The Unwelcome Warlock. Lawrence Watt-Evans
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he would be fine.
But what about all these other people? Hanner looked out at the crowd; some of them were beginning to stir, to sit or stand. What would become of them all? He pulled his black tunic tight across his chest, shivering.
He looked down at the sleeping Rudhira. What would become of her? Would she go back to Camptown, and a life of warming soldiers’ beds? What would happen when she got too old to interest them?
Hanner had never really thought about that before; what did happen to old whores? He had never had much contact with any — well, any other than Rudhira. He knew some of them wound up as beggars, sleeping in the Hundred-Foot Field, but surely not all of them. Maybe some of them married soldiers, or found other work.
But there were plenty of people here whose prospects weren’t even that good. Some of them might end up not just as beggars, but as slaves — there probably wasn’t enough room in the Hundred-Foot Field for all of them, and slavers were free to take any homeless person they found elsewhere in the city.
Maybe the people who had gone with Vond had been the smart ones; in fact, maybe they should all think about heading for the Small Kingdoms…
“Hanner,” someone said. He started, and turned to find Sensella standing a few yards away, looking at him.
“Yes?”
“Should we start waking them up?”
Hanner considered that, then spread his hands. “No,” he said. “Let them rest while they can. We’re going to have a long day.”
Sensella nodded. “Do you have any idea how far it is to Ethshar?”
“Fifty leagues, maybe? Sixty? But I hope we won’t be walking that far; I’ve heard from the wizards.”
“What?”
“I heard from the wizards. In a dream.”
Sensella looked confused and unconvinced.
“It’s called the Spell of Invaded Dreams,” Hanner explained. “They can appear to you while you sleep. Someone named Rothiel of Wizard Street spoke to me.”
“I never heard of him. Are you sure it wasn’t just an ordinary dream?”
Hanner hesitated.
Up until she asked, he had never doubted the dream’s authenticity, but now that he thought about it, he had no actual proof that it had been magical in origin. The proof would come when Guildmaster Ithinia sent the promised aid.
“Well,” he said, “we’ll just have to wait and see.”
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