The Unwelcome Warlock

been ordered to get everyone out of here — but Vond doesn’t know how many people are in here, and since he can’t come here himself without losing his magic and dropping the palace, he won’t be able to check. So if some of you leave, we can tell Vond that it’s everyone, and the rest can stay here undisturbed. You probably won’t be getting any more people or supplies coming in unless and until someone finds a way to remove Vond, and anyone who goes back through the tapestry into the attic of Warlock House after we tell Vond everyone’s out will be doing so at the risk of his own life, but other than that —”

He never finished the sentence. He was interrupted by a woman’s startled scream. Like everyone else, Hanner turned to see who was screaming, and why.

It was an old woman, who was pointing up a street that led out of the village and up the slope toward the arrival point. “Soldiers!” she said.

Everyone turned to look, and there were more screams and shouts. Hanner jumped down from his rock and ran to see for himself. He had to push his way through the crowd, but after a moment’s effort he had a clear view.

Half a dozen men were marching down the slope toward the village, swords bare in their hands. They were not wearing the yellow and red of the city guards, though; instead they wore black tunics, black kilts, and black boots, as well as gray metal breastplates and helmets. For a moment Hanner wondered whether these might be the natives of this world, come to reclaim their village from the invading Ethsharites. But then he looked up at the top of the hill and saw another one appear out of thin air, followed by another. They were definitely coming through the tapestry from Warlock House, then.

But who were they? They weren’t the overlord’s guards, not in those colors. They weren’t any military Hanner had ever seen before — soldiers didn’t wear black!

More appeared, and the nearest had stopped advancing. A dozen or so were spread across the slope now.

“Hai!” Hanner called. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“The emperor sent us,” one of the nearest replied. “We’re here to get you all out of here, and back to Ethshar.”

“I was just telling them —” Hanner began.

“You’re Hanner?” one of the swordsmen interrupted.

“Yes,” Hanner said, a trifle warily.

“His Majesty is not pleased with you, Hanner. You should have had all these people out of here hours ago.”

“I’ve been doing my best, whoever you are! There’s a lot more to this place than just the village, and it took me awhile to find everyone.”

The swordsman looked past Hanner at the crowd, then called to his own men, “Keep them all in the village. If anyone tries to leave, kill him.”

“Yes, sir,” three or four of the other swordsmen replied, more or less in unison.

“Wait a minute,” Hanner said. “Who are you? What gives you any right to give orders?”

“My name’s Gerath Gror’s son,” the swordsman replied, “and his Imperial Majesty the Great Vond appointed me commander of this cohort. He wants everyone out of here.”

“Why should we care what he wants?” Hanner demanded. “This isn’t his property, it’s mine! I paid good money for that tapestry.”

“It’s in the emperor’s house, and he doesn’t want all of you people trespassing.”

“It’s my house, not his!”

Gerath looked both amused and annoyed. “Hanner, if that’s who you are, do you really want to argue with him?”

“Why not? You do know his magic doesn’t work here, don’t you?”

For the first time, Gerath’s confidence faltered. “It doesn’t?”

“No, it doesn’t. That’s what this is all for — a place warlocks could go that the Calling couldn’t reach. He can’t touch us in here.”

Gerath considered that, turned up his empty hand, and raised his sword. “Well, even if he can’t, we can, and we have our orders. Everyone out!”

Hanner stared at him, groping for some response. He instinctively resisted simply doing as he was told — this was his place, no matter what Vond might say. The people of the refuge outnumbered the swordsmen four or five to one; they could resist, refuse to go...

But many of the refugees were women, children, and men too old to fight, and they were unarmed, while those swordsmen looked like they knew their trade. The refugees were completely unprepared, with no leaders or organization. If it came to an actual fight several people would be hurt, maybe killed, and it was not at all clear who would win.

For that matter, maybe some of the refugees wouldn’t want to fight; they might be happy to go back to Ethshar. That would further weaken any opposition the emperor’s swordsmen might face.

Immediate open resistance was not the way to go, then.

“You, Hanner,” Gerath called. “How do people get out of here and back to Warlock House?”

“Ah?” Hanner blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course. This way.” He turned toward the house where the tapestry hung.

“Wait a minute!” Gerath said. “Where are you taking us? Don’t we need to go back up the hill, where we arrived?”

Hanner glanced up the slope to where two men were guarding the hilltop. “No, no,” he said. “That tapestry only works in one direction. Come this way, and I’ll show you the way out.”

“Hanner, are you sure?..” someone muttered by his ear.

“They’d find out soon enough. If we try to trick them, someone will get hurt,” Hanner murmured in reply.

“It’s not a spell?” Gerath called.

“Of course it’s a spell!” Hanner shouted back. “And it’s over there.” He pointed.

Gerath muttered some instructions to his companions, but Hanner could not make them out. Then Gerath and three others came marching into the village, following Hanner, while the other swordsmen remained on the open ground of the grassy hillside.

It occurred to Hanner that he had seen more of these soldiers appear while several were on that slope, and that some of them would have been in the area shown in the tapestry image. There were no swordsmen in the picture, but there had been swordsmen in the place depicted; weren’t such things supposed to block a tapestry from functioning? Didn’t the recent arrivals need to move out of the way before more could come through?

Arvagan had said that tapestries varied in how they behaved; apparently the one that led to this world wasn’t as finicky as some. In fact, it didn’t seem finicky at all. That was interesting. Hanner wondered how picky the one leading to the attic really was.

He looked around at the crowd of refugees, and realized that it was smaller than it had been, and that he was by no means the only one heading for the house where the Transporting Tapestry hung. It would seem that some people were not waiting to be forced to return to Ethshar.

Then he was at the door of the house. He stepped inside, from bright sunlight into pleasant shade, and stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust. As he did, he saw a woman vanish — he had barely registered her presence when she touched the tapestry and disappeared.

Yes, some people were cooperating. Hanner grimaced.

Gerath and his three companions arrived close behind him; Hanner stepped aside to let them into the house, where they could see the enchanted hanging.

Gerath stopped and stared at it. “Another tapestry,” he said.

“That’s right,” Hanner replied.

“I should have guessed.”

Hanner turned up a palm.

Gerath frowned. “Well, that’s simple enough, then,” he said. He stepped backed out into the street and