by David Grace
"You may eat, Martin," Derma directed.
Somewhat diffidently the young man seated himself before the plate and commenced stuffing his cheeks with food. Lord Hazar did not wish his dinner to grow cold while the taster savored the meal.
The rot root, not having been activated by the appropriate spell, caused the young man no discomfort. Five minutes later the meal was pronounced safe. Hazar feared no slow-acting poison, for his magic and that of his subordinates was powerful enough to counteract any harmful substance provided he was given adequate time.
Martin left the room and Castor removed his plate. Now it was up to the girl. If she successfully performed the spell Hazar would die. In the confusion Castor might even be able to deliver Grantin's message.
Immediately upon his death, Hazar's over-deacons as well as the remaining four lords, together with the inhabitants of the second wall, would all begin plotting to take his place. There would be no lack of candidates to bear the responsibility of his death. Nefra, in fact, already planned to focus the blame on Greyhorn and thus divert attention from his own machinations. Leaving the Ajaj under the watchful eye of the guard, Derma returned to the dining room. He crossed to the parlor door and knocked politely on the panel three times. Upon hearing Hazar's call Derma slid back the door.
"My lord, my lady, dinner is served."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Platters and cups of hot delicacies steamed on a table draped in glossy black cloth. Places had been set with fire-glazed scarlet plates, crudely handsome, twisted clear glass goblets, and utensils of silver and black enamel.
Hazar dismissed the guard and ordered the Ajaj to serve the meal. By long custom Gogol lords preferred the service of the Grays to that of humans. Being viewed as a cowardly and downtrodden race, the Ajaj presented less of a physical danger to their masters than a possibly traitorous or high-spirited human servant.
Secondly, the Ajaj by their very natures were deft and so judged less likely to spill hot soup in their masters' laps. Further, should such an unfortunate event occur a human servant might create an unseemly display, while an Ajaj would meekly endure his fate. Should the crime be severe enough to require the ultimate penalty, the Ajaj's cured pelt would provide a minor recompense for the inconvenience.
Castor noted with satisfaction that Hazar seemed to be in fine appetite, demanding large portions of almost every dish, including the tainted stuffing. Mara commanded smaller portions which she sampled sparingly, except for the stuffing, which she tasted not at all.
During the meal Hazar waxed expansively upon his plans for conquest. The more he spoke, the more Hazar's hunger seemed to be satisfied by the emotions to which he now gave full vent. Ten minutes after filling Hazar's plate Castor noted that the Gogol had eaten only a few bites. The stuffing had been left almost untouched.
"More wine--our cups are dry. More wine!" Castor scuttled forward. "Zaco's clerk brought word today that my stones are almost ready," Hazar told Mara, "an announcement for which I suspect you are in large part responsible. In that you have done well."
"Thank you, my lord. I have done my best."
"Not always, not always. You made a serious error in failing to follow my instructions concerning Greyhorn's courier, but in light of your recent success I am disposed to overlook that incident. It is of little importance now anyway."
"Thank you, my lord. You believe, then, that the wizard Greyhorn will remain loyal to your plan?"
"Nonsense. Trust no one. No, I have solved the problem in a different way entirely. With Greyhorn out of the way his assistant Maurita will take command of his associates. Of her loyalty, for the time being at least, I am assured. In any event there will be no one in that portion of the Hartford lands to oppose me."
"My lord's magic is great to overcome Greyhorn in spite of the ring he possesses."
"The ring he does not possess. You don't know how sadly your mission went awry, do you, Mara? There is no harm now in telling you. It was indeed Greyhorn's nephew to whom you delivered the ring."
"But he put it on. . .."
"Exactly. He put it on his finger and then couldn't get it off. His noble uncle should have chopped the digit off, but he botched the job. The lad escaped. Greyhorn has no more than his ordinary powers with which to oppose me, and he dare not denounce the scheme for fear of implicating himself. I will bring him here tonight and under rigorous interrogation extract what advantage I can for the coming battles against the Hartfords."
"But what about the nephew with the ring? Could he not turn its powers against you? Where is he now?"
"That is where you come in, my dear. That is the marvelous humor of this whole series of events. You did your job better than either of us realized. You enchanted young master Grantin without even realizing it."
"I... ?"
"Yes, the idiot's come here to find you. Isn't that delightful? The report came in this afternoon. He's hiding in the tumbles east of the city. At this very instant my guards have the area surrounded."
In the corner Castor clamped his jaws together and cursed his fate. The significance of Grantin's hiding in his quarters could hardly be missed. Unless Hazar ate the stuffing all would be lost. Would Mara go through with the plan and perform the required incantation? Castor studied the female. It seemed to him that Hazar's news had brought her near a state of shock. Mara put down her fork and dropped all pretense of enjoying her meal. Her fingers played idly with the napkin while she struggled to regain her composure.
"But, my lord, if he's there, hidden in the tumbles with that ring, won't it be difficult to capture him? Will not his powers do great damage to your men, perhaps even enough to allow his escape?"
"Certainly, if I were a fool. If I chose to send in twenty or thirty armed men to flush him from hiding I have no doubt some lives would be lost. Not that I quail at bloodshed, but I need Grantin alive, at least until I can separate him from his ring. But really, Mara, the answer to your question is so simple I'm disappointed that you haven't seen it for yourself."
"I don't understand, unless--you don't mean...?"
"Ah, I see that you have figured it out at last. Don't be so upset. It is the simplest thing in the world. The young fellow has come all this way to find you, and I don't think we should disappoint him. You and one of the Grays--this fellow here will do .as well as any other," Hazar said, gesturing to Castor--"will be directed to the Hartford's hiding place by the Ajaj Obron, who is even now in the company of the captain of my guards. You will contrive some way to embrace the fellow. I am sure that you can think of something along those lines. When he's in your arms you will scratch the back of his neck with the edge of this ring. He will immediately fall into a deep sleep. You will then signal my guards to come and remove his body."
Mara looked at her plate and tried to organize her swirling thoughts. One thing was clear: if Hazar survived this dinner his plan would probably work. For a moment Mara considered abandoning her conspiracy but realized that she had no option but to proceed. If she failed tonight Nefra would take his own vengeance on her. At best, her fate would be delayed until Nefra fell under Hazar's sway and bargained away the secret of her participation in the plot in exchange for some benefit to himself. Forcing herself to eat, Mara stabbed a light-brown morsel with her fork.
"Your plan is most ingenious, my lord, and no doubt it will succeed. Of course I will do everything I can. It appears that we are about to have a long evening. We will need our strength, and it would be a shame to waste this excellent meal. Let us finish our dinner, and then this Gray and I will go off to meet the Hartford." By way of example Mara thrust the fragment into her mouth and motioned to Castor to refill her plate.
"A worthy idea. I'll need my strength for the days ahead. Gray, more wine and another scoop of stuffing-- this has gone cold."
Castor filled the goblet, then ladled a generous portion of the rot-root-laced compound onto Hazar's plate. The Gogol lord captured a heaping forkful of the rich brown mixture. C
astor and Mara watched anxiously as he conveyed the stuffing to his mouth. Hazar's jaw snapped open, his lips pulled back, and the tip of his fork began to enter his maw. At that instant Hazar gasped and grabbed his stomach with both hands. Abandoned in midair, the fork clattered noisily to the enameled plate, spewing its load of stuffing across the table. Convulsed with a series of violent cramps, Hazar doubled over and clutched his midriff. Greyhorn's attack had begun.
Mara stared indecisively at the writhing form. After a few seconds' delay, she called to the guards. Derma and two guards raced into the room. For a moment they also stood frozen as they beheld Hazar's agony.
"Fool!" Hazar groaned through clenched teeth. "Call my over-deacons. Bring them at once!"
Derma sent one of the guards to fetch Hazar's associate wizards, then strode forward himself to attempt to aid his lord. By the time Croman, Jasper, and Wax entered the chamber Hazar, with Denna's assistance, had already succeeded in neutralizing the worst of the pangs,
Hazar moaned a series of instructions and Croman quickly called up an appropriate protective spell. The pains rapidly subsided. Hazar, although clearly shaken by the attack, returned, more or less, to normal. Livid with rage, he screamed at his underlings:
"Complete your incantations! Call up the Firebird. I have work aplenty for the demon tonight."
At a sign from the over-deacons, Derma instructed the guards to clear the table. The ends of the tablecloth were pulled together to form a sack, upending plates, tureens, and goblets in the process. Croman, Jasper, and Wax scratched a large chalk triangle onto the table's surface. Each seated himself at one of the figure's points. Satchels were brought forth. Each of the over-deacons extracted powders, vials, crystals, fragments of bone and flesh, and, at last, an ivory simulacrum of a great winged lizard.
The over-deacons worked rapidly, reassembling the implements of the spell over which they had struggled all afternoon. Soon the crystals were positioned, the powders spread in the appropriate patterns, their faces and hands anointed with the required fluids. In droning resonant tones each recited his portion of the spell.
As the incantation proceeded the room grew dimmer, as if the wizards were sucking the very light from the glowpods to energize their spell. As the moment of climax approached each extracted a blade and sliced the middle finger on his left hand. Their arms extended, bisecting the edge of the triangle opposite their seats; their fingers met in the center of the figure, touched, and dripped blood in a common stream, thick, red, clinging drops splattering onto the figure of the Firebird.
By now the glowpods had flickered almost out. The only illumination derived from a phosphorescent glow in the air above the triangle, a radiance which illuminated the wizards' faces with a pearly light. From beyond the outer wall of Hazar's apartments could now be heard the sound of a raging whirlwind tattooed with the snaps and scrapes of nail and claw.
"He comes," Jasper whispered.
A wild screech sounded, a howl which pierced stone and flesh as if both were no more substantial than paper.
"He is here," Croman proclaimed in hushed tones. "Your orders, my lord?"
"He is to leave this place, to fly east over the farmlands, beyond the Weirdlands, beyond Grenitch Wood, across the Guardian Mountains to the manor house of the wizard Greyhorn two leagues west of the Hartford town of Alicon. There, ignoring all barriers, he is to take possession of the sorcerer Greyhorn, to clutch the living wizard in his talons and return here with him at once. Now, send him on his errand."
The over-deacons resumed their incantations. Lines of strain creased their faces as they joined hands and silently communed with their creation. In seeming climax to their spell the glowpods flashed briefly, went black, and then slowly returned to their normal illumination. The deacons slumped forward. In exhaustion, they released their hands. Wax muttered:
"It is done. He goes to Greyhorn."
"Excellent. Now to our other duties. You there. Gray-- how are you called?"
"Castor," the Ajaj said, deliberately refusing to add the honorific "my lord."
"The famous Castor, is it--the Gray with backbone? Good, you're well suited to your mission tonight. Derma, get five guards and come with me. We'll follow out of sight just behind. Mara, Castor, go to the tumbles and bring forth Grantin's sleeping body and, if possible, the Fanist as well. Tonight I will conclude my dealings with the two Hartfords, uncle and nephew both."
Castor and Mara hesitated for only an instant, then, with no other course available, left Hazar's apartments and walked toward the Gate of Dread.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mightily disturbed at the cruel fates which had dogged his heels, Grantin grumbled two or three sullen oaths and sought vainly for a comfortable position on Castor's stone floor. He thought it terribly unfair that a person of his breeding, intelligence, and tender sensibilities should be subjected to such repeated indignities. Were the world to function as it ought he would be back at Greyhorn's manor relaxing after a pleasant repast and planning his triumphs at the fair at Gist.
With the merest flip of his hand the doughnuts would float outward to center unerringly upon the winning pegs. So inundated would he be with marvelous prizes that within an hour or two he would be required to hire a sturdy lad to carry his winnings. Grantin smiled at the pleasant thought, then found his attention distracted by a knob of granite which poked insistently against the center of his spine. With ill grace he edged his lanky form slightly to one side and refocused his attention to happier circumstances.
The women, the lovely women. What a pleasant sight was that to imagine. When he was dressed in his smart new tunic, brushed leather trousers, richly adorned and manfully scented, the maidens would flock to him like stingwings to a flame. They should be tall, but not too tall. Soft and shapely, but not overly endowed, that kind tended to run to fat. Long-haired, but not too long. Hair of an excessive length became a nuisance on certain occasions.
The vision in his mind's eye rippled and adjusted itself as each new criterion was added to his list. Finally the picture was complete--a maiden striking, shapely, sensuous, yet soft, loving, complaint. The perfect girl. As the vision cleared, with more than a little surprise Grantin noted that the woman bore a striking resemblance to Mara. Somehow he found that disturbing.
A pebble crept stealthily forward and lodged itself beneath his calf. The image vanished. Grantin found himself wide awake and more uncomfortable than ever.
"I swear I was more at ease in the middle of the forest. How can the Ajaj sleep like this?" Grantin grumbled as he sat up and massaged several sore spots in his back.
"They do not," Chom's voice called out from the corner of the darkened parlor.
"Do not what?"
"Sleep like this. The open space disturbs them. Their beds are in niches carved into the walls."
"I should have known they wouldn't endure this discomfort. Doesn't this fellow have a guest niche or two where we could sleep?"
"We could," Chom answered with a gurgling laugh, "provided we squeezed in half our body at a time. It could become rather confining."
"Chom, do you think he'll be able to bring Mara? Do you think this is ever going to end? I'm so tired of living like a peasant!"
"I am certain that all of this discomfort will end," Chom answered reassuringly, "one way or another."
"I can think of one way. What's the 'another'?"
"There are several, really. They could chop your arm off and set you free, or they could chop off your hand and set you free, or they might execute you altogether, or--"
"Enough!"
"You asked for my evaluation of the possibilities."
"That was before you overwhelmed me with the optimism of your predictions," Grantin replied sulkily.
The termination of their conversation magnified the silence in Castor's apartment, a quiet which was soon broken by a new sound. From the jagged rocks beyond the parlor wall came the scratch and scrape of moving figures. Grantin heard the scuf
f of leather upon stone, then the soft chatter of pebbles skittering down the slope.
In the rock-walled darkness Grantin became disoriented. Though he was tempted to ask for Chom's advice, his fear of discovery would not allow him to speak. Minute by minute the sounds grew inexorably closer and more pronounced. At last Grantin heard the slab at the entrance to Castor's tunnel being dragged aside.
The scrape of the stone dissolved Grantin's paralysis. In an instant he jumped to his feet, crept to the tunnel exit, and slid his dagger from its sheath. Behind him Grantin heard the telltale hissing of Chom's horny feet against the floor. The scrapes and clicks were measurably louder now as their volume was amplified by the acoustics of the tunnel. A foot from the tunnel exit, a voice called out:
"Grantin, Chom, are you there? Don't be afraid. it's me, Castor."
Grantin let out a pent-up sigh and hissed into the darkness: "Why didn't you say something before? Poor Chom was extremely disturbed. He thought you were a Gogol trying to sneak up on us."
"Do not worry, his concern is not wasted. Hazar's guards will be here soon enough," Castor replied as he paced soundlessly across the room to where his glowpod hung.
Grantin could barely make out the Ajaj's form in the darkness. From behind came a renewed patter of scrapes and clicks, sounds which so startled Grantin that, in turning, his dagger flew from his hand and clattered to the floor.
"The guards . . . !" Grantin squeaked. He found his limbs paralyzed with fright. He was able to do no more than stare stupidly at the tunnel's black exit.
Castor silently excited his glowpod to a weak yellow-green radiance. At the edges of, its dim illumination Mara crawled into the room, then stood simultaneously straightening her garments and slapping the dust from the hem of her skirt.
"This is the female you asked me to bring," Castor announced, "the one called Mara."