The Unwelcome Warlock

It did not come directly south, up Center Avenue, though; it was veering to the east, toward Arena Street. Hanner watched as it glided through the night sky, dark against the darkness, until it came to rest centered two blocks east and a hundred yards up from where he stood.

That put the western end perhaps a hundred feet east of his position — as he had been taught as a child, the palace measured eight hundred and four feet from one end of the southern facade to the other, and the blocks on Lower Street were scarcely three hundred feet. Hanner could look up and see the western windows.

He could see the terrified faces of servants and courtiers staring out those windows, looking down at him and the others in the streets below, and his heart clenched in his chest as he realized his sister and daughter might be among those at the windows. They probably had no idea what was happening, he realized; they could not possibly see Vond from where they were, and had probably not heard his shouting through the palace’s thick stone walls.

Then a movement caught Hanner’s eye, and he watched as Vond came swooping down around the palace, and descended to the street in front of Ithinia’s house.

Hanner started forward again. He did not know what Vond had planned, or how Ithinia would react, but he knew them both, and he wanted to be there, to provide a voice of calm reason, a neutral voice, in the inevitable confrontation.

Only then did he notice that save for Vond, the gargoyle, and himself, the street below the palace was empty; the few pedestrians who had been on Lower Street had fled, eager to get out from beneath the palace. The gargoyle was back on its feet, and seemed unhurt by its fall and whatever else Vond had done to it, but it was backing away, clearly unwilling to confront the warlock as Vond floated toward Ithinia’s door.

The body of the dead witch was still there, as well; Vond kicked it aside as he arrived on the wizard’s front step. “Open up, wizard!” Vond bellowed, his voice still unnaturally loud, but well short of the thunderous volume he had used earlier.

Hanner was still half a block away when the door swung open, and a man’s gentle voice said, “Would you care to come in, your Majesty?” Hanner clearly heard the thump as the man, presumably Ithinia’s servant Obdur, was flung back against a wall to make way for the enraged warlock. Hanner watched Vond sail through the door into the warmly-lit interior.

“Wait!” he called, breaking into a desperate run. “Wait, I should be there, too!”

No one replied. Vond did not re-emerge. For a moment nothing changed, and Hanner heard nothing but his own panting, the pounding of his own feet, and distant shouting as the city reacted to the theft of the palace and its inhabitants. The oblong of lamplight that was Ithinia’s open door drew nearer, and for a moment Hanner thought he was going to make it, that no one was going to close the door.

But then the door swung shut after all, and the latch fell into place with a distinct click.

Hanner slowed. He took a deep breath of the cold night air, letting its chill fill his lungs, and then looked up.

The palace was hanging above him; its vast dark mass blocked out the sky, and the glow of the streetlights did little to illuminate the gray stone of its underside. It was hovering motionlessly above the city — above the three blocks of Lower Street between Center Avenue and Arena Street. It was as unmoving as a ceiling, despite being supported by nothing more than a hundred yards of air and Vond’s invisible, inexplicable magic.

If anything happened to Vond, the palace would fall. Everyone in it would die, including Alris, Hala, and the overlord. Everyone beneath it would be crushed.

If the Wizards’ Guild had intended to kill Vond, it would seem they had missed their chance. Even an organization as ruthless as the Guild was rumored to be would not deliberately allow that thing to drop onto the city.

But surely, even Vond couldn’t keep it up there forever. He would need to sleep eventually, wouldn’t he? Warlockry could provide all the physical energy he would need, but even warlocks needed to sleep to stay sane.

Of course, Vond might not be particularly concerned with sanity. Hanner looked down at the pitiful remains of the dead witch, lying on the hard-packed dirt, limbs and clothing askew, cast aside by the Great Vond as beneath his notice.

He had never even learned her name, Hanner thought. This woman had died in his house, and he had no idea who she really was. She might have family, friends, perhaps an apprentice, expecting her to return home at any moment.

He looked up again at the palace, then at the surrounding houses, their windows a patchwork of lamplight and darkness. Ithinia’s front windows were bright, while others varied. Hanner knew that Vond and Ithinia were meeting behind those windows, probably exchanging ultimatums. He had wanted to be in there with them, trying to keep them calm. If he knocked on the door, Obdur might let him in — but would his presence really help? He might just infuriate the others. He might say the wrong thing and bring the palace crashing down.

He looked at the surrounding houses again. There might be people sleeping in those houses, completely unaware of what was happening. Yes, uprooting the palace had been impossibly loud, and had shaken much of the city, but some people slept soundly, or might have dismissed it as thunder, or an earthquake, and gone back to sleep.

He should rouse them, Hanner thought, and get them clear. Or perhaps he should go to the Wizards’ Quarter and see if magicians could get up to the palace and rescue the hundreds of people trapped in it. He could probably do more good that way, getting innocents out of harm’s way, than by thrusting himself between the two sides in this magicians’ quarrel.

He looked up and down the street to see if there was anyone he could recruit. No pedestrians were in sight; everyone had fled that looming impossibility overhead.

Everyone human, at any rate. That gargoyle was still there, crouched so motionlessly that Hanner had somehow briefly overlooked its presence.

“Hai!” Hanner called. “Gargoyle! We need to get people out of here!”

The thing straightened and turned. “Do we?” it asked in its deep, rasping voice.

“Yes, we do.” Hanner waved at the houses on the south side of the street. “We need to make sure there’s no one home! If that thing comes down, we want to keep the carnage to a minimum.”

The gargoyle craned its neck back with a hideous grinding sound and looked up at the palace.

“I will inform my mistress’ household,” it said.

“If you can get word to any wizards, can you ask about getting people down from the palace? With flying carpets, or levitation spells?”

It nodded slowly.

“Good!” Hanner said. “You do that, and I’ll start knocking on doors.”

The gargoyle spread great stone wings, and took to the air.

Hanner spared only a second to watch it before he turned and ran toward the door of the house across the street from Ithinia’s.

Chapter Thirty

Vond’s arrival was not a surprise. Ithinia had been in her garden, watching the overlord’s palace move into position over her house, and when it stopped, she knew what was coming next. The warlock had made his announcement, and now he would want to deliver his terms. She did not hurry, but turned and went back inside.

She found Obdur waiting in the hallway and told him, “We’re expecting company. When the warlock arrives, I will see him in the parlor. Address him as befits an emperor — there’s no need to antagonize him over trifles.”

“Yes, mistress,” Obdur said with a bow. He turned and headed toward the front of the house.

Ithinia made her way to the parlor, picking up a few small items on the way. The other magicians who had attended her little gathering had all gone about their own business afterward, but she thought it was likely some of them might want to talk to her when they saw the flying palace, and she did not think Vond would look kindly on