If it was so, then any hope he might have had that these warlocks would all use up their power and return to normal was gone.
He turned to the older man and stepped forward, picking his way through the wreckage. “Hold him down,” he called to Yorn and the others as he approached.
Hanner’s route took him past one of the bodies, an old woman, and from the glassy staring eyes and bloodless complexion he was fairly certain she was. dead. He didn’t look; instead he focused on the older warlock.
The man was recovering from his fall-enough to turn his head and look up at Hanner.
“My lord,” he said, recognizing Hanner’s attire.
“Let me go,” Rudhira’s foe said. “I’ll go away if you let me up!”
“Just keep him there for now,” Hanner called back over his shoulder. Then he returned his attention to the older man.
“That one says he killed three people,” Hanner said, indicating the other downed warlock with a jerk of his head. “How many didyou kill?”
“I didn’ttry to kill anyone,” the older warlock said.
“Just let me go!” the younger warlock said. “If you’re right that it’s just practice, then there’s no reason to hurt me!”
“Shut up!” Hanner bellowed at him. “Rudhira, you keep him right where he is.” He turned back to the older man.
“You didn’ttry to,” he said.“Did you?”
“I might have,” the warlock admitted. “I did make some of the mess, I admit it-I was defending myself against that lunatic!”
“Why did you help him fight Rudhira?”
The older man shrugged. “A mistake,” he said. “That fool attacked me-challengedme, he said, for control of the street. I got caught up in it, and when she interrupted us it seemed like an unwelcome nuisance.”
Hanner nodded. “The heat of battle,” he said. “I’ve heard it can make a person do stupid things.”
“Yes, exactly, my lord.”
“And now that the battle’s over, what do you intend to do?”
The man glanced around at the rubble-strewn street, the burning buildings, the old woman’s corpse.
“I suspect I will stand trial before a city magistrate, where I will plead for leniency because I was driven mad by my nightmares and this new magic.” He sighed. “And then I suppose I’ll spend the rest of my life as a slave or in a dungeon somewhere, if I’m not simply hanged.”
“If your plea for leniency is accepted, you might just be flogged or exiled from the city,” Hanner said. “And I think you can reasonably point to all the others who ran wild tonight as evidence to support your case. I take it you’re surrendering to us?”
“I don’t have much of a choice.” Hanner smiled slightly. “No, you don’t,” he agreed.
Then he turned to the other man. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked.
“I went mad too, I think,” the younger man said. “I thought I waschosen, that the dreams meant I had to do something with this power I was given. I thought I would fight my way up, killing the others and taking their power, until I was the most powerful magician in the World, and then I would rule all of Ethshar.”
“What about the overlord?” Rudhira demanded.“He rules Ethshar, and he’s not a magician at all!”
“I was going to kill him,” the man admitted.
“That’s treason,” Yorn said.
“Lord Azrad’s a fat old fool!” the warlock shouted, sitting up-Hanner saw Rudhira’s startled expression when he was able to do so; she had clearly not intended to let him up.
“He’s still the overlord,” Hanner said.
“Notmy overlord,” the warlock said, struggling against something invisible.
“Stop fighting,” Hanner ordered him.
“May demons gnaw your bones,” the warlock said. He raised a hand-and suddenly his head twisted around to one side, impossibly far, and Hanner heard the snap of breaking bone. The warlock fell back, limp and lifeless.
Rudhira smiled with satisfaction. Hanner stared up at her. “You didn’t have to kill him!” he shouted.
“He was a traitor and a murderer and I was defending myself,” Rudhira said flatly.
That was obviously true, but Hanner was still upset by her actions. He started to phrase a further protest when the older warlock said, “I helped her.”
“He did,” Rudhira agreed.
Hanner looked from one to the other. He had the distinct feeling that his control of the situation was not as secure as it should be, and that any further disputes would only erode it further.
“Well, what’s done is done,” he said. “Get up, you, and come along-we’re heading for the Palace, and if you cooperate we’ll put in a good word for you when the time comes.” He reached down a hand to help the warlock up.
The older man rolled over and took Hanner’s hand.
A moment later the entire party was once again marching down Fish Street, leaving the surviving inhabitants of the neighborhood, now warily emerging from their ruined homes, to put out the fires and clean up the mess.
Chapter Eight
Kirsha sat in the middle of the street, wrapped in wine-red velvet while a cluster of stolen jewelry orbited slowly above her head, and shivered, despite the warmth of the summer night and the heat from the burning tannery a block to the north. Bolts of cloth lay strewn on the street around her. It wasn’t a dream. She was sure of that now. She had begun to doubt it some time ago, when she realized she could feel the heat of the flames and the hard ground beneath her bare feet when she landed. Her dreams were never so detailed as this.
It was magic, some terrible magic, and she had been caught up in it and done crazy things. She had stolen all this pretty cloth, a dozen silver rounds’ worth at the very least, and the jewelry, which was probably worth the same in gold. She had smashed in people’s shop windows, and had flung broken window glass at people who annoyed her...
She shuddered at that, and thanked the gods that she hadn’t hit anyone.
At least, she didn’tthink she had.
Just then she heard voices and looked up to see a woman flying.
For a moment she almost reconsidered, and decided she was dreaming after all. The woman practically glowed red in the torchlight and moonlight and firelight; her clothing was all red and gold, her very hair was an orange color Kirsha had never seen before, her face was heavily made up so that her cheeks shone red, and she was flying along as casually as a hummingbird.
Then the woman called to her, “Are you all right?” and she knew it wasn’t a dream.
“No,” Kirsha said miserably, huddling down under her stolen velvet.
“Lord Hanner!” the woman in red called. “This way!”
Two more flying apparitions appeared around the corner, and a small crowd of people on foot. Kirsha felt something close around her, and suddenly the spinning, flying jewelry fell to the ground.
A plump, curly-haired young man in a silk-trimmed tunic came trotting up to her. “Are you injured?” he asked.
“She’s fine, physically,” the woman in red replied.
“Just upset,” said the other flying woman, who wore green and brown and was fatter and older than the first.
“Who are you?” Kirsha asked.
“I am Lord Hanner,” the plump young man said. “These are warlocks under my command-people affected by this magic.”
