Kennan stood in the doorway of his house, looking out at the empty street, with Sanda pressing up behind him, peering over his shoulder. He was thinking.
At last he reached a decision.
“Someone has to know what’s going on,” he said, “and someone has to be doing something about it. I’m going to go to the Palace and demand an explanation.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sanda said.
Kennan turned and pushed her back inside.
“No, you won’t,” he said. “You’ll stay here and look after the children.”
“They’re all asleep...”
“No, I said!” Kennan glowered at her, his hand still pushing at her shoulder. “What if little Sarai wakes up and wants her mother? What if one of them gets sick? What if the magic tries to take one ofthem}”
“I couldn’t stop it...” Sanda began halfheartedly-but she was no longer resisting the pressure of Kennan’s hand.
“And what if Aken comes back as soon as I’m out of sight around the corner and finds usboth gone?”
Sanda blinked, suddenly silent, and stepped back into the house.
“I’ll stay here until you come back,” she said.
“Good,” Kennan said, lowering his hand. “Good.” He tried to smile at her, without much success. “Don’t worry, Sanda. I’ll find him. I don’t know why the magicians took him or what they did with him, but I’ll find out.” He stepped back inside long enough to give her a quick, reassuring hug, then turned and marched out of the house, closing the door tightly behind him.
The overlord would probably be asleep at this hour, closer to dawn than sunset, butsomeone at the Palace was surely awake, and someone there would either give him the answers he wanted or direct him to where they could be found.
If they didn’t, they would regret it.
Chapter Nine
The walk to the Palace took Hanner’s company more than two hours-they made detour after detour as they encountered one incident after another. Hanner took the time along the way to ask a few questions and learned that his other two flyers were Varrin the Weaver and Desset of Eastwark. He learned the names of about half the others, as well, including the four warlocks they had taken prisoner: the girl who had stolen jewelry was Kirsha the Younger; Saldan of Southgate had dueled with the warlock Rudhira killed; Roggit Rayel’s son had been looting cash from shops and taverns, and Gror of the Crooked Teeth had been smashing windows more or less at random.
Three other warlocks had fled and not been deemed worth pursuing; half a dozen had been calmed down and sent home. Had Hanner realized how many he would encounter, he thought, he might not have chosen to take Kirsha and Gror as prisoners, since they had not harmed anyone and seemed to have regretted their crimes-but having already made the decision, he was not inclined to reverse it.
The journey seemed interminable, but at last Hanner, at the head of his party, emerged from Arena Street into the torchlit plaza-and found himself facing a wall of guardsmen, lined up six deep, armed with spears.
Spears were either for show or for serious fighting and putting down riots or insurrections; swords and truncheons were standard for the far more usual patrol and police work.
“What’s going on?” Hanner demanded as the rest of his group, including the prisoners, emerged from the dark street and gathered behind him. Rudhira was still flying and swept up to hover above him.
The rows of guards promptly aimed their spears in her general direction.
“Put those down!” Hanner bellowed as best he could-he was exhausted, and at its best his voice had never been the commanding roar his uncle could produce, so the result was not very impressive. “She’s with me.”
“That’s Rudhira,” one of the soldiers said. “I know her.”
“Who ishe?” someone else asked.
“I am Lord Hanner,” Hanner shouted. “Nephew and heir to Lord Faran, the overlord’s chief advisor. Now, what’s going on here? Who’s in charge?”
The lines of spearmen shuffled for a moment, then parted, and a captain, gold-trimmed breastplate over his yellow tunic, stepped forward. He bore no spear, but his hand was on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
The face was familiar; Hanner, tired as he was, needed a few seconds before he could attach a name.
“Lord Hanner,” the captain said, before the name came to Hanner’s lips.
“Captain Naral,” Hanner said. “May I ask what is going on here, and why all these men are on parade in the middle of the night?”
“It’s no parade, my lord. Surely you’re aware of the mad magicians running riot through the city-you appear to have brought at least one of them with you.” He nodded toward Rudhira.
“Of course I’m aware!” Hanner said. “And I’ve brought some of them here for the overlord to deal with.” He gestured at his party. “We’ve taken four criminal warlocks prisoner and brought them for trial.”
“Warlocks?”
“That’s what the witches call them. Nobody else seems to have a name for them.”
“You’ve spoken to a witch about them, then?”
Manner nodded. “When I saw what was happening I went to the Wizards’ Quarter for advice. The magicians there are as puzzled as the rest of us, but Mother Perrea said this new magic resembles a technique used by witches in the Great War, and she called it war-locking.”
Naral frowned. “No one knew what caused this outbreak?”
“No one I spoke with,” Hanner confirmed.
“That’s bad.” The captain frowned again, then turned up an empty hand. “Well, perhaps by morning someone will have divined more.”
“And in the meantime, Captain, I have gathered several warlocks of goodwill, and with their aid taken four criminals prisoner, and I would like to bring them all into the Palace and get some sleep.”
Naral hesitated. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” he said at last.
Hanner had expected and dreaded this answer. “Why not?” he asked.
“We have been ordered to allow no one to enter the Palace, and most particularly not to allow any of these mad magicians— these warlocks, as you call them-near it.” “I’m sure my uncle didn’t mean that to includeme...”
“It wasn’t Lord Faran who gave the order, my lord,” Naral interrupted. “It was Lord Azrad himself. The overlord.”
Hanner blinked. “Oh,” he said.
That explained the apparent overreaction of lining up several hundred guards in the square. Lord Faran would probably have been more conservative of manpower; Lord Azrad, though, had never demonstrated any sense of proportion, nor shown any inclination to conserve anything but his own energy.
Right now Hanner was very much in the mood to conserve what little energy he had left himself-preferably while comfortably tucked into his own bed. He glanced up over his shoulder at Rudhira, and wondered how much she could carry.
“You realize that a warlock could probably just fly over your heads to reach the Palace?” he asked.
“She would have to fly through a storm of spears,” Naral said, his tone almost apologetic.
Hanner was not at all certain that would bother Rudhira, but decided against asking her. Instead he said, “Could someone please petition the overlord on my behalf? I’d very much like to get some sleep.”
“The overlord has retired for the night,” Naral said. “He gavevery strict orders that he was not to be disturbed except in the event of dire emergency.”
Hanner sighed deeply. “Then could someone send a message to my uncle, please? Lord Faran?”
Captain Naral considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll send someone. What’s the message?”
“Simply that I’m out here, with several friends and four prisoners, and we would like to enter the Palace-at the very least,I would like to enter, to go to bed.”
“I’ll tell him, but I doubt he’ll defy the overlord’s edict. Lord Azrad was quite emphatic.”
