David Grace - The Accidental Magician

Today all of these functions continued as they had over previous days, months, and years. But to these activities Hazar devoted only the smallest portion of his attention. Ore was removed, sorted, fragmented, checked, and discarded in a continuous process whose only important aspect, as far as Hazar was concerned, was the production of bloodstones. Each hour the overseer made his collection from the Grays' boxes, immediately thereafter depositing the raw gemstones on Hazar's table.

Hazar himself counted the stones and sorted them into piles by size, color, and shape. After entering a tally he personally carried the gems to the cutters' table to the left of the only entrance to the mine's main room. Hazar carefully deposited three more dull red-brown crystals on the green felt of the cutters' table, then removed two polished oval bloodstones from the box of completed work. In another two days he would, have enough stones to equip all of the key men in his army. Hazar paused in his efforts long enough to instruct his subordinate, the subdeacon Nimo, to commence an attack against the intruders.

Nimo, who had supervised the mining operations for Zaco, bowed and sprinted from the room. The sight of his hasty exit pleased Hazar. He would have Zaco's lazy subordinates whipped into shape in no time at all.

Why stop at a mere fifty stones? Why not a hundred, two hundred? Each would have a special cut, a facet etched in its underside which would make it resonate to an incantation of Hazar's own devising. If any of their wearers opposed King Hazar-Emperor Hazar-he would pronounce the spell. The concentration of great magical energies within the lattice of the stone itself, a psychic harmonic resonance, would shatter not only the gem but the hand of the wearer as well. Yes, he had made a mistake in sending Greyhorn an undoctored stone, one of the rings he had received as a completed unit from Zaco. Was it possible that Zaco had placed such a grating in the bottom of Greyhorn's ring? Possible, but he would never know. Zaco was long gone and the exact components of the spell that would fit Grantin's ring could not be discovered by any haphazard method.

Hazar toyed with a new batch of crystals. Strange that such a dull and ordinary-looking piece of rock could, with a bit of effort, be turned into a magnificent scarlet gem. Hazar was so entranced with the flaws, bumps, and contours of the crystals that he failed to notice Nimo's approach.

"Uh, excuse me, my lord," Zaco's supervisor stammered.

"Yes, Nimo, what has happened to our friends? Have they been disposed of? Tell me, has the human been captured alive?"

"No, my lord, you see…"

"No, my lord, what? He is not alive, or he has not been captured? I don't see at all, Nimo. You had better explain at once."

"My lord, great magic protects the fugitives. The acolytes did their best, but even their most powerful spells were unable to reach them. They had no effect whatsoever."

"Well, don't stop. What happened?"

"Monsters, my lord, demons!"

"What!"

"Demons, my lord, in the meadow between the grove and the mountain. They just appeared: one like a great beast with fangs and talons, ten or fifteen feet high, standing on two legs. Another at least ten feet high, all blue, with arms and waving tentacles; and a third like a huge pale green snake, five, perhaps ten, feet in diameter. They just appeared there. And then they started walking and moving around. It was terrible! They began to fight with each other. The beast attacked the blue thing, and while they struggled the snake ate them both."

"And then what?"

"With the two of them struggling in its mouth the snake squirmed away across the meadow and vanished."

"You mean to tell me these demons appeared, fought with each other, and in the middle of the struggle all three of them disappeared?"

"Yes, my lord, yes. Our magic was as nothing against them. If they were to get in here we would be defenseless."

"Stop whining! They did not get in here, and obviously the fugitives cannot control them any better than you can. They are gone, and that is that. Now, return to your post and watch. I want to know what the three of them do next."

Hazar dismissed Nimo, then turned his thoughts inward. The fact that Grantin had apparently learned to manipulate the ring was not too much of a surprise, but there were other disturbing implications in the sub-deacon's report. The three demons, each of a different color, indicated almost to a certainty that the Fanist and the Ajaj were also capable of manipulating formidable powers. True, their control was clumsy, but the energy was there.

Hazar cast his gaze around the chamber, taking stock of the assets he might employ in the coming battle. Huddled against the wall on Hazar's left sat a bitter but cowed Greyhorn. Shorn of his amulet, half starved, frightened, and hexed to the eyeballs, the sorcerer had been reduced to a shadow of his former power and vitality. Did he bear his nephew enough enmity to oppose him? Possibly, but returning to Greyhorn a measure of his power was a dangerous proposition. Instead of attacking Grantin it was equally likely that the wizard would turn his waning energies upon Hazar himself.

On the other side of the room, opposite Greyhorn's position and only a few feet from the mouth of the disposal chute, Mara's form was restrained in a heavy ironwood chair. Thin, silk-like cords fastened each of the girl's arms and legs to the frame.

Upon her capture Mara had displayed a notable inclination to uncooperativeness, intractability, and disrespect. Had he not been saving her against the possibility that he might have to use her as leverage, Hazar might have long since turned her over to his guards. Instead he had restrained his natural inclinations and had forced himself to be satisfied with more subtle forms of punishment.

The cords which restrained Mara were tied in single strands so that each time she attempted to move her bonds cut deeply into her flesh. If she struggled sufficiently they would draw blood. A last-ditch plan formed in the Gogol's mind. A moment later he issued a stream of orders.

"Slaves-you, you, and you. Drop those stones and come over here. I have work for you."

Three sickly men released their burden and fearfully ambled forward to receive Hazar's commands. "You," he ordered, "against the far wall is equipment. Fetch the bundle of line. As for you two, one of you will stand on the other's shoulders and bore a small hole in the rock above the ceiling brace. Through this hole you will pass one end of the rope."

The first slave returned with a translucent coil. Hazar gave him a final set of instructions. "You take one end of the rope that has been run over the beam and tie it to the chair where the woman now sits. The other end you will tie to a stake which you will drive into the floor next to my table, being careful to leave enough slack so that the chair is positioned a few inches inside the disposal chute." The slaves hurried off to carry out their orders.

Ten minutes later the legs of Mara's chair hung six inches below the edge of the disposal chute, its weight restrained only by the cord fastened to an iron stake driven into the floor at the edge of Hazar's desk. Hazar removed a dagger from his belt, examined its gleaming blade, tested the razor sharpness of its edge, then placed the unsheathed weapon on the corner of the desk not two feet from where the line stretched to the top of Mara's ironwood throne.

Hazar looked up from the crystals on his desk in time to see Nimo, followed by another subdeacon, race into the chamber.

"My lord, they come!"

"The fugitives? All of them?"

"Yes, my lord, all three walking side by side. They are surrounded by a spell of great power."

"What kind of spell? What does it look like? What are they doing?"