Free Night of Madness by Lawrence Watt-Evans

beside the boy he glanced up at Rudhira, but said nothing in reply. He was not happy to hear her words; she sounded a little too assertive about her newfound abilities. Apparently she was the most powerful of his group of warlocks, but that didn’t mean she had the right to push anyone around.
    â€œAre you all right?” Hanner asked the boy, offering a hand to help him up.
    â€œI guess so,” he said, taking the hand and getting to his feet. Hanner noticed that the boy was looking past him; he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the rest of his party had turned the corner and was watching intently. The other two flyers, the old man in the linen shirt and a plump nondescript woman, were on the ground now.
    Hanner wished he had taken the trouble to learn everyone’s name, so he could call instructions, but he hadn’t. He turned back to the boy.
    â€œWhat are you doing out on the streets at this time of night? Shouldn’t you be at home with your parents or your master?”
    â€œMy parents told me to stay outside until I stopped moving things and bumping into things. I was trying to learn how to control this magic.”
    â€œWarlockry,” Hanner said. “That’s what the witches call it.”
    â€œWell, whatever it is, I didn’t ask for it!” the boy said in a thoroughly aggrieved tone. “I had a nightmare and I woke up in midair over my bed, and I knocked the pitcher off the nightstand when I let myself fall, and it broke all over the floor and woke up my brothers, and then my mother came and ordered me out of the way while she cleaned up the mess, and I stumbled on the stairs and went flying and knocked over a lamp, and my father yelled at me and told me to go outside if I was going to bump into things. So I did, and I’ve been practicing flying. And other stuff.” He looked at Rudhira. “How did you make me fall? I know how to push things, but you did something different.”
    â€œIt’s easy enough,” Rudhira said. “I’m not sure how to explain it, though. I used some of my magic to … to erase yours, sort of.”
    â€œCan you teach me how? And how to fly better?”
    â€œI don’t think this is the time or place for that,” Hanner interjected firmly as the rest of the party came up to join them. “I think it’s time you went home and went back to bed. If this magic hasn’t gone away by morning come to the Palace and ask for Lord Hanner, and I’ll see if someone wants to teach you some tricks.”
    â€œYou’re Lord Hanner?”
    â€œYes, I am. Now, go home. On foot.”
    â€œYes, my lord.” The boy glanced at the motley collection of people staring at him, then turned and ran down Circus Street. At a corner he turned again and was out of sight.
    That left Hanner standing at the front of his little mob of warlocks. “You didn’t ask him to join us,” the guardsman said.
    â€œHe’s just a child,” Hanner said, “and it’s the middle of the night.” He glanced at the soldier. “What did you say your name is?”
    â€œYorn of Ethshar, my lord.”
    â€œThat’s right, Rudhira told me. Yorn, don’t you think we have enough warlocks already?” He gestured at the others.
    â€œI suppose so, my lord,” Yorn admitted.
    â€œ I think so,” Hanner said. “If something happens to prove I’m wrong, you’re welcome to say you told me so.”
    Yorn didn’t answer that.
    â€œCome on,” Rudhira said, rising into the air. “Let’s get to the Palace.” She swooped overhead like an immense red bird, back toward Arena Street.
    With a sigh, Hanner followed, the others trooping or gliding along—the other flyers were airborne again.
    They had gone another dozen blocks when a woman came running out of Fish Street onto Arena, glancing about wildly. She stopped at the sight of Hanner’s group,