Night of Madness

Chapter Thirteen

Lord Manner did not realize immediately that he was actually awake; the view before him was so unfamiliar that at first he thought he was still dreaming. Gradually, though, memories of the night before drifted back, and he began to recognize his surroundings.

This was Uncle Faran’s bedchamber, in his mansion on High Street-the mansion Faran had never admitted to Hanner that he owned.

Hanner was looking at a fine mirror framed in polished brass; it stood on a small bedside table, just visible past the edge of the bed curtains, and reflected in it Hanner could see a small bronze statue of a nude couple entangled with one another, and beyond that a larger marble statue of a naked woman.

That was why he had thought he was dreaming; in his waking life up until last night he had only seen such statuary in gardens and grand halls, never in bedrooms. The room was dim, but the fact that he could see at all meant it was after dawn, since he had put out the lamp before going to sleep. He sat up.

Sunlight was leaking in through the shutters and curtains that hid the two large windows. Hanner pushed aside the black silk coverlet, slipped out of bed, and padded over to the nearer one.

He opened the drapes and unlatched the shutters; the wooden panels swung open.

Light blazed in, forcing Hanner to squint and blink; at first he thought he had accidentally looked directly into the sun. When he could see clearly again, though, he realized that the sun was nowhere to be seen-in fact, thinking about the house’s location and where the bedchamber was, he realized the windows faced north. It was simply the contrast between the bright light of a summer day and the dimness of a shuttered room that had fooled him.

The windows opened out onto a balcony overlooking the mansion’s garden; Hanner unlatched one and stepped outside into the day’s heat. To the left he could see over the garden wall and across Coronet Street ; ahead and to the left he could see down Coronet to the intersection with Merchant Street. Directly ahead, beyond the garden, he could see the back of what he took to be a tradesman’s home, with rooms above a shop, while to the right beyond the garden wall was another garden and the rear of another mansion.

From the shadows of the trees in the garden and shadows on the surrounding walls, he judged it to be midmorning, halfway between dawn andnoon. He had never intended to sleep so late— but then, he had never intended to stay up so late the night before!

Half the morning was gone-the entire mess caused by the mysterious new magic might well have been straightened out and dealt with by now.

He certainlyhoped it had been. He saw no signs of trouble on the visible portions of Coronet or Merchant Street. Traffic seemed perhaps a little light-but he didn’t really know what was normal for this neighborhood, since he had rarely had any business here.

He didn’t have a clear view of anything more than a block away, so he couldn’t very well look for smoke from still-burning buildings or warlocks flying about, but the few people he did see in the street were walking, not running. That was a good sign, but hardly definitive.

It could all be over, or it could just be a lull.

Well, he told himself, he couldn’t really expect to find out anything staring out at his uncle’s garden-except that Uncle Faran had been far less imaginative and extravagant in arranging his garden than in furnishing his house, as the paths were broad and straight, the flowerbeds and hedges simple, the statuary sparse.

If he wanted to know what was happening, he would have to go out and see. He turned back inside and looked for his boots, wishing he had a clean pair of stockings to wear.

A moment later he was in the hallway, fully dressed. Unsurprisingly,Bern was nowhere at hand; a bellpull hung by the side of Uncle Faran’s bed, but Hanner had not wanted to use it. None of the others-neither Alris nor any of the score of warlocks— was in sight, either, but Hanner could hear voices drifting up the stairs from below. He started down. He was perhaps halfway down ’when Rudhira’s head appeared around a door frame at the foot of the stairs. Her long hair was a mess, disarrayed and tangled-if her room had contained a hairbrush she obviously hadn’t used it. She had cleaned off her makeup, however, and that, added to the difference between the bright morning sunlight spilling through the windows and the firelight Hanner had seen her by the night before, made her look almost a different person-a younger and more appealing one, so far as Hanner was concerned.

Hanner noticed that she was wearing the same red tunic and skirt as the night before, somewhat the worse for having been slept in-but of course, what else would she have to wear? He was still in the same clothes himself.

The difference, he thought to himself, was that his clothes were far more appropriate to these surroundings, and to daylight, than Rudhira’s.

“Thereyou are!” she said. “We’ve been waiting!”

Hanner really didn’t know how to answer that, so he didn’t; instead he simply nodded and continued down the steps.

Rudhira met him at the foot of the staircase and took his arm to lead him into what he discovered to be the mansion’s dining hall.

“My lord,” Bern said, appearing as Hanner stepped through the door. He bowed discreetly. “I have kept the head of the table for you-I assume your uncle will not be joining us?”

“So far as I know, he’ll be staying in the Palace until further notice,” Hanner agreed.

“And will your party be staying on?”

“I don’t know,” Hanner said. “We’ll have to discuss that later.”

“If I may say so, so large a group is really more than I can care for single-handed at even a minimal level. If you do stay, I feel it would be advisable to call in more servants. Your uncle has a fine staff on call.”

“I’ll let you know what we decide,” Hanner said, moving past and turning his attention to the others in the room-and to the room itself.

The dining hall was large-which was hardly surprising in a house this size. A splendid table of gleaming unfamiliar wood inlaid with ivory took up the center of the room, with a dozen oaken chairs spaced along its sides and one larger chair at the far end. Four ornate cabinets were arranged along the east and west walls, each with various drawers and compartments glittering with brass and ivory inlay; three of the four included glass-fronted upper sections, and Hanner could see something moving behind one of those panels, but the glass was so elaborately cut and beveled that he could not tell what it was. Since that was hardly an appropriate place to keep a pet, he supposed Uncle Faran had indulged in some variety of magically animated tableware.

Mirrors hung on all four walls; the south wall was pierced by three generous multipaned windows partially obscured by lace curtains, looking out on the dooryard and High Street. At the north end a large sliding door was closed tightly, while two small doors to the east stood open. Seven people were seated around the table-three warlocks on either side, and his sister Lady Alris at the foot of the far side. Four more warlocks stood or leaned elsewhere around the room, not counting Rudhira, who was at his shoulder. They had obviously been talking earlier, when he had heard voices, but now they were all staring silently at him.

None of the four prisoners they had taken were present. “Where are the...” he began.

“We locked the prisoners in their rooms,” Rudhira said before he could finish the sentence. “The others are still asleep.”

“I’ll wake them if you like, my lord,” Yorn said. He was standing to one side.

“It’s not necessary,” Hanner said. Hesitantly, uneasy under the silent scrutiny of a dozen watchers, he crossed the room and took his seat at the head of the table.

He had never been at the head of a table before, and wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea; this was properly his uncle’s place. As a nobleman Hanner had grown up giving orders to servants and soldiers and expecting a certain amount of deference, but he had also almost always been subordinate to someone else-his parents, his uncle, the overlord, the various other lords who ran the city. The only times he had been the highest-ranking person at a meal had been in the palace kitchens or in the city’s inns-never in a formal dining room. It felt odd to sit in the big carved oak chair and look down the length of the table.

An empty plate lay ready for him, while half-empty platters of bread and ham and a pitcher of small beer stood close at hand. Hanner could see that the others had not waited for him to appear before eating;Bern had not yet cleared away the used plates and scattered crumbs.

Hanner speared a slice of ham with his belt knife and transferred it to his plate, then reached for the beer and a pewter mug Bern had provided.

“My lord,” Yorn said as Hanner poured, “I should return to my company.”

Hanner looked up, startled. “Has the warlockry gone away?” he asked, putting down the pitcher.

He should have asked that sooner, he realized. It should have been the first thing he said when he came down the stairs and found Rudhira waiting. It was obviously the most important question, the single thing that would most affect what he did that day.

“No,” Yorn said.

“No,” Zarek agreed. He was seated on Hanner’s left. “Look!”

Zarek’s plate lifted into the air, then hovered and began to spin-which flung bread crumbs in all directions. One landed in Hanner’s beer.

“Sorry,” Zarek said as the plate dropped the foot or so to the table and landed with a ringing clatter.

“It’s nothing,” Hanner said, picking up the mug and staring at the floating crumb. He glanced up and noticed Bern ’s silent but intense disapproval of Zarek’s action.

Well,Bern was the servant and Zarek the guest, despite Zarek’s ragged attire;Bern would just have to tolerate such behavior. With a grimace Hanner gulped beer, then set the mug down again.

“So the magic is still here,” he said. “Hasanything changed since last night?”

The others looked at one another; no one spoke at first, then Zarek offered, “I’ve had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years, thanks to that lovely bed you let me use, but other than that, noth-ing.”

“Has there been any word from the Palace?” He directed this at Alris, but she turned to Bern.

“There have been no callers since your arrival, my lord,” Bern replied.

“Did anyone receive any messages by other means, then?” Hanner looked around the table and at the others beyond. “A wizard-sent dream, perhaps?”

A few empty hands turned up; no one spoke.

“Alris?”

“I haven’t heard a thing,” she said. “If I had any dreams I don’t remember them.”

“I had dreams,” Rudhira volunteered. “Not messages, though— nightmares. Bad ones. Fire and falling and suffocation, all jumbled together, and something calling to me.”

“So did I!”

“Me, too!”

Half a dozen voices chimed in, startled.

“But those werebefore,” one young woman said, overriding the others. “That was what woke me up in the first place, when I first found out I could do magic. I dreamed I was flying but burning as I flew, and then I fell and fell and fell and dove into the earth as if it were a pond, but then it fell in on me and I was buried, I was trapped and smothered, and that was when I woke up and discovered my bedsheets were floating in midair.”

Again, several voices spoke at once, but this time not all were agreeing-some were protesting that their dreams had been later, here in the mansion.

“Silence!” Hanner bellowed. He stood up and pointed at Ru-dhira. “When did you dream?”

“I was awake when the magic came,” Rudhira said. “It was like a flash in my mind, and I could fly and... well, you all know about that. It was here, in this house, that I had dreams about burning and falling and strangling.”

Hanner nodded and pointed to Yorn.

“I had no dreams,” the soldier said. “I was awake when the screams came, and it was when I tried to help one of the others in my barracks that I found I could move things.”

The next man, Alar Agor’s son, had been asleep when the magic came and had been awakened by nightmares, and the nightmares had recurred, far less intensely, after going back to sleep in Lord Faran’s mansion.

The next person, the young woman whose bedsheets had floated above her, had been awakened by the dreams, but they had not recurred. Hanner asked her name, which she gave as Artalda the Fair.

In the end, of the eleven warlocks in the room, four had been awake when the magic came, and all seven of the others had been awakened by the same nightmare of a fiery plunge into entrapment in the ground. Four of them-two who had originally been awake and two who had been asleep-had had milder nightmares afterward, here in the house on High Street.

Neither Hanner nor Alris nor Bern had dreamed at all, so far as they could recall.

“The later dreams were different,” said Desset of Eastwark, a plump woman who was one of the two who had experienced both, and who was one of the three who had been flying steadily last night. “Something wascalling me. I don’t think it was the first time.”

“Something was definitely calling me,” Rudhira agreed.

“I think something called meboth times,” said Varrin the Weaver, the last of the three flyers, the other who had dreamed twice, and the one whose initial experience, destroying his entire bedroom, had been the most violent.

Just then another warlock, newly arisen from his borrowed bed, wandered in, to be immediately confronted by Rudhira.

“Didyou have any strange dreams last night?” she demanded.

Startled, the warlock-a youth named Othisen Okko’s son— said, “What?”

Rudhira repeated the question. The boy, a farmer’s son who had been in the city consulting a theurgist when the new magic appeared, looked around at the crowd staring at him.

“Sort of,” he said. “I don’t really remember.”

Rudhira looked ready to interrogate Othisen further, but Hanner interrupted.

“I don’t think it matters,” he said. “I think it’s clear that there is some common phenomenon at work here, something that happened last night that caused these nightmares and that gave you all this strange magic. And it’s clear that it’s affected different people differently, which is why some of you have much more powerful magic than others, some have more intense dreams, and so on. Finding out exactly which effect it’s had on whom isn’t important. Finding out what it was, and whether the effects are permanent, and whether there areother effects we don’t know about,might be important. So we know that the magic hasn’t gone away, and the dreams haven’t gone away-but not everyone had the dreams, and they do seem to be a little less intense the second time around. Now, has anyone noticed anything else out of the ordinary? Has the magic faded at all?”

The warlocks looked at one another. Rudhira ventured, “There was a lot of screaming last night, when it all first started.”

“That was because of the nightmares,” Zarek said. “I woke up screaming. So did some of the people around me. I was terrified and thought for a moment I was going mad.” “Maybe you did go mad,” someone suggested. “Maybe wetill did, and we’re just imagining this.”

“I don’t think so,” Hanner said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “Anything else?”

No one had any other observations to report.

“Fine,” Hanner said. “Then is the magic weakening with time?”

There was a sudden rustling, and a surreal flurry of motion as most of the warlocks began testing themselves by lifting up from the floor, levitating random objects, sliding furniture around, and so on.

Rudhira did not move, which Hanner found interesting; she merely watched.

Yorn rose gently from the floor until an upstretched arm reached the ceiling; he was the first to speak.

“If anything, my lord, it’s stronger,” he said.

There was a chorus of agreement.

Hanner nodded, considering what should be done next. He had no idea how long this warlockry would last or how widespread it was-and whether it was really his problem. He was here, rather than safely home in the Palace, because he had been outside when it all began and had taken it upon himself to try to do something, but was it really his responsibility?

“My lord,” Yorn said urgently, “I should go now. I was due to report for duty hours ago.”

“And I should go home,” Othisen said. “Once I’ve eaten,” he added hastily, eyeing the ham and bread.

“But you’re warlocks,” Hanner said.

“I’m a soldier,” Yorn said.

“And magicians are forbidden to serve as common soldiers,” Hanner said.

“But I’m not a magician,” Yorn protested. “I served no apprenticeship, I’m not a wizard or a witch or a sorcerer, I don’t summon gods or demons-I can just do a few things. Someone put a spell on me, but that doesn’t make me a magician!”

“And I’m not a magicianor a soldier,” Othisen said as he snatched a chunk of bread and a slice of ham.

“Are we prisoners here?” Rudhira demanded.

“No, of course not,” Hanner said. He had been thinking that the group he had gathered would stay together for as long as the warlockry and its mystery remained, but now he saw that was foolish-the magic mightnever go away, the mystery mightnever be solved. He had said the wrong thing again. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. You’re free to go, all of you who choose to-and you’re also free to stay, for now. Thank you all for your help last night, and if any of you want to stay and help me handle the prisoners and try to figure out more about what’s happened, I would be glad of it. I promised those who aided me a reward, but since the overlord has refused us admission to the Palace, or any recognition of your efforts, all I can offer to fulfill that promise is food and lodging here.” “Thank you, my lord, but I have food and lodging elsewhere,” Yorn said. “If you have no objections, I’ll leave at once.” He suited his actions to his words and trotted out of the room; a moment later Hanner heard the front door open and close.

“I’ll go when I’ve finished eating,” Othisen said.

Hanner took a bite of ham, then a swig of beer, and looked around at the others.

“I’ll stay,” Rudhira said.

That was a comfort for Hanner; he had been beginning to worry that if all the warlocks left he would be unable to control the vandals they had captured the night before. He had a responsibility to keep them safe until they were properly delivered to a magistrate.

If not for the prisoners Hanner might have simply chased everyone but Bern out, locked up the house, and gone home himself, but as long as those four were locked in upstairs and he had no instructions as to what should be done with them, he was stuck here. And he had to keep them secure. Yorn was the only trained guardsman in the group, and his absence would be felt if the prisoners were to attempt escape or otherwise cause trouble, but Rudhira appeared to be the most powerful warlock of them all— though Varrin might be close-and could almost certainly keep all four in line.

“And the rest of you?” Hanner asked.

Zarek laughed. “If you think I’m going back to the Hundred-Foot Field when I can sleep in a mansion, you’re mad.”

“I’m going back to the Palace as soon as they let me in,” Alris said.

Hanner nodded. He assumed that Alris would be admitted, that the overlord’s panicky edict had been revoked by now, but it would not have surprised him if warlocks were still banned from the Palace. That was why he couldn’t just march the prisoners there.

“I’d appreciate it, Alris, if you could go see what’s happening there, then come back and tell me,” Manner said. “I need to know what to do with those four we have locked in upstairs, for one thing.” The sooner they were out of his custody, the better, so far as he was concerned, and Rudhira might not want to stay around indefinitely.

“If I go,” Desset said, “can I come back later? I don’t want my family to worry, but I want to find out what’s happened, and you people seem... well, you know.”

“You can come back so long as I’m here,” Hanner assured her. “If my uncle chases me out, or we all just get bored and go home, come to the Palace and see me there.”

Desset nodded.

In the end, everyone but Rudhira and Zarek decided to go— but several promised to return.

And Othisen, after he had eaten, changed his mind.

“No one in my village is expecting me back for a few days anyway,” he said. “If I canfly home, I can be there in plenty of time even if I don’t leave until tomorrow or even the day after, and... well, I want to see what happens.”

“Canyou fly?” Hanner asked. “You didn’t fly last night that I saw.”

“I did a little,” Othisen said as he sawed at the ham. “And I’m learning to do it better, I think.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Hanner assured him, “but if you’re going to practice flying, please do it in the garden, not the house.”

Othisen smiled and nodded, his mouth too full of ham to reply in words.

Well beforemidday the others had gone, and Hanner had finished his breakfast. The three remaining warlocks-Rudhira, Zarek, and Othisen-helped Bern in clearing away the remains of the meal and tidying up the dining room, while Hanner sat there, thinking.

He tried to concentrate on what he should do about the warlocks, especially the prisoners, but he found his thoughts straying to wondering just why Uncle Faran had so big and luxurious a house, and why he had kept it secret at all-he wasn’t married, after all, so taking a variety of lovers was no great offense against morals or custom. Eleven bedrooms, not counting Bern ’s! Four stories...

And what was on the top two floors? Hanner remembered that Bern had said no one but Faran was permitted above the second. What did Faran have up there?

It was none of his business, he told himself, and antagonizing his uncle by investigating wasn’t going to do anyone any good. He forced his attention back to the warlocks.

Werethey magicians? Were they, perhaps, truly war-locked witches, the magic bestowed upon them against their will? If so, had Rudhira’s free use of her powers the night before killed witches somewhere?

How did the dreams fit in? And the screaming?

He remembered the night before, when he had been walking on Newmarket Street after seeing Mavi home...

Was Mavi all right? Had she been caught up in the night’s insanity? He would need to check on that at the first opportunity.

In fact, he thought, perhaps he should go right now...

But there were the prisoners, all of them with dangerous magical abilities, and he couldn’t very well leave them in his uncle’s house guarded only by a beggar, a streetwalker, a farmboy, and the housekeeper.

For that matter, he couldn’t very well leave the beggar, the streetwalker, and the farmboy unattended here. He didn’t know them well enough to trust them alone with so many valuable furnishings.

He would have to send Alris or Nerra to check on Mavi. That would be less awkward in any case.

He hoped she was all right. He remembered how he had stumbled for no reason just as the screaming began; if she had been similarly affected while climbing stairs she might have fallen... And why had he stumbled?

He frowned, and started over.

What should he do, if anything, about the warlocks?