Night of Madness loe-7 Page 7

  “Well, what’s done is done,” he said. “Get up, you, and come along-we’re heading for the Palace, and if you cooperate we’ll put in a good word for you when the time comes.” He reached down a hand to help the warlock up.

  The older man rolled over and took Hanner’s hand.

  A moment later the entire party was once again marching down Fish Street, leaving the surviving inhabitants of the neighborhood, now warily emerging from their ruined homes, to put out the fires and clean up the mess.

  Chapter Eight

  Kirsha sat in the middle of the street, wrapped in wine-red velvet while a cluster of stolen jewelry orbited slowly above her head, and shivered, despite the warmth of the summer night and the heat from the burning tannery a block to the north. Bolts of cloth lay strewn on the street around her. It wasn’t a dream. She was sure of that now. She had begun to doubt it some time ago, when she realized she could feel the heat of the flames and the hard ground beneath her bare feet when she landed. Her dreams were never so detailed as this.

  It was magic, some terrible magic, and she had been caught up in it and done crazy things. She had stolen all this pretty cloth, a dozen silver rounds’ worth at the very least, and the jewelry, which was probably worth the same in gold. She had smashed in people’s shop windows, and had flung broken window glass at people who annoyed her...

  She shuddered at that, and thanked the gods that she hadn’t hit anyone.

  At least, she didn’tthink she had.

  Just then she heard voices and looked up to see a woman flying.

  For a moment she almost reconsidered, and decided she was dreaming after all. The woman practically glowed red in the torchlight and moonlight and firelight; her clothing was all red and gold, her very hair was an orange color Kirsha had never seen before, her face was heavily made up so that her cheeks shone red, and she was flying along as casually as a hummingbird.

  Then the woman called to her, “Are you all right?” and she knew it wasn’t a dream.

  “No,” Kirsha said miserably, huddling down under her stolen velvet.

  “Lord Hanner!” the woman in red called. “This way!”

  Two more flying apparitions appeared around the corner, and a small crowd of people on foot. Kirsha felt something close around her, and suddenly the spinning, flying jewelry fell to the ground.

  A plump, curly-haired young man in a silk-trimmed tunic came trotting up to her. “Are you injured?” he asked.

  “She’s fine, physically,” the woman in red replied.

  “Just upset,” said the other flying woman, who wore green and brown and was fatter and older than the first.

  “Who are you?” Kirsha asked.

  “I am Lord Hanner,” the plump young man said. “These are warlocks under my command-people affected by this magic.”

  “Like me?” Kirsha asked.

  “More or less,” Lord Hanner said. He frowned. “It looks to me as if you’ve been...”

  “Stealing,” Kirsha said, lifting up a length of velvet. “I know. I went a little crazy, and thought it was all a dream, or that the whole World had gone mad.”

  “We’ve seen quite a bit of that,” Lord Hanner said. “I think you’ll have to come with us-the overlord’s magistrates will want to talk to you.” He looked around at the scattered fabric. “First, though-do you know where all this came from? We should take it back to its rightful owners.”

  Kirsha nodded. “I think I remember it all.”

  “Good,” Hanner said-and the bolts of cloth rose into the air around them, like a tent being lifted into place or banners being raised. Kirsha’s eyes widened.

  She wasn’t doing this.

  “Lead the way,” Hanner said, offering a hand to help her up.

  Lord Faran straightened his tunic slightly as he stepped into the lesser audience chamber, and tried his best to look completely untroubled by all the madness around him. Lord Azrad looked up at him.

  “Well, it’s about time you got here!” the overlord said.

  “Your pardon, my lord,” Faran said, essaying a small bow. “I was attending to urgent business elsewhere in the Palace.”

  Azrad eyed him suspiciously. The overlord was always foul-tempered when his sleep was interrupted, but his expression seemed unusually sour even so.

  “In the Palace?” Azrad asked.

  “Yes, my lord. Attending to a few personal matters, and then checking to see who had been awakened and who had not, who was where, and so on-seeing to the overlord’s business as best I could.”

  The personal matters had been discovering that while Nerra and Alris were secure in their own beds, Hanner had never returned from his walk; and that Isia had left the Palace before the overlord had ordered the entrances to be sealed and no one to be permitted in or out. The girls had been awakened by the noise and were probably still up, chattering, but they were safe at home while Hanner was not, and while Isia might or might not have reached her parents’ house safely.

  Faran was not pleased at the thought that his nephew and his mistress were somewhere out in the city while magic-wielding lunatics were rampaging through the streets, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  At least, not that he knew of-but of course, he could apparently wield that same magic, and he had no idea what that might make possible.

  “Good,” Azrad said.“Nobody is to leave, not even you, Faran. And no one’s to enter. I don’t want to risk this thing, whatever it is, contaminating my home!”

  “Of course, my lord,” Faran said. Long years of practice allowed him to keep his expression utterly calm as he realized that Azrad did not know that whatever had happened had already affected people inside the Palace.

  So far he knew of two people who had been awakened by a nightmare and found themselves able to do strange magic-himself, and a serving girl in the kitchens by the name of Hinda. Faran had gone down to the kitchens to make sure there was sufficient food available for the extra guards and anyone else summoned from their beds, should they become hungry, and had found three of the cooks making a fuss over the little orphan.

  Hinda had demonstrated that she could send a spoon skittering across the table or hopping up and down like a frightened flea. Faran had told her not to worry about it right now, but to get the cooking fires hot and see what was in the stores.

  “I don’t like this,” Azrad said, shaking his head. “Wild magic running loose, people flying around like wizards-it’s not good, not good at all. Someone’s up to something, some magician somewhere. I won’t have it. The wizards say we can’t mix magic and government, so they’ve been watching the government-but maybe they haven’t been watching the right magicians,hai?”

  “Maybe,” Faran agreed. “Has someone spoken to any of our hired magicians to ask if they know what’s going on?”

  “My brother’s attending to it.”

  “Ah... which brother, my lord?”

  “Lord Karannin, of course. He’s Lord High Magistrate.”

  “The Lord of the Household works with magicians as well, my lord.”

  “Clurim has enough to do.”

  Faran started to ask just what Lord Clurim had to do, then decided not to. If Azrad wanted to tell him, he would-and if he didn’t, Lord Faran would find out elsewhere.

  “Lord Karannin deals with several magicians, but none of them are of any great note, my lord. Perhaps I should go speak to Guild-master Ithinia-” “If you leave the Palace you won’t get back in,” Azrad interrupted. “Not even you, my lord.”

  “Then I won’t go,” Faran said promptly.

  He didn’t like it, though. Ifhe couldn’t get back in, then no one could. He wondered where Hanner was-not in the Palace, according to the guards at the entrance, but that left all the rest of the World.

  Faran hoped he was safe in Mavi’s bed, but somehow he doubted that Hanner had managed that.

  “We’ll send Ithinia a messenger later,” Azrad said. “For now, though, I want to get back to my bed, a
nd when you’ve answered one more question I plan to do exactly that.” He shifted in his seat and then continued, “Tell me, then-do you know anything about this magic that’s running loose?”

  Faran hesitated.

  Sooner or later he might want to admit the truth-or he might not; if the magic turned out to be temporary, something that vanished at sunrise, then perhaps it would be best quickly forgotten.

  Right now, though, Faran was not about to tell Azrad that he, the overlord’s chief advisor, was one of the people touched by the mysterious power. Lord Azrad was clearly in no mood to tolerate such a revelation.

  “Not a thing, I’m afraid,” Lord Faran said.

  Elken the Beggar smiled to himself as he hurried along Wall Street.

  Those other fools back in the Wizards’ Quarter had obeyed when that fat little lordling told them to follow him to the Palace, but Elken wasn’t stupid enough to do that. He had other plans.

  Nobody knew what this new magic was or what it could do, but they were already trying to find ways to control it. Lord Hanner and his party, Mother Perréa and the witches, all the wizards and guardsmen and the rest, they just wanted to put everything back the way it was.

  And they would probably succeed. The new magic would be erased or controlled all through the city streets, and everything would once again obey the overlord’s laws.

  Except that there were places where the overlord’s laws had never meant much, and Elken lived in one of them.

  Other people with the new magic would want to improve themselves with it. They would probably pretend to be real magicians and would go into the streets looking for ways to use it to earn money. They would obey the law.

  They wouldn’t stay in the Hundred-Foot Field with the thieves and beggars. Which meant, Elken thought, that there was an opportunity here. Being one magician among many was nothing special, but being theonly magician in the Hundred-Foot Field would be another matter.

  He smiled again, looked out across the Field, and casually, purely for the enjoyment of the sensation of control, tipped over someone’s tent fifty feet away before hurrying on.

  The streets were quieter now. Kennan had been grabbing pas-sersby, if they were on foot rather than airborne and didn’t look dangerous, and asking them if they knew what was happening; so far he hadn’t gotten anything close to a decent answer. The mad ones, the ones flying by or flinging objects in all directions, he had sometimes hidden from, sometimes shouted at, but they had not been any better.

  Some sort of magic was loose in the city, clearly-but nobody seemed to know what. People had disappeared-Aken was not the only one-but no one knew who had taken them or why.

  The only guardsman Kennan had seen had pulled away, saying he was too busy to worry about one missing man.

  Kennan stood in the doorway of his house, looking out at the empty street, with Sanda pressing up behind him, peering over his shoulder. He was thinking.

  At last he reached a decision.

  “Someone has to know what’s going on,” he said, “and someone has to be doing something about it. I’m going to go to the Palace and demand an explanation.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Sanda said.

  Kennan turned and pushed her back inside.

  “No, you won’t,” he said. “You’ll stay here and look after the children.”

  “They’re all asleep...”

  “No, I said!” Kennan glowered at her, his hand still pushing at her shoulder. “What if little Sarai wakes up and wants her mother? What if one of them gets sick? What if the magic tries to take one ofthem}”

  “I couldn’t stop it...” Sanda began halfheartedly-but she was no longer resisting the pressure of Kennan’s hand.

  “And what if Aken comes back as soon as I’m out of sight around the corner and finds usboth gone?”

  Sanda blinked, suddenly silent, and stepped back into the house.

  “I’ll stay here until you come back,” she said.

  “Good,” Kennan said, lowering his hand. “Good.” He tried to smile at her, without much success. “Don’t worry, Sanda. I’ll find him. I don’t know why the magicians took him or what they did with him, but I’ll find out.” He stepped back inside long enough to give her a quick, reassuring hug, then turned and marched out of the house, closing the door tightly behind him.

  The overlord would probably be asleep at this hour, closer to dawn than sunset, butsomeone at the Palace was surely awake, and someone there would either give him the answers he wanted or direct him to where they could be found.

  If they didn’t, they would regret it.

  Chapter Nine

  The walk to the Palace took Hanner’s company more than two hours-they made detour after detour as they encountered one incident after another. Hanner took the time along the way to ask a few questions and learned that his other two flyers were Varrin the Weaver and Desset of Eastwark. He learned the names of about half the others, as well, including the four warlocks they had taken prisoner: the girl who had stolen jewelry was Kirsha the Younger; Saldan of Southgate had dueled with the warlock Rudhira killed; Roggit Rayel’s son had been looting cash from shops and taverns, and Gror of the Crooked Teeth had been smashing windows more or less at random.

  Three other warlocks had fled and not been deemed worth pursuing; half a dozen had been calmed down and sent home. Had Hanner realized how many he would encounter, he thought, he might not have chosen to take Kirsha and Gror as prisoners, since they had not harmed anyone and seemed to have regretted their crimes-but having already made the decision, he was not inclined to reverse it.

  The journey seemed interminable, but at last Hanner, at the head of his party, emerged from Arena Street into the torchlit plaza-and found himself facing a wall of guardsmen, lined up six deep, armed with spears.

  Spears were either for show or for serious fighting and putting down riots or insurrections; swords and truncheons were standard for the far more usual patrol and police work.

  “What’s going on?” Hanner demanded as the rest of his group, including the prisoners, emerged from the dark street and gathered behind him. Rudhira was still flying and swept up to hover above him.

  The rows of guards promptly aimed their spears in her general direction.

  “Put those down!” Hanner bellowed as best he could-he was exhausted, and at its best his voice had never been the commanding roar his uncle could produce, so the result was not very impressive. “She’s with me.”

  “That’s Rudhira,” one of the soldiers said. “I know her.”

  “Who ishe?” someone else asked.

  “I am Lord Hanner,” Hanner shouted. “Nephew and heir to Lord Faran, the overlord’s chief advisor. Now, what’s going on here? Who’s in charge?”

  The lines of spearmen shuffled for a moment, then parted, and a captain, gold-trimmed breastplate over his yellow tunic, stepped forward. He bore no spear, but his hand was on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

  The face was familiar; Hanner, tired as he was, needed a few seconds before he could attach a name.

  “Lord Hanner,” the captain said, before the name came to Hanner’s lips.

  “Captain Naral,” Hanner said. “May I ask what is going on here, and why all these men are on parade in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s no parade, my lord. Surely you’re aware of the mad magicians running riot through the city-you appear to have brought at least one of them with you.” He nodded toward Rudhira.

  “Of course I’m aware!” Hanner said. “And I’ve brought some of them here for the overlord to deal with.” He gestured at his party. “We’ve taken four criminal warlocks prisoner and brought them for trial.”

  “Warlocks?”

  “That’s what the witches call them. Nobody else seems to have a name for them.”

  “You’ve spoken to a witch about them, then?”

  Manner nodded. “When I saw what was happening I went to the Wizards’ Quarter for advice. The magicians there are as
puzzled as the rest of us, but Mother Perréa said this new magic resembles a technique used by witches in the Great War, and she called it war-locking.”

  Naral frowned. “No one knew what caused this outbreak?”

  “No one I spoke with,” Hanner confirmed.

  “That’s bad.” The captain frowned again, then turned up an empty hand. “Well, perhaps by morning someone will have divined more.”

  “And in the meantime, Captain, I have gathered several warlocks of goodwill, and with their aid taken four criminals prisoner, and I would like to bring them all into the Palace and get some sleep.”

  Naral hesitated. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” he said at last.

  Hanner had expected and dreaded this answer. “Why not?” he asked.

  “We have been ordered to allow no one to enter the Palace, and most particularly not to allow any of these mad magicians— these warlocks, as you call them-near it.” “I’m sure my uncle didn’t mean that to includeme...”

  “It wasn’t Lord Faran who gave the order, my lord,” Naral interrupted. “It was Lord Azrad himself. The overlord.”

  Hanner blinked. “Oh,” he said.

  That explained the apparent overreaction of lining up several hundred guards in the square. Lord Faran would probably have been more conservative of manpower; Lord Azrad, though, had never demonstrated any sense of proportion, nor shown any inclination to conserve anything but his own energy.

  Right now Hanner was very much in the mood to conserve what little energy he had left himself-preferably while comfortably tucked into his own bed. He glanced up over his shoulder at Rudhira, and wondered how much she could carry.

  “You realize that a warlock could probably just fly over your heads to reach the Palace?” he asked.

  “She would have to fly through a storm of spears,” Naral said, his tone almost apologetic.

  Hanner was not at all certain that would bother Rudhira, but decided against asking her. Instead he said, “Could someone please petition the overlord on my behalf? I’d very much like to get some sleep.”