David Grace - The Accidental Magician

Hazar alone of all the defenders survived the counterattack. The sorcerer squeezed his hands in a grip so strong as to be painful. The bloodstones forced deep indentations into his flesh. Hazar struggled to formulate a yet more potent spell.

Grantin felt that he could not keep up his strength much longer. The attack might even now have forced him to halt had he not noticed a sign announcing that the mine's central chamber lay just ahead. Grantin, Chom, and Castor turned another corner. Ahead of them on the right-hand wall Grantin spied a doorway which he hoped marked the end of their search. With blind eyes he stepped over the stiffened form of a Gogol subdeacon who had been waiting too close to the bend in the tunnel. They were almost there.

Twenty feet from the doorway a great hammer blow struck the three attackers. Grantin felt as if he had stood inside a huge bell while outside a sledgehammer wielding giant struck the hour. Around him the field clouded almost to opacity. The three struggled to rebuild their defenses, but as they worked another massive blow crashed against their magic sphere. It seemed to Grantin that he could now see cracks on its milky surface.

Chom pressed his own stone tighter against his skull. At the same instant that Hazar loosed his third attack Chom released a bolt of his own. The two titanic energies met and, like a grounding of high-voltage potentials, their powers canceled in a display of sparks and flame and shards of ice.

The Fanist had employed great power in his beam but in so doing had exhausted his last reserves. He collapsed unconscious to the floor, with a consequent weakening of the protective shield. While Grantin struggled to rebuild their defenses Castor summoned his powers for what he hoped would be a triumphant effort. Energies flared in the corridor and spilled through the doorway into the main chamber, even so far as to singe the tips of Hazar's mustache. For a moment the wizard stood on the edge of unconsciousness. Grantin gave up all attempts to maintain the shield, and with a psychic pop the misty wall disappeared.

The atmosphere of the tunnel was filled with magic. Grantin felt as if he were walking between two huge cats whose bodies were charged with static electricity. He dared not launch an attack by sorcery even if he had the energy. With the drain of the spell ended, a bit of Grantin's physical powers returned. He staggered ahead and turned through the doorway and into the mine's central chamber.

Grantin saw Hazar three or four yards in front of him, glassy-eyed and swaying on his feet but not yet beaten. To Hazar's right waited another man, knife in hand. The second man was frozen stiff. The Hartford flicked his gaze around the room and in an instant spied Mara's bound form perched over the edge of oblivion.

The Hartford had not the slightest idea what to do next. He had not thought to remove a knife or sword from one of the fallen soldiers, and even if he had he doubted that he would be able to plunge the blade into Hazar's chest. The Gogol's eyes blinked and became clear. The wizard shook his head, looked at Grantin, and brought himself back to full awareness. With neither word nor gesture of warning the Gogol leaped forward and extended his arms to clench Grantin's throat.

For a fraction of a second the Hartford stood immobilized, then forced himself to fall backward out of Hazar's way. The two went down together. Hazar's fingers wrapped themselves around Grantin's throat. The Gogol summoned up all his remaining energy and channeled it to his hands. As he fell Grantin managed to double his right leg, which he pressed against Hazar's chest. With a wrenching kick he pushed against the sorcerer and propelled him away.

Both men rose to their feet and circled with arms outstretched. Grantin tried a kick at Hazar's stomach and barely avoided having his leg caught in an ankle-wrenching grasp. Hazar charged Grantin in a shambling run. The Hartford jumped to his left and struck at Hazar's onrushing head. Hazar's shoulder struck him a glancing blow. The wizard careened ahead and Grantin fell backward against the cutters' table. He put out his hand to steady himself, but instead of gaming firm purchase his fingers drove into the shallow, velvet-lined box at the edge of the table. His hand clenched automatically. As he staggered to his feet Grantin held in his palm eight of the finished stones.

Grantin pushed himself from the table, then backed across the room in hopes that he might be able to pull Mara's chair from the pit before Hazar attacked again. He was still ten feet from the edge, however, when Hazar returned to the attack. From his boot the wizard extracted a gleaming dirk. He waved the blade in small hypnotic circles.

Grantin tried to avoid watching the flickering highlights. Instead he concentrated on Hazar's eyes. For a moment he considered attempting to cast another spell but then abandoned the idea. Even with the amplification supplied by the gems the effort required would surely bring him to unconsciousness. Best to get rid of the stones, they were only a distraction now. Grantin opened his hand and allowed the gems to cascade to the floor. The sight of his precious bloodstones strewn about the chamber shocked Hazar. For an instant his attention was diverted.

In spite of his exhaustion Grantin was still a young man with a young man's reflexes. Instantly he seized the initiative. He grasped Hazar's left arm with both hands. Using all his strength, the Hartford turned the dagger away from himself and squeezed Hazar's wrist, hoping to break his grasp. The Gogol was startled by the suddenness of the attack. Hazar tried to move past Grantin. The combination of Grantin's forward movement and Hazar's attempted maneuver snapped the wizard's wrist like dry kindling. In the blink of an eye the point of the blade was reversed and forced to the hilt into Hazar's torso.

Grantin released his grip. An observer would have found it hard to determine which of the two men was more astonished. Hazar stood on rubbery knees, his head bowed, eyes staring in dumb amazement at the dagger's protruding handle and the crimson ribbon which spilled down the front of his gown. In openmouthed surprise the Gogol sorcerer pitched slowly forward and sprawled upon the floor.

Grantin watched the wizard's demise with the same emotion felt by an innocent bystander who has chanced to observe a natural catastrophe. He staggered toward Mara, then, engulfed by a roaring in his brain, toppled over, three feet short of Nimo's menacing blade.

An hour later the piercing cold of his rocky pallet forced Grantin awake. Groggy and disoriented, through bleary eyes he saw the still sleeping forms of his companions. Grantin pitched forward and crawled to where Castor lay.

"Castor, Castor, wake up," Grantin said, shaking the Ajaj's fragile body. The Gray moaned dully, fighting Grantin's attempts to awaken him. "Come on, Castor, you've got to wake up. We must leave here."

"What… Grantin?"

"That's it, Castor! Come on, get up."

The Gray opened his eyes and forced himself back to consciousness while Grantin repeated the procedure, although with greater vigor, with Chom. In a few minutes the Fanist abruptly awakened, and the three stood up to massage their aching bodies. As they walked to the main chamber Grantin explained what had happened. Once inside he recruited Chom's and Castor's help in hauling Mara's bound form from the refuse chute. Nimo's dagger was wrested from his fingers and used to slice the cords which bound her to the chair.

Grantin awakened the sleeping enchantress as he had done his two associates, but with gentler and more loving caresses than he had given either Chom or Castor. In point of fact Grantin struggled to restrain himself, as he found that the allure of Mara's tattered clothing strained him to the limits of his self-control. Mara resisted Grantin's attempts to awaken her until at last he gently slapped her. Upon the first impact Mara let out a horrifying scream, leaped from the chair, and threw her arms around him. Instinctively Grantin wrapped his arms around her and caressed her back through the rips in her gown. He had begun to kiss Mara's neck when behind him he heard Chom ask Castor: "Will they begin mating now?"