She heard footsteps, and turned to see a girl in a filthy nightgown walking uncertainly up High Street. Behind her was a young man in black, almost invisible in the darkness save for his pale oval face.
Kirris stepped out of the shadowed arch and waited for them.
“Hai,” the man called. “I…we heard there was a place here where warlocks could go.”
“That’s it,” Kirris said, pointing. “With the lanterns.”
“You’re sure?” the girl asked. Something about the way she pronounced the words reminded Kirris of her own grandmother.
“I’m sure,” Kirris said.
“Thank you,” the girl said. She and the man trudged on.
“Wait,” Kirris said. “I’ll come with you.”
Together, the three of them made their way through the gate and up to the door, and stood on the stoop. Kirris waited for a moment, but when neither of the others took action she reached up and knocked. A moment later the door opened, and a petite redhead peered out at them, rather than the pudgy fellow Kirris had seen before. “May I help you?” she asked.
Kirris turned to her companions.
“We heard…we were told that…” the girl began.
“We were Called,” the man said.
“I was asleep,” the girl said. “And then I was in that pit full of people, and now my master is gone, and my family is gone, and…and someone said…”
The redhead sighed. “Come in,” she said. “Welcome to Warlock House. Find a place to sit. Hanner is just starting.” She swung the door wide.
“Starting what?” the girl asked.
“Hanner?” the man asked. “Chairman Hanner? He’s here?”
“In there,” the redhead said, pointing.
Kirris followed her finger to a crowded parlor, where the pudgy man was standing in the far corner while the two dozen or so people she had watched enter the house before her were seated, sprawled, or crouched facing him.
“Are there more?” the pudgy man called.
“Just three,” the redhead told him.
“Well, send them in. As I was saying, my name is Hanner, once Lord Hanner, once Chairman Hanner, but for the moment, simply Hanner. I own this house, but long ago dedicated it to the use of the Council of Warlocks.”
Kirris slipped into the parlor and into a dim corner, while her two companions made their way into the room and found places of their own.
“I know you’re probably all tired and confused,” Hanner continued. “You woke up out in the freezing wilderness in Aldagmor with no idea what had happened, but then the magicians showed up and brought us to Ethshar. You probably thought that once you got back to the city everything would be fine, and you could go back to your old lives, but instead you found that the World’s changed, that you’ve been gone for twenty, twenty-five, thirty years or more, and you can’t find your friends, or your family, or your old homes – or you found them, but your wives have remarried, your homes are occupied by strangers, your friends have forgotten you. You’re lost and alone and don’t know what to do, or where to go, and you heard that you could come here, and you thought at least it would keep you away from the slavers and out of the Hundred-Foot Field. So here you are.” He spread his hands to take in the entire room.
Kirris settled to the floor, her back against the wall.
“You are indeed welcome here, until you can build a new life,” Hanner said, “but we don’t have any magical solutions. We can’t send you back to your old homes; the past is past and gone. Even the most powerful wizards can’t travel backward through time. All we can do is give you a place to stay until you can find something better. Some of you will probably find that you do still have family, or that you do have friends who haven’t forgotten you. If you were snatched away on the Night of Madness, unless you’re a child, then presumably you know a trade. Yes, you’ve lost whatever tools or inventory you had, but you can start anew. If you’re a child, even if your parents are gone, you can find an apprenticeship – the World isn’t that different. I know you’ve lost a lot; we all have, myself included. Still, you’re alive, you’re safe, and you can make new lives for yourselves. We’ll give you a bed until you’re back on your feet, maybe offer some advice – but that’s all we can do.”
He paused to let that sink in. Kirris looked around at the listeners. Most of them seemed to be accepting Hanner’s explanation calmly.
“Now, there are some complications,” Hanner said. “First, as I’m sure most of you remember, back in Aldagmor that there was a warlock who called himself Vond who somehow still had his magic, even with the Source gone. How that happened is a mystery, but apparently he found another source that he can use, one that the rest of us are deaf to, and he’s as powerful a warlock as ever. Fifteen years ago he fled to the Small Kingdoms to escape the Calling, and when he found his new magic he built himself an empire there. Well, now that the Calling is gone, he decided he’d rather come home to Ethshar than stay out there lording over the barbarians, and he came here, to this house. He’s declared himself the new Chairman of the Council of Warlocks, and since he’s the only warlock left, no one can very well argue with him about that. He’s claimed the master’s apartment on the second floor. While I own this house, and you are all my guests, you need to realize that the Great Vond is a supremely powerful and very short-tempered magician; do not get in his way, or argue with him. He doesn’t care that I own the house; he treats it as his, and does whatever he pleases. No one can protect you if he decides he doesn’t like you. He throws people around if they annoy him, and at least once, he’s killed someone without really meaning to – smashed his head against a wall. He regretted that, I think, but it hasn’t made him any more careful, which means you need to be careful around him. Does everyone understand that?”
Several of the listeners exchanged worried glances. A woman asked, “How will we know him? What does he look like?”
“He’s tall, thin, and pale,” Hanner said, “but you’ll know him because his feet don’t touch the ground.”
That elicited murmurs, and Kirris thought there might have been more questions had Hanner not forestalled them by launching into another speech.
“I’m sure you’ve all noticed that this is a big house,” he said. “My Uncle Faran, who built it, wanted a mansion the equal of any in Ethshar. All the same, we have had dozens of you turn up here looking for shelter – hundreds, actually, with more arriving all the time. We can’t find space for all of you here unless we pack you in so tightly you’d be better off in the Hundred-Foot Field. Fortunately, we have a solution. Seventeen years ago, just before I was Called, I bought a magical tapestry from a wizard, the same kind of tapestry you saw the wizards using to send our fellow Called warlocks home to Ethshar of the Sands and Ethshar of the Rocks and Sardiron of the Waters. This one, though, doesn’t go anywhere in the World; instead it goes to a sunny little village in another world. I thought we might be safe from the Calling there, but it wasn’t ready in time, and I was Called before I could use it. It works now, though, and I have it hanging upstairs, ready to take you to that village.”
“Can we get back?” someone called. Kirris did not see who had spoken.
“Yes, you can,” Hanner replied. “There’s another tapestry in the village that will bring you safely back to the attic of this house.”
“Who lives in the village?” someone else asked.
“Nobody,” Hanner answered. “Or rather, it was deserted until today. Now dozens of your compatriots are settling in there.”