The Unwelcome Warlock. Lawrence Watt-Evans

but I wonder whether he might have brought you people here to see if he could swap your souls to the demon in place of his own, now that he’s safe from the Calling.”

      Korl threw an uneasy glance over his shoulder. “So he’s not a warlock any more? He’s a demonologist? All his magic is demonic?”

      “What else could it be? There isn’t any more warlockry, and you know warlocks can’t be wizards or theurgists, and a witch would never have the sort of power he does. I mean, he’s wearing a black robe — not exactly hiding it, is he?”

      Korl frowned. “I thought…I don’t know, I thought maybe it was another kind of warlockry.”

      Sterren snorted. “Really, how likely is that? Isn’t it strange enough having one of those things arrive on the Night of Madness and snatch away thousands of people, and now you’re suggesting there was a second one that only affected one person? And that one person just happened to already be an Aldagmor warlock?”

      “Well, I…” Korl frowned. “That does sound unlikely.”

      “It’s a demon. A big one. Sometimes you can glimpse it in the desert east of here, a big shadow with glowing eyes.”

      Korl bit his lower lip so that his beard bristled.

      “I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with the headaches,” Sterren said. “At least, if you value your soul.”

      “What causes the headaches, though?”

      Sterren turned up an empty palm. “Who knows? An old curse, maybe? A wizard’s spell gone wrong? Some left-over magic from the Great War? Or maybe it’s the demon itself, trying to lure victims.”

      Korl’s eyes shifted nervously.

      “So will you be staying here in the capital, do you think, or might this position the emperor promised you be somewhere else?”

      “I don’t know,” Korl said. “I don’t know much about the Vondish Empire.”

      “Oh, well, there are eighteen provinces,” Sterren said. “Eight of them lie along the South Coast, and the rest are inland. We’re in Semma, the capital; you landed in Imperial Plaza, the heart of New Semma, and across the valley is the Old Town, where the regent’s castle is. We speak twenty different languages in the empire, I’m afraid, but Ethsharitic is the official imperial tongue.” He smiled. “There are eighteen provinces now, but his Imperial Majesty has already said that he wants to add a nineteenth, Lumeth of the Towers.”

      “Oh? Where is that?”

      “A few leagues northwest of here, in the foothills of the central mountains. Vond never conquered it in his first reign because it was under the protection of the Wizards’ Guild, but apparently he feels that he’s now powerful enough to defy them.”

      Korl, already a little pale, went white. “The Wizards’ Guild?”

      “I’m afraid so — but I’m sure they’ll be too busy elsewhere to involve themselves.”

      “Of course.”

      Sterren frowned. “You don’t look well; the headaches must be getting to you. Should I see if I can find a witch? Vond never found their healing very useful, but it might be better than nothing.”

      “No, that’s…that’s…I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Korl turned away.

      Sterren let him go, then stepped back to the wall and found the messenger still there.

      “Did you hear that?” he asked her in Semmat.

      “No, my lord.”

      He gave her a glance, unsure whether to believe her, but her face did not give much away.

      “I think some of our guests may be departing the capital soon,” he said. “Perhaps the empire itself.”

      “Yes, my lord?”

      “I think we should accommodate them,” he said. “Are you available to carry a message?”

      “Of course, my lord.”

      “Then I want you to head for the coast at once, and visit all the eight ports, from Akalla to Quonshar, and tell the harbor masters that any former warlock who wishes to leave the empire is to be provided with free passage to Ethshar of the Spices as quickly as possible. I will pay any expenses out of my own funds; invoices can be sent to the castle, and will be given the very highest priority.”

      “Free passage for all former warlocks, from any port in the empire?”

      “Exactly. Paid by the Regent’s exchequer. And your own fee, as well — I believe two rounds of silver would cover it?”

      She blinked. “Very generously, my lord.”

      “If you reach all eight ports before the first warlocks arrive, you’ll get three rounds. Now go.”

      “Yes, my lord!” She turned and hurried away.

      Sterren watched her go, then turned to see Korl whispering intensely to three other members of Vond’s new entourage.

      Sterren didn’t know whether Vond had any intention of teaching other warlocks to use the same source he did; quite possibly the emperor would prefer keeping the power to himself over sharing it. Still, if some of these people were getting headaches, they might eventually tap into the Lumeth-based power on their own, just as Vond had. One power-mad warlock was bad enough; Sterren considered anything that would scare the others away before they managed the transition to be a good thing.

      Now, if only he could find a way to restrain Vond himself!

      Chapter Nine

      The dream was completely unlike any Hanner had dreamt in years; there were no inhuman whispers, no images of flames, no sensation of falling, no desperate irrational urges. Instead he found himself standing in a wizard’s workshop, face to face with a stranger, and every detail was clear and comprehensible. Still, Hanner was fairly certain it was indeed a dream. While he supposed he might have been magically snatched away while he slept and brought here, something about it did not have quite the solidity and definition of real life, and he knew well that wizards could communicate in dreams.

      “Chairman Hanner?” the stranger said, his tone deferential.

      “Yes?” Hanner replied cautiously.

      “I’m Rothiel of Wizard Street. Guildmaster Ithinia asked me to contact you.”

      “Ithinia? Is she still…” He didn’t finish the question; he realized it was foolish. Ithinia had been the senior member of the Wizards’ Guild in Ethshar of the Spices from before the Night of Madness until Hanner was Called, and since she had already been a couple of centuries old then, there was no reason to think she wouldn’t remain the senior member for the rest of Hanner’s life. He had only been gone seventeen years; that was nothing to a wizard of her ability.

      “The Guildmaster sends her greetings. She says she remembers you fondly.”

      “I’m flattered.”

      “I am speaking to you in your dreams by means of a spell —”

      “The Greater Spell of Invaded Dreams,” Hanner interrupted. “I was a student of magic before I became a warlock. I was responsible for keeping an eye on the various magicians for Azrad VI.”

      That was not entirely accurate; he had been sent to study and oversee the magicians of Ethshar by his uncle, Lord Faran, not by the overlord himself. Faran had nominally been working for Azrad, though, so it seemed close enough to the truth for now.

      “Oh,” Rothiel said. “Then you understand —”

      “I understand that if anything wakes me up, this conversation will end abruptly and may be difficult to restore, so please tell me whatever Ithinia wanted you to tell me.”

      “Yes, of course.” Rothiel