David Grace - The Accidental Magician

The prisoners were led down to the cellars and sub-cellars of the outer wall until at last the four, Grantin, Chom, Castor, and Mara, were tossed into a stone cell with a hay-covered floor. Taking no chances on a resurgence of Greyhorn's powers, Hazar had the wizard conveyed to a separate chamber away from Grantin's sight and hearing.

Once the guards had disappeared Grantin slipped to Chom's side and whispered in his earhole: "Why did you-"

"A moment." Castor waved his bands in an expansive gesture and silently mouthed an oath. The air in the cell seemed to thicken and congeal until a shiver ran through Grantin's body like the popping of a soap bubble.

"Now we can talk," Castor said. "They did not bother to neutralize my powers. I have pronounced a spell of secrecy."

"As I started to say, Chom, why did you step on my foot?"

"You were about to tell them about the spell which Mara could have used to remove the ring, were you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"-If Hazar had learned of that spell, he would have removed the ring at once and had us killed out of hand. The bloodstone provides our only bargaining power."

"Then you think I should cooperate with him?"

"You can't trust Hazar," Mara whispered excitedly. "Once he has used you all he can, he will kill us anyway."

"Let me see if I understand this. If Mara removes the ring, he will kill us. If I do not cooperate, he will kill us, and if I do cooperate, he will kill us. Can you think of anything we can do so that he will not kill us?"

"We could escape," Chom suggested. Grantin approached the bolts on the great door which sealed their cell. He pointed his bloodstone at the juncture of the metal. His forehead wrinkled in concentration, but no emanations appeared from the ring.

"It's no use. For the time being their spells have blunted my powers."

"I still have not recovered all my abilities," Chom said, "unfortunately my spells are not strong enough to destroy the door."

"Except for a spell of enchantment I can be of no help," Mara volunteered.

Now all eyes turned to Castor. The Ajaj carefully fingered the green cube in his pouch, then sighed in defeat.

"I, too, have some skills, but of a defensive nature only. Alone I could never batter down the walls."

"Well, if I am going to be killed in the morning," Grantin said testily, "at least I am not going to be half asleep when it happens. Right now I am going to get some rest. Maybe an idea will come to me in a dream."

The prisoners lay down on the straw, Mara placing her body distractingly close to Grantin's. Nevertheless, in a few minutes all were asleep.

It was after the ninth hour A.D. when a tapping sounded outside the cell door. Groggily Grantin arose from his pile of straw and, as if in a dream, watched the portal slide open. The hallways were still dark, illuminated only by the faint lime-green radiance from the glowpods. With a scraping sound a small form came forward to be silhouetted in the opening. Grantin reached out and shook Mara's shoulders. The sound of her awakening disturbed Chom and Castor, and all sat up and stared at the shadowed figure.

"Hurry, hurry-what are you waiting for?" a small voice hissed. "Many lives will be lost tonight in helping you win free. Hurry-the least you can do is be successful in your escape."

Castor recognized the voice of their rescuer. He struggled to his feet and urged his comrades to follow his lead. Hesitantly, as if in a daze, Grantin, Mara, and Chom also rose. Together with the Gray all followed Buster's limping passage down the hallway to the dungeon's exit.

It being Lord Hazar's custom to eat a late dinner, Castor had left the kitchen with the doctored meal a bit before the first hour. From that time on Buster had nervously paced the scullery with as frenetic a gait as his withered limb would allow. At the end of each pass across the floor he slowed his movements just long enough to cock an ear for the approach of heavy-booted feet. At any moment he expected to be swept up by Hazar's guards. By the second hour Buster had convinced himself that he was ready to accept his fate provided only that his plot succeeded.

It was a quarter past the second hour by the primitive water clock and no one came to shout the news of Hazar's passing. The droplets continued to trickle from the finely valved orifice, each one striking tiny spoon-shaped paddles and rotating the wheel a sixth of a revolution. The indicator crept forward at a snail-like pace until at last the clock, registered half past the second hour. Still no alarm. Buster hoisted himself up on a stool and massaged his swollen knee.

The third hour came and Hazar's quarters settled into their early-evening drone. Finally Buster could stand the suspense no longer.

Cautiously the Gray ascended the scullery stairs. He reached the main floor corridor without incident and was surprised to see that the normal complement of household guards was absent. Though it was worth his very life to do so, Buster could not now restrain his curiosity. Painfully he picked his way up the next flight to the apartment level. There, as well, the guards were absent. Without a doubt something was in the wind.

Buster retreated to the first floor and made his way to the front entrance. There one of the Gogols remained on guard, but not a member of the usual complement. Instead a young sub-acolyte had been pressed into service during the emergency. Armed with an unfamiliar sword and oversized helmet and breastplate, the young man leaned uneasily against the entryway wall while his hands busied themselves tapping the hilt of his short sword against the granite blocks. Affecting his most harmless pose. Buster limped up to the guard and hazarded a meek question.

"Excuse me, my lord. I have just finished my duties in the kitchen and I see that the usual guards are gone. Is something amiss?"

"The doings of your masters are no concern to you, Gray. Go about your business and leave me to my post."

"Of course, my lord. It is just that… well, I should be going back to my home. Normally one of the guards on duty escorts me to the gate and authorizes my passage back to the tumbles," Buster improvised. "I wanted to know if there were some problem that would cause me to remain here for the night."

"There's no problem and I cannot authorize you to stay. Go on to the gate and tell them Garyl said to let you through, but, mind you, stay out of Lord Hazar's way. Spies have taken shelter in your beloved tumbles and Lord Hazar and some of the guards have gone to capture them. If they find you out wandering loose at this time of night they might slice you first and ask questions later. Well, go on. What are you standing there for? I have my own concerns to contend with."

Buster paused for a moment, considering the possibilities, then came to a swift decision. Exaggerating his disability for the benefit of the guard, he limped down the five stone steps to the First Circle, then made his way to the Gate of Dread.

The guards on duty visited upon Buster an extra ration of curses and obscenities for disturbing them so late but finally allowed him to leave the city. In a short while he reached the lip of the ridge which overlooked the tumbles. After only a few moments' rest he began his tortured descent. By the time he reached the bottom his right leg throbbed constantly. The Gray clenched his teeth and ignored the pain. Three yards in front of him in the flat sandy area between the base of the tumbles and the stream stood soldiers, under-deacons, and Lord Hazar himself.

Drawing on the racial knowledge of thousands of years as prey, the Ajaj moved soundlessly until at last he could hear Hazar's interrogation of the prisoners. All his plans had gone awry. Hazar still lived, while Castor, the human, and the Fanist had been taken prisoner. Even Mara appeared to be in custody. Of all the conspirators he alone, a withered, crippled old Ajaj, remained. Then Buster heard the cruelest revelation of them all, that their plans had been destroyed by one of his own kind. Obron had betrayed them. A cold hatred washed through Buster's crippled frame. With it arose an idea born of the insanity which had long festered in what, for an Ajaj, was a distorted mind: the conviction that as soon as the Gogols left he would follow Obron to her apartments and there kill her with his bare hands.