He couldn’t. Even if he could, there was no guarantee that anyone was trying to reach him; after all, it was the middle of the night in Ethshar, and Hanner had no reason to think anyone there was aware of the situation. Sleeping might merely mean giving away any chance at a resolution that he had.
He could not rely on outside help for a solution. He needed to take action himself if he wanted to end this. If someone were to kill Vond here and now, that would be an end of all this trouble, but Hanner could not do that. He was not a killer by nature – and more importantly, Vond was guarded by a dozen men, and not all of them were asleep. At the moment the two on duty were Kolar and Marl; they were awake and ready to defend their employer, as well as the attic tapestry that they hoped would take them home.
A thought struck Hanner, and he looked at the tapestry. Would the two soldiers defend it? If the tapestry was ruined, Vond would be stuck here, and powerless. This stupid war between wizards and warlock would be over.
Of course, the rest of them would be stuck here, as well. That was a fairly major drawback. He and Rudhira, wherever she was, and the other refugees would be stranded here with a furious Vond and his soldiers. They might well be killed.
Or perhaps not – as Hanner had said, if he died, Vond might never get back to Ethshar. Zallin could not be trusted, and even if he tried to obey, the wizards and their allied witches and other magicians might stop him. If Hanner lived, though, there was always a chance someone would eventually come for him. His sisters would miss him, or Ithinia might contact him on her own to find out what had become of Vond. He, Hanner, would be the one in a position of power, able to dictate terms, because he was the one more likely to eventually provide a way home. He could bargain for the lives of the refugees, and for his own – assuming he lived long enough.
It was a risk, certainly, but wouldn’t it be worth it to ensure that Vond and Ithinia stopped trying to destroy each other, and that no one else would be caught in the middle and killed, as that poor witch had been? Even if Hanner died, wouldn’t it be worth it? He had already lost his old life, and had not yet had time to build a new one. His death would mean that Mavi would be free of any lingering guilt or second thoughts. His sisters and children could get on with their lives – they had thought he was dead for years, and a second death would surely not be so very painful. He didn’t want that to happen, but it would not be so very terrible. Hanner got to his feet.
Kolar saw that movement, and turned to watch. He said nothing, but stared directly at Hanner.
“Mind if I test the tapestry?” Hanner asked quietly.
Kolar glanced over at his sleeping employer, and all the other unconscious forms on the floor, the woman who had previously tested the magic curled up among them. He turned up a palm. “Why not?” he said.
Hanner smiled, and walked across the room, trying to look completely calm and casual. He let his hand fall to the hilt of his belt-knife, and pretended not to notice when Kolar responded by dropping his own hand to the hilt of his sword.
Marl, who had been dozing on his feet, started and straightened up. “Test?” he said.
“This fellow’s going to try the tapestry,” Kolar said.
“Oh,” Marl said. He glanced at Vond, then looked back at Hanner. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” Hanner said, bobbing his head in acknowledgment. His right hand closed on his knife, while his left reached out toward the tapestry. Kolar stepped back to give him room.
This would mean he would be trapped here, Hanner reminded himself. He might not see his children for months, if he ever saw them again at all. He might be killed. He might be tortured. But it would put an end to Vond’s reckless displays of power, his murders and thefts and arrogance. Lives would almost certainly be saved, even if Hanner’s wasn’t among them. He grabbed the fabric of the tapestry in his left hand, then drew his knife and slashed.
“Hai!” Kolar shouted. “Hai, what are you doing? Are you crazy?” His sword flashed as he snatched it up.
Marl’s blade was out, as well; the tip was at Hanner’s throat as he said, “Drop the knife!”
Hanner dropped the knife and raised his empty hands.
The commotion had awakened several of the others; now a babble of voices arose as they saw what was happening.
Then silence fell as Vond got awkwardly to his feet and advanced toward Hanner. He stopped and stared at the tapestry, at the long diagonal gash in the cloth that cut a jagged slice out of the attic’s sloping ceiling and rough tie-beams. Then he turned to face Hanner.
“You’ve ruined it!” he said.
“Yes, I have,” Hanner said.
“The magic won’t work any more, will it?”
“No, it won’t,” Hanner said. “It will take a wizard months of work to repair it, if it can be done at all.”
“So we’re all stranded here? Is that what you wanted?”
“Someone will contact us eventually, I’m sure,” Hanner said, trying to keep his voice steady as Marl’s sword-point pressed against a point an inch below the corner of his jaw. Hanner was not sure, but he thought that was roughly the location of his jugular vein.
Vond strode forward and snatched the sword from Marl’s hand, but kept it pressed against Hanner’s neck. He pushed a little harder, drawing a drop of blood. “You did this to keep me from getting my magic back, didn’t you?” he said. “You think you’re in charge now, as the one who someone in Ethshar will contact. You don’t believe Zallin will do anything; you think you’re the one someone will rescue. You think you can leave me here, powerless, or maybe that I’ll agree to whatever terms the wizards set to get them to help me.”
Hanner tried to raise his jaw higher, to pull away from the sword’s point. He did not answer.
“You think I won’t kill you?” Vond shouted, his voice rising in pitch.
Hanner tried to move to one side, to get away from the blade pressing into his throat, but Vond turned to follow. Kolar stepped back to make room.
The pressure on Hanner’s throat increased, and he could feel blood running down his neck and under the collar of his tunic. He would have swallowed, but that would only make the sword cut deeper.
Hanner realized he was going to die. Vond had already demonstrated that he didn’t mind killing people who annoyed him, and Hanner had just done far worse to him than anyone else ever had – well, anyone except perhaps that poor witch who had sent him the Calling nightmare.
A motion above and behind Vond’s head caught Hanner’s eye, and he looked upward for an instant. A panel had opened in the ceiling, and he could see a dark space there. He caught a glimpse of red hair. No one else seemed to notice; they were all facing the other way, staring at Hanner and the ruined tapestry.
Then Vond flicked the sword slightly, drawing a stinging scratch across his skin, and Hanner’s attention returned to the warlock.
“They’ll come for me eventually,” Vond said. “Zallin or one of the others. I’m the one who can bring warlockry back into the World, Hanner. Maybe you don’t want your magic back, but plenty of people do. Maybe you don’t want power, but someone will, and he’ll come here to find me. I don’t need you, and I can’t trust you. You’ll have to die. I’m sorry about that – you were almost a legend, you know. You founded the Council and saved warlocks from extermination, but now you’ve turned against us, and I can’t allow a traitor to live. You understand that, don’t you?” The blade cut a little more deeply, and Hanner felt the stream of warm blood running down his neck thicken. He could feel it trickling down his chest.