Part 40 (2/2)

Their ascent stopped abruptly, and Kirsha s.h.i.+vered. ”What are we doing up here?” she said.

”Calling the Wizards' Guild,” Hanner said. He cleared his throat and reached out with his magic to feel the air around him. Then he shouted, ”Hear me!”

He could feel the sound moving outward through the air, and he stretched out his warlock's power to strengthen it. ”Should I help?” Kirsha asked.

”You just keep us up here,” Hanner said, speaking normally. Then he called out again, putting his magic behind it more strongly.

”Hear me, wizards of Ethshar! I must speak to your leaders at once!”

The city below showed no sign that anyone had heard him.

”Take us that way,” he said, pointing southeast, toward the Wizards' Quarter. ”And down a little.”

”Yes, sir,” Kirsha said.

They descended gently, moving across the city; sunlight blazed from the surfaces below. As they moved, Hanner took a deep breath and shouted again, ”Hear me, wizards of Ethshar! I must speak with you!”

They drifted on; at Hanner's direction Kirsha leveled off, still at least a hundred feet up. He repeated his call.

The sun made its way down the western sky; an hour pa.s.sed, and still they drifted, Hanner calling occasionally.

”You aren't getting tired, are you?” he asked Kirsha at one point.

”No,” she said. ”If anything, I feel stronger than ever.”

”That could be bad,” Hanner said.

”Should I go back, then?”

”No. We need to give them time to arrange matters. You should be all right.”

They pa.s.sed over the Arena, and Hanner called again.

And then Kirsha called, ”Look!” She pointed to the south.

Something was rising toward them, something brightly colored and larger than a man.

”Stop here,” Hanner said, and Kirsha halted their southward drift.

The rising shape became clear, and Hanner realized it was a man sitting cross-legged on a carpet-a flying carpet, perhaps eight feet by twelve. The man wore red and gold robes, and the carpet was dark blue patterned in gold.

The carpet was coming toward them, swooping gracefully through an upward spiral. Hanner waited.

A moment later the carpet reached their own level and stopped a dozen feet away. The seated man-the wizard, certainly-was no one Hanner had ever seen before; he was short, stocky, and going gray. Hanner sensed an odd wrongness about him, but could not say what it was. He frowned. He hoped that this really was a wizard and not some sort of illusion. ”Hai!”the seated man said. ”What do you want with us, warlock?”

Hanner ignored the feeling of wrongness and replied, ”I need to speak to whomever it is that's going to decide what the Wizards' Guild does about warlocks.”

”If the Guild wishes to hear from you, they'll summon you,” the red-robed man said.

”My uncle Faran waited to be summoned,” Hanner said. ”That didn't work out well. The Guild would summon me if they knew what ”was best for us all, themselves included. They don't know that yet, because they haven't heard what I have to say. Surely, you don't maintain that even the Guild knows everything. Ithinia never thought it necessary to speak to Lord Faran, and see howthat turned out.”

”Don't threaten me, warlock,” the wizard said warningly. ”I think you'll find me harder to kill than Lord Faran's executioner.”

”I was not making threats,” Hanner said. ”I merely speak the truth.”

The mention of Faran's executioner, however, gave him the clue he needed to recognize the nature of the wrongness he had felt.

The wizard had no heartbeat. In fact, he had no heart in his chest. Hanner could feel only a magical darkness where a heart should be. Stopping his heart, as Hanner had done to Faran's slayer, would not be possible.

Hanner had heard of wizards doing this, hiding their hearts before undertaking some particularly perilous task; they could still be hurt, but the heart would keep beating, wherever it was stored, and the wizard would not die of injuries that would ordinarily be instantly fatal. Hewould be harder to kill, Hanner thought-but probably not impossible.

If the wizard had taken such a precaution before coming to speak to him-well, it would seem that the Wizards' Guild did accept that warlocks could pose a real threat.

That was promising, in a way.

And that they had prepared this messenger to speak to him, rather than sending some magical a.s.sa.s.sin after him, was even more promising.

While Hanner considered this, the wizard had considered Han-ner's words. Now he responded.

”Very well,” he said. ”I'll bring you to them.”

Hanner turned to Kirsha. ”Put me down on the carpet,” he said.

”Sir, are you sure-”

”I'm sure,” Hanner said, cutting her off. ”I've dealt with wizards for years. Put me on the carpet, then go back to the house and wait for me. And don't use any more magic until tomorrow. If you have nightmares tonight, don'tever use any more.”

”As you say.” Hanner felt himself pushed forward, and a moment later his feet touched the thick pile of the carpet. He stepped forward cautiously. It was like walking across a featherbed; he sat down quickly, and the wizard moved aside to make room.

Hanner turned to see Kirsha still hanging unsupported in midair, staring at him.

”Go on,” he said, waving to her. ”I'll be fine. We all will.”

She waved back, then turned and flew away.

Then Hanner turned to the wizard. ”I am Hanner the Warlock, Chairman of the Council of Warlocks,”

he said.

The wizard looked at him silently for a moment, then said, ”I'm a wizard. You don't need my name.”

Names had power, Hanner remembered-some spells required the name of the person the spell would affect. The wizard was not simply being rude.

”Please yourself,” Hanner started to say, but the final syllable stretched out and vanished as the carpet abruptly turned and swooped downward. Wind rushed past him, yanking his words away. He closed his eyes against the drying wind, and when he opened them again the carpet was sailing into a great dark opening in an upper floor of a building he did not recognize.

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