Night of Madness (11 page)

Hanner did not appreciate that. Apparently Lord Azrad didn't much like it, either. Hanner wondered how long this warlockry business would last—hours? Days? Years? Forever?

Short of divination there was no way to know, and Hanner had no intention of waking up a wizard or theurgist at this hour to buy a divination that might not even work, as predictive magic about magic was notoriously unreliable. Tomorrow he might go back to the Wizards' Quarter and inquire, but now he just wanted to sleep.

He wasn't quite as exhausted as he might ordinarily have expected after staying up so late and walking all over the city, but he supposed that was just the excitement.

He stood up and stretched, and was about to settle back on the curbstone when the line of soldiers parted, and his sister, Lady Alris, appeared.

“Hanner?” she called uncertainly, eyeing the warlocks scattered around the intersection. Hanner realized that he was standing in the shadow of the little shrine, where the soldiers' torchlight didn't really reach; he stepped forward and called, “Here I am!”

“Oh!” Alris hesitated, then ran to him, stopping a few feet away.

“Uncle Faran sent you?”

Alris nodded. “He can't leave the Palace.”

That wasn't really a surprise; Hanner supposed his uncle was closeted with the overlord somewhere, discussing the situation—though Naral had said the overlord had retired.

Well, perhaps Faran was talking to underlings, preparing them for whatever was to be done in the morning.

“May we enter, then?” Hanner asked.

“No, of course not,” Alris said, startled. “
No one
may enter! That's why Uncle Faran can't leave—the overlord isn't letting
anyone
in, not even him! Not the guards, not messengers—they have to call their messages through the door without stepping inside. No exceptions
at all.
”

“Oh,” Hanner said, startled. “But then how will
you
get back in?”

“I won't,” Alris said. “I'll be staying with you.” She smiled, the brightest smile Hanner had seen from her in months. “It'll be an adventure!”

“Staying where?” Hanner asked.

“Oh, well, that's why Uncle Faran sent me,” Alris said. She reached into the purse on her belt and produced an ornate black key. “He didn't trust anyone but us with this, and Nerra refused to come, so I volunteered.”

Hanner had never seen the key before, but he knew immediately what it must be for. Lord Faran's official residence was in the Palace, where he was easily available when Lord Azrad wanted him, but he was not, in fact, always available. He was only home in the Palace perhaps four nights in ten. Hanner and his sisters had long suspected that he maintained an unofficial residence as well, where he could indulge himself in interests that might not please the overlord and might not be welcome in the Palace.

None of them knew where this other residence was, though—or at least, none of them had until now.

“He told you where it is?” Hanner asked.

Alris nodded. “It's at the corner of High Street and Coronet Street. The northeast corner.”

That was about half a dozen blocks to the southwest of where they now stood, in the New City.

“Lead the way,” Hanner said. Then he raised his voice and called, “Yorn! Rudhira! Varrin! All of you! Follow me!”

Alris started and looked about nervously as the warlocks rose—some of them well into the air—and assembled. “Uncle Faran said
we
could stay there, Hanner,” she said. “You and me, not all these people.”

“They need to stay
somewhere,
” Hanner replied. “I ordered them to follow me, back in the Wizards' Quarter; that makes me responsible for them. They can sleep on the floor; I'm sure we can squeeze them all in.”

Hanner knew enough of his uncle's tastes to be sure of that; Faran was not the sort to settle for a mere furnished room for his trysts. Hanner expected a fair-sized apartment.

“I don't—” Alris began.

“Alris,” Hanner said, cutting her off, “we're
all
going. It's my decision, not yours; if Uncle Faran doesn't like it we can deal with that later. Now, lead the way.”

Reluctantly, Alris obeyed, and the entire party trudged out of the torchlit square into the shadowy streets.

Chapter Ten

Kennan stood in the corner of the plaza, staring in frustration at the ranked soldiers.

They wouldn't let him
near
the Palace. When he had told them he had to speak with the Lord High Magistrate about his stolen son, they had told him that a hundred other people were in line ahead of him, and the overlord wasn't letting
anyone
see Lord Karannin.

And then when those people had come flying up Arena Street the soldiers hadn't taken them prisoner or tried to kill them—instead they had just sent someone to
talk
to them.

Kennan stood up on his toes, trying to see clearly, as the officer talked to the chubby young man in the fancy tunic.

As he watched, the officer turned and beckoned to another soldier. They spoke quietly for a moment, and then the second soldier began pushing his way toward the Palace.

Kennan watched, fuming—was that guardsman going to be permitted in, where he, an honest citizen with a legitimate grievance, was not?

But then the guardsman was stopped on the bridge, and his message, whatever it was, was relayed from there.

So even messengers weren't being permitted inside.

Then he couldn't hope to get inside the Palace tonight. He looked at the motley bunch of people gathered at the mouth of Arena Street—the young man in the fancy tunic, the flying whore, the worried-looking guardsman, and the rest.

If the guards could talk to them, Kennan decided, so could he. They might know what was going on, and where Aken had been taken. He began making his way around the side of the square.

By the time he reached Arena Street the others had retreated slightly, and it took a moment before he could locate them again. There were people scattered about, some standing, some sitting against walls, but he couldn't tell which were magicians; no one was hanging in the air anymore.

At last he spotted the redheaded whore perched atop the wall surrounding a mansion on Aristocrat Circle. He walked up to her and called up, “
Hai!
I'd like to talk to you.”

She turned and looked down at him.

“Go away,” she said. “I'm not available.”

Kennan felt his ears redden. “I'm not a customer,” he snapped. “I need to ask you something, about my son.”

The redhead looked bored. “What name was he using?” she asked.

“He wasn't a customer, either,” Kennan said, exasperated. “It's not about
you.
”

“If it's not about
me,
then why are you
asking
me?” she demanded.

“I saw you flying,” Kennan said. “I thought you might know something.”

The whore sighed. “Then ask. But I probably don't.”

“His name is Aken of the Strong Arm. He was taken from his bed earlier tonight, snatched out the window by magic.”

The woman turned up an empty palm. “I never heard of him,” she said. “Don't know anything about anyone being snatched out a bedroom window. Sorry.”

“Is there someone I could ask? Some magician?”

The woman turned up her palm again.

“Gods, woman, don't you have any compassion?” Kennan shouted. “My son is missing, and I want to know who's responsible!”

“None of us
know
who's responsible, old man!” the redhead shouted back. “We don't know you and we don't know your son, and in case you haven't noticed, half the city has gone raving mad tonight, prancing about smashing shop windows and setting things on fire, and some of us have had this magic thrust upon us, and we don't know any more about it than
you
do!”

Kennan stared up at her in silent anger, fists clenching and unclenching.

“Go away,” she said, and Kennan found himself forced back, against his will, toward the plaza.

He fought at first, but it did no good, so at last he turned and walked away under his own power. When he had rounded the corner, out of sight of the woman in red, he stopped, took a deep breath, and collected himself.

He didn't know who those people were, but they
owed
him an explanation.

Just then he heard a commotion behind him, and he turned to see a girl in her early teens step out of the lines of soldiers and call, “Hanner?”

Kennan turned and watched as the man in the silk-trimmed tunic appeared out of the shadows and spoke to the girl—who, Kennan realized, must have come from the Palace.

There was something going on here, definitely. All of these people were working together, he was sure of it. He watched them closely, trying to hear as much as he could of their conversation.

“
No one
may enter!” the girl said. Kennan couldn't make out her next sentence, but that was clear. He listened and heard her conclude, “No exceptions
at all.
”

Kennan didn't hear the next exchange, but then the girl said, “It'll be an adventure!” She reached into her purse and showed the man something Kennan couldn't see.

More words Kennan couldn't catch, and then the man raised his voice and called, “Yorn! Rudhira! Varrin! All of you! Follow me!”

The girl made a protest Kennan couldn't hear, and for a moment the two argued, but the man clearly won. The girl turned and began walking away from the square, into the darkness of Aristocrat Circle.

Several of the people who had been standing or sitting around arose and followed—including the redheaded whore, and two others who flew rather than walked.

Kennan hesitated only briefly, then followed.

*   *   *

“You'll do what I tell you!” Elken the Beggar bellowed, hovering above the Hundred-Foot Field, pointing down at the thirty or so people he had gathered.

“Elken, this is stupid,” Tanna the Thief said. “If you're such a powerful magician now, why are you staying
here?
” She pointed at Wall Street. “Why don't you go into the city and make a place
there?
”

“Shut up!” Elken said. “I know better than that. I
went
into the city, and I came back. There are hundreds of magicians in the city, and lords ordering them around. But
here,
there's just me—me, and the bunch of you, and you're all going to be my slaves now.”

“All right, fine,” an old woman said. “What do you want us to do?”

“That's better,” Elken said, mollified. “I want you to put together the tents and make a place worthy of me! And I want all the food you've got stashed away. And if anyone has any
oushka,
I want that, too.”

The others looked at one another. A few whispered comments were exchanged, empty palms turned up.

Twenty minutes later Elken lay on a pile of mismatched bedding—a
big
pile, collected from at least a dozen of the residents of the Hundred-Foot Field—beneath a canopy made out of Old Man Kelder's tent stretched across the poles from Anaran the Thief's hut. He had a strip of dried salt beef in one hand, a half-full bottle of
oushka
in the other.

He took a gulp of liquor and smiled broadly. “The gods have smiled on me,” he said. “It's as if they wanted to pay me back for making me suffer through that nightmare.”

The memory of the dream, of the sensations of falling and burning and being buried, was unpleasant; his smile vanished and he took another long draught of
oushka.

“The gods are just,” Tanna said, from where she sat—just out of his reach, deliberately so.

“Of course,” Elken said, then drained the rest of the bottle. “Come here, woman.”

Reluctantly Tanna came, before Elken could use his mysterious magic to drag her. She cuddled up beside him.

As she had expected, though, he was now too drunk to do anything more than give her a squeeze before falling into a booze-induced stupor. After a few fumbling moments his head rolled back, his eyes closed, and he began snoring.

Tanna waited another five minutes, just to be sure.

Then she took the sharp little paring knife from her belt, reached around, and neatly sliced open Elken's left carotid artery.

He jerked awake, and she cut his throat from ear to ear as he stared up at her and clapped a hand to the initial wound.

She was flung back by his magic, smashing through the jury-rigged framework of his beggar's palace and landing on hard ground. She rolled aside—she had had years of practice dodging attacks, and a magical one wasn't really so different.

By the time she got to her feet and made her way cautiously back inside, Elken was still and limp, his eyes staring and lifeless.

“It's all right,” she called. “He's dead.”

The others emerged from their refuges to gather around her and look at Elken's corpse.

“I'm sorry about the ruined bedding,” Tanna said as she stared down at the body. “What a waste!”

No one was sure whether she meant the bloodstained bedding or Elken's magic.

*   *   *

“I can't believe you sent her out there!” Nerra said, staring at her uncle.

Faran pointedly did not stare back, but instead studied the reports Captain Vengar had given him.

“She'll be fine,” he said. “She just has to go a few blocks, and she'll have Hanner with her, and then they'll both be safe at my house.”

“You really have a house in the New City?”

“I really do. I've had it since you were a baby.”

“That's where you go when you aren't here and don't take us with you?”