The Unwelcome Warlock. Lawrence Watt-Evans
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their beds and had no talismans at all. A fellow named Senesson of Lordiran had a tiny glass box that glowed like a miniature lantern, and Karitha of Seacorner had a sorcerous weapon that she said could kill a man at twenty paces, but there was no sorcery to provide food or water or shelter.
The herbalists had brought no herbs with them, save for one who found a single bundle of a leaf that would cause gentle sleep in his belt-pouch, and of course their gardens were far away and probably long gone. They could not hope to find anything useful in the dark, but once the sun rose, they might manage something.
As always, the scientists and prestidigitators were no help.
None of the demonologists would attempt anything without the safeguards they had had at home. The ritual dancers seemed more cooperative, but did not immediately agree on what should be done, or how to do it, and at least two of them did not think anything could be done until the sun came up.
The theurgists seemed like the best prospect for providing real help; four or five of them had gathered to summon Piskor, Tarma, and a water-god named Tivei.
None of the magicians could explain Vond’s magic.
“I think it’s something in Lumeth of the Towers,” Sensella volunteered.
Startled, Hanner turned. “What?”
“I think it’s something in Lumeth,” she repeated.
“Why?” Hanner asked.
“Several years ago, after you were Called, the Wizards’ Guild banned all warlocks from Lumeth of the Towers, and everywhere else in a twenty-league radius, and it apparently had something to do with the Empire of Vond.”
“The Wizards’ Guild? Why?”
She turned up both palms. “No one knows; they wouldn’t say. But practicing warlockry anywhere within twenty leagues of Lumeth is punishable by death. They made a big dramatic announcement — a bunch of wizards went all over the southern Small Kingdoms issuing edicts.”
“When was this?”
Sensella had to think for a moment. “5224, maybe? About then. I was living in Ethshar of the Sands, so I didn’t hear about it right away, but I think it was 5224.”
That was five years in the future, as far as Hanner could remember, but he knew it was really a dozen years ago. “But…why?”
Sensella shook her head. “No one knows. Well, no one except the wizards, and you know how they are about keeping secrets.”
Hanner turned to look at the miserable handful of wizards who had come to Aldagmor in their robes and nightshirts. They had all been here since 5202. Even if he could somehow get past the Guild’s secrecy rules, none of them would know anything about events in 5224.
If warlockry had been forbidden in the southern part of the Small Kingdoms, there wouldn’t be anyone here who had been Called from that area after 5224. It seemed as if it was destined to stay a mystery, at least for the present.
However it worked, wherever it came from, Vond’s magic would be no use.
Hanner looked at the sky. The eastern horizon was brightening now. Dawn was almost upon them; that might help. He turned to see how the theurgists were doing, just in time to see a blaze of light. He felt a sudden pressure on his face and in his ears, and blinked. When his eyes opened again a woman was standing before him, a beautiful woman in a green gown and golden crown, thick black hair tumbling down her back, surrounded by a golden glow so intense Hanner could see nothing through it except the woman.
Or rather, the goddess, for there could be little doubt that this was one of the deities the theurgists had wanted to summon. From Hanner’s point of view, though, she was not over near the theurgists, but standing right in front of him, scarcely out of arm’s reach, looking directly at him and speaking directly to him.
You will have food for three days, she said, speaking without sound. The water of the stream will be pure and clean. Because humanity must rely on itself and not upon gods, this is all I will give you until a year has passed. And before that year has passed, you will repay this by giving comfort to one who needs it — a blanket to one who has none, a roof to one who needs it for a night, or a meal to one who has not eaten that day.
Then she was gone, and an excited babble ran through the throng. As he listened, Hanner realized that every person there had seen the goddess as standing before him or her, and addressing him or her directly. And as he looked around, Hanner saw that a cloth-wrapped bundle lay in front of every person in the crowd, including himself. He knelt down and unwrapped his.
The brown stick-things inside were unlike anything he had ever seen before, but when he took a wary nibble of one, he found it tasted sweet and perhaps a little nutty, and had a consistency something like a syrup-covered biscuit. He took a larger bite, chewing carefully. Then he swallowed, and called to the theurgists, “Well done!”
Alladia waved an acknowledgment.
“Well, at least we won’t starve,” Sensella said from behind his right shoulder.
“Not for three days, anyway,” Hanner agreed. “But we’re still stranded out here in the hills of Aldagmor, and if there were ever any roads around here, they’ve had thirty years to fade away.”
“We can find our way by the sun,” Sensella said. “If we head south, we’ll reach civilization eventually.”
“I’m not worried about the direction so much as the terrain,” Hanner said. “What if we need to cross rivers, or climb mountains?”
“Then we’ll wade, or swim, or climb. Hanner, we all thought we were doomed. We thought the Calling was a death sentence, but here we are alive! We have a second chance. We may have to struggle to get there, but we can all go home again, to stay.”
Hanner looked around at the mobs of people.
“Then what?” he said. “There are thousands of people here! And I’m sure many of them don’t have homes to return to. You said it’s been more than thirty years since the Night of Madness. Even those of us who came later can’t go back to our old lives; we made our living off our magic, and now that’s gone.”
“We’ll manage,” Sensella replied. “We have our lives back. Yes, we have problems to overcome, but we have our lives back.”
“Not all of us. I don’t know how many people were crushed to death in that pit, but —”
“Yes, they’re dead,” she agreed, a trifle impatiently. “But we aren’t. I’ll see my children and grandchildren again. Don’t you have any family back home?”
Hanner swallowed. “My wife. Mavi. We have three children — but it’s been seventeen years. They must be grown by now. They must think I deserted them.”
“I’m sure they understand about the Calling,” Sensella said.
“Maybe.” He looked around at the crowds. Most of the former warlocks were eating the divinely-provided food. Guardsmen had returned from the stream and were distributing drinking water in their helmets. The skies had brightened enough that they no longer needed torches for light. “What if we followed the stream south?” he asked. “Then we’d have drinking water for the journey, and it must empty into either the Great River or the sea eventually.”
“Good idea,” Sensella agreed.
Hanner looked east, where the sun was peeking above the horizon. “We should make a start soon. Walking will help people keep warm.” He remembered the dozens of injured the witches were tending. “The stronger men can help carry anyone who’s too badly hurt to walk.”
“You think all of us should stay together? I don’t think the Sardironese or the Srigmorans will want to go south.”
“I’m not going to force anyone,” Hanner said. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. If they want to go north or west, let them, but I intend to head south, and I expect