The Unwelcome Warlock

Chapter Fifteen

Hanner emerged from the magical staircase in the middle of Eastgate Market and looked around at a city that was simultaneously familiar and strange. He had not been in Eastgate Market in a year or more – or rather, for at least eighteen years. It had changed.

Oh, the gate itself was still there, standing tall between the mismatched towers, and the city wall stretching away to either side was much the same. The Hundred-Foot Field, just inside the wall, was still an expanse of tents, improvised shelters, cook-fires, beggars, and garbage. The guards still wore the familiar red and gold uniforms, and lounged by the gate and under the red-and-gold pennants that separated the Field from the market. The market itself was hard-packed brown earth, and smelled of fish and the ocean. Dozens of merchants were still hawking clams, oysters, and crabs from stalls, tents, and tables; one or two displayed a few sorry boxes of dates, oranges, or other fruit.

But none of them were merchants Hanner recognized, and the layout of the stalls was different. The old Eastgate Inn that had occupied the center of the north side of the market, just west of the Field, since the end of the Great War was gone, and the open-sided pavilion that stood in its place did not look new; its timbers were darkened from exposure to the weather, and the signboard proclaiming it to be the Eastgate Labor Exchange was faded. The ornamental gateway that had stood beside the inn at the entrance to East Wall Street was still there, but had been repainted with an entirely different color scheme – Hanner remembered it as blue and white, but now it was red, blue, and gold.

The stonemason’s shop between the gate and Lighthouse Street was now an ironmonger’s shop, and its stone walls, which had always been unadorned, now boasted elaborate wrought-iron trim.

The block of shops at the west end of the square looked much the same; Hanner thought one or two might have changed tenants, but that happened frequently. On the south side the tunnel-like entrance to a warren of small shops around an irregular courtyard was gone, replaced by a weaver’s workshop displaying a lovely array of bright fabrics.

Rudhira had stopped dead a few feet ahead of him, and Hanner realized that the changes must be even greater and more shocking for her than they were for him – she had not been here for thirty-four years. She probably remembered the old brewery that had stood on the south side, and had the ornamental gate even been built yet that far back?

Then he realized that she wasn’t staring at the buildings; she was staring at the ground. Puzzled, he took a step forward and peered over her shoulder.

“Hanner,” she said, “what is that?”

Hanner looked down at the green, big-eared, vaguely frog-like creature that was grinning up at them, the top of its head roughly even with Rudhira’s kneecaps.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“It’s a spriggan,” Rothiel said from behind them.

“What’s a spriggan?” Hanner asked.

“That is,” Rothiel unhelpfully explained. Then he continued, “A spell went wrong several years back, somewhere in the Small Kingdoms, and started producing these things. It took years before anyone managed to stop it, and there wasn’t any way to reverse it and dispose of the ones that had already gotten loose, so there are thousands of these things running around now. They won’t hurt you, but they do get into things and make a mess sometimes. They’re attracted by magic, so there are probably dozens of them around here right now, drawn by Hallin’s Fissure.”

The green thing nodded vigorously. “Lots of spriggans!” it said, in a squeaky voice.

“It talks!” Rudhira gasped.

“Oh, yes. They talk,” Rothiel agreed. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t see any in Aldagmor.”

“Pretty hair,” the spriggan said, staring up at Rudhira, still grinning idiotically.

“They like bright colors, too,” Rothiel said. “But if you don’t mind, we need to get you to Ithinia. You can observe how the city’s changed later.” He turned, and called, “Move away from the fissure, please!”

The spriggan’s attention suddenly shifted; it dashed between Rudhira’s legs, dodged around Hanner, and ran for the magical staircase. “Magic!” it squeaked.

“Oh, blood,” the wizard said. “Grab it, someone!”

Two people dived for the creature, whacking their heads together in the process; Hanner winced at the sound of impact. It was someone else entirely, a girl in a blue tunic, who actually managed to capture the spriggan and hold it up.

Rothiel did not spare the time or effort to congratulate her on her feat; he was concentrating on the fissure, staring at it intently, both his hands raised in a sort of warding gesture.

Then the ground began shaking; everyone in the market stepped back, and the spriggan squealed excitedly.

Hanner watched with interest as the ground seemed to rise up and flow together, then sink back to its natural level, flattening out and leaving no trace of the stair that had been there a moment before. The trembling subsided, and the packed earth of the market was back to normal, with no sign it had ever been disturbed.

Several of the watchers, mostly merchants who had sold their goods to the Called warlocks in Aldagmor, applauded. The spriggan suddenly squirmed free from the girl’s grip and ran to dance on the empty place where the fissure had been. The two who had dived for it – a boy in his teens and a middle-aged man – sat up, rubbing their heads and glaring at one another.

Rothiel let out a relieved sigh. “There,” he said, letting his hands fall. “Now, as I was saying, let’s get you to Ithinia.”

Hanner did not argue, but followed as the wizard led them west on East Street. He glanced back over his shoulder at the spriggan – or rather, the spriggans; three of them were now chasing one another through the marketplace crowds.

Rudhira followed the two men; Hanner considered saying something, suggesting she set about finding herself a place of her own rather than tagging along to a meeting that would probably be a waste of her time, but then decided her presence would do no harm, and it was none of his concern if she wanted to come.

It was a little over two miles to Ithinia’s house on Lower Street; the route took them through the middle of the Eastgate district into southern Hempfield, to the tiny patch of open land called Old High Street Market. In the summer, as Hanner remembered it, flowers bloomed in the triangle of raised beds, surrounded by street musicians, jugglers, and hawkers selling candy and trinkets, but the flowers were done for the year, and either the weather now was cold enough to deter them, or things had changed during his absence – the place was deserted save for an old man huddled against a wall, and a brown-striped cat prowling the flowerbeds, looking for mice.

Hanner had expected to stay on East Street, but Rothiel led them up the left-hand fork, onto Old High Street and into Allston.

Old High Street merged into High Street at roughly the halfway point of their journey, and it occurred to Hanner that if he simply stayed on this road he would soon be home, at Warlock House, once Uncle Faran’s mansion.

But Mavi and the children probably wouldn’t be there to welcome him. It was hard to believe it had really been seventeen years; to Hanner it had only been a couple of days since he left Mavi and the children at Warlock House while he went to see his new magical tapestry. He hoped she was all right; none of the wizards had yet told him anything about her circumstances.

He knew that time had really passed, and the city had changed. He had seen Eastgate Market, and as he followed Rothiel through Allston he could see differences here, as well. The late afternoon shadows were lengthening, obscuring some of the details, but Hanner was fairly certain there were new tiles on some roofs, different paint here and there, shrines added or removed, and so on.

Even so, this was familiar ground. To reach Warlock House he needed merely stay on High Street – but that wasn’t what he did; instead he followed Rothiel as the wizard turned right on Arena Street and followed it two blocks down the hill, toward the overlord’s palace, before turning left onto Lower Street.

This neighborhood was not Allston, of course; they had left that district behind. This side of Arena Street was the New City – or at least, it had still been called that seventeen years ago. Perhaps the name had finally been changed by now, since the area had not actually been new for more than two hundred years.

The houses here appeared exactly as Hanner remembered them; whatever changes might have overtaken other parts of the city, Lower Street seemed untouched. So far as he could tell in the orange glow of the setting sun, Ithinia’s gray stone house, second from the corner on the north side of the street, was just as it had always been.

One of the gargoyles on the cornice slowly turned its head to watch their approach, and Hanner tried to remember – was that one Glitter? No, Glitter’s niche was in back, overlooking the garden; Hanner thought this one was called Fang. He waved cheerfully to the stony monster.

A spriggan he had not previously noticed jumped up on the gargoyle’s shoulder and waved back, reminding Hanner that he was indeed in this strange new future.

The gargoyle flapped a gray wing and sent the spriggan flying, but the little creature caught itself on the cornice, hanging on by just a few fingers, then squealed and swung itself back up behind the gargoyle’s leg, whereupon Hanner lost sight of it.

Then Rothiel was knocking on Ithinia’s door, so Hanner lowered his gaze, squared his shoulders, and prepared to greet the Guildmaster. Rudhira was standing at his side, and he considered saying something to help her ready herself, but then the door opened and there was Ithinia, in a white robe trimmed with golden-brown fur.

“Hanner!” she said. “Come in, come in; I’m pleased to see you after so long!”

Hanner bowed. “I’m honored, Guildmaster,” he said. “May I present my friend, Rudhira of Camptown?”

Ithinia cocked her head. “I believe I remember you,” she said. “Long ago – in 5202, I suppose. In the harbor.”

Rudhira met Ithinia’s gaze. She clearly knew what the wizard was referring to, and Hanner remembered the incident, as well. Rudhira had picked up what had seemed like half the water in the harbor, to test the strength of her magic. “Yes,” she said. “That was me.”

“You were Called soon after?” Ithinia asked, her tone conversational.

“A few days, yes.”

“It was an impressive demonstration of what warlockry could do.”

“Yes, it was.” Her gaze did not waver; Hanner hoped that her boldness would not annoy the Guildmaster. They no longer had their own magic to protect them, should the wizard decide they were not showing the proper respect.

Ithinia considered the little redhead for a moment longer, then smiled and said, “Come in, both of you; you must be exhausted.” She stepped aside to let them enter.

“Thank you,” Hanner said, hurrying past her and into the parlor.

It had been refurbished since he last saw it – he was surprised at first, then remembered that it had been seventeen years. A small marble-topped table was familiar, but everything else was new. The predominant colors were red and gold, where the furnishings had been mostly white the last time Hanner visited. There was a faint odor of cinnamon, though Hanner could see no source for it.

Rudhira settled into a red velvet armchair without waiting to be invited; Hanner hesitated, and was still standing when Ithinia swept into the room and said, “Please, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Rudhira smiled at Hanner as he took a seat on a matching armchair.

“Guildmaster,” Rothiel said from the door.

Ithinia turned. “Yes?”

“Hanner suggests that the god Asham the Gate-Keeper might be able to send the other warlocks home. If I may, I’d like to see if I can find a theurgist who’s familiar with this deity.”

Ithinia said, “Asham?” Then she let out a wordless noise of dismay. “Of course, Asham! I must be getting old, to have not remembered sooner. The Sanctuary of the Priests of Asham is on Priest Street, north side, midway between Arena and Magician Street. It’s a very difficult summoning, so you may need to bargain.”

“Priest, between Arena and Magician? Thank you, Guildmaster!” The brown-clad wizard bowed, and hurried out.

That left Hanner and Rudhira alone with the woman generally believed to be the most powerful wizard in Ethshar of the Spices, and Hanner had no idea why they were there. He waited until Ithinia had closed the door and returned to the parlor, but then got straight to the point.

“Why did you want to see me, Guildmaster?”

Ithinia produced an expression that was not quite a smile, though it came close. “Would you like something to eat, before we get to business?” she asked. “A drink, perhaps? I had Obdur brew a pot of tea – it’s Luvannion leaf, the early harvest.”

“Tea would be lovely,” Hanner admitted; he had had nothing but water to drink, and not much of that, since being Called.

“And honey cakes? Sadra baked them this afternoon.”

Rudhira perked up. “Honey cakes?”

Ithinia smiled. She turned and called over her shoulder, “Obdur! Tea and cakes for our guests!”

“At once, Mistress!” a voice replied, though Hanner and Rudhira could not see the speaker.

Ithinia then sank into the last of the three velvet armchairs, straightened her robe, and said, “I want to reinstate you as Chairman of the Council of Warlocks.”

Hanner considered that for a moment. It made no sense that he could see. He asked, “What Council? What warlocks?”

“Vond,” Rudhira said, before Ithinia could reply.

The wizard nodded. “There’s Vond, yes,” she said, “but we don’t expect Hanner to deal with the emperor all by himself; that would be too much to ask of a man with no magic. No, we want him to deal with Zallin, and to help all the Called readjust to their altered circumstances.”

“Zallin?” Hanner asked. “Zallin of the Mismatched Eyes?”

“Yes, that Zallin. He was the last Chairman of the Council.”

“So I had heard,” Hanner said. “But again – what Council? What warlocks?”

“I’m afraid that Zallin has decided not to accept his fate,” Ithinia said. “He is determined to find a way to restore his magic, and thereby retain his position as chairman. I don’t think he’s the only warlock who is unhappy with the sudden change in his situation.”

“I’m sure he isn’t,” Hanner said, “but I don’t see why that’s any concern of mine, or of the Wizards’ Guild.”

“Vond,” Rudhira said again. “If he still has his magic, so can others.”

“You’re a very astute young woman,” Ithinia said. “That’s exactly right. And there’s no Calling to restrain him, or anyone like him, now.”

“You think Zallin is going to find out how Vond kept his magic, and get his own magic back?” Hanner asked.

“We’re afraid he might try, yes,” Ithinia said. “We want you to do everything you can to discourage him, and anyone else who has the same idea.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are Chairman Hanner,” the wizard said. “Every warlock in the city who remembers you respects you. You created the Council and prevented Azrad the Sedentary from declaring war on all warlocks. You guaranteed that the Council would keep order among warlocks, and see that they obeyed the law, and you ran the Council effectively and fairly for seventeen years. From what I’ve heard, you also became the leader of all the Called, and took charge of getting them safely out of Aldagmor.”

“I didn’t…I was just one of several people!” Hanner protested. “Sensella of Morningside, and Rayel Roggit’s son, and Alladia of Shiphaven…”

“Morningside? She’s from Ethshar of the Sands? Is that where she is now?”

“Well…yes,” Hanner admitted.

“Then she’ll be no help here. And the others?”

“Rayel’s from Aldagmor,” Hanner conceded. “But Alladia…”

“She’s a theurgist,” Rudhira interrupted. Hanner turned to glare at her.

“You were the first chairman,” Ithinia said, before Hanner could argue further. “And you were a lord, and a student of magic, before that. You’re perfect for what we want.”

“I still don’t understand what that is,” Hanner protested.

“We want you to do everything you can to prevent anyone from seeking out Emperor Vond in hopes of getting back their magic. We want you to be a calming voice, a voice of authority, a fatherly friend helping former warlocks find places for themselves now that their magic is gone. We want you to serve as a go-between between the Called and the Wizards’ Guild.”

“I suppose I could try,” Hanner said, doubtfully.

“We’ll pay you for your services,” Ithinia said.

“How much?” Rudhira asked.

“Enough,” the wizard snapped.

Rudhira frowned, and slumped back in her chair.

Ithinia looked at her, then back at Hanner. “There’s something else,” she said. “I would have preferred to keep this between the two of us, but I won’t insist; would you rather have Rudhira hear it, or not?”

Hanner glanced at Rudhira. He did not want sole responsibility for anything.

“I’d rather have her here,” he said.

“As you please,” Ithinia said. “The other detail is this – if any other warlock does succeed in regaining his magic, we’ll kill him.” She glanced at Rudhira. “Or her.”

Hanner snorted. “Then what do you need me for? Just tell them that!”

Ithinia shook her head. “People can be stubborn,” she said. “If we say we’ll kill anyone who tries it, some will take that as a challenge, and we do not want to kill anyone. We would prefer you talk them out of it without bringing the Guild into the discussion. We don’t want to appear as if the Guild is exceeding its authority. We don’t want the overlord to think we are usurping his authority.”

“But you are.”

“Yes, but we don’t want to be blatant about it.” The not-quite-a-smile hardened.

Hanner grimaced. “So you want me to be the pretty frosting on a poisoned cake.”

“More or less, yes.”

It was at that point that Obdur appeared in the doorway with a large tray holding a teapot, three cups, and a huge platter stacked high with honey cakes. Business was put aside as the tea was poured and a few of the cakes distributed.

When Obdur had retreated, and Hanner had downed three cups of tea and four of the little cakes, Ithinia said, “There’s something else I wanted to tell you.”

Hanner looked up from licking crumbs off his fingers. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Ithinia said. “We found your wife.”

Hanner jumped up, scattering crumbs and crockery in all directions. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Ithinia said. “She’s fine, and all three of your children are fine.”

“Where are they?”

“I can give you her address. She’s living on Mustard Street, in Spicetown.” Ithinia looked at Hanner sadly and finished, “With her husband.”