The Unwelcome Warlock

wall that separated this chamber from Vond’s, and was pleased to see a closet door. She quickly crossed the room.

The closet was empty, which was a little surprising at first, especially given the bundles by the bed, but then she remembered that most of the house was inhabited by refugees who had no clothing except what they had been wearing when they were Called. This room’s occupant had apparently acquired some garments somewhere, but probably hadn’t had time yet to put them in the closet.

She stepped into the closet and pulled the door shut behind her, then settled to the floor in the darkness, her back against the wall. She could have made a light, but it might show; instead she left the closet dark, and closed her eyes, using her magic to sense what lay beyond the wall behind her.

Vond was finally done, not because he was tired, but because his companion was unable to stay awake any longer. He slid off her, and started to get out of bed.

That was not what Kirris wanted. She reached out, and cast a whisper into the warlock’s mind. “A little sleep might be nice,” she thought. “Not needed, of course, but nice. Enjoy this lovely bed, and wake up next to this girl.”

She could feel him hesitate. She felt him turn and look at the sleeping woman.

“There’s no hurry,” she thought at him. “There’s all the time in the World. Everyone else is going to bed now; why shouldn’t you?”

She knew that her messages were reaching him, but she was not certain they were coming across as his own thoughts. She did not sense any real barrier from his own magic, but he was always wary — she could see that, could see that it was part of his nature.

She knew he had stopped, and was looking at his sleeping companion. Then he glanced around the room, at the burning lamps, at the marble statue of a woman and the little bronze on the bedside table, and at the white-and-gold bed-curtains.

Kirris waited, holding her breath. Then Vond lay back, let out a sigh, and closed his eyes. A moment later he was sound asleep.

Kirris still waited, crouching in the closet with her eyes closed, watching as the warlock — the last warlock — settled into a sound slumber. When she was certain that he was not going to awaken for at least a few minutes, she felt his mind, felt the shape of it. She could sense the structure in the brain that resonated with the magic that permeated the World.

She had studied that structure before, and she could tell immediately that Vond’s was slightly different. It was...bigger here, smaller there, shaped a little differently. It was sensitive not just to the magic that had formerly poured out of Aldagmor, but to the very different power that came from somewhere to the southeast — from the towers in Lumeth, presumably.

Kirris knew that normal warlocks could not be turned back into ordinary humans; once the brain had become attuned to it, it could not close out the Aldagmor source and continue to function. This other power, though, might be different. She might be able to shut down Vond’s magic, reducing him to just one more former warlock. She reached out...

And hit a barrier. She could magically see the inside of Vond’s head, but she could not touch it. It wasn’t that the structural changes couldn’t be reversed and the power shut out without destroying his mind, as was the case with an ordinary warlock, but that he had erected a protective barrier that somehow stayed in place even while he slept. She could not tell whether it was a permanent structure of some sort, or whether he had trained himself to maintain it even when unconscious, but it blocked her witchcraft quite effectively.

That was not really a surprise. She had not known such a thing was possible, but given that it was possible, Vond was exactly the sort of person who would have made such an arrangement. He had probably done it long ago, before he was Called, when he thought the kings he had deposed in creating his empire were plotting against him.

She couldn’t take his magic away. Her own private plan was not going to work.

She had feared that might be the case. It would have been too easy if she could simply turn off his power supply, or block it somehow. She had not even bothered to tell Ithinia and the others she intended to try.

That protective spell meant she would have to try the plan that she had discussed with Ithinia. She let out a soundless sigh, gathered her reserves of energy, and dug down into her own memory of those long-ago experiments she and Teneria had conducted.

The images were still there, burned indelibly into her mind when she had shared the experience of the Call. She gathered and shaped them.

This was taking a lot of energy, she knew. To all appearances she was sitting quietly in a closet, but in fact she was using more witchcraft in this hour or so than she would normally use in a sixnight. She was going to be tired, hungry, and shaky when this was done — but it had to be done, and the sooner the better.

She could feel herself trembling, and she forced herself to stop, to focus on the magic, the memories, the images, the sensations, and the feel of Vond’s sleeping mind on the far side of the bedroom wall. She reached out, and began to filter the remembered images into his thoughts as a dream — a dream of falling, and burning, of ferocious inhuman need, of a demand and a direction, of being buried deep in ash and mud, smothered and trapped.

And then Vond was awake, awake and screaming as he tore upward from his bed, through the canopy and the ceiling above, as shredded fabric and shards of plaster spattered down across his companion, startled from her own exhausted slumber.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hanner had ushered the last of the new arrivals through the tapestry, and was walking down the stairs from the fourth floor to the third, a candle in his hand, when the entire house suddenly shook, and unearthly screams sounded somewhere nearby, accompanied by crashing. He picked up his pace, and when he reached the third floor he ran in the direction of the sound.

He could hear a dozen voices now as various people called questions, trying to understand what was happening. He ignored them all as he dashed toward the back of the house. He could see an orange glow under one of the bedroom doors; he snatched at the knob and flung that door open.

As he had expected, Vond was hanging in mid-air in the room beyond, glowing orange, hair drifting out in a nimbus around his head. As Hanner had not expected, the emperor was stark naked, his skin pale and slick with sweat. Two women were cowering in beds on either side of the room, sheets pulled up — they were probably naked, as well.

The floor between the two beds had been smashed upward, leaving a hole about six feet across directly below the hovering warlock. Bits of wood and plaster were scattered on all sides.

Vond had stopped screaming, and as Hanner stepped in, his gaze focused on Hanner’s face.

“You,” he said. “Did you do that?” Vond did not look frightened, even though he had been screaming in terror a moment before. He looked angry.

“Do what, your Majesty?” Hanner asked. “What happened?”

Vond did not answer. Instead he looked first to one side, then the other, then demanded, “Who are you?”

“Anra the Warl...Anra of Southwark, your Majesty,” one of the terrified women replied.

“My...my name is...is Pirra,” the other stammered.

“They’re my guests,” Hanner said. “They were Called warlocks with nowhere else to go.”

The warlock looked down, past his own feet, and called, “Leth! Are you there?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” a woman’s voice called from below.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so. I’m...sore, though.”

“Hanner,” Vond said, looking up again. “Where’s Zallin? And Sterren?”

“Zallin was downstairs with a bottle of oushka last I saw,” Hanner replied.