The Unwelcome Warlock

Hanner waited, trying to regain his calm. He looked up and down Mustard Street, hoping he didn’t appear too suspicious or out of place. No one seemed to pay him any particular attention; the street was not very busy, and the people he saw were intent on their own business, walking past without giving him much more than a casual glance.

Then the door opened again — not fully, just enough for Nerra to slip out, a piece of paper in her hand. “Here,” she said, handing it to Hanner. “Those addresses.”

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the list. “I...Is Mavi...”

“Terrin’s comforting her. The sooner you get away from here, the better — shall we go?”

He had to blink away tears again. “Yes,” he said. He let Nerra take his elbow and turn him away from the door, pointing him toward North Street.

He wanted to turn back, to go back to Mavi, but he knew he shouldn’t. He let Nerra guide him.

“Alris will want to see you, too, you know,” Nerra said conversationally. “And your children, of course. It’ll be very strange for them, seeing you again — not as bad as for Mavi, of course, but...strange.”

“Yes,” Hanner replied, not trusting himself to say more just yet.

“The whole city is...well, it’s a surprise, having all you warlocks come back. No one expected it.”

“I know,” Hanner said. “Thousands of us.”

“None of you can do magic any more, is that right?”

“Almost none,” Hanner said, without really thinking about what he was saying. “The ones who were witches or theurgists before the Night of Madness got their old magic back. And...”

He stopped himself before mentioning Vond. He wasn’t sure whether Ithinia, or Vond himself, wanted it generally known that the emperor was in the city.

“So you spent seventeen years trapped in some cave in Aldagmor?”

“Not a cave,” Hanner said, still not paying much attention to the conversation. “A crater.”

“I’m surprised most of you didn’t go mad from boredom.”

“What?” That distracted Hanner from thoughts of Mavi. “No, no. We were all trapped in a preservation spell — we weren’t conscious. It was like being asleep, or in a trance. To me, that seventeen years passed in an instant; it feels as if I haven’t been gone even seventeen days.”

“A preservation spell? So that’s why you look so young?”

“Exactly.” He glanced at her, taking in the lines on her face, the sagging here and there. She had been thirty-five when he last saw her, and now she was...fifty-two? Was that right?

She was older than he was now — how very strange! He had gone from being the oldest of the three siblings to the youngest.

“Tell me all about it,” she said. “About the Calling, and your release, and coming back to Ethshar, and all of it. I’ve heard stories, but they were all third- or fourth-hand; you can tell me what really happened.”

Hanner took a moment to gather his thoughts, then said, “Well, I’d commissioned a Transporting Tapestry because I hoped to find a place warlocks could hide from the Call...”

By the time he had told her the entire story they were walking up the slope of Coronet Street, scarcely a block from the front door of Warlock House. Telling the tale had distracted him from the emotional turmoil of his encounter with Mavi.

“So the tapestry didn’t make the Calling stronger?” Nerra asked. “We assumed it did. You’d been fighting it successfully for sixnights, and then suddenly you were gone — we thought the tapestry had backfired somehow.”

“The tapestry worked just as it was supposed to,” Hanner said. “It was the shock of coming back out that overpowered me.”

She nodded. “All right,” she said, “I suppose I understand. But then why do you want it now? After all, the Calling is gone, isn’t it?”

“It’s gone,” he agreed.

“Then why do you need the tapestry?”

They were at the corner of High Street by this point, and Hanner waved at the crowd in front of Warlock House. There were a score of people there, some in nightclothes, some in warlock black, all of them dirty, all of them visibly exhausted.

Hanner also noticed one of Ithinia’s gargoyles perched on the far side of High Street, watching everything, but he ignored it. “That’s why,” he said, pointing at the people in the street.

“I don’t understand,” Nerra said.

“They were warlocks,” Hanner told her. “Or they would have been — most of them were Called on the Night of Madness, and never knew what they had become, never learned to use the magic. They were going about their lives, minding their own business, and one night they were drawn away to Aldagmor, and the next thing they knew it was thirty-four years later, and their homes and families and friends were gone. They have no place in the World as it is now. They need somewhere to go, a refuge, somewhere safe they can live, at least for a little while.”

“And that’s what the tapestry is,” she said. “I see.”

“Assuming it’s still where you left it, and it still works, yes,” Hanner said.

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” Nerra strode forward, arms raised, calling, “Excuse me! Let me through!”

The little crowd parted, and she and Hanner marched up to the front door. Hanner reached for the handle.

It was locked.

He frowned. “The lock was broken,” he said. He released the latch and knocked.

He waited a moment, then raised his hand to knock again just as the door swung open. Zallin looked out at him.

“Hanner! It’s you!”

“Zallin! It’s you!” Hanner replied. “Stop telling me who I am and let me in.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, opening the door wide and stepping aside. He threw a glance at the waiting crowd. “I thought it might be one of them.”

Hanner looked back over his shoulder, then stopped on the sill. He turned around and called, “Be patient, friends! I hope to have good news for you all very soon!” Then he continued into the house, ushering Nerra in with him.

The instant they were inside Zallin swung the door shut, and clicked the latch into place. “For a moment I was afraid you were going to invite them all in,” he said with a nervous smile.

“I might do that later,” Hanner said. “There’s something else I need to do first.”

“But Hanner, where would you put them all? You’ve already filled half the beds. And Vond won’t like it...” Zallin’s voice trailed off as he noticed Hanner and Nerra both staring at him. It was not a friendly stare.

“Zallin of the Mismatched Eyes,” Hanner said, “allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Nerra. Nerra, Zallin was the Chairman of the Council of Warlocks when the Calling ended.”

“I’m honored, my lady,” Zallin said with a bow.

Nerra didn’t say anything, but nodded an acknowledgment.

“The lock was broken,” Hanner said, pointing at the door.

“Vond fixed it,” Zallin said. “He didn’t want those people just walking in.”

“Then he’s back?”

“Oh, yes. We got home half an hour ago.” Zallin shuddered. “He brought a girl with him from Camptown, and I think if she hadn’t been here he might have...have... He wasn’t happy with those guests of yours, Hanner, or with the people outside. Sterren isn’t here, and Vond didn’t like that, either. If he hadn’t... He didn’t want to scare the girl.”

Hanner followed this disjointed account well enough to understand the situation. “He’s upstairs with her now?”

“Yes.”

Hanner nodded. “We’ll try not to disturb him.” He headed for the stairs, Nerra close behind.

“Wait, Hanner! Where are you going? You just said you weren’t going to disturb him.”