by David Grace
Surrounded by handpicked retainers, each crossed the plaza. Tall, thin, and in a state of extreme ill humor, Nefra sped across the flagstones as if driven by some inner rage. The next passage disgorged Topor and his retinue. The stocky, pedestrian Lord of Fear moved in a measured, businesslike manner and exuded an air of mild irritation that the operation of his vast estates should be disturbed by a meeting between himself and his fellow lords.
Zaco waddled to his entrance. By the time he reached the base of the stairs he had already become winded. He motioned to his two most stalwart guards, who advanced and clasped him beneath the shoulders, half carrying him to the conference room.
Bolam was the only one of the five who seemed unconcerned either for his safety or for the business of the conference. Lastly Hazar mounted his own set of stairs with a furious energy which left his two guards struggling to keep pace. When all the lords had arrived, the five doors were closed and bolted for the duration of the meeting. No sooner had the guards withdrawn than Nefra brought himself to his feet and began the conference on a harsh and challenging note.
"As we all know, we are called here today to formulate plans for dealing with the dangerous situation which has been created by our associate, Lord Hazar."
"My dear Lord Nefra," Hazar responded, "perhaps that is why you are here, but I was not informed that the purpose of this conference was to call a council of war against me."
"Let's not bandy words, Hazar. I called the meeting, as we all well know. The others are here only because they have no intention of being left out of whatever decisions might be made between the two of us. The long and the short of it is that we are not about to surrender our power in aid of your plans of empire."
"I don't recall, Nefra, that I have ever asked you for your cooperation in my campaign against the Hartfords. And what would be the use, in any event? Satan knows you've no stomach for any activity more strenuous than hoarding your water."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let us have some decorum here," Lord Bolam interrupted. "We will accomplish nothing with bickering. Nefra, you have made various charges against Lord Hazar, charges which reflect upon the safety and prosperity of us all. If you would state your points without rancor we all could get about the business of making sense out of this situation."
Nefra gritted his teeth and struggled to control his temper. After a moment's silence he began again.
"Very well, Lord Bolam. Hazar has been planning to conquer the Hartfords on his own. As far as that goes, well and good. My information is that he made arrangements with a certain Hartford wizard named Greyhorn to use his powers against the defenders of the passes through the Guardian Mountains. Again, a praiseworthy plan. Unfortunately Hazar's scheme did not rest there.
"He has inveigled Lord Zaco, through the charms of an enchantress named Mara, to supply his subdeacons with a huge quantity of bloodstones. Through a string of blunders one has come into the possession of a Hartford named Grantin. Somehow or other this Hartford, together with a dangerous revolutionary Gray, a Fanist of unknown powers, and Hazar's own enchantress Mara, have entered into a dangerous cabal against us all. Now all save Mara have escaped and are loose in the city spreading dissent and revolution among our placid Grays and threatening from within the very basis of our power.
"If that danger were not sufficient for us to urge Hazar to abandon these plans, there is still the fact of the bloodstones he demands of Lord Zaco. Need I remind you, gentlemen, that should he obtain these, our own positions would not long remain secure. Should Hazar's bloodstone-enhanced army prove their skills against the Hartfords, is it likely that they would march meekly back to Cicero and abandon their gems at Hazar's door?"
"So what would you have us do?" Topor asked in a businesslike tone.
"I would have us all agree that Zaco will supply no more powerstones to Hazar. Further, Hazar must agree to distribute equally among the five of us the bloodstones which he has already received. The rebellious Grays, the Fanist, the human with the bloodstone, and Mara must all go to the block as fast as we can round them up."
"Mara to the block?" Zaco squeaked. "No, not at all! I forbid it. I will take her into my household. I will see to it that she gets into no trouble."
Nefra, always the good politician, paused only half a second before agreeing to Zaco's demand.
"Lord Topor?"
Topor had made up his mind long before the meeting. Hazar's power had become too great, but Toper's dependence upon the Grays had made it impossible for him to protest. Now, as part of a joint action, Hazar's humbling would give Topor better bargaining power. "I also agree," Topor answered.
In light of the inclusion of Mara as part of the deal Zaco's vote was a foregone conclusion. He would lose nothing by reason of the arrangement. The other lords would pay him as much for his stones as Hazar, perhaps more if a bidding could be arranged. "I am in favor as well," Zaco answered.
"I, too, I am afraid, must agree with my associates, Lord Hazar," Bolam added politely. "Please don't take this as a personal affront, but I think we would all feel somewhat easier if we maintained the balance of power which we have so wisely instituted over the years. Since I assume that you are against the proposal, it's four to one in favor of Nefra's plan."
"And if I do not agree?" Hazar asked in an offhand manner.
"Even the power of the stones you now possess is not sufficient to stand against all of us. You and your guards need Nefra's water, Topor's food. But of course we all hope it will not come to that eventuality. Why don't you consider the matter? Tomorrow will be time enough to send your messengers to each of our quarters with a proportionate share of the powerstones and your suggestion as to what would be a fair price for them."
"Very well, gentlemen; I will consider the matter further. Be assured that I will take action before tomorrow has passed."
Hazar rapidly descended the stairs. Once out the door he signaled his men. From various positions around the Central Plaza crossbows peeked out. Bolts flew at the soldiers guarding the exits of the other four lords. Within two seconds of Hazar's departure, eight guards were dead. Hazar's soldiers raced across the plaza and tapped wedges into the five doors. These mere physical restraints would not secure the portals against wizards with the powers of the four lords, but they were meant as only the briefest delaying tactic.
As quickly as they had advanced Hazar's guards withdrew, their flight accompanied by three sharp whistle blasts. Five seconds later another of Hazar's servants erupted from the main entrance to the market beneath the conference room. No longer did the under-deacon carry the shopping sack which had been in his possession when he entered the market.
Before the remaining lords of Cicero were even aware that their guards had been disposed of and the doors jammed, Hazar and his men fled the Central Plaza. Inside Topor's market a crude gunpowder fuse sputtered as it ate its way through the lining of the under-deacon's pack. Chemical explosives had always proved too dangerous for successful use in battle, but Hazar, with a true genius for murderous schemes, had realized that they would function magnificently as an instrument of wholesale slaughter.
No more than fifteen seconds after Hazar had left the meeting the crude package of black powder and phosphorus exploded with a dull, thudding roar. The roof of the market, which was also the floor of the meeting chamber, was blasted by a fiery bolt a yard in diameter. The explosion filled the conference room with sizzling fragments of wood and stone.
Ten minutes later the whole of Topor's market, the conference room and its inhabitants alike, were naught but a scattered pile of blackened, smoking fragments. In one stroke Hazar had become lord of all Cicero.
In triumph Lord Hazar strode back to his apartments, followed by a fawning retinue. At rapid intervals messengers and underlings approached him, were admitted through the cordon of guards, and delivered reports of unconditional success. Hazar had almost reached the entrance to his quarters astride the Gate of Fear when Derma caught his attention.
"My lord, you recall that you instructed me to have our spies watch Saschim the tailor in case he might receive information about Greyhorn's nephew?"
"Derma, that is ancient history. We captured the Hartford without any help from Trecko."
"Yes, my lord, but we never countermanded the order. Trecko has continued to watch and now reports that Saschim has received a communication from Yon Diggery."
Hazar halted and gave Derma his full attention, "And what is the nature of this communication?"
"That Yon Diggery is on the Hartford's trail. The tailor is to keep his ears open and inform Diggery of any important events which might take place in Cicero."
"Specifically, Derma, was the tailor told where this Grantin is now?"
"Not exactly, my lord, only that he escaped the city with the Fanist and the rebel Gray, and that they travel through the wilderness on a northwesterly course."
"Northwesterly.... There is nothing there, nothing except Zaco's mine. For a bumpkin and an imbecile that one has managed to give us more than enough trouble. We must not underestimate him again. Tell Croman, Jasper, and Wax to begin work at once on the spell of magnificent transport. If and when Grantin reaches the mine I must be there waiting for him. And tell them to make the spell strong enough to carry three."
"Three, my lord?"
"Myself, his uncle Greyhorn, who may be of some use after all, and the enchantress Mara. If he is really smitten with her, she may be just the lever I need to finish him off."
Chapter Forty-Five
On the third day after the escape from Cicero the forest began to thin, its place now taken by isolated copses of ironwood and tamarack dotting the shoulders of low, rolling hills. Late that afternoon Grantin, Chom, and Castor crested yet another gentle rise and received their first glimpse of their objective.
The land fell away in an easy slope for a mile or two, at last opening on a fertile basin widening five or ten miles distant into a lush, forested plain. At the far border of the forest a huge rock escarpment, at least a two miles in diameter and almost a mile high, reared upward. The forest halted half a mile from the base of the cliff, as if the soil there were poisoned. The narrow band of yellow-brown earth which encircled the edges of the tower created a no-man's land.
Chom strained his telescopic vision but was able to discern few details. The Fanist reported pockmarks in the cliff which might be caves. They could not see the lake itself. None of the travelers doubted, however, that in the center of the tower was a great depression filled with water and centered with a barren island within might or might not be Zaco's mine.
"We will camp here tonight and tomorrow press on to the lake," Castor announced. "Assuming we can discover the trail used by Zaco's men, we should be able to reach the rim by tomorrow evening."
"And what do we do when we get there?" Grantin asked peevishly.
"If Shenar's spell can be removed from Chom, then between the three of us we have great powers. I suggest that we pool our abilities in the creation of one great spell."
"I did not realize. Castor, that you were an accomplished sorcerer."
"Before my dispute with the Gogols I was a senior empather on Hazar's staff. I have been trained to link my consciousness with the state of the psychic energy around me. Beyond that I carry with me my family's treasure, a source stone, which allows the projection of my spells in a manner similar to that employed by your ring."
Somewhat reluctantly Castor opened the pouch strapped to his waist and extracted a small bundle of silky white cloth. With delicate fingers the Ajaj unwound the material to reveal the milky green cube of his source stone.
"We may yet prove more formidable than we appear."
Grantin had not forgotten the blue gem hidden beneath the skin on Chom's forehead and cast a sly glance at the Fanist's impassive form. For a few seconds Chom remained silent, pondering whether or not to reveal his own treasure. At last, with an imperceptible shrug, he reached his decision. Using all four arms, he kneaded the skin of his forehead until the two layers of the flap split. Chom peeled the tough gray hide upward to reveal an electric-blue stone seated in a hollow in the homey flesh. The Fanist grasped the gem with two fingers of his lower right hand and delicately pried it loose.
"This," he said, holding out the blue marble in the hollow of his right palm, "is the companion given to me by my people in aid of my quest. Were it not for the awesome consequences which could flow from the failure of our mission, I could not allow you to know of it, but the fate of all the humans and possibly all of my people hangs upon our success. Should we survive I beg you not to reveal our secret."
"Should we survive? Do you mean you've come all the way out here assuming that we are going to be killed?"
"That seems to be the most likely possibility," Chom admitted, "but of course we have no choice."
"No choice! I have a choice. I am in the prime of my life! We could still escape back across the Guardian Mountains. Perhaps the Gogol attack will fail after all. At the very least we could alert the Hartford soldiers. The more I think about it, the more I think we would be better advised to employ all of the powers we possess to defend the Hartford homeland rather than in a gallant but suicidal attack on Zaco's stronghold."
"No, the Gogols would merely delay their plans. They might wait a month or a year, but sooner or later, if allowed to continue to mine the stones, they would equip an invincible army. We must sacrifice ourselves if necessary to stop them."
Grantin threw his hands up in impotent frustration. Less than a mile away, Rupert and Yon Diggery also debated their course of action, but with vastly different goals.
"I say we should attack them now, take the ring, and be done with it," Rupert argued.
"Rupert, you must learn patience. When you have lived by your wits as long as I have, you will learn to plan your attack so as to obtain the greatest reward possible. What do we gain if we defeat them now?"
"Vengeance upon those who have destroyed your associates."
"My associates, as you so politely call them, would have cut my throat in a second had they thought they could get away with it and make a profit on the enterprise. Don't worry about them. There are plenty of freebooters back in Grenitch Wood."
"Don't forget the ring."
"Rupert, there is one ring and two of us. Assuming we kill them, the next thing that would happen is that you would kill me or I would kill you. Do not be so anxious to become my enemy. Think a moment Where are they going?"
"Obviously they have some sort of mission. Perhaps there is a place up ahead for them to hide."
"If they wanted to hide there is no better place than Grenitch Wood. Out here they are ten times more vulnerable. And why even stay in the Gogol empire at all? The Fanist knows the passes through the mountains."
"Very well, Diggery, you tell me--what are they doing out here?"
"Have you ever asked yourself, Rupert, where the bloodstone in that ring came from? It had to come from somewhere, didn't it? You worked for Hazar. Where did he get his stones?"
"From Zaco."
"Very good; and where did Zaco get them?"
"He has a mine someplace."
"Someplace?"
"Someplace northwest of Cicero. Do you mean-- You think that's where they're going?"
"See! I knew if you thought about it hard enough you'd come to the right conclusion. All this time they've made straight for Grog Cup Lake. What better place to get a powerstone than from such a site?"
"Very well, assume you're right. Suppose they are going to Zaco's mine. What good does that do us?"
"Rupert, think about it for a moment. They're going to break the trail for us. They're going to take all the risks. Let them go. Let them do our work. We will follow quietly behind. If they succeed in destroying Zaco's guards, we'll surprise them and take all the stones for ourselves. If they fail, they may still have weakened the defenses enough for us to complete what they've started. Now do you understand why we're not going to att
ack them tonight?"
"Very well. I agree to give them a day or so longer. But understand me, Yon Diggery. No matter what else happens, within the next two days I am going to see that Hartford dead."
Chapter Forty-Six
With a quarter of a mile remaining to the cover of a feather-tree copse at the bottom of the slope, Castor's panting reached an anguished level. The Fanist grabbed him with his upper two arms, lightly tossed him over his shoulder, and began to sprint for the small grove. As soon as he and Grantin had slipped under cover of the feather tree's drooping branches, Chom dived to the ground and pulled Grantin down beside him.
"What's the matter?"
"Someone comes."
"Where?"
"From behind. Someone or something is coming very fast."
Grantin and Castor squinted at the hillside behind them. Though the grass was a lush green, at its deepest point it stood barely a foot high and offered little scope for a stealthy advance. Grantin studied the hillside but spied no pursuers.
"I don't see anything. Are you sure someone is there?"
"Wait, I think see something, to the right about a hundred feet above the top of the ridge there's a sparkle of some sort in the sky."
Chom sped forward, crawling on his four elbows and two knees. The Fanist's gray hide blended perfectly with the fallen leaves, branches, and bare earth beneath the feather trees.
"Chom, what is it?" Grantin called, pointing at the approaching glimmer.
