The Unwelcome Warlock

grew up. If you’ve seen it, you must undoubtedly have wondered what holds it back — why hasn’t it swept over the World and poisoned us all?”

“Magic?” someone said; Ithinia didn’t see who had spoken.

“Magic! Of course. To be exact, the largest sorcerous talismans known to exist — the three towers in Lumeth cast a protective spell over the entire World, holding back the poisons and keeping our air clean and sweet.”

“Not the gods?” the theurgist asked.

Ithinia turned up a hand. “The legend passed down in our Guild says that the gods helped build the towers, but that it is the towers alone that now protect us. Our divinations confirm this. That is the power that this Vond is meddling with.”

“Meddling how?” Kirris asked.

“We don’t know,” Ithinia said. “Warlockry blocks our spells. But we know that’s where he’s drawing his power from, and we are concerned that he might somehow damage or weaken the towers’ magic.”

“The warlocks didn’t damage the thing in Aldagmor,” Teneria of Fishertown said. “There were thousands of them drawing on it, and it wasn’t affected at all.”

“But the towers are different,” Ithinia replied. “Ordinary warlocks can’t use their power; there’s something different about Vond.”

“The gods can see him,” volunteered old Corinal the Theurgist, from his place in the corner of the room.

“What?” Kirris said, turning.

“The gods can see him,” Corinal repeated. “They never could see ordinary warlocks, you know, and until these last few days we could never get a coherent explanation out of them.”

“Now you can?” Teneria asked.

“Well — not so very coherent as we might like, even now, but at least we have an explanation.”

“What is it?” Arvagan asked. “It might be important.”

Corinal looked at Ithinia, who nodded. “Well,” he said, “the gods do not see the World or anything in it the same way we do. They don’t recognize human beings by how we look — two arms, two legs, a head, and so on — but by how we think. They see our souls, not our physical bodies. They can’t usually see demonologists as people because dealing with demons distorts a person’s soul, and renders it not quite human enough for the gods to recognize.”

“So warlocks don’t have human souls?” Kirris asked.

“Oh, of course they do! But they also had something else. They were reflecting, or echoing, that thing in Aldagmor, and that was so loud, or so bright, or however you want to think of it, that it completely drowned out the warlocks’ own souls. That thing wasn’t from our reality at all, and the gods only concern themselves with our universe, not with others, so they paid no attention to it — it wasn’t part of the World, so it wasn’t real, as far as the gods could tell. It was like a shadow blocking their vision, or perhaps a roar deafening them, so they could not perceive warlocks or warlockry as anything but a sort of gap in reality. It was only when the Warlock Stone left, and all those human souls reappeared, that the gods understood what had happened clearly enough that they could explain it to us.”

“But they can see Vond?” Kirris asked.

“Because the towers are part of our universe,” Ithinia said.

“And because the towers aren’t trying to communicate,” Corinal said. “They aren’t drowning out Vond’s own thoughts with theirs — they don’t have any.”

“Which is why Vond doesn’t need to worry about another Calling,” Ithinia said.

For a moment the room was silent as everyone absorbed this explanation, but then Kirris asked, “Does Vond know that?”

“What?”

“Does Vond know he won’t be Called again?” Kirris asked.

Ithinia blinked, then turned to Teneria. “Does he?” she asked.

Teneria considered the question carefully before replying. “He probably doesn’t know it,” she said. “He assumes it, because he senses the energy from the towers as a steady hum, rather than a whispering voice like the Warlock Stone. The Aldagmor source was asking for something, though none of us understood what it wanted, and that’s why there was the Calling, and why warlockry was addictive, why warlocks wanted to use their magic even when they didn’t need to. The towers aren’t asking for anything; they’re just doing what they were created to do, so Vond doesn’t feel the same urges he did before. But he doesn’t know anything. He just assumes that his new magic is completely safe and harmless.”

“I’m not sure I see the significance,” Rothiel said.

“It’s simple,” Kirris said. “If we can convince Vond that he’s in danger of another Calling, one just as mysterious and potentially fatal as the one he’s already experienced, then he’ll limit his use of his magic — perhaps give it up completely.”

Ithinia considered this suggestion, and admired its elegance. It might not work, but it did seem worth a try.

“How would we convince him?” demanded the theurgist whose name Ithinia couldn’t remember. “I doubt he’ll believe us if we simply tell him there’s another Calling.”

“Not until he hears it,” Teneria said.

“He won’t ever hear it!” the theurgist exclaimed.

Ithinia looked at Teneria, who said quietly, “We can make him hear it.”

The theurgist turned to look at her. “What? How?”

“Witchcraft,” Teneria said.

“I’d be interested in further explanation, my dear,” Corinal said. “Just how would that work?”

Teneria looked at their hostess, who said, “Please do explain, Teneria.”

Teneria nodded. “Ten years ago,” she said, “I was in Aldagmor on an unrelated errand when I encountered a Sardironese warlock named Adar Dagon’s son who had just been Called. He was struggling to resist, so without really thinking about it, I helped him.”

“Helped him how?” the white-robed theurgist asked. “I didn’t think anyone could help a Called warlock.”

“No one else thought so, either,” Teneria said. “I discovered, though, that the same sort of calming witches do all the time with frightened children interfered with the Call, and weakened it enough that Adar could resist it for a time. That gave us a little time, and I was able to practice blocking it, but eventually I fell asleep, and...well, I never saw Adar again. I hope he’s made it safely home to the Passes now, after ten years’ rest, but I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you do it again, though?” the theurgist asked.

“Oh, I did,” Teneria said. “Several times, with several different warlocks, working with several other witches, including Kirris here. We kept it secret, though, because if word got out that there was a way for witches to prevent the Calling, or even just delay it — well, the most likely outcome was that witches would all find themselves enslaved by desperate warlocks, forced to devote every waking moment to fending off the Call. Remember, warlocks were far, far more powerful than any witch; even a mere apprentice warlock could stop a witch’s heart in an instant. Our magic is more subtle and more varied, but warlocks had more than enough raw power to smash through any defenses we might devise.”

“But you saved a few?” Corinal asked. “Or were there further difficulties?”

“Oh, there were very definitely further difficulties,” Teneria said. “First off, we had to work in shifts, so that we could sleep — an exhausted witch can’t work magic. Further, the Call was so powerful that a witch could only protect one warlock at a time, so it took two or more witches to guard a single warlock. We conducted several trials, using various approaches, but we couldn’t find any way to do better than that — two witches taking turns to protect one warlock. We couldn’t allow the warlock to go even a few miles closer to Aldagmor, or the Call would strengthen enough that we couldn’t fight it, so our movements were limited; one of us had to be near the warlock every instant. Witchcraft only works at close range, you know — it’s not like wizards casting spells that take effect a