said nothing more on the subject.
“I think I’ll go upstairs,” he said instead. “To talk to my uncle.”
“Tell him we’re still guarding the house,” Othisen said. “No one’s getting past Rudhira and me!”
“I’ll tell him,” Hanner said, turning away.
He didn’t mention thathe had gotten in while they were on watch.
As he headed for the stairs he glanced back and saw the six warlocks gazing out the windows at the angry crowd outside. This couldn’t go on indefinitely, Hanner knew. Something would have to be done.
Outside, Kennan stared in through the window at the people in the parlor. The redheaded whore was there, and the tall old woman, and the farmboy.
And the fat nobleman, Lord Hanner, had spoken to them, but he was gone now.
Those people had taken his son, he was certain of it, and somehow he was going to see them pay.
Chapter Thirty
Lord Faran had reclaimed his own bed, naturally, so Hanner awoke on the morning of the seventh day of Summer-heat in one of the guest rooms, where he had shared a bed with Othisen. The farmboy had snored gently, but never moved once he was asleep; Hanner had on occasion shared beds with worse, when visiting.
He arose without disturbing his roommate and made his way downstairs, to see whether the house was still besieged, and whether Bern was serving breakfast.
Four weary warlocks were in the parlor when Hanner walked past-Yorn, Hinda, one he didn’t recognize...
And Kirsha, the girl who had gotten five lashes for theft and vandalism. Hanner stopped dead in his tracks and said, “What are you doing here?”
“Standing guard,” Hinda said proudly.
Kirsha looked up. “Didn’t you know, my lord?”
“How...?” Hanner began, but then stopped; he knew perfectly well what they were guarding against. He had been asking why Kirsha was there.
Yorn glanced at Hanner and called, “Three bricks, a stone, and a flung torch so far this morning, my lord. All safely deflected.”
Hanner asked, “Did you chase away the people who threw them?”
Yorn shook his head. “No,” he said. “We four aren’t all that strong; all the strong ones are asleep. And I thought it might just make them mad.”
“Good thought,” Hanner said. He hesitated, then asked, “What’s Kirsha doing here?”
Yorn looked at Hanner, then at the girl, then back at Hanner. “She arrived last night,” he said. “Along with Ilvin, here.”
Ilvin, the warlock Hanner hadn’t recognized, bowed slightly in acknowledgment. Hanner nodded in response, then returned to Kirsha. “But she... on the Night of Madness...”
“I went a little mad,” Kirsha said. “Yes, I did. And you people caught me, and brought me to the magistrate, and he had me flogged and sent me home-and when the neighbors found out I was back, and that I was a warlock, I had to leave again unless I wanted to kill somebody, or let them kill me. I didn’t want either one, so I came here.” She patted Ilvin on the shoulder. “Ilvin’s my cousin. He only realized he was a warlock yesterday.”
“He’s welcome, of course,” Hanner said. “But you...”
“She’s a warlock,” Yorn said before Kirsha could speak. “She’s one of us now. She made a mistake and she paid for it, but now she’s come here for refuge, like the rest of us.”
“You don’t hold a grudge?” Hanner asked her.
Kirsha turned up a palm. “You did what you knew was right. I’d have been happier if you had let me go, or let me join your group, but you weren’t unfair.” “We healed her,” Hinda said.
“Well, Desset and Sheila did most of it,” Yorn said. “They were on guard when Kirsha got here, but the rest of us were here and did what we could to help. It was a chance for us all to learn how.”
Hanner remembered Desset well, since he had seen her just hours earlier, when she had awakened screaming from another of those peculiar nightmares. She was a plump, dark-eyed woman who had been in the party that had captured Kirsha in the first place. She was one of the three who had learned to fly right away, along with Rudhira and Varrin the Weaver.
She had seen the damage Kirsha did, the smashed shop windows and stolen jewelry; if she had helped heal the scars left by the whip, it wasn’t out of ignorance.
Criminals weren’t supposed to be magically healed after a flogging-the long-lasting discomfort was intended to be a reminder of crime’s consequences, and healing it theoretically lessened the effectiveness of the penalty. Wealthy lawbreakers, those who were willing to pay enough, could generally find some magician who could be “fooled” about the nature of the injury, of course.
But that wasn’t what had happened here. The warlocks had healed one of their own, simply because she was one of them. They were uniting, leaving their old lives behind and forming a new community.
And Hanner somehow suspected they would not appreciate it if he, who did not admit to being one of them, objected.
Besides, Kirshahad gone a little mad when that first... whatever-it-was had struck and filled her with magic. She had thought she was dreaming, and had not meant anyone any harm. That was clearly an extenuating circumstance.
And she had been cast out by her neighbors, presumably by her own family. Hanner coulddefinitely sympathize with that— after another night here he really missed his own bed in the Palace.
“Good,” he said. “We’re glad to have you. Guard well!” Then he waved and went on into breakfast.
He had missed Kirsha’s arrival and healing, but even so, Hanner had had a long, busy night. The people in the street out front had been throwing things every so often, shouting, and occasionally charging the gate ever since Hanner’s return; one old man, that persistent fellow who seemed to have been there longer than anyone else, had appeared to be leading them. The watch in the parlor to ward off these attacks was now permanent, with all the sufficiently capable warlocks in the house taking turns at it.
Manrin and Ulpen had attempted to put up magical wards around the rest of the house during the night, using what wizardry they could still make work, and the front gate, which was ordinarily left unlocked, was now sealed with three separate runes— though they were not certain how effective these would be, given their lessened wizardly abilities.
Hanner had not been involved in any of that; he had mostly stayed upstairs and out of the way, but he had been aware it was being done.
They truly were under siege here, trapped in the house until the situation improved-but at least now, with the wards and runes and the guards standing vigilant in the parlor, they were safe for the moment. Apparently safe, anyway. For the moment everything appeared peaceful, but by Yorn’s account it hadn’t been for long.
And not everything upstairs had been peaceful during the night, either. A few of the warlocks were awakened by nightmares-not just Desset. The worst was Rudhira, who woke up screaming three separate times.
The first time she was merely confused when she awoke, insisting someone at the back of the house was calling her and she screamed to make it stop.
The second time she awakened in midair, bumping against the north wall of her room, saying she had to get out; her roommate Alris dragged her back to bed, displaying what Hanner thought was impressive courage.
The third time Rudhira smashed through her door and flew screaming down the hallway before smacking into a protective spell of some kind that Lord Faran had had placed on the door of his room. The noise roused the entire household, of course, and there were several theories about mysterious forces trying to use Rudhira against Lord Faran, or Lord Faran’s magic somehow attracting Rudhira in her crazed and sleeping state.
Hanner didn’t say so, but he thought Rudhira headed for Faran’s room only because it was at the north end
