David Grace - The Accidental Magician

"I have been thinking. Perhaps if we just waited a bit, Rupert and Yon Diggery might trigger the spell on their own and save us the risk."

"Need I remind you, Grantin, that if they do so you are not protected and yours will go up with the rest of the stones."

Grantin instantly leaped to his feet and began making preparations for the hex. "Well, don't just sit there. Let us get this over with before they kill us all."

Grantin, Chom, and Castor visualized a protective shield similar to that which had served them in their attack on Zaco's mine. In one edge of the shield they left a tiny hole which pointed at Grog Cup Mountain. The four clenched hands and recited the last line of the hex.

At the instant the last syllable was uttered they patched the hole which they had left in the screen. For one second, two, three, nothing happened. Then far to the west there was a flicker of light, then another, then a third, followed by a brilliant red-orange fireball which, for a brief instant, illuminated the entire sky.

"Gone, all gone. The mountain blew itself to bits, and Diggery and Rupert along with it."

"Probably."

"What do you mean 'probably,' Chom? No one could have survived that explosion."

"They could have filled their pockets with the bloodstones and left with the slaves before the explosion."

"But wouldn't the bloodstones they carried with them have exploded as well?" Mara asked.

"I am sure that all the bloodstones in the Gogol lands, whether at Grog Cup Lake or in Cicero or anywhere else, were destroyed, but whether they exploded with the violence of the mountain I cannot say. They might have just melted. Do not forget, the crystals in the mountain were locked beneath tons of rock which acted to compress their energies. Carried loose in a pocket, they might have done no more than bum the skin or break a few bones as their energy diffused into the open air."

"Chom, I refuse to think any further on such a depressing topic," Grantin said. "Now, have I performed all of the miracles which you two have asked of me? Have I not vanquished the Gogols, saved the human race, protected the Ajaj, bested the villains, rescued the fair maiden, liberated my misguided uncle, and set the world to rights in less than a month? Am I not now permitted to return home in peace and enjoy the fruits of my labors? Can we not now, at last, think of happier topics?"

Castor and Chom made no reply other than to exchange their now familiar looks of resignation. They turned their backs on Grantin and advanced to the most forward part of the bubble. There they sat, side by side, to watch Pyra's rays dapple the peaks with ocher, scarlet, and russet beams.

Grantin was satisfied with their response, which he took to be an acknowledgment of the validity of his claims. With a slight mental kick he urge the bubble forward and was rewarded with a gentle lurch, followed by a soft pressure about his thigh, waist, and upper torso.

Mara slipped her right arm around Grantin's waist and cuddled her body against his. Again Grantin became acutely aware of the rips and tears which Hazar had so strategically placed in her costume.

"And what of me, Grantin? Are you going to abandon me homeless and penniless?"

"Abandon you? How could you say such a thing? Only an unfeeling cad, an insensitive rogue, would do such a thing."

"Then, even knowing that I was Hazar's enchantress, you still want me?" she asked, pressing her ample figure even more tightly against his body.

"Want you?" he exclaimed, increasing the pressure of his arms. "How could any man not want you? Your past means nothing. It is the future which is important. A future which belongs to us. Naturally you will stay with me. My uncle's properties must, of necessity, come under my control during the period that he is indisposed, no matter how burdensome the administration of so much wealth might be."

"You mean it, then? You are sincere? You want me to come with you, live with you in your house, minister to your needs?"

"I absolutely require that you live with me and minister to my needs," Grantin replied fervently.

"I don't know what to say, Grantin. You truly love me, then? I will give you this one last chance to change your mind. Tell me what you wish me to say to you."

"Yes," Grantin moaned as he nuzzled Mara's left ear.

"Very well, then, I accept your proposal. I will marry you."

In some indefinable way Greyhorn's stodgy old manor house had changed over the preceding six months. It now seemed lighter, airier, washed with more brilliant colors, adorned here and there with subtle feminine touches.

From his position just inside the second-floor broom closet Grantin could hear the clatter of Mara's retreating steps. She had searched for him in the kitchen, the parlor, and Greyhorn's downstairs study, and now she was making a tour of the second floor library where the adventure had all begun. By now Grantin could detect the subtle echoes of frustration in the snap of her steps and the thumpings which accompanied her movement of the chairs as she searched beneath the library table on the off chance that he might be hiding there.

Three weeks before, Grantin had discovered the false panel in the broom closet. During the intervening days he had made good use of the hidey-hole for those increasingly frequent occasions when Mara had dreamed up another task for him to perform.

Initially he had not minded cleaning the manor house, the occasional repair here and there, but of late Mara's ambitious homemaking had pushed him to the brink of his patience. Dear, sweet woman that she was, she had an annoying ability to formulate tasks whose number always exceeded by one those which Grantin could perform during normal waking hours. As a result, except for last Trueday evening when he had managed to slip out before dinner, and, of course, Amisday when he had sent Mara on an errand, and then Playday afternoon while she was out picking berries (but that didn't count since it was a day of relaxation anyway), Grantin had been unable to spend sufficient time in the local taverns and gaming rooms to make even a small dent in the prodigious income from Greyhorn's many properties. Why, it was getting so he had to spend five or six days out of ten working like a slave, and he a moneyed and respected wizard and landowner and the savior of the Hartford kingdom.

Grantin slid back his panel and peeked down the hallway. The coast seemed clear. Holding his sandals in his left hand, he tiptoed on stockinged feet to the library and slipped noiselessly inside.

Grantin wandered back to the window through which he had begun his adventure into the Gogol empire. Before him spread the green and golden afternoon landscape, serene and lovely. Off to his right just a few miles over the rolling hills was the easygoing community of Gist where Castor and Chom probably still reclined at their ease.

After their perilous journey Grantin had naturally invited his friends to remain in Greyhorn's manor house, and for a while they had accepted his invitation. After the wedding, however, the situation had changed. Soon both took their leave to visit surrounding Hartford communities.

"Stay, stay. There is room and food enough for all of as. Let me show you the countryside. We could have a jolly time of it."

"Thank you, friend Grantin, but things are different now. You have a new mate and you should spend your time with her. We will learn more on our own, in any event."

"You're staying together, then?"

"Yes," Castor answered, "I would like to visit my fellow Ajaj who live among the Hartfords, but I would feel more comfortable traveling with a stalwart companion."

"And I have not finished my trip of life. There is much more that I must learn about humans before I can return to my community. Castor and I are well suited to each other. I feel that our relationship will be an harmonious one."