of the hall. He remembered that many of the people who vanished on the Night of Madness had headed north. He remembered how Roggit Rayel’s son told the magistrate at his trial that he intended to flee to Al-dagmor to escape the doom he thought was going to befall Ethshar, but couldn’t explain why he chose Aldagmor.
Aldagmor was in the north. Hanner thought that was why Roggit chose it.
And Hanner could feel something in that direction himself, something very faint, very alien, and both slightly repulsive and slightly alluring.
But it wasvery faint. He could only sense it at all with his newfound warlock sight, and even with that it was like trying to hear the hum of a bee from a mile away.
After the third nightmare Uncle Faran went up to the fourth floor and came back down with something for Rudhira to drink, to help her sleep more soundly; she swallowed it without hesitation, and barely made it back to her bed before collapsing into unconsciousness.
The excitement over, everyone else retired again-except the handful on guard downstairs.
It took some time before Hanner got back to sleep after that. He wondered why Rudhira was affected more strongly than anyone else; was it because her warlockry was the most powerful of them all?
Was there a direct connection between the nightmares and the strength of a warlock’s magic? He thought back, trying to remember that first breakfast gathering. There had been four warlocks there who had had the dreams after the initial experience on the Night of Madness-Rudhira, of course, and Desset of Eastwark, who had helped heal Kirsha, and Varrin the Weaver, and Alar Agor’s son.
And, Hanner realized, Rudhira and Desset and Varrin had all had nightmares again this time, as well-Varrin had awakened twice, once in midair. Alar Agor’s son was no longer in the house; he had left that first day, and had never come back. At least, not yet, though Hanner supposed he might yet turn up.
Rudhira, Desset, and Varrin-those had been the three flyers in his party on the Night of Madness. When Uncle Faran had been sorting out who could fly and who couldn’t Hanner had left the room before the sorting was complete, but he knew that Rudhira and Desset and Varrin had all been at the “can fly” end of the room.
There might well be a correlation between the nightmares and the power of a warlock’s magic, then. Flying generally seemed to be something the stronger warlocks could do and the weaker could not.
That was interesting. Were the nightmares a sort of compensation, a disadvantage to balance out the advantages strong magic provided?
There were a dozen people seated at the dining table, eating a breakfast of sausages and cakes; Bern was hurrying in and out the door at the far side that led to the kitchens. Hanner exchanged greetings with the others- particularly Alris, who clearly had not slept well. She had shared a room with Rudhira, of course, which Hanner knew had hardly been restful.
Then Bern, returning with a tray of small beer, spotted Hanner.
“Lord Hanner!” he said. “Could I have a word with you, please?”
“Of course,” Hanner said. “Though if you could spare me a sausage to eat while we talk, I would appreciate it.”
“Yes, of course, my lord.” Bern put down the tray, quickly distributed the mugs, and found a plate and a couple of fat sausages for Hanner. He handed Hanner the plate, then said, “Could you come with me, please, my lord?”
“We can’t talk here?”
“There’s something I need to show you. I had hoped to tell Lord Faran, but I haven’t seen him yet this morning, and he may well be busy upstairs all day. Could you please accompany me?”
“Very well.” Hanner followed, plate in hand, as Bern led him down a slanting stone passageway to a windowless, lamplit storeroom.
There they stopped. Bern simply stood for a moment, looking worried; Hanner glanced around, but could see nothing worrisome. It appeared to be a perfectly ordinary storeroom, though with more empty shelves than most.
“What is it, Bern?” Hanner asked.
“My lord,” Bern said, “I don’t dare disturb Lord Faran about this; he’s far too busy with all the magicians. But I need to point it out tosomeone.”
“Point outwhat}”
“Look, my lord,” Bern said, gesturing at the empty shelves. “This house is accustomed to lodging your uncle, sometimes one or two of his friends, and of course anywhere from one to six servants. But right now I believe we haveforty people here. I thought this could be managed if I made daily trips to Southmar-ket, and went to Fishertown Market or Westgate Market every so often, and picked up a few things at the shops in the Merchants’ Quarters or the Old City.”
“That’s a great deal of walking,” Hanner remarked. South-market was roughly a mile away, Westgate considerably farther. “Especially carrying food for forty people.”
“I had thought I would hire a wagon,” Bern said. “But, my lord, I can’t.”
“Why not?” Hanner said, but before the words were out of his mouth he remembered the mob on High Street, and the various magical protections sealing off the other three sides of the estate. “Oh,” he said, before Bern could reply.
“My household funds are depleted, in any case,” Bern said. “I’m not sure how good Lord Faran’s credit is now-a few days ago his name was good anywhere, but now?”
“He probably has money,” Hanner said, trying to sound more convinced than he was. “Gold, most likely, or silver at the very least.”
“I hope so,” Bern said, “but even if he does, how am I to get out to market, and safely back in?”
Hanner looked at him thoughtfully. It was plainly time for the warlocks to start earning their keep here.
“I think we can manage that,” he said. “We can fly to the markets. And I don’t think money will be a problem.” He was sure Uncle Faran must have funds stashed somewhere in the house, or if not, some of the furnishings could be sold.
Or, being warlocks, they could simply demand credit. Hanner doubted any direct threats would be necessary. Inquiring about the possibility of credit while standing in front of a farmer’s wagon doing something like juggling a knife without using one’s hands... well, that would be sufficiently intimidating that most people would probably agree to reasonable terms.
Mostpeople. Merchants who didn’t want to sell to warlocks at all, on credit or otherwise, would probably be more of a problem, but one that could be handled-by brute force, if necessary.
He was, Hanner realized, calmly contemplating a career of crime, something that would have been almost unthinkable a few days ago.
But a few days ago he hadn’t known that his uncle had been illegally collecting magic for years; he hadn’t been evicted from his home by the overlord; he hadn’t seen the overlord order Uncle Faran and the rest out of the city for no crime but being what they •were.
A few days ago he hadn’t been a warlock-and neither had anyone else. The Night of Madness had changed everything.
“Thank you, my lord,” Bern said.
“We’ll need a list of everything you need or want,” Hanner said.
“Of course. I’ll draw it up as soon as everyone’s breakfasted.” “Good,” Hanner said as he finally picked one of the sausages up from his plate. He took a healthy bite, smiled at the taste, and repeated, with a rather different emphasis, “Good!”
Chapter Thirty-one
The midday sun was hot as the people lined up in the garden; Lord Hanner held up a hand to shade his eyes.
Uncle Faran was sorting warlocks again. He had, he explained to Hanner, come to the conclusion that the ability to use warlockry really only had one variable: power. All the different things the magic could do, from healing
