never have been willing to sell to warlocks, but the Wizards’ Guild had been effective-and surprisingly enthusiastic- in spreading the word that the hundreds who vanished had been warlocks, not the victims of warlocks.
The existence of the Council of Warlocks, and its assurance that its member warlocks were bound by the same laws as everyone else, also helped. That the Council had sent warlocks to help in rebuilding homes and shops wrecked on the Night of Madness helped even more.
This activity made the Council visible, and new warlocks appeared steadily in response, eager to sign up, transforming Manner’s creation from theory to reality. Three rooms on the ground floor of Warlock House had been converted into a school and office where these newly arrived warlocks were taught the Council’s rules and questioned about any crimes they might have committed. Those who were deemed acceptable then swore the Council’s oath and were given a black tunic and a document recording their admission to the Council.
Those who were not found acceptable were turned over to the city magistrates or ordered into exile-and in some cases forcibly flown over the city wall.
As yet, the Council had not had to kill anyone. Hanner suspected that couldn’t last forever, especially since the triumvirate had agreed that the single Council of Warlocks would, when it was able, have authority over the entire Hegemony of the Three Eth-shars, and not merely Ethshar of the Spices. He had already approved subchairmen to organize the Council’s offices in Ethshar of the Rocks and Ethshar of the Sands.
He found it odd to realize that he, useless Hanner, the lordling who had never found a proper place for himself in the overlord’s service, was on his way to becoming master of perhaps the third most powerful organization in the World, after the Wizards’ Guild and the Hegemony itself.
All in all, by the end of the month of Summerheat matters seemed to have settled down and turned out about as well as he could have expected.
Hanner’s confidence had not yet grown to the point, however, that the summons to the Palace failed to worry him.
He looked at the message thoughtfully. It was politely written, but very definite-the presence of Hanner, Chairman of the Council of Warlocks, was requested in the Great Hall of Audience in the Palace of the Overlord of Ethshar of the Spices at four hours after noon on the first day of Summersend, in the Five Thousand Two Hundred and Second Year of Human Speech.
Hanner knew well that the overlord would never have sent Ithinia such a message, naming an exact time and date; he would have requested her to arrange for an audience at her earliest convenience. To accept this directive without quibble would mean acknowledging that he was not Ithinia’s equal in rank, and she was merely the senior wizard in the city, while he was theoretically the senior warlockanywhere.
But realistically, arguing with it would be stupid and arrogant.
“Tell the messenger to tell Lord Azrad I will be there,” he said, dropping the message on his writing table.
“Yes, sir,” Ilvin said, raising a spread-fingered hand to his chest in the odd salute some of the warlocks seemed to have picked up as a mark of respect. He turned and hurried out of the room.
Hanner stared after him. Ilvin was still not at all a powerful warlock, but he had proven to have a talent for getting things done around the Council’s headquarters; Bern was still in charge of the kitchens, but Ilvin had taken over most of the other household administration. He was very useful indeed.
Desset, meanwhile, who remained the most powerful warlock in the city, was virtually useless-she struggled constantly to not use her magic, and even so frequently had various small objects floating around her. Her nightmares grew steadily worse, and she had begun to spend long stretches of the day sitting in the garden staring northward.
Hanner had hoped that inaction might cause warlockry to atrophy and the danger of the Calling to recede, but apparently it didn’t work that way. He repeatedly advised Desset to pack up a few things and move south, out of the city and farther from Al-dagmor, but she was unable to bring herself to do so. He even spoke to Ithinia about the possibility of providing some sort of magical refuge, like that meeting hall, but while Ithinia promised to mention it to the Inner Circle, she also told him he would have a better chance of convincing them to spend the next hundred years standing on their heads. The Guild did not do favors for anyone, not even wizards, without an ulterior motive.
“Could webuy a refuge, then?” Hanner asked her.
“That might be possible,” she admitted. “You wouldn’t need to trouble the Guild about that; just find a wizard who knows appropriate spells and hire him to do the job. You can expect to pay an obscene amount for it, though.”
“I see,” Hanner said, and he pushed it to the back of his head, to be attended to when other matters were under better control. The Council had money, but not an obscene amount of it as yet.
He might mention to Lord Azrad the idea that it would be worthwhile for the city to finance such a purchase, so as to have a reserve of powerful warlocks in the triumvirate’s debt who could be called upon in an emergency.
That assumed, of course, that Lord Azrad had any interest in Manner’s desires, and didn’t intend to order the Council out of the city. For the past three sixnights Hanner and his representatives had been dealing peacefully with the city government, but always through intermediaries-usually Azrad’s brothers, Clurim, Karan-nin, and Ildirin-and never directly with the overlord. This audience-if itwas really an audience with Lord Azrad, as Hanner noticed that the message did not actually say Azrad would be in the audience chamber-might indicate that the overlord had changed his mind again. Hanner certainly hoped not, and did not intend to do anything to antagonize Lord Azrad.
Accordingly he arrived in the entrance hall of the Palace exactly at the appointed hour and was greeted and escorted through the great velvet curtains that were serving as a temporary replacement for the not-yet-repaired golden doors.
The room was more populated than it had been on that dreadful occasion when Faran had led in a horde of angry warlocks, but still far from crowded; perhaps a hundred guards, servants, and courtiers were arranged here and there, standing, seated, or going about various errands. Hanner noticed his sisters standing in a knot of nobles near the east wall.
He had not heard from them in a twelvenight, and he had been too busy with Council business to worry about that silence; he hoped they were well.
He hadn’t heard from Mavi, either, but he firmly pushed that thought out of his mind and concentrated on his surroundings.
As expected, Azrad was indeed present, sprawled heavily on the throne, sitting motionless as Hanner was led in and presented.
“Hanner the Warlock, Chairman of the Council of Warlocks!” the herald announced, and Hanner bowed deeply.
“It’s good to see you again, Hanner,” Azrad said when Hanner straightened up.
“And of course, it is always a pleasure to see you, my lord,” Hanner replied.
That said, the two men stared silently at each other for a moment. Then Azrad said, “You’re here because I wanted to see you in person, rather than doing everything through my brothers. I wanted to see how you’d changed.”
Hanner bowed again, this time with arms spread. “I am as you see me, my lord,” he said.
“You’re wearing black.”
“I’m a warlock, my lord.”
“You look well. Have you lost a little weight?”
“I might have, my lord; I’m not sure. I’ve kept very busy of late.”
“You’ve been eating well?”
“Oh, yes. My housekeeper sees to that.”
Azrad nodded. “That’s good. We should have met somewhere less formal, perhaps-the private audience chamber or my apartments-but I wasn’t sure of the protocol, given your new status.”
Hanner smiled. “I’m still me, Lord Azrad. I would be pleased to meet with you wherever you might choose. As Chairman of the Council, I am still subject to the laws of Ethshar-treat me as you would any other magician.”
“Yes, well-you shouldn’t be a magician.” Azrad frowned. “You never served an apprenticeship. I don’t
