David Grace - The Accidental Magician

"To the contrary, you did very well. Perhaps you have in your blood the power to be a great wizard."

"I did very well, except that I failed. I don't know where she is and I don't have the energy to try again."

"There is no need to look again within the ring. Her home is unmistakable. She could be in only one place."

"You recognized it? Where? Where is she?"

"Your Mara lives in the seat of the Gogol empire, the five-sided city of Cicero."

Mara disliked enforced idleness and felt trapped and frustrated. Almost two days had passed since her interview with Hazar, and still she had not been assigned further duties. That in itself was an odd circumstance. Were Hazar of a mind to punish her, his vengeance would have likely touched her by now. On the other hand, it was not like Hazar to allow his coveted apartments to be occupied by nonproductive persons. If Hazar were not the most decisive of men Mara might have concluded that he had not yet reached a decision on her conduct, but the wizard was not a man to delay.

Each wall toward the center of town was slightly lower than the one which preceded it. From her room Mara was able to glimpse a portion of the Central Plaza. Human and Ajaj commerce choked the narrow streets and imparted to Cicero a buzzing energy. At last the dingy stone confines of her room became unbearable. Slipping out into the zigzag corridor, she made her way to the steps. Now, in this time of peace between the overlords, the first two sets of doors which led to the First Circle stood open. Only the outer portal was closed.

The sentry allowed Mara to pass with little more challenge than a leering glance. So long as Mara occupied the upper floor she could become the involuntary consort of no one below the level of overdeacon. Of course, should she fall from Lord Hazar's pleasure, he might assign her a stint in the guards' pleasure room. This happy possibility consoled the sentry and caused him to smile even more broadly as he watched Mara's retreating form.

Eventually Mara found that she had walked all the way to the Gate of Pain at the south wall of the city. Here Nefra's aquifers delivered their supply of fresh water. Pipes cut through underground passages guarded by Nefra the Cruel's personal soldiers branched out to all portions of the city.

Best not to tarry here. It was well known that Nefra was Hazar's most implacable foe. Perhaps even now Hazar's spies watched her for some sign of treason. For a brief instant Mara studied the Gate of Pain, then turned to the Fourth Spoke Road and headed for the Second Circle. Reaching the end of the passage, she cut sharply to the right to place the bulk of the second wall between her and Nefra's gate.

Mara had barely turned the corner when a yielding object struck her in the waist, mid-thighs, and ankles. Abruptly she pitched forward wildly, grasping at thin air. The impediment fell with and beneath her and cushioned her fall. When she managed to right herself she saw that she had run into an Ajaj, who was now futilely clutching the open end of a sack of poundfruit. Several of the large yellow spheres had bounced from the bag during the collision and now rolled free.

From the grizzled fur around his muzzle and the snappings of his uncoordinated arms, Mara discerned that this was an aged Gray. With painful, spastic motions he slowly raised himself into a sitting position, then, spying Mara, exerted himself with astonished horror. Many an Ajaj now adorned a Gogol matron's collar for a lesser insult than this. Heedless of his own scrapes and obvious pain, the Gray rushed to Mara's side and sought to help her to her feet.

"I am sorry, my lady. Excuse me, please. It was all my fault. I didn't mean it. Are you hurt? Please excuse me. I'm sorry, really I am. Forgive me. Please forgive me." The Gray fairly cringed in abject horror at Mara's expected wrath.

"No, I'm all right. It was my fault. Accept my apologies," Mara said, rising to her feet.

"Your fault-oh, how gracious of you, my lady! How magnanimous, how wonderful. No, it could not possibly be your fault. The error was all mine. How fortunate of me in my clumsiness to chance upon a great lady such as yourself. Here, at least let me give you some small token of my sincere sorrow for this incident."

The Gray hobbled to his sack and removed a fine, mature specimen from the bottom of the bag.

"You're limping. Are you badly injured?"

"Oh, thank you, ma'am. No. I've had this limp for many a year now. Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Allow me to make a present to you of this fine poundfruit. I hope in some way it will make up for the inconvenience I've caused. Perhaps after enjoying it you'll think kindly of poor old Buster."

"Buster-is that your name?"

"Yes, ma'am, and many a year I've served in Lord Hazar's scullery preparing meals for fine ladies such as yourself."

Mara hefted the fruit and smiled approvingly.

"Thank you. Buster. I will remember your kindness."

"Thank you, my lady. I hope to see you again under more pleasant circumstances. Good day."

Buster, with some effort, hoisted the sack over his shoulder and disappeared down the Second Circle. After a moment or two, Mara followed. In a few minutes she reached the entrance to her apartments, again passed the grinning sentry, and made her way upstairs. The walk had cleared her head and drained the tension from her muscles. Also, she noticed, it had given her something of an appetite.

Setting the poundfruit down on her table, she brought forth a dirk and slit a wedge-shaped portion from the rough, waxy skin. After pulling back the rind she sliced more deeply into the meat and pulled out a dripping chunk, the inner edge of which was encrusted with small black seeds. After shaving off an inch or so of the section she was able to carve the remaining trapezoidal piece into bite-size fragments which she ate with great satisfaction.

Mara picked up the discarded rind and prepared to reinsert it into the fruit to keep the rest of the delicacy fresh. In a few minutes the skin would heal over, the cuts becoming invisible and airtight.

She had just succeeded in affixing the lower edge when she noticed an unusual addition to the core. There amid the seeds and the blushing pink meat was a white shape. Reaching inside, her fingers touched an object that was smooth and brittle. In a second she had extracted a folded piece of heavy white paper and read its message:

Mara, you do not sit high in Lord Hazar's favor, but a woman such as you has many friends. Allow me to extend my power and generosity to you. I offer myself as a friend in need. Should you wish at any time to avail yourself of my comradeship give your message to the one from whom you received this item.

With great sincerity,

Nefra

At dawn Grantin made good use of Shenar's pantry. His eyes red-rimmed from the combination of bloodstone-generated dreams and a stomach-wrenching fear of what lay before him, he began his preparations. To one side he laid two loaves of coarse bread and a block of cheese. Rejected were the remnants of the crossberry pie and the roast chicken liberated from Shenar's coldbox. A packet of dried meat joined the bread and cheese as well as four barely ripe jelly apples and a sack of dried corn. Grantin had almost finished his selection when Chom joined him in the kitchen.

"I know what you are doing," Chom announced proudly. "It's called 'packing,' is it not?-the ritual by which you gather together sacks of items which you must bring with you when you travel."

Not without cause did Grantin detect in the Fanist's announcement an undercurrent of derision.

"It's easier to carry food than to hunt for it along the way, and more conducive to regular eating as well," Grantin lectured as he busied himself wrapping the foodstuffs and placing them in a knapsack he had earlier discovered. "Surely you didn't travel all the way here without supplies of your own?"