Hanner walked along in the midst of this bizarre scene, wondering how he had ever come to this. He could have stayed at Warlock House. He could have fled to Mavi’s house. Why had he come?
It had seemed like the right thing to do-but it certainly wasn’t the safest. When the party reached the mouth of Central Avenue and marched out into the square before the Palace, Hanner stopped so suddenly that Zarek, just behind him, bumped into him. The two mumbled apologies to each other, then walked on.
Both of them were staring at the crowd that had been waiting for them in the square.
The overlord apparently had, indeed, called out the entire guard-and more. A path from Central Avenue to the bridge across the moat had been cleared, and on either side of it stood a dozen rows of soldiers, all with pikes at the ready. Behind them stood hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ordinary citizens, watching it all.
Faran marched out to the middle of the plaza, then stopped and looked around; the other warlocks gathered around him. Hanner, struck by an unhappy premonition, hurried to his uncle’s side.
“What now?” someone called.
“Why are we stopping?”
“I thought we were going to the Palace.”
Faran did not answer; he stood, waiting silently, until all the warlocks, even Desset, had collected into a fairly compact group at the center of the square.
“Uncle,” Hanner muttered, “what are you doing?”
“A thought struck me, Hanner,” Faran muttered back. Then he raised his voice and called out, “People of Ethshar! Men of the city guard! Listen to me!”
“Louder,” Hanner whispered. “Use warlockry.”
“I know,” Faran said testily. “Shut up.” He raised his arms and spoke again, and this time his words rang out supernaturally loud and clear.
“People of Ethshar! I am Faran the Warlock, who was once chief advisor to Lord Azrad the Sedentary! Around me you see other warlocks, your friends and neighbors, your sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, driven from their homes by mistrust!”
“Notmy son!” an old man called from the crowd behind the soldiers to the west-an old man Hanner recognized as the one who had so often stood at the fence, staring at the house, during the past two days. “You took him!”
Faran turned to glance at the old man, then announced, “Some of you think we, the warlocks of Ethshar, were responsible for the disappearances on the Night of Madness. I give you my word, we are not! We know no more than you do of what happened to them!”
“Liar!” the old man called.
This time Faran ignored him and continued, “We have come here today to ask Lord Azrad, and to ask you, to forgive those of us who may have committed crimes on the Night of Madness, when this gift of magic was bestowed upon us by forces unknown. We have come to say that most of us took no part in that madness, we didnot steal your children or neighbors, and despite our magic we are still just people like yourselves, no more inhuman or evil than wizards or sorcerers. Lord Azrad has ordered us into exile; we have refused to go, because we believe that sentence is unjust. We have done nothing to merit exile. We go now to ask Lord Azrad to reconsider his decision to cast us out, and we sincerely hope that he will.”
Faran’s words rolled out across the square and echoed from the surrounding buildings; no other sound could be heard while he spoke.
“However,” Faran said, “I know Lord Azrad. I worked with him for many years. He can be a stubborn man. He may refuse to hear us. I want you all to know, here and now, that if Lord Azraddoes refuse to rescind our exile, we are nonetheless staying in Ethshar. This is our home. We will fight to stay here. We will try not to harm anyone, but we will do whatever it takes to stay here. I want to make that absolutely clear. I hope this can be settled without bloodshed, but we stand ready to fight, and if necessary, to kill.”
“Uncle!” Hanner said.
“If we fight,” Faran continued, “I want you to know that we will welcome anyone who chooses to fight on our side, whether he be warlock, or magician, or soldier, or ordinary citizen. Furthermore, we have learned how to train apprentices in warlockry, to pass on the gift of magic that we received on that night. Anyone who chooses to join us, and who wishes it, can become one of us!”
“Uncle!” Hanner looked around, horrified. He had thought that the knowledge that they could make more warlocks was a useful secret, to be held in reserve and perhaps brought out during negotiations.
The idea that they could make hundredsmore warlocks would probably drive Lord Azrad into an even greater panic.
Of course, that might be exactly what Uncle Faran wanted, Hanner thought bitterly. Despite what he had said a few minutes ago, he might actually intend to go ahead and depose the overlord, maybe kill him outright. That statement that they would kill if necessary... the power of life and death theoretically belonged to the overlord and the Wizards’ Guild, no one else. Faran was usurping it. He might intend to usurp more. Hanner knew his uncle had always been ambitious, always thought the city deserved better than fat old Azrad as its master-and Faran had clearly been disappointed that no position higher than Lord Counselor was open to him, short of a revolution.
Here, quite possibly, was his attempt at creating such a revolution.
“Now, we go to speak to the overlord!” Faran’s arms dropped, and he began walking toward the Palace again.
“Now!” someone cried, and hundreds of spears were flung at the warlocks-only to bounce harmlessly from the invisible shield their magic still maintained. Soldiers marched forward, closing the path, only to be swept aside as Varrin and Kirsha advanced on either side of Lord Faran.
Hanner ignored all that; he was sure the warlocks could handle anything the guards might do. He ran forward, following his uncle, and called, “Uncle Faran!”
Lord Faran turned to listen to him, but did not stop walking.
“Uncle,” Hanner said, speaking in low tones, “are you planning to take over the city?” Faran glanced quickly around, then replied, “I might be considering the possibility.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Hanner said. “I think you could do it well enough, but could youhold the city, once you took it?”
“Why not?” Faran said. He gestured at the soldiers.“They can’t stop us.”
“There are other powers to be considered,” Hanner said. “The Wizards’ Guild might accept you peacefully as another sort of magicians, like sorcerers or witches, but as the city’s rulers? You know they won’t allow that.”
“Wizards have not been very effective against us so far,” Faran said as they reached the bridge across the moat. The guards who ordinarily stood there were absent; presumably they had either been sent out with the others or had decided that being swept aside on a bridge was not as acceptable as being swept aside in the plaza and so had fled rather than risk being pinned against the stone railings or flung into the moat.
“Those?” Hanner snorted. “Those are nothing, and you know it. Those were the ordinary wizards the overlord could hire on short notice. I didn’t see Ithinia or any of the other elder wizards out there on the streets.”
“I think we can manage the Guild, all the same,” Faran said. “We might work out some power-sharing arrangement with them.”
“I doubt it,” Hanner said. “I don’t think it’s power they want, and it never was. But quite aside from that, Uncle, I think you’re missing something important. All these plans of yours involve using a great deal of warlockry, don’t they?”
“Yes, of course,” Faran said. “It’s all we have.”
“And the more you use it, the more powerful you become.”
“Yes.”
“And the more powerful you become, the more prone to the nightmares.”
Faran hesitated. He looked at Hanner, instead of staring ahead at the closed doors of the Palace.
“And the more powerful you become,” Hanner continued, “the more you hear the Calling. And if you keep on using warlockry, flinging entire companies of guards about like so many rag dolls, sooner or later you’ll reach Rudhira’s level.”
Faran stopped-but they were in the shelter of the palace entryway, close enough to the doors that Hanner
