David Grace - The Accidental Magician

Before the remaining lords of Cicero were even aware that their guards had been disposed of and the doors jammed, Hazar and his men fled the Central Plaza. Inside Topor's market a crude gunpowder fuse sputtered as it ate its way through the lining of the under-deacon's pack. Chemical explosives had always proved too dangerous for successful use in battle, but Hazar, with a true genius for murderous schemes, had realized that they would function magnificently as an instrument of wholesale slaughter.

No more than fifteen seconds after Hazar had left the meeting the crude package of black powder and phosphorus exploded with a dull, thudding roar. The roof of the market, which was also the floor of the meeting chamber, was blasted by a fiery bolt a yard in diameter. The explosion filled the conference room with sizzling fragments of wood and stone.

Ten minutes later the whole of Topor's market, the conference room and its inhabitants alike, were naught but a scattered pile of blackened, smoking fragments. In one stroke Hazar had become lord of all Cicero.

In triumph Lord Hazar strode back to his apartments, followed by a fawning retinue. At rapid intervals messengers and underlings approached him, were admitted through the cordon of guards, and delivered reports of unconditional success. Hazar had almost reached the entrance to his quarters astride the Gate of Fear when Derma caught his attention.

"My lord, you recall that you instructed me to have our spies watch Saschim the tailor in case he might receive information about Greyhorn's nephew?"

"Derma, that is ancient history. We captured the Hartford without any help from Trecko."

"Yes, my lord, but we never countermanded the order. Trecko has continued to watch and now reports that Saschim has received a communication from Yon Diggery."

Hazar halted and gave Derma his full attention, "And what is the nature of this communication?"

"That Yon Diggery is on the Hartford's trail. The tailor is to keep his ears open and inform Diggery of any important events which might take place in Cicero."

"Specifically, Derma, was the tailor told where this Grantin is now?"

"Not exactly, my lord, only that he escaped the city with the Fanist and the rebel Gray, and that they travel through the wilderness on a northwesterly course."

"Northwesterly… There is nothing there, nothing except Zaco's mine. For a bumpkin and an imbecile that one has managed to give us more than enough trouble. We must not underestimate him again. Tell Croman, Jasper, and Wax to begin work at once on the spell of magnificent transport. If and when Grantin reaches the mine I must be there waiting for him. And tell them to make the spell strong enough to carry three."

"Three, my lord?"

"Myself, his uncle Greyhorn, who may be of some use after all, and the enchantress Mara. If he is really smitten with her, she may be just the lever I need to finish him off."

On the third day after the escape from Cicero the forest began to thin, its place now taken by isolated copses of ironwood and tamarack dotting the shoulders of low, rolling hills. Late that afternoon Grantin, Chom, and Castor crested yet another gentle rise and received their first glimpse of their objective.

The land fell away in an easy slope for a mile or two, at last opening on a fertile basin widening five or ten miles distant into a lush, forested plain. At the far border of the forest a huge rock escarpment, at least a two miles in diameter and almost a mile high, reared upward. The forest halted half a mile from the base of the cliff, as if the soil there were poisoned. The narrow band of yellow-brown earth which encircled the edges of the tower created a no-man's land.

Chom strained his telescopic vision but was able to discern few details. The Fanist reported pockmarks in the cliff which might be caves. They could not see the lake itself. None of the travelers doubted, however, that in the center of the tower was a great depression filled with water and centered with a barren island within might or might not be Zaco's mine.

"We will camp here tonight and tomorrow press on to the lake," Castor announced. "Assuming we can discover the trail used by Zaco's men, we should be able to reach the rim by tomorrow evening."

"And what do we do when we get there?" Grantin asked peevishly.

"If Shenar's spell can be removed from Chom, then between the three of us we have great powers. I suggest that we pool our abilities in the creation of one great spell."

"I did not realize. Castor, that you were an accomplished sorcerer."

"Before my dispute with the Gogols I was a senior empather on Hazar's staff. I have been trained to link my consciousness with the state of the psychic energy around me. Beyond that I carry with me my family's treasure, a source stone, which allows the projection of my spells in a manner similar to that employed by your ring."

Somewhat reluctantly Castor opened the pouch strapped to his waist and extracted a small bundle of silky white cloth. With delicate fingers the Ajaj unwound the material to reveal the milky green cube of his source stone.

"We may yet prove more formidable than we appear."

Grantin had not forgotten the blue gem hidden beneath the skin on Chom's forehead and cast a sly glance at the Fanist's impassive form. For a few seconds Chom remained silent, pondering whether or not to reveal his own treasure. At last, with an imperceptible shrug, he reached his decision. Using all four arms, he kneaded the skin of his forehead until the two layers of the flap split. Chom peeled the tough gray hide upward to reveal an electric-blue stone seated in a hollow in the homey flesh. The Fanist grasped the gem with two fingers of his lower right hand and delicately pried it loose.

"This," he said, holding out the blue marble in the hollow of his right palm, "is the companion given to me by my people in aid of my quest. Were it not for the awesome consequences which could flow from the failure of our mission, I could not allow you to know of it, but the fate of all the humans and possibly all of my people hangs upon our success. Should we survive I beg you not to reveal our secret."

"Should we survive? Do you mean you've come all the way out here assuming that we are going to be killed?"

"That seems to be the most likely possibility," Chom admitted, "but of course we have no choice."

"No choice! I have a choice. I am in the prime of my life! We could still escape back across the Guardian Mountains. Perhaps the Gogol attack will fail after all. At the very least we could alert the Hartford soldiers. The more I think about it, the more I think we would be better advised to employ all of the powers we possess to defend the Hartford homeland rather than in a gallant but suicidal attack on Zaco's stronghold."

"No, the Gogols would merely delay their plans. They might wait a month or a year, but sooner or later, if allowed to continue to mine the stones, they would equip an invincible army. We must sacrifice ourselves if necessary to stop them."

Grantin threw his hands up in impotent frustration. Less than a mile away, Rupert and Yon Diggery also debated their course of action, but with vastly different goals.

"I say we should attack them now, take the ring, and be done with it," Rupert argued.

"Rupert, you must learn patience. When you have lived by your wits as long as I have, you will learn to plan your attack so as to obtain the greatest reward possible. What do we gain if we defeat them now?"

"Vengeance upon those who have destroyed your associates."

"My associates, as you so politely call them, would have cut my throat in a second had they thought they could get away with it and make a profit on the enterprise. Don't worry about them. There are plenty of freebooters back in Grenitch Wood."