David Grace - The Accidental Magician

"Not without my ring it won't! If I don't have a ring in ten days, I will rouse the Hartfords against you. Make it the one Grantin is wearing, if he is still alive, or another ring. I don't care. But you have ten days to deliver."

"If your nephew is here I will find him, and in much sooner than a week. Farewell, Greyhorn, and remember our bargain."

Hazar's image vanished instantly, as if he had detected Greyhorn's attempt to lay a spell against him. Greyhorn scowled at the empty lens. A few more long-distance discussions and he would complete his spell. Upon the proper final incantation he would turn Hazar's insides into mush and finish the scoundrel once and for all. But not before he got his ring!

Hazar pulled the drapes across the lens and opened the door to his chamber.

"Derma, come in here!" Hazar shouted to his secretary.

The young man who had admitted Mara crossed the threshold and entered Hazar's office.

"Yes, my lord, how may I serve you?"

"Derma, check all of our spies, agents, operatives, associates, friends, and sycophants in the border regions from one end of Grenitch Wood to the other. Report back here at once if anyone has seen a young man, possibly a Hartford, six feet tall, with brown hair and brown eyes, someone with a slick tongue and a shifty eye, who might well be wearing a bloodstone ring. Don't just stare at me, go now, and come back as soon as you have news!"

Derma mumbled a hasty "Yes, my lord," then turned and raced through the outer office.

Hazar felt the fatigue and frustration deeply now. He knew he needed to relax. Summoning another messenger, he put out a call for Lord Bolam's staff to send to his office a particular girl who had pleased him often these last few weeks.

Two hours later, relaxed and dissipated, Hazar was realigning his clothes when Derma knocked on the door.

"Yes, what is it?" Hazar called.

"My lord Hazar, I have news."

"Enter."

The door slid back and Derma hurried into the room.

"My lord, one of the outposts on the edge of Grenitch Wood has received a report that a young man such as you described has this morning entered the dog settlement known as Catlet. They believe he is still there now."

"Excellent, Derma, you have done well. Congratulate the captain and his cats on my behalf. Go find Rupert. Send him to me at once."

A few minutes later Rupert pounded into the room, sweating heavily and out of breath. Again ensconced behind his horseshoe desk, Hazar was the picture of calm, snakelike power.

"Rupert! So you finally arrived?"

"Yes, my lord Hazar. At your command."

"Rupert, you remember that unpleasant business about the Ajaj?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You did not kill him as I ordered, did you?"

"No, my lord."

"Now, it's true he has supposedly recanted his heresy, but don't you think it would have been more of an object lesson to do away with him?"

"Yes, my lord Hazar."

"Are you a politician or a man of action?"

"A man of action, my lord."

"For a man of action you took a politician's way out, didn't you?"

"Yes, my lord, I suppose I did."

"Rupert, I have another job for you. A chance to redeem yourself. Do you want it?"

"Yes, my lord, I do. I think only of serving you."

"Yes, I bet you do, Rupert. Very well. This is a simple mission and one which I fully trust you to complete. I don't want to see you again until you have succeeded. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Clearly?"

"I understand you very clearly, my lord Hazar. Whatever you command I will do."

"Very well. You are to travel to our outpost thirty leagues from the northern end of Grenitch Wood. You will seek out the captain of the guard in charge of the cats. One of his cats has spied an enemy in the town of Catlet. Have a cat guide you to this settlement. There you will find a young man, brown-haired, six feet tall, a Hartford, wearing on the index finger of his left hand a gold ring with a polished scarlet stone. This man must be immobilized, but not killed. The finger, the hand, or the arm then removed, whichever is most convenient, while he is still alive. After the ring and the member are separated fill a small container with a portion of his blood, then bring me the ring, the blood, and his head-no more. I caution you, do not kill him before you remove the ring or you will destroy it. Take care with this, Rupert. He is a dangerous man. If you give him warning, if you give him a chance, he will bring potent spells to bear against you. Fail me not!"

"I will not fail you. Lord Hazar. I will bring you the ring, the finger, the blood, and the head."

"Very good, Rupert. I am pleased with your obvious devotion to this task. Off with you, now, to the borderlands. Quickly, quickly-he won't remain there long."

Rupert bowed, turned, and sped from the room.

"I've got you, Grantin, I've got you now," Hazar mused to himself.

After a surprisingly pleasant cat-stew dinner Grantin retired to a rickety couch in Sara's two-room cabin. The strain of his crude sorcery and the deprivations of travel had weakened him more than he realized. Now, safe and well fed, he fell into a deep slumber and did not waken until late the next morning. He even enjoyed a respite from the worst side effects of the powerstone. Grantin could barely remember the five or six nightmares which had terrified his sleeping brain.

Bleary-eyed, Grantin reluctantly regained consciousness. It took him several seconds to lever his body into sitting position. His limbs felt numb and heavy. Without a doubt he had to rid himself of the ring. Perhaps Greyhorn would yet forgive him if he managed to remove the bloodstone and return it to his uncle.

"So you've come back to the living, have you, Master Grantin?" Sara called from the front door.

"Aajh, I… cough, eeech, cough, cough."

"The same to you, I'm sure. Is this how you normally greet people in the morning?"

"I… eemch… I don't feel quite myself just yet."

"Are you sick?"

"No, not exactly. I suppose I may as well tell you. A curse was laid on me by my uncle. Demons haunt me while I sleep. Sometimes it makes it hard to get up. If I could only find the right wizard I'm sure he could lift the curse and bring me back to health again."

Sara studied Grantin carefully, a calculating glint in her eye. He refused to meet her gaze. Obviously he could not tell her the truth about the ring. The last thing he needed was another person trying to fix his hand under the blade of a meat cleaver. All for her own good, Grantin consoled himself. A bauble such as this would only lead her to a bad end anyway. Still, for some reason, Grantin's duplicity bothered him.

"There wouldn't happen to be such a wizard in this vicinity?" he asked, focusing his eyes on a point above Sara's left shoulder.

"Maybe, maybe not. Wizards there are, but wizards such as you need, that's another question. Certainly none that will do it for free. Can you pay?"

"Only in heartfelt gratitude and a sincere promise to someday return tenfold any favors which are done me," Grantin replied with a poor imitation of sincerity.

"Goodwill means precious little to the outcast wizards here in Grenitch Wood. Have you no gold or silver? Gems or coins?"

Grantin shook his head.

"How about that trinket?" Sara asked, pointing at the ring.

Grantin considered the suggestion for no more than a tenth of a second. Without hesitation he replied:

"The ring-that is, I suppose, a possibility. I will say this: any wizard who cures me of my problem may have the ring for the effort of slipping it from my finger- though, to be honest, that might not be as easy as it seems. This lovely bauble is a family heirloom. In order to restrain my parting with it for some insignificant purpose, my father, when he put it on my finger, laid a powerful spell which prevents the ring's removal. Any sorcerer who is skilled enough to neutralize the injunction may keep it as his pay."