The Unwelcome Warlock. Lawrence Watt-Evans
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Aldagon looked as if she was about to reply, but then stopped, cocked her head to one side, and said nothing.
Dumery laughed. “She’s too polite to say the feeling is mutual,” he said. “But it is, and I really think you people do need to get out of the area as soon as possible.”
“We were planning to,” Hanner said. He pointed. “We were going to follow that stream south.”
“You’re heading for Ethshar, rather than Sardiron?” Dumery asked.
“I am. Many of us are. I can’t speak for everyone.”
“It’s probably wise,” Dumery said with a nod. “Heading northwest, toward Sardiron, would take you directly through Aldagon’s territory, and there are other dragons there who are…well, they’re much younger, too young to talk, but still big enough to eat people.”
“Oh,” Hanner said.
“It’s a long walk to Ethshar, though.”
“Then we should get started,” Hanner said. “We were getting ready when you, ah…interrupted —”
“You mean, when Aldagon scared everyone into running off in a hundred different directions?”
Hanner smiled wryly. “Yes.”
“Well, then,” Dumery suggested, “perhaps we can guide you, or carry a message somewhere, to make up for our little intrusion.”
Hanner blinked. “Could you?” he said. “That would be appreciated. That would be very appreciated.”
“We’ll also make sure the other dragons don’t bother you,” Dumery added.
“Aye,” Aldagon said. “I’ve no desire for bad blood betwixt our peoples.”
“That’s…that’s very kind of you,” Hanner said. He was still having some difficulty in accepting the fact that he was holding a civil conversation with a hundred-foot dragon.
“‘Tis naught but sense,” Aldagon replied. “Come, then, and call your folk together. Gather yourselves up, make ready, and be off with you, and Dumery and I shall do what we can to ease your path.”
Slightly stunned, Hanner said, “Thank you.” But then he remembered some details of the former warlocks’ situation. “We have injured people,” he said quickly. “I was expecting to arrange for them to be carried, but is there anything you could do to help? And some of us died — I don’t know how many.”
Dumery and the dragon looked at one another.
“Hmm,” Dumery said. “I don’t see how we can help with the injured, and you’d need a necromancer to help with the dead.”
“Oh, I know there’s nothing we —”
“A thought strikes me, but I know not if your folk might reckon it unseemly,” Aldagon said, interrupting him. “Is’t not your custom to burn the dead, that their souls may be freed of flesh and might travel unhindered to heaven?”
“Yes,” Hanner said, “but we don’t have time to gather the firewood for a proper pyre for so many. We need to go, get moving while we still have some food left.”
“You have no need of wood when you have a dragon to hand,” Aldagon said.
Hanner blinked again. “Oh,” he said. He considered that for a moment. Being eaten by a dragon would be undignified, to say the least, but to have dragonfire for one’s funeral pyre seemed almost ennobling.
But it wasn’t necessarily his decision to make. “I think that might be a good idea,” he said, “but I’ll want to discuss it with the others.”
“Certes,” Aldagon said.
“About the injured,” Dumery said. “I know several wizards in the three Ethshars — would you like me to talk to them, and see if they can send help?”
“But how…?”
“Aldagon will fly me to Ethshar of the Spices,” Dumery explained. “It won’t take more than a day or so.”
“That would be wonderful,” Hanner said, immensely relieved. If someone in Ethshar knew they were out here, someone might send aid.
“They’ll probably want to know what’s happening here anyway,” Dumery said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re being watched by a hundred scrying spells right now.”
Hanner started to ask why, then stopped. The answer was obvious. Warlockry had vanished a few hours ago, and that would have been noticed throughout the Hegemony by now — not all the warlocks were among the Called. “You’re right,” he said. “But I’d feel better if you carried that message anyway.”
“Then we’ll do it,” Dumery said. “We’ll leave at once. Those of you who feel up to it should ready the dead; Aldagon will burn the bodies as soon as we return, if that’s what you want. Even in this cold, you shouldn’t leave them for long.”
“Agreed,” Hanner said. He glanced at Aldagon.
“If I may,” she said. “I will carry Dumery to the gates of Azrad’s Ethshar, that he may speak to the wizards of the city, that they may send what aid they can. Then I shall return, and incinerate the bodies prepared for me in this place. In exchange for my services in these matters, you — all of you — will hie hence forthwith, and return no more. You will depart to the south and east, as you choose, but none will go to the north or west, for those lands are home to my kin. Is this our complete understanding, friend Hanner?”
“It is,” Hanner said.
“You accept these terms, and speak for all present?”
“I accept these terms, but I can’t speak for everyone. I’ll do everything I can to persuade everyone to accept them, but there may be some uncooperative idiots.”
“And such there be, you will bear no malice for any actions I take upon them, to secure my home?”
“I think you’ve been more than fair,” Hanner said.
“Then let us away, Dumery, to Azrad’s Ethshar.”
“Right,” Dumery said, with a look around. Hanner’s gaze followed the dragon-rider’s, and he saw that scores, or hundreds, of human eyes were watching — apparently when Hanner was not immediately roasted or devoured, some of the others found the nerve to stop running and observe.
Then Aldagon bent her head low, and Dumery clambered up her flank, pulling himself up the saddle-band and onto her neck. A moment later he was back in the saddle, and Aldagon crouched.
“Get back!” Dumery shouted, and Hanner stepped back — but not far enough; when Aldagon leapt upward, wings flapping, the wind of her rise knocked Hanner entirely off his feet and sent him sprawling on the cold ground.
Embarrassed, he got slowly back to his feet, and turned to watch the gigantic dragon flying south. She was already half a mile away, the morning sun gleaming from her scales as she dwindled into the distance.
Chapter Eight
Five members of the Imperial Council sat around the table, listening to Lord Sterren explain the situation as best he could. Not all of them found the regent’s explanations entirely convincing.
“I thought warlocks never came back from the Calling,” Lady Kalira said. “In fact, I thought you told me that.”
“They never have before,” Sterren said. “But apparently everything changed last night, just as it did on the Night of Madness, but in reverse.”
“That’s really the Great Vond?” Lord Goluz asked. He was the youngest member of the Council, and had never met Vond before. He had been a mere merchant’s apprentice when the Empire was created.
“It’s