would warlocks be any worse?
And there might not be any limit; certainly, no one had found one yet, though of course it had only been a few days.
They were flying south now, back toward the city. Hanner glanced around to make sure Rudhira was accompanying them; he was fairly certain that whatever had made all those people fly off to the north on the Night of Madness was working on her.
She was there, flying south, above and behind him, but he could see her face, and her expression was... well, “haunted” was the only word he could think of that fit.
Why wasshe particularly afflicted by this? Was it because she was so much more powerful than the others?
He glanced up at Desset, who was still carrying him. Either she or Varrin was the next most powerful warlock after Rudhira; if itdid correlate to power, then she should be feeling some of the effects, though not to the same degree Rudhira was.
“Desset,” he called, “do you hear someone calling you?”
Startled, she looked down at him, and their flight slowed. “Then you hear it, too?” she asked. “I thought I was imagining it.”
“No, I don’t hear it,” Manner said. “But Rudhira does. I spoke to her about it earlier.”
Desset glanced back at Rudhira. “I think only the strongest warlocks hear it,” Hanner said. “And I think it may be dangerous. I think that’s what happened to those people who disappeared-I think they heard this calling, whatever it is.”
“Oh,” Desset said. “Do you really think so? I knowwe didn’t take them, the way those awful people in the street say we did, but I hadn’t thoughtthat might have taken them.” She shuddered. “It’s not pleasant; I don’t want to answer it. Is there some way I can make it go away?”
“I don’t know,” Hanner admitted. “Rudhira hasn’t found one.”
“Oh,” Desset said again. Then she said, “Look!” She pointed.
They were over Spicetown now, and the streets were full of people-and they were all looking up at the warlocks, pointing and shaking fists.
“I don’t think they liked our experiments,” Hanner said.
“I guess not,” Desset said. Then she smiled-a surprisingly nasty smile for such a motherly-looking person. “Not that there’s anything they can do about it!”
Hanner didn’t reply.
The overlord really might have a point, he thought-but with the warlocks all growing more powerful, all teaching one another more of what they could do, poor Azrad might have already missed his chance to do anything about it.
Chapter Thirty-two
The glowing images that floated in the air above the table faded away, leaving only the torchlight, but it was a moment before any of the wizards spoke.
“Impressive,” the white-haired wizard said at last.
“Yes,” said the beautiful woman. “Lifting loaded freighters as if they were toys...” She shuddered. “And there was the warlock in Ethshar of the Rocks who killed poor Lopin. I’m afraid we really must take this as a serious threat to the proper order of things. We can’t put off acting indefinitely.”
The red-robed man at the head of the table turned to Kaligir. “Was this Shemder of yours capable of anything like that?” he asked. “I don’t think so,” Kaligir replied. “He relied on speed and subtlety, rather than power. And of course, the fact that there was absolutely no outward sign of preparation or action-he could be standing right there, kill someone, and no one would know who had done it.”
“That worries me,” the white-haired man said. “If we move prematurely, we might just drive the warlocks underground.”
“There’s no need to be hasty,” the red-robed wizard said. “I would suggest that we acknowledge that warlocks are true magicians, powerful ones-anyone who can kill a wizard so quickly, by magic, is a powerful magician. Anyone who can raise a mountain of water is a powerful magician. The Guild has never forbidden an entire school of magic because, as our comrade from Sardiron says, that often merely drives it underground-but I don’t believe we have ever before had any potential competition this powerful, this dangerous. Whether we forbidthis one remains to be determined-but I believe it would be appropriate to enforce our existing strictures on magic.”
“Carefully, though,” Kaligir said. “I don’t think any of us should forget what happened to Lopin.”
“Carefully, of course,” the red-robed wizard agreed.
Lord Azrad stood at the window of his favorite sitting room, staring northward, watching the waves slosh back and forth along the Grand Canal and seawater drip from the eaves of the warehouses.
Then he turned to face his brothers-it was Lord Clurim who had spotted the warlocks flying past and had called the overlord to the window to watch, and Karannin and Ildirin had joined them later.
“They’re growing stronger,” he said. “They must be stoppednow. Clurim, call Captain Vengar-ready or not, I want Captain Naral to movenow. And then go find Lady Nerra-maybe she can tell us something of what her mad uncle plans to do, other than inundate Spicetown.” As Clurim bowed and turned to go, Azrad demanded, “Karannin, Ildirin, can’t one of you get a response from the Wizards’ Guild?”
“Icertainly can’t,” Karannin said. “I’ve talked to dozens of wizards, and they assure me that the masters of the Guild are aware of the situation and discussing it, and that they know you want to talk to them, but beyond that-nothing.”
“Have you spoken to the Sisterhood or the Brotherhood?” Azrad asked as Clurim quietly closed the door behind himself.
“The Brotherhood is terrified of the warlocks,” Ildirin said. “They tell me that pitting them against Lord Faran’s company would be like trying to boil a hundred gallons of soup with a single candle. The Sisterhood is not quite so frightened, but they agree that warlocks are far more powerful than witches; any campaign they might undertake would have to be slow and subtle.”
“We don’t havetime for subtlety!” Azrad roared. “What about the others?”
“The gods can’t even see most of the warlocks,” Karannin said. “At least, that’s what the theurgists tell me. And when theycan see them, they still won’t take action except purely defensively— you know how the gods are about not interfering. I don’t know whether it’s the oath they took two hundred years ago or just their nature, but they won’t intervene.”
“Demonologists aren’t much better,” Ildirin said. “I’ve corresponded with half a dozen since the Night. They don’t agree on much of anything, but none of them seem inclined to go to war with the warlocks. Apparently demons can see warlocks just fine, but they can’t tell them apart from ordinary people-naturally, they’d be the opposite of the gods. If you summon a demon and order it to kill a specific warlock, it will presumably do its best to obey, but we don’t know how successful it would be, or what the repercussions might be, and you can’t just tell one, ’Go kill all the warlocks.’ It can’t find them without names.”
“We could at least have Lord Faran killed,” Azrad said thoughtfully. “We knowhis name.”
The other three looked at one another.
“Perhaps we could,” Karannin said, “but would it be wise? First and least, there’s the question of cost...”
“Which isn’t trivial,” Ildirin said. “Demonologists are expensive.”
“The city treasury could surely afford it,” Azrad said.
“Yes,” Karannin said, “but that brings us to the second question, justification for doing so.”
“He’s a traitor,” Azrad said. “That’s good enough.”
“My lord brother, our laws and customs require a trial for any capital offense, even treason, and the accused must be permitted the opportunity to defend himself. Sending a demonic assassin-”
“Can be justified,” Azrad interrupted. “We can arrange for him to die resisting arrest. Hehas resisted arrest
