Night of Madness

Chapter Twenty-three

Serem the Wise kept no servants; instead he had animated objects of various sorts that he considered sufficient for his needs. Manrin disagreed. Self-pouring teapots and perpetually moving fan trees were all very well, but the door did not answer itself. When Serem was training an apprentice that was no problem, but Kalinna was a journeyman now, and Serem had not yet taken on anyone new. That left Serem himself and his wife Gita as the only occupants of the big house at the corner of Grand and Wizard Streets.

And neither of them was rushing to answer the door.

Ulpen stood beside Manrin, staring up at the house’s many gables, as Manrin waited impatiently. After a moment he rapped on the black enamel of the door, since the bellpull had gotten no response.

If he had still been able to use magic properly he would have done something to verify that Serem was home, but that option was no longer reliable. He looked at the miniature shrines carved into the stone of the door frame, with their magically generated fire and water; when the house would be empty for an extended period Serem usually extinguished the flames and turned off the fountains, but right now both flames still burned behind the tiny altars, and water still flowed around the bases.

Idly, he used his mysterious new abilities to twist the left-hand flame into a spiral. Now that heknew he was a warlock he could consciously control the power, and such a trick was easy and, he had to admit, fun. Becoming a warlock was by no means entirely bad.

Ulpen’s gaze had worked its way down the painted corner-posts to the stone arch, and now he noticed what Manrin was doing.

“We could open the door ourselves, Guildmaster,” he said.

Startled, Manrin looked at him. The thought had not occurred to him, but of course Ulpen was right-unless there were magical protections Manrin didn’t know about, either of them could use warlockry to release the lock and open the door. He could sense the shape of the lock’s mechanism, and moving it without a key would be simple.

He didn’t do it, though.

“Yes, we could,” he said, “but that would be trespassing. In a wizard’s house.”

“Oh...” Ulpen began-but just then the door opened, and Serem looked out at his two guests.

“Oh, it’s you, Manrin,” he said. “Do you have any word of Gita?”

Manrin was caught completely off guard by the question. “What?” he asked.

“My wife,” Serem said. “Gita. She’s missing.”

“Oh,” Manrin said. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Since the night before last?”

“That’s right.” Serem sighed. “Then that’s not why you’re here?”

“Not exactly, no.” He added, “My daughter Ferris is missing as well. I hope they’re safe.”

“So do I,” Serem said. He stood aside. “Come in, and tell me why youare here.”

Manrin and Ulpen were ushered into the parlor, where Ulpen stared at the potted palm that endlessly fanned the big wicker chair.

Manrin had seen it countless times before and ignored it as he said, “Weare here about the results of the Night of Madness,” he said, “though not about poor Gita. I hadn’t realized she was one of those who vanished.”

“She was,” Serem said. “Stolen by those damned warlocks, probably.”

Ulpen threw Manrin a worried glance at that. Manrin, whose confidence and enthusiasm had already taken blows from both the necessity of walking the three long blocks from Gate Street to knock at Serem’s front door like an ordinary customer and the discovery that Gita was among the hundreds who had disappeared, decided that a direct request that Serem perform a divination to ascertain that Manrin and Ulpen were indeed warlocks and that that was the cause of their difficulties in performing wizardry was out of the question, at least for the moment.

They couldn’t just turn around and leave, though. And the subject of the disappearances was of considerable importance.

“I hadn’t thought it was the warlocks who took Ferris-” Manrin began.

“Who else could it be?” Serem interrupted angrily. “The warlocks appeared, hundreds of innocent people disappeared-I think there’s clearly a connection.”

“Oh, I suppose there’s a connection, but I don’t see that the warlocks are necessarily at fault. We really don’tknow what happened.”

“Idon’t, certainly, but someone probably does,” Serem said. “I’d hoped it was you, and you’d come to tell me about it.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then you just came to compare notes?” Serem asked. “I’ve been doing that-I talked to Kendrik and Perinan and Ithinia, and one of Zerrea’s servants.” He glanced at Ulpen as if suddenly realizing that he didn’t recognize the youth, and asked, “Who is this?”

“This is Ulpen of North Herris,” Manrin said. “He came to Ethshar to discuss the situation in his home village-they hadn’t realized that the Night of Madness had been so widespread.”

“It seems to have beeneverywhere” Serem said. “Though it was worse some places than others. Apparently the Baronies of Sardiron were hit harder than we were, and in Aldagmor entire villages were reportedly depopulated. The survivors have been seeking shelter elsewhere, bringing the news.”

“How are they dealing with it?” Manrin asked.

“The Council of Barons is meeting in Sardiron of the Waters in a sixnight to discuss the matter, and meanwhile some of them are putting to death every warlock they catch-which strikes me as a good idea.”

Ulpen went pale, but Serem was looking at Manrin, not at the apprentice, and didn’t notice. The Guildmaster hid his own reaction.

Serem continued, “Ithinia says Lord Azrad wants the warlocks exterminated, and Ederd is debating exile-but exiling them is just pushing the problem on someone else, so he may well come around to hanging the lot of them, too.”

That meant, Manrin thought, that he and Ulpen would not be welcome in two of the three cities in the Hegemony. “What about Lord Wulran?” he asked.

“Dithering,” Serem said. “Hardly a surprise. He’s had less than three years as overlord-this is the first real crisis he’s faced since his father died. And Ethshar of the Rocks apparently didn’t suffer anywhere near as badly as the other two cities, so he doesn’t have the same urgency.”

Manrin nodded. “Execution seems a bitdrastic” he said mildly. “After all, not all the warlocks committed any crimes, and they have family and friends...”

“Ithinia mentioned that,” Serem said. “In fact, she says that Lord Faran, Azrad’s chief advisor, brought it to her attention. Apparently he’s gathered a party of warlocks he says haven’t hurt anyone, and is speaking on their behalf. For myself, I still think they’re all involved in the disappearances somehow. Until I see Gita again, I’m not inclined to be merciful.”

Ulpen threw Manrin a look, and Manrin stroked his beard thoughtfully.

He had lived in Ethshar of the Sands for eighty-some years, since he was only a journeyman, but if Lord Ederd was considering exiling or hanging warlocks it might be time to leave, and Serem’s news suggested an obvious destination. Talking to other warlocks, comparing notes, might be very useful, and having Lord Faran’s protection would be welcome. Manrin had not visited Ethshar of the Spices for almost thirty years, so he had never met Lord Faran, but the man’s reputation for energetic leadership was known throughout the Hegemony.

The next question was how to get there, given that his wizardry was unreliable. The journey by ordinary methods would take at least a sixnight, and the delay might be dangerous.

Manrin knew warlocks could fly, at least some of them, but he didn’t know yet whetherhe could fly, especially for a distance as great as the forty leagues to Ethshar of the Spices.

And flying openly might attract unwanted attention-though of course, as a wizard, he could always lie about how he was doing it.

Another method of travel would be a good idea-and as a Guildmaster, he saw an obvious possibility.

It was slightly risky, since he had no idea what his superiors in the Guild thought of warlocks, or whether they had developed any easy methods for recognizing them. Serem apparently hadn’t noticed anything different about Manrin, or seen anything unusual about Ulpen-but Serem was distracted by the loss of his wife, and was not the most perceptive wizard in the World.

Still, Manrin thought, using the Guild’s transportation methods would be fastest and easiest. “You know, I think I’d like to speak to Ithinia,” he said. “In fact, I think I’d like to visit her, in Ethshar of the Spices. Does Perinan still have the tapestry in his attic?”

“Of course,” Serem said.

“In that case,” Manrin said, “I think we had better be going.” He bowed. “Our thanks for your help.” “But you just got here!” Serem protested. “Could I get you a cup of tea before you go? Some grapes?”

Manrin held up a hand. “No, no. Thank you, but we really must go. We were just stopping by to see how you were faring in all this.”

Baffled, Serem turned up a palm. “If you must,” he said.

Five minutes later Manrin and Ulpen were hurrying south on Wizard Street, through sparse and nervous crowds. “We’ll stop at my house,” Manrin said. “I want to fetch a few things. Did you bring anything at all with you?”

“Not much,” Ulpen said. “I’m just an apprentice, after all-”

“You’re something rather different now, I would say,” Manrin interrupted. “And whatever you are, I want you to have everything you brought with you when we use the tapestry. I’m not sure we’ll be coming back.”

“I don’t understand,” Ulpen said, struggling to keep up-Manrin was old, but he still walked fast enough to give Ulpen a challenge. “What tapestry? Come back from where? What’s going on?”

They had reached Manrin’s own front door; there he pulled Ulpen into the tiny portico and said, “Perinan has a Transporting Tapestry-anyone who touches it is instantly transported to a shop in Ethshar of the Spices, in the neighborhood they call the Old City. We are going to use it to get ourselves out of this city. You heard Serem-he thinks warlocks murdered his wife, so he wants us exterminated, and thinks Ederd can be convinced to hang us all. I don’t think it was warlocks who made poor Gita disappear, but he’s probably right about Ederd.”

“But he said Lord Azrad wanted to kill us all, too! Isn’t Azrad the overlord of Ethshar of the Spices? Shouldn’t we be going somewhere else? What about that Wulran person?”

“Wulran II is overlord of Ethshar of the Rocks,” Manrin said. “And while his city may be safer now, if the other two triumvirs agree that warlocks should be exterminated throughout the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, he’ll go along. He’ll have to; that’s how the triumvirate works on issues that affect all three cities, by majority vote.”

“But-” Ulpen began.

“But maybe theywon’t agree,” Manrin said before Ulpen could get another word out, “because Lord Azrad may well change his mind. By all accounts he’s let Lord Faran run Ethshar of the Spices for him for the past ten years, and Lord Faran wants to protect warlocks. We’re going there to find Lord Faran, and join up with him, and do everything we can to help him convince Lord Azrad.” He hesitated, then added, “Besides, if we’re to have any chance of influencing the Guild’s position on all this, we need to talk to Ithinia. She’s the senior Guildmaster in Ethshar of the Spices.”

“Butyou’re a Guildmaster!”

“I amthe junior Guildmaster here,” Manrin said. “That’s why I’m responsible for rural wizards like yourself. Perinan is the senior, and there are four others that I know of, all of whom outrank me.”

“That youknow of?” Ulpen’s voice cracked. “The Guild is a little too fond of secrets for its own good, my boy. There is a great deal going on within it that the ordinary members never hear about, and there are things that not even a Guildmaster necessarily knows.” He knocked on the door. “You know, Serem may be a Guildmaster, or if he is not as yet, he’ll probably become one soon. Now, let’s move along.”

Derneth opened the door, and Manrin stepped in, telling Der-neth, “Pack me a bag-I need to take a trip. I’ll be gone for at least a few days; I’m not sure exactly how long.”

“In the city, Master?”

“In Ethshar of the Spices.”

Derneth nodded. “As you say.”

Twenty minutes later Abdaran had been sent home without his apprentice, and Manrin was waiting impatiently at the door while Ulpen stared about, still trying to comprehend what was happening. Events were moving far too quickly for him. He had his pack on his shoulders; it was far lighter than it had been on the walk from North Herris, since he was no longer carrying any of Abdaran’s belongings.

It was discomfiting to be out of Abdaran’s keeping and in a strange place. He had only met Manrin an hour or two before, yet he had put himself entirely in the Guildmaster’s hands. He wondered whether that was really proper and in keeping with the terms of his apprenticeship and his oaths to the Guild.

At last Derneth appeared with yet another bag. Manrin picked up the two he had already had, and reached for this new bundle, but Ulpen took it from Derneth. “If I might help, Guildmaster?” he said.

“Good,” Manrin said. “Good.” He looked at Derneth. “Take care of the place,” he said. “I really don’t know when I’ll be back. Tell my children not to worry. If Ferris returns, tell one of the neighbors to let me know with the Spell of Invaded Dreams.”

“Yes, Master,” Derneth said.

“And take care of yourself, Derneth,” Manrin said. “I know I’ve treated you rudely much of the time, but you’ve always done a fine job and never complained.”

Ulpen watched as the expression of weary resignation that had been on Derneth’s face every time Ulpen had seen him suddenly cracked into real concern. “It’s that serious, Master?”

“It might be-but you aren’t involved. You’ll be fine. And it might all come to nothing. We’ll see.” With that, he hefted his two bags up on his shoulders and marched out the door.

Ulpen hurried after him.

He glanced back when they were half a block down Gate Street and saw Derneth still standing in the open doorway, staring after them.