The Unwelcome Warlock

More tradesmen were still appearing, carrying wine, blankets, vegetables, cheese, and candles, and some of the weary warlocks were gathering around them, coins in hand.

“Hai!” Hanner shouted. “Don’t forget, not everyone has money! Share what you can!”

A few people glanced at him, but he saw no sign his words were having any real effect. He laid a reassuring hand on Rudhira’s shoulder, then strode forward — or tried to; it was really more of a limp, thanks to his blistered feet. He pushed through to the man with the sack of bread. “Is there a quantity discount?” he demanded, holding out a silver bit.

The man paused, eyed the coin, then looked Hanner in the eye and smiled. “Six for five?” he suggested.

“Seven. You know these prices are ridiculous.”

“It’s what the market will bear, friend, but fair enough, seven loaves for the silver.” He started counting them out with one hand while the other accepted Hanner’s coin. He handed the bread to Hanner, then turned to the next customer.

Clutching his armful of bread, Hanner pushed his way back through the growing crowd around the vendors to where several tired-looking people were sitting disconsolately on the ground. “You aren’t buying,” he said.

“No money,” one of the women answered.

Hanner nodded. “Here,” he said, handing her a loaf. “Share it out.” Then he marched on to the next group.

Five more loaves went to strangers; he gave the last to Rudhira, who hesitated, then passed it on.

When he had distributed all his purchases he turned back to the sellers, and was pleased to see that his actions had apparently shamed some of his comrades into following his example — bread was being shared, wineskins and beer bottles passed from hand to hand. He fished out his other silver bit and started pushing his way back.

There was a wizard among the salesmen now, in a honey-brown robe and old-fashioned pointed hat, and Hanner realized he looked familiar, but it took a moment to place him. It wasn’t Molvarn or Arvagan...

Rothiel, that was it. The one who had come to him in his dreams. He hadn’t been wearing a hat in the dream.

Just as Hanner recognized him, Rothiel spotted Hanner. “Chairman Hanner!” he called. “I’ve been looking for you!” He raised a hand and beckoned.

Hanner blinked in surprise. “You have?”

“Yes, yes! Come here!”

Hanner hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder at Rudhira. He beckoned to her, as Rothiel had to him; he felt responsible for her, and she seemed so small and helpless — though he knew, from her brief time as a warlock, that given half a chance she was anything but helpless.

She rose, and slipped quickly through the crowd to his side; then the two of them made their way past the merchants to the wizard’s side.

From here, for the first time, Hanner could see that the brewers and bakers and vintners and greengrocers were coming up a stone stairway that had appeared from nowhere, and which seemed to lead endlessly downward into the earth. A steady stream of merchants was making their way up this stair, while those who had sold everything they had brought were gathering alongside it, waiting idly, chatting quietly amongst themselves.

Rothiel was standing a little to one side of the topmost step, and as each tradesmen completed his business, Rothiel would direct him to join the waiting group. The wizard glanced down at the crowded steps, then at Hanner and Rudhira.

“I hope this pleases you,” Rothiel said. “We debated inviting butchers and fishmongers, but we weren’t sure you would have any way to cook anything.”

“It’s fine,” Hanner said, “except that most of these people have no money; they were Called out of their beds.”

Rothiel turned up an empty palm. “Alas, there are limits to our generosity.”

“The best thing you could do is get them all back to civilization, where they can find their families, or work for their keep.”

“Indeed, we have every intention of doing that. We finally realized the absurdity of flying carpets back empty after bringing staff and supplies out here, and from now on, every carpet will take passengers back. You’ve seen how we are sending people home to Ethshar of the Rocks and Ethshar of the Sands, and we have a tapestry ready for Sardiron of the Waters if the Council of Barons can ever make up its collective mind.”

“But nothing for Ethshar of the Spices?”

“I realize how unlikely it sounds, but in fact, we do not have a single suitable tapestry available.”

“It seems you could use this magical stairway to take people to Ethshar, rather than bringing supplies here — or does it only work in one direction?”

“Oh, it works both ways, once it’s open, but it can’t be kept open indefinitely, and we thought bringing food and blankets was the better use, for now.”

Hanner did not think he agreed, but rather than argue he said, “Our theurgists tell me that Asham the Gate-Keeper could get everyone safely home; none of our people can invoke him.”

“Asham the Gate-Keeper? Oh, now, that’s interesting! We didn’t know about that one. We’ve been speaking to some theurgists, but either we chose the wrong ones or asked the wrong questions. I’ll see about that as soon as we get back.” He glanced down. “Oh, good, that’s the last of them.”

Hanner glanced down as well, and saw the line of people climbing the stairs was coming to an end; a woman with an absurdly large sack on her shoulders was the last of them. “Then what?” he asked.

“Then we will send these people back,” Rothiel said, gesturing at the waiting merchants. “And the others when they’ve sold their goods. Then you and I will go back to the city, and Hallin’s Transporting Fissure will be permitted to close.”

“But what about all these others...” Hanner started to wave at the waiting crowds, then stopped. “Wait. You and I?”

“Yes, you and I. Guildmaster Ithinia wants to talk to you. Directly, not in a dream.”

“But what about these others?”

“I promise you, Chairman, we will get them to safety as soon as we can. As soon as they’ve finished sending people to the western cities, those apprentices who are guarding the tapestries will start sorting the others, and loading them onto flying carpets, or preparing them to use another of these fissures. And if this god Asham can truly help, we’ll see about summoning him. For now, though, we want you.”

“Why?”

“Ithinia trusts you.”

That dumbfounded Hanner. He knew Ithinia, of course; they had dealt with one another several times over the seventeen years he chaired the Council of Warlocks. He had never been sure she really trusted anyone, and while they had been reasonably comfortable with one another, he had never considered her a friend. While he remembered speaking to her about a month ago, he knew that for her it had been seventeen years; that she would want to see him again after so long, out of all the Called warlocks, baffled him.

But then, he didn’t suppose she would have much contact with warlocks in the normal course of events.

“I’m not sure I should leave,” Hanner said at last. “I feel responsible for these people.”

Rothiel, who had been watching the last merchants climb the steps, said, “Excuse me, Chairman.” He stepped up and put a hand on the last woman’s back, urging her forward, then turned to the group waiting to the side. “Go on, please,” he called. “One at a time! Walk briskly, but don’t run, and don’t slip, just the way you did in the other direction. You, you go first.”

The merchants obeyed, and began marching back down into the ground, while the later arrivals hawked their merchandise.

The crowd of buyers had thinned; there were still plenty of Called warlocks in need of food and the other commodities on offer, but apparently either no one else had money, or they preferred to wait until they could get to civilization. Still, the later peddlers were doing a brisk trade, while their earlier brethren made their way one by one