The Unwelcome Warlock

“Oh,” Sterren said. He turned up a palm. “Well, you can do as you please, of course.”

“I only stayed here because of the Calling,” Vond said, rotating slowly to take in the view. The two men were hanging in mid-air, perhaps sixty yards up. “I only let you hire me and bring me here in the first place because of the Calling. I was trying to get as far from Aldagmor as I could. I only stopped conquering kingdoms because I could hear it again when we got to Lumeth.”

“I remember.”

“The Calling isn’t there anymore. I could go home to Ethshar.”

“After all these years, your Majesty; it’s probably not quite as you remember it.”

“Neither is Semma.”

That was obviously true, so Sterren did not bother to argue.

“I’m the only warlock left,” Vond continued. “I’m the most powerful magician in the World. I should live in the most powerful city in the World, not way out here near the edge.”

Sterren resisted the temptation to correct Vond, and point out that Sterren himself was also still a warlock, albeit a very feeble one. He also found himself in a dilemma; he would be very happy to see Vond go away, but at the same time, he dreaded to think how much damage the warlock might do in Ethshar of the Spices. That one great city probably held more people than Vond’s entire empire.

“You would be avoiding conflict with the Wizards’ Guild,” he said at last, unsure whether Vond would consider that a benefit or a challenge.

Vond was staring off to the north, not really listening. Sterren suddenly began worrying that the warlock would get distracted and let him fall. He glanced down between his feet at the plaza far below; the fountain at the center was splashing merrily, and people were going about their business, only occasionally glancing up at their emperor and his chancellor. “Your Majesty?”

“What? Oh, yes. The wizards. I’m not really concerned with them. They haven’t tried to enforce their edict yet, have they? I think they’ve thought better of defying me.”

“It’s only been a couple of days, Vond.”

“That’s true.” He frowned, and turned back to Sterren. “Do you think they’ll try something?”

“I’m afraid I do, your Majesty.”

“Maybe I should go take a good look at those towers. From what you all have told me, that seems to be what they were most concerned about.”

“That might provoke the wizards, your Majesty.”

“What if it does?” He turned up an empty palm. “That doesn’t concern me.”

“I think you may underestimate them, your Majesty.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Vond said. “I was there the day they ordered the city guard to leave the warlocks alone, you know.”

Sterren, who was too young to remember the Night of Madness, was not sure what Vond was talking about; he said, “Oh?”

“I was a boy of eleven, starting to think seriously what trade I would apprentice myself to, and I was walking down Merchant Street when I heard the commotion and went to see what was happening. Azrad the Sedentary had sent a bunch of soldiers to escort some warlocks out of the city — he wanted to exile them all. I was just in time to see the earth rise up between the soldiers and the warlocks, and split open to reveal half a dozen wizards, with their robes and staves, who ordered the guardsmen to go back to the palace and tell old Azrad to leave the warlocks alone. They said warlocks were their equals.”

“Did they?”

“They did. And that was back at the very beginning, before anyone even knew what warlocks could do. Do you know what I think?”

“No, your Majesty.”

“I think they knew, even then, that warlocks were more than a match for wizards. We don’t need books and spells, no spider’s blood or hair of an unborn child, no magic daggers or fancy chants; whatever we want to happen simply happens. I think they wanted to ingratiate themselves, so that we would not return and drive them out of the city. That was why I apprenticed myself to a warlock a sixnight after my twelfth birthday. Magic that didn’t need books and ritual, magic that wasn’t weak like witchcraft, or dependent on the whims of gods or demons — I wanted that.”

“I see.”

“I’m not afraid of the wizards; they’re afraid of me. The Calling was the only thing that kept warlocks in check, and now it’s gone, but I’m still here.”

“Obviously.” Sterren glanced uneasily down, between his dangling feet. “However, there is only one of you, and there are hundreds of wizards.”

Vond waved a hand dismissively. “Most of them can barely light a fire, while I can do this.”

A huge band of red flame appeared out of nowhere, writhing around the two men like a serpent; Sterren heard muffled shrieks from below.

“Some can do considerably more,” Sterren pointed out. “There’s the Tower of Flame in Eknissamor; a wizard made that.”

Vond grimaced. “Well, yes — we flew near that on the way here. It’s fairly spectacular. Some of the wizards can indeed do more than light fires; that earthquake on High Street was also very impressive. But I think much of it is just pretense, just for show.”

Sterren felt his gut tighten at that. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because if they were really as powerful as they pretend, wouldn’t they rule the World? Why would they allow the overlords to rule the Hegemony, rather than doing it themselves? And all those silly little kings and councils in the Small Kingdoms — why put up with that nonsense? I didn’t; why would the wizards, if they really had the power they claim?”

“I don’t know,” Sterren admitted, hoping he didn’t sound desperate and wishing he could think of a better answer.

He suspected that the truth was that wizards didn’t want to rule the World, any more than Sterren had wanted to rule Vond’s empire after the warlock was Called. He was certain, though, that Vond wouldn’t believe that for a minute; his mind didn’t work that way.

“So, you see?” Vond said, spreading his arms. “I’m not worried about the wizards. But I don’t want to stay here. It’s pleasant enough now, but I remember what this place is like in the summer. I can keep cool if I want to, no matter how hot and dry it gets, but why should I? And people would be asking me to do things for them, saving crops and the like, and that’s dull. You know, it’s a curious thing — without the Aldagmor Source, using my magic isn’t as much fun as before. There was something about that whisper that made it exciting, and the Lumeth source doesn’t do that. I don’t mind using magic, obviously, but I don’t have any great urge to do so.”

“I hadn’t known there was a difference.”

“Oh, yes. Besides, I did most of what I wanted to do before I was Called. I built the palace, I built the roads — you see them?” He pointed; Sterren looked down at the network of stone-paved highways radiating out from Semma and nodded. Those roads had been essential in keeping the empire intact and making its economy work. “That’s all done, and from now on it would be dealing with people, and they’re all either boring peasants or unpleasant aristocrats obsessed with genealogy. There’s no Arena here, no Games Street, no street performers or streetwalkers.”

Sterren knew perfectly well that there were gamblers and whores and various performers if one knew where to look, especially now that Semma was the capital of a thriving empire rather than a tiny, poverty-stricken kingdom, but he didn’t see any point in telling Vond that.

Vond waved a hand. “And all those different languages! I want to hear good Ethsharitic around me.”

“What do you propose, your Majesty?”

“What I propose, Sterren, is that I’m going to go home. But I’m going to make a tour of it; I’ll stop in Lumeth and investigate at the towers, then get a good look at the Tower of Flame by night — I rushed past it before. There was something strange on the eastern slope of the mountains north of that, too. Then I’ll go on back to Ethshar and find myself a home — maybe a mansion in the New City. Maybe I’ll live in Warlock