bethat drastic. Apparently the other two members of the triumvirate favor this solution, as well.”
“Can’t you find out what caused all this?” Abdaran asked.
Manrin turned up an empty palm. “We’re trying,” he said. “So far we’ve established that it wasn’t the work of a god, that despite the similarities it’s not witchcraft, that it isn’t any recognizable form of wizardry that’s responsible.” He looked at Ulpen again. “And wethought that it didn’t affect wizards. You do have a proper athame, don’t you, lad?”
Ulpen nodded and patted the sheathed dagger on his belt.
“Well, then we have a puzzle,” Manrin said. “A part of your soul is in that knife, and we thought that meant that wizards can’t do any other kind of magic. That’s why we forbid anyone to learn more than one kind of magic- because we thought we couldn’t do it, and we didn’t want anyone else to have an advantage over us. We know we can’t summon gods or demons, or learn witchcraft, because of our divided souls-but it would appear we can still be warlocks. Interesting!”
Ulpen swallowed hard, then said, “Guildmaster?”
“Yes? Speak freely, my boy.”
“I’m not sure Iam a wizard anymore.”
Manrin eyed the boy thoughtfully.
“Explain that, if you please,” he said.
Ulpen glanced at his master, took a deep breath, and said, “I haven’t worked a real spell since the night before last-since this thing happened. And I’ve tried four times. When it didn’t work I used the new magic instead.”
Manrin and Abdaran both stared at him for a moment. Then Manrin said, “Abdaran, would you be so kind as to test the boy’s athame?” Abdaran turned, puzzled. “Test it? How?”
Manrin sighed. How in the World had Abdaran ever qualified as a master wizard without learning these simple tricks? “Touch the tip of his athame with the tip of yours. We should see a clear reaction.”
Abdaran frowned, but drew his dagger. Ulpen drew his own and held it out, remembering at the last moment to offer it point first, instead of the standard polite hilt first.
Abdaran touched the knives together.
A sudden loud crackle sounded, and a burst of green and blue sparks appeared from the point of contact, spraying in all directions and then vanishing. Abdaran was so startled he dropped his own athame, but he caught it before it hit the floor.
Manrin frowned. “That’s odd,” he said. “You never tried that before?”
“No, Guildmaster,” Abdaran said, his tone more respectful than it had been a moment ago.
“It should have been more of abang, and there should have been more colors,” Manrin said unhappily. “So the boy is a wizard, but there is something notright about his athame. Was he a good student before this?”
“Competent enough,” Abdaran admitted. “Not brilliant, but he could work a dozen spells reliably.”
“Well, there’s definitely something wrong.” He picked up his own athame from the workbench. “Here, I’ll show you.” He held out the knife.
Abdaran rose from his chair and approached cautiously until at last the knife points touched. The air crackled again, and a shower of blue and purple sparks exploded from nowhere and vanished into nothingness.
Manrin stared. “Butthat’s not right!” he said. “That wasn’t any better at all. It must beyour athame that’s damaged! Here, boy, come try yours.”
Ulpen obeyed-but when his athame touched Manrin’s there was only a fizzing hiss, and a handful of indigo sparks trickled.
“Oh, no,” Manrin said, staring at the daggers.“Oh, please, no!”
The pieces had fallen into place.
“Guildmaster?” Abdaran said, puzzled.
“Get out!” Manrin bellowed, waving his free hand wildly. “Get out of here, right now! I must talk to the boyalone!”
Baffled and clearly upset, Abdaran retreated to the door. “I don’t...” he began.
“Out!”
“But he’smy apprentice...” Manrin brandished his athame. “Get out now, or I’ll turn you into a toad, I swear by all the gods!”
Abdaran got. Manrin closed the door behind him and locked it securely.
Then he turned to Ulpen.
“Now,” he said, “I want you to tell me how you move things, how you do your warlockry.”
“I don’t understand,” Ulpen said. His face was ashen with terror. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on, boy, is that you and I have something in common, though I didn’t realize it until I saw thatboth our atha-mes are somehow depleted. I was sosure that wizards would be immune that I missed the obvious!”
“The obviouswhat, Guildmaster?”
“ThatI’m a warlock, too! And that’s why I haven’t been able to work any high-order magic for the past two days!” He gestured with the athame. “We’re still wizards, you and I-we know the spells, and we have our athames-but this new magic is suppressing our skills.”
“It is? How can you be sure?”
Manrin had been on the verge of dancing around the room, but now he stopped and stared at Ulpen.
“I can besure with a simple divination,” he said. He looked at the Book of Spells, and the waiting salt, incense, and blood. “But we may need to have someone else perform the spell.”
“Should I call Abdaran back?”
Manrin held up a palm. “No,” he said. “I don’t think we want Abdaran involved; he’s just a country wizard. This is a Guild matter.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Serem should do.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Serem the Wise kept no servants; instead he had animated objects of various sorts that he considered sufficient for his needs. Manrin disagreed. Self-pouring teapots and perpetually moving fan trees were all very well, but the door did not answer itself. When Serem was training an apprentice that was no problem, but Kalinna was a journeyman now, and Serem had not yet taken on anyone new. That left Serem himself and his wife Gita as the only occupants of the big house at the corner of Grand and Wizard Streets.
And neither of them was rushing to answer the door.
Ulpen stood beside Manrin, staring up at the house’s many gables, as Manrin waited impatiently. After a moment he rapped on the black enamel of the door, since the bellpull had gotten no response.
If he had still been able to use magic properly he would have done something to verify that Serem was home, but that option was no longer reliable. He looked at the miniature shrines carved into the stone of the door frame, with their magically generated fire and water; when the house would be empty for an extended period Serem usually extinguished the flames and turned off the fountains, but right now both flames still burned behind the tiny altars, and water still flowed around the bases.
Idly, he used his mysterious new abilities to twist the left-hand flame into a spiral. Now that heknew he was a warlock he could consciously control the power, and such a trick was easy and, he had to admit, fun. Becoming a warlock was by no means entirely bad.
Ulpen’s gaze had worked its way down the painted corner-posts to the stone arch, and now he noticed what Manrin was doing.
“We could open the door ourselves, Guildmaster,” he said.
Startled, Manrin looked at him. The thought had not occurred to him, but of course Ulpen was right-unless there were magical protections Manrin didn’t know about, either of them could use warlockry to release the lock and open the door. He could sense the shape of the lock’s mechanism, and moving it without a key would be simple.
He didn’t do it, though.
