Zallin had followed them up the stairs, and he stood and watched as Rudhira stepped into her room and closed the door behind her. She had not bothered to strike a light; apparently she had no problem maneuvering in the dark.
Hanner was not quite so agile, and managed to bump his shin on a night-stand before falling gratefully into the great soft featherbed in the next room. He pulled off his battered and muddy boots, but did not bother to undress; the room was warmer than the chilly outside air, but still somewhat cool.
He called a good night to Zallin and Rudhira, though he doubted they could hear him. Then he rolled over and was instantly asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Sterren had fallen asleep hours ago; Vond might have a warlock’s supernatural endurance, but Sterren had carefully avoided ever acquiring any such talents. By the time they left the Southern Mountains behind, flying westward across the night-shrouded forests of Ansumor, he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open, and somewhere past a castle — Sterren had not been sure whether it was Yorbethon or Lumeth of the Forest — he had dozed off.
Now, though, he jerked awake at the sound of Vond’s voice, and found himself in mid-air above sandy beaches. To his left, sand and scrubby plant-life extended as far as he could see, with a few houses and shacks scattered across the dunes; to his right open sea glittered in the morning sun that was shining on his back.
Directly ahead was the city wall of Ethshar of the Spices. The wall extended a hundred yards out into the sea, and ended in the Seacorner Lighthouse; a watchtower stood on the beach, and he could see the top of another watchtower in the harbor beyond. Behind that farthest tower was a tangle of masts and spars — that, Sterren realized, would be the ships berthed at the wharves of Seacorner and Newmarket. A little farther inland the city wall was broken by the mismatched towers of Eastgate. He and Vond were going to pass over the wall between the gate and the beach.
“I’ve been gone for fifteen years,” Vond said. “You haven’t. Where would you suggest we find lodging?”
“A good morning to you, too,” Sterren said. “I haven’t been back to Ethshar since you were Called, either.”
“You must have heard some news, though.”
“Well, yes, but I generally didn’t concern myself with locating the best inns in Seacorner.”
“We don’t need to stay in Seacorner. I was thinking we might find a place in Warlock Street. I shared a shop there once.” With that, they veered southward, away from the water.
“I’m sure your shop is long gone,” Sterren said. “In fact, I suspect all of Warlock Street is in disarray right now.”
“Oh — yes, I suppose it would be,” Vond agreed, slowing.
“If you want to find more former warlocks, like the ones you left in Akalla, that would probably be the place to look.”
Vond shook his head. “No,” he said. “I want somewhere comfortable to stay, but someplace that will reflect my status as the only remaining warlock in the World.”
“The most powerful, anyway,” Sterren said, shaking his head to clear it. He was still only half awake. Then he realized what he had said, and almost bit his tongue; he did
“Yes, the most powerful warlock in the World,” Vond said thoughtfully. “Which should make me Chairman of the Council, shouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Sterren said. “Is that how it worked?”
“I don’t really know, either,” Vond admitted. “But really, if I declare myself Chairman, who’s going to argue with me? Where are any other warlocks who might claim the title?”
“I don’t know,” Sterren said. “Where
“Warlock House,” Vond said. “At the corner of Coronet and High Street.”
“What?”
“I mentioned it before. I think I may claim it as my new home. That’s where the Chairman of the Council lives. It was Karannin of Zobaya when I left Ethshar, and before that it was Lord Hanner, who founded the Council.”
“I never heard of them,” Sterren admitted.
“You weren’t supposed to. The Council was warlock business, not intended for outsiders. Oh, the other magicians knew about it, and the city magistrates, but they didn’t exactly hang out a signboard.”
“I knew there was a council,” Sterren protested. “I just didn’t know who the chairman was.”
“You weren’t really a warlock.”
Sterren couldn’t argue with that, and in any case, he was distracted by the sight of the city wall passing beneath their feet. There was a guardsman on the ramparts, watching them; the fellow did not look particularly alarmed.
Sterren wondered whether everyone in Ethshar knew that warlockry had, except for Vond and himself, vanished from the World. If so, then that soldier probably assumed they were wizards, levitating themselves with one of the various spells that would allow a person to fly.
Except from what Sterren knew of wizardry, which was admittedly not much, there were no spells that provided the speed and control of a warlock’s flight — well, other than the spells that required a vehicle of some sort, such as a flying carpet. The levitation spells Sterren knew anything about were mostly slow and awkward, allowing the user to drift on the wind or walk on air, rather than soaring like a warlock.
But the soldier on the rampart might not know that, and there might be spells Sterren had never heard of. At any rate, the guard did nothing to stop Vond and Sterren from flying into the city, nor to warn anyone of their arrival.
Once the two of them were past the wall they were above a maze of streets, rooftops, and courtyards, and Sterren could make little sense of it. From the location of the lighthouse and the watchtowers he knew they were over Seacorner, but beyond that he was lost. He had grown up in the Old Merchants’ Quarter, on the far side of the city, but more importantly, he had never looked at the streets from above before, and he hadn’t seen Ethshar at all for more than fifteen years. He could see a clear area ahead that was too big, and too open to the streets, to be a courtyard, and knew it must therefore be a market square, but was it Newmarket or Hempfield? Or possibly even the Old Market on the edge of Fishertown? It was too far from the waterfront to be Fishertown Market itself.
There were people in the streets and courts, but that didn’t tell him anything; the people of Hempfield and the people of Newmarket could not be distinguished by their appearance. The market did not look busy, but after all, it was still early; the merchants were still folding out awnings and setting up tables.
Whatever square that was, Sterren was sure it was north of High Street. Apparently Vond was certain enough of his navigation that he didn’t need to follow High Street. The corner of High Street and Coronet — that would be in the New City, wouldn’t it? Yes, thinking back, Sterren was sure Vond had said Warlock House was in the New City, back when he first mentioned it in the sky above Semma.
They passed the market and Sterren still couldn’t identify it, but presumably Vond knew where he was going; after all, from his point of view he had only left the city a year or so ago, and he had probably done some flying here before.
Sunlight glinted from water, and Sterren realized that was a canal, ahead and to the right. There was a tangle of narrow streets and strange buildings that he realized must be the Old City almost directly ahead of them, and beyond that the first structure he actually recognized — the overlord’s palace, its rich yellow marble walls gleaming in the morning sun.
That meant that the slope ahead and to the left, with its big stone and brick homes, and its gardens fading with the season from green to brown, was the New City. Warlock House was somewhere in there.
They soared over a corner of the Old City, with its misshapen spires and turrets, then crossed a broad avenue that Sterren guessed must be Arena Street. He looked down at the houses and gardens below, and noticed
