The wizards were waiting in expectant silence. He swallowed, then continued.
“All those people who vanished on the Night of Madness,” Hanner said. “They were warlocks who heard the Calling, we’re sure of it.”
“So are we,” the white-haired wizard said.
That statement was a pleasant surprise, and Hanner struggled not to react to it.
“But most people thinkwe made them disappear,” he said. “If the Wizards’ Guild, and perhaps the other magicians, could tell everyone that we aren’t responsible, that Uncle Kelder or Aunt Sarai was not kidnapped or eaten by warlocks, butwas a warlock— that would be what we need to fit in peacefully, which is all we want.”
“Warlocksdid loot and burn and kill on the Night of Madness,” Ithinia pointed out.
“Yes, they did,” Hanner admitted. “And we’re very sorry about that and will be glad to turn over for trial anyindividual who can be shown to have committed any such crimes. We’ve already done that, where we could-I personally delivered four warlocks to the Lord Magistrate of the Old Merchants’ Quarter, who had them flogged.”
“He speaks the truth,” the white-haired wizard said. “The spell is still in effect.”
“We can see that,” the woman who had corrected Hanner’s reference to Ethshar snapped.
“Is that it?” Ithinia asked. “Have you finished your speech?”
“Almost,” Hanner said. “Just one more thing.”
“Didn’t he say that before?” a wizard muttered. Hanner ignored it.
“I’ve told you what we want of the Guild,” he said. “To be left in peace and to have the truth about the disappearances told. I’ve told you what we offer in exchange-warlocks will be kept in order by the Council of Warlocks. I’ve explained why warlocks are not the threat some initially believed, in that the Calling limits us, and I’ve explained that neither are we harmless and easily obliterated, so that the peace we offer is reasonable. There’s just one more thing to add. It’s not a fact, but only a possibility, a consequence thatmight happen if you do refuse my offer and try to stamp us out.”
“What is it?” Ithinia asked.
“You know that hundreds, maybe thousands of people flew off to Aldagmor on the Night of Madness. You know the most powerful warlocks have followed them. But there are things wedon’t know about warlockry. We don’t know what causes it, how long it will last, or any of dozens of other things. So ask yourselves, when you consider declaring warlocks to be a menace to be stopped-what happens if the Callingstops?” He looked at the wizards and spread his arms dramatically. “What happens if all those warlocks come back from Aldag-mor and find out you’ve slaughtered their fellows?” he asked.
He knew that was something they hadn’t considered; he knew he’d said the right thing. He looked at them, trying not to grin.
The wizards stared at him in silence.
Chapter Forty-three
The sound of a chair’s legs grating on stone broke the silence. “I think I’ll send you home now,” Ithinia said as she rose.
Hanner bowed. “As you please,” he said. “I’ve said what I came to say.”
“And we’ll consider it all carefully,” Ithinia replied as she walked up and took his arm. She stooped and picked up the velvet hood Hanner had dropped. “Put this on,” she said, holding it out.
Reluctantly Hanner obeyed, plunging himself into darkness.
Someone-probably Ithinia, though he had no way to be certain-took hold of his arm, turned him to the left, and led him away. He walked for what seemed a goodly distance, perhaps thirty or forty yards, with the grip on his arm guiding him.
Then his guide stopped.
“Put out your hand,” she said-Ithinia’s voice, as he had expected. He obediently raised one arm and held it out before him.
“Now step forward,” she said, releasing her hold.
He stepped forward-and sensation flooded over him.
Light was seeping up beneath the mask; he was somewhere brighter than that gloomy pillared hall. He could hear the distant buzz of a city. And his warlockry had returned; he could sense his surroundings, feel the structure and patterns of the air and space around him.
He snatched off the hood again. He was standing in a pleasant little room, one he didn’t recognize-definitelynot the bare little chamber the carpet had delivered him to. This room had broad windows on two sides, hung with lace curtains; steeply slanting sunlight was pouring in. The walls were plastered and painted white, brightening the room even more. A wicker divan stood to one side, and half a dozen little tables were scattered about. There were two doors-one in a windowed wall, presumably leading outside, and one in a solid wall, presumably leading to another room.
Hanner stepped over to a window and looked out, and saw a lush garden. Chrysanthemums lined a brick walk that wound between flowerbeds and neatly trimmed hedges.
He didn’t recognize it.
He could be almost anywhere, he thought. This might be in Ethshar, or at some wizard’s country estate, or a castle garden in the Small Kingdoms. He wasn’t sure what was expected of him, or why he had been sent here-hadn’t Ithinia said she was sending him home?
This wasn’t any room he recognized in Uncle Faran’s house, nor did the visible portion of the garden look familiar, but wizardry was capable of infinite surprises. He tried the interior door and found it locked.
He could have opened it-he was a warlock again, after all— but he decided to try the other door first.
The door to the garden opened readily, and he stepped outside, blinking in the bright sun. It was low in the west, just barely clearing walls and rooftops to his right.
He heard a creak and looked up to see a gargoyle looking down at him.
“Who are you?” the gargoyle demanded in a voice like stones grating together-which was probably produced, Hanner realized, by stones grating together.
Hanner glanced along the stone facade of the house from which he had just emerged and saw half a dozen other gargoyles, most of which appeared to be animate.
“I’m Hanner the Warlock,” Hanner said. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the garden of Ithinia of the Isle,” the gargoyle replied. It had trouble pronouncing the name, saying something resembling “Ishinia.”
Suddenly his presence here made sense to Hanner; naturally, Ithinia would have some means of getting home quickly from that mysterious place where he had spoken to her. It was most likely a Transporting Tapestry, he guessed, which would always deliver a person to the exact same location, no matter who it was or where he started. She had directed it to the little room on the back of her house.
“The house on Lower Street, in Ethshar of the Spices?” he asked the gargoyle.
“Yes,” it said.
“Ah! Your mistress said she would send me home, and she almost has-I live quite near here. Could you direct me to the street?” “To your right,” the gargoyle said-it had no hands to point with, just claws and wings unsuited to the task. “There’s a path to the front of the house. Latch the gate behind you.”
“Thank you,” Hanner said. He started to bow, then stopped, feeling foolish; bowing to a chunk of magically animated stone seemed silly. To cover his confusion he turned as directed and hurried away.
A moment later he was on Lower Street. Twenty minutes later he was at the front door of Warlock House, on High Street; Kirsha had been waiting at a window and had provided him with magical protection from the watchers in the street so that he could enter safely.