David Grace - The Accidental Magician

The over-deacons resumed their incantations. Lines of strain creased their faces as they joined hands and silently communed with their creation. In seeming climax to their spell the glowpods flashed briefly, went black, and then slowly returned to their normal illumination. The deacons slumped forward. In exhaustion, they released their hands. Wax muttered:

"It is done. He goes to Greyhorn."

"Excellent. Now to our other duties. You there. Gray- how are you called?"

"Castor," the Ajaj said, deliberately refusing to add the honorific "my lord."

"The famous Castor, is it-the Gray with backbone? Good, you're well suited to your mission tonight. Derma, get five guards and come with me. We'll follow out of sight just behind. Mara, Castor, go to the tumbles and bring forth Grantin's sleeping body and, if possible, the Fanist as well. Tonight I will conclude my dealings with the two Hartfords, uncle and nephew both."

Castor and Mara hesitated for only an instant, then, with no other course available, left Hazar's apartments and walked toward the Gate of Dread.

Mightily disturbed at the cruel fates which had dogged his heels, Grantin grumbled two or three sullen oaths and sought vainly for a comfortable position on Castor's stone floor. He thought it terribly unfair that a person of his breeding, intelligence, and tender sensibilities should be subjected to such repeated indignities. Were the world to function as it ought he would be back at Greyhorn's manor relaxing after a pleasant repast and planning his triumphs at the fair at Gist.

With the merest flip of his hand the doughnuts would float outward to center unerringly upon the winning pegs. So inundated would he be with marvelous prizes that within an hour or two he would be required to hire a sturdy lad to carry his winnings. Grantin smiled at the pleasant thought, then found his attention distracted by a knob of granite which poked insistently against the center of his spine. With ill grace he edged his lanky form slightly to one side and refocused his attention to happier circumstances.

The women, the lovely women. What a pleasant sight was that to imagine. When he was dressed in his smart new tunic, brushed leather trousers, richly adorned and manfully scented, the maidens would flock to him like stingwings to a flame. They should be tall, but not too tall. Soft and shapely, but not overly endowed, that kind tended to run to fat. Long-haired, but not too long. Hair of an excessive length became a nuisance on certain occasions.

The vision in his mind's eye rippled and adjusted itself as each new criterion was added to his list. Finally the picture was complete-a maiden striking, shapely, sensuous, yet soft, loving, complaint. The perfect girl. As the vision cleared, with more than a little surprise Grantin noted that the woman bore a striking resemblance to Mara. Somehow he found that disturbing.

A pebble crept stealthily forward and lodged itself beneath his calf. The image vanished. Grantin found himself wide awake and more uncomfortable than ever.

"I swear I was more at ease in the middle of the forest. How can the Ajaj sleep like this?" Grantin grumbled as he sat up and massaged several sore spots in his back.

"They do not," Chom's voice called out from the corner of the darkened parlor.

"Do not what?"

"Sleep like this. The open space disturbs them. Their beds are in niches carved into the walls."

"I should have known they wouldn't endure this discomfort. Doesn't this fellow have a guest niche or two where we could sleep?"

"We could," Chom answered with a gurgling laugh, "provided we squeezed in half our body at a time. It could become rather confining."

"Chom, do you think he'll be able to bring Mara? Do you think this is ever going to end? I'm so tired of living like a peasant!"

"I am certain that all of this discomfort will end," Chom answered reassuringly, "one way or another."

"I can think of one way. What's the 'another'?"

"There are several, really. They could chop your arm off and set you free, or they could chop off your hand and set you free, or they might execute you altogether, or-"

"Enough!"

"You asked for my evaluation of the possibilities."

"That was before you overwhelmed me with the optimism of your predictions," Grantin replied sulkily.

The termination of their conversation magnified the silence in Castor's apartment, a quiet which was soon broken by a new sound. From the jagged rocks beyond the parlor wall came the scratch and scrape of moving figures. Grantin heard the scuff of leather upon stone, then the soft chatter of pebbles skittering down the slope.

In the rock-walled darkness Grantin became disoriented. Though he was tempted to ask for Chom's advice, his fear of discovery would not allow him to speak. Minute by minute the sounds grew inexorably closer and more pronounced. At last Grantin heard the slab at the entrance to Castor's tunnel being dragged aside.

The scrape of the stone dissolved Grantin's paralysis. In an instant he jumped to his feet, crept to the tunnel exit, and slid his dagger from its sheath. Behind him Grantin heard the telltale hissing of Chom's horny feet against the floor. The scrapes and clicks were measurably louder now as their volume was amplified by the acoustics of the tunnel. A foot from the tunnel exit, a voice called out:

"Grantin, Chom, are you there? Don't be afraid. it's me, Castor."

Grantin let out a pent-up sigh and hissed into the darkness: "Why didn't you say something before? Poor Chom was extremely disturbed. He thought you were a Gogol trying to sneak up on us."

"Do not worry, his concern is not wasted. Hazar's guards will be here soon enough," Castor replied as he paced soundlessly across the room to where his glowpod hung.

Grantin could barely make out the Ajaj's form in the darkness. From behind came a renewed patter of scrapes and clicks, sounds which so startled Grantin that, in turning, his dagger flew from his hand and clattered to the floor.

"The guards…!" Grantin squeaked. He found his limbs paralyzed with fright. He was able to do no more than stare stupidly at the tunnel's black exit.

Castor silently excited his glowpod to a weak yellow-green radiance. At the edges of, its dim illumination Mara crawled into the room, then stood simultaneously straightening her garments and slapping the dust from the hem of her skirt.

"This is the female you asked me to bring," Castor announced, "the one called Mara."

Mara examined Grantin critically while the young Hartford was still searching for his voice.

"You are the same one after all," she whispered. After a brief pause she reached for Grantin's left hand. Pulling it sideways to catch the glowpod's feeble beams, she was able to discern the ruby stone which still adorned Grantin's index finger.

"Are you really the same Mara who gave me this ring in Alicon? Was it only a week ago? It seems like years."

"For me as well. Somehow I had not believed them, but seeing you here-did you really come for me?"

"Castor's told you, then? Yes, I've come a long way to find you. You have no idea of the indignities that Chom and I have endured. Oh, excuse me, I forget myself. Mara, allow me to introduce to you my friend and companion, Chom-as you can see, a Fanist of the highest order."

Now it was Mara's turn to be startled as she spied the native standing quietly in the shadows a few feet away.

"Do you know the danger you are in, Grantin?" Mara asked, turning back to the human.

"I can make a very good estimate, but I had no choice. It was so important that I find you…"

"My mother told me that Hartford men were all worthless and untrustworthy. I see now she was wrong. To think of the risks you've taken on my account! So much love, and all for nothing." To his complete dismay Grantin noticed that Mara had begun to cry. "I cannot do it. Even if your love is foolish and misplaced at least it is sincere. To think that a man, especially a Hartford, could feel that way without me using my enchantments, could risk everything for me alone, I don't know what to do. You are so young to die."