Night of Madness

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Authors: Lawrence Watt-Evans
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that’s not the Guild’s doing.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t go out and learn this,” the queen protested. “It just happened.”
    Agravan nodded. “I’m sure it did,” he said. “Maybe it will go away again. Good night, Ruli.” He stepped back and closed the door.
    Then he beckoned to one of his bodyguards and told him quietly, “Tonight, when she’s asleep, kill her.” He no longer sounded drunk at all.
    â€œKill the queen? ” the guard asked, startled.
    â€œYes,” Agravan said. “Kill the queen.” He glanced back at the door, hoping this mysterious magic hadn’t given Rulura the ability to hear through a closed door.
    â€œIt’ll mean war with Hollendon, Your Majesty,” the bodyguard warned him. “Are you sure you shouldn’t wait until you’re sober to decide such a thing?”
    â€œI’m sure,” Agravan said. “We can’t afford to wait. You heard what she said about putting a knife in someone’s back. She might well put one in my back, if she thinks she can use her magic to get away with it. There’s a reason the Wizards’ Guild won’t allow anyone of royal blood to learn magic.”
    â€œShe’s just levitating pens,” the guard protested.
    â€œ So far it’s just pens. I’m not going to risk waiting. You have your orders.”
    The bodyguard sighed. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.
    An hour later the only member of any royal family in the Small Kingdoms to have become a warlock became a corpse, eliminating any possible threat to the Guild’s prohibitions on mixing magic and government.
    *   *   *
    In one small village in Aldagmor, easternmost and most mountainous of the Baronies of Sardiron, an old woman named Kara had hidden in her wardrobe when the screaming and other noises began. Now that everything had been quiet for a time she finally emerged, looking around cautiously by the dim moonlight.
    Everything appeared normal. She lit a lamp and saw that her bedroom was undamaged.
    The village was quiet.
    The village was, she thought, too quiet. After all the commotion before she would have expected her neighbors to be gossiping in the road, but she couldn’t hear any voices through her open window. She threw on a shawl—even in midsummer the night breeze could be cool on the slopes of the mountains—and hurried through the other room of her cottage, out into the center of the village.
    It was utterly deserted.
    She looked around at the other houses. Some were intact, untouched and dark.
    Others were just as dark, but far from intact. The greenhouse at the east end of the cottage where Imirin the Herbalist lived had been smashed to bits. Half the roof was gone from her brother Karn’s house. And Elner’s house was gone completely.
    â€œ Hai! ” she called. “What happened?”
    No one answered. The only sound was the gentle sighing of the night wind in the trees.
    Frightened, Kara began searching the village house by house, looking for some sign of life, someone who could tell her what had happened.
    She found no one. Doors were unlocked, many standing open, even in the intact houses, so she was able to investigate thoroughly. Every remaining bed was empty; no one replied to her cries.
    Finally, she stood in the center of the village again, certain she was the only person left there, alive or dead.
    She had found footprints leading southeast. She had noticed that the open doors, broken walls, missing roofs, and so on were all on the east or south. She looked in that direction, into the darkness of the night, and saw nothing.
    For a moment she thought of following, of walking southeast in search of her missing friends and family. The urge grew, huge and irrational, and she took a step.
    Then she caught herself. She hadn’t survived seventy-three northern winters by acting on impulse or following blindly after

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