David Grace - The Accidental Magician

"It's late. Come back in the morning."

"This will not wait until morning. There's a Gogol killer in the hills above our homes."

A moment later a scrape of stone signaled the opening of Obron's door. Castor entered. Behind him the stone returned to its place. Obron and the other two members of her triad stood on the far side of the room, backs against the wall, a glowpod in each left hand and a knife, a spear, or a club in each right.

When the light was sufficient for Obron to make out Castor's features, the weapons were lowered and the decision maker came forward to greet her guest.

"Castor, I thought that we had finished the matter of the Gogols. What has happened to make you shake us from our beds at this time of night?"

"It appears, Obron, that your warning was most accurate. Tonight as I prepared for sleep a Gogol spell enveloped me. It was only with the greatest effort that I was able to overcome the assassin. For the time being he sleeps in a cleft at the top of the ridge. By the second hour he will awaken. A decision must be made before then."

"Castor, you put us all in a most unfortunate position. You offend our masters, and even when requested by your own brethren to cease these efforts still you persist. Now, having brought down the vengeance of our lords, you come to me for advice."

"Not advice, Obron. I do you the courtesy of telling you what is taking place. As for solutions, there are at least three:

"One, I can continue in the future as I have in the past, kill the Gogols who attack me and, sooner or later, die at their hands-"

"-And bring ruin to all of us in the bargain," Obron interrupted.

"To continue: secondly, I could dispose of the assassin who haunts me and flee to the east, seeking sanctuary with the Hartfords across the mountains."

"And again bring ruin on your brothers, for we all know the penalty which will be exacted against us if even one of us is so impolite as to shirk his duty to our masters and leave the village without their permission."

"Thirdly," Castor continued, "I can retract all that I have said, keep my protective spell strong, and at the same time admit the error of my ways. In this way the village, and perhaps even I myself, will be spared the ultimate penalty for disobedience.

"Before you offer your suggestions let me tell you that I have decided to take the third path. I hereby, now and formally, retract my suggestion that we should rise up as a group against the Gogols. It was foolish advice. None of us is skilled at war. Besides, I now realize that none of my fellows would stand with me."

"And…" Obron prompted.

"And I hereby agree to make no further statements with regard to our masters. Again, it would be a waste of time and breath. Further, I authorize and request that you consult with this assassin when he? awakes and tell him the news of my recantation and promises of good behavior."

"On the surface. Castor, your words are proper and correct. They warm my heart, yet, for some reason, they seem to contain a chill of obstinacy and sarcasm. You will obey your promises to the letter, of that I am sure. But I sense that your mind is in ferment, teeming with other plans against which you have made no oath. No, tell me nothing further-I do not want to know. I wish you fortune and health in whatever you do, but I warn you to be careful, for neither I nor any of your fellows are strong enough to stand between you and your fate."

At the conclusion of Obron's statement Castor bent his head, lower than a nod but not so deep as a bow, an implied admission of the truth of Obron's prediction. Castor turned on his heel, bent low upon entering the passage, and picked his way back to his own apartment.

In the narrow streets of Alicon the night took on a murky complexion. Orange torches flickered here and there but gave off little light. In the randomly situated swellings of the road the thin pink light of Fane's first moon, Dolos, tinted the earth. The second moon, Minos, would rise full and pale yellow in another hour or two bathing the landscape in the two moons' peculiar crooked beams.

Grantin now wandered the streets somewhat at loose ends. After a few less than subtle hints from first Flourice and then, later, the tavern keeper himself, he had settled his score and left the comfort of the tavern's patio. In payment he had been required to give Flourice the silver entrusted to him by his uncle. A moment later she returned with four coppers in change. In recompense for her somewhat haughty attitude Grantin would have been satisfied to leave a tip of five or six irons, but he had none in his purse. Flourice's insistent glare deterred him from asking for change. He left one copper on the tray and dropped the other three into his purse. Now the change from the silver, together with the two coppers given him by Greyhorn, left Grantin with a total of five.

Coincidentally Greyhorn had instructed him to pay five coppers for the ring which he had been sent to fetch. Well, perhaps by reason of the force of his personality, some spirited haggling, the exercise of his enormous powers of perception and persuasion, Grantin supposed that he might convince the fellow to let him have the ring for less. And if not, well, he could always give the messenger a copper or two as a down payment and return later with the additional money.

Unfortunately Grantin had no other money. Could Greyhorn be persuaded to advance the rest? After all, it was Greyhorn's ring. No, that was not a good idea. The silver and two coppers also had been Greyhorn's. He might be a bit perturbed to find that Grantin had spent them on steak and wine and lodgings, leaving his errand unperformed.

In the past Greyhorn had displayed unpleasant habits when angered. In such situations he often gave free rein to his darker proclivities. Grantin, in particular, remembered the unfortunate gardener who had foolishly cut down Greyhorn's dragon thistles, mistaking them for weeds. The last time Grantin had seen the fellow, in place of hair there protruded from the gardener's head four clumps of dandelions.

Grantin decided it was definitely a bad idea to return home lacking both the money and the ring. But if the ring cost five coppers and Grantin only had five coppers, then that left no coppers for a bed tonight or breakfast tomorrow. Clearly a disagreeable situation all the way around.

Ahead of Grantin and to his left flamed two torches marking the entrance to one of Alicon's three hostelries. The inns, named in order of their comfort, were the Weary Traveler's Rest, the Savoy, and Master Percival's Renowned Out Inn. The sign between the torches proclaimed this to be the Savoy. Grantin went inside.

"Good evening, sir. What is your pleasure?" the innkeeper's wife asked him.

"One of your excellent rooms for the evening, if you please," Grantin replied politely.

"Of course, sir. We have one available on the second floor overlooking the river. Only last week we fitted it with a new mattress and pillow."

"Just the thing. I'll take it."

"That will be three coppers and five irons, sir, in advance."

"Naturally I understand your very reasonable precautions, but in this case they are unnecessary. I am Grantin, nephew of the great wizard Greyhorn, whose magnificent manor house lies a mere two leagues down the road. Through an unfortunate set of circumstances I find myself forced to remain in town this evening instead of returning to my own luxurious quarters. This being all unplanned, I naturally am a bit short of ready cash, but fear not, there is no problem. I am here on business for my uncle and I assure you that as soon as I complete it I will fetch your coppers and return…"

In the midst of Grantin's statement the innkeeper's wife began shaking her head. Now, unable to hold her peace any longer, she interrupted him.