out of sight of the petitioners, then broke into a trot, heading directly for Vond’s bedchamber.
As he had expected, he found Vond there, sitting in a chair and staring at the gaping hole, edged with bits of glass and leading, that had once been the window overlooking the courtyard gardens.
“I can’t even fix the window,” Vond said without preamble as Sterren entered.
“I’ll have the servants take care of it immediately,” Sterren said.
“Sterren,” Vond wailed, “I can’t even fix the damned window! I can’t do anything. I can’t afford to lose my temper; I was struggling as hard as I could to shut out the magic down there, but you heard my voice, you felt the wind. How can I live without magic?”
“I didn’t feel any wind,” Sterren said truthfully. “I saw your clothes move, so I knew what happened, but it didn’t reach me. You had it almost under control. It will take practice, that’s all. Most people live their whole lives without magic. You ask how you can live without it; ask how long you can live with it.”
Vond turned and glared at him. “You did this to me,” he said bitterly.
“You did it to yourself,” Sterren retorted. “And whoever did it, it’s done now, isn’t it?”
“Oh, gods!” Vond burst out, throwing himself from the chair to the bed. “And the nightmares have already begun!”
“You’ve only had one so far,” Sterren pointed out, “and that was right after working the mightiest magic any warlock has ever performed. Perhaps, if you use no more magic, you won’t have any more nightmares.” “Oh, get out of here!” Vond shouted. Sterren retreated to the door. “I’ll send the servants to fix the window,” he said as he left.
CHAPTER 39
There were no nightmares that night, or the next, and Vond grew more optimistic. He stayed sequestered in his apartments, but spoke of venturing forth again and taking up his role as emperor, when he had adjusted to using no magic.
Even the rain on the second day did not seriously dampen his spirits. If anything, this sign that he was no longer controlling the weather seemed to cheer the warlock.
On the third night his screams woke the entire palace. Sterren took the stairs three steps at a time on his way to Vond’s chamber.
Two guards and Vond’s valet were already there, staring in shocked silence as Vond, hanging a foot off the floor, beat on the north wall of the room with his fists.
“Your Majesty,” Sterren called. “Remember, use your feet!”
Vond looked at him unseeingly and then seemed to emerge from a daze. He looked down, then dropped to the floor, and fell to his knees.
He knelt there, shaking. Sterren crossed to him and put an arm around his shoulder.
“You,” he said, pointing to one guard, “go get brandy. And you, go get an herbalist.” They hurried away.
The valet asked, “Is there anything...”
“Go find the theurgist, Agor,” Sterren said.
The valet vanished, leaving Sterren alone with the terrified warlock. He looked up at the wall, where a small smear of red showed that Vond had scraped his hand on the rough edge of a stone.
“Why were you hitting the wall?” Sterren asked.
“I don’t know,” Vond replied. “Was I?” He looked up, saw the streak of blood, then looked down at his injured hand, puzzled.
“Was it the nightmares?” Sterren asked.
Vond almost growled. “Of course it was, idiot!” He looked up at the blood again and asked, “Was I flying?”
“Yes,” Sterren said.
“I used magic, then. No matter how careful I am, the nightmares can make me use magic. It’s not fair!”
“No,” Sterren agreed. “It’s not fair.”
The guard returned with the brandy, and Sterren helped steady the glass as Vond drank. When the warlock had caught his breath again, he asked, “Did I say anything?”
“No,” Sterren told him, “I don’t think so.” The guard cleared his throat.
Sterren glanced at him. “Was there something before I got here?” he asked.
“He was crying, my lord,” the soldier said, “and saying something about needing to go somewhere. I couldn’t make out all of it.”
Then the herbalist arrived.
Half an hour later Vond was in bed again, feeling the effects of a sleeping potion the herbalist had brewed, and the little crowd of concerned subjects was breaking up, drifting out of the imperial bedchamber one by one.
Sterren departed and headed back up for his own room.
The incident had shaken his nerves. It had been easy enough to say that Vond had to go, but to watch him slowly being destroyed by the Calling was not easy at all.
Sterren was not sure he could take it.
Perhaps, he thought, it was time to go home to Ethshar. Vond could not follow him. The old Semman nobility was scattered and powerless, save for Kalira and Algarven, and they would have no particular reason to want him back. But no, he told himself, that was cowardice. Not that he was particularly brave, but it was worse than ordinary cowardice. He had created the whole situation; to run away and leave it for others to clean up the mess was despicable. It went beyond cowardice, into treachery.
It would be cheating, and he was an honest gambler. He did not cheat. He did not welsh.
He would stay and watch what he had wrought.
He almost reconsidered two nights later, when another nightmare sent Vond blazing into the sky like a comet. He awoke and fell to earth a mile north of the palace; Sterren and a dozen guards marched out to fetch him back.
CHAPTER 40
On the twenty-fourth of Leaf color, 5221, Sterren awoke suddenly and was startled to see sunlight pouring in his bedroom window. It had been two sixnights since he had slept the night through, without being awakened by another of Vond’s Calling nightmares.
He sat up and realized that he was not alone in the room, that he had been awakened. He blinked, then recognized the man who had awakened him as Vond’s valet.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“He’s gone,” the valet said.
Sterren wasted no time with further questions; he rose and followed the servant at a trot through the palace passages, back to the warlock’s bedchamber.
The bed was empty and not particularly disturbed; the coverlet was thrown back on one side, as if Vond had gotten up for a moment, perhaps to use the chamberpot, and had not yet returned.
The often-repaired window to the courtyard was open.
Vond was gone.
It was over; whatever it was that lurked in the hills of Aldagmor had taken another warlock.
Sterren almost wanted to laugh with relief, but instead he found himself weeping.
When he had regained control of himself, he asked the valet, “What time is it?”
“I don’t know, my lord; I awoke an hour or so after dawn, I think, and came in and found it like this. I
