

“Neither do I,” said Sidor, who had overheard, “but I don’t want to stay here. It’s creepy, the way it’s always early afternoon — it doesn’t feel real. Those houses are all a bit strange, too — and who built them, anyway?”

“I’m not sure anyone did,” Hanner said. “They may have been created by magic.”

“Well, I don’t like them.”

“You could build your own, if you wanted to stay.”

Sidor shook his head. “I don’t. I’m going back to Ethshar.”

Hanner nodded, and argued no further. Together, they joined the crowd following the apprentice down the hill. When they reached the village, the boy turned and said, “Which of you is Hanner the Generous?”

Hanner blinked; he had heard someone call him that before, but had not realized it was becoming his accepted name.

“He is,” Marl said, pointing.

“Where would you like it, sir?” the apprentice asked Hanner.

Hanner chose a building more or less at random, and a moment later he watched as the apprentice secured the tapestry’s support rod to the exposed rafters of one of the village houses, and then unrolled the hanging.

Hanner noticed that the rod had curious orange crystals at either end, and that two more crystals weighted the tapestry’s lower corners. Those drew his attention so that he did not even register the tapestry’s image at first. When he did finally look at the picture, he was startled to realize he recognized it; in fact, he was fairly certain he had been through this very tapestry once, long ago. It showed a sunlit little room with whitewashed walls and wicker furniture, though the image had been carefully arranged to hide the sun’s angle. Hanner knew that room; it was in Ithinia’s house on Lower Street, overlooking her garden.

If this tapestry did still work, that meant her house was still standing, which was good news — the overlord’s palace really had not been dropped on it. It also meant that Ithinia was making an effort to be helpful; she had not offered this tapestry to bring the thousands of warlocks home from Aldagmor, presumably because she did not want a horde that size traipsing through her home, but she was willing to use it now to get Hanner and the others back to Ethshar.

But there were still some things about the tapestry that puzzled him. “What are those orange things?” he asked the apprentice. He did not recall anything of the sort being attached when he had been sent through this tapestry all those years ago.

“Hm?” The apprentice glanced at the support rod. “Oh, the Returning Crystals? Yes, well, you see, sir, this tapestry cannot stay here; the Guildmaster needs it back. She’s put a very complex spell on it, combining Pallum’s Returning Crystal, the Spell of Reversal, and the Spell of the Obedient Object. Precisely thirty-five hours after she placed the enchantment, this tapestry will vanish and return to its rightful owner. It took some time for me to bring it here, so I would estimate you have about thirty-two hours remaining.”

“So anyone who isn’t out of here by then will be stranded again?”

The apprentice nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. That’s exactly right.” He glanced around. “I would suggest that you waste no time. Any delay increases the chances that something will go wrong.”

Hanner decided not to ask what could go wrong.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir,” the apprentice continued, “I will be returning to Ethshar myself. We leave it to you to make sure everyone is out; we will not be sending any further aid. The Guild does not consider anyone who is stranded here after the tapestry vanishes to be our responsibility. Further, if the tapestry is impaired or damaged in any way, that, too, is on your own heads. These things are expensive, and we will not risk another one.”

“I understand,” Hanner said.

The apprentice nodded once more, reached out to touch the tapestry, and was gone. Hanner realized as the youth vanished that he had never even caught the lad’s name.

“Who’s next?” Gerath called, before Hanner could react.

“Where does it go?” someone called.

“What does it matter?” Gerath demanded. “You know it’s safe, or that kid wouldn’t have used it.”

That didn’t necessarily follow, since they had no way of being certain the apprentice had been what he seemed, and that it had been the tapestry, and not some other spell, that made him vanish, but Hanner was not about to say that. Instead he said, “It comes out in a wizard’s house on Lower Street. I’ve seen it before.”

That caused a murmur, but then Gerath repeated, “Who’s next?”

“I am,” Sidor said. He pushed past one of his comrades, stretched out a hand, and disappeared.

That started a rush, but Hanner and Gerath joined efforts to enforce some order, to make sure the tapestry and its appurtenances — like those crystals — were not damaged, and that each traveler had time to step aside, once in Ithinia’s house, before the next approached.

One by one, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, Vond’s hirelings and the former warlocks vanished through the tapestry.

“Where will we go, in Ethshar?” one of the Called asked, standing unmoving before the tapestry.

“We’ll find somewhere for you,” Hanner assured her. “My family is rich and powerful, and I’ll see to it that something is arranged.”

“Go on,” Gerath said, pushing her forward. She still did not reach out, but another shove sent her close enough that one hand brushed the fabric, and she was gone.

“We could let some of them stay,” Hanner said.

Gerath shook his head. “I was sent here to get everyone out, and I’m getting everyone out. If some of them slip back in, that’s not my problem. For now, though, everyone goes.”

“What about Rudhira?” the last of the Called, a middle-aged man Hanner thought might be named Elner, asked.

Gerath frowned. “I’ll make an exception for her. I don’t want to go searching for a crazed throat-cutting murderer; do you?”

“No,” Elner, if that was his name, agreed. He stepped forward, and vanished.

Hanner stared at the tapestry, and the empty patch of floor where Elner had stood, and then turned to look at Gerath.

Crazed throat-cutting murderer?

Technically, Hanner had to admit the description was fairly accurate, but since her attack on Vond had probably saved his life, and quite possibly the lives of hundreds of other people, he did not think of it as