David Grace - The Accidental Magician

Rupert recalled that some dozen years before another deacon had been forced to flee to the borderlands under similar circumstances. The man was now a bandit chieftain rumored to make his headquarters in this vicinity. Rupert had little doubt that he would be allowed entry into the gang. If nothing else, he had valuable spells to contribute, together with information on Lord Hazar's plans.

Rupert began to scheme with the utmost deviousness. The outlaws would become allies in his search for Grantin and the ring-always the ring. Let his new associates take the brunt of Grantin's defenses while he, at the appropriate moment, cut off the Hartford's hand and appropriated the ring. Then he would make the pipsqueak pay!

Rupert pushed himself to his feet and examined the sky. It was late afternoon. He would have to move fast to find shelter before full night. And tomorrow, tomorrow he would search out his new comrade, the bandit chieftain, Yon Diggery.

Though it was not so fine as his uncle's manse, Grantin was, nevertheless, highly pleased with Shenar's Castle. A fine pigeon-fluff bed of truly immense proportions dominated the late wizard's bedroom, and a well-stocked larder provided Grantin and Chom with a wealth of food.

When their inspection had revealed no loyal retainers who might avenge Shenar's death, Chom and Grantin returned to the basement. They unceremoniously tucked the wizard's body into a potato sack and carried it to the garden for burial. There beneath the blossoms of a great saucerflower bush, Shenar was laid to rest.

Returning to the castle, Chom and Grantin barred the doors and took themselves to separate bedrooms. After only a few hours sleep, tortured by vague nightmares and a sense of tense weariness, Grantin awakened to search out Shenar's pantry. Slipping back easily into the duties he had performed for so long under Greyhorn's tutelage, he prepared a meal of cheese, fruit, bread, spiced meat, cookies, and cold marinated vegetables, to be washed down with a thick, bittersweet wine. At about the time he finished laying out the meal Chom entered the small dining area just off the kitchen.

"We are in luck, my friend," Grantin called to Chom. "For all his faults our host set a nice table. Don't be shy. Come in, sit down. There's plenty for both of us."

With an expression of vague uneasiness Chom slipped into one of the high-backed chairs which bordered the table. Again the Fanist was confronted with the peculiar human customs regarding food. Also, after his adverse experience with humans Chom had become a bit suspicious. Might these concoctions contain drugs whose existence would be hidden by their peculiar seasonings?

Chom studied the fare with a critical eye. For a few seconds Grantin hesitated, waiting for the Fanist to eat but then hunger overcame his manners. Chom watched the young human load his plate with chunks, gobs, puddles, squares, and scoops of various substances and then shovel one after another into his mouth with the use of curiously constructed metal implements. Unlikely that the items were drugged. Well, Ajax said to experiment.

Following Grantin's lead, he loaded his plate, then in a random fashion inserted the substances into his mouth. On a slab of dark yellow cheese he spread half an inch of crossberry preserves, then topped the appetizer with two slices of marinated potato. Next he ingested a molasses-brown cookie dipped in pepperroot relish and washed the lot down with a half-pint swallow of wine.

Chom was the victim of harshly contrasting sensations. His throat alternately burned and tingled while the organs which in Fanists passed for taste buds appeared to have been awakened from a millennia-long slumber. These sensations were beyond any of Chom's expectations. Thrilled with the effect, he began to prepare further mouthfuls with the coordinated use of all four hands. A slice of meat was wrapped around a chicken leg and eaten in two bites, bone and all. With his upper and lower left arms he drowned half a jelly-apple pie with spoonfuls of pickled beets, which concoction was conveyed in heaping spoonfuls to his anxiously awaiting gullet. Amazing! Chom decided that the human concept of food was an extraordinarily good idea after all.

With great deliberateness Grantin turned his eyes away from the nauseating combinations which the Fanist was ingesting. When the edge was off his hunger and Chom's devastation of the buffet had declined Grantin began a conversation with the native.

"Do you live around here?" he asked Chom.

"Nearby, no. My community is beyond the mountains, in the land of the Hartfords."

"Then we're both a long way from home. I'm a Hartford as well, but as a result of various difficulties I find myself exiled here. for the time being at least. And you- were you expelled from your tribe?"

"Expelled, thrown out, no. I am, you might say, studying humans, a traveler, a tourist. Yes, that is a good description, I am a tourist. And you, you are an apprentice wizard?" Chom asked.

"What makes you think that?"

"The fact that you wear such a ring."

Grantin shook his head sadly and replied: "This ring is not enough to make me a wizard. If you want to know the truth, as of two days ago my occupation was that of apprentice factotum to my uncle Greyhorn. My greatest ambition was to survive long enough to inherit his properties. The ring is a mistake, a folly, a horrible error. It is one with my flesh and cannot be removed. It is a great curse."

"Certainly there must be a way of removing-" Chom began reasonably.

"You are not going to cut off my finger. You are not! You are not!" Grantin screamed and banged his fist on the table.

"I was not thinking about removing your finger," Chom replied pleasantly, "though I suppose that would be one possibility. No, I had in mind a counterspell."

"I have tried. Even Uncle Greyhorn's sorcery was insufficient proof against this blasted ring. Unless, of course…" Grantin's face visibly brightened. "… unless, of course, you have a spell…"

"No, but I understand a bit about such stones. There may be a spell which can coax the answer from the ring itself. Not only does such a gem project your incantations outward, but it gathers in energy as well."

"Do you think that such a spell might be contained in Shenar's library?"

"Library?"

"The books containing records of Shenar's sorcery."

"Books-I've heard about such things. We do not use them. Our magic instead is stored here," Chom said, tapping his forehead. "I think I would like to see this library. If you can read the books to me I will know if you find the right spell."

Leaving the litter of crumbs, bones, spilled wine, and fragments of food, the two beings, not yet friends but far from enemies, headed for Shenar's library at the back of the manor house. On a workbench fronted by a low horizontal window, vials, canisters, and jars stood in comfortable disarray. The bench itself was stained with potent substances. Chips and mars tattooed its hardwood planks.

To the right of the table stood three ranks of cupboards ten feet tall. Along the back wall a much-used stepladder stood at ease. To the left of the workbench was a short wall fronted with low, open shelves. A doorway led to an alcove beyond. It was in this alcove, sealed off behind the left-hand wall of the wizard's laboratory, that Grantin and Chom discovered the library.

The paper in use on Fane was handmade, heavy, thick, and brittle. The printing also was done by hand or, in rare cases, through the use of carved type laboriously set a letter at a time. Consequently books tended to be thick, oversize, and bulky. Shenar's collection was no exception. His library of perhaps a thousand books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves on three of the four walls.