The Accidental Magician

by David Grace

  Mara examined Grantin critically while the young Hartford was still searching for his voice.

  "You are the same one after all," she whispered. After a brief pause she reached for Grantin's left hand. Pulling it sideways to catch the glowpod's feeble beams, she was able to discern the ruby stone which still adorned Grantin's index finger.

  "Are you really the same Mara who gave me this ring in Alicon? Was it only a week ago? It seems like years."

  "For me as well. Somehow I had not believed them, but seeing you here--did you really come for me?"

  "Castor's told you, then? Yes, I've come a long way to find you. You have no idea of the indignities that Chom and I have endured. Oh, excuse me, I forget myself. Mara, allow me to introduce to you my friend and companion, Chom--as you can see, a Fanist of the highest order."

  Now it was Mara's turn to be startled as she spied the native standing quietly in the shadows a few feet away.

  "Do you know the danger you are in, Grantin?" Mara asked, turning back to the human.

  "I can make a very good estimate, but I had no choice. It was so important that I find you...."

  "My mother told me that Hartford men were all worthless and untrustworthy. I see now she was wrong. To think of the risks you've taken on my account! So much love, and all for nothing." To his complete dismay Grantin noticed that Mara had begun to cry. "I cannot do it. Even if your love is foolish and misplaced at least it is sincere. To think that a man, especially a Hartford, could feel that way without me using my enchantments, could risk everything for me alone, I don't know what to do. You are so young to die."

  "Die!"

  "It is the Gogols," Castor explained. "They found out that you are here. Hazar has ringed the tumbles with guards and sent Mara in to bring you out without a fight. The female is supposed to inject you with a drug which will put you to sleep. Then, with you and the power of your ring out of the way, she was to call for the Fanist to surrender."

  "But how did they find us?"

  "Obron, the leader of my people. She saw me bring you here. In order to protect my kinsmen from retribution she reported your presence. The shame is mine. As punishment I will share your fate."

  "Is there another way out?" Chom asked.

  "In an Ajaj's quarters? None that any of you could fit through," Castor said, nodding toward the tunnel. "That is the only way."

  "Could we fight our way out?"

  "Against one or two guards perhaps, but not the army that Hazar has poised--at least thirty of his soldiers. You might conquer a few of them, but you would never escape alive."

  "What can we do? There must be some solution, some alternative, something."

  "I see two choices," Chom announced. "Surrender, or defeat as many of them as possible before we are killed."

  "Killed!"

  "It's all right, Grantin," Mara said, throwing her arms around him and stifling her sobs. "I can't let you walk out there alone. I will die with you."

  "Die? Are you crazy? I have no intention of dying over a stupid piece of jewelry. You can do what you want, but I'm going to go out there and let them take the ring. Chom, are you coming with me?"

  "It seems I have little alternative," the Fanist responded evenly. "Who goes first?"

  For long moments the four figures seemed rooted to Castor's granite floor. At last Mara slipped forward, bent over, and entered the tunnel.

  Chapter Forty

  From behind granite boulders, abutments, and tip-sided slabs Hazar's guards peered through the darkness and waited for the signal to attack. Several of the men carried cocked crossbows, bolt tips swinging aimlessly back and forth across the center of the tumbles. These were the best weapons the common soldier possessed.

  From time to time gunpowder had been formulated and pistols reinvented, but each experiment ended in disaster. The chemical energy released by an explosion eventually was tapped by the combatants and incorporated, deliberately or accidentally, into fearfully dangerous spells. Time and again experimenters were horrified to see their guns explode. The last such disastrous experiment had taken place in Cicero only twenty years before, an object lesson in terror which would, no doubt, delay similar innovation for another twenty or thirty years hence.

  It was one of the crossbowmen, one Huber by name, who first saw Mara emerge from Castor's tunnel. Huber steadied his crossbow and strained to discern the target more clearly.

  A glowpod flickered to life in Mara's hand, and she swung it carefully over her head in the all-clear signal. Hazar's men cautiously advanced while Mara, then Grantin and the rest, picked their way down the rock-strewn slope. A semicircle of bowmen pocketed the prisoners at the bottom of the tumbles. Two members of the household guard, specially trained as hexmen, quickly released their spells of nullification, restraint, and deactivation, workmanlike incantations which, for a short while at least, would inhibit even powerful wizards from launching a magical counterattack. The group now physically and psychically secure, the captain of the guards signaled that Hazar might approach.

  The Gogol wizard advanced briskly, his red-and-black gown streaming behind him. His feet picked their way unerringly over the rock-strewn sand at the base of the tumbles.

  "You have restrained them?" he asked the hexmen.

  "Indeed, my lord, they made no struggle."

  "You did well, Mara, in arranging their capture. I seem to recall, however, that the plan called for this one"-- Hazar jerked his thumb at Grantin--"to be drugged. But no matter. He is here and you have saved us having to carry him down the slope. You are Grantin of Alicon, I presume?" Hazar asked the young man politely. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hazar, Lord of the Gogols and Master of the Gate of Dread. And this being who accompanies you?"

  "My human name is Chom."

  "Both travelers from a far land. Allow me to show you our Gogol hospitality. I think you will find your quarters in Cicero somewhat different from those here in the Ajaj camp--and while I'm on that subject, there is business that remains unfinished." Hazar turned to the captain of the guard and issued a sharp command: "Bring me Obron, the leader of the Grays."

  The soldier motioned to two of his underlings. A moment later Obron was escorted forward to Hazar's side.

  "These two were given shelter in your city," Hazar began. "As you know very well, no unauthorized persons are permitted in our realm. Clearly your people are responsible. Why should I not make them pay?"

  "They had nothing to do with it, my lord. The presence of these travelers was reported to your guards."

  "Perhaps that is all part of a clever scheme to try and avoid the punishment which is due you. Very well, I will test your sincerity. You saw these people captured by my men?"

  Obron silently nodded her assent.

  "From whose lodgings did they emerge?"

  "My lord, it is dark and difficult to tell from which--"

  "--Answer me or all will suffer the penalty of treason!"

  Obron hesitated a moment then whispered: "Castor's."

  Hazar whipped around and pointed a long, bony finger at the Gray who stood to Mara's right. "Aren't you Castor the troublemaker? Isn't that your name?"

  "I am Castor and proud of it. Proud not to be a sheep like my fellows, or a traitor like Obron. Proud to oppose your evil madness. I am Castor your enemy. Kill me now if you will and have done with it."

  The guards were shocked into silence by the Gray's incredible outburst. After a moment the stunned quiet was broken by Hazar's laughter.

  "Now I have seen everything," the Gogol exclaimed, "the strangest of all possible sights, a Gray with courage. Don't be so hasty for the end. It would be a bad omen for me to precipitately eliminate such a rarity as yourself. No, I think I will take my own good time in finishing you. Perhaps we will put your courage to the test, but not tonight. Captain, bring them all to my quarters."

  "My lord, if you need me no longer. . . ."

  "All of them, guard, the girl included."

  The soldiers fo
rmed the prisoners into a line and, flanking them, marched the group up the winding trail back to the Gate of Dread.

  In a few minutes Grantin, Chom, Castor, and Mara were ushered into Hazar's parlor. Already present in the small chamber were Hazar and his three over-deacons. At the far left-hand comer of the room wine-colored drapes billowed.

  Mara noticed that the furniture had been hastily rearranged, the couch and chairs pushed back to provide an open area in the center where she and the prisoners now stood. In front of them, seated on the settee with his back to the outer wall, Hazar eyed the four critically. Huddled together to the right of the rippling drapes crouched Croman, Jasper, and Wax. Occasionally one of the over-deacons flicked a glance over his shoulder toward the window, as if nervously expecting the imminent appearance of another guest. Hazar concentrated his attention upon the prisoners. He commenced his interrogation with Grantin.

  "Well, Master Grantin, so you are here at last. You have led us a merry chase. You know, of course, your uncle Greyhorn is quite displeased with you. No, no, you need not reply. His wishes are now of minor importance at best. More to the point, however, you have inconvenienced me. Do you have any idea of the trouble you have caused?"

  Grantin shook his head.

  "No? I will tell you so you will understand better what is about to happen to you. It was I who sent the ring you now wear. The ring was your uncle's price for joining forces with me in my conquest of the Hartfords. He and his supporters were to nullify the defenders who normally man the main pass through the Guardian Mountains. Oh, not that I minded giving him the ring, you understand. I have dozens more coming, promised by my associate, Lord Zaco--another friend of Mara's, by the way.

  "But Zaco's promises have proved unreliable of late. I fear that the old fool has lost control of his subordinates and that they tell him what he wishes to hear without any intention of following his orders.

  "The ring was Greyhorn's price, but when you took it your uncle became petulant, obstinate, and uncooperative. Very well, by concentrating all my energy I could have taken the passes anyway, but Zaco hasn't sent me the promised stones. Still, matters could proceed with only one or two more rings such as the one you wear now. But you were gone with the ring and Greyhorn had withdrawn his support and Zaco's a senile old fool--and so here I sat committed to a battle without sufficient supplies, or at least the crucial support to be assured of enough men winning through the passes.

  "And, as if that were not enough, my dear Grantin, your uncle took it into his head to oppose me, to actually commence a series of attacks against my person. Attacks which I could parry, but at what price? All because of you. Greyhorn's support gone because of you. A ring which I desperately need lost because of you. Greyhorn's opposition because of you. You blundering, stupid, incompetent, weak-spined, ridiculous, fatheaded fool, my great plans brought to a standstill all because of you!" Grantin shivered and cringed from Hazar's screams. "I see you are beginning to understand a bit about how I feel. Perhaps you may be able to imagine some of the things I have planned for you. . . . But you are trembling. How ungracious of me to so disturb my guests. Don't let me frighten you too badly. Perhaps you will think of some way to assuage my anger before the time for retribution arrives. I will let you think over the possibilities while I greet your associates."

  Hazar now turned his attention to the Fanist. "And your name is Chom, you say. Why do you travel with this young fool?"

  "He is what you humans call my friend," Chom replied in a neutral voice.

  "A friend? This pea-brained imbecile your friend? Only a fool has a fool for a friend. Is that what you are?"

  "If I were truly a fool I would not know it and so would say no. If I were not a fool again I would deny it. There hardly seems to be another possible answer to your question."

  "Don't play games with me, you four-armed freak. I'm not afraid of you Fanists like some of those weak-kneed Hartfords. You will die just as easily as anyone else. Don't think otherwise."

  Hazar turned his gaze on Castor and briefly addressed the Gray. "As for you, I need no answers, no explanations. You're a mutant, a freak, or insane. There is nothing I need from you except your death. Since you have chosen to befriend these two, to take their part against your masters, then so be it. You will share their fate."

  Now Hazar's attention slid slyly to his left, back to Mara. "And last, my dear, delicious Mara."

  "My lord, I haven't--"

  "Calm yourself. I have accused you of nothing. To the best of your ability you have carried out my commands. You were sent to deliver the ring, and you did so. You were told to bewitch the person who received it from you, and you did so. You were told to make him your slave, and though you've not accomplished it exactly as I ordered, in the last analysis apparently you have done that too. And you have controlled Zaco as best you could. You have followed my orders, and it is not your fault that everything you have touched has turned to ashes. But when did we Gogols ever care about fault anyway? It is results that matter--success, usefulness--and here, Mara, you have failed miserably.

  "In order to get Zaco's stones I must go to his mine myself and wrest them from his servants with my own hands. You are bad luck, Mara. Perhaps you are fey. Under more normal circumstances I would simply banish you from my household, perhaps send you to the pleasure rooms, find you a task at which your ill luck would be of no harm. But these are not ordinary circumstances.

  "This fellow appears to be in love with you. I don't mark him for a man of courage but, still, who can tell about these things? Perhaps at the last moment he may choose to die rather than cooperate. Occasionally young idiots are gallant that way, so I think I will increase the stakes. If he cooperates and earns my favor, then you shall share his fate. If, on the other hand, he becomes obstinate and requires persuasion or elimination, then you shall also share his fate. In this way we will bend his noble urges to my bidding. Now for--"

  Hazar's speech was interrupted by a moaning screech. The curtain flapped more vigorously, heralding an approaching gale. A high-pitched, hissing shriek pierced the darkness.

  "It comes. It comes," Croman moaned. "Pull back the drapes; make ready for its arrival." A great gust of air poured in. Borne on the gale was another raucous shriek embroidered with the undertone of huge flapping wings. As the monster neared its destination its calls became more frequent. The sound of its flight rose to a fever pitch. A muffled thud echoed from the terrace, then one last cry, an announcement that its mission was complete. The beat of wings became softer, disappearing until, only two or three seconds later, the night was again still.

  As if a trance had been broken, Hazar ordered his over-deacons to retrieve the demon's burden. Croman, Jasper, and Wax scuttled onto the balcony and quickly returned, bearing between them Greyhorn's dazed form.

  "Ah, now our little group is complete--uncle and nephew together at last. To show you that I stint no one, Grantin, I will throw your uncle into the bargain if you cooperate with me. You may have his life or his death as you choose. Well, what do you say?"

  "Say to what? What do you want me to do? I don't understand. Why don't you just take the ring and have done with it?"

  "If I only could--but that's right, you don't understand the powers of the stone. You've had it too long. It's been at least ten days. By now it has attuned itself to your mind. Though you might agree to cooperate the subconscious portions of your brain would take control. Anyone who now tried to cut off your finger would find the blade, his hand, his arm, probably his whole body, ablaze. There is not a thing you could do to stop it even if you thought you wanted to. In a sense the ring has a mind of its own. No, unfortunately, I cannot take it by force, but I can tell you the spells to pronounce, the words to say.

  "If you follow instructions you can lend the power of your ring to my enterprise, in exchange for which I will give you the lives of your friends, the death of your uncle, your freedom, his property, and your life. Well, what do you say?"

  "
While I appreciate your offer, I don't really think I am well suited to the black arts. As an alternative, why don't we just--Ouch!" Grantin grabbed his left foot and hopped in a slow circle while he massaged the toes which had been suddenly caught beneath Chom's foot.

  "I am clumsy tonight," Chom apologized. "I think it is because we are all so tired. Instead, could we not rest and discuss the matter among ourselves, since it affects us all? Grantin could give you his answer in the morning."

  Hazar fixed a calculating gaze upon the Fanist. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he nodded and gestured for the guards to conduct the prisoners to their cell.

  "I will give you to the third hour, no later. After that I will have no more time for you. I will have thirty bowmen take aim and fire at once. Master Grantin's not a good enough magician to stop all the bolts. I will see you all ground into fodder by noon."

  The prisoners were led down to the cellars and sub-cellars of the outer wall until at last the four, Grantin, Chom, Castor, and Mara, were tossed into a stone cell with a hay-covered floor. Taking no chances on a resurgence of Greyhorn's powers, Hazar had the wizard conveyed to a separate chamber away from Grantin's sight and hearing.

  Once the guards had disappeared Grantin slipped to Chom's side and whispered in his earhole: "Why did you--"

  "A moment." Castor waved his bands in an expansive gesture and silently mouthed an oath. The air in the cell seemed to thicken and congeal until a shiver ran through Grantin's body like the popping of a soap bubble.

  "Now we can talk," Castor said. "They did not bother to neutralize my powers. I have pronounced a spell of secrecy."

  "As I started to say, Chom, why did you step on my foot?"

  "You were about to tell them about the spell which Mara could have used to remove the ring, were you not?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "--If Hazar had learned of that spell, he would have removed the ring at once and had us killed out of hand. The bloodstone provides our only bargaining power."