The Accidental Magician

by David Grace

  After a few minutes the worst of Rupert's wheezing subsided, and he sat up to survey his location. Already he had begun to make plans. He would find the river and clean himself. Using his Huntsman Spell, he would capture game for an evening meal. That night he would shelter in the forest, and the next day, clean and rested, he would set out to make a new life for himself.

  Rupert recalled that some dozen years before another deacon had been forced to flee to the borderlands under similar circumstances. The man was now a bandit chieftain rumored to make his headquarters in this vicinity. Rupert had little doubt that he would be allowed entry into the gang. If nothing else, he had valuable spells to contribute, together with information on Lord Hazar's plans.

  Rupert began to scheme with the utmost deviousness. The outlaws would become allies in his search for Grantin and the ring--always the ring. Let his new associates take the brunt of Grantin's defenses while he, at the appropriate moment, cut off the Hartford's hand and appropriated the ring. Then he would make the pipsqueak pay!

  Rupert pushed himself to his feet and examined the sky. It was late afternoon. He would have to move fast to find shelter before full night. And tomorrow, tomorrow he would search out his new comrade, the bandit chieftain, Yon Diggery.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Though it was not so fine as his uncle's manse, Grantin was, nevertheless, highly pleased with Shenar's Castle. A fine pigeon-fluff bed of truly immense proportions dominated the late wizard's bedroom, and a well-stocked larder provided Grantin and Chom with a wealth of food.

  When their inspection had revealed no loyal retainers who might avenge Shenar's death, Chom and Grantin returned to the basement. They unceremoniously tucked the wizard's body into a potato sack and carried it to the garden for burial. There beneath the blossoms of a great saucerflower bush, Shenar was laid to rest.

  Returning to the castle, Chom and Grantin barred the doors and took themselves to separate bedrooms. After only a few hours sleep, tortured by vague nightmares and a sense of tense weariness, Grantin awakened to search out Shenar's pantry. Slipping back easily into the duties he had performed for so long under Greyhorn's tutelage, he prepared a meal of cheese, fruit, bread, spiced meat, cookies, and cold marinated vegetables, to be washed down with a thick, bittersweet wine. At about the time he finished laying out the meal Chom entered the small dining area just off the kitchen.

  "We are in luck, my friend," Grantin called to Chom. "For all his faults our host set a nice table. Don't be shy. Come in, sit down. There's plenty for both of us."

  With an expression of vague uneasiness Chom slipped into one of the high-backed chairs which bordered the table. Again the Fanist was confronted with the peculiar human customs regarding food. Also, after his adverse experience with humans Chom had become a bit suspicious. Might these concoctions contain drugs whose existence would be hidden by their peculiar seasonings?

  Chom studied the fare with a critical eye. For a few seconds Grantin hesitated, waiting for the Fanist to eat but then hunger overcame his manners. Chom watched the young human load his plate with chunks, gobs, puddles, squares, and scoops of various substances and then shovel one after another into his mouth with the use of curiously constructed metal implements. Unlikely that the items were drugged. Well, Ajax said to experiment.

  Following Grantin's lead, he loaded his plate, then in a random fashion inserted the substances into his mouth. On a slab of dark yellow cheese he spread half an inch of crossberry preserves, then topped the appetizer with two slices of marinated potato. Next he ingested a molasses-brown cookie dipped in pepperroot relish and washed the lot down with a half-pint swallow of wine.

  Chom was the victim of harshly contrasting sensations. His throat alternately burned and tingled while the organs which in Fanists passed for taste buds appeared to have been awakened from a millennia-long slumber. These sensations were beyond any of Chom's expectations. Thrilled with the effect, he began to prepare further mouthfuls with the coordinated use of all four hands. A slice of meat was wrapped around a chicken leg and eaten in two bites, bone and all. With his upper and lower left arms he drowned half a jelly-apple pie with spoonfuls of pickled beets, which concoction was conveyed in heaping spoonfuls to his anxiously awaiting gullet. Amazing! Chom decided that the human concept of food was an extraordinarily good idea after all.

  With great deliberateness Grantin turned his eyes away from the nauseating combinations which the Fanist was ingesting. When the edge was off his hunger and Chom's devastation of the buffet had declined Grantin began a conversation with the native.

  "Do you live around here?" he asked Chom.

  "Nearby, no. My community is beyond the mountains, in the land of the Hartfords."

  "Then we're both a long way from home. I'm a Hartford as well, but as a result of various difficulties I find myself exiled here. for the time being at least. And you-- were you expelled from your tribe?"

  "Expelled, thrown out, no. I am, you might say, studying humans, a traveler, a tourist. Yes, that is a good description, I am a tourist. And you, you are an apprentice wizard?" Chom asked.

  "What makes you think that?"

  "The fact that you wear such a ring."

  Grantin shook his head sadly and replied: "This ring is not enough to make me a wizard. If you want to know the truth, as of two days ago my occupation was that of apprentice factotum to my uncle Greyhorn. My greatest ambition was to survive long enough to inherit his properties. The ring is a mistake, a folly, a horrible error. It is one with my flesh and cannot be removed. It is a great curse."

  "Certainly there must be a way of removing--" Chom began reasonably.

  "You are not going to cut off my finger. You are not! You are not!" Grantin screamed and banged his fist on the table.

  "I was not thinking about removing your finger," Chom replied pleasantly, "though I suppose that would be one possibility. No, I had in mind a counterspell."

  "I have tried. Even Uncle Greyhorn's sorcery was insufficient proof against this blasted ring. Unless, of course . . ." Grantin's face visibly brightened. ". . . unless, of course, you have a spell. . ."

  "No, but I understand a bit about such stones. There may be a spell which can coax the answer from the ring itself. Not only does such a gem project your incantations outward, but it gathers in energy as well."

  "Do you think that such a spell might be contained in Shenar's library?"

  "Library?"

  "The books containing records of Shenar's sorcery."

  "Books--I've heard about such things. We do not use them. Our magic instead is stored here," Chom said, tapping his forehead. "I think I would like to see this library. If you can read the books to me I will know if you find the right spell."

  Leaving the litter of crumbs, bones, spilled wine, and fragments of food, the two beings, not yet friends but far from enemies, headed for Shenar's library at the back of the manor house. On a workbench fronted by a low horizontal window, vials, canisters, and jars stood in comfortable disarray. The bench itself was stained with potent substances. Chips and mars tattooed its hardwood planks.

  To the right of the table stood three ranks of cupboards ten feet tall. Along the back wall a much-used stepladder stood at ease. To the left of the workbench was a short wall fronted with low, open shelves. A doorway led to an alcove beyond. It was in this alcove, sealed off behind the left-hand wall of the wizard's laboratory, that Grantin and Chom discovered the library.

  The paper in use on Fane was handmade, heavy, thick, and brittle. The printing also was done by hand or, in rare cases, through the use of carved type laboriously set a letter at a time. Consequently books tended to be thick, oversize, and bulky. Shenar's collection was no exception. His library of perhaps a thousand books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves on three of the four walls.

  Grantin sought to determine a pattern to the shelving, but if there were one he was unable to divine it. After fifteen minutes of fruitless study, he decided to read each title,
and if the subject matter appeared to bear on the problem he removed the volume and passed it to Chom.

  Some two and a half hours later, his back aching and eyes bleary, Grantin finished his initial examination. On the table, stacked in orderly piles, were the perhaps fifty or so books which might contain the sought-for spell. Grantin studied the table of contents in each of the books and, after another two hours, succeeded in marking chapters in fifteen of them.

  By now night had come to Grenitch Wood. Chom brought food and tapers to the library, the glowpods for some reason refusing to respond to Grantin's command.

  In one ancient book of Hartford origin, The Sorcerer's Constant Companion, Grantin found a reference to a spell which could be used to bind one's jewelry and personal effects to the person so that absentminded individuals could avoid their constant loss. Upon detailed examination, however, the spell appeared to be a simple one easily dissolved by a standard incantation.

  Grantin studied the fly leafs on each of the ten books remaining on the table. Eight of these he dismissed out of hand as enterprises of Hartford origin. Two remained. One with no indication of its origin but apparently specializing in spells of physical prowess, athletics, and self-defense. The second a volume of obvious Gogol manufacture: Black Arts and Sacred Fires. With great interest Grantin now examined this last volume. Almost immediately he found a reference to the bloodstone and its Hartford discoverer.

  * * *

  Edgar of Ilium repulsed our forces with spells of unheard-of potency. Over the succeeding years diligent investigation has revealed the source of Edgar's power: a transparent, hard, deep-red crystal known for its color as the bloodstone or for its energy as the powerstone. The crystal is mined in rock formations of as yet unknown types, and neither is the size of the raw crystals nor their depth below the surface generally known. The shape of the finished crystal is believed to have great importance. It is well known that Edgar of Ilium's gem was cut in a faceted oval shape. More recent intelligence has suggested that the optimum shape for any given-size crystal is a smooth, polished oval with the major axis twice the length of the minor.

  The stone, by rumor, may be employed in a number of settings, but each time one has been observed it has been noted that it was encased in a socket of gold, copper, or bronze. The exact composition of these alloys is a closely guarded secret.

  In order to function, the stone, or at least the setting, must be in physical contact with the flesh of its possessor. The longer the contact, the more intimate the relationship between gem and wizard and the more powerful the spells. Once the stone has become attuned to its owner it will become worthless unless removed from the owner before the wizard's death. For this reason those sorcerers who wish to pass the bloodstone down their family line must take care either to use it occasionally and then in the form of an amulet or to be ready to separate themselves from its power during their lifetime. In light of the energy and protection which a bloodstone gives its owner it, is unthinkable that one would voluntarily part with it after the period of acclimation.

  The power of the stone is in direct proportion to its mass, and therefore one which appears only slightly bigger nevertheless generates an exponential increase in power. Again, as with other aspects of the bloodstone, there is, however, a countervailing influence against obtaining an overly large gem. The larger the stone, the greater the power and the greater the danger for the wizard who seeks to use it. Brain burn, insanity, and suicide have all been associated with the bloodstone. A small stone allows very powerful spells with reasonably small risk to the skilled sorcerer. A very large stone provides spells of unheard-of power, with a huge risk of early insanity and death. It is, therefore, only the bravest and most competent of wizards who will dare to wear a ring containing a moderately sized bloodstone. The crystal itself creates a field of energy within any circular metal mounting in which it may be placed, be it ring, bracelet, or necklace.

  As an aside it might be noted that Grundal, the great scholar, claimed to have evolved a spell which would allow the release of such a ring. Known as Grundal's Final Incantation, it is said that the effort of perfecting it so drained his energies that he died before it could be tested. It is set forth in Appendix A, pages 1 through 7. The hasty practitioner should note that on his deathbed Grundal claimed that his error in the spell was that it must be uttered by the one from whose hand the bloodstone was received.

  The diseases which the bloodstone can cause, listed alphabetically, are . . . ."

  * * *

  Grantin slammed shut the book and turned immediately to the appendices at the end. Regretfully he tore out the seven indicated pages. As carefully as possible he folded the stiff paper and placed it in the pocket between the two layers of his belt.

  "You intend to go through with this, then?" the Fanist asked.

  "I have no choice. The nightmares torture me, and, who knows, I may go insane as the book predicts. Besides, I'm tired of having everyone who meets me try and cut off my finger. No, if I can just remove this ring I'll be able to return to my uncle Greyhorn. Perhaps he'll let bygones be bygones. But what am I thinking about that for? It's all hopeless unless I can find the girl."

  "The girl who gave you the ring?"

  "Yes. A lovely lady, obviously of the highest character. Long brown hair, sparkling eyes, magnificent figure. Mara, lovely Mara. She could be anywhere by now."

  "If you are determined, there is a way to find her," Chom suggested.

  "How? Do you know such a way? Tell me!"

  "As I said, the stone both projects and collects magic. Since she gave you the ring, it would have formed a bond with her, weak but still there. If you concentrate hard enough perhaps you will be able to view her in the stone. Conceivably you might recognize her location."

  Grantin made himself comfortable at the library table, gulped down the last of his wine, then, grasping his hands together in front of him, bent over and looked deeply into the ring. His forehead beaded with sweat. His hands clenched together so tightly that all trace of blood fled, leaving the flesh a sickly white.

  At last Grantin sensed tenuous images taking shape within the stone. The more he concentrated on their line and form, the clearer the visions became. Eventually he could make out a red-faced Mara with red-brown hair in a red-walled room broken by only a slightly lighter red window. The vision paced ghostlike around her chamber. As she moved through the gem her features bulged and flattened, stretched and compressed, depending upon her direction of travel. Once she walked to the window, and for an instant Grantin had a view of a narrow curving street bounded by sheer rock walls on either side, with further curving walls in the distance, each patrolled by armed warriors. At last Grantin's concentration slipped and the image faded.

  Grantin unclasped his hands, threw back his head, and, eyes closed, gasped great drafts of air. In a few moments he opened his eyes and leaned forward. Chom had risen from his position on the far side of the table and now stood at Grantin's right, looking down at him, a concerned expression clouding the native's face.

  "You were right, but it did me no good. A few images, a flicker of a distorted face, a nameless room--it means nothing to me. I'll never find her."

  "To the contrary, you did very well. Perhaps you have in your blood the power to be a great wizard."

  "I did very well, except that I failed. I don't know where she is and I don't have the energy to try again."

  "There is no need to look again within the ring. Her home is unmistakable. She could be in only one place."

  "You recognized it? Where? Where is she?"

  "Your Mara lives in the seat of the Gogol empire, the five-sided city of Cicero."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mara disliked enforced idleness and felt trapped and frustrated. Almost two days had passed since her interview with Hazar, and still she had not been assigned further duties. That in itself was an odd circumstance. Were Hazar of a mind to punish her, his vengeance would have likely touched her by
now. On the other hand, it was not like Hazar to allow his coveted apartments to be occupied by nonproductive persons. If Hazar were not the most decisive of men Mara might have concluded that he had not yet reached a decision on her conduct, but the wizard was not a man to delay.

  Each wall toward the center of town was slightly lower than the one which preceded it. From her room Mara was able to glimpse a portion of the Central Plaza. Human and Ajaj commerce choked the narrow streets and imparted to Cicero a buzzing energy. At last the dingy stone confines of her room became unbearable. Slipping out into the zigzag corridor, she made her way to the steps. Now, in this time of peace between the overlords, the first two sets of doors which led to the First Circle stood open. Only the outer portal was closed.

  The sentry allowed Mara to pass with little more challenge than a leering glance. So long as Mara occupied the upper floor she could become the involuntary consort of no one below the level of overdeacon. Of course, should she fall from Lord Hazar's pleasure, he might assign her a stint in the guards' pleasure room. This happy possibility consoled the sentry and caused him to smile even more broadly as he watched Mara's retreating form.

  Eventually Mara found that she had walked all the way to the Gate of Pain at the south wall of the city. Here Nefra's aquifers delivered their supply of fresh water. Pipes cut through underground passages guarded by Nefra the Cruel's personal soldiers branched out to all portions of the city.