By Lawrence Watt-Evans
Warlockry has been infrequent in Ethshar . . . until eventually The evening of insanity, while a mysterious item falls from the heavens, sending out a wave of magic within the kind of a dream. All who've the dream wake up in panic. yet a few of them additionally wake up to the ability or Warlockry.
Throughout the land those newly made warlocks wreak havoc; looting and rioting, petty own revenge, and uncontrollable insanity run rampant. Worse, everyone is listening to a mysterious, impossible to resist name from which they by no means return.
Into this chaos steps the power-hungry Lord Faran, who seeks to exploit his new warlock powers to overthrow the govt. and take ownership of the throne.
Who will dare to oppose him?
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Extra resources for Night of Madness
Then, to Han-ner's pleased surprise, she kissed him before turning and hurrying to her parents' door. Hanner stood in the street for a moment after Mavi had vanished into the house, savoring the memory of that kiss. He had been kissed before, but not by Mavi. He had not been entirely sure until this moment that she reciprocated his interest in her. It wasn't unreasonable, he told himself. After all, Mavi came from a family of tradespeople, comfortable but far from truly rich; a match with a lord, even one so unimportant as himself, would surely be seen as a step up the social ladder.
She didn't see anyone she knew, and did not want to talk to strangers, even in a dream-at least, not yet-so she did not rise up to join the other flyers. They were all going the same direction, anyway, and she didn't want to go that way. She wanted to look at the shops on Dyer Street and see what pretty colors the cloth there had in this wonderful dream. They were lovely in real life, as she had seen when she and her mother went over there just two days ago, but her mother had refused to buy her any of the best fabrics for a new tunic.
Now, why did she think he had shoved her? He hadn't touched her; he was quite sure of it. He had been leaning on one elbow, and his other hand at his throat, trying to control his coughing; he could not possibly have shoved her. A kick would have been physically possible, but a look at the bedclothes convinced him that he had not unconsciously kicked her; his feet were still tucked neatly under the snug coverlet. Isia was not clumsy, though-at least, he had never seen her do anything else clumsy in the four days he had known her, nor had she seemed inclined to fancies or delusions.
Night of Madness by Lawrence Watt-Evans