had grown up amid the bustle of the overlord’s palace, he still felt a little strained by this population of strangers.
Fourth, he wanted to get farther away from the front windows and their view of High Street.
The influx of warlocks had not gone unnoticed; Hanner supposed that people had followed Faran from the square when he first arrived. Certainly, ever since shortly after that there had been a varying number of observers, standing in the street and watching the house intently. Individuals came and went, but whenever Hanner looked out someone was there-usually about half a dozen at a time. One old man seemed particularly determined, and was there at the dooryard fence, glowering at the house, every time Hanner looked.
Hanner was not at all sure what these people thought they were accomplishing by this unrelenting scrutiny, but apparently they had something in mind-and he was fairly sure, from the looks they gave anyone entering or leaving the house, that their intentions were hostile. Warlocks who were capable of flight had mostly been arriving by way of the garden, rather than passing this group; earthbound warlocks had been approaching cautiously, then making a dash through the gate to the front door.
Nobody in the house liked the presence of these stubborn sentinels, but there really wasn’t much that could be done about it. A person had the right to stand in the public street, after all. So long as they stayed outside the iron fence, Faran could not order them to leave.
And there they stood, making Hanner uncomfortable. Going up to the third or fourth floor would get him away from the watchers, and away from the crowd of warlocks.
“Come on, then,” Faran said as he started toward the stairs.
But just then the hum of street noise suddenly rose in volume, and Faran and Hanner both paused. They looked at each other as the conversation among the warlocks around them faded away.
Everyone had heard the change. The people out front of the house were yelling now, though no one inside could make out words. The motley collection of warlocks looked about nervously. Several went to the front windows and peered around the drapes.
“Blood and death,” Faran said. “What are they doing now?” He redirected his steps to the front door.
Hanner followed.
Faran swung the door wide and stood in the doorway, looking out-and leaving Hanner no good way to see past his uncle.
“What is it?” Hanner asked.
“It would appear we have company coming,” Faran replied. “Company in wizards’ robes.”
“Ithinia?”
“No,” Faran said. “It’s someone I never saw before, an old man with an apprentice.”
“How would they know where we are?” someone Hanner didn’t know asked from the parlor.
Hanner could see Faran struggling to stay polite.
“They’re wizards,” he said. “You’re no wizard, andyou found it. And those people out front certainly aren’t making much of an effort to keep it secret.”
“... teach those warlocks about magic!” someone shouted from the street.
“One wizard and an apprentice coming here can’t be much of a threat,” Othisen said, coming up beside Hanner.
Hanner snorted. “If the Guild had decided to kill us they wouldn’t need to come here in person at all,” he said. “I’d guess they’re bringing a message.” He glanced at Faran. “Maybe that talisman isn’t working properly.”
“I’d think Ithinia would have come herself or sent...” Faran stopped in midsentence as the strangers turned and stepped through the open gate into the little dooryard under the intense scrutiny of various observers. “Greetings,” he said. “I am Lord Faran, formerly chief advisor to Lord Azrad.”
“I am Manrin the Mage,” replied one of the strangers-a stocky old man of medium height wearing a white and gold wizard’s robe. “This young man is Ulpen of North Herris. I understand you’ve been gathering warlocks here.”
Faran cocked his head. “If you’ll excuse me for asking, Master Wizard, if I have, how does this concern you? Are you here to speak on behalf of the Wizards’ Guild?”
“I am here on my own behalf, not the Guild’s,” Manrin said. “If we could enter and perhaps speak privately, I will be glad to explain myself.” He glanced over his shoulder at the old man staring through the fence at them.
Faran followed Manrin’s gaze, then bowed and stepped aside. “Enter, then, and be welcome.”
The wizards were plainly startled by what they found inside, though Hanner was not sure whether they were most surprised by the opulent furnishings, the number of warlocks milling about, or the bizarre assortment of attire on display, ranging from Faran’s fine court silk to Zarek’s rags. Manrin quickly hid his reaction, but Ulpen stared about openly.
“You wanted to speak privately?” Faran said.
“If we could,” Manrin said.
“If you’ll come upstairs to my study, then?” Faran gestured toward the stairs and took a step in that direction.
“Of course.” Manrin beckoned to Ulpen to accompany him as he followed Faran.
Faran, seeing this, beckoned to Hanner. “Lord Hanner will accompany us,” he said.
Othisen threw Hanner an envious glance, then stepped aside and let the foursome ascend.
Hanner was not sure at first just what study his uncle was referring to-there was a study on the ground floor, he knew, but not one on the second so far as he had observed. That question was answered, however, when Faran unlocked the door to the second staircase, the one leading to the third story.
“I hope you’ll forgive the dust,” Faran said. “I don’t allow the servants to clean up here.”
Manrin made a polite wordless noise in reply. Hanner ran his hand along the left-hand banister, then sneezed-the dust was indeed plentiful. Ulpen didn’t say or touch anything; he looked frightened. Hanner wondered whether Ulpen’s discomfort came merely from being among warlocks or from something else entirely.
At the top of the stairs Faran led the way down a broad passageway. The walls were painted white and a worn red and gold carpet ran the length of the corridor; the luxurious furnishings of the two lower floors were notably absent, and a long scorch mark on one wall had been left unrepaired. Hanner noticed that the burn was obviously not recent, as dust and cobwebs were just as thick there as elsewhere.
Faran opened a door and ushered the party into a good-sized but dim room. As the others stood around uncertainly Faran opened the heavy drapes on two big west-facing windows, letting in the late-afternoon sunlight; it cut through the room in bright shafts alive with dancing dust and illuminated several chairs and walls lined with chests of drawers.
It didn’t look much like a study to Hanner, as there was no desk and the only books were a set of ledgers atop one of the chests. It didn’t look particularly magical, either, and there was no obvious reason to have kept it so carefully locked, though Hanner supposed the drawers might contain almost anything.
But it was somewhere private to talk.
Faran gestured to the chairs and pulled one forward for himself. “Now, Master,” he said as he seated himself, “why have you come here?”
“I understand that you are gathering warlocks here, and that you have undertaken to defend them against overreaction regarding the disturbances on the Night of Madness,” Manrin said as he settled carefully onto a chair.
“That’s more or less the situation,” Faran agreed. “What of it?”
Manrin and Ulpen glanced nervously at each other.
“In that case,” Manrin said, “we would like to join your group.”
Faran cocked his head to one side. Hanner said, “But you’re wizards, aren’t you?”
“We are,” Manrin agreed. “However, we are also warlocks.” He looked around for a convenient demonstration, and one of the ledgers lifted itself from the chest of drawers. It hovered for a moment, then settled back into place.
Faran and Hanner watched this silently; then Faran turned back to the wizards and asked, “Your apprentice, too?”
“He’s notmy apprentice,” Manrin said. “He’s Abdaran’s apprentice-Abdaran the White, a village wizard of no
