David Grace - The Accidental Magician

"So, therefore, my lazy nephew, my ignorant nephew, my incompetent nephew, there will be no love potions, no good-luck fetishes, no power of penetrating vision, and for the fair no spell of physical protection.

"Now"-Greyhorn brought Grantin to a state of attention with a buffet-"pay attention. There's work to be done. Wake up! Look smart! I do have an important task for you. Against my better judgment I am going to give you the opportunity to make something of yourself. As you've no doubt discerned, I've already resigned myself to the fact that you'll never be a wizard. However, from time to time, you may make yourself useful. You may, if the powers be willing, in some time derive into your full occupation as my factotum, majordomo, and chief lackey.

"Now listen to me, Grantin. Things are on the rise. A new wind nips through the trees. Events shape themselves under the hands of strong men such as myself. If you perform well and prove yourself worthy, you may yet bask warmly in the reflected glory of my success.

"Here, take this amulet and hang it about your neck. It will be a sign to the one you will meet of whom you represent. You are to travel to Alicon, past the Hall of the Fabricators and into the Street of the Artisans. I will give you a spell of protection for the trip.

"Wear the necklace in plain sight, but do not part with it. Give it to no one, no matter what anyone may offer you. By and by, after admiring the amulet a stranger will tell you of a ring which contains a stone of the same material. When you see the ring say: 'My father had a ring that was so.' The person should answer: 'Then you should have this to complete the family treasure.' The person will offer to sell you the ring for five coppers. Buy the ring and return it and the amulet to me. Now, is all clear to you?"

Grantin fondled the pendant, which was welded to a heavy gold-alloy chain. The object was a dull copperish color, round, heavy, and uneven, the workmanship crude. In the center of the disk was mounted an oval red stone polished to a silky smoothness. In the light the gem glittered with bloody highlights. A nice enough gimcrack, Grantin thought, but not of surpassing value. It might be worth a silver or two but not much more. Grantin studied the amulet for a moment and then looked back at his uncle.

"I do have a few questions, uncle, now that you mention it. Who is it that I'm going to meet? What do we do with the ring once we get it? How long-"

"Silence! A lackey doesn't ask questions. He follows orders."

"But you asked if I had any questions."

"I didn't mean it. Now go! It's already approaching the sixth hour. If by chance you are not met today, remain in town and return to the Street of the Artisans tomorrow. Stay there until you get the ring. Guard it with your life. Here are a silver and two coppers. That should be sufficient to cover your food and lodging, provided that you are prudent and invest in medium-grade straw for the pallet and nourishing gruel for your evening meal. Now, be on your way."

Grantin retrieved his brown leather jacket and slid the amulet into his pocket. He opened the front door and, slinging the coat over his shoulder, walked out into the early-afternoon sunshine. A lovely day, a protective spell guarding him from the Bondinis' wrath, a trivial task, and money in his pocket. What could possibly go wrong?

From his workshop window Greyhorn watched his nephew pace the trail toward Alicon. A vague anxiety began to pervade the wizard's vitals. Grantin was an indolent, irresponsible, spendthrift, but what could go wrong with so simple a task?

Greyhorn watched Grantin's departing figure until it reached the bottom of the slope, then he turned back to his workbench. He had been experimenting with a contrivance of glass and steel which he hoped would operate as a focusing mechanism for his more powerful spells. In a few days it would be ready for a test. The subject? Hazar's form immediately sprang to mind. Yes, this device would possibly slow the villain down a bit.

As if his thoughts of the Gogol prince had tripped a relay, the black wizard's form suddenly called to Greyhorn from the lens. Greyhorn pushed his psychic condenser to the side of the table, then positioned himself in front of the plate. Palm outward, Greyhorn moved his right hand in a sweeping pass in front of the lens. Immediately Hazar's visage appeared.

"Hazar," Greyhorn called. "Have you called to tell me that your fellows have at last agreed that you shall be their chief?"

"Not yet, Greyhorn, but soon, soon. No, I merely wish to inform you that my messenger has been delayed and will not reach Alicon until tomorrow morning. Your courier may delay his departure until sunrise."

"Departure? I don't believe I indicated that my associate lived outside of Alicon. In any event you are too considerate, Hazar. My messenger will be ready to receive the ring, be it tonight or tomorrow or even the day after."

"Excellent, Greyhorn, I'm glad you are so well organized. I'll tell you this: your associate is a lucky fellow indeed. The person whom he will meet is a rare beauty."

"Assuming that my subordinate is a man, I accept your assurances of the lady's beauty," Greyhorn replied frostily. Grantin to meet a lovely woman! He'd rue the day he was born if he let her get the better of him, Greyhorn promised himself. He turned his attention back to the lens. "So, Hazar, what other news have you for me? Does all go smoothly with your plans? Everyone is ready for the attack? No little inconveniences or difficulties?"

"Well, in these things there are always minor snags here and there. Hardly difficulties worth mentioning."

Greyhorn's interest was instantly aroused. "Little snags? Perhaps you should describe them to me so that I can watch for similar problems arising among my fellow Hartfords."

"Small chance of that. One of our Grays is being a bit obstreperous, but he'll be settled with shortly."

"A Gray causing trouble? I thought they were the most spiritless, docile creatures in existence. I have always been given to understand that the Ajaj Grays follow your every command. It would seem that an Ajaj voicing complaints is truly an extraordinary act."

"Perhaps extraordinary, but not at all important. The Ajaj take little interest in our affairs. Certainly your Ajaj Pales will have no role in the coup. No, this fellow is obviously one of those random mutants who prove the rule. I'm sure the slightest reproach from the lowliest of my subdeacons will have him cringing in abject obedience."

"Still," Greyhorn replied, "one must tread warily with the Ajaj. They have their own powers. My ancestors found that those who had molested them often disappeared without a trace."

"Possibly true of the Pales, but the Grays accept our rule. We assign them tasks which they perform without complaint. They are controlled by their own leaders."

"No doubt you are right, Hazar. In any event the Grays are your problem, not mine. I will have the ring tomorrow, and seven days hence I will order the attack on the defenders of the mountain pass."

"Yes, Greyhorn," Hazar said as he broke the connection, "soon you will have all the power you can use."

But what's power to a dead man? Hazar gleefully asked himself once the screen was clear. That arrogant, flint-eyed poseur, Greyhorn, would never live to be one of the lords in Hazar's empire. Already Maurita, Greyhorn's dear Maurita, had supplied Hazar with a bit of Greyhorn's hair and a fragment of dead skin from his left big toe.

Hazar chuckled at Greyhorn's cold reception of the probes regarding the identity of the courier. That would keep the old fool guessing. Hazar already knew that it was Greyhorn's worthless nephew Grantin who went to receive the ring. Now, if only Mara played her part, beguiled him, seduced him, and then smeared a drop of Grantin's blood upon the bloodstone. The blood which flowed in Grantin's veins was like that which flowed in Greyhorn's. Together with Mara's enchantment it would cause the ring, once in Greyhorn's possession, to lose its power within a month. Then, with the hair and skin and blood which Mara would bring back to him, Hazar would destroy both uncle and nephew as easily as a lumberjack squashes an ant. Except for that ridiculous Ajaj Castor, all of Hazar's plans proceeded apace.