Part 36 (1/2)

He had done enough, and he had had enough. ”Come on,” he told Nerra, turning away from the wreckage. ”Let's go upstairs.”

Chapter Thirty-seven.

Manrin looked out a third-floor window at High Street. It had taken a quarter hour for the watchers to trickle back after Lord Faran had led his party off toward the Palace, but they had returned, and once again were flinging bricks and stones at the house.

None of these missiles ever struck the building; the warlocks remaining downstairs deflected them all. It seemed a rather pointless exercise, really, but that didn't stop the attackers.

No one would ever dare throw rocks at wizards that way, Manrin thought. Wizards hadrespect.

Warlocks, at least so far, clearly did not.

Lord Faran would have to change that.

Manrin considered that for a moment-what would it take to change it? What did wizards have that warlocks didn't?

Well, they had been around longer, of course. They often wore distinctive robes. And they had the Wizards' Guild, with its clear-cut rules. They were a familiar part of the World, while warlocks were still new and strange. Warlocks looked like ordinary people, but they weren't, and that scared people. They didn't know who the warlockswere.

That was something Lord Faran should fix, once he had taken over the city from Lord Azrad-as Manrin was sure he would do.

He should give the warlocks some sort of uniform and devise a set of rules, Manrin thought, and then send someone out to explain the rules to everyone. Make them consistent and familiar, that's what would help them fit in.

And convince those people out front that no, the warlocks hadnot stolen their family and friends.

Lord Faran hadn't done any of that yet. He had gathered all the warlocks together, which was good, since there was strength in numbers, and he had given them some leaders.h.i.+p and a little basic organization, sorting out who could do what, but he had left them a motley, ill-a.s.sorted bunch and kept them hidden away in this mansion, and he hadn't set out solid rules. He hadn't eventried to talk to the rock-throwers about their missing loved ones. Manrin decided he would make some suggestions when he next saw Lord Faran.

Then he noticed, out in the street, that the watchers were looking east along High Street rather than at the house. He leaned forward and peered off to the left.

Running figures were approaching-andflying figures, as well. Warlocks, returning from the Palace!

Manrin started to smile, thinking that this meant the conquest was already secured, but then he stopped.

Why were theyrunning?

”Oh, no,” he said.

He didn't see little Rudhira's distinctive green skirt and red hair, or Varrin's multicolored linen tunic, or Lord Faran's silks, and he wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't think it was a good sign.

Then the vanguard of the returning warlocks neared the line of watchers, and the watchers were abruptly flung back, tumbling down the street as if swept by a gigantic hand, clearing the area in front of the house.

The returning warlocks would be in the house in seconds, and Manrin decided he wanted to be there, to hear what had happened. He turned and headed for the stairs.

A moment later he trudged panting down the steps-he was really too old for all this climbing and wished that people in Eth-shar of the Spices didn't build such tall houses. In Ethshar of the Sands only a handful of structures had more than two floors-the Palace, the Great Lighthouse, Grandgate-because the ground wasn't stable enough to support anything higher without either magic or amazing luck. A four-story house was ostentatious even here; back home it would have been completely ridiculous.

By the time he was midway down the second flight the ground floor was swarming with frightened people, awash in a babble of voices.

One of them was Ulpen, who looked up the stairs and called, ”Master!”

Manrin stopped.

Other warlocks heard Ulpen call out and looked up the stairs at Manrin. The old wizard could hear them muttering to one another.

”... he's a wizard, he knows about magic ...”

”... can talk to the Guild ...”

”... used to running things ...”

”... has experience...”

”Master,” Ulpen said loudly, ”Lord Faran is dead. Will you lead us now?”

Manrin frowned. The lad was being ridiculous. And Lord Faran wasdead} Manrin had not expected that. He had not thought anything would stop Lord Faran, certainly nothingshort of an all-out a.s.sault by the Wizards' Guild.

”What happened?” he asked. ”How did he die?”

”A wizard turned him to stone,” Kirsha called up to him.

”But he killed the wizard, too,” someone added.

Then the Guildhad intervened. That was bad. Manrin had hoped that the Guild might indeed come to the aid of their fellow magicians in the end.

”We need a leader, Master,” Ulpen said.

Manrin snorted derisively. ”I'm an old man, a wizard,” he said. ”I'm not a lord. I'm not even from this city.”

”We needsomeone, Master. You were a Guildmaster, even if you weren't a lord, and isn't that more appropriate for a group of magicians?”

”It sounds to me as ifyou're taking charge, Ulpen!” Manrin triedto make plain in his tone and expression that he thought this was agood thing. If someone was going to face the Guild's wrath, Manrin would be happy to have it be someone other than himself. And the Guild might well take pity on a mere apprentice.

”Me?” Ulpen gasped, a hand on his chest. ”I'm only sixteen!”

”And I'm a hundred and eleven, which is too old to be running around fighting soldiers.”

”We'll fightfor you!” Othisen shouted. There was a ragged chorus of agreement.

Manrin sighed. It was clear he wasn't going to get out of this easily-and really, if someone was going to have to negotiate with the Guild, he had to admit he was more qualified than anyone else in this mad a.s.sortment.

But he still didn't want the honor. ”Is there no one else more suitable?” he said. ”What about that other young lord, Lord Han-ner?”

”He's not even a warlock,” Ulpen said.

”And he didn't come back with us,” Kirsha added. ”He stayed in the Palace with his sister.”

”He did?” This was from Lady Alris, on the fringe of the crowd. She had been sitting in the parlor when the others had returned from the Palace, and now she was standing in the doorway, listening.

Several voices replied, and the gathering dissolved into noisy chaos for a moment. Manrin, looking down from above, noticed young Sheila, the former apprentice witch, standing in one corner, clearly trying to say something, but being ignored as the others all shouted at one another. She appeared to be on the verge of tears.