Then he realized that she wasn’t staring at the buildings; she was staring at the ground. Puzzled, he took a step forward and peered over her shoulder.
“Hanner,” she said, “what is
Hanner looked down at the green, big-eared, vaguely frog-like creature that was grinning up at them, the top of its head roughly even with Rudhira’s kneecaps.
“I have no idea,” he said.
“It’s a spriggan,” Rothiel said from behind them.
“What’s a spriggan?” Hanner asked.
“
The green thing nodded vigorously. “
“It talks!” Rudhira gasped.
“Oh, yes. They talk,” Rothiel agreed. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t see any in Aldagmor.”
“Pretty hair,” the spriggan said, staring up at Rudhira, still grinning idiotically.
“They like bright colors, too,” Rothiel said. “But if you don’t mind, we need to get you to Ithinia. You can observe how the city’s changed later.” He turned, and called, “Move away from the fissure, please!”
The spriggan’s attention suddenly shifted; it dashed between Rudhira’s legs, dodged around Hanner, and ran for the magical staircase. “Magic!” it squeaked.
“Oh, blood,” the wizard said. “Grab it, someone!”
Two people dived for the creature, whacking their heads together in the process; Hanner winced at the sound of impact. It was someone else entirely, a girl in a blue tunic, who actually managed to capture the spriggan and hold it up.
Rothiel did not spare the time or effort to congratulate her on her feat; he was concentrating on the fissure, staring at it intently, both his hands raised in a sort of warding gesture.
Then the ground began shaking; everyone in the market stepped back, and the spriggan squealed excitedly.
Hanner watched with interest as the ground seemed to rise up and flow together, then sink back to its natural level, flattening out and leaving no trace of the stair that had been there a moment before. The trembling subsided, and the packed earth of the market was back to normal, with no sign it had ever been disturbed.
Several of the watchers, mostly merchants who had sold their goods to the Called warlocks in Aldagmor, applauded. The spriggan suddenly squirmed free from the girl’s grip and ran to dance on the empty place where the fissure had been. The two who had dived for it — a boy in his teens and a middle-aged man — sat up, rubbing their heads and glaring at one another.
Rothiel let out a relieved sigh. “There,” he said, letting his hands fall. “Now, as I was saying, let’s get you to Ithinia.”
Hanner did not argue, but followed as the wizard led them west on East Street. He glanced back over his shoulder at the spriggan — or rather, the spriggans; three of them were now chasing one another through the marketplace crowds.
Rudhira followed the two men; Hanner considered saying something, suggesting she set about finding herself a place of her own rather than tagging along to a meeting that would probably be a waste of her time, but then decided her presence would do no harm, and it was none of his concern if she wanted to come.
It was a little over two miles to Ithinia’s house on Lower Street; the route took them through the middle of the Eastgate district into southern Hempfield, to the tiny patch of open land called Old High Street Market. In the summer, as Hanner remembered it, flowers bloomed in the triangle of raised beds, surrounded by street musicians, jugglers, and hawkers selling candy and trinkets, but the flowers were done for the year, and either the weather now was cold enough to deter them, or things had changed during his absence — the place was deserted save for an old man huddled against a wall, and a brown-striped cat prowling the flowerbeds, looking for mice.
Hanner had expected to stay on East Street, but Rothiel led them up the left-hand fork, onto Old High Street and into Allston.
Old High Street merged into High Street at roughly the halfway point of their journey, and it occurred to Hanner that if he simply stayed on this road he would soon be home, at Warlock House, once Uncle Faran’s mansion.
But Mavi and the children probably wouldn’t be there to welcome him. It was hard to believe it had really been seventeen years; to Hanner it had only been a couple of days since he left Mavi and the children at Warlock House while he went to see his new magical tapestry. He hoped she was all right; none of the wizards had yet told him anything about her circumstances.
He knew that time had really passed, and the city had changed. He had seen Eastgate Market, and as he followed Rothiel through Allston he could see differences here, as well. The late afternoon shadows were lengthening, obscuring some of the details, but Hanner was fairly certain there were new tiles on some roofs, different paint here and there, shrines added or removed, and so on.
Even so, this was familiar ground. To reach Warlock House he needed merely stay on High Street — but that wasn’t what he did; instead he followed Rothiel as the wizard turned right on Arena Street and followed it two blocks down the hill, toward the overlord’s palace, before turning left onto Lower Street.
This neighborhood was not Allston, of course; they had left that district behind. This side of Arena Street was the New City — or at least, it had still been called that seventeen years ago. Perhaps the name had finally been changed by now, since the area had not actually been new for more than two hundred years.
The houses here appeared exactly as Hanner remembered them; whatever changes might have overtaken other parts of the city, Lower Street seemed untouched. So far as he could tell in the orange glow of the setting sun, Ithinia’s gray stone house, second from the corner on the north side of the street, was just as it had always been.
One of the gargoyles on the cornice slowly turned its head to watch their approach, and Hanner tried to remember — was that one Glitter? No, Glitter’s niche was in back, overlooking the garden; Hanner thought this one was called Fang. He waved cheerfully to the stony monster.
A spriggan he had not previously noticed jumped up on the gargoyle’s shoulder and waved back, reminding Hanner that he was indeed in this strange new future.
The gargoyle flapped a gray wing and sent the spriggan flying, but the little creature caught itself on the cornice, hanging on by just a few fingers, then squealed and swung itself back up behind the gargoyle’s leg, whereupon Hanner lost sight of it.
Then Rothiel was knocking on Ithinia’s door, so Hanner lowered his gaze, squared his shoulders, and prepared to greet the Guildmaster. Rudhira was standing at his side, and he considered saying something to help her ready herself, but then the door opened and there was Ithinia, in a white robe trimmed with golden-brown fur.
“Hanner!” she said. “Come in, come in; I’m pleased to see you after so long!”
Hanner bowed. “I’m honored, Guildmaster,” he said. “May I present my friend, Rudhira of Camptown?”
Ithinia cocked her head. “I believe I remember you,” she said. “Long ago — in 5202, I suppose. In the harbor.”
Rudhira met Ithinia’s gaze. She clearly knew what the wizard was referring to, and Hanner remembered the incident, as well. Rudhira had picked up what had seemed like half the water in the harbor, to test the strength of her magic. “Yes,” she said. “That was me.”
“You were Called soon after?” Ithinia asked, her tone conversational.
“A few days, yes.”
“It was an impressive demonstration of what warlockry could do.”
“Yes, it was.” Her gaze did not waver; Hanner hoped that her boldness would not annoy the Guildmaster.
