other two triumvirs agree that warlocks should be exterminated throughout the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, he’ll go along. He’ll have to; that’s how the triumvirate works on issues that affect all three cities, by majority vote.”
“But-” Ulpen began.
“But maybe theywon’t agree,” Manrin said before Ulpen could get another word out, “because Lord Azrad may well change his mind. By all accounts he’s let Lord Faran run Ethshar of the Spices for him for the past ten years, and Lord Faran wants to protect warlocks. We’re going there to find Lord Faran, and join up with him, and do everything we can to help him convince Lord Azrad.” He hesitated, then added, “Besides, if we’re to have any chance of influencing the Guild’s position on all this, we need to talk to Ithinia. She’s the senior Guildmaster in Ethshar of the Spices.”
“Butyou’re a Guildmaster!”
“I amthe junior Guildmaster here,” Manrin said. “That’s why I’m responsible for rural wizards like yourself. Perinan is the senior, and there are four others that I know of, all of whom outrank me.”
“That youknow of?” Ulpen’s voice cracked. “The Guild is a little too fond of secrets for its own good, my boy. There is a great deal going on within it that the ordinary members never hear about, and there are things that not even a Guildmaster necessarily knows.” He knocked on the door. “You know, Serem may be a Guildmaster, or if he is not as yet, he’ll probably become one soon. Now, let’s move along.”
Derneth opened the door, and Manrin stepped in, telling Der-neth, “Pack me a bag-I need to take a trip. I’ll be gone for at least a few days; I’m not sure exactly how long.”
“In the city, Master?”
“In Ethshar of the Spices.”
Derneth nodded. “As you say.”
Twenty minutes later Abdaran had been sent home without his apprentice, and Manrin was waiting impatiently at the door while Ulpen stared about, still trying to comprehend what was happening. Events were moving far too quickly for him. He had his pack on his shoulders; it was far lighter than it had been on the walk from North Herris, since he was no longer carrying any of Abdaran’s belongings.
It was discomfiting to be out of Abdaran’s keeping and in a strange place. He had only met Manrin an hour or two before, yet he had put himself entirely in the Guildmaster’s hands. He wondered whether that was really proper and in keeping with the terms of his apprenticeship and his oaths to the Guild.
At last Derneth appeared with yet another bag. Manrin picked up the two he had already had, and reached for this new bundle, but Ulpen took it from Derneth. “If I might help, Guildmaster?” he said.
“Good,” Manrin said. “Good.” He looked at Derneth. “Take care of the place,” he said. “I really don’t know when I’ll be back. Tell my children not to worry. If Ferris returns, tell one of the neighbors to let me know with the Spell of Invaded Dreams.”
“Yes, Master,” Derneth said.
“And take care of yourself, Derneth,” Manrin said. “I know I’ve treated you rudely much of the time, but you’ve always done a fine job and never complained.”
Ulpen watched as the expression of weary resignation that had been on Derneth’s face every time Ulpen had seen him suddenly cracked into real concern. “It’s that serious, Master?”
“It might be-but you aren’t involved. You’ll be fine. And it might all come to nothing. We’ll see.” With that, he hefted his two bags up on his shoulders and marched out the door.
Ulpen hurried after him.
He glanced back when they were half a block down Gate Street and saw Derneth still standing in the open doorway, staring after them.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” Hanner asked, looking at the odd black talisman that Uncle Faran said was his link to Guildmaster Ithinia.
They were sitting in the front parlor of the house on High Street, in a pair of chairs by the mantel that Hanner supposed would be cozy in the winter, with the black talisman on a small table between them. Right now, in the heat of summer, with no fire on the hearth, the main virtue of this location was that it was out of the way of the various warlocks moving hither and yon through the house.
Lord Faran turned up an empty palm. “They’re wizards,” he replied. “What did you expect?”
Hanner could hardly argue with that; he knew well that most wizards kept their own schedules, ignoring the convenience of lesser beings-though he had never been able to decide whether this was arrogance or sloppiness. “If they don’t reach a decision soon Lord Azrad may get tired of waiting,” he said. “He’s never struck me as a patient man.”
“He’s not,” Faran agreed. “He gets bored easily and hates waiting for anything. That’s why he let me and his three brothers and his other advisors run everything. But he hates doing his own work even more, usually.” He tapped the talisman, but it remained inert.
He frowned. “Maybe I should see if I have some other way to determine whether she’s trying to contact me.”
“Can’t you just use that?” Hanner said, gesturing at the talisman. It occurred to him for the first time that his uncle might not actually know everything about how the sorcerous device worked; perhaps Faran wasn’t confident that the thing would do what it was supposed to.
“It might interrupt something,” Faran said. “If she’s meeting with other Guildmasters I don’t want to suddenly start talking to her from the talisman. That would be rude.” He grimaced. “I can’t think what I might use, but I can’t remember everything I’ve got up there.” He rose from his chair and picked up the talisman. “You know something about magic-or at least you ought to, after all the time you’ve spent in the Wizards’ Quarter on my behalf. Why don’t you come upstairs with me and see if you have any suggestions?”
“I’d be glad to,” Hanner said, getting to his feet.
That was the simple truth, for several reasons.
First off, he was eager to help out. He doubted he really knew enough about magic to be helpful, but he would be happy to try. Second, he was desperately curious about just what Uncle Faran had stashed away up there. The sorcerous device that let two people speak to one another despite any intervening distance was completely unlike anything Hanner had seen before-most of the sorcerers he knew specialized in healing, or in consulting oracles, or in working with odd little things like fire-starters and lost-object locators. A few offered the use of magical weapons. None had ever mentioned anything like Faran’s talisman. Hanner wanted very much to see what else Faran might have acquired in his years of research.
Third, the mansion’s ground floor was getting almost crowded. Warlocks had been drifting in, one or two at a time, all day; word was circulating through the city that this was a refuge for them, a place they could come when their former homes cast them out or their neighbors made them unwelcome. As news of disappearances and destruction spread, more and more warlocks were being cast out or made unwelcome.
Faran and Hanner-and Bern when he was there; at the moment he had gone out to market to replenish the pantries-had made them all welcome.
Most of Manner’s party from the Night of Madness had returned, along with assorted friends and neighbors and various other warlocks who had somehow heard about the refuge at the corner of High Street and Coronet. Mavi, though not a warlock herself, had brought an afflicted friend, a young woman named Pancha; after seeing Pancha introduced and settled in, Mavi had stayed on to visit with Alris. They were upstairs, in the room Alris shared with Rudhira.
Hanner had hoped that Mavi would also visit withhim, but Uncle Faran had had him running errands at the time, assigning new arrivals to various guest rooms, which had kept him too busy to socialize.
Hinda, the little kitchen girl from the Palace, was now busily cleaning out the kitchens here, eager to earn her keep; Rudhira and half a dozen others were out in the garden, holding some sort of competition in the use of warlockry.
That left a score of others wandering about the parlors, salons, and halls of the ground floor. While Hanner
