Night of Madness by Lawrence Watt-Evans

at him. “Rudhira, you keep him right where he is.” He turned back to the older man.
    â€œYou didn’t try to,” he said. “ Did you?”
    â€œI might have,” the warlock admitted. “I did make some of the mess, I admit it—I was defending myself against that lunatic!”
    â€œWhy did you help him fight Rudhira?”
    The older man shrugged. “A mistake,” he said. “That fool attacked me— challenged me, he said, for control of the street. I got caught up in it, and when she interrupted us it seemed like an unwelcome nuisance.”
    Hanner nodded. “The heat of battle,” he said. “I’ve heard it can make a person do stupid things.”
    â€œYes, exactly, my lord.”
    â€œAnd now that the battle’s over, what do you intend to do?”
    The man glanced around at the rubble-strewn street, the burning buildings, the old woman’s corpse.
    â€œI suspect I will stand trial before a city magistrate, where I will plead for leniency because I was driven mad by my nightmares and this new magic.” He sighed. “And then I suppose I’ll spend the rest of my life as a slave or in a dungeon somewhere, if I’m not simply hanged.”
    â€œIf your plea for leniency is accepted, you might just be flogged or exiled from the city,” Hanner said. “And I think you can reasonably point to all the others who ran wild tonight as evidence to support your case. I take it you’re surrendering to us?”
    â€œI don’t have much of a choice.”
    Hanner smiled slightly. “No, you don’t,” he agreed.
    Then he turned to the other man. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked.
    â€œI went mad too, I think,” the younger man said. “I thought I was chosen, that the dreams meant I had to do something with this power I was given. I thought I would fight my way up, killing the others and taking their power, until I was the most powerful magician in the World, and then I would rule all of Ethshar.”
    â€œWhat about the overlord?” Rudhira demanded. “ He rules Ethshar, and he’s not a magician at all!”
    â€œI was going to kill him,” the man admitted.
    â€œThat’s treason,” Yorn said.
    â€œLord Azrad’s a fat old fool!” the warlock shouted, sitting up—Hanner saw Rudhira’s startled expression when he was able to do so; she had clearly not intended to let him up.
    â€œHe’s still the overlord,” Hanner said.
    â€œNot my overlord,” the warlock said, struggling against something invisible.
    â€œStop fighting,” Hanner ordered him.
    â€œMay demons gnaw your bones,” the warlock said. He raised a hand—and suddenly his head twisted around to one side, impossibly far, and Hanner heard the snap of breaking bone. The warlock fell back, limp and lifeless.
    Rudhira smiled with satisfaction. Hanner stared up at her. “You didn’t have to kill him!” he shouted.
    â€œHe was a traitor and a murderer and I was defending myself,” Rudhira said flatly.
    That was obviously true, but Hanner was still upset by her actions. He started to phrase a further protest when the older warlock said, “I helped her.”
    â€œHe did,” Rudhira agreed.
    Hanner looked from one to the other. He had the distinct feeling that his control of the situation was not as secure as it should be, and that any further disputes would only erode it further.
    â€œWell, what’s done is done,” he said. “Get up, you, and come along—we’re heading for the Palace, and if you cooperate we’ll put in a good word for you when the time comes.” He reached down a hand to help the warlock up.
    The older man rolled over and took Hanner’s hand.
    A moment later the entire party was once again marching down Fish Street, leaving the surviving inhabitants of the neighborhood, now warily