The Unwelcome Warlock

A thought struck her. “Did he call himself Chairman of the Council of Warlocks? Or did you just remember him by that title?”

“He did, mistress.”

Ithinia gave a small snort. What Council of Warlocks? Except for Vond and Sterren, there weren’t any more warlocks — well, unless Vond had been making more.

Which was another reason to deal with Vond quickly — he could make more Lumeth-based warlocks. That was known. From what she had heard of him Ithinia doubted he really wanted to share his power, but he could, and if he wasn’t disposed of promptly, he might.

But Zallin probably didn’t know anything about Vond.

“I will meet him in the parlor momentarily, Obdur.”

Obdur bowed. “Yes, mistress.” He turned and slipped out of the room.

Ithinia sighed and got to her feet. Zallin didn’t really have any business here; he hadn’t been invited, and he no longer represented anyone the Guild needed to treat with respect. If he wanted to buy a spell, he could go to the Wizards’ Quarter like anyone else.

Maybe he was coming to formally renounce his role and disband the Council of Warlocks; after all, it had been created to appease the Hegemony and the Wizards’ Guild, and it had been Ithinia and the Guild that had forced the overlord to accept it. It would be appropriate for an announcement of the Council’s dissolution to come to her, as the city’s senior Guildmaster, and also to the overlord or his representative. The overlord who had first accepted the Council’s existence was dead, of course, but his son now reigned as Azrad VII — though perhaps not for very much longer, given his age. Ithinia’s best sources said that Azrad was taking a cautious attitude toward the disappearance of warlockry, waiting to be sure there weren’t any nasty surprises involved.

The resignation of the Chairman of the Council might be a surprise, but it wouldn’t be a nasty one. She had the impression that the overlord and his court weren’t particularly fond of Zallin.

She guessed that if that was indeed Zallin’s errand, the only reason he had come here first was that it was more or less on the way from Warlock House to the palace.

Remembering what Zallin was like, she doubted that he was coming to renounce anything. Poor Hanner, the first Chairman, might have done that, but Zallin? No.

“Poor Hanner?” But Hanner was coming back, wasn’t he? Rothiel had spoken to him with the Spell of Invaded Dreams, and confirmed that he was alive and well, at least for the moment. Strange, to think she might see him again. She hadn’t known many Called warlocks, so she had not really been thinking of them as individuals, but she remembered Hanner. He had been a well-meaning sort, usually not very assertive, but able to show real backbone when pressed. For the most part, she had found him very agreeable. When he was Called, she had thought of him as dead — but the dead didn’t come back. Well, not unless necromancy was involved, and she had never done much of that.

She took her time walking up the passage to the parlor, straightening her robe as she went; as usual, she was dressed in a white robe, this one relatively simple and trimmed with blue and yellow.

She hoped Zallin had come to formally dissolve the Council, but she doubted it. More likely he was here to plead for her help — perhaps he had taken on some job he could no longer perform, and wanted her to do it for him. That was much more typical of Zallin of the Mismatched Eyes than any sort of formality.

She took a deep breath and swept into the parlor.

Zallin was there, standing in the center of the room, smiling crookedly at her — a nervous smile, not the smirk he displayed when he was pleased with himself. He wore the traditional black tunic and breeches of a warlock, with no sign of office. The most distinctive thing about him was his eyes — the left one a very ordinary brown, the right a peculiar shade of pale blue.

“Zallin of the Mismatched Eyes,” she said. “Why have you intruded upon my privacy?”

He hastily bowed, and when his head came back up he said, “Guildmaster, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m here on a matter of some urgency.”

“Urgent for you, perhaps.”

“Oh, I believe this concerns everyone, Guildmaster. Are you aware that warlocks throughout the city have lost their magic?”

She stared at him, trying to keep her face impassive; it would not do to laugh. “I have been informed of this, yes,” she said.

“Well...do you know what caused it?”

Ithinia considered carefully before answering.

She knew that warlocks did not do divinations. They could not hear thoughts, as witches did, or foresee the future. They could not ask questions of the gods. They could not buy secrets from demons. They could use none of the dozens of spells that wizards used to investigate mysteries. They claimed to be able to see into the structure of everything around them, all the particles and flows of energy that made up the World, but only within a limited radius. Information was not where their talents lay. Still, it was hard to believe that this man was as ignorant of the situation as he appeared to be.

“The source of your magic, which fell from the sky on the Night of Madness, has departed from the World,” she said. “Something came to its aid, and took it back into the sky, to whatever universe they both came from.”

His mouth fell open, but no words emerged. She watched calmly as he attempted to gather his wits.

“It’s...it’s gone?” he said at last. “It’s not just Ethshar of the Spices?”

“It’s gone,” she confirmed.

“Can you bring it back?”

It was her turn to stand in stunned silence, though she managed to keep her jaw from hanging. Finally, she said simply, “No.”

“Are you sure? I came to you because I thought perhaps the Guild had found a way to block it from the city, and I was going to plead for you to remove the spell — but you say it’s really gone?”

“It’s really gone.”

“The Wizards’ Guild didn’t have anything to do with it?”

She suppressed her annoyance. “Why would the Wizards’ Guild want to interfere with warlocks, Zallin?”

“I don’t know! I was going to ask what we had done to offend you.”

“Why did you think it was our doing at all?”

“Because who else has magic powerful enough to do such a thing? The gods can’t even see us, let alone harm us, and while demons might have the power, who could afford to pay them enough? I suppose it might have been demons, but wizards seemed much more likely.”

“You assumed it must be some rival school of magic? Why?”

“Well, who else would want to harm us?”

Ithinia suppressed a grimace. “Zallin, are you sure you would call it harm?” she said. “You do realize that this means an end to the Calling, as well as warlockry?”

He waved that aside. “The Calling — if we’re careful, that’s not a problem. I can survive a few nightmares. But without our magic, how are we to live?”

“Learn an honest trade. Expand the Hegemony’s borders, perhaps — I’m told there is still good land in the northeast that a hard worker can clear and farm. Now that the Calling is gone, there’s no need to avoid the region just south of Aldagmor.”

“Farm?” Zallin’s expression implied that she had just said something obscene.

“Or take up carpentry, or smithing,” she suggested.

He shook his head violently. “No,” he said. “I’m a warlock, not a tradesman! Please, Guildmaster, isn’t there anything you can do? Isn’t there some way to lure back the source?”

“I do not know of any, nor would I use it if I did,” Ithinia replied.

“But Ithinia, think of the city! What will people do with no warlocks? Who will dredge the harbor? Who will repair streets and walls? Who will heal the sick?”