The Unwelcome Warlock

Hanner cocked his head. “Your Majesty, you are already an emperor. Why would you want to be a mere chairman?”

“To amuse myself,” Vond answered. “The Small Kingdoms are boring, and now that I no longer need to fear the Calling, I came back to Ethshar. My empire has fended for itself for the past fifteen years, and it can do so a little longer. But I’m not going to pretend to just be an ordinary citizen; we all know that I’m much more than that. I don’t want to be bothered with running the city, so I have no interest in declaring myself overlord — let Azrad keep the title. But chairman — I think I can claim that title, and whatever respect goes with it. Not to mention this house.”

“I’m the chairman!” Zallin protested. He was back on his feet again, but still looking slightly dazed.

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” Hanner said. “The Council of Warlocks does not own this house; I do. I inherited it from my uncle, Lord Faran, and allowed the council to use it.”

Sterren knew he should be following the argument, ready to jump in if tempers started to fray dangerously, but he was distracted by the sudden realization that there was a fifth person in the house. A petite woman with a spectacular head of red hair was standing quietly in a corridor beyond Hanner and Zallin.

“Were you planning to evict the council?” Vond demanded.

Hanner hesitated. “I was not in any hurry to do so,” he said.

“Good! Then as the only warlock left, I believe I constitute the entire Council of Warlocks, and I hereby nominate myself as chairman. Any objections?”

“The council is supposed to consist of the twenty most powerful warlocks in the city,” Zallin said. “Twenty, not one.”

The emperor gave him a disdainful glance. “Alas, there are no other true warlocks in the city,” Vond said. “I am the only one qualified for the council.”

“Fine, you’re the chairman,” Hanner said, turning up a palm. “For whatever that’s worth.”

“I believe it means I will be living here for the next few sixnights,” Vond replied cheerfully. “As your tenant.”

“Hanner, I am —” Zallin began.

“Oh, shut up,” Hanner said. “Do you really want to argue with the warlock who is said to have once bent the edge of the World?” He turned back to Vond. “Welcome to Warlock House, Chairman Vond. Shall I show you to your room? Zallin has been using it, but I’m sure he can have his things out by tonight.”

“But I —” Zallin said.

“You’ll take the adjoining room, I suppose, so you won’t need to carry your belongings more than a few feet,” Hanner said, cutting him off. “Rudhira was using it, but she can find another.”

“I...” Zallin looked from Hanner to Vond, who was still hanging in the air, his robe swirling gently despite the total lack of any wind in the house. Zallin’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll move my things at once, your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” Vond said, with a gracious nod of his head. “Lead the way!”

Sterren started to follow, then remembered his luggage, still sitting on the street out front. “I’ll be right up!” he said, as he turned to hurry back out and retrieve it.

Chapter Nineteen

An hour or so after Vond’s arrival, Hanner was sitting in the dining room when Vond’s chancellor peered in from the hallway. “May I join you?” he said.

“Of course,” Hanner said.

The other man entered the room cautiously, looking around at the furnishings and at the big windows looking out on High Street. “This is a nice place,” he said.

“My uncle always wanted the best,” Hanner replied. He looked the other over.

He was not a big man at all — he was a little below average height, with a slender build. His hair had not been combed recently, but he wore it fairly short, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Hanner guessed him to be in his late thirties. He was wearing a nicely-tailored black silk tunic — expensive, but not ostentatious.

“Your name was Sterren?” Hanner asked.

“That’s right. Sterren of Ethshar, originally, but no one’s called me that for a long time.”

“I noticed that you spoke Ethsharitic like a native.”

Sterren nodded. “Grew up in the Old Merchants’ Quarter. Then my grandmother’s family tracked me down and hauled me off to Semma, and I’ve been stuck there ever since.”

“Vond called you his chancellor?”

Sterren turned up an empty palm. “He can call me anything he wants; I’m not inclined to argue with someone who can kill me with a thought.”

Hanner smiled bitterly. “I can understand that. How did you wind up as his chancellor?”

“That’s a long story.”

“I’m not in any hurry.”

Sterren sighed. “Well, here’s the short version. My grandmother’s brother was the warlord of Semma. He never had any children, so far as anyone knows, so when he died, I was next in line, and they didn’t care that I was just a kid earning my living playing dice in taverns. The king of Semma sent a party to drag me back to Semma because he needed his warlord right away; he’d managed to anger the two neighboring kingdoms, Ophkar and Ksinallion, to the point of war.” He grimaced. “I didn’t know anything about fighting wars, so I did what any Ethsharite would do: I hired magicians to fight it for me. One of them was a warlock who somehow latched onto a source of power besides the one in Aldagmor, then declared himself emperor and started conquering everything in sight. He kept me around more as a translator than anything else, and to have a fellow Ethsharite handy when he got homesick. He gave me a fancy title and left me in charge of all the stuff he didn’t want to deal with, and then when he got Called —”

“He did get Called?” Hanner interrupted.

“Oh, of course. Yes, he had another source for his magic, but he was drawing on both of them without realizing it, so yes, he got Called. By then the empire was established well enough that nobody really wanted to break it back up into separate kingdoms, so the Imperial Council I’d organized kept running it, but they needed a figurehead, so they named me as regent. I’ve been stuck there ever since — until Vond came back, demoted me back to chancellor, named someone else as regent, and dragged me along to Ethshar.”

“It wasn’t your idea?”

“Well...” Sterren hesitated. “It wasn’t my idea, but I certainly won’t say I objected. I didn’t mind coming back to Ethshar and getting a look at it.”

Hanner nodded. “Where’s the emperor now?” he asked.

“He’s gone out to reacquaint himself with the city. After all, it’s been fifteen years since he saw it. I imagine there have been some changes.”

Hanner remembered the walk from Eastgate Market. “I’d say so, yes. But it’s still Ethshar.”

“I’m sure it is; I never flew off to Aldagmor to spend a decade and a half stuck in a protective spell, so if anything really drastic had happened I think I’d have heard about it. I did hear about Tabaea, for example.”

“Who?”

“Tabaea the Thief? The woman who got hold of a magic dagger and declared herself Empress of Ethshar?”

“I never heard of her,” Hanner said. “When was that?”

“Oh, almost ten years ago now. Harvest of 5227, I think.”

“I was Called in 5219.”

“Oh. Well, she did, and the Wizards’ Guild had a hard time getting rid of her; they wound up destroying part of the overlord’s palace in Ethshar of the Sands in the process.”