The Unwelcome Warlock

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Hanner wondered idly where Rudhira was hiding, and whether she had a specific plan in mind, or just didn’t want to cooperate with Vond. He had not seen her in hours. While it was possible she had slipped away into the woods, or somewhere else well away from the village, Hanner thought it was more likely she was still close at hand, watching and listening. She had been in the refuge for some time before Hanner himself arrived, and probably knew her way around better than anyone else; if there were safe hiding places to be found, she might well have found them.

He glanced at the sleeping figures lying all around, soldiers and refugees alike, taking up almost all the floor space in the three rooms of the house where the tapestry hung. There were enough of them that Hanner thought he could feel their accumulated body heat, and he knew he could smell them. None of them seemed to have noticed that the redhead was missing; probably most of them had either never realized she was there at all, or thought she had already gone back through the tapestry to the attic of Warlock House.

Hanner had hoped that some of the refugees who had been sent back to Ethshar would return to the refuge, but none had. A guard named Balrad, the second of the pair who had accompanied Vond himself, had explained, before he went to sleep, that the emperor had assigned some of his hirelings to stand guard, making sure that no one else used that tapestry until Vond returned. Hanner had feared that might be the case, and would have liked more details, but Balrad had not been willing to provide them. Like most of the others, he had been tired and eager to rest.

Hanner almost wished he could sleep, but after staying up the entire night before, and then sleeping away most of the day here in the village, he was wide awake. The unmoving sun here did not provide any of the visual cues that might have helped him to get back on a normal schedule; quite the contrary, in fact. Combine that with the stress of his situation, and sleep was not a possibility, and after awhile he gave up any attempt to doze. He asked the waking guards a few questions every so often, but for the most part he sat quietly, watching, listening, and thinking.

Ever since he woke up in Aldagmor he had been reacting to events, doing what seemed to need doing, and never really stopping to think. He had led the Called warlocks as best he could, trying to guide them to safety, but then he had been snatched back to Ethshar by the wizards. Ithinia had hired him, more or less, to keep the former warlocks in line – he had not done very much in that regard, really, but why had he agreed to do it at all? It had been expedient, but was it really the right thing to do? The wizards had helped him, so he had been inclined to help them in return, but why should he side with the Wizards’ Guild against other warlocks? Ithinia said they were dangerous, and they probably were potentially dangerous – certainly Vond was a real threat. But would Vond have been so very dangerous if Ithinia and her coterie hadn’t attacked him? Sending a false Calling nightmare had only made Vond more dangerous, by making him angry.

Perhaps reasons no longer mattered; however it had happened, Vond was now extremely dangerous – at least, when he was in Ethshar. Pulling the overlord’s palace out of the ground and holding it over the city – that was insane.

At least if that man Kolar was to be believed, Vond had put the palace down safely before stepping through the tapestry, rather than letting it fall; Hanner had eventually gotten up the nerve to ask about that. True, the emperor had put it down on a sandbar, and not back where it belonged, but it was better than dropping it on the New City.

Vond had only intended to be gone for a few minutes, not an entire night, and he planned to pick the palace up again as soon as he had his magic back. Hanner knew Vond intended to continue his feud with Ithinia. Whether he hoped to kill her eventually, or to force some other sort of capitulation, Hanner was unsure; he did not think Vond himself had any clear idea how the conflict might be resolved. Killing Ithinia would put him at war with the entire Wizards’ Guild, and he couldn’t hope to defeat all of them, but how could he trust any lesser sort of surrender Ithinia might offer?

For that matter, would Ithinia and the rest of the Guild accept anything less than Vond’s death? Any assassination would need to catch the emperor off-guard; if Vond had even a second to retaliate, he might be unable to save himself, but he could kill everyone nearby – or perhaps worse, from the Guild’s point of view, he might be able to turn anyone in sight into a warlock. Depending on who that might be, the result could be even worse than the present situation. Vond was a short-tempered egotist, but he was not actively malicious, nor was he subtle. A more vicious warlock could do far more damage in the short term, and a smarter warlock could do more given time.

Hanner did not think Vond would ever give anyone else access to his new Source while he lived; he was not the sort who would want to share power, nor would he trust an ally for very long. If he was about to die, though, he would almost certainly want to carry out a final act of revenge.

Right now, while Vond was in this magical refuge and cut off from his own power, there was a sort of unintentional enforced truce. Vond had no magic, and Ithinia could not easily reach him here, if she even knew where he was. This should be an opportunity to end the whole stupid conflict peacefully, Hanner thought. If he could find a way to keep Vond here, and powerless, that should be enough to satisfy Ithinia. If he only had some way to communicate with her, perhaps he could arrange something.

His time was limited, though. He glanced at the tapestry. When the sun rose in Ethshar it would start working again, Vond would leave, and this chance would be lost forever. Hanner doubted Vond would ever again risk coming here, and giving up his magic; it was astonishing that he had done it even this once.

Before falling asleep Vond had said he had been driven largely by curiosity in coming here, and now his curiosity was satisfied. He had also wanted to demonstrate that he was not afraid to come here, and he had done that. With those motives gone, he would not be back. He and his swordsmen would drive everyone out. Then he might destroy the tapestry and seal this place off from Ethshar forever – or he might carry through on the idea of bringing in several more tapestries and using it as a sort of mystic junction to reach various spots around the World more quickly than he could fly. Either way, he wouldn’t allow anyone but himself and his loyal followers to visit this place.

If only someone in Ethshar knew what was happening, and could block the attic tapestry somehow to keep Vond isolated until matters could be worked out – but the only chance for communication Hanner could think of was if someone was attempting to reach him with the Spell of Invaded Dreams, and that would only work if he could sleep.

He couldn’t. Even if he could, there was no guarantee that anyone was trying to reach him; after all, it was the middle of the night in Ethshar, and Hanner had no reason to think anyone there was aware of the situation. Sleeping might merely mean giving away any chance at a resolution that he had.

He could not rely on outside help for a solution. He needed to take action himself if he wanted to end this. If someone were to kill Vond here and now, that would be an end of all this trouble, but Hanner could not do that. He was not a killer by nature – and more importantly, Vond was guarded by a dozen men, and not all of them were asleep. At the moment the two on duty were Kolar and Marl; they were awake and ready to defend their employer, as well as the attic tapestry that they hoped would take them home.

A thought struck Hanner, and he looked at the tapestry. Would the two soldiers defend it? If the tapestry was ruined, Vond would be stuck here, and powerless. This stupid war between wizards and warlock would be over.

Of course, the rest of them would be stuck here, as well. That was a fairly major drawback. He and Rudhira, wherever she was, and the other refugees would be stranded here with a furious Vond and his soldiers. They might well be killed.

Or perhaps not – as Hanner had said, if he died, Vond might never get back to Ethshar. Zallin could not be trusted, and even if he tried to obey, the wizards and their allied witches and other magicians might stop him. If Hanner lived, though, there was always a chance someone would eventually come for him. His sisters would miss him, or Ithinia might contact him on her own to find out what had become of Vond. He, Hanner, would be the one in a position of power, able to dictate terms, because he was the one more likely to eventually provide a way home. He could bargain for the lives of the refugees, and for his own – assuming he lived long enough.

It was a risk, certainly, but wouldn’t it be worth it to ensure that Vond and Ithinia stopped trying to destroy each other, and that no one else would be caught in the middle and killed, as that poor witch had been? Even if Hanner died, wouldn’t it be worth it? He had already lost his old life, and had not yet had time to build a new one. His death would mean that Mavi would be free of any lingering guilt or second thoughts. His sisters and children could get on with their lives – they had thought he was dead for years, and a second death would surely not be so very painful. He didn’t want that to happen, but it would not be so very terrible. Hanner got to his feet.

Kolar saw that movement, and turned to watch. He said nothing, but stared directly at Hanner.

“Mind if I test the tapestry?” Hanner asked quietly.

Kolar glanced over at his sleeping employer, and all the other unconscious forms on the floor, the woman who had previously tested the magic curled up among them. He turned up a palm. “Why not?” he said.

Hanner smiled, and walked across the room, trying to look completely calm and casual. He let his hand fall to the hilt of his belt-knife, and pretended not to notice when Kolar responded by dropping his own hand to the hilt of his sword.

Marl, who had been dozing on his feet, started and straightened up. “Test?” he said.

“This fellow’s going to try the tapestry,” Kolar said.

“Oh,” Marl said. He glanced at Vond, then looked back at Hanner. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Hanner said, bobbing his head in acknowledgment. His right hand closed on his knife, while his left reached out toward the tapestry. Kolar stepped back to give him room.

This would mean he would be trapped here, Hanner reminded himself. He might not see his children for months, if he ever saw them again at all. He might be killed. He might be tortured. But it would put an end to Vond’s reckless displays of power, his murders and thefts and arrogance. Lives would almost certainly be saved, even if Hanner’s wasn’t among them. He grabbed the fabric of the tapestry in his left hand, then drew his knife and slashed.

“Hai!” Kolar shouted. “Hai, what are you doing? Are you crazy?” His sword flashed as he snatched it up.

Marl’s blade was out, as well; the tip was at Hanner’s throat as he said, “Drop the knife!”

Hanner dropped the knife and raised his empty hands.

The commotion had awakened several of the others; now a babble of voices arose as they saw what was happening.

Then silence fell as Vond got awkwardly to his feet and advanced toward Hanner. He stopped and stared at the tapestry, at the long diagonal gash in the cloth that cut a jagged slice out of the attic’s sloping ceiling and rough tie-beams. Then he turned to face Hanner.

“You’ve ruined it!” he said.

“Yes, I have,” Hanner said.

“The magic won’t work any more, will it?”

“No, it won’t,” Hanner said. “It will take a wizard months of work to repair it, if it can be done at all.”

“So we’re all stranded here? Is that what you wanted?”

“Someone will contact us eventually, I’m sure,” Hanner said, trying to keep his voice steady as Marl’s sword-point pressed against a point an inch below the corner of his jaw. Hanner was not sure, but he thought that was roughly the location of his jugular vein.

Vond strode forward and snatched the sword from Marl’s hand, but kept it pressed against Hanner’s neck. He pushed a little harder, drawing a drop of blood. “You did this to keep me from getting my magic back, didn’t you?” he said. “You think you’re in charge now, as the one who someone in Ethshar will contact. You don’t believe Zallin will do anything; you think you’re the one someone will rescue. You think you can leave me here, powerless, or maybe that I’ll agree to whatever terms the wizards set to get them to help me.”

Hanner tried to raise his jaw higher, to pull away from the sword’s point. He did not answer.

“You think I won’t kill you?” Vond shouted, his voice rising in pitch.

Hanner tried to move to one side, to get away from the blade pressing into his throat, but Vond turned to follow. Kolar stepped back to make room.

The pressure on Hanner’s throat increased, and he could feel blood running down his neck and under the collar of his tunic. He would have swallowed, but that would only make the sword cut deeper.

Hanner realized he was going to die. Vond had already demonstrated that he didn’t mind killing people who annoyed him, and Hanner had just done far worse to him than anyone else ever had – well, anyone except perhaps that poor witch who had sent him the Calling nightmare.

A motion above and behind Vond’s head caught Hanner’s eye, and he looked upward for an instant. A panel had opened in the ceiling, and he could see a dark space there. He caught a glimpse of red hair. No one else seemed to notice; they were all facing the other way, staring at Hanner and the ruined tapestry.

Then Vond flicked the sword slightly, drawing a stinging scratch across his skin, and Hanner’s attention returned to the warlock.

“They’ll come for me eventually,” Vond said. “Zallin or one of the others. I’m the one who can bring warlockry back into the World, Hanner. Maybe you don’t want your magic back, but plenty of people do. Maybe you don’t want power, but someone will, and he’ll come here to find me. I don’t need you, and I can’t trust you. You’ll have to die. I’m sorry about that – you were almost a legend, you know. You founded the Council and saved warlocks from extermination, but now you’ve turned against us, and I can’t allow a traitor to live. You understand that, don’t you?” The blade cut a little more deeply, and Hanner felt the stream of warm blood running down his neck thicken. He could feel it trickling down his chest.

He was going to die.

He had faced an inevitable doom before, when he heard the Call, but this was more immediate, more personal. He could feel his entire body tensing; his hands were trembling. He wanted to close his eyes, to not see the killing blow, to not see the hatred in Vond’s expression, but he kept them open; he did not want to give the warlock the satisfaction of seeing how scared he was.

Hanner stared defiantly at the warlock, his heart pounding. Vond drew his hand back to strike.

And Rudhira plummeted from the opening in the ceiling, an iron cooking pot in one hand and her belt-knife in the other. She landed on the warlock’s shoulders, then slammed the heavy pot down onto Vond’s head with ferocious force. Hanner heard bone crunch.

Vond collapsed, with Rudhira riding him to the floor; the sword fell from his hand, and Rudhira’s knife reached around and slashed his throat from ear to ear.

Someone screamed. The crowded room was thrown into complete chaos as anyone who had still been asleep awoke, while some people were trying to escape the violence and others were trying to get a better look.

Blood spurted from Vond’s opened throat as he struggled on the floor, trying to speak, trying to get his limbs under him; his eyes were wide with terror and pain.

Rudhira had not waited to make sure Vond was dead, or to see how the others would react; once she had finished her attack she dropped the iron pot, sprang to her feet, and ran for the door, her bloody knife still in her hand. Two of Vond’s men reached for her, but not in time. The two or three people directly in her path stepped aside; no one wanted to touch the woman who had just appeared out of nowhere and cut a man’s throat. She vanished out the door into the sunlit street.

For an instant Hanner, Marl, and Kolar didn’t move; then Hanner and Marl simultaneously dove for the dropped sword. Hanner did not worry about reaching the hilt, so his hand got there first, closing around the blade. He felt the edge cut into his fingers, but he didn’t care; he snatched the weapon up and stepped back. He was just reaching his other hand toward the hilt when Kolar’s blade pressed against his chest.

He froze, but did not release the sword. He nodded toward Vond. “He’s not dead yet,” he said.

Kolar did not allow himself to be distracted, but others, jarred from immobility by Hanner’s words, moved to roll Vond over. Someone had a piece of cloth, perhaps from a tunic, that he was using as a makeshift bandage to stanch the flow of blood, but it wasn’t enough; the pool of blood was spreading, and Vond’s movements were weakening. His eyes were wide and staring. He was still choking, but more weakly.

“What did you do?” Kolar demanded.

“I ruined the tapestry,” Hanner said.

“You killed Vond!” Marl shouted.

“I most certainly did not!” Hanner shouted back. “If I had meant to kill him, why would I have cut the tapestry and trapped all of us here?”

“Kill him, Kolar!” Marl yelled.

Kolar kept his sword in position, but did not advance. Instead he eyed Hanner thoughtfully. “Was Vond right? What he said about you thinking you can get us out of here?”

“More or less,” Hanner said. “I think my sisters will look for me, and find some way to get us all back to Ethshar.”

“Who was that?” Kolar asked. “The woman who attacked Vond?”

“Her name is Rudhira of Camptown,” Hanner said. “She’s another of the Called.”

“Why did she do it?”

“You’ll have to ask her. I don’t know.”

“I should kill you for what you did.”

“Maybe,” Hanner said, “but if you do, you’ll be hurting your chances of ever getting home. And Vond won’t be paying you now – he doesn’t have any allies to make good on his debts once he’s dead.”

Hanner had managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke, though he was not sure how he had done it – perhaps he had been so certain that Vond was about to kill him that Kolar’s threat carried little weight by comparison. Now he met Kolar’s gaze, looking him directly in the eye, just as he had Vond. If he was about to die after all, at least he could still do so with dignity.

“You won’t make good his debts?”

The question caught Hanner by surprise. His eyes flicked very briefly to the rest of the room, to see how the other swordsmen were taking this, then back to Kolar. “How much did he promise you?” he asked. “I don’t have much money of my own, but my sisters are wealthy; we might be able to work out a partial payment of some sort.”

Kolar was still considering when someone called, “That sounds good enough to me!”

“He ruined the tapestry that would have gotten us all home!” a new voice protested.

“It wasn’t working,” another voice retorted. “We don’t know if it ever would have worked again.”

At that the whole room seemed to break out in argument.

As swordsmen and refugees debated Hanner’s fate, the Great Vond, emperor of Semma and the Vondish Empire, died there on the floor. The crude attempts to help him had been too little, too late – though in fact, it was unlikely anything but powerful magic could have saved him. Even if something had stopped the bleeding, the blow to the head had cracked his skull and might have been fatal on its own.

For several moments it appeared Hanner might follow him, but in the end, no one really wanted Hanner dead. If he had been run through immediately it would probably have been accepted as a reasonable response, but no one had the heart to kill him in cold blood long after the tapestry was ruined and Vond was dead.

If Rudhira had been present, providing a more appropriate target, matters might have been different, but by the time anyone thought to attempt pursuit she had vanished completely. Hanner hoped that she was all right, wherever she might be.

And while he did not care to admit any approval of her methods, he knew she had probably saved the World a great deal of trouble.