“It was exactly like a real one! That’s another reason I know it wasn’t from my new source – it was too much like the messages from Aldagmor, and the one in Lumeth is completely different.”
“Maybe you’re somehow still hearing the thing from Aldagmor, then.”
Vond sneered. “You know better than that.”
“I know I can’t hear it anymore, and none of the other Called warlocks, but we don’t have any magic anymore. Maybe your new power makes you more sensitive.”
“You know it stopped,” Vond said. “You were there. You felt it stop. We all did. It Called, and it was answered, and it stopped calling.”
“It could have started again,” Hanner said, knowing even as the words left his lips how weak that sounded.
“Why would it? It was rescued. Its…its friend came and got it, and they flew away together. It doesn’t need to call for help anymore.”
“Maybe it’s another one of those things, trapped somewhere else – out beyond the Great Eastern Desert, perhaps. Maybe it’s been there all along, but no one’s ever been sensitive enough to hear it until now. You are the most powerful warlock in history.”
“Yes, I am, but still, that doesn’t fit. I don’t hear any whispering, I don’t feel the slightest tug when I’m awake, but the minute I’m soundly asleep I have a full-sized Calling dream? You know it doesn’t work like that; we don’t reach the nightmare threshold until long after we’ve heard the whispers and felt the urges, and the early dreams aren’t anywhere near as detailed and powerful as this one was.”
“Your mind is accustomed to the nightmares, Vond – you were already Called once.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t hear any whispers, Hanner. I don’t hear anything but pure, clean power from the source in Lumeth.”
Hanner wondered what that felt like. He had been a warlock for seventeen years, but his magic had always had a certain mysteriousness to it, a dark edge, a slightly unclean feeling, even before he began to consciously feel any urge to head toward Aldagmor. What would it be like to have a warlock’s power without that taint?
For a moment he was tempted to see if Vond would teach him to draw on the Lumeth source, but the urge passed. He didn’t need to be a warlock. His previous experience of that magic had cost him his uncle, his title, and in the end, his marriage and seventeen years. This other source might be different, but it might have its own hazards, and it very definitely worried the Wizards’ Guild. Hanner had no desire to annoy the Guild, especially when he had already agreed to accept their money to talk others out of precisely the temptation he was now facing.
“It could still be your own memory playing tricks on you,” he said.
“Maybe,” Vond admitted. “But I think a wizard’s spell is more likely.”
“Can you be sure it was a wizard?” Anra suggested from her bed. “Other magicians can use dreams, too.”
“Can they?” Vond asked, turning to her.
“Demons can send dreams,” Hanner said, thinking back to the years he had spent researching magic for his uncle. “I’m not sure, but I think some gods might, as well.”
“And witches,” Anra offered. “They use dreams to soothe sick children.”
“And…and…” Pirra murmured.
Hanner had almost forgotten she was there. Startled, the other three all turned to look at her.
Intimidated by their gaze, she pulled her blanket up to her chin. “Dancers,” she said over the satin-wrapped hem. “Ritual dancers say they can make happy dreams. My mother told me that.”
“I don’t think that’s real,” Hanner said. “Dancers make a lot of claims they can’t prove.”
“Why would any of them want to?” Vond demanded. “Either Sterren hired someone, and he’d probably go to a wizard, or the wizards are angry with me for creating my empire – they banned warlocks from the whole area, you know. This could be part of their campaign.”
“What campaign?” Hanner asked.
“To keep anyone from using the source in Lumeth! Sterren knew about that – they warned him a dozen years ago, he said. Maybe he didn’t have to hire anyone, maybe it wasn’t his idea at all, but they could have warned him again, and that’s why he left, so he wouldn’t be involved. That must be it – it’s the Wizards’ Guild that’s behind it. If Sterren had wanted the empire he wouldn’t have come here with me in the first place.”
Hanner found it interesting to hear Vond thinking this through out loud. The nightmare, or spell, or whatever it was had clearly shaken him – he had reacted instinctively at first, smashing his way up through the ceiling, and then had realized that, just as he had explained, the dream couldn’t be a genuine Call. The mere fact that he had gone straight up, and not headed for either Aldagmor or Lumeth, demonstrated that there was some deception involved. He was still getting his thoughts straight, working out what had happened.
He might even be right. Ithinia had said that the Guild didn’t expect Hanner to deal with Vond all by himself, which rather implied they had other plans for dealing with him. This mysterious dream might be part of those plans.
“It must have been a convincing dream, to scare…to startle you out of your sleep so violently,” Hanner said.
“Oh, it was perfect,” Vond said. “It was exactly like the real thing – didn’t I say that was one way I knew it was a fraud?”
“Maybe you did. My experience of the Spell of Invaded Dreams hasn’t been so impressive – perhaps it wasn’t the Guild, but some other magicians.”
Vond waved a hand dismissively. “I haven’t done anything to antagonize anyone else,” he said. “It must be the Guild.”
Hanner remembered Zallin’s description of Vond’s behavior during their tour of the city, which could easily have antagonized any number of people, but decided not to mention it. “What do you intend to do about it?” he asked.
Vond’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a good question,” he said. “I’m not sure yet.” He looked down. “Right now, I think I should put on some clothes, and I have some repairs to make.”
“I’d appreciate the repairs,” Hanner said.
“I suppose you would, since you claim to own this house.”
“I do own this house,” Hanner replied angrily.
“Hanner, you were Called. Called warlocks are considered dead. You may have owned this house before you were Called, but it’s not so clear as all that whether you still own it.”
“I…I don’t…” Hanner let his voice trail off. He had not really given the matter much thought. Like every warlock, he had written a will when he began to feel the Call, and he had left the house to his children, to be held for them by the Council of Warlocks until such time as they claimed it; had they ever claimed it? They weren’t living here, which implied that they had not, and Hanner had returned, and the Council had been disbanded…
This was complicated. It might require a magistrate to sort it out.
“You invited these two to stay here?” Vond said, interrupting Hanner’s thoughts. He gestured toward the two beds.
“Yes,” Hanner said. “They didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“You have other guests, as well?”
“Yes.”
“All former warlocks?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“I’m not…why do you ask?”
Hanner felt himself rise off the floor. “Answer the question!” Vond demanded.
“I don’t know!” Hanner said, as he hung helplessly in mid-air. “I haven’t kept count.”
“You haven’t… Really? Give me an estimate, then. Twenty? Thirty?”
There was no particular reason to hide the truth, and there were others who would tell him if Hanner refused. “Dozens,” Hanner said. “A hundred or more.”
“A…a hundred? Seriously?”
Hanner noticed that the warlock’s clothing was rising up from the room below, slipping through the hole in the floor. “Yes, your Majesty,” he said.