Night of Madness by Lawrence Watt-Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

milling about, talking excitedly. Some wore ordinary tunics, skirts, and breeches; others wore the formal robes of magicians; and some had clearly come directly from their beds and were dressed in nightshirts or hastily donned household robes. Most of them looked scared or at least nervous.
    No one seemed to be in charge; instead the crowd was gathered into small groups, a few voices in each arguing loudly, while people around the periphery would drift from one bunch to the next. Hanner guessed that these were people at least as confused and frightened by the night’s events as he was, come, as he had, to seek the help of the city’s magicians.
    And judging by the snatches of conversation and debate he overheard, no one was getting very satisfactory answers.
    He hurried down the block, listening, but heard nothing that hinted at an understanding of what was happening.
    These were apparently all wizards here, though, and Hanner thought other kinds of magicians might know more. He turned left at the end of the block, then right, and trotted into Witch Alley.
    This area was quieter—witchcraft was generally a quieter sort of magic than wizardry, and its practitioners and purchasers followed suit. Still, there were two or three dozen people clustered in the street and in doorways, talking. Here, too, they wore the same assorted clothing; he even saw one man in the yellow tunic and red kilt of the city guard.
    Hanner spotted a familiar face, one he had hoped to see, and called, “Mother Perréa!”
    The old woman at the center of one of the smaller groups turned. “Lord Hanner,” she said. She beckoned to him, and ignoring the aching of his feet he ran up to join the handful of people gathered about her.
    He paused there, struggling to catch his breath, and the witch asked him, “Did the overlord send you, my lord, or your uncle?”
    Hanner shook his head. “Neither,” he said. “I came on my own.”
    â€œAnd have you come to ask questions or answer them?”
    â€œAsk them, I’m afraid,” he said. “Though I’ll answer any I can.”
    â€œThen let me answer the most obvious and say that we do not know who or what is responsible for this outbreak of magical madness.”
    Hanner’s face fell. He had told himself, after seeing the situation on Wizard Street, that this was the most likely answer, but he had still hoped. “Do you know anything about it, then? Is it a wizard’s spell gone wrong, perhaps, like the legendary Tower of Flame?”
    Perréa turned up an empty palm. “We don’t know what it is—but we know a few things it isn’t.”
    â€œThat would be better than nothing,” Hanner said.
    â€œIt isn’t wizardry at all,” she told him. “I don’t know whether the wizards themselves have determined that yet, but I can assure you, it’s not wizardry. The feel of it is entirely different.”
    That astonished Hanner; he had not thought anything but wizardry could be so powerfully chaotic. “Is it witchcraft, then?”
    â€œIt’s more like witchcraft than wizardry, but no, it’s not witchcraft. A witch could not have the strength to do some of what we’ve seen. Nor is it sorcery, nor theurgy—the priests have consulted Unniel and Aibem, and there is no question.”
    â€œDemonology?” Hanner couldn’t think of any other possibilities that remained. It was unimaginable that any of the lesser magicks he was familiar with, such as herbalism, could be responsible for something like this.
    â€œWe have not yet ruled that out, but neither have we found any evidence to support it,” Perréa said. She pointed at a black-robed man a few yards away. “That’s Abden the Black, an excellent demonologist, and as trustworthy as any I have dealt with—”
    â€œWhich is not a strong endorsement, is it?” Hanner interrupted.
    Perréa smiled.