by David Grace
"Then you think I should cooperate with him?"
"You can't trust Hazar," Mara whispered excitedly. "Once he has used you all he can, he will kill us anyway."
"Let me see if I understand this. If Mara removes the ring, he will kill us. If I do not cooperate, he will kill us, and if I do cooperate, he will kill us. Can you think of anything we can do so that he will not kill us?"
"We could escape," Chom suggested. Grantin approached the bolts on the great door which sealed their cell. He pointed his bloodstone at the juncture of the metal. His forehead wrinkled in concentration, but no emanations appeared from the ring.
"It's no use. For the time being their spells have blunted my powers."
"I still have not recovered all my abilities," Chom said, "unfortunately my spells are not strong enough to destroy the door."
"Except for a spell of enchantment I can be of no help," Mara volunteered.
Now all eyes turned to Castor. The Ajaj carefully fingered the green cube in his pouch, then sighed in defeat.
"I, too, have some skills, but of a defensive nature only. Alone I could never batter down the walls."
"Well, if I am going to be killed in the morning," Grantin said testily, "at least I am not going to be half asleep when it happens. Right now I am going to get some rest. Maybe an idea will come to me in a dream."
The prisoners lay down on the straw, Mara placing her body distractingly close to Grantin's. Nevertheless, in a few minutes all were asleep.
It was after the ninth hour A.D. when a tapping sounded outside the cell door. Groggily Grantin arose from his pile of straw and, as if in a dream, watched the portal slide open. The hallways were still dark, illuminated only by the faint lime-green radiance from the glowpods. With a scraping sound a small form came forward to be silhouetted in the opening. Grantin reached out and shook Mara's shoulders. The sound of her awakening disturbed Chom and Castor, and all sat up and stared at the shadowed figure.
"Hurry, hurry--what are you waiting for?" a small voice hissed. "Many lives will be lost tonight in helping you win free. Hurry--the least you can do is be successful in your escape."
Castor recognized the voice of their rescuer. He struggled to his feet and urged his comrades to follow his lead. Hesitantly, as if in a daze, Grantin, Mara, and Chom also rose. Together with the Gray all followed Buster's limping passage down the hallway to the dungeon's exit.
Chapter Forty-One
It being Lord Hazar's custom to eat a late dinner, Castor had left the kitchen with the doctored meal a bit before the first hour. From that time on Buster had nervously paced the scullery with as frenetic a gait as his withered limb would allow. At the end of each pass across the floor he slowed his movements just long enough to cock an ear for the approach of heavy-booted feet. At any moment he expected to be swept up by Hazar's guards. By the second hour Buster had convinced himself that he was ready to accept his fate provided only that his plot succeeded.
It was a quarter past the second hour by the primitive water clock and no one came to shout the news of Hazar's passing. The droplets continued to trickle from the finely valved orifice, each one striking tiny spoon-shaped paddles and rotating the wheel a sixth of a revolution. The indicator crept forward at a snail-like pace until at last the clock, registered half past the second hour. Still no alarm. Buster hoisted himself up on a stool and massaged his swollen knee.
The third hour came and Hazar's quarters settled into their early-evening drone. Finally Buster could stand the suspense no longer.
Cautiously the Gray ascended the scullery stairs. He reached the main floor corridor without incident and was surprised to see that the normal complement of household guards was absent. Though it was worth his very life to do so, Buster could not now restrain his curiosity. Painfully he picked his way up the next flight to the apartment level. There, as well, the guards were absent. Without a doubt something was in the wind.
Buster retreated to the first floor and made his way to the front entrance. There one of the Gogols remained on guard, but not a member of the usual complement. Instead a young sub-acolyte had been pressed into service during the emergency. Armed with an unfamiliar sword and oversized helmet and breastplate, the young man leaned uneasily against the entryway wall while his hands busied themselves tapping the hilt of his short sword against the granite blocks. Affecting his most harmless pose. Buster limped up to the guard and hazarded a meek question.
"Excuse me, my lord. I have just finished my duties in the kitchen and I see that the usual guards are gone. Is something amiss?"
"The doings of your masters are no concern to you, Gray. Go about your business and leave me to my post."
"Of course, my lord. It is just that. . . well, I should be going back to my home. Normally one of the guards on duty escorts me to the gate and authorizes my passage back to the tumbles," Buster improvised. "I wanted to know if there were some problem that would cause me to remain here for the night."
"There's no problem and I cannot authorize you to stay. Go on to the gate and tell them Garyl said to let you through, but, mind you, stay out of Lord Hazar's way. Spies have taken shelter in your beloved tumbles and Lord Hazar and some of the guards have gone to capture them. If they find you out wandering loose at this time of night they might slice you first and ask questions later. Well, go on. What are you standing there for? I have my own concerns to contend with."
Buster paused for a moment, considering the possibilities, then came to a swift decision. Exaggerating his disability for the benefit of the guard, he limped down the five stone steps to the First Circle, then made his way to the Gate of Dread.
The guards on duty visited upon Buster an extra ration of curses and obscenities for disturbing them so late but finally allowed him to leave the city. In a short while he reached the lip of the ridge which overlooked the tumbles. After only a few moments' rest he began his tortured descent. By the time he reached the bottom his right leg throbbed constantly. The Gray clenched his teeth and ignored the pain. Three yards in front of him in the flat sandy area between the base of the tumbles and the stream stood soldiers, under-deacons, and Lord Hazar himself.
Drawing on the racial knowledge of thousands of years as prey, the Ajaj moved soundlessly until at last he could hear Hazar's interrogation of the prisoners. All his plans had gone awry. Hazar still lived, while Castor, the human, and the Fanist had been taken prisoner. Even Mara appeared to be in custody. Of all the conspirators he alone, a withered, crippled old Ajaj, remained. Then Buster heard the cruelest revelation of them all, that their plans had been destroyed by one of his own kind. Obron had betrayed them. A cold hatred washed through Buster's crippled frame. With it arose an idea born of the insanity which had long festered in what, for an Ajaj, was a distorted mind: the conviction that as soon as the Gogols left he would follow Obron to her apartments and there kill her with his bare hands.
Shortly the Gogols, Hazar in the lead, formed up their prisoners and marched them off to Cicero. As soon as the last soldier had disappeared Buster made his move.
With an agility that transcended his physical limitations Buster slipped noiselessly across the stream and followed Obron to her lodgings. A third of the way from the bottom the decision maker halted and made three chirping sounds. From within the pile of rock two chirps answered her. A few feet ahead and to the left a stone slab was pushed aside. Obron scuttled forward into the opening, but before the passage could be closed Buster, too, entered, his left arm hooked around Obron's throat and the point of one of the knives he had stolen from the kitchen scratching Obron's side. The Gray went stiff with fear, unable even to cry out against her attacker. Obron's mates were horrified and seemed rooted to the floor of the entrance tunnel.
"Push back the stone," he commanded. "Conduct us inside. I have business with our decision maker."
Terrified, Obron's mates led the way into the softly lighted, rock-walled parlor. There Buster pushed Obron away so that the two could see ea
ch other face to face.
"What do you want of me?"
"You betrayed our people Decision Maker. For that treachery I intend to make you pay."
"I have betrayed no one. I merely reported a human and a Fanist who, without my permission, took up residence here in the tumbles. We owe them no duty of protection."
"The human and the Fanist came to us for help. They are the enemies of our enemy. You also betrayed one of our own into Hazar's hands. Castor was my friend, and it is you who have condemned him to a horrible death."
"I've done nothing other than to discharge my responsibilities. Our way is to serve. Castor knew that. He was warned. If he chose to break the rules of our people, then the consequences are on his own head, not mine."
"What rules of our people are you talking about? Our duty is to survive, not to serve. We were never slaves on Ajaj. Hunted, yes. Threatened, yes. Struggling against a hostile world, yes--but never slaves. The Pales across the mountains are not slaves. Never have the Ajaj willingly cooperated with evil. Never have they turned cannibal, feeding on their own, until now."
"What right have you to lecture me? I am the decision maker. The people have given me the power."
"You are the decision maker by the rules of chance. Thus were you chosen and thus now will you end your term, for I am the random element. I, Buster, and this Gogol knife will be the ill luck which separates you from your post at the same time it cleaves your head from your body. Perhaps it will change nothing, but the random factor must not be denied."
"No, don't! That is unnecessary. I did not ask to be decision maker. I was chosen. It was my burden, my duty. If you are indeed the random factor who is to remove me from my office, then so be it. I relinquish the post. I will remove my token and those of my mates from the pile, and you may cast the stones again. Pick another leader and see if his decisions conform more to your own opinions. If so, that is the way of our people, but if not, then leave, for you cannot kill us all."
Obron's words buzzed within the old Gray's brain and he could not seem to make out their meaning. His body felt flushed. As if in a trance he limped forward, knife waist-high in front of him, its tip drawing a small twinkling circle in the air. Obron gasped and moved back, flattening herself against the wall. Her mouth hung open. She sucked in great drafts of air, causing her belly to palpitate as if it contained a living organism.
Buster moved closer, but as he approached his senses seemed to clear. He halted, then shook his head. Lowering the knife, he turned back and collapsed into one of Obron's woven chairs.
"Very well. I would do myself no honor taking your cringing life. Bring out the tokens and the stones. We will choose a new decision maker."
A panting Obron gestured to her mates, who, as if released from a spell, raced to an alcove and brought forth a ten-sided chest. Inside, inscribed on polished stone disks, were the names and numbers of every Gray in the community. The top third of the container swung up on its hinges, and from within a small square wooden box was removed. In this box reposed three ten-sided stone dice, each face inscribed with a numeral.
"Go ahead, go ahead. Choose whomsoever you wish," Obron commanded.
"No, we will follow the rules, such as they are. Is it not true that it is the outgoing decision maker who picks the successor?"
Obron did not respond, merely nodded dumbly.
"Pick them up, then. You know the routine."
Somewhat diffidently Obron approached the box. Swirling her hand deep inside, she removed an inscribed stone disk. She mixed the clattering, clacking tablets until at last she had withdrawn fifteen tokens. She arranged them in descending numerical order, then took up the dice. These were shaken and released onto the chiseled floor. The topmost numeral of each of the dice was now read from left to right: 2-1-5.
Obron made a show of searching through the disks, then shook her head to indicate that no match had been found. The decision maker was about to pick up the dice again when Buster limped forward and restrained her hand. In double-checking the tokens Buster was filled with wry amusement to see that Obron had attempted to cheat him. Apparently Gray number 2-1-5, a certain Velo, was not to Obron's liking. From then on Buster carefully monitored each toss.
At the end of fifteen throws an amazing three matches had been found, a result far greater than that which would have been predicted on the basis of pure odds. Buster carefully examined the tablets once again. Those initially chosen were Velo, number 2-1-5; Hanther, number 4-0-8 and Brax, number 6-6-6. Buster clenched the tokens tightly in his right fist and ordered Obron's chief mate out into the night to collect the three. Together with Buster and his knife, Obron and the other mate remained in the parlor, hostage to the messenger's faithful completion of his errand.
Almost exhausted by his swashbuckling exertions. Buster slumped in a chair and massaged his throbbing knee. Time passed. The Gray's head lolled forward until the bump of his chin against his chest awakened him. In the corner Obron was stealthily making her way to the exit. She halted her motion upon a peremptory wave of Buster's knife.
For the next few minutes Buster strained himself to stay awake. Finally he heard the noise of visitors in the passage. The first to emerge was Obron's mate, followed by three undistinguished Grays. The first two were not familiar, but the third, Brax, he recognized as one of the laborers in Topor's market. The three Ajaj moved nervously to the center of the room and viewed Buster with expressions of mingled fear and curiosity. The old Gray painfully arose from the chair to address the newcomers. Noticing the fixed direction of their gaze, he slipped the knife back into his belt.
"I am Buster, formerly a servant in Hazar's kitchen, One of my helpers there was the Gray known as Castor. Each of you must have heard of Hazar's plan to send forth an army to conquer the Hartfords. In aid of this scheme he has obtained control of gemstones of great psychic power. If his plans are not disrupted the plot will succeed.
"Castor and I were determined to foil his scheme. Through a turn of fortune allies, a human with a bloodstone of great power and a Fanist, arrived here this morning. They would, I think, with some persuasion, have lent their strength to our cause. Unfortunately this one"--Buster pointed accusingly at the corner where Obron cowered --"saw fit to betray them to the Gogols in hopes of earning Hazar's favor. Not satisfied with condemning the travelers to death, she implicated Castor, guaranteeing a sorry end for him as well. In so doing she has betrayed us all and forfeited the right to her office. Tonight, at my bidding, she cast the stones fifteen times and immediately derived an amazing three matches, those three being yourselves. One of you shall become the new decision maker. To that purpose have I asked you here."
The three Grays seemed nonplused by Buster's announcement. They shuffled their feet, each one looking nervously at his fellows. At last, somewhat diffidently, Hanther spoke up.
"You say that Obron cast the stones at your command, but this is not the accepted way. If Obron wishes to retire, then she should call in the witnesses, make her declaration, and then proceed with the proper ceremony. I confess I don't quite understand what your meeting here tonight has to do with us."
"Obron has resigned. With or without witnesses it is no longer her wish to be decision maker, as she will confirm now if you ask her. She having resigned, the stones were thrown; your lots were drawn and you are bound."
"What do you ask of us, then?" Velo responded.
"First the stones must be thrown and our leader chosen. Then I have much to ask of him and of all of us."
"Obron, is that true? Have you resigned?" Brax asked.
Obron looked up and sucked in her breath as if about to make a speech, then, eyeing Buster's hand on the pommel of his knife, she nodded her assent. In spite of his twisted frame Buster's eyes were clear. He fixed a demanding gaze upon the three candidates. After a moment a shiver of resolution passed through the Ajaj. Brax shrugged his shoulders and spoke for the group.
"Very well then, let us throw the stones and have done
with this business." Brax knelt down, picked up the three dice, and made a show of offering them to Hanther and Velo, each of whom hurriedly signified that he was not anxious to participate.
Again Brax shrugged, juggled the tokens, and spilled them upon the floor. The uppermost numbers were a two, a four, and a six, a surprising correspondence with the first number of each Gray's token, a rare tie.
Brax again offered the stones to his associates, and, after some hesitation, Velo finally accepted. The dice rattled hollowly in the enclosure of his palms, then spilled out with a clatter. When they danced to a stop the result was a second tie. The stones refused to give a hint of whom the random factor favored.
A nervous glance passed between the Grays. Velo pressed the tokens into Hanther's unwilling hands. Stiffly Hanther bent to the floor and executed a clumsy toss. When the dice settled for the third time they revealed another tie.
Brax let out a long sigh and shook his head in bewilderment. "The stones refuse to choose," he whispered.
"Not so!" Buster declared. "The result is unmistakable. It is ordained that all three of you shall jointly share the post."
"No, we cannot," Hanther objected. "That is not the way. One only must be chosen."
"Our way is the way of the random factor," Velo asserted, displaying a new-found decisiveness. "Our brother is right. The stones have chosen us. They demand that we rule. I propose that the decisions of two of us on any subject shall become our law.
"Very well. Buster, we are the decision makers, chosen as you have demanded. State your proposal, and we will decide what must be done."
"Fair enough. What I have to say is precisely this:
"Hazar must be stopped before he conquers the humans and our brother Pales beyond the mountains. The Hartford with his ring and his Fanist companion are powerful allies in this enterprise. They should be freed to aid us in our struggle. Castor, our brother who was betrayed, is an Ajaj of vision and courage who should not be abandoned. The three must be rescued from the dungeon, hidden in a place of safety, and their aid against the Gogols requested. We should counsel with them on how best to spike Hazar's plans and each of us cooperate with the others in achieving this goal."
