“You’re just an apprentice,” Hanner said. “I’m sure you’d have heard about it eventually.”
Actually, he wasn’t sure of anything of the kind, but there was no reason to say so. Ulpen did not look happy about any of this.
In fact, Hanner noticed that Manrin had done virtually all the talking, and it occurred to him that Ulpen might not even have wanted to come here. As an apprentice he had to do as he was told, and Manrin had told him to come here-but he might notlike it.
That would be something to keep in mind; they might want to keep an eye on the boy.
“So the Inner Circle is meeting to discuss the situation?” Faran said. “Do you have any idea how long this might take?”
Manrin grimaced. “It could beyears,” he said. “These are master wizards, the least of them my equal. I’m one hundred and eleven years old, and expect to live many years yet, and by the standards of the Inner Circle I’m scarcely more than a journeyman. They have the Spell of Sustenance, so they needn’t worry about food or drink; they have youth spells, at the very least, and some of them have genuine eternal life. Time does not mean the same thing to them that it does to ordinary people like you.”
“But...” Manner began.
Manrin held up a hand to silence him. “I don’t think itwill take years,” he said. “I think they’ll recognize the urgency of the situation and act quickly. But how quickly, I have no idea.” Hanner bit back a protest.
He didn’t want this to drag on for years, or months, or even another sixnight. He wanted everyone to come to their senses and simply treat warlocks aspeople.
All Hanner really wanted was to go back home to the Palace and sleep in his own bed-well, that, and to get to know Mavi better, and eventually to find himself a career other than palace parasite. He had walked Mavi home again the night before. She had turned up again today, bringing her friend Pancha, and he had been very pleased to see her, even though they hadn’t had a chance to talk.
He would have been even more pleased if they were all back in the Palace, and none of them were warlocks.
He didn’t say that, of course. He looked silently at his uncle.
“Then the question is-” Faran began.
Hanner never found out what the question was; just then a crash sounded from the hallway, like a door being smashed open, and Rudhira’s voice called, “I think you better get down here right now!”
Chapter Twenty-five
The crowd of warlocks at the foot of the stairs parted as the four men hurried down.
The front door stood open, and in the gate beyond stood Captain Naral of the city guard, with some twenty fully armed guardsmen arrayed behind him. The street beyond this party was crowded with curious onlookers of every description. Lord Hanner, looking over his uncle’s shoulder, spotted the persistent old man there, his expression annoyingly satisfied.
“Lord Faran?” Naral called when he saw the foursome appear.
“Yes, of course, Captain,” Faran said. “What can I do for you?”
Naral took a deep breath, puffing out his armored chest, then proclaimed loudly, “By order of Azrad the Sixth, Overlord of Eth-shar of the Spices, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Eth-shars, Commander of the Holy Navies and Defender of the Gods, you are hereby required to depart from this city of Ethshar immediately, by which is meant that you must be without the city walls within the hour. You are to take with you any and all persons of your acquaintance who are in any degree affected by the magic known as ’warlockry.’ You are furthermore forbidden to return within the city walls at any time or for any reason until written permission has been given in the overlord’s own hand. Any property you leave within the city will be sold, and the net proceeds sent to you in your place of exile. I am here to escort you to one of the city gates or to a departing vessel. Failure to comply with this command will be punished with death, at such time and by such means as shall be expedient.”
He managed to deliver the entire speech at a fairly impressive volume without taking a breath, which Hanner found remarkable. He was also surprised that Naral had managed to deliver the formal wording perfectly, including the added sentence about warlocks, without stumbling or hesitating. The rest was the standard sentence of exile, which Hanner had heard pronounced once or twice before, but usually it went directly from “within the hour” to “you are furthermore forbidden.”
“You can’t be serious,” Lord Faran said, leaning gracefully against the door frame.
“I’m completely serious, my lord,” Captain Naral said. “Lord Azrad wants you out of the city at once.”
“Lord Azrad can go juggle fish,” Faran replied.
Half those listening gasped at that; the other half was stunned into silence.
“Now, you see?” Naral said when he had regained his composure. “I’m sure that’s exactly the sort of thing that’s gotten Lord Azrad so annoyed.” He drew his sword. “I’m afraid, my lord, that I must escort you to the gate, either peacefully or by force. It’s your choice. I assume that Westgate will suit you?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Faran said. He nodded once, and the sword in Naral’s hand suddenly twisted out of the soldier’s grip and fell to the hard-packed dirt of the street beyond the fence.
Naral quickly stooped and grabbed it up again.
“Captain,” Faran said, “I’m a warlock. This house isfull of warlocks. I can easily handle you. I might not be able to handle all your men, but I’m sure some of the others here would be glad to help me out with that.”
“Don’t kill anyone,” Hanner whispered over his uncle’s shoulder.
“I wasn’t planning to,” Faran said back without turning his head, speaking in a voice so low no one more than a yard away could hear it.
Hanner turned, looking over the other warlocks. He was at Faran’s right shoulder; Manrin was at the left, and Ulpen stood just behind Manrin, looking very unhappy indeed. The others had all hung back slightly; Rudhira was closest, a step behind Hanner, while a dozen others were gathered in the adjoining rooms, watching through the windows or listening from the doorways.
Rudhira was the obvious choice to ask for assistance; Hanner knew her, trusted her to keep control, and knew her warlock abilities were among the most powerful of anyone present. “Rudhira,” Hanner whispered, beckoning. “Come here-my uncle may need some help.”
Rudhira came up behind Hanner-literally up; she lifted herself off the floor so that she could see past the men in the doorway, and hung several inches off the floor as she peered out at the guards. “Don’t kill them,” Hanner said. “They’re just following orders.”
Rudhira nodded.
Naral was clearly thinking it over, but at last he called, “Lord Faran, please reconsider. I’m just carrying out the overlord’s commands. Maybe you can stopme, but you can’t stop the entire city!”
“I really doubt we’ll have to,” Faran said with a smile. “But if we do-you know, I’m not sure we can’t. We don’t know just what warlockry can do. We’re only just starting to learn. Are yousure we can’t stop the entire city?”
Naral sighed.
“I have my orders,” he said. “Now, will you come peacefully?”
“I won’t come at all,” Faran said. He straightened up and stepped back, inside the threshold.
He couldn’t close the door; Manrin was in the way, standing with his back to the door handle. The wizard had been staring out at the soldiers and took a moment to realize that Faran was glaring at him, and another moment to realize why. He said, “Oh,” then started to move aside.
By then it was too late-Naral was leading a charge, the entire score of guardsmen rushing toward the gate, yelling at the top of their lungs. The watching crowd was enthusiastically cheering them on.
Faran and Manrin were distracted, Hanner had no idea what to do, but it didn’t matter. Rudhira waved a hand, and the soldiers were swept off their feet, tumbling backward as if a huge wave had struck them head-on, spears and swords clattering as they fell to the ground.
The yelling stopped abruptly, the cheering crowd fell suddenly silent, and for a moment the rattle and thudding of the soldiers, their weapons, and their armor hitting the ground were clearly audible.
